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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 19:59:36 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 19:59:36 -0700 |
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diff --git a/33469-h/33469-h.htm b/33469-h/33469-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e96244b --- /dev/null +++ b/33469-h/33469-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,19621 @@ +<?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> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + Roland Cashel, by Charles James Lever + </title> + <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> + <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"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Roland Cashel, 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: Roland Cashel + Volume II (of II) + +Author: Charles James Lever + +Illustrator: Phiz. + +Release Date: August 19, 2010 [EBook #33469] +Last Updated: February 27, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROLAND CASHEL *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<h1> +ROLAND CASHEL +</h1> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<h2> +By Charles James Lever +</h2> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<h3> +With Illustrations By Phiz. +</h3> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<h3> +In Two Volumes. Vol. II. +</h3> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/frontispiece.jpg" alt="frontispiece" width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/titlepage.jpg" alt="titlepage" width="100%" /><br /> +</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>ROLAND CASHEL</b> </a><br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> AN “UNLIMITED” MONARCHY +<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> LADY +KILGOFF AT BAY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> A +PARTIAL RECOVERY AND A RELAPSE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> +CHAPTER IV. </a> MORE KENNYFECK INTRIGUING <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> LINTON'S MYSTERIOUS +DISAPPEARANCE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> THE +SEASON OF LINTON'S FLITTING <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER +VII. </a> FORGERY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER +VIII. </a> ROLAND DISCOVERS THAT HE HAS OVERDRAWN <br /><br /> +<a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a> THE BURNT LETTER—“GREAT +EXPECTATIONS” <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> A +STARTLING INTRUSION <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> SCANDAL, +AND GENERAL ILL-HUMOR <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. +</a> SHYLOCK DEMANDS HIS BOND <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> CIGARS, ÉCARTÉ, AND +HAZARD <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> MR. +KENNYFECK AMONG THE BULLS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER +XV. </a> POLITICAL ASPIRATIONS <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> A WET DAT—THE +FALSE SIGNAL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a> THE +SHADOW IN THE MIRROR <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. +</a> THE OLD FRIENDS IN COUNCIL <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a> A TÊTE-À-TÊTE +INTERRUPTED <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. </a> LORD +KILGOFF DETERMINES TO “MEET” ROLAND <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0021"> +CHAPTER XXI. </a> THE SECOND SHOCK <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. </a> LINTON INSTIGATES +KEANE TO MURDER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. </a> LINTON +IS BAFFLED—HIS RAGE AT THE DISCOVERY <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. </a> GIOVANNI UNMASKED +<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. </a> TIERNAY +INTIMIDATED——THE ABSTRACTED DEEDS <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. </a> AN UNDERSTANDING +BETWEEN THE DUPE AND HIS VICTIM <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0027"> +CHAPTER XXVII. </a> MURDER OF MR. KENNYFECK— CASHEL +DETAINED ON SUSPICION <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER +XXVIII. </a> SCENE OF THE MURDER—THE CORONER'S VERDICT +<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. </a> THE +TRIAL—THE PROSECUTION <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER +XXX. </a> THE DEFENCE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0031"> +CHAPTER XXXI. </a> "NOT GUILTY” <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII. </a> ON THE TRACK <br /><br /> +<a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XXXIII. </a> LA +NINETTA <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XXXIV. </a> THE +FATE OF KEANE—HIS DEPOSITION <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0035"> +CHAPTER XXXV. </a> THE “BANK OF ROUGE ET NOIR” <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER XXXVI. </a> ARREST OF LINTON +<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER XXXVII. </a> ALL +MYSTERY CEASES—MARRIAGE AND GENERAL JOY <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> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h1> +ROLAND CASHEL. +</h1> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER I. AN “UNLIMITED” MONARCHY +</h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +And at last they find out, to their greatest surprise, +That't is easier far to be “merry than wise.” + +Bell: Images. +</pre> +<p> +“Here is Mr. Cashel; here he is!” exclaimed a number of voices, as Roland, +with a heart full of indignant anger, ascended the terrace upon which the +great drawing-room opened, and at every window of which stood groups of +his gay company. Cashel looked up, and beheld the crowd of pleased faces +wreathed into smiles of gracious welcome, and then he suddenly remembered +that it was <i>he</i> who had invited all that brilliant assemblage; that, +for <i>him</i>, all those winning graces were assumed; and that <i>his</i> +gloomy thoughts, and gloomier looks, were but a sorry reception to offer +them. +</p> +<p> +With a bold effort, then, to shake off the load that oppressed him, he +approached one of the windows, where Mrs. Kennyfeck and her two daughters +were standing, with a considerable sprinkling of young dragoons around +them. +</p> +<p> +“We are not to let you in, Mr. Cashel,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, from within. +“There has been a vote of the House against your admission.” + </p> +<p> +“Not, surely, to condemn me unheard,” said Roland; “I might even say, +unaccused.” + </p> +<p> +“How so?” cried Mrs. Kennyfeck. “Is not your present position your +accusation? Why are you there, while we are here?” + </p> +<p> +“I went out for a walk, and lost myself in the woods.” + </p> +<p> +“What does he say, my dear?” said Aunt Fanny, fearful of losing a word of +the dialogue. +</p> +<p> +“That he lost himself, madam,” said one of the dragoons, dryly. +</p> +<p> +“So, indeed, we heard, sir,” said the maiden lady, piteously; “but I may +say I foresaw it all.” + </p> +<p> +“You are an old fool, and, worse still, every one sees it,” whispered Mrs. +Kennyfeck, in an accent that there was no mistaking, although only a +whisper. +</p> +<p> +“We considered that you had abdicated, Mr. Cashel,” said Mrs. White, who, +having in vain waited for Roland to approach the window she occupied, was +fain at last to join the others, “and we were debating on what form of +Government to adopt,—a Presidency, with Mr. Linton—” + </p> +<p> +“I see you are no legitimist,” slyly remarked Miss Kenny-feck. But the +other went on,— +</p> +<p> +“Or an open Democracy.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm for that,” said a jolly-looking cavalry captain. “Pray, Miss Olivia +Kennyfeck, vote for it too. I should like nothing so much as a little +fraternizing.” + </p> +<p> +“I have a better suggestion than either,” said Roland, gayly; “but you +must admit me ere I make it.” + </p> +<p> +“A device of the enemy,” called out Mrs. White; “he wants to secure his +own return to power.” + </p> +<p> +“Nay, on honor,” said he, solemnly; “I shall descend to the rank of the +humblest citizen, if my advice be acceded to,—to the humblest +subject of the realm.” + </p> +<p> +“Ye maunna open the window. Leddy Janet has the rheumatics a' dandering +aboot her back a' the morning,” said Sir Andrew, approaching the group; +and then, turning to Cashel, said, “Glad to see ye, sir; very glad indeed; +though, like Prince Charlie, you're on the wrang side o' the wa'.” + </p> +<p> +“Dear me!” sighed Meek, lifting his eyes from the newspaper, and assuming +that softly compassionate tone in which he always delivered the most +commonplace sentiments, “how shocking, to keep you out of your own house, +and the air quite damp! Do pray be careful, and change your clothes before +you come in here.” Then he finished in a whisper to Lady Janet, “One never +gets through a country visit without a cold.” + </p> +<p> +“Upon my word, I'll let him in,” said Aunt Fanny, with a native richness +of accent that made her fair nieces blush. +</p> +<p> +“At last!” said Cashel, as he entered the room, and proceeded to salute +the company, with many of whom he had but the very slightest acquaintance,—of +some he did not even remember the names. +</p> +<p> +The genial warmth of his character soon compelled him to feel heartily +what he had begun by feigning, and he bade them welcome with a cordiality +that spread its kindly influence over all. +</p> +<p> +“I see,” said he, after some minutes, “Lady Kilgoff has not joined us; but +her fatigue has been very great.” + </p> +<p> +“They say my Lord 's clean daft,” said Sir Andrew. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, no, Sir Andrew,” rejoined Roland; “our misfortune has shaken his +nerves a good deal, but a few days' rest and quiet will restore him.” + </p> +<p> +“He was na ower wise at the best, puir man,” sighed the veteran, as he +moved away. +</p> +<p> +“Her Ladyship was quite a heroine,—is n't that so?” said Lady Janet, +tartly. +</p> +<p> +“She held the rudder, or did something with the compass, I heard,” + simpered a young lady in long flaxen ringlets. +</p> +<p> +Cashel smiled, but made no answer. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, dear,” sighed Meek, “and there was a dog that swam—or was it +you that swam ashore with a rope in your mouth?” + </p> +<p> +“I grieve to say, neither man nor dog performed the achievement.” + </p> +<p> +“And it would appear that the horrid wretch—what's his name?” asked +Mrs. White of her friend Howie. +</p> +<p> +“Whose name, madam?” + </p> +<p> +“The man—the dreadful man, who planned it all. Sick—Sickamore—no, +not Sickamore—” + </p> +<p> +“Sickleton, perhaps,” said Cashel, strangely puzzled to make out what was +coming. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Sickleton had actually done the very same thing twice before, just +to get possession of the rich plate and all the things on board.” + </p> +<p> +“This is too bad,” cried Cashel, indignantly; “really, madam, you must +pardon my warmth, if it even verges on rudeness; but the gentleman whose +name you have associated with such iniquitous suspicions saved all our +lives.” + </p> +<p> +“That's what I like in him better than all,” whispered Aunt Fanny to +Olivia; “he stands by his friends like a trump.” + </p> +<p> +“You have compelled me,” resumed Cashel, “to speak of what really I had +much rather forget; but I shall insist upon your patience now for a few +minutes, simply to rectify any error which may prevail upon this affair.” + </p> +<p> +With this brief prelude, Cashel commenced a narrative of the voyage from +the evening of the departure from Kingstown to the moment of the vessel's +sinking off the south coast. +</p> +<p> +If most of his auditors only listened as to an interesting anecdote, to +others the story had a deeper meaning. The Kennyfecks were longing to +learn how the excursion originated, and whether Lady Kilgoff's presence +had been a pre-arranged plan, or a mere accidental occurrence. +</p> +<p> +“All's not lost yet, Livy,” whispered Miss Kennyfeck in her sister's ear. +“I give you joy.” While a significant nod from Aunt Fanny seemed to divine +the sentiment and agree with it. +</p> +<p> +“And I suppose ye had na the vessel insured?” said Sir Andrew, at the +close of the narrative; “what a sair thing to think o'!” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, dear, yes, to be sure!” ejaculated Meek, piteously; “and the cold, +and the wetting, and the rest of it! for of course you must have met few +comforts in that miserable fishing-hut.” + </p> +<p> +“How picturesque it must have been,” interposed Mrs. White; “and what a +pity you had no means of having a drawing made of it. The scene at the +moment of the yacht striking; the despair-struck seamen—” + </p> +<p> +“Pardon me, madam, for destroying even a particle of so ingenious a fancy; +but the men evinced nothing of the kind,—they behaved well, and with +the calmest steadiness.” + </p> +<p> +“It is scarcely too late yet,” resumed the lady, unabashed; “if you would +just describe it all carefully to Mr. Howie, he could made a sketch in +oils one would swear was taken on the spot.” + </p> +<p> +“Quite impossible,—out of the question,” said Howie, who was always +ashamed at the absurdities which compromised himself, although keenly +alive to those which involved his neighbors. +</p> +<p> +“We have heard much of Lady Kilgoff's courage and presence of mind,” said +Mrs. Kennyfeck, returning to a theme by which she calculated on exploring +into Cashel's sentiments towards that lady. “Were they indeed so +conspicuous?” + </p> +<p> +“Can you doubt it, madam?” said Lady Janet, tartly; “she gave the most +unequivocal proof of both,—she remembered her husband!” + </p> +<p> +The tartness of this impertinent speech was infinitely increased by the +voice and manner of the speaker, and a half-suppressed titter ran through +the room, Cashel alone, of all, feeling annoyed and angry. Aunt Fanny, +always less occupied with herself than her neighbors, quickly saw his +irritation, and resolved to change a topic which more than once had verged +on danger. +</p> +<p> +“And now, Mr. Cashel,” said she, “let us not forget the pledge on which we +admitted you.” + </p> +<p> +“Quite right,” exclaimed Roland; “I promised a suggestion: here it is—” + </p> +<p> +“Pardon me for interrupting,” said Miss Kennyfeck; “but in what capacity +do you make this suggestion? Are you still king, or have you abdicated?” + </p> +<p> +“Abdicated in all form,” replied Roland, bowing with well-assumed +humility; “as simple citizen, I propose that we elect a 'Queen,' to rule +despotically in all things,—uncontrolled and irresponsible.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, delightful! admirable!” exclaimed a number of voices, among which all +the men and the younger ladies might be heard; Lady Janet and Mrs. +Kennyfeck, and a few others “of the senior service,” as Mr. Linton would +have called them, seeming to canvass the motion with more cautious +reserve. +</p> +<p> +“As it is to be an elective monarchy, sir,” said Lady Janet, with a shrewd +glance over all the possible candidates, “how do you propose the choice is +to be made?” + </p> +<p> +“That is to be for after consideration,” replied Roland; “we may have +universal suffrage and the ballot.” + </p> +<p> +“No, no, by Jove!” exclaimed Sir Harvey Upton; “we must not enter upon our +new reign by a rebellion. Let only the men vote.” + </p> +<p> +“How gallant!” said Miss Kennyfeck, sneeringly; while a chorus of “How +unfair!” “How ungenerous!” went through the room. +</p> +<p> +“What say ye to the plan they hae wi' the Pope?” said Sir Andrew, grinning +maliciously: “tak' the auldest o' the company.” + </p> +<p> +This suggestion caused a laugh, in which certain parties did not join +over-heartily. Just at this moment the door opened, and Lord Kilgoff, +leaning on the arm of two servants, entered. He was deathly pale, and +seemed several years older; but his face had acquired something of its +wonted expression, and it was with a sad but courteous smile he returned +the salutations of the company. +</p> +<p> +“Glad to see you amongst us, my Lord,” said Cashel, as he placed an +arm-chair, and assisted the old man to his seat. “I have just been telling +my friends that our country air and quiet will speedily restore you.” + </p> +<p> +“Thank you very much, sir,” said he, taking Cashel's hand. “We are both +greatly indebted to your kindness, nor can we indeed ever hope to repay +it.” + </p> +<p> +“Make him a receiver on the estate, then,” whispered Lady Janet in Miss +Kennyfeck's ear, “and he'll soon pay himself.” + </p> +<p> +“Tell my Lord about our newly intended government, Mr. Cashel,” said Mrs. +Kennyfeck; “I'm sure it will amuse him.” And Cashel, more in obedience to +the request than from any conviction of its prudence, proceeded to obey. +One word only, however, seemed to fix itself on the old man's memory. +</p> +<p> +“Queen! queen!” repeated he several times to himself. “Oh, indeed! You +expect her Majesty will honor you with a visit, sir?” + </p> +<p> +Cashel endeavored to correct the misconception, but to no purpose; the +feeble intelligence could not relinquish its grasp so easily, and he went +on in a low muttering tone,— +</p> +<p> +“Lady Kilgoff is the only peeress here, sir, remember that; you should +speak to her about it, Mr. Cashel.” + </p> +<p> +“I hope we are soon to have the pleasure of seeing Lady Kilgoff, my Lord,” + whispered Cashel, half to concur with, half to turn the course of +conversation. +</p> +<p> +“She will be here presently,” said he, somewhat stiffly, as if some +unpleasant recollection was passing through his mind; and Cashel turned +away to speak with the others, who eagerly awaited to resume the +interrupted conversation. +</p> +<p> +“Your plan, Mr. Cashel; we are dying to hear it,” cried one. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, by all means; how are we to elect the queen?” said another. +</p> +<p> +“What say you to a lottery,” said he, “or something equally the upshot of +chance? For instance, let the first lady who enters the room be queen.” + </p> +<p> +“Very good indeed,” said Lady Janet, aloud; then added, in a whisper, “I +see that old Mrs. Malone with her husband toddling up the avenue this +instant.” + </p> +<p> +“Olivia, my love,” whispered Mrs. Kennyfeck to her daughter, “fetch me my +work here, and don't be a moment away, child. He's so amusing!” And the +young lady glided unseen from the room at her mamma's bidding. After a +short but animated conversation, it was decided that this mode of choice +should be adopted; and now all stood in anxious expectancy to see who +first should enter. At last footsteps were heard approaching, and the +interest rose higher. +</p> +<p> +“Leddy Janet was right,” said Sir Andrew, with a grin; “ye 'll hae Mrs. +Malone for your sovereign,—I ken her step weel.” + </p> +<p> +“By Jove!” cried Upton, “I 'll dispute the succession; that would never +do.” + </p> +<p> +“That's-a lighter tread and a faster,” said Cashel, listening. +</p> +<p> +“There are two coming,” cried Mrs. White; “I hear voices: how are we then +to decide?” + </p> +<p> +There was no time to canvass this knotty point, when a hand was heard upon +the door-handle; it turned, and just as the door moved, a sound of feet +upon the terrace without,—running at full speed,—turned every +eye in that direction, and the same instant Miss Meek sprang into the room +through the window, while Lord Charles and Linton hurried after her, at +the same moment that Lady Kilgoff, followed by Olivia Kennyfeck, entered +by the door. +</p> +<p> +Miss Meek's appearance might have astonished the company, had even her <i>entrée</i> +been more ceremonious; for she was without hat, her hair falling in long, +dishevelled masses about her shoulders, and her riding-habit, torn and +ragged, was carried over one arm, with a freedom much more in accordance +with speed than grace. +</p> +<p> +“Beat by two lengths, Charley,” cried she, in a joyous, merry laugh; “beat +in a canter,—Mr. Linton, nowhere.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, dear me, what is all this, Jemima love?” softly sighed her bland +papa; “you've not been riding, I hope?” + </p> +<p> +“Schooling a bit with Charley, pa, and as we left the nags at the stable, +they challenged me to a race home; I don't think they'll do it again. Do +look how they're blown.” + </p> +<p> +Some of the company laughed good-humoredly at the girlish gayety of the +scene. Others, among whom, it is sad to say, were many of the younger +ladies, made significant signs of being shocked by the indecorum, and +gathered in groups to canvass the papa's indifference and the daughter's +indelicacy. Meanwhile Cashel had been completely occupied with Lady +Kilgoff, making the usual inquiries regarding fatigue and rest, but in a +manner that bespoke all his interest in a favored guest. +</p> +<p> +“Are you aware to what high destiny the Fates have called you?” said he, +laughing. “Some attain fortune by being first to seek her,—<i>you</i>, +on the contrary, win by dallying. We had decided, a few moments before you +came in, that the first lady who entered should be the Queen of our party,—this +lot is yours.” + </p> +<p> +“I beg to correct you, Mr. Cashel,” cried Lady Janet, smartly; “Miss Meek +entered before her Ladyship.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, yes!” “Certainly!” “Without a doubt!” resounded from the whole +company, who were not sorry to confer their suffrages on the madcap girl +rather than the fashionable beauty. +</p> +<p> +“How distressing!” sighed Mr. Meek. “Oh, dear! I hope this is not so,—nay, +I 'm sure, Jemima, it cannot be the case.” + </p> +<p> +“You're thinking of George Colman, Meek,—I see you are,” cried +Linton. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/20026.jpg" alt="026 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +“No, indeed; no, upon my honor. What was it about Colman?” + </p> +<p> +“The story is everybody's story. The Prince insisted once that George was +his senior, and George only corrected himself of his mistake by saying +that 'he could not possibly have had the rudeness to enter the world +before his Royal Highness.'” + </p> +<p> +“Ah! yes—very true—so it was,” sighed Meek, who-affected not +to perceive the covert sneer at his assumed courtesy. +</p> +<p> +While, therefore, the party gathered around Cashel, with eager assurance +of Miss Meek's precedence, Lady Kilgoff, rising, crossed the room to where +that young lady was standing, and gracefully arranging her loose-flowing +ringlets into a knot at the back of the head, fastened them by a splendid +comb which she took from her own, and whose top was fashioned into a +handsome coronet of gold, saying, “The question of legitimacy is solved +forever: the Pretender yields her crown to the true Sovereign.” + </p> +<p> +The gracefulness and tact of this sudden movement called forth the warmest +acknowledgments of all save Lady Janet, who whispered to Miss Kenny feck, +“It is pretty clear, I fancy, who is to pay for the crown jewels!” + </p> +<p> +“Am I really the Queen?” cried the young girl, half wild with delight. +</p> +<p> +“Most assuredly, madam,” said Linton, kissing her hand in deep reverence. +“I beg to be first to tender my homage.” + </p> +<p> +“That 's so like him!” cried she, laughing; “but you shall be no officer +of mine. Where 's Charley? I want to make him Master of the Buckhounds, if +there be buckhounds.” + </p> +<p> +“Will you not appoint your ladies first, madam?” said Lady Janet; “or, are +your preferences for the other sex to leave us quite forgotten?” + </p> +<p> +“Be all of you everything you please,” rejoined the childish, merry voice, +“with Charley Frobisher for Master of the Horse.” + </p> +<p> +“Linton for Master of the Revels,” said some one. +</p> +<p> +“Agreed,” said she. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Cashel had better be First Lord of the Treasury, I suspect,” said +Lady Janet, snappishly, “if the Administration is to last.” + </p> +<p> +“And if ye a'ways wear drapery o' this fashion,” said Sir Andrew, taking +up the torn fragment of her riding-habit as he spoke, “I maun say that the +Mistress of the Robes will na be a sinecure.” + </p> +<p> +“Will any one tell me what are my powers?” said she, sitting down with an +air of mock dignity. +</p> +<p> +“Will any one dare to say what they are not?” responded Cashel. +</p> +<p> +“Have I unlimited command in everything?” + </p> +<p> +“In everything, madam; I and all mine are at your orders.” + </p> +<p> +“That's what the farce will end in,” whispered Lady Janet to Mrs. +Kennyfeck. +</p> +<p> +“Well, then, to begin. The court will dine with us today—to-morrow +we will hunt in our royal forest; our private band—Have we a private +band, Mr. Linton?” + </p> +<p> +“Certainly, your Majesty,—so private as to be almost +undiscoverable.” + </p> +<p> +“Then our private band will perform in the evening; perhaps, too, we shall +dance. Remember, my Lords and Ladies, we are a young sovereign who loves +pleasure, and that a sad face or a mournful one is treason to our person. +Come forward now, and let us name our household.” + </p> +<p> +While the group gathered around the wild and high-spirited girl, in whose +merry mood even the least-disposed were drawn to participate, Linton +approached Lady Kilgoff, who had seated herself near a window, and was +affecting to arrange a frame of embroidery, on which she rarely bestowed a +moment's labor. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER II. LADY KILGOFF AT BAY +</h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I'll make her brew the beverage herself, +With her own fingers stir the cap, +And know't is poison as she drinks it. + +Harold. +</pre> +<p> +Had Linton been about to renew an acquaintance with one he had scarcely +known before, and who might possibly have ceased to remember him, his +manner could not have been more studiously diffident and respectful. +</p> +<p> +“I rejoice to see your Ladyship here,” said he, in a low, deliberate +voice, “where, on the last time we spoke together, you seemed uncertain of +coming.” + </p> +<p> +“Very true, Mr. Linton,” said she, not looking up from her work; “my Lord +had not fully made up his mind.” + </p> +<p> +“Say, rather, your Ladyship had changed yours,” said he, with a cold +smile,—“a privilege you are not wont to deny yourself.” + </p> +<p> +“I might have exercised it oftener in life with advantage,” replied she, +still holding her head bent over the embroidery frame. +</p> +<p> +“Don't you think that your Ladyship and I are old friends enough to speak +without innuendo?” + </p> +<p> +“If we speak at all,” said she, with a low but calm accent. +</p> +<p> +“True, that is to be thought of,” rejoined he, with an unmoved quietude of +voice. “Being in a manner prepared for a change in your Ladyship's +sentiments towards me—” + </p> +<p> +“Sir!” said she, interrupting, and as suddenly raising her face, which was +now covered with a deep blush. +</p> +<p> +“I trust I have said nothing to provoke reproof,” said Linton, coldly. +“Your Ladyship is well aware if my words be not true. I repeat it, then,—your +sentiments <i>are</i> changed towards me, or—the alteration is not +of <i>my</i> choosing—I was deceived in the expression of them when +last we met.” + </p> +<p> +“It may suit your purpose, sir, but it can scarcely conform to the +generosity of a gentleman, to taunt me with acceding to your request for a +meeting. If any other weakness can be alleged against me, pray let me hear +it.” + </p> +<p> +“When we last met,” said Linton, in a voice of lower and deeper meaning +than before, “we did so that I might speak, and <i>you</i> hear, the +avowal of a passion which for years has filled my heart—against +which I have struggled and fought in vain—to stifle which I have +plunged into dissipations that I detested, and followed ambitions I +despised—to obliterate all memory of which I would stoop to crime +itself, rather than suffer on in the hopeless misery I must do.” + </p> +<p> +“I will hear no more of this,” said she, pushing back the work-table, and +preparing to rise. +</p> +<p> +“You must and you shall hear me, madam,” said he, replacing the table and +affecting to arrange it for her. “I conclude you do not wish this amiable +company to arbitrate between us.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, sir! is it thus you threaten me?” + </p> +<p> +“You should say compromise, madam. There can be no threat where a common +ruin impends on all concerned.” + </p> +<p> +“To what end all this, Mr. Linton?” said she. “You surely cannot expect +from me any return to a feeling which, if it once existed, you yourself +were the means of uprooting forever. Even <i>you</i> could scarcely be +ungenerous enough to persecute one for whose misery you have done already +too much.” + </p> +<p> +“Will you accept my arm for half an hour?” cried he, interrupting. “I +pledge myself it shall be the last time I either make such a request, or +even allude to this topic between us. On the pretence of showing you the +house, I may be able—if not to justify myself—nay, I see how +little you care for that—well, at least to assure you that I have no +other wish, no other hope, than to see you happy.” + </p> +<p> +“I cannot trust you,” said she, in a tone of agitation; “already we are +remarked.” + </p> +<p> +“So I perceive,” said he, in an undertone; then added, in a voice audible +enough to be heard by the rest, “I am too vain of my architectural merits +to leave their discovery to chance; and as you are good enough to say you +would like to see the house, pray will your Ladyship accept my arm while I +perform the cicerone on myself?” + </p> +<p> +The <i>coup</i> succeeded, and, to avoid the difficulty and embarrassment +a refusal would have created, Lady Kilgoff arose, and prepared to +accompany him. +</p> +<p> +“Eh, what—what is't, my Lady?” said Lord Kilgoff, suddenly awaking +from a kind of lethargic slumber, as she whispered some words in his ear. +</p> +<p> +“Her Ladyship is telling you not to be jealous, my Lord, while she is +making the tour of the house with Mr. Linton,” said Lady Janet, with a +malicious sparkle of her green eyes. +</p> +<p> +“Why not make it a royal progress?” said Sir Harvey. “Her Majesty the +Queen might like it well.” + </p> +<p> +“Her Majesty likes everything that promises amusement,” said the wild +romp; “come, Charley, give us your arm. +</p> +<p> +“No, I 've got a letter or two to write,” said he, rudely; “there 's Upton +or Jennings quite ready for any foolery.” + </p> +<p> +“This is too bad!” cried she; and through all the pantomime of mock +royalty, a real tear rose to her eyes, and rolled heavily down her cheek; +then, with a sudden change of humor, she said, “Mr. Cashel, will <i>you</i> +take me?” + </p> +<p> +The request was too late, for already he had given his arm to Lady Janet,—an +act of devotion he was performing with the expression of a saint under +martyrdom. +</p> +<p> +“Sir Harvey,—there's no help for it,—we are reduced to <i>you</i>.” + </p> +<p> +But Sir Harvey was leaving the room with Olivia Kenny-feck. In fact, +couples paired off in every direction; the only disengaged cavalier being +Sir Andrew MacFarline, who, with a sardonic grin on his features, came +hobbling forward, as he said,— +</p> +<p> +“Te maunna tak sich long strides, Missy, if ye ga wf me, for I've got a +couple o' ounces of Langredge shot in my left knee—forbye the gout +in both ankles.” + </p> +<p> +“I say, Jim,” called out Lord Charles, as she moved away, “if you like to +ride Princepino this afternoon, he's-ready for you.” + </p> +<p> +“Are <i>you</i> going?” said she, turning her head. +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” + </p> +<p> +“Then <i>I'll</i> not go.” And so saying, she left the room. +</p> +<p> +When Linton, accompanied by Lady Kilgoff, issued from the drawing-room, +instead of proceeding through the billiard-room towards the suite which +formed the “show” part of the mansion, he turned abruptly to his left, +and, passing through a narrow corridor, came out upon a terrace, at the +end of which stood a large conservatory, opening into the garden. +</p> +<p> +“I ask pardon,” said he, “if I reverse the order of our geography, and +show you the frontiers of the realm before we visit the capital; but +otherwise we shall only be the advance-guard of that interesting company +who have nothing more at heart than to overhear us.” + </p> +<p> +Lady Kilgoff walked along without speaking, at his side, having +relinquished the support of his arm with a stiff, frigid courtesy. Had any +one been there to mark the two-figures, as side by side they went, each +deep in thought, and not even venturing a glance at the other, he might +well have wondered what strange link could connect them. It was thus they +entered the conservatory, where two rows of orange-trees formed a lane of +foliage almost impenetrable to the eye. +</p> +<p> +“As this may be the last time we shall ever speak together in secret—” + </p> +<p> +“You have promised as much, sir,” said she, interrupting; and the very +rapidity of her utterance betrayed the eagerness of her wish. +</p> +<p> +“Be it so, madam,” replied he, coldly, and with a tone of sternness very +different from that he had used at first. “I have ever preferred your +wishes to my own. I shall never prove false to that allegiance. As we are +now about to speak on terms which never can be resumed, let us at least be +frank. Let us use candor with each other. Even unpleasing truth is better +at such a moment than smooth-tongued insincerity.” + </p> +<p> +“This preamble does not promise well,” said Lady Kilgoff, with a cold +smile. +</p> +<p> +“Not, perhaps, for the agreeability of our interview, but it may save us +both much time and much temper. I have said that you are changed towards +me.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, sir! if I had suspected that this was to be the theme—” She +stopped, and seemed uncertain, when he finished the speech for her. +</p> +<p> +“You would never have accorded me this meeting. Do be frank, madam, and +spare me the pain of self-inflicted severity. Well, I will not impose upon +your kindness,—nor indeed was such my intention, if you had but +heard me out. Yes, madam, I should have told you that while I deplore that +alteration, I no more make you chargeable with it, than <i>you</i> can +call <i>me</i> to account for cherishing a passion without a hope. Both +one and the other are independent of us. That one should forget and the +other remember is beyond mere volition.” + </p> +<p> +He waited for some token of assent, some slight evidence of concurrence; +but none came, and he resumed: +</p> +<p> +“When first I had the happiness of being distinguished by some slight show +of your preference, there were many others who sought with eagerness for +that position I was supposed to occupy in your favor. It was the first +access of vanity in my heart, and it cost me dearly. Some envied me; some +scoffed; some predicted that my triumph would be a brief one; some were +rude enough to say that I was only placed like a buoy, to show the +passage, and that I should lie fast at anchor while others sailed on with +prosperous gale and favoring fortune. You, madam, best know which of these +were right. I see that I weary you. I can conceive how distasteful all +these memories must be, nor should I evoke them without absolute +necessity. To be brief, then, you are now about to play over with another +the very game by which you once deceived me. It is your caprice to +sacrifice another to your vanity; but know, madam, the liberties which the +world smiled at in Miss Gardiner will be keenly criticised in the Lady +Kilgoff. In the former case, the most malevolent could but hint at a <i>mésalliance</i>; +in the latter, evil tongues can take a wider latitude. To be sure, the +fascinating qualities of the suitor, his wealth, his enviable position, +will plead with some; my Lord's age and decrepitude will weigh with +others: but even these charitable persons will not spare <i>you</i>. Your +own sex are seldom over-merciful in their judgments. Men are unscrupulous +enough to hint that there was no secret in the matter; some will go +further, and affect to say that they themselves were not unfavorably +looked on.” + </p> +<p> +“Will you give me a chair, sir?” said she, in a voice which, though barely +above a whisper, vibrated with intense passion. Linton hastened to fetch a +seat, his whole features glowing with the elation of his vengeance. This +passed rapidly away, and as he placed the chair for her to sit down, his +face had resumed its former cold, almost melancholy expression. +</p> +<p> +“I hope you are not ill?” said he, with an air of feeling. +</p> +<p> +A glance of the most ineffable scorn was her only reply. +</p> +<p> +“It is with sincere sorrow that I inflict this pain upon you,—indeed, +when I heard of that unhappy yacht excursion, my mind was made up to see +Lord Kilgoff the very moment of his arrival, and, on any pretence, to +induce him to leave this. This hope, however, was taken from me, when I +beheld the sad state into which he had fallen, leaving me no other +alternative than to address yourself. I will not hurt your ears by +repeating the inventions, each full of falsehood, that heralded your +arrival here. The insulting discussions how you should be met—whether +your conduct had already precluded your acceptance amongst the circle of +your equals—or, that you were only a subject of avoidance to mothers +of marriageable daughters, and maiden ladies of excessive virtue. You have +mixed in the world, and therefore can well imagine every ingenious turn of +this peculiar eloquence. How was I—I who have known—I who—nay, +madam, not a word shall pass my lips in reference to that theme—I +would only ask, Could I hear these things, could I see your foot nearing +the cliff, and not cry out, Stop?—Another step, and you are lost! +There are women who can play this dangerous game with cool heads and +cooler hearts: schooled in all the frigid indifference that would seem the +birthright of a certain class, the secrets of their affections die with +them; but you are not one of these. Born in what they would call an +humbler, but I should call a far higher sphere, where the feelings are +fresher and the emotions purer, <i>you</i> might chance to—fall in +love!” + </p> +<p> +A faint smile, so faint that it conveyed no expression to her eyes, was +Lady Kilgoff's acknowledgment of these last words. +</p> +<p> +“Have you finished, sir?” said she, as, after a pause of some seconds, he +stood still. +</p> +<p> +“Not yet, madam,” replied he, dryly. +</p> +<p> +“In that case, sir, would it not be as well to tell the man who is +lingering yonder to leave this? except, perhaps, it may be your desire to +have a witness to your words.” + </p> +<p> +Linton started, and grew deadly pale; for he now perceived that the man +must have been in the conservatory during the entire interview. Hastening +round to where he stood, his fears were at once dispelled; for it was the +Italian sailor, Giovanni, who, in the multiplicity of his accomplishments, +was now assisting the gardener among the plants. +</p> +<p> +“It is of no consequence, madam,” said he, returning; “the man is an +Italian, who understands nothing of English.” + </p> +<p> +“<i>You</i> are always fortunate, Mr. Linton,” said she, with a deep +emphasis on the pronoun. +</p> +<p> +“I have ceased to boast of my good luck for many a day.” + </p> +<p> +“Having, doubtless, so many other qualities to be proud of,” said she, +with a malicious sparkle of her dark eyes. +</p> +<p> +“The question is now, madam, of one far more interesting than me.” + </p> +<p> +“Can that be possible, sir? Is any one's welfare of such moment to his +friends—to the world at large—as the high-minded, the +honorable, the open-hearted Mr. Linton, who condescends, for the sake of a +warning to his young friends, to turn gambler and ruin them; while he has +the daring courage to single out a poor unprotected woman, without one who +could rightly defend her, and, under the miserable mask of interest, to +insult her?” + </p> +<p> +“Is it thus you read my conduct, madam?” said he, with an air at once sad +and reproachful. +</p> +<p> +“Not altogether, Mr. Linton. Besides the ineffable pleasure of giving +pain, I perceive that you are acquitting a debt,—the debt of hate +you owe me; because—But I cannot descend to occupy the same level +with you in this business. My reply to you is a very short one. Your +insult to me must go unpunished; for, as you well know, I have not one to +resent it. You have, however, introduced another name in this discussion; +to that gentleman I will reveal all that you have said this day. The +consequences may be what they will, I care not; I never provoked them. You +best know, sir, how the reckoning will fare with you.” + </p> +<p> +Linton grew pale, almost lividly so, while he bit his lip till the very +blood came; then, suddenly recovering himself, he said: “I am not aware of +having mentioned a name. I think your Ladyship must have been mistaken; +but”—and here he laughed slightly—“you will scarce succeed in +sowing discord between me and my old friend, Lord Charles Frobisher.” + </p> +<p> +“Lord Charles Frobisher!” echoed she, almost stunned with the effrontery. +</p> +<p> +“You seem surprised, madam. I trust your Ladyship meant no other.” The +insolence of his manner, as he said this, left her unable for some minutes +to reply, and when she did speak, it was with evident effort. +</p> +<p> +“I trust now, sir, that we have spoken for the last time together. I own—and +it is, indeed, humiliation enough to own it—your words have deeply +insulted me. I cannot deny you the satisfaction of knowing this; and yet, +with all these things before me, I do not hate—I only despise you.” + </p> +<p> +So saying, she moved towards the door; but Linton stepped forward, and +said: “One instant, madam. You seem to forget that we are pledged to walk +through the rooms; our amiable friends are doubtless looking for us.” + </p> +<p> +“I will ask Mr. Cashel to be my chaperon another time,” said she, +carelessly, and, drawing her shawl around her, passed out, leaving Linton +alone in the conservatory. +</p> +<p> +“Ay, by St Paul! the work goes bravely on,” cried he, as soon as she had +disappeared. “If she ruin not him and herself to boot, now, I am sore +mistaken. The game is full of interest, and, if I had not so much in hand, +would delight me.” + </p> +<p> +With this brief soliloquy, he turned to where the Italian was standing, +pruning an orange-tree. +</p> +<p> +“Have you learned any English yet, Giovanni?” + </p> +<p> +A slight but significant gesture of one finger gave the negative. +</p> +<p> +“No matter, your own soft vowels are in more request here. The dress I +told you of is now come,—my servant will give it to you; so, be +ready with your guitar, if the ladies wish for it, this evening.” + </p> +<p> +Giovanni bowed respectfully, and went on with his work, and soon after +Linton strolled into the garden to muse over the late scene. +</p> +<p> +Had any one been there to mark the signs of triumphant elation on his +features, they would have seen the man in all the sincerity of his bold, +bad heart. His success was perfect. Knowing well the proud nature of the +young, high-spirited woman, thoroughly acquainted with her impatient +temper and haughty character, he rightly foresaw that to tell her she had +become the subject of a calumny was to rouse her pride to confront it +openly. To whisper that the world would not admit of this or that, was to +make her brave that world, or sink under the effort. +</p> +<p> +To sting her to such resistance was his wily game, and who knew better how +to play it? The insinuated sneers at the class to which she had once +belonged, as one not “patented” to assume the vices of their betters, was +a deep and most telling hit; and he saw, when they separated, that her +mind was made up, at any cost and every risk, to live down the slander by +utter contempt of it Linton asked for no more. “Let her,” said he to +himself, “but enter the lists with the world for an adversary! I 'll give +her all the benefits of the best motives,—as much purity of heart, +and so forth, as she cares for; but, 'I 'll name the winner,' after all.” + </p> +<p> +Too true. The worthy people who fancy that an innate honesty of purpose +can compensate for all the breaches of conventional use, are like the +volunteers of an army who refuse to wear its uniform, and are as often +picked down by their allies as by their enemies. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER III. A PARTIAL RECOVERY AND A RELAPSE +</h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Such a concourse ne'er was seen +Of coaches, noddies, cars, and jingles, +“Chars-a-bancs,” to hold sixteen, +And “sulkies,” meant to carry singles. + +The Pic-nic: A Lay. +</pre> +<p> +It is an old remark that nothing is so stupid as love-letters; and, pretty +much in the same spirit, we may affirm that there are few duller topics +than festivities. The scenes in which the actor is most interested are, +out of compensation, perhaps, those least worthy to record; the very +inability of description to render them is disheartening too. One must +eternally resort to the effects produced, as evidences of the cause, just +as, when we would characterize a climate, we find ourselves obliged to +fall back upon the vegetable productions, the fruits and flowers of the +seasons, to convey even anything of what we desire. So is it Pleasure has +its own atmosphere,—we may breathe, but hardly chronicle it. +</p> +<p> +These prosings of ours have reference to the gayeties of Tubbermore, which +certainly were all that a merry party and an unbounded expenditure could +compass. The style of living was princely in its splendor; luxuries +fetched from every land,—the rarest wines of every country, the most +exquisite flowers,—all that taste can suggest, and gold can buy, +were there; and while the order of each day was maintained with +undiminished splendor, every little fancy of the guests was studied with a +watchful politeness that marks the highest delicacy of hospitality. +</p> +<p> +If a bachelor's house be wanting in the gracefulness which is the charm of +a family reception, there is a freedom, a degree of liberty in all the +movements of the guests, which some would accept as a fair compromise; +for, while the men assume a full equality With their host, the ladies are +supreme in all such establishments. Roland Cashel was, indeed, not the man +to dislike this kind of democracy; it spared him trouble; it inflicted no +tiresome routine of attentions; he was free as the others to follow the +bent of his humor, and he asked for no more. +</p> +<p> +It was without one particle of vulgar pride of wealth that he delighted in +the pleasure he saw around him; it was the mere buoyancy of a +high-spirited nature. The cost no more entered into his calculations in a +personal than a pecuniary sense. A consciousness that he was the source of +all that splendid festivity,—that his will was the motive-power of +all that complex machinery of pleasure,—increased, but did not +constitute, his enjoyment. To see his guests happy, in the various modes +they preferred, was his great delight, and, for once, he felt inclined to +think that wealth had great privileges. +</p> +<p> +The display of all which gratified him most was that which usually took +place each day after luncheon; when the great space before the house was +thronged with equipages of various kinds and degrees, with saddle-horses +and mounted grooms, and amid all the bustle of discussing where to, and +with whom, the party issued forth to spend the hours before dinner. +</p> +<p> +A looker-on would have been amused to watch all the little devices in +request, to join this party, to avoid that, to secure a seat in a certain +carriage, or to escape from some other; Linton's chief amusement being to +thwart as many of these plans as he could, and while he packed a sleepy +Chief Justice into the same barouche with the gay Kennyfeck girls, to +commit Lady Janet to the care of some dashing dragoon, who did not dare +decline the wife of a “Commander of the Forces.” + </p> +<p> +Cashel always joined the party on horseback, so long as Lady Kilgoff kept +the house, which she did for the first week of her stay; but when she +announced her intention of driving out, he offered his services to +accompany her. By the merest accident it chanced that the very day she +fixed on for her first excursion was that on which Cashel had determined +to try a new and most splendid equipage which had just arrived; it was a +phaeton, built in all the costly splendor of the “Regency of the Duke of +Orleans,”—one of those gorgeous toys which even a voluptuous age +gazed at with wonder. Two jet-black Arabians, of perfect symmetry, drew +it, the whole forming a most beautiful equipage. +</p> +<p> +Exclamations of astonishment and admiration broke from the whole party as +the carriage drove up to the door, where all were now standing. +</p> +<p> +“Whose can it be? Where did it come from? What a magnificent phaeton! Mr. +Cashel, pray tell us all about it. Do, Mr. Linton, give us its history.” + </p> +<p> +“It has none as yet, my dear Mrs. White; that it may have, one of these +days, is quite possible.” + </p> +<p> +Lady Janet heard the speech, and nodded significantly in assent. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Linton, you are coming with us, a'n't you?” said a lady's voice from +a britzska close by. +</p> +<p> +“I really don't know how the arrangement is; Cashel said something about +my driving Lady Kilgoff.” + </p> +<p> +Lady Kilgoff pressed her lips close, and gathered her mantle together as +if by some sudden impulse of temper, but never spoke a word. At the same +instant Cashel made his appearance from the house. +</p> +<p> +“Are you to drive me, Mr. Cashel?” said she, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“If you will honor me so far,” replied he, bowing. +</p> +<p> +“I fancied you said something to me about being her Ladyship's +charioteer,” said Linton. +</p> +<p> +“You must have been dreaming, man,” cried Cashel, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“Will you allow my Lady to choose?” rejoined Linton, jokingly, while he +stole at her a look of insolent malice. +</p> +<p> +Cashel stood uncertain what to say or do in the emergency, when, with a +firm and determined voice, Lady Kilgoff said,— +</p> +<p> +“I must own I have no confidence in Mr. Linton's guidance.” + </p> +<p> +“There, Tom,” said Cashel, gayly, “I 'm glad your vanity came in for +that.” + </p> +<p> +“I have only to hope that you are in safer conduct, my Lady,” said Linton; +and he bowed with uncovered head, and then stood gazing after the swift +carriage as it hastened down the avenue. +</p> +<p> +“Is it all true about these Kennyfeck girls having so much tin'?” said +Captain Jennings, as he stroked down his moustache complacently. +</p> +<p> +“They say five-and-twenty thousand each,” said Linton, “and I rather +credit the rumor.” + </p> +<p> +“Eh, aw! one might do worse,” yawned the hussar, languidly; “I wish they +hadn't that confounded accent!” And so he moved off to join the party on +horseback. +</p> +<p> +“You are coming with me, Jemima,” said Mr. Downie Meek to his daughter. “I +want to pay a visit to those works at Killaloe, we have so much committee +talk in the House on inland navigation. Oh, dear! it is very tiresome.” + </p> +<p> +“Charley says I 'm to go with him, pa; he 's about to try Smasher as a +leader, and wants me, if anything goes wrong.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, dear! quite impossible.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, yes, Jim, I insist,” said Frobisher, in a half-whisper; “never mind +the governor.” + </p> +<p> +“Here comes the drag, pa. Oh, how beautiful it looks! There they go, all +together; and Smasher, how neatly he carries himself! I say, Charley, he +has no fancy for that splinter-bar so near him,—it touches his near +hock every instant; would n't it be better to let his trace a hole +looser?” + </p> +<p> +“So it would,” said Frobisher; “but get up and hold the ribbons till I +have got my gloves on. I say, Linton, keep Downie in chat one moment, +until we 're off.” + </p> +<p> +This kindly office was, however, anticipated by Lady Janet MacFarline, +who, in her brief transit from the door to the carriage, always contrived +to drop each of the twenty things she loaded herself with at starting, and +thus to press into the service as many of the bystanders as possible, who +followed, one with a muff, another with a smelling-bottle, a third with a +book, a fourth with her knitting, and so on; while Flint brought up the +rear with more air-cushions and hot-water apparatus than ever were seen +before for the accommodation of two persons. In fact, if the atmosphere of +our dear island, instead of being the mere innocent thing of fog it is, +had been surcharged with all the pestilential vapors of the mistral and +the typhoon together, she could not have armed herself with stronger +precautions against it; while even Sir Andrew, with the constitution of a +Russian bear, was compelled to wear blue spectacles in sunshine, and a +respirator when it lowered,—leaving him, as he said, to the +“domnable alternative o' being blind or dumb.” + </p> +<p> +“I maun say,” muttered he, behind his barrier of mouth plate, “that +Mesther Cashel has his ain notions aboot amusin' his company when he +leaves ane o' his guests to drive aboot wi' his ain wife. Ech, sir, it is +a pleasure I need na hae come so far to enjoy.” + </p> +<p> +“Where's Sir Harvey Upton, Sir Andrew?” said my Lady, tartly; “he has +never been near me to-day. I hope he 's not making a fool of himself with +those Kennyfeck minxes.” + </p> +<p> +“I dinna ken, and I dinna care,” growled Sir Andrew; and then to himself, +he added, “An' if he be, it's aye better fooling wi' young lassies than +doited auld women!” + </p> +<p> +“A place for you, Mr. Linton!” said Mrs. White, as she seated herself in a +low drosky, where her companion, Mr. Howie, sat, surrounded with all the +details for a sketching-excursion. +</p> +<p> +“Thanks, but I have nothing so agreeable in prospect.” + </p> +<p> +“Why, what are you about to do?” + </p> +<p> +“Alas! I must set out on a canvassing expedition, to court the sweet +voices of my interesting constituency. You know that I am a candidate for +the borough.” + </p> +<p> +“That must be very disagreeable.” + </p> +<p> +“It is, but I could not get off; Cashel is incurably lazy, and <i>I</i> +never know how to say 'no.'” + </p> +<p> +“Well, good-bye, and all fortune to you,” said she; and they drove away. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Kennyfeck and the Chief Justice, mounted on what are called +sure-footed ponies, and a few others, still lingered about the door, but +Linton took no notice of them, but at once re-entered the house. +</p> +<p> +For some time previous he had remarked that Lord Kilgoff seemed, as it +were, struggling to emerge from the mist that had shrouded his faculties; +his perceptions each day grew quicker and clearer, and even when silent, +Linton observed that a shrewd expression of the eye would betoken a degree +of apprehension few would have given him credit for. With the keenness of +a close observer, too, Linton perceived that he more than once made use of +his favorite expression, “It appears to me,” and slight as the remark +might seem, there is no more certain evidence of the return to thought and +reason than the resumption of any habitual mode of expression. +</p> +<p> +Resolved to profit by this gleam of coming intelligence, by showing the +old peer an attention he knew would be acceptable, Linton sent up a +message to ask “If his Lordship would like a visit from him?” A most +cordial acceptance was returned; and, a few moments after, Linton entered +the room where he sat, with all that delicate caution so becoming a sick +chamber. +</p> +<p> +Motioning his visitor to sit down, by a slight gesture of the finger, +while he made a faint effort to smile, in return for the other's +salutation, the old man sat, propped up by pillows, and enveloped in +shawls, pale, sad, and careworn. +</p> +<p> +“I was hesitating for two entire days, my Lord,” said Linton, lowering his +voice to suit the character of the occasion, “whether I might propose to +come and sit an hour with you, and I have only to beg that you will not +permit me to trespass a moment longer than you feel disposed to endure +me.” + </p> +<p> +“Very kind of you—most considerate, sir,” said the old peer, bowing +with an air of haughty courtesy. +</p> +<p> +“You seem to gain strength every day, my Lord,” resumed Linton, who well +knew there was nothing like a personal topic to awaken a sick man's +interest. +</p> +<p> +“There is something here,” said the old man, slowly, as he placed the tip +of his finger on the centre of his forehead. +</p> +<p> +“Mere debility, nervous debility, my Lord. You are paying the heavy debt +an overworked intellect must always acquit; but rest and repose will soon +restore you.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir,” muttered the other, with a weak smile, as though, without +fathoming the sentiment, he felt that something agreeable to his feelings +had been spoken. +</p> +<p> +“I have been impatient for your recovery, my Lord, I will confess to you, +on personal grounds; I feel now how much I have been indebted to your +Lordship's counsel and advice all through life, by the very incertitude +that tracks me. In fact, I can resolve on nothing, determine nothing, +without your sanction.” + </p> +<p> +The old man nodded assentingly; the assurance had his most sincere +conviction. +</p> +<p> +“It would seem, my Lord, that I must—whether I will or no—stand +for this borough, here; there is no alternative, for you are aware that +Cashel is quite unfit for public business. Each day he exhibits more and +more of those qualities which bespeak far more goodness of heart than +intellectual training or culture. His waywardness and eccentricity might +seriously damage his own party,—could he even be taught that he had +one,—and become terrible weapons in the hands of the enemy. I was +speaking of Cashel, my Lord,” said Linton, as it were answering the look +of inquiry in the old man's face. +</p> +<p> +“I hate him, sir,” said the old peer, with a bitterness of voice and look +that well suited the words. +</p> +<p> +“I really cannot wonder at it,” said Linton, with a deep sigh; “such +duplicity is too shocking—far too shocking—to contemplate.” + </p> +<p> +“Eh! what? What did you say, sir?” cried the old man, impatiently. +</p> +<p> +“I was remarking, my Lord, that I have no confidence in his sincerity; +that he strikes me as capable of playing a double part.” + </p> +<p> +A look of disappointment succeeded to the excited expression of the old +man's face; he had evidently expected some revelation, and now his +features became clouded and gloomy. +</p> +<p> +“We may be unjust, my Lord,” said Linton; “it may be a prejudice on our +part: others would seem to have a different estimate of that gentleman. +Meek thinks highly of him.” + </p> +<p> +“Who, sir? I didn't hear you,” asked he, snappishly. +</p> +<p> +“Meek,—Downie Meek, my Lord.” + </p> +<p> +“Pshaw!” said the old man, with a shrewd twinkle of the eye that made +Linton fear the mind behind it was clearer than he suspected. +</p> +<p> +“I know, my Lord,” said he, hastily, “that you always held the worthy +secretary cheap; but you weighed him in a balance too nice for the +majority of people—” + </p> +<p> +“What does that old woman say? Tell me <i>her</i> opinion of Cashel,” said +Lord Kilgoff, rallying into something like his accustomed manner. “You +know whom I mean!” cried he, impatient at Linton's delay in answering. +“The old woman one sees everywhere,—she married that Scotch sergeant—” + </p> +<p> +“Lady Janet MacFarline—” + </p> +<p> +“Exactly, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“She thinks precisely with your Lordship.” + </p> +<p> +“I'm sure of it; I told my Lady so,” muttered he to himself. +</p> +<p> +Linton caught the words with eagerness, and his dark eyes kindled; for at +last were they nearing the territory he wanted to occupy. +</p> +<p> +“Lady Kilgoff,” said he, slowly, “does not need any aid to appreciate him; +she reads him thoroughly, the heartless, selfish, unprincipled spendthrift +that he is.” + </p> +<p> +“She does not, sir,” rejoined the old man, with a loud voice, and a stroke +of his cane upon the floor that echoed through the room; “you never were +more mistaken in your life. His insufferable puppyism, his reckless +effrontery, his underbred familiarity, are precisely the very qualities +she is pleased with,—'They are so different,' as she says, 'from the +tiresome routine of fashionable manners.'” + </p> +<p> +“Unquestionably they are, my Lord,” said Linton, with a smile. +</p> +<p> +“Exactly, sir; they differ as do her Ladyship's own habits from those of +every lady in the peerage. I told her so; I begged to set her right on +that subject, at least.” + </p> +<p> +“Your Lordship's refinement is a most severe standard,” said Linton, +bowing low. +</p> +<p> +“It should be an example, sir, as well as a chastisement. Indeed, I +believe few would have failed to profit by it.” The air of insolent pride +in which he spoke seemed for an instant to have brought back the wonted +look to his features, and he sat up, with his lips compressed, and his +chin pro-traded, as in his days of yore. +</p> +<p> +“I would entreat your Lordship to remember,” said Linton, “how few have +studied in the same school you have; how few have enjoyed the intimacy of +'the most perfect gentleman of all Europe;' and of that small circle, who +is there could have derived the same advantage from the privilege?” + </p> +<p> +“Your remark is very Just, sir. I owe much—very much—to his +Royal Highness.” + </p> +<p> +The tone of humility in which he said this was a high treat to the +sardonic spirit of his listener. +</p> +<p> +“And what a penance to you must be a visit in such a house as this!” said +Linton, with a sigh. +</p> +<p> +“True, sir; but who induced me to make it? Answer me that.” + </p> +<p> +Linton started with amazement, for he was very far from supposing that his +Lordship's memory was clear enough to retain the events of an interview +that occurred some months before. +</p> +<p> +“I never anticipated that it would cost you so dearly, my Lord,” said he, +cautiously, and prepared to give his words any turn events might warrant. +For once, however, the ingenuity was wasted; Lord Kilgoff, wearied and +exhausted by the increased effort of his intellect, had fallen back in his +chair, and, with drooping lips and fallen jaw, sat the very picture of +helpless fatuity. +</p> +<p> +“So, then,” said Linton, as on tiptoe he stole noiselessly away, “if your +memory was inopportune, it was, at least, very short-lived. And now, +adieu, my Lord, till we want you for another act of the drama.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER IV. MORE KENNYFECK INTRIGUING +</h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +We 'll have you at our merry-making, too. + +Honeymoon. +</pre> +<p> +If we should appear, of late, to have forgotten some of those friends with +whom we first made our readers acquainted in this veracious history, we +beg to plead against any charge of caprice or neglect. The cause is simply +this: a story, like a stream, has one main current; and he who would +follow the broad river must eschew being led away by every rivulet which +may separate from the great flood to follow its own vagrant fancy +elsewhere. Now, the Kennyfecks had been meandering after this fashion for +some time back. The elder had commenced a very vigorous flirtation with +the dashing Captain Jennings, while the younger sister was coyly dallying +under the attentions of his brother hussar,—less, be it remembered, +with any direct intention of surrender, than with the faint hope that +Cashel, perceiving the siege, should think fit to rescue the fortress; +“Aunt Fanny” hovering near, as “an army of observation,” and ready, like +the Prussians in the last war, to take part with the victorious side, +whichever that might be. +</p> +<p> +And now, we ask in shame and sorrow, is it not humiliating to think, that +of a party of some thirty or more, met together to enjoy in careless +freedom the hospitality of a country house, all should have been animated +with the same spirit of intrigue,—each bent on his own deep game, +and, in some one guise or other of deceitfulness, each following out some +scheme of selfish advantage? +</p> +<p> +Some may say these things are forced and unnatural; that pleasure +proclaims a truce in the great war of life, where combatants lay down +their weapons, and mix like friends and allies. We fear this is not the +case; our own brief experiences would certainly tend to a different +conclusion. Less a player than a looker-on in the great game, we have +seen, through all the excitements of dissipation, all the fascinating +pleasures of the most brilliant circles, the steady onward pursuit of +self-interest; and, instead of the occasions of social enjoyment being +like the palm-shaded wells in the desert, where men meet to taste the +peacefulness of perfect rest, they are rather the arena where, in all the +glitter of the most splendid armor, the combatants have come to tilt, with +more than life upon the issue. +</p> +<p> +For this, the beauty wreathes herself in all the winning smiles of +loveliness; for this, the courtier puts forth his most captivating address +and his most seductive manner; for this, the wit sharpens the keen edge of +his fancy, and the statesman matures the deep resolve of his judgment. The +diamond coronets that deck the hair and add lustre to the eyes; the +war-won medals that glitter on the coat of some hardy veteran; the proud +insignia of merit that a sovereign's favor grants,—all are worn to +this end! Each brings to the game whatever he may possess of superiority, +for the contest is ever a severe one. +</p> +<p> +And now to go back to our company. From Lady Janet, intent upon everything +which might minister to her own comfort or mortify her neighbor, to the +smooth and soft-voiced Downie Meek,—with the kindest of wishes and +the coldest of hearts,—they were, we grieve to own it, far more +imposing to look at, full dressed at dinner, than to investigate by the +searching anatomy that discloses the vices and foibles of humanity; and it +is, therefore, with less regret we turn from the great house, in all the +pomp of its splendor, to the humble cottage where Mr. Corrigan dwelt with +his granddaughter. +</p> +<p> +In wide contrast to the magnificence and profusion of the costly +household, where each seemed bent on giving way to every caprice that +extravagance could suggest, was the simple quietude of that unpretending +family. The efforts by which Corrigan had overcome his difficulties not +only cost him all the little capital he possessed in the world, but had +also necessitated a mode of living more restricted than he had ever known +before. The little luxuries that his station, as well as his age and long +use, had made necessaries, the refinements that adorn even the very +simplest lives, had all to be, one by one, surrendered. Some of these he +gave up manfully, others cost him deeply; and when the day came that he +had to take leave of his old gray pony, the faithful companion of so many +a lonely ramble, the creature he had reared and petted like a dog, the +struggle was almost too much for him. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/20050.jpg" alt="050 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +He walked along beside the man who led the beast to the gate, telling him +to be sure and seek out some one who would treat her kindly. “Some there +are would do so for my sake; but she deserves it better for her own.—Yes, +Nora, I 'm speaking of you,” said he, caressing her, as she laid her nose +over his arm. “I'm sure I never thought we'd have to part.” + </p> +<p> +“She's good as goold this minit,” said the man; “an' it'll go hard but 'll +get six pounds for her, any way.” + </p> +<p> +“Tell whoever buys her that Mr. Corrigan will give him a crown-piece every +Christmas-day that he sees her looking well and in good heart. To be sure, +it's no great bribe, we're both so old,” said he, smiling; “but my +blessing goes with the man that's a friend to her.” He sat down as he said +this, and held his hand over his face till she was gone. “God forgive me, +if I set my heart too much on such things, but it's like parting with an +old friend. Poor Mary's harp must go next. But here comes Tiernay. Well, +doctor, what news?” + </p> +<p> +The doctor shook his head twice or thrice despondingly, but said nothing; +at last, he muttered, in a grumbling voice,— +</p> +<p> +“I was twice at the Hall, but there's no seeing Cashel himself; an +insolent puppy of a valet turned away contemptuously as I asked for him, +and said,— +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Linton, perhaps, might hear what you have to say.'” + </p> +<p> +“Is Kennyfeck to be found?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, I saw him for a few minutes; but he's like the rest of them. The old +fool fancies he 's a man of fashion here, and told me he had left 'the +attorney' behind, in Merrion Square. He half confessed to me, however, +what I feared. Cashel has either given a promise to give this farm of +yours to Linton—” + </p> +<p> +“Well, the new landlord will not be less kind than the old one.” + </p> +<p> +“You think so,” said Tiernay, sternly. “Is your knowledge of life no +better than this? Have you lived till now without being able to read that +man? Come, come, Corrigan, don't treat this as a prejudice of mine; I have +watched him closely, and he sees it. I tell you again, the fellow is a +villain.” + </p> +<p> +“Ay, ay,” said Corrigan, laughing; “your doctor's craft has made you +always on the look-out for some hidden mischief.” + </p> +<p> +“My doctor's craft has taught me to know that symptoms are never without a +meaning. But enough of him. The question is simply this: we have, then, +merely to propose to Cashel the purchase of your interest in the cottage, +on which you will cede the possession.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; and give up, besides, all claim at law; for you know we are +supported by the highest opinions.” + </p> +<p> +“Pooh! nonsense, man; don't embarrass the case by a pretension they 're +sure to sneer at. The cottage and the little fields behind it are tangible +and palpable; don't weaken your case by a plea you could not press.” + </p> +<p> +“Have your own way, then,” said the old man, mildly. +</p> +<p> +“It is an annuity, you say, you 'd wish?” + </p> +<p> +“On Mary's life, not on mine, doctor.” + </p> +<p> +“It will be a poor thing,” said Tiernay, with a sigh. +</p> +<p> +“They say we could live in some of the towns in Flanders very cheaply,” + said Corrigan, cheerfully. +</p> +<p> +“You don't know how to live cheaply,” rejoined Tiernay, crankily. “You +think, if you don't see a man in black behind your chair, and that you eat +off delf instead of silver, that you are a miracle of simplicity. I saw +you last Sunday put by the decanter with half a glass of sherry at the +bottom of it, and you were as proud of your thrift as if you had reformed +your whole household.” + </p> +<p> +“Everything is not learned in a moment, Tiernay,” said Corrigan, mildly. +</p> +<p> +“You are too old to begin, Con Corrigan,” said the other, gravely. “Such +men as you, who have not been educated to narrow fortunes, never learn +thrift; they can endure great privations well enough, but it is the +little, petty, dropping ones that break down the spirit,—these they +cannot meet.” + </p> +<p> +“A good conscience and a strong will can do a great deal, Tiernay. One +thing is certain,—that we shall escape persecution from <i>him</i>. +<i>He</i> will scarcely discover us in our humble retreat.” + </p> +<p> +“I've thought of that too,” said Tiernay; “it is the greatest advantage +the plan possesses. Now, the next point is, how to see this same Cashel; +from all that I can learn, his life is one of dissipation from morning +till night. Those fashionable sharpers by whom he is surrounded are making +him pay dearly for his admission into the honorable guild.” + </p> +<p> +“The greater the pity,” sighed Corrigan; “he appeared to me deserving of a +different fate. An easy, complying temper—” + </p> +<p> +“The devil a worse fault I 'd with my enemy,” broke in Tiernay, +passionately. “A field without a fence,—a house without a door to +it! And there, if I am not mistaken, I hear his voice; yes, he 's coming +along the path, and some one with him too.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll leave you to talk to him, Tiernay, for you seem in 'the vein.'” And +with these words the old man turned into a by-path, just as Cashel, with +Lady Kilgoff on his arm, advanced up the avenue. +</p> +<p> +Nothing is more remarkable than the unconscious homage tendered to female +beauty and elegance by men whose mould of mind, as well as habit, would +seem to render them insensible to such fascinations, nor is their +instinctive admiration a tribute which beauty ever despises. +</p> +<p> +The change which came over the rough doctor's expression as the party came +nearer exemplified this truth strongly. The look of stern determination +with which he was preparing to meet Cashel changed to one of astonishment, +and, at last, to undisguised admiration, as he surveyed the graceful mien +and brilliant beauty before him. They had left the phaeton at the little +wicket, and the exercise on foot had slightly colored her cheek, and added +animation to her features,—the only aid necessary to make her +loveliness perfect. +</p> +<p> +“I have taken a great liberty with my neighbor, Doctor Tiernay,” said +Cashel, as he came near. “Let me present you, however, first,—Doctor +Tiernay, Lady Kilgoff. I had been telling her Ladyship that the only +picturesque portion of this country lies within this holly enclosure, and +is the property of my friend Mr. Corrigan, who, although he will not visit +me, will not, I 'm sure, deny me the pleasure of showing his tasteful +grounds to my friends.” + </p> +<p> +“My old friend would be but too proud of such a visitor,” said Tiernay, +bowing low to Lady Kilgoff. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Cashel has not confessed all our object, Mr. Tiernay,” said she, +assuming her most gracious manner. “Our visit has in prospect the hope of +making Miss Leicester's acquaintance; as I know you are the intimate +friend of the family, will you kindly say if this be a suitable hour, or, +indeed, if our presence here at all would not be deemed an intrusion?” + </p> +<p> +The doctor colored deeply, and his eye sparkled with pleasure; for strange +enough as it may appear, while sneering at the dissipations of the great +house, he felt a degree of indignant anger at the thought of Mary sitting +alone and neglected, with gayeties around her on every side. +</p> +<p> +“It was a most thoughtful kindness of your Ladyship,” replied he, “for my +friend is too old and too infirm to seek society; and so the poor child +has no other companionship than two old men, only fit to weary each +other.” + </p> +<p> +“You make me hope that our mission will succeed, sir,” said Lady Kilgoff, +still employing her most fascinating look and voice; “we may reckon you as +an ally, I trust.” + </p> +<p> +“I am your Ladyship's most devoted,” said the old man, courteously; “how +can I be of service?” + </p> +<p> +“Our object is to induce Miss Leicester to pass some days with us,” said +she. “We are plotting various amusements that might interest her,—private +theatricals among the rest.” + </p> +<p> +“Here she comes, my Lady,” said Tiernay, with animation; “I am proud to be +the means of introducing her.” + </p> +<p> +Just at this instant Mary Leicester had caught sight of the party, and, +uncertain whether to advance or retire, was standing for a moment +undecided, when Tiernay called out: +</p> +<p> +“Stay a minute, Miss Mary; Lady Kilgoff is anxious to make your +acquaintance.” + </p> +<p> +“This is a very informal mode of opening an intimacy, Miss Leicester,” + said Lady Kilgoff; “pray let it have the merit of sincerity, for I have +long desired to know one of whom I have heard so much.” + </p> +<p> +Mary replied courteously to the speech, and looked pleasedly towards +Cashel, to whom she justly attributed the compliment insinuated. +</p> +<p> +As the two ladies moved on side by side, engaged in conversation, Tiernay +slackened his pace slightly, and, in a voice of low but earnest import, +said,— +</p> +<p> +“Will Mr. Cashel consider it an intrusion if I take this opportunity of +speaking to him on a matter of business?” + </p> +<p> +“Not in the least, doctor,” said Cashel, gayly; “but it's right I should +mention that I am most lamentably ignorant of everything that deserves +that name. My agent has always saved me from the confession, but the truth +will out at last.” + </p> +<p> +“So much the worse, sir,—for others as well as for yourself,” + replied Tiernay, bluntly. “The trust a large fortune imposes—But I +shall forget myself if I touch on such a theme. My business is this, sir,—and, +in mercy to you, I 'll make it very brief. My old friend, Mr. Corrigan, +deems it expedient to leave this country, and, in consequence, to dispose +of the interest he possesses in these grounds, so long embellished by his +taste and culture. He is well aware that much of what he has expended here +has not added substantial value to the property; that, purely ornamental, +it has, in great part, repaid himself by the many years of enjoyment it +has afforded him. Still, he hopes, or, rather, I do for him,—for, to +speak candidly, sir, <i>he</i> has neither courage nor hardihood for these +kind of transactions,—I hope, sir, that you, desirous of uniting +this farm to the large demesne, as I understand to be the case, will not +deem this an unfitting occasion to treat liberally with one whose position +is no longer what it once was. I must take care, Mr. Cashel, that I say +nothing which looks like solicitation here; the confidence my friend has +placed in me would be ill requited by such an error.” + </p> +<p> +“Is there no means of securing Mr. Corrigan's residence here?” said +Cashel. “Can I not accommodate his wishes in some other way, and which +should not deprive me of a neighbor I prize so highly?” + </p> +<p> +“I fear not. The circumstances which induce him to go abroad are +imperative.” + </p> +<p> +“Would it not be better to reflect on this?” said Cashel. “I do not seek +to pry into concerns which are not mine, but I would earnestly ask if some +other arrangement be not possible?” + </p> +<p> +Tiernay shook his head dubiously. +</p> +<p> +“If this be so, then I can oppose no longer. It only remains for Mr. +Corrigan to put his own value on the property, and I accept it.” + </p> +<p> +“Nay, sir; this generosity will but raise new difficulties. You are about +to deal with a man as high-hearted as yourself, and with the punctilious +delicacy that a narrow fortune suggests, besides.” + </p> +<p> +“Do you, then, doctor, who know both of us, be arbitrator. Let it not be a +thing for parchments and lawyers' clerks; let it be an honorable +understanding between two gentlemen, and so, no more of it.” + </p> +<p> +“If the world were made up of men like yourself and my old friend, this +would be, doubtless, the readiest and the best solution of the +difficulty,” said Tiernay; “but what would be said if we consented to such +an arrangement? What would not be said? Ay, faith, there's not a +scandalous rumor that malice could forge would not be rife upon us.” + </p> +<p> +“And do you think such calumnies have any terror for <i>me?</i>” cried +Cashel. +</p> +<p> +“When you've lived to <i>my</i> age, sir, you'll reason differently.” + </p> +<p> +“It shall be all as you wish, then,” said Cashel. “But stay!” cried he, +after a moment's thought; “there is a difficulty I had almost forgotten. I +must look that it may not interfere with our plans. When can I see you +again? Would it suit you to come and breakfast with me tomorrow? I 'll +have my man of business, and we 'll arrange everything.” + </p> +<p> +“Agreed, sir; I'll not fail. I like your promptitude. A favor is a double +benefit when speedily granted.” + </p> +<p> +“Now I shall ask one from you, doctor. If I can persuade my kind friends +here to visit us, will you too be of the party sometimes?” + </p> +<p> +“Not a bit of it. Why should I, sir, expose you to the insolent criticism +my unpolished manners and rude address would bring upon you—or +myself to the disdain that fashionable folk would show me? I am proud—too +proud, perhaps—at the confidence you would repose in my honor; I +don't wish to blush for my breeding by way of recompense. There, sir,—there +is one yonder in every way worthy all the distinction rank and wealth can +give her. I feel happy to think that she is to move amongst those who, if +they cannot prize her worth, will at least appreciate her fascinations.” + </p> +<p> +“Will Mr. Corrigan consent?” + </p> +<p> +“He must,—he shall,” broke in Tiernay; “I'll insist upon it But come +along with me into the cottage, while the ladies are cementing their +acquaintance; we'll see him, and talk him over.” + </p> +<p> +So saying, he led Cashel into the little library, where, deep sunk in his +thoughts, the old man was seated, with an open book before him, but of +which he had not read a line. +</p> +<p> +“Con!” cried Tiernay, “Mr. Cashel has come to bring you and Miss Mary up +to the Hall to dinner. There, sir, look at the face he puts on,—an +excuse in every wrinkle of it!” + </p> +<p> +“But, my dear friend—my worthy doctor—you know perfectly—-” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll know perfectly that you must go,—no help for it I have told +Mr. Cashel that you 'd make fifty apologies—pretend age—Ill-health—want +of habit, and so on; the valid reason being that you think his company a +set of raffs, and—” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, Tiernay, I beg you 'll not ascribe such sentiments to <i>me</i>.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, I thought so myself, t' other day,—ay, half-an-hour ago; but +there is a lady yonder, walking up and down the grass-plot, has made me +change my mind. Come out and see her, man, and then say as many 'No's' as +you please.” And, half-dragging, half-leading the old man out, Tiernay +went on:— +</p> +<p> +“You 'll see, Mr. Cashel, how polite he 'll grow when he sees the bright +eyes and the fair cheek. You 'll not hear of any more refusals then, I +promise you.” + </p> +<p> +Meanwhile, so far had Lady Kilgoff advanced in the favorable opinion of +Miss Leicester that the young girl was already eager to accept the +proffered invitation. Old Mr. Corrigan, however, could not be induced to +leave his home, and so it was arranged that Lady Kilgoff should drive over +on the following day to fetch her; with which understanding they parted, +each looking forward with pleasure to their next meeting. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER V. LINTON'S MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE +</h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Gone! and in secret, too!” + </pre> +<p> +Amid all the plans for pleasure which engaged the attention of the great +house, two subjects now divided the interest between them. One was the +expected arrival of the beautiful Miss Leicester,—“Mr. Cashel's babe +in the wood,” as-Lady Janet called her,—the other, the reading of a +little one-act piece which Mr. Linton had written for the company. +Although both were, in their several ways, “events,” the degree of +interest they excited was very disproportioned to their intrinsic +consequence, and can only be explained by dwelling on the various +intrigues and schemes by which that little world was agitated. +</p> +<p> +Lady Janet, whose natural spitefulness was a most catholic feeling, began +to fear that Lady Kilgoff had acquired such an influence over Cashel that +she could mould him to any course she pleased,—even a marriage. She +suspected, therefore, that this rustic beauty had been selected by her +Ladyship as one very unlikely to compete with herself in Roland's regard, +and that she was thus securing a lasting ascendancy over him. +</p> +<p> +Mrs. Leicester White, who saw, or believed she saw, herself neglected by +Roland, took an indignant view of the matter, and threw out dubious and +shadowy suspicions about “who this young lady might be, who seemed so +opportunely to have sprung up in the neighborhood,” and expressed, in +confidence, her great surprise “how Lady Kilgoff could lend herself to +such an arrangement.” + </p> +<p> +Mrs. Kennyfeck was outraged at the entrance of a new competitor into the +field, where her daughter was no longer a “favorite.” In fact, the new +visitor's arrival was heralded by no signs of welcome, save from the young +men of the party, who naturally were pleased to hear that a very handsome +and attractive girl was expected. +</p> +<p> +As for Aunt Fanny, her indignation knew no bounds; indeed, ever since she +had set foot in the house her state had been one little short of insanity. +In her own very graphic phrase, “She was fit to be tied at all she saw.” + Now, when an elderly maiden lady thus comprehensively sums up the cause of +her anger, without descending to “a bill of particulars,” the chances are +that some personal wrong—real or imaginary—is more in fault +than anything reprehensible in the case she is so severe upon. So was it +here. Aunt Fanny literally saw nothing, although she heard a great deal. +Daily, hourly, were the accusations of the whole Kennyfeck family directed +against her for the loss of Cashel. But for her, and her absurd credulity +on the statement of an anonymous letter, and there had been no yacht +voyage with Lady Kilgoff—no shipwreck—no life in a cabin on +the coast—no——In a word, all these events had either not +happened at all, or only occurred with Livy Kennyfeck for their heroine. +</p> +<p> +Roland's cold, almost distant politeness to the young ladies, was marked +enough to appear intentional; nor could all the little by-play of +flirtation with others excite in him the slightest evidence of +displeasure. If the family were outraged at this change, poor Livy herself +bore up admirably; and while playing a hundred little attractive devices +for Cashel, succeeded in making a very deep impression on the +well-whiskered Sir Harvey Upton, of the—th. Indeed, as Linton, who +saw everything, shrewdly remarked, “She may not pocket the ball she +intended, but, rely on't, she 'll make a 'hazard' somewhere.” + </p> +<p> +Of all that great company, but one alone found no place in her heart for +some secret wile; this was Miss Meek, who, sadly disappointed at the +little influence of her royalty, had ceased to care much for in-door +affairs, and spent her mornings “schooling” with Charley, and her evenings +listening to sporting talk whenever two or three “fast men” got together +in the drawing-room. +</p> +<p> +The evening that preceded Miss Leicester's intended arrival had been fixed +for the reading of Mr. Linton's comedy,—a little dramatic piece, +which, whether he had stolen wholesale from the French, or only borrowed +in part, none knew; but various were the rumors that it would turn out to +be a very satirical composition, with allusions to many of those who were +to sit in judgment over it. How this supposition originated, or with whom, +there is no saying, nor if well-founded in any respect, for Linton had +never shown his sketch to any one, nor alluded to it, save in the most +vague manner. +</p> +<p> +Each, however, looked to see his neighbor “shown up;” and while one said, +“What a character could be made of old Sir Andrew, with his vulgarity, his +deafness, and his gluttony!” another thought that Downie Meek, in his oily +smoothness, his sighings, and his “dear me's,” would be admirable,—all +the ladies averring that Lady Kilgoff would be a perfect embodiment of +Lady Teazle as Sir Peter suspected and Joseph intended her to be. +</p> +<p> +Fears for individual safety were merged in hopes of seeing others +assailed, and it was in something like a flutter of expectancy that the +party assembled in the drawing-room before dinner. Great was their +surprise to find that Mr. Linton did not make his appearance. The dinner +was announced, but he never came, and his place vacant at the foot of the +table was the continual suggester of every possible reason for his +absence. If Lady Kilgoff could not divest herself of a certain terror,—vague +and meaningless, it is true,—the dread she felt proceeded from +knowing him to be one whose every act had some deep purpose; while others +were then canvassing his absence in easy freedom, she took the first +opportunity of asking Cashel whether he were in the secret, or if it were +really true that Linton had not communicated, even with him, about his +departure. +</p> +<p> +“I am no better informed than my friends here,” said Roland; “and, to say +truth, I have given little thought about the matter. We have not, as you +are aware, of late seen so much of each other as we used once; he has +himself rather drawn off me, and I have left the interval between us to +widen, without much regret.” + </p> +<p> +“Remember, however, what I told you: he can be a terrible enemy.” + </p> +<p> +Cashel smiled calmly as he said, “I have consorted with men whose +vengeance never took longer to acquit than the time occupied in drawing a +knife from the sleeve or a pistol from the girdle. I care very little for +him whose weapon is mere subtlety.” + </p> +<p> +“It is this over-confidence makes me fear for you,” said she, anxiously; +“for, I say again, you do not know him.” + </p> +<p> +“I wish I never had,” said Cashel, with an earnestness of voice and +accent. “He has involved me in a hundred pursuits for which I feel neither +taste nor enjoyment. To him I owe it that pleasure is always associated in +my mind with mere debauch; and the only generosity he has taught me has +been the spendthrift waste of the gaming-table.” + </p> +<p> +“Could you not find out something of him,—when he went, and in what +direction?” said she, anxiously. “I cannot tell you why, but my heart +misgives me about his departure.” + </p> +<p> +More in compliance with her scruples than that he deemed the matter worth +a thought, Cashel left the room to make inquiries from the servants; but +all he could learn was, that Mr. Linton arose before daybreak and left the +house on foot, his own servant not knowing in what direction, nor having +heard anything of his master's previous intention. +</p> +<p> +His intimacy with the family at the cottage left it possible that they +might know something of his movements and Cashel accordingly despatched a +messenger thither to ask; but with the same fruitless result as every +previous inquiry. +</p> +<p> +While Cashel was following up this search with a degree of interest that +increased as the difficulty augmented, he little knew how watchfully his +every word and gesture was noted down by one who stood at his side. This +was Mr. Phillis, who, while seeming to participate in his master's +astonishment, threw out from time to time certain strange, vague hints, +less suggestive of his own opinions than as baits to attract those of his +master. +</p> +<p> +“Very odd, indeed, sir,—very strange; so regular a gentleman, too,—always +rising at the same hour. His man says, he 's like the clock. To be sure,” + added he, after a pause, “his manner is changed of late.” + </p> +<p> +“How do you mean?” asked Cashel, hurriedly. +</p> +<p> +“He seems anxious, sir,—uneasy, as one might say.” + </p> +<p> +“I have not perceived it.” + </p> +<p> +“His man says—” + </p> +<p> +“What care I for that?” said Cashel, impatiently. “It is not to pry into +Mr. Linton's habits that I am here, it is to assure myself that no +accident has happened to him, and that if he stand in need of my +assistance, I shall not be neglecting him. Tell two of the grooms to take +horses and ride down to Killaloe and Dunkeeran, and ask at the inns there +if he has been seen. Let them make inquiry, too, along the road.” With +these directions, hastily given, he returned to the drawing-room, his mind +far more interested in the event than he knew how to account for. +</p> +<p> +“No tidings of Tom?” said Lord Charles Frobisher, lounging carelessly in a +well-cushioned chair. +</p> +<p> +Cashel made a sign in the negative. +</p> +<p> +“Well, it's always a satisfaction to his friends to know that he 'll not +come to harm,” said he, with an ambiguous smile. +</p> +<p> +“The country is much disturbed at this moment,” said the Chief Justice; +“the calendar was a very heavy one last assize. I trust no marauding party +may have laid hold of him.” + </p> +<p> +“Ah, yes, that would be very sad indeed,” sighed Meek; “mistaking him for +a spy.” + </p> +<p> +“No great blunder, after all,” said Lady Janet, almost loud enough for +other ears than her next neighbor's. +</p> +<p> +“If the night were moonlight,” said Miss Meek, as she opened a shutter and +peeped out into the darkness, “I 'd say he was trying those fences we have +laid out for the hurdle-race.” + </p> +<p> +“By Jove, Jim, that is a shrewd thought!” said Lord Charles, forgetting +that he was addressing her by a familiar sobriquet he never used before +company. +</p> +<p> +“You have a bet with him, Charley?” said Upton. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, we have all manner of bets on the race, and I 'll have one with you, +if you like it,—an even fifty that Tom turns up 'all right and no +accident,' after this bolt.” + </p> +<p> +“Ah, my Lord, you 're in the secret, then!” said Aunt Fanny, whose +experiences of sporting transactions, derived from “the West,” induced her +to suspect that a wager contained a trap-fall. +</p> +<p> +A very cool stare was the only acknowledgment he deigned to return to this +speech, while Mrs. Kennyfeck looked unutterable reproaches at her unhappy +relative. +</p> +<p> +“I call the present company to witness,” said Sir Harvey Upton, “that if +Tom has to come to an untimely end, he has bequeathed to me his brown cob +pony, Batter.” + </p> +<p> +“I protest against the gift,” said Miss Kennyfeck; “Mr. Linton told me, if +he were killed in the steeplechase on Tuesday next, I should have Batter.” + </p> +<p> +“That was a special reservation, Miss Kennyfeck,” said the Chief Justice; +“so that if his death did not occur in the manner specified, the deed or +gift became null and void.” + </p> +<p> +“I only know,” said Miss Meek, “that Mr. Linton said, as we came back from +the hurdle-field,—'Remember, Batter is yours if—if—'” + She hesitated and grew red, and then stopped speaking, in evident shame +and confusion. +</p> +<p> +“If what? Tell us the condition; you are bound to be candid,” said several +voices together. +</p> +<p> +“I'll tell <i>you</i> but I'll not tell any one else,” said the young +girl, turning to Lady Kilgoff; and at the same instant she whispered in +her ear, “if I were to be married to Mr. Cashel.” + </p> +<p> +“Well,” said her Ladyship, laughing, “and was the bribe sufficient?” + </p> +<p> +“I should think not!” replied she, with a scornful toss of the head, as +she walked back to her seat. +</p> +<p> +“I winna say,” said Sir Andrew, “but I ha' a bit claim mysel to that +bonnie snuff-box he ca'd a Louis-Quatorze; if ye mind, leddies, I asked +him to mak' me a present o' it, and he replied, 'In my weell, Sir Andrew; +I'll leave it ye in my weell.'” + </p> +<p> +“I foresee there will be abundance of litigation,” said the Chief Justice, +“for the claims are both numerous and conflicting.” + </p> +<p> +“You 'll not be troubled with the next of kin, I believe,” said Lady +Janet, in her most spiteful of voices. +</p> +<p> +“I say, my Lord Chief Justice,” said Frobisher, “let me have a travelling +opinion from you, on a legal point. Wouldn't Linton's heirs, or +representatives, or whatever they 're called, be bound to 'book up' if +Ramekin is beaten in the handicap?” + </p> +<p> +“The law expressly declares such transactions without its pale, my Lord,” + said the judge, rebukingly. +</p> +<p> +“Well, I can only say,” interrupted Upton, “that when we were in +cantonments at Sickmabund, Jack Faris 'of ours' had a heavy stake in a +game of piquet with the major, and just as he was going to count his +point, he gave a tremendous yell, and jumped up from the table. It was a +cobra capella had bitten him in the calf of the leg. Everything was done +for him at once, but all in vain; he swelled up to the size of four, and +died in about two hours. It was rather hard on old Cox, the major, who had +two hundred pounds on it, and a capital hand; and so he made a +representation to the mess, showing that he had seven cards to his point, +with a quint in hearts; that, taking in the ace of clubs, he should count +a quatorze, and, therefore, unquestionably win the game. The thing was +clear as day, and so they awarded him the stakes. Cox behaved very +handsomely, too; for he said, 'If Faris's widow likes to play the game +out, I 'll give her the opportunity when we get back to England, and back +myself, two to one.'” + </p> +<p> +“The Chevalier Bayard himself could not have done more,” said Miss +Kennyfeck, with admirable gravity. +</p> +<p> +“I must say,” resumed the dragoon, “we thought it handsome, for old Cox +was always hard up for money.” + </p> +<p> +“And what is to become of our theatricals, if Mr. Linton should have been +so ill-natured as to drown himself?” said Mrs. White, in a most +disconsolate tone; for she had already made terrible havoc in her wardrobe +to accomplish a Turkish costume. +</p> +<p> +“Such a disappointment as it will be,” sighed Olivia Kennyfeck, who had +speculated on a last effort upon Cashel in a Mexican dress, where, certes, +superfluity should not be the fault. +</p> +<p> +“You can always make some compensation for the disappointment,” said Lady +Kilgoff, “by a fancy ball.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, delightful! the very thing!” exclaimed several together. “When shall +it be, Mr. Cashel?” + </p> +<p> +“I am entirely at your orders,” said he, bowing courteously. +</p> +<p> +“Shall we say Tuesday, then?” + </p> +<p> +“Not Tuesday; we have the race on that morning,” said Frobisher; “and some +of us, at least, will be too tired for a ball afterwards.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, Wednesday,—is Wednesday open?” + </p> +<p> +“Wednesday was fixed for a boat excursion to Holy Island,” said Cashel. +</p> +<p> +“You can't have Thursday, then,” exclaimed Lady Janet; “that is the only +evening we ever have our rubber. I'll not give you Thursday.” + </p> +<p> +“Friday we are to have some people at dinner,” said Cashel; “and Saturday +was to have been some piece of electioneering festivity for Linton's +constituents.” + </p> +<p> +“What matter now?” said Mrs. White; “perhaps the poor dear man is in a +better place. A very sad thought,” sighed she; “but such things are +happening every day.” + </p> +<p> +“Ah, yes, very sad,” responded Meek, who never failed to perform echo to +any one's lamentation. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, indeed!” chimed in Aunt Fanny, “cut off like a daisy.” And she wiped +her eyes and looked solemn, for she believed she was quoting Scripture. +</p> +<p> +At last it was decided that the ball should come off on the earliest +evening possible, irrespective of all other arrangements; and now the +company formed in a great circle, discussing dresses and characters and +costumes with an eager interest that showed how little Linton's fate had +thrown a shadow over the bright picture of anticipated pleasure. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER VI. THE SEASON OF LINTON'S FLITTING +</h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +He could outrogue a lawyer. + +Oldham. +</pre> +<p> +Revealing so freely as we do the hidden wiles of our characters for the +reader's pleasure, it would ill become us to affect any reserve or mystery +regarding their actions. We shall not make, therefore, any secret of Mr. +Linton's absence, nor ask of our patient reader to partake of the +mystification that prevailed among the company at Tubbermore. +</p> +<p> +It so chanced, that on the evening preceding his departure he saw in a +newspaper paragraph the arrival of a very distinguished lawyer at Limerick +on his way to Dublin, and the thought at once occurred to him, that the +opportunity was most favorable for obtaining an opinion respecting the +“Corrigan Pardon,” without incurring either suspicion or any lengthened +absence. +</p> +<p> +Another object, inferior, but not devoid of interest, also suggested +itself. It was this: profiting by a secret passage which led from the +theatre to Cashel's bedroom, it was Linton's custom to visit this chamber +every day, ransacking the letters and papers which, in his careless +indolence, Roland left loose upon the tables, and thus possessing himself +of the minutest knowledge of Cashel's affairs. In his very last visit to +this room, he perceived a cumbrous document, of which the seal of the +envelope was broken, but apparently the contents unlooked at. It was +enough that he read the indorsement, “Deed of conveyance of the Cottage +and Lands of Tubber-beg.” + </p> +<p> +Feeling how far he himself was interested in the paper, and well knowing +the forgetful habits of Cashel, who would never detect its removal, he +coolly folded it up and carried it away. +</p> +<p> +At first, his intention was simply to peruse the paper at his ease, and, +if need were, to show it in confidence to Cor-rigan, and thus establish +for himself that degree of influence over the old man which the character +of his landlord might convey. But another and a bolder expedient soon +suggested itself to his mind—nor was he one to shrink from an +enterprise merely on account of its hazard—and this was no less than +to forge Cashel's signature to the deed; for, as yet, it was wanting in +that most essential particular. +</p> +<p> +That Roland would never remember anything of the matter, and that he would +always incline to believe his own memory defective, than suppose such a +falsification possible, Linton was well convinced. There was but one +difficulty; how should he manage for the witnesses, whose names were to be +appended as actually present at the moment of signing. Here was a +stumbling-block—since he could scarcely hope to find others as short +of memory as was Roland Cashel. It was while still canvassing the question +in his mind that he came upon the intelligence in the newspaper of the +lawyer's arrival at Limerick, and suddenly it struck him that he could +easily in that city find out two persons, who, for a sufficient +consideration, would append their signatures to the deed. A little further +reflection devised even an easier plan, which was to take along with him +the Italian sailor Giovanni, and make him represent Cashel, whose +appearance was quite unknown. By Giovanni's personation of Roland, Linton +escaped all the hazard of letting others into his confidence, while the +sailor himself, in a few days more, would leave the country—never to +return. +</p> +<p> +It was with the calm assurance of a man who could put a price upon any +action required of him, that Giovanni found himself, an hour after +midnight, summoned to Linton's dressing-room. +</p> +<p> +“I told you some time back, Giovanni, that we might be serviceable to each +other. The hour has come a little earlier than I looked for; and now the +question is, are you of the same mind as you then were?” + </p> +<p> +“I know nothing of the laws of this country, signor, but if there be life +on the issue—” + </p> +<p> +“No, no, nothing like that, my worthy fellow. In the present case, all I +ask for is your silence and your secrecy.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, that is easily had—go on, signor.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, I wish to go over to-morrow by daybreak to Limerick. I desire, too, +that you should accompany me—as my companion, however, and my equal. +We are about the same height and size, so take that suit there, dress +yourself, and wait for me at the cross-roads below the village.” + </p> +<p> +The Italian took the parcel without speaking, and was about to retire, +when Linton said,— +</p> +<p> +“You can write, I suppose?” + </p> +<p> +The other nodded. +</p> +<p> +“I shall want you to sign a document in presence of witnesses—not +your own name, but another, which I'll tell you.” + </p> +<p> +The Italian's dark eyes flashed with a keen and subtle meaning, and +leaning forward, he said in a low, distinct tone,— +</p> +<p> +“His Excellency means that I should forge a name?” + </p> +<p> +“It is scarcely deserving so grave a phrase,” replied Linton, affecting an +easy smile; “but what I ask amounts pretty much to that. Have you scruples +about it?” + </p> +<p> +“My scruples are not easily alarmed, signor; only let us understand each +other. I'll do <i>anything</i>”—and he laid a deep emphasis on the +word—“when I see my way clear before me, nothing when I am +blindfolded.” + </p> +<p> +“A man after my own heart!” cried Linton; “and now, good-night. Be true to +the time and place.” And with this they parted. +</p> +<p> +The gray mist of a winter morning was just clearing away as Linton, +accompanied by Giovanni, drove up to the principal hotel of Limerick, +where Mr. Hammond, the eminent barrister, was then stopping. Having +ascertained that he was still in the house, Linton at once sent up his +name, with a request to be admitted to an interview with him. The position +he had so long enjoyed among the officials of the Viceroy had made Linton +a person of considerable importance in a city where the “plated article” + so often passes for silver: and no sooner had the lawyer read the name, +than he immediately returned a polite answer, saying that he was perfectly +at Mr. Linton's orders. +</p> +<p> +The few inquiries which Mr. Linton had meanwhile made at the bar of the +hotel informed him that Mr. Hammond was making all haste to England, where +he was about to appear in a case before the House of Lords; that horses +had been already ordered for him along the whole line of road, and his +presence in London was imperative. Armed with these facts, Linton entered +the room, where, surrounded with deeds, drafts, and acts of Parliament, +the learned counsel was sitting at his breakfast. +</p> +<p> +“It was but last night late, Mr. Hammond,” said he, advancing with his +very frankest manner, “that we caught sight of your name as having arrived +here, and you see I have lost no time in profiting by the intelligence. I +have come thirty Irish miles this day to catch and carry you off with me +to Mr. Cashel's, at Tubbermore.” + </p> +<p> +“Most kind, indeed—very flattering—I am really overpowered,” + said the lawyer, actually reddening with pleasure; and he said the exact +truth, he was “overpowered” by a compliment so little expected. For, +although high in his profession, and in considerable repute among his +brethren, he had never been admitted into that peculiar class which calls +itself the first society of the metropolis. +</p> +<p> +“I assure you,” resumed Linton, “it was by a vote of the whole house I +undertook my mission. The Kilgoffs, the MacFarlines, the Chief Justice, +Meek, and, in fact, all your friends, are there, and we only want <i>you</i> +to make the party complete.” + </p> +<p> +“I cannot express the regret—the very deep regret—I feel at +being obliged to decline such an honor; one which, I am free to confess, +actually takes me by surprise. But, my dear Mr. Linton, you see these +weighty papers—that formidable heap yonder—” + </p> +<p> +“Meek said so,” said Linton, interrupting, and at the same time assuming a +look of deep despondency. “'Hammond will refuse,' said he. 'There's no man +at the Irish bar has the same amount of business; he cannot give his +friends even one hour from his clients.'” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm sure I scarcely suspected the Right Honorable Secretary knew of me,” + said Hammond, blushing between pleasure and shame. +</p> +<p> +“Downie not know of you!—not know Mr. Hammond!—come, come—this +may do for a bit of quiz in those Irish newspapers that are always +affecting to charge English officials with ignorance of the distinguished +men here; but I cannot permit Mr. Hammond himself to throw out the +aspersion, nor, indeed, can I suffer Meek, one of my oldest friends, to +lie under the obloquy. I need not tell one so much more capable of +appreciating these things than myself how every administration comes into +office with a host of followers far more eager for place, and infinitely +more confident of high deservings, than the truly capable men of the +party. These 'locusts' eat up the first harvest, but, happily for +humanity, they rarely live for a second.” + </p> +<p> +Linton leaned back in his chair, and appeared to be taking counsel with +himself, and at length, as if having formed his resolve, said,— +</p> +<p> +“Of course frankness with such a man is never a mistaken policy.” And with +this muttered soliloquy again became silent. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER VII. FORGERY +</h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +It was not “Flattery,” he sold, but “Hope.” + +Bell. +</pre> +<p> +We left Mr. Linton and Mr. Hammond seated opposite each other, the former +lost in seeming reflection, the latter awaiting with eager expectancy for +something which might explain the few strange words he had just listened +to. +</p> +<p> +“May I venture on a bit of confidence, Mr. Hammond?” said Linton, clearing +his brow as he spoke; “you'll never betray me?” + </p> +<p> +“Never—on my honor.” + </p> +<p> +“Never, willingly, I well know; but I mean, will you strictly keep what I +shall tell you—for yourself alone—because, as I am the only +depositary of the fact, it would be inevitable ruin to me if it got +about?” + </p> +<p> +“I give you my solemn pledge—I promise.” + </p> +<p> +“Quite enough—well—” Here he leaned on the other's shoulder, +and putting his lips close to his ear, said: “Malone will retire—Repton +will be chief—and”—here he prodded the listener with his +finger—“Attorney-General.” + </p> +<p> +“You mean me, sir—do you mean that I am to be Attor—” + </p> +<p> +“Hush!” said Linton, in a long low note; “do not breathe it, even in your +sleep! If I know these things, it is because I am trusted in quarters +where men of far more influence are hoodwinked. Were I once to be +suspected of even this much, it would be 'up' with me forever.” + </p> +<p> +“My dear friend—will you pardon me for calling you so?—I 'd +suffer the torture of the rack before I 'd divulge one syllable of it. I +own to you, my family and my friends in general have not been patient +under what they deemed the Government neglect of me.” + </p> +<p> +“And with too good reason, sir,” said Linton, assuming the look and air of +a moralizer. “And do you know why you have been passed over, Mr. Hammond? +I'll tell you, sir; because your talents were too brilliant, and your +integrity too spotless, for promotion, in times when inferior capacities +and more convenient consciences were easier tools to handle!—Because +you are not a man who, once placed in a conspicuous position, can be +consigned to darkness and neglect when his capabilities have been proved +to the world!—Because your knowledge, sir, your deep insight into +the political condition of this country, would soon have placed you above +the heads of the very men who appointed you. But times are changed; +capable men, zealous men—ay, sir, and I will say, great men—are +in request now. The public <i>will</i> have them, and ministers can no +longer either overlook their claim or ignore their merit. You may rely +upon it; I see something of what goes on behind the scenes of the great +State drama, and be assured that a new era is about to dawn on the really +able men of this country.” + </p> +<p> +“Your words have given me a degree of encouragement, Mr. Linton, that I +was very far from ever expecting to receive. I have often deplored—not +on my own account, I pledge my honor—but I have grieved for others, +whom I have seen here, unnoticed and undistinguished by successive +Governments.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, there is an end of the system now, and it was time!” said Linton, +solemnly. “But to come back. Is there no chance of stealing you away, even +for a couple of days?” + </p> +<p> +“Impossible, my dear Mr. Linton. The voluminous mass of evidence yonder +relates to an appeal case, in which I am to appear before 'the Lords.' It +is a most important suit; and I am at this very moment on my way to +London, to attend a consultation with the Solicitor-General.” + </p> +<p> +“How unfortunate!—for <i>us</i>, I mean—for, indeed, your +client cannot join in the plaint. By the way, your mention of 'the Lords' +reminds me of a very curious circumstance. You are aware of the manner in +which my friend Cashel succeeded to this great estate here?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes. I was consulted on a point of law in it, and was present at the two +trials.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, a most singular discovery has been made within the last few days. I +suppose you remember that the property had been part of a confiscated +estate, belonging to an old Irish family, named Corrigan?” + </p> +<p> +“I remember perfectly,—a very fine old man, that used to be well +known at Daly's Club, long ago.” + </p> +<p> +“The same. Well, this old gentleman has been always under the impression +that shortly after the accession of George III. the Act of Confiscation +was repealed, and a full pardon granted to his ancestors for the part they +had taken in the events of the time.” + </p> +<p> +“I never knew the descendants of one of those 'confiscated' families who +had not some such hallucination,” said Hammond, laughing; “they cling to +the straw, like the drowning man.” + </p> +<p> +“Exactly,” said Linton. “I quite agree with you. In the present case, +however, the support is better than a straw; for there is an actual <i>bona +fide</i> document extant, purporting to be the very pardon in question, +signed by the king, and bearing the royal seal.” + </p> +<p> +“Where is this? In whose possession?” said Hammond, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +Linton did not heed the question, but continued,— +</p> +<p> +“By a very singular coincidence, the discovery is not of so much moment as +it might be; because, as Cashel is about to marry the old man's +granddaughter—his sole heiress—no change in the destination of +the estate would ensue, even supposing Corrigan's title to be all that he +ever conceived it. However, Cashel is really anxious on the point: he +feels scruples about making settlements and so forth, with the +consciousness that he may be actually disposing of what he has no real +claim to. He is a sensitive fellow; and yet he dreads, on the other side, +the kind of exposure that would ensue in the event of this discovery +becoming known. The fact is, his own ancestors were little better than +bailiffs on the estate; and the inference from this new-found paper would +lead one to say, not over-honest stewards besides.” + </p> +<p> +“But if this document be authentic, Mr. Linton, Cashel's title is not +worth sixpence.” + </p> +<p> +“That is exactly what I 'm coming to,” said Linton, who, the reader may +have already perceived, was merely inventing a case regarding a marriage, +the better to learn from the counsel the precise position the estate would +stand in towards Mary Leicester's husband. “If this document be authentic, +Cashel's title is invalid. Now, what would constitute its authenticity?” + </p> +<p> +“Several circumstances: the registry of the pardon in the State Paper +Office—the document itself, bearing the unmistakable evidences of +its origin—the signature and seal—in fact, it could not admit +of much doubt when submitted to examination.” + </p> +<p> +“I told Cashel so,” said Linton. “I said to him, 'My opinion +unquestionably is that the pardon is genuine; but,' said I, 'when we have +Hammond here, he shall see it, and decide the question.'” + </p> +<p> +“Ah! that is impossible—” + </p> +<p> +“So I perceive,” broke in Linton; “we then hoped otherwise.” + </p> +<p> +“Why did n't you bring it over with you?” + </p> +<p> +“So I did,” said Linton; “here it is.” And opening a carefully folded +envelope, he placed the important document in the lawyer's bands. +</p> +<p> +Hammond spread it out upon the table, and sat down to read it over +carefully, while Linton, to afford the more time to the scrutiny, took the +opportunity of descending to his breakfast. +</p> +<p> +He stopped as he passed the bar to say a few words to the landlord,—one +of those easy speeches he knew so well how to make about the “state of +trade,” “what travellers were passing,” and “how the prospect looked for +the coming season,”—and then, when turning away, as if suddenly +recollecting himself, said:— +</p> +<p> +“By the way, Swindon, you are a cautious fellow, that a man may trust with +a secret—you know who the gentleman is that came with me?” + </p> +<p> +“No, sir; never saw him before. Indeed, I did not remark him closely.” + </p> +<p> +“All the better, Swindon. He does not fancy anything like scrutiny. He is +Mr. Roland Cashel.” + </p> +<p> +“Of Tubbermore, sir?” + </p> +<p> +“The same. Hush, man,—be cautious! He has come up here about a +little law business on which he desired to consult Mr. Hammond, and now we +have a document for signature, if you could only find us another person +equally discreet with yourself to be the witness, for these kind of +things, when they get about in the world, are misrepresented in a thousand +ways. Do you happen to have any confidential man here would suit us?” + </p> +<p> +“If my head waiter, sir, Mr. Nipkin, would do; he writes an excellent +hand, and is a most reserved, cautious young man.” + </p> +<p> +“Perfectly, Swindon; he'll do perfectly. Will you join us upstairs, where +my friend is in waiting? Pray, also, give Nipkin a hint not to bestow any +undue attention on Mr. Cashel, who wants to be <i>incog.</i> so far as may +be; as for yourself, Swindon, no hint is necessary.” + </p> +<p> +A graceful bow from the landlord acknowledged the compliment, and he +hastened to give the necessary orders, while Linton continued his way to +the apartment where the Italian awaited him. +</p> +<p> +“Impatient for breakfast, I suppose, Giovanni?” said Linton, gayly, as he +entered. “Well? sit down, and let us begin. Already I have done more than +half the business which brought me here, and we may be on our way back +within an hour.” + </p> +<p> +Giovanni seated himself at the table without any of that constraint a +sense of inferiority enforces, and began his breakfast in silence. +</p> +<p> +“You understand,” said Linton, “that when you have written the name +'Roland Cashel,' and are asked if that be your act and deed, you have +simply to say 'Yes;' a bow—a mere nod, indeed—is sufficient.” + </p> +<p> +“I understand,” said he, thoughtfully, as if reflecting over the matter +with himself. “I conclude, then,” added he, after a pause, “that the +sooner I leave the country afterwards, the better—I mean the safer—for +me.” + </p> +<p> +“As to any positive danger,” said Linton, affecting an easy carelessness, +“there is none. The document is merely a copy of one already signed by Mr. +Cashel, but which I have mislaid, and I am so ashamed of my negligence I +cannot bring myself to confess it.” + </p> +<p> +This tame explanation Linton was unable to finish without faltering, for +the Italian's keen and piercing dark eyes seemed to penetrate into him as +he was speaking. +</p> +<p> +“With this I have nothing to do,” said he, abruptly. “It is quite clear, +however, that Giovanni Santini is not Roland Cashel; nor, if there be a +penalty on what I have done, am I so certain that he whose name I shall +have forged will undergo it in my place.” + </p> +<p> +“You talk of forgery and penalties as if we were about to commit a +felony,” said Linton, laughing. “Pray give me the cream. There is really +no such peril in the case, and if there were, it would be all mine.” + </p> +<p> +“I know nothing of your laws here—I desire to know nothing of them,” + said the Italian, haughtily; “but if it should be my lot to be arraigned, +let it be for something more worthy of manhood. I 'll sign the paper, but +I shall leave the country at once.” + </p> +<p> +No words could have been more grateful to Linton's ears than these; he +was, even at that very moment, considering in his own mind in what way to +disembarrass himself of his “friend” when this service should have been +effected. +</p> +<p> +“As you please, Giovanni,” said be, gravely. “I regret to part company so +soon with one whose frankness so well accords with my own humor.” + </p> +<p> +The Italian's lips parted slightly, and a smile of cold and dubious +meaning flitted across his dark features. +</p> +<p> +“We part here, then,” said he, rising from the table. “There is a vessel +leaves this for Bristol at noon to-day; it is already past eleven +o'clock.” + </p> +<p> +“I'll not delay,” said Linton, rising and ringing the bell; “send Mr. +Swindon here,” said he to the waiter, while he opened a parchment document +upon the table, and after hastily glancing over it, folded it carefully +again, leaving uppermost the margin, where certain pencil-marks indicated +the places of signature. “This is yours, Giovanni,” said he, placing a +weighty purse in the Italian's hand, who took it with all the easy +indifference of one whose feelings of shame were not too acute. “Remember +what I have—” + </p> +<p> +There was no time to finish, for already a light tap was-heard at the +door, and the landlord, followed by the head waiter, entered. +</p> +<p> +“We were pressed for time, Swindon,” said Linton, as he examined the pens, +which, like all hotel ones, seemed invented for ruling music paper, “and +have sent for you to witness the signature to this document. Here, Cashel, +you are to sign here,” said he, turning to Giovanni, who-had just lighted +a cigar, and was smoking away with all imaginable coolness. The Italian +took the pen, and with a bold and steady hand wrote the words “Roland +Cashel.” + </p> +<p> +“Mr. Swindon at this side; Mr. Nipkin's name comes underneath.” + </p> +<p> +“You acknowledge this for your hand and seal, sir?” said Swindon, turning +towards Giovanni. +</p> +<p> +“I do,” said the Italian, in an accent which did not betray the slightest +emotion, nor any trace of foreign pronunciation. +</p> +<p> +“All right; thank you, Swindon—thanks, Mr. Nipkin,” said Linton, as, +with an elation of countenance all his efforts could not suppress, he +folded up the parchment; “and now, will you order my horses at once?” + </p> +<p> +The landlord and the waiter left the room, and Linton found himself once +more alone with Giovanni; the only consolation he felt being that it was +for the last time. There was a pause, in which each gazed steadily at the +other without a word. At last, with a long-drawn sigh, Giovanni exclaimed,— +</p> +<p> +“Perdio! but it is hard to do.” And with this he pressed his hat upon his +brows, and waving a careless farewell with his hand, walked out, leaving +Linton in a state of amazement not altogether unmingled with fear. Tom +watched the tall and stalwart figure of the foreigner as he moved through +the crowd that filled the quay, and it was with a sense of relief he could +not explain to himself that he saw him cross the plank that led to the +steamer, on whose deck numerous passengers were already assembled. +</p> +<p> +The bell rang out in warning of her approaching departure, and Linton kept +his eyes intently fixed upon the one figure, which towered above the +others around him. Already the scene of bustle portended the moment of +starting, and some were hastening on board, as others, with not less +eagerness, were endeavoring to get on shore; when, just at that instant, +the landlord's voice was heard. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Hammond is just going off, sir; he wants to say one word to you +before he goes.” + </p> +<p> +Mr. Hammond had just taken his seat in his carriage, and sat with one hand +upon the door, awaiting Linton's coming. +</p> +<p> +“I am run sharp for time, Mr. Linton,” cried he, “and have not a second to +lose. I wish sincerely I could have given a little more time to that +document—not indeed that any feature of difficulty exists in forming +an opinion, only that I believe I could have put your friend on the safe +road as to his future course.” + </p> +<p> +“You regard it then as authentic—as a good and valid instrument?” + said Linton, in a low but eager voice. +</p> +<p> +“So much so,” said Hammond, lowering his tone to a mere whisper, “that if +he does not marry the young lady in question, I would not give him twenty +shillings for his title.” + </p> +<p> +“By Jove!” exclaimed Linton, leaning his head on the door of the carriage, +as if to conceal his chagrin, but in reality to hide the exuberance of his +joy; “and this is your candid opinion of the case?” + </p> +<p> +“I am willing to stake my fame as a lawyer on the issue; for, remember, +the whole history of the suit is familiar to me. I recollect well the +flaws in the course of proofs adduced, and I see how this discovery +reconciles each discrepancy, and supplies every missing link of the +chain.” + </p> +<p> +“Poor fellow!—it will be a sad blow for him,” said Linton, with +admirably feigned emotion. +</p> +<p> +“But it need not, Mr. Linton; the church can tie a knot not even an equity +suit can open. Let him marry.” + </p> +<p> +“Ay, if he will.” + </p> +<p> +“Tell him he must; tell him what I now tell you, that this girl is the +greatest heiress in the land, and that he is a beggar. Plain speaking, Mr. +Linton, but time is short Good-bye.” + </p> +<p> +“One word more. Is the document of such a nature that leaves him no case +whatever? Is all the ground cut away beneath his feet?” + </p> +<p> +“Every inch of it. Once more, good-bye. Here is your parchment; keep it +safely. There are few men in this city hold in their hands a paper of such +moment.” + </p> +<p> +“I'll take good care of it,” said Linton, sententiously; “and so good-bye, +and a safe journey to you. I 'll not forget our conversation of this +morning; Meek shall hear of it before I sleep to-night. Adieu.” + </p> +<p> +“The richest heiress in the land, and Cashel a beggar,” repeated Linton, +slowly, to himself, as the carriage drove off. “Charley Frobisher would +say, 'Hedge on the double event,' but I 'll keep my book.” And, with this +slang reflection, he sauntered into the inn to wait for his horses. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER VIII. ROLAND DISCOVERS THAT HE HAS OVERDRAWN +</h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +—His counsel, like his physic, +If hard to take, was good when taken. + +Village Worthies. +</pre> +<p> +Long before the guests of Tubbermore were astir, Cashel sat in his library +awaiting the arrival of Dr. Tiernay. In obedience to Roland's request, Mr. +Kennyfeck was present, and affected to look over books or out of windows,—to +scan over prints or inspect maps,—anything, in short, which should +pass the time and shorten the interval of waiting, doubly awkward from +being the first moment he had been alone with Cashel since his arrival. +Cashel was silent and absorbed, and, more intent upon following out the +train of his own thoughts, never noticed the various arts by which +Kennyfeck affected to interest himself. The solicitor, too, bent from time +to time a stealthy look on the young man, on whose features he had rarely +seen the same traces of deep reflection. +</p> +<p> +At last, with a half start, as if suddenly awaking, Cashel sat up in his +chair, and said,— +</p> +<p> +“Have I explained to you what Dr. Tiernay's business is here this morning? +It is to make a proposition from Mr. Corrigan for the sale of his interest +in Tubber-beg. He wishes to leave the country and go abroad.” + </p> +<p> +“His interest, sir,” replied Kennyfeck, calmly, “although more valuable to +you than to any one else, must be a matter of small amount; for years +back, he has done little more than vegetate on the property, without +capital or skill to improve it.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm not asking you to appraise it, just yet,” said Roland, snappishly; +“I was simply informing you of the object of the gentleman's visit. It is +the advantage of this purchase that I wished you to consider, not its +cost.” + </p> +<p> +“The cost will define the advantage, sir,” rejoined Kennyfeck, +“particularly as the demand may be high, and the payment inconvenient.” + </p> +<p> +“How do you mean, inconvenient?” + </p> +<p> +Kennyfeck hesitated. There was something in the hurried abruptness of the +question, as well as in the excited expression of the questioner's face, +that confused him; so that Cashel had time to repeat the words before he +could reply. +</p> +<p> +“Is it that I am straitened for money?” said he, passionately. +</p> +<p> +“Not quite—that—sir,” replied Kennyfeck, stopping between +every word. “You have resources—very great resources—untouched, +and you have considerable sums in foreign securities, intact—” + </p> +<p> +“Never mind these,” broke in Roland, hurriedly. “How do we stand with +those London fellows?” + </p> +<p> +Kennyfeck shook his head gravely, but without speaking. +</p> +<p> +“I pray you, sir,” said Roland, in a voice of hardly suppressed passion, +“keep pantomime for another moment, or a keener interpreter of it, and +condescend, in plain English, to answer me my last question.” + </p> +<p> +“There is no difficulty with Bigger and Swain, sir,” said Kennyfeck, as +his cheek grew slightly red. “They will neither be pressing for a +settlement, nor exacting when making it; besides, you have not overdrawn +very heavily, After all.” + </p> +<p> +“Overdrawn, said you?—did you say overdrawn, Mr. Kennyfeck?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir. In the account last forwarded, your debit was eleven thousand +four hundred and forty pounds; since that you have drawn—but not for +any large amount.” + </p> +<p> +“Overdrawn!” repeated Cashel, as though his thoughts had never wandered +beyond the first shock of that fact; then rallying into something like his +habitual easy humor, he said, “I am, I need not tell you, the stupidest +man of business that ever breathed, so pray forgive me if I ask you once +more if I understood you aright, that I have not only expended all the +money I owned in these people's hands, but actually had contracted a debt +to them?” + </p> +<p> +“That is the case, sir,” said Kennyfeck, gravely. +</p> +<p> +A deep groan broke from Cashel, and he sat silent and still. +</p> +<p> +“I would wish to observe, sir,” said Kennyfeck, who was shocked at the +alteration a few moments had made in the young man's countenance—“I +would wish to observe, sir, that if you desire a sum of money for any +purpose—” + </p> +<p> +“Stay—let me interrupt you here,” said Cashel, laying his hand on +Kennyfeck's arm, and using a tone whose earnest distinctness thrilled +through his hearer's heart; “I should deceive you, were you to suppose +that it is the want of money gives me the pain I am now suffering. That I +had believed myself rich a few moments back, and now found myself a +beggar, could not give one-thousandth part of that suffering which I feel +here. I have braved poverty in every form, and I could brave it again; but +I 'll tell you what it is that now cuts me to the soul, and lowers me to +myself. It is that, in a senseless, heartless career, I should have +squandered the wealth by which I once imagined I was to bless and succor +hundreds. It is to think, that of all the gold I have wasted, not one +memory has been purchased of a sick-bed consoled, a suffering lessened, a +sinking spirit encouraged,—I have done nothing, actually nothing, +save pamper vice and sensual heartlessness. I came to this kingdom a few +months back, my very dreams filled with schemes of benevolence; I felt as +if this wealth were given to me that I might show the world how much of +good may be done by one who, having experienced narrow fortune, should +best know how to relieve it in others; and now, here am I, the wealth and +the high aspirations alike departed, with no tradition to carry away, save +of a life passed in debauch, the friendship of worthless, the pitying +contempt of good men! Hear me out I was nurtured in no school of +sentiment; I belonged to a class who had too little time or taste to +indulge in scruples. We were reckless, passionate,—cruel, if you +will,—but we were not bad in cold blood; we seldom hated long; we +never could turn on a benefactor. These are not the lessons I 've lived to +learn here! It is over, however—it is past now! I 'll go back to the +old haunts, and the old comrades. It will go hard with me if I quarrel +with their rude speech and rough demeanor. I 'll think of <i>gentlemen!</i> +and be grateful.” + </p> +<p> +The rapid utterance in which he poured forth these words, and the fervid +excitement of his manner, abashed Kenny-feck, and deterred him from reply. +Cashel was the first to speak. +</p> +<p> +“This arrangement, however, must be provided for; whatever Mr. Corrigan's +interest be worth—or rather, whatever he will accept in lieu of it—I +insist upon his having. But I see Dr. Tiernay coming up to the door; we +can talk of these things at another time.” + </p> +<p> +When Tiernay entered the library he was heated with his walk, and his face +betrayed unmistakable signs of recent irritation; indeed, he did not long +conceal the reason. +</p> +<p> +“Is it true, Mr. Cashel, that Mr. Linton is your nominee for the borough +of Derraheeny?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; what of that?” + </p> +<p> +“Why, that he canvasses the constituency in a fashion we have not yet been +accustomed to; at least <i>your</i> tenants, of whom I am one, are told +that our votes are the condition on which our leases will receive renewal; +that you will not brook opposition in any one who holds under you. Are +these your sentiments, Mr. Cashel, or only his?” + </p> +<p> +“Not mine, assuredly,” replied Cashel, gravely. +</p> +<p> +“I said as much. I told several of my neighbors that if this mode of +canvass had your sanction, it was from not knowing the privileges of an +elector.” + </p> +<p> +“I neither sanctioned nor knew of it,” rejoined Cashel, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“So much the better—at least for me,” said Tiernay, seating himself +at the breakfast-table, “for I shall not lose a good breakfast, as I +should have been forced to do had these been your intentions.” + </p> +<p> +“I would observe, Dr. Tiernay,” interposed Kennyfeck, mildly, “that the +borough, being entirely the property of Mr. Cashel, its charities +maintained by his bounty, and its schools supported at his cost, he has a +fair claim on the gratitude of those who benefit by his benevolence.” + </p> +<p> +“Let him stand himself for the borough, and we 'll not deny the debt,” + said Tiernay, roughly; “but if for every ten he should expend a hundred, +ay, sir, or a thousand, on the village, I 'd not vote for Mr. Linton.” + </p> +<p> +“Most certainly, doctor; I'd never seek to coerce you,” said Cashel, +smiling. +</p> +<p> +“Labor lost, sir. I am your tenant for a holding of twenty-two pounds a +year. I have never been in arrear; you, consequently, have not granted me +any favor, save that of extending your acquaintance to me. Now, sir, +except that you are a rich man and I a poor one, how is even that +condescension on your part a favor? and how could <i>you</i> purpose, upon +it, to ask me to surrender my right of judgment on an important point to +you, who, from your high station, your rank and influence, have a thousand +prerogatives, while I have but this one?” + </p> +<p> +“I never heard the just influence of the landed proprietor disputed +before,” said Kenny feck, who felt outraged at the doctor's hardihood. +</p> +<p> +“It is only <i>just</i> influence, sir,” said Tiernay, “when he who wields +it is an example, as much by his life, as by the exercise of an ability +that commands respect. Show me a man at the head of a large property +extending the happiness of his tenantry, succoring the sick, assisting the +needy, spreading the blessings of his own knowledge among those who have +neither leisure nor opportunity to acquire it for themselves. Let me see +him, while enjoying to the fullest the bounteous gifts that are the +portion of but few in this world, not forgetful of those whose life is +toil, and whose struggle is for mere existence. Let me not know the +landlord only by his liveries and his equipage, his fox-hounds, his plate, +his racers, and his sycophants.” + </p> +<p> +“Hard hitting, doctor!” cried Cashel, interrupting. +</p> +<p> +“Not if you can take it so good-humoredly,” said Tiernay; “not if it only +lose me the honor of ever entering here, and teach you to reflect on these +things.” + </p> +<p> +“You mistake me much,” said Cashel, “if you judge me so narrowly.” + </p> +<p> +“I did not think thus meanly of you; nor, if I did, would it have stopped +me. I often promised myself, that if I could but eat of a rich man's salt, +I'd tell him my mind, while under the protection of his hospitality. I +have paid my debt now; and so, no more of it. Kennyfeck could tell you +better than I, if it be not, in part at least, deserved. All this splendor +that dazzles our eyes,—all this luxury, that makes the contrast of +our poverty the colder,—all this reckless waste, that is like an +unfeeling jest upon our small thrift, is hard to bear when we see it, not +the pastime of an idle hour, but the business of a life. You can do far +better things than these, and be happier as well as better for doing them! +And now, sir, are you in the mood to discuss my friend's project?” + </p> +<p> +“Perfectly so, doctor; you have only to speak your sentiments on the +matter before Mr. Kennyfeck; my concurrence is already with you.” + </p> +<p> +“We want you to buy our interest in Tubber-beg,” said the doctor, drawing +his chair in front of Kennyfeck; “and though you tell us that flower-plats +and hollies, laurustinus and geraniums, are not wealth, we 'll insist on +your remunerating us for some share of the cost. The spot is a sweet one, +and will improve your demesne. Now, what's it worth?” + </p> +<p> +“There are difficulties which may preclude any arrangement,” said +Kennyfeck, gravely. “There was a deed of gift of this very property made +out, and only awaiting Mr. Cashel's signature.” + </p> +<p> +“To whom?” said Tiernay, gasping with anxiety. +</p> +<p> +“To Mr. Linton.” + </p> +<p> +“The very thing I feared,” said the old man, dropping his head +sorrowfully. +</p> +<p> +“It is easily remedied, I fancy,” said Cashel. “It was a hasty promise +given to afford him qualification for Parliament. I 'll give him something +of larger value; I know he 'll not stand in our way here.” + </p> +<p> +“How you talk of giving, sir! You should have been the Good Fairy of a +nursery tale, and not a mere man of acres and bank-notes. But have your +own way. It's only anticipating the crash a month or so; ruined you must +be!” + </p> +<p> +“Is that so certain?” said Cashel, half smiling, half seriously. +</p> +<p> +“Ask Mr. Kennyfeck, there, whose highest ambition half a year ago was to +be your agent, and now he 'd scarcely take you for a son-in-law! Don't +look so angry, man; what I said is but an illustration. It will be with +your property as it was with your pleasure-boat t'other day; you 'll never +know you 've struck till you 're sinking.” + </p> +<p> +“You affect to have a very intimate knowledge of Mr. Cashel's affairs, +sir,” said Kennyfeck, who was driven beyond all further endurance. +</p> +<p> +“Somewhat more than you possess, Mr. Kennyfeck; for I know his tenantry. +Not as you know them, from answering to their names at rent-day, but from +seeing them in seasons of distress and famine,—from hearing their +half-uttered hopes that better days were coming when the new landlord +himself was about to visit them; from listening to their sanguine +expectations of benefits; and now, within some few days, from hearing the +low mutterings of their discontent,—the prelude of worse than that.” + </p> +<p> +“I have seen nothing else than the same scenes for forty years, but I +never remember the people more regular in their payments,” said the +attorney. +</p> +<p> +“Well, don't venture among the Drumcoologhan boys alone; that, at least, I +would recommend you,” said the doctor, menacingly. +</p> +<p> +“Why not?—who are they?—where are these fellows?” cried +Cashel, for danger was a theme that never failed to stir his heart. +</p> +<p> +“It 's a bad barony, sir,” said Kennyfeck, solemnly. +</p> +<p> +“A district that has supplied the gallows and the convict-ship for many a +year; but we are wandering away from the theme we ought to discuss,” + interposed Tiernay, “and the question narrows itself to this; if this +property is still yours,—if you have not already consigned it to +another,—what is my friend's interest worth?” + </p> +<p> +“That will require calculation and reflection.” + </p> +<p> +“Neither, Mr. Kennyfeck,” broke in Cashel. “Learn Mr. Corrigan's +expectations, and see that they are complied with.” + </p> +<p> +“My friend desired a small annuity on the life of his granddaughter.” + </p> +<p> +“Be it an annuity, then,” replied Cashel. +</p> +<p> +“By heaven!” exclaimed Tiernay, as if he could not restrain the impulse +that worked within him, “you are a fine-hearted fellow. Here, sir,” said +he, taking a paper from his pocket,—“here is a document, which my +poor friend sat up half the night to write, but which I'd half made up my +mind never to give you. You'd never guess what it is, nor your keen friend +either, but I 'll spare you the trouble of spelling it over. It's a +renunciation of Cornelius Corrigan, Esq., for himself and his heirs +forever, of all right, direct or contingent, to the estate of Tubbermore, +once the family property of his ancestors for eleven generations. You +never heard of such a claim,” said Tiernay, turning to Cashel, “but Mr. +Kennyfeck did; he knows well the importance of that piece of paper he +affects to treat with such indifference.” + </p> +<p> +“And do you suppose, sir, that if this claim you speak of be a good and +valid one, I could, as a man of honor, maintain a possession to which I +had no right? No; let Mr. Corrigan take back that paper; let him try his +right, as the laws enable him. If I stand not here as the just owner of +this house, I am ready to leave it at this instant; but I am neither to be +intimidated by a threat nor conciliated by a compromise.” + </p> +<p> +“Mr. Corrigan's claim has nothing to go upon, I assure you,” broke in +Kennyfeck. “If we accept the paper, it is by courtesy,—to show that +we respect the feeling that suggested it,—nothing more.” + </p> +<p> +While these words were addressed to Tiernay, Cashel, who had walked +towards one of the windows, did not hear them. +</p> +<p> +“Well,” cried Tiernay, after an awkward pause, “the devil a worse +negotiator ever accepted a mission than myself! When I desire to be frank, +the only truths that occur to me are sure to be offensive, and I never am +so certain to insult as when I fancy I 'm doing a favor. Goodbye, sir; +pardon the liberties of an old man, whose profession has taught him to +believe that remedies are seldom painless, and who, although a poor man, +would rather any day lose the fee than the patient! You'll not treat Con +Corrigan the less kindly because he has an imprudent friend. I'm sorry to +think that I leave an unfavorable impression behind me; but I'm glad, +heartily glad, I came here to breakfast, for I go away convinced of two +things, that I was far from believing so certain when I entered,”—he +paused for a second or two, and then said,—“that a spendthrift could +have an unblemished sense of honor, and that an attorney could appreciate +it!” + </p> +<p> +With these words he departed, while Cashel, after staring for a few +moments at Kennyfeck, threw himself back in his chair, and laughed long +and heartily. +</p> +<p> +“An original, sir,—quite an original,” said Kennyfeck, who, not +exactly knowing whether to accept the doctor's parting speech as a +compliment, or the reverse, contented himself with this very vague +expression. +</p> +<p> +“He's a fine old fellow, although he does lay on his salve in Indian +fashion, with a scalping-knife; but I wish he'd not have said anything of +that confounded paper.” + </p> +<p> +“Pardon me, sir,” interposed Kennyfeck, taking it from his pocket, “but it +might prove of inestimable value, in the event of any future litigation.” + </p> +<p> +“What! you kept it, then?” cried Cashel. +</p> +<p> +“Of course I did, sir. It is a document scarce inferior to a deed of +title; for, although Mr. Corrigan has nothing to substantiate a claim at +law, it is incontestable that his family were the original owners of this +estate.” + </p> +<p> +Cashel took the paper from Kennyfeck's hand, and seemed to peruse it for +some minutes, and then approaching the fire he threw it into the blaze, +and pressed it down with a poker till it was consumed; while Kennyfeck, +too much consternated to utter a word, stood the personification of +terror-struck astonishment. +</p> +<p> +“You have burnt it, sir!” said he at last, in a whisper. +</p> +<p> +“Why not, sir?” cried Cashel, rudely. “Should I have made use of it +against the man who wrote it, or against his heirs, if by chance they +should seek one day to dispute my right?” + </p> +<p> +A deep sigh was all the reply Kennyfeck could make. +</p> +<p> +“I understand your compassion well,” said Cashel, scornfully. “You are +right, sir. It was the buccaneer, not the gentleman, spoke there; but I 'm +sick of masquerading, and I long for a little reality.” + </p> +<p> +Without waiting for a reply, Roland left the room, and wandered out into +the park. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER IX. THE BURNT LETTER—“GREAT EXPECTATIONS” + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“'Like Dido's self,' she said, 'I'm free! +Trojan or Tyrian are alike to me.'” + </pre> +<p> +There was but one species of tyranny Mr. Kennyfeck ever attempted in his +family: this was, to shroud with a solemn mystery every little event in +his professional career which he saw excited any curiosity with his wife +and daughters. It was true that on such occasions he became a mark for +most sneering insinuations and derisive commentaries, but he rose with the +dignity of a martyr above all their taunts, and doubtless felt in his +heart the supporting energy of a high-priest standing watch over the gate +of the Temple. +</p> +<p> +The few pencilled lines by Cashel, which had summoned him to the meeting +recorded in the last chapter, he threw into the fire as soon as he had +read, and then arising from the breakfast-table, dryly observed,— +</p> +<p> +“Don't wait breakfast, Mrs. Kennyfeck; I shall not be back for some time.” + </p> +<p> +“Another secret, Mr. Kennyfeck?” said his wife, scoffingly. +</p> +<p> +He only smiled in reply. +</p> +<p> +“It ought to be a duel, at least, pa,” said his eldest daughter, “from the +urgent haste of your departure.” + </p> +<p> +“Or a runaway couple, who wish to have the settlements—” + </p> +<p> +“Is that all you know of the matter, Livy?” said her sister, laughing +heartily; “why, child, your Gretna Green folks never have settlements—never +think of them till six months later, when they are wanting to separate.” + </p> +<p> +“Is there any occasion for mystery in this case?” rejoined Mrs. Kennyfeck, +haughtily. +</p> +<p> +“To be sure there may, my dear,” broke in Aunt Fanny; “there 's many a +dirty thing the lawyers have to do they 'd be ashamed to own before their +families.” + </p> +<p> +Even this did not move Mr. Kennyfeck, and, although from the way he +nestled his chin behind the folds of his white cravat, and a certain +scarcely perceptible shake of the head, it was clear he longed to refute +the foul aspersion. +</p> +<p> +“I suppose you will appear at dinner, sir?” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, with her +grandest air. +</p> +<p> +“I hope so, Mrs. Kennyfeck,” was the mild answer. +</p> +<p> +“Without you should take it into your head, pa, to enter into rivalry with +Mr. Linton, and stay away, heaven knows where or how long,” said Miss +Kennyfeck. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Kennyfeck did not wait for more, but left the room with an air whose +solemnity well suited any amount of secrecy. +</p> +<p> +“Is there a carriage at the door?” said Mrs. Kennyfeck. +</p> +<p> +“No, mamma; there are three saddle-horses—one with a side-saddle. +That odious Miss Meek!” exclaimed Miss Kennyfeck; “what Lord Charles can +see in her I cannot conceive. To be sure, she saves a stable-boy the more, +and that to him is something.” + </p> +<p> +“Has your father gone out by the back terrace?” resumed Mrs. Kennyfeck, +one only theme occupying her thoughts. +</p> +<p> +Olivia retired into an adjoining room, and soon returned, saying,— +</p> +<p> +“No, ma; there's no one there, except Sir Andrew and Lady Janet, taking +their morning walk.” + </p> +<p> +“Their run, rather, my dear,” chimed in Miss Kennyfeck, “for she chases +the poor old man up and down with a cup of camomile tea, which either +scalds or sets him a-coughing. I 'm sure that tiresome old couple have +awoke me every day the last week with their squabbling.” + </p> +<p> +“Step down into the library, my love,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck to her younger +daughter, “and bring, me up the 'Post' or the 'St. James's Chronicle.'” + </p> +<p> +“And if you meet Phillis, Just ask if he saw your father, for he forgot +his gloves.” And, suiting the action to the word, Aunt Fanny dived into a +cavern of an apron-pocket, and drew out a pair of knitted things without +fingers, which she offered to Olivia. +</p> +<p> +“Do no such thing, Miss Olivia Kennyfeck,” said her mamma, with an air of +imposing grandeur. +</p> +<p> +“Ma wants the newspaper, Olivia, and is not thinking of papa,” said Miss +Kennyfeck; and her eyes sparkled with a malicious fun she well knew how to +enjoy. +</p> +<p> +As Miss Olivia Kennyfeck left the room, her sister approached the +fireplace, where a small charred portion of the note thrown down by her +father was yet lying. She took it, and walking toward the window, examined +it carefully. +</p> +<p> +And while we leave her thus occupied, let us, for the reader's information—albeit +he may deem the matter trivial—give the contents as Cashel wrote +them:— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Dear Mr. Kennyfeck,—Make my excuses to Mrs. Kennyfeck +and the Demoiselles Cary and Olivia, if I deprive them of +your society this morning at breakfast, for I shall want +your counsel and assistance in the settlement of some +difficult affairs. I have been shamefully backward in paying +my respectful addresses to the ladies of your family; but +to-day, if they will permit, I intend to afford myself that +pleasure. It is as a friend, and not as my counsel learned +in law, I ask your presence with me in my library at ten +o'clock. Till then, + +Believe me yours, + +R. C. +</pre> +<p> +Now, of this very commonplace document, a few blackened, crumpled, frail +fragments were all that remained; and these, even to the searching dark +eyes of Miss Kennyfeck, revealed very little. Indeed, had they not been +written in Cashel's hand, she would have thrown them away at once, as +unworthy of further thought. This fact, and the word “Olivia,” which she +discovered after much scrutiny, however, excited all her zeal, and she +labored now like an antiquarian who believes he has gained the clew to +some mysterious inscription. She gathered up the two or three filmy black +bits of paper which yet lay within the fender, and placing them before +her, studied them long and carefully. The word “settlement” was clear as +print. +</p> +<p> +“'Olivia and 'settlement' in the same paper,” thought she; “what can this +mean? +</p> +<p> +“Come here, mamma—Aunt Fanny—look at this for a moment,” said +she, eagerly; and the two ladies approached at her bidding. +</p> +<p> +“What is that word?” she said to Mrs. Kennyfeck; “is it not 'Olivia'? +Don't you see the end of the 'l' has been burned away, but the rest is +quite plain?” + </p> +<p> +“So it is—upon my life!—and in Cashel's hand, too!” exclaimed +Mrs. Kennyfeck. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0003" id="linkimage-0003"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/20093.jpg" alt="093 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +“And what is that?” asked Miss Kennyfeck, triumphantly, pointing to +another word. +</p> +<p> +Aunt Fanny, with her spectacles on, bent down, and examined it long. +</p> +<p> +“'Battlement.' That is 'battlement' as clear as day,” said she. +</p> +<p> +“What nonsense, aunt—it is 'settlement.' Look at what you call a 'b'—it +is an 's.'” + </p> +<p> +“Cary's quite right. The word is 'settlement,'” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, in a +voice tremulous with joy. +</p> +<p> +“And there!—I hope you can read!” exclaimed Miss Kennyfeck, “even +without your spectacles—'paying'—'addresses.'” + </p> +<p> +“Show it to me, Cary,” said her mother, eagerly. “I declare I can read it +perfectly. Is it possible?—can this be indeed true?” + </p> +<p> +“Of course it is, mamma. Will you tell me by what other coincidence you +could find Olivia's name coupled with the words 'settlement' and +'addresses' in the same note?” + </p> +<p> +“It is very suspicious, certainly,” said Aunt Fanny. +</p> +<p> +“I think it very convincing, aunt—not suspicious,” said Miss +Kennyfeck, proudly. “Here is something about 'friend,' and another word I +can't make out.” + </p> +<p> +“That's something about a 'saw,' my love,” said Aunt Fanny. +</p> +<p> +“How absurd, aunt; the word is 'law.' I have it. See—here is the +name—it is the conclusion of the note, and ran, doubtless, thus: +'Your present friend, and future son-in-law,—R. C.” + </p> +<p> +Mrs. Kennyfeck leaned forward, and kissed her daughter's cheek with a +degree of fervor she very rarely gave way to; and then, lying back in her +chair, pressed her handkerchief to her face, while she, doubtless, +revelled in a little excursion of fancy, not the less brilliant because +tempered with anxiety. +</p> +<p> +If the moment was one of maternal ecstasy for Mrs. Kennyfeck, it was no +less one of triumphant joy to her daughter. It was <i>she</i> who revealed +the secret meaning; her skill and ingenuity had given light to the dark +mystery, and consistency to its incoherence. What domination could be too +great for such services? It was then, like a legitimate sovereign assuming +the reins of government, she said,— +</p> +<p> +“I beg, Aunt Fanny, that you will not spoil the game this time, as most +unquestionably you did before.” + </p> +<p> +“Let us see that there is one to be spoiled, my dear,” rejoined Aunt +Fanny, snappishly. +</p> +<p> +“You are really too provoking, Fanny,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, removing her +handkerchief from two very red eyelids. “You never are satisfied when you +see us happy. Cary has shown you enough to convince any one—” + </p> +<p> +“Anyone disposed to conviction, mamma,” broke in Miss Kennyfeck, +haughtily. “Hush, here's Olivia.” + </p> +<p> +“Mr. Meek is reading the 'Post,' ma,” said the young lady, entering; “and +he has got the other papers in his pocket, but he says there's really +nothing of any interest in them.” + </p> +<p> +“I think Livy should be told, mamma,” whispered Miss Kennyfeck to her +mother. +</p> +<p> +“I quite agree with you, Cary,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck; “I never was a friend +to any secrecy in families. Your father, indeed, I grieve to say, does not +participate in my sentiments; but much may be excused in him, from the +habits of his profession, and, I will also say, from the class in life he +sprang from.” Here Mrs. Kennyfeck, who had spoken like one delivering an +oracle, stopped to drop a tear over the sad <i>mésalliance</i> which had +condemned her to become the wife of an attorney. “Olivia, my dear, +circumstances have disclosed the nature of the interview which Mr. +Kennyfeck would not confide to us. It is one in which you are deeply +concerned, my dear. Have you any suspicion to what I allude?” + </p> +<p> +Olivia assumed her very sweetest look of innocence, but made no reply. +</p> +<p> +“Mamma wants you to be candid enough to say, if there is anything in the +way of particular attention you may have received lately, which should +corroborate the impressions we entertain.” + </p> +<p> +Miss Kennyfeck delivered these words so categorically, that her sister +well knew how, in the event of refusal, a searching cross-examination was +reserved for her. +</p> +<p> +Olivia looked down, and a very slight embarrassment might be detected in +the quickened heaving of her chest. +</p> +<p> +“Tell us, my darling,” said Aunt Fanny, “if—if any one has, in a +manner so to say—you understand—eh?” + </p> +<p> +“Keep the blushes, Livy, for another time; they look beautiful with orange +flowers in the hair,” said her sister; “but be candid with us.” + </p> +<p> +“If you mean attentions, mamma—” + </p> +<p> +“We mean attentions, 'and something more,' as Lord Lyndburst says,” + interposed Miss Kennyfeck, who felt that she was the proper person to +conduct the inquiry. +</p> +<p> +“I cannot positively say, mamma, that we are engaged, but I believe that +if you and pa made no obstacles—if, in fact, you are satisfied that +his rank and fortune are sufficient for your expectations, as I own they +are for mine—” + </p> +<p> +“What humility!” exclaimed Miss Kennyfeck, holding up her hands. +</p> +<p> +“Hush, Cary—go on, Livy,” said her mother. +</p> +<p> +“I have no more to say, mamma. Sir Harvey told me—” + </p> +<p> +“Sir Harvey!” cried Mrs. Kennyfeck. +</p> +<p> +“Sir Harvey Upton!” echoed Miss Kennyfeck. +</p> +<p> +“The man with the hair all over his face!” exclaimed Aunt Fanny, whose +western habits had not accustomed her to mustaches. +</p> +<p> +Olivia stared from one to the other in mingled fear and astonishment. She +suddenly saw that she had been betrayed into a confession to which they +did not possess the slightest clew; she also perceived that the tidings, +for which she anticipated a most joyous welcome, were received with +coldness and almost disdain. +</p> +<p> +“He is a baronet, mamma, with very great expectations,” said she, proudly; +for really, it was a large “bird” to bag, in the beginning of the season, +too! +</p> +<p> +“Very possibly,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, looking to her elder daughter with +that silent eloquence which the court occasionally bestows upon the crown +counsel, meaning to say: “Have you anything to reply to that?” + </p> +<p> +“Mamma is aware that Sir Harvey is a baronet, and a captain of Hussars, +and Jonas Upton of Somerton is his uncle, who may, or may not, leave him +his large estates—a circumstance, most probably, mainly dependent on +the alliance he may form in marriage.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, indeed! my dear,” broke in Aunt Fanny; “and when the old man finds +out that 'tis only an attorney's daughter—” + </p> +<p> +“Fanny, do you mean to drive me distracted?” screamed Mrs. Kennyfeck; “are +my children to be taught to be ashamed of their father?” + </p> +<p> +“'T is a lesson they might know by heart, this time of day, my dear,” said +the inexorable Fanny, who put up her spectacles, and smoothed down her +apron,—unmistakable signs that she was preparing for battle. +</p> +<p> +“You need n't 'beat to quarters,' aunt, as Captain Luttredge says; there +is no one going to fire into you,” said Miss Kennyfeck. “The question at +present is, how is Olivia to free herself from an unhappy connection—” + </p> +<p> +“An unhappy connection!” exclaimed Livy, in amazement. +</p> +<p> +“Listen to your sister, and don't interrupt her,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck. +</p> +<p> +“I spoke advisedly, Livy,” resumed the elder, “when I called your +connection with Sir Harvey Upton unhappy. We have just learned that far +higher views are open to you,—that no less a person than Mr. Cashel—” + </p> +<p> +“Impossible, mamma! he never notices me in the least. Our acquaintance is +scarcely more than a cold act of recognition when we meet.” + </p> +<p> +“Though love is hot sometimes, soon it grows cold,” muttered Aunt Fanny, +who believed she was quoting to the letter. +</p> +<p> +“There never was love in the case at all, aunt,” said Olivia. +</p> +<p> +“Attend to <i>me</i>, Livy,” said her sister, who seemed impatient at this +digression. “It is sufficient—it ought, at least, to be sufficient—for +you, that <i>we</i> know Mr. Roland Cashel's intentions. It is for <i>you</i> +to establish a coolness with Sir Harvey. There is no difficulty in the +task. I could not presume to instruct <i>you</i> in any matter of this +kind, nor will I.” + </p> +<p> +“Take a friend's advice, Livy dear, and don't throw out dirty water till +you're sure of clean.” + </p> +<p> +“What, aunt?” asked Olivia, who really was puzzled by the figurative +eloquence of her relative. +</p> +<p> +“Pshaw!” said Miss Kennyfeck, equally angry at the counsel and the +vulgarity of the expression it was couched in. “Livy, attend to <i>me</i>,” + said she again. “Mr. Cashel has sent for papa this morning to make a +formal—Hush! here is pa himself.” And Mr. Kennyfeck's heavy tread +was heard approaching the door. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Kennyfeck's sudden entrance not only closed the discussion, but left +the debaters in the difficulty of having no concerted line of conduct +respecting the new arrival; and although Mrs. Kennyfeck's eyebrows were +worked with a telegraphic activity, and Miss Kennyfeck's pantomimic +replies as promptly returned, it was clear that neither comprehended the +other. Kaunitz lays it down as an axiom that “when two wings of an army +are in presence of an enemy, and without means of rapid and certain +communication, it is always better to act on the defensive than to attack, +without some evident weak point of the adversary encourages a forward +movement.” It is more than probable that neither Mrs. Kennyfeck nor her +fair daughter had studied the authority in question, yet, with a tact +quite instinctive, they proceeded to act upon it. +</p> +<p> +“You are back early, Mr. Kennyfeck,” said his wife, with a tone of half +indifference. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Kennyfeck looked at his watch, and said it wanted twenty minutes to +twelve. +</p> +<p> +“Has Mr. Linton returned, pa?” asked Miss Kennyfeck. +</p> +<p> +“I believe not. I have not heard that he has.” + </p> +<p> +“It would be little loss if he never did!” said Aunt Fanny, as she bit the +end of an obstinate thread that would not enter the eye of her needle. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Aunt Fanny!” exclaimed Olivia, in a deprecating tone. +</p> +<p> +“'Pon my word, my dear, them 's my sentiments—whatever yours is.” + </p> +<p> +“Mr. Cashel certainly thinks differently,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, glad to +introduce the name uppermost in all their thoughts. +</p> +<p> +“I think of late there has been something like a coldness between them—You +see them very rarely together. Did Mr. Cashel mention his name to you this +morning, Mr. Kennyfeck?” said his wife; and by this sudden question +revealing that they knew, at least, where he had been. +</p> +<p> +“Mere passingly, incidentally,” said Mr. Kennyfeck, evidently amazed that +his small mystery had been penetrated; then, after a slight pause, he +added, very probably with a sly malice to pique curiosity, “Mr. Cashel is +desirous of Mr. Linton's counsel on a step he meditates taking.” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed, sir; and has he much confidence in Mr. Linton's judgment?” + </p> +<p> +“In this instance, it is likely he will follow the dictates of his own, +Mrs. Kennyfeck,” said the attorney, solemnly. +</p> +<p> +This fencing was too much for Mrs. Kennyfeck, in whom the Job-like element +was always at zero. It was an insult, too, to her understanding, that Mr. +Kennyfeck should skirmish in this fashion with <i>her</i>; and so, drawing +herself proudly up, she said,— +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Kennyfeck, I would wish to ask you, if you have, even upon one single +occasion, discovered that <i>my</i> knowledge of the world, <i>my</i> +tact, or <i>my</i> intelligence, were inferior to your own?” + </p> +<p> +“Never, madam; I'm sure I never disputed the—” + </p> +<p> +“No, sir, you never dared to contest the fact, though you may have +endeavored to escape from its application. I believe, sir, the only +instance of deficient judgment I can be accused of, <i>you</i>, at least, +ought not to reproach me with. 'My family'”—this was a word Mrs. +Kennyfeck used to enunciate with an emphasis that always impressed her +husband very little provocation might possibly have made her say, “our +house”—“my family, indeed, may refuse to forgive me”—she +stopped, wiped her eyes, and then, with what seemed an heroic victory over +her feelings, went on—“but the welfare of my children, sir, may well +be conceived dear to one, who would not league to them the unhappy descent +she has herself suffered.” + </p> +<p> +Mrs. Kennyfeck paused again. It appeared as though, do what she would, +there was no escaping from the theme of her <i>mésalliance</i> when once +she had touched it. It was very birdlime in its adhesiveness. +</p> +<p> +“When, therefore, Mr. Kennyfeck, the occasion presents itself of resuming, +through my children—for alas! it is lost to me in my own person—the +station I have forfeited, I do think that I should at least be consulted, +that my advice should be asked, and my guidance required. Don't you think +so too, sir?” + </p> +<p> +Now, of all men living, never was there one more inept to read riddles +than poor Mr. Kennyfeck, and while he averred that he perfectly concurred +in his wife's opinion, he had not the faintest glimmering of a notion what +that opinion implied. +</p> +<p> +“Don't you think, sir, also it would be better to use a little candor with +your family?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, pa, we know all about it,” said Miss Kennyfeck, nodding +significantly. +</p> +<p> +“Ay, indeed, we had it in black and white—that is, if we can call a +bit of burnt—” + </p> +<p> +“Aunt Fanny, what are you about?” cried Miss Kennyfeck, in a voice of real +terror, for she was shocked at the meanness she did not scruple to stoop +to. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Mr. Kennyfeck,” reiterated his wife, “we know all! If, however, you +still persist in maintaining that mysterious aspect you have assumed with +your family, I must say, sir, it is perfectly absurd.” + </p> +<p> +“It is unnecessary, too, papa,” cried Miss Kennyfeck. +</p> +<p> +“And it's unfair to that young creature,” chimed in Aunt Fanny, with a +gesture towards Olivia, who sat, <i>en tableau</i> for injured innocence, +next a window. +</p> +<p> +Possibly, if any could have read Mr. Kennyfeck's sentiments at that +instant, they would have recognized the sufferings of a true martyr. To +his own heart he muttered,— +</p> +<p> +“This is very hard; it is being called upon to reply to a case without a +copy of the affidavits.” + </p> +<p> +At length, with a courage that he did not believe he was capable of, he +said,— +</p> +<p> +“I am confused, Mrs. Kennyfeck; I am overwhelmed; I may submit a plea of +surprise—that is, I would move the court, I mean—in fact, I +must beg you will permit me to adjourn this case.” + </p> +<p> +And with these words, and in an agitation very unusual with him, he +hastened from the room. Scarcely had the door closed after him, than he +reopened it, and putting in his head, said,— +</p> +<p> +“I should have told you, Mrs. Kennyfeck, that Mr. Cashel intends to pay a +visit here to-day.” + </p> +<p> +And so saying, he shut the door and departed. +</p> +<p> +“At last, sir!” exclaimed Mrs. Kennyfeck, in a voice of exultation, “you +have been obliged to confess so much at least; but, rely on it, girls, +your father is acting under Cashel's dictation, or he never would dare to +tamper in this manner with <i>me</i>.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER X. A STARTLING INTRUSION +</h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Say what you will, good friend, I do persist, +I had him “covered” when you shook my wrist. + +The Duel. +</pre> +<p> +In a handsome drawing-room, where the light was judiciously tempered by +the slight folds of rose-colored curtains, while the air breathed the +faint delicious perfume of some hot-house flowers, sat Olivia Kennyfeck +alone. She was most simply but becomingly dressed, and in her hair, worn +in smooth bands on either cheek, a little sprig of Greek myrtle, with its +bright red berries, was interwoven, which served to show to even greater +advantage the delicate fairness of a skin tinged with the very faintest +blush. There was a soft pensive character in her beauty which seemed to +harmonize perfectly with the silent room and its scattered objects of art. +The very exclusion of all view appeared to add to the effect; as though +suggesting how much of in-door happiness was contained within those four +walls\ neither asking for, nor wanting, the “wide cold world” without. She +was reading—at least she held a book in her hand—a gorgeously +bound little volume it was—nor did the dark ribbon of velvet fringed +with gold that marked her place fail to contrast well with the snowy +whiteness of the wrist it fell upon. +</p> +<p> +Her attitude, as she lay, rather than sat, in a deep armchair, was +faultless in its grace; and even the tiny foot, which rested on a little +Blenheim spaniel as he lay sleeping on the hearth-rug, had a certain air +of homelike ease that made the scene a picture, and to a suggestive mind +might have given it a story. And yet, for all the sleepy softness of those +half-drooped lids, for all that voluptuous ease of every lineament and +limb, the heart within was watchful and waking. Not a sound upon the +stairs, not a voice, not a footstep, that did not make its pulses beat +faster and fuller. +</p> +<p> +Two o'clock struck, and the great bell rang out which called the guests to +luncheon, a meal at which Cashel never appeared; and now Olivia listened +to the sounds of merry laughter that floated along the corridors, and +faded away in the distance, as group after group passed downstairs, and at +last, all was silent again. Where was he? Why did he not come? she asked +herself again and again. Her mamma and sister had purposely stayed away +from luncheon to receive him; for so it was arranged, that she herself +should first see Cashel alone, and afterwards be joined by the others—and +yet he came not! +</p> +<p> +The half-hour chimed, and Olivia looked up at the French clock upon the +mantelpiece with amazement. Surely there had been more than thirty minutes +since she heard it last; and the little Cupid on the top, who, with +full-stretched bow and fixed eye, seemed bent on mischief—silly +fool! like herself, there was no mark to shoot at! She sighed; it was not +a deep sigh, nor a sad one; nor was it the wearisome expression of +listlessness; nor was it the tribute paid to some half-called up memory. +It was none of these; though perhaps each entered into it as an +ingredient. But what right have we to analyze its meaning, or ask how much +of hope or fear it contained?—what portion of regret for one she was +about to desert?—what shame for the faithlessness? Ay, what shame! +</p> +<p> +Coquetry is no virtue; but most certainly it is not the wholesale +corrupter some moralists would make it. Miss Olivia Kennyfeck had been +taught it from her earliest years,—from those pleasant days, when, +dressed like some fairy queen, she descended from the nursery to stand +beside pa's chair on company days, at dessert, and be stared at, and +kissed, and “dear-loved” by some scores of people, whose enthusiasm for +childish beauty had all the warmth that springs from turtle and truffles, +iced punch and Lafitte. She had been taught it by the French governess, +who told her to be <i>aimable</i>. The very dancing-master cried out, +“Grace,—more grace, if you please, Miss Olivia,” at every step of +her minuet; and the riding-master's eternal exhortation was, “Sit as if +the whole world was watching you, miss.” + </p> +<p> +These teachings go further and deeper into the heart than we suspect. “The +wish to please”—pure and amiable as the feeling can be—lies on +the frontier of a dangerous land,—the “wish to conquer.” That +passion once engendered in the heart, no room remains for any other. +</p> +<p> +To return to Miss Olivia Kennyfeck,—for most ungallantly we are +forgetting she is alone all this while. Her education had but one end and +object,—to obtain a good position by marriage. The precept had been +instilled into her mind in a thousand different ways, and not only +self-interest, but pride, emulation, and vanity had been enlisted in its +support. So constantly was the theme presented to her, such day-by-day +discussion of the prizes and blanks drawn by others in the wheel +connubial, that she really felt little or no interest in any other topic. +</p> +<p> +And yet, with all that misdirection of mind, that perverse insistence on +wrong, there was still in her heart a void, a want, that neither vanity +nor selfishness could fill. It might be, perhaps, to be found out by one +who should make it the storehouse of high and generous impulses, of +ennobling duties and tender affections; or, just as likely, lie like some +fruitful but unknown tract,—barren, waste, and profitless! +</p> +<p> +Three o'clock came! And now the house resounded with the buzz of voices +and the hurried movement of feet. Carriages and horses, too, assembled +before the door, and all the pleasant bustle of those bent on pleasure +filled the air. Olivia arose, and, screened by the curtain, watched the +scene beneath. For the first time she perceived that Lady Kilgoff was in a +riding-dress. She stood in the midst of a group before the door, amid +which Olivia's eyes peered with restless activity. +</p> +<p> +No, Cashel was not there! She almost said the comforting words aloud, but +at the same instant a cry of, “Here he is,—here he comes!” broke +from those beneath, and every head was turned towards the road to the +stables, along which Cashel was seen cantering a snow-white Arab of great +beauty. As he came nearer it could be seen that he was seated on a +side-saddle, while he managed the well-trained creature with the most +graceful address. +</p> +<p> +“Are you quite certain I may venture, Mr. Cashel?” said Lady Kilgoff, as +he pulled up in front of her; “remember, that I am neither so fearless nor +so skilful as our fair queen beside me, who, I must own, is far more +worthy of 'Hassan Bey' than I am.” + </p> +<p> +“I'll pledge my life on his good conduct,” said Roland, springing from his +back; “I've ridden him for an hour, and he is gentleness itself.” + </p> +<p> +“He's over-trained for my fancy,” said Miss Meek. “He's like one of the +creatures you see in Franconi's, walking up a ladder to catch a +handkerchief.” + </p> +<p> +Lady Janet whispered something in her ear, at which she started and +smiled, but evidently in ignorance of its meaning. +</p> +<p> +“What is that very wicked thing that Lady Janet has just told you?” said +Lady Kilgoff, as she advanced to mount her horse. +</p> +<p> +“It was <i>à propos</i> of the handkerchief. She said 'Probably you were +going to throw yours at Mr. Cashel,'—I'm sure I don't know why.” + </p> +<p> +Fortunately none but Lady Kilgoff and Cashel heard this speech, but both +blushed deeply. +</p> +<p> +While this was enacting below, Olivia, who marked every gesture and every +look eagerly, could not hear what passed. She could only see the +respectful attention bestowed by Cashel on every wish of his fair guest; +how, having seated her, he draped in graceful folds the long velvet habit, +in which, and with a white hat and drooping feather, she resembled one of +the court of Louis Quinze. +</p> +<p> +At last she turned her horse's head, and rode him slowly along before the +house, evidently timid and afraid of the high-mettled animal. Cashel, +however, walked at his head, and so they stood, while he arranged the +curb-chain, exactly beneath the window where Olivia was standing. +</p> +<p> +She opened the sash noiselessly, and, bending down, listened. +</p> +<p> +“I assure you,” said Lady Kilgoff, “I 'll not continue my ride if you +don't come. I have no confidence in these fine gentlemen cavaliers; and as +for Miss Meek, she 'd risk her life to see me run away with.” + </p> +<p> +“I pledge myself to follow in ten minutes,—nay, in five, if +possible. I told Mr. Kennyfeck I should make my obeisances to the ladies +to-day.” + </p> +<p> +“Would to-morrow not serve?” said she, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“I believe it might—but a promise! Besides, I have been sadly +deficient in attentions there.” + </p> +<p> +“Sir Harvey and his brother hussar have made the <i>amende</i> for your +shortcomings, but go, make haste and overtake us. I see 'my Lord' trying +to understand Lady Janet, and I must not delay longer.” + </p> +<p> +“Ride slowly,” cried Roland, “and don't get run away with till I 'm of the +party.” + </p> +<p> +She nodded archly in reply to this speech, and joining the group, who were +all awaiting her, rode off, while Cashel entered the house, and soon was +heard ascending the stairs at a hurried pace. +</p> +<p> +Olivia could only close the window and resume her place, when a tap was +given at the door, and the same instant Cashel entered the room. He +stopped suddenly, and looked around, for at first he did not perceive +Olivia, who, deep in her book, affected not to hear the noise of his +approach. +</p> +<p> +The rich coronet of brown hair, on which an evening sun was throwing one +brilliant gleam, caught his eye, and he advanced near enough to see and be +struck by that graceful attitude of which we gave our reader a glimpse at +the opening of this chapter. +</p> +<p> +She was reading some old English ballad; and, as she closed the volume, +murmured, half aloud, the lines of the concluding verse:— +</p> +<p> +“And ye variété, bounde upon a carte, Was draggede to ye gallows high, +While ye knighte that stole ye ladye's hearte (And was not his ye gravere +parte!) Rode onte to see him die.” + </p> +<p> +“A sad moral indeed,” said Cashel, in a low, soft voice. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, dear! oh, Mr. Cashel!” cried she, starting, and letting fall the +book, “how you have terrified me!” + </p> +<p> +“Pray forgive me,” said he, drawing his chair near, “but when I entered +the room I saw no one. I had come thus far ere I discovered that I was so +fortunate.” + </p> +<p> +“Shall I ring for mamma and Cary? they are dressing, I know, but will be +quite annoyed if you go before they come down.” + </p> +<p> +“You must not inconvenience them on my account,” said Roland, eagerly. +“I'm certain,” added he, smiling, “you are not afraid to receive me +alone.” + </p> +<p> +She hung down her head, and partly averting it, murmured a scarcely +audible “No.” + </p> +<p> +Cashel, who had evidently never calculated on his careless remark being +taken thus seriously, looked silly and uncomfortable for a few seconds. +There is a terrible perversity sometimes in our natures; we are disposed +to laugh occasionally at times when nothing could be more ill-timed or +unsuitable; and so, at moments when we would give anything in the world +for some commonplace theme to hang phrases on, we cannot, for the life of +us, originate one. +</p> +<p> +“You've not ridden out, I think, since we came?” said Roland, at last, but +with an air of sudden despair at his own stupidity. +</p> +<p> +“No. We have driven out once or twice; but—but—” + </p> +<p> +“Pray finish,” said he, with a persuasive look as he spoke. +</p> +<p> +“I was going to say that your horses are so spirited, that I was really +afraid to trust myself, and the more so as Miss Meek is so wild and so +reckless.” + </p> +<p> +“Never think of riding with <i>her</i>, Let me be your <i>chaperon</i>,—shall +we say to-morrow? I 've got the gentlest creature that was ever mounted.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, I know her; that sweet white Arab I saw the groom exercising +yesterday?” + </p> +<p> +“No; not she,” said Roland, blushing and confused, “a spotted barb, fully +as handsome—some say handsomer. Will you do me the favor to ride her +to-morrow, and, if she be fortunate enough to please you, to accept her?” + </p> +<p> +Olivia hung down her head for a second, and a deep scarlet covered her +cheek, and rose even to her temples, and it was with a voice broken and +interrupted she said, “Oh, I cannot—I must not.” Then, turning on +him a look, where the tearful eyes, swimming in a softened lustre, +conveyed a whole story of deep suffering, she said rapidly, “You are too +kind and too good ever to give pain; you are too generous to believe +others capable of it; but were I to accept your beautiful gift—were +I even to ride out with you <i>alone</i>—there is nothing that would +not be said of me.” + </p> +<p> +It was Cashel's turn for a slight blush now; and, to do him justice, he +felt the sensation a most disagreeable one. It had not indeed occurred to +him to make the proposal as the young lady took it, but he was far too +long schooled in gallantry to undeceive her, and so he said, “I really +cannot see this in the light you do. It is a very natural wish on my part, +that I should show my guests whatever my poor grounds afford of the +picturesque; and remember, we are not friends of yesterday.” This he said +in his very kindest tone. +</p> +<p> +“I <i>do</i> remember it,” said she, with a slow but most meaning sigh. +</p> +<p> +“That memory is, I trust, not so associated with sorrow,” added he, +leaning down, and speaking in a deep, earnest voice, “that you recall it +with a sigh?” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, no; but I was thinking—I must not say of what I was thinking.” + </p> +<p> +“Nay, but you must,” said he, gently, and drawing his chair closer. +</p> +<p> +“I dare not—I cannot—besides, you “—and there was on the +pronoun the very softest of all-dwelling intonation—“<i>you</i> +might be angry—might never forgive me.” + </p> +<p> +“Now I must insist on your telling me,” said Roland, passionately, “if but +to show how unfairly you judge me.” + </p> +<p> +“Well,” said she, drawing a long breath—“but shall I trust you?” + </p> +<p> +There was a most winning archness in the way she said this, that thrilled +through Cashel as he listened. “No, I will not,” added she, suddenly, and +as if carried away by a passionate impulse; “you are too—” + </p> +<p> +“Too what?” cried he, impatiently. +</p> +<p> +“Too fickle,” said she; and then, as if terrified at her own boldness, she +added, in a tremulous voice, “Oh, do forgive me!” + </p> +<p> +“There is really nothing to forgive,” said Roland, “unless you persist in +keeping from me an avowal that I almost fancy I have a right to ask for. +And now, of what were you thinking?” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll tell you,” said she, in a low, earnest accent, “though it may lose +me your esteem. I was thinking”—her voice here fell so low that +Cashel, to hear her words, was obliged to draw his chair closer, and bend +down his head till it actually brushed against the leaves she wore in her +hair—“I was thinking that, when we knew you first, before you had +made acquaintance with others, when you sat and read to us, when we walked +and rode together,—when, in short, the day was one bright dream of +pleasure to us, who had never known a brother—” + </p> +<p> +Pardon us, dear reader, if, at so critical a moment, we occupy the pause +which here ensued—and there was a pause—by referring to our +Aunt Fanny, only premising that we do so advisedly. It was one of that +excellent lady's firmest convictions that every one in the world required +some discreet friend, who should, at eventful passages in life, be ready +to aid, by presence of mind, a wavering resolve, or confirm a half-formed +determination. Now, she had waited for two mortal hours on that day for +Cashel's coming, in a state of impatience little short of fever. She +opened and shut her window, looked up one avenue and down another; she had +watched on the landing, and stood sentinel on the stairs; she had seen +Mrs. Kenny-feck and her elder daughter pass out into the garden, weary of +long waiting; when, at last, she heard Roland's hasty step as he traversed +the hall, and, hurrying upstairs, entered the drawing-room. +</p> +<p> +Drawn by an attraction there is no explaining, she left her room, and took +up her position in a small boudoir which adjoined the drawing-room. Here +she sat, persuading herself she was at her work; but, in reality, in a +state of suspense not very inferior to some prisoner while a jury is +deliberating on his fate. +</p> +<p> +The conversation, at first conducted in an ordinary tone, had gradually +subsided, till it dropped into the low, undistinguishable manner we have +mentioned. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0004" id="linkimage-0004"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/20114.jpg" width="793" height="1072" alt="114 " /><br /> +</div> +<p> +Aunt Fanny's inventive mind had suggested every step of the interview. She +kept muttering to herself: “He is explaining himself—she is +incredulous—and he tries to reassure her—she believes that his +heart was given to another—he vows and swears it was always hers—she +cannot credit the happiness—she is too unworthy.” + </p> +<p> +It was just as our aunt had got thus far in her running commentary that +both voices ceased, and a stillness, unbroken by a murmur, succeeded. +“What could it mean?” was the sudden question that flashed across her +mind; and Napoleon's own dread anxiety, as he gazed on the wood, and +hesitated whether the dark masses emerging from the shade were his own +legions or the Prussians, was not much more intense than hers. At last—we +are sorry to record it—but, alas! Aunt Fanny was only mortal, and an +old maid to boot—she approached the door and peeped through the +keyhole. The sight which met her eyes needed no second glance; she saw +both heads bent down together, the dark waving hair of Cashel close to the +nut-brown silky braids of Olivia. Neither spoke. “It was then concluded.” + </p> +<p> +This was the moment in which mutual avowals, meeting like two rivers, form +one broad and sweeping flood; it was the moment, too, in which, according +to her theory; a friend was all essential. According to her phrase, the +“nail should be clinched.” + </p> +<p> +Now, Aunt Fanny had been cruelly handled by the family for all the +blunders she had committed. Her skill had been impugned; her shrewdness +sneered at; her prognostications derided. Here was an opportunity to +refute all at once; and, in the language of the conqueror, “to cover +herself with glory.” + </p> +<p> +Gently opening the door she entered the room, and stealing tiptoe over, +till she stood behind their chairs, she placed, with all the solemnity of +an archbishop, a hand on either head, and, in a voice of touching fervor, +said,— +</p> +<p> +“Bless ye both, my darlings; may ye be as happy as—” + </p> +<p> +As what? The history is unable to record; for a shrill cry from her niece, +and an exclamation nearly as loud, and we fear far less polite, from +Roland, cut short the speech. +</p> +<p> +Shriek followed shriek from Olivia, who, partly from the shock, and still +more from shame, was thrown into an attack of hysterics. +</p> +<p> +“What the—” he was very nigh saying something else—“what have +you done, madam?” said Roland, in a state of mingled anger and terror. +</p> +<p> +“It's only your Aunt Fanny; it's me, my pet. Livy, darling, don't be +frightened; and here, too, is Mr. Cashel.” + </p> +<p> +In this, however, the good lady was mistaken; for Roland had hastened +upstairs to Mrs. Kennyfeck's room, which finding locked, he flew down to +the great drawing-room, thence to the library, and was making for the +garden, when he saw that lady and her daughter crossing the hall. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm afraid, madam,” said he, with all the composure he could summon, +“Miss Olivia Kennyfeck is not well; nothing serious, I trust; but a sudden +fright—a shock—Miss O'Hara somewhat imprudently—” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, Fanny again!” screamed Mrs. Kennyfeck; and without waiting for more, +rushed upstairs, followed by her daughter, while Roland, in a state of +mind we dare not dwell upon, hastened from the house, and mounting his +horse, galloped off into the wood. +</p> +<p> +There were times when Cashel would have laughed, and laughed heartily, at +the absurdity of this adventure. He would have even treasured up the +“tableau” as a thing for future ridicule among his friends; but his better +feelings, born of a more manly pride, rejected this now; he was sorry, +deeply, sincerely sorry that one with so much to fascinate and charm about +her, could lend herself to a mere game like this. “Where are these +deceptions to end?” said he, in passionate warmth. “Have candor, good +faith, and honesty fled the world? or, are they only to be found among +those whose vices make the foil to such humble virtues?” + </p> +<p> +Nor were these his only painful reflections. He was obliged to see himself—the +thing of all others he despised—“a dupe;” the mark for every mean +artifice and every ignoble scheme. The gambler, the flirt, the adventurer +in every walk, regarded him as a prey. Wealth had done this for him—and +it had done no more! None cared for him as a friend or companion. Even as +a lover, his addresses were heralded by his gold, not enhanced by +qualities of his own. What humiliation! +</p> +<p> +Mary Leicester alone seemed unimpressed by his great fortune, and +regardless of his wealth; she alone had never evinced towards him any show +of preference above others less endowed by Fate. Nay, he fancied he could +trace something of reserve in her manner whenever he stepped by chance out +of his character of careless, buoyant youth, and dwelt upon the plans mere +money accomplishes. In these she showed no interest, and took no pleasure; +while, to the adventures of his former life, she listened with eager +attention. It was easy to see she thought more of the <i>caballero</i> +than the <i>millionnaire</i>. +</p> +<p> +What a happiness had it been to have befriended her grandfather and +herself; how different had been his reflections at this hour; what lessons +in the true wisdom of life might he not have learned from one who had seen +the world, not as the play-table for the rolling dice of fortune, but as +the battle-ground where good and evil strive for victory, where a higher +philosophy is taught than the lifeless, soulless dictates of mere +fashionable existence! +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XI. SCANDAL, AND GENERAL ILL-HUMOR. +</h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +But where are they alle, I do not see, +One half of our goodlie companie! + +Hone. +</pre> +<p> +That day was destined to be one of contrarieties to the household of +Tubbermore. Of the Kennyfeck family, none appeared at dinner. Lady +Kilgoff, angry at Roland's breach of engagement,—for, although he +rode at top speed in every direction, he never overtook her,—also +kept her room. The carriage sent for Miss Leicester had returned without +her, a somewhat formal note of apology stating that Mr. Corrigan was +indisposed, and his granddaughter unwilling to leave him; while Linton, +usually a main feature in all the social success of a dinner, was still +absent. +</p> +<p> +Of the assembled guests, too, few were in their wonted spirits. Sir Andrew +and Lady Janet had quarrelled in the morning about the mode of preparing +dandelion tea, and kept up the dispute all the day; Upton was sulky, dark, +and reserved; Meek more than usually lachrymose; Fro-bisher's best mare +had been staked in taking a leap, and Miss Meek had never discovered it +till half an hour after, so that the lameness was greatly aggravated; Mrs. +White had had a “tiff” with the author, for his not believing the Irish to +be of Phoenician origin, and would n't speak to him at dinner; so that +Cashel himself, constrained, absent, and ill at ease, found his company +anything rather than a relief to his own distracted thoughts. +</p> +<p> +Among his other guests he found the same reserve and coldness of manner, +so that no sooner had they assembled in the drawing-room, after dinner, +than he left the house and set off to inquire for Mr. Corrigan at the +cottage. +</p> +<p> +“We had nine vacant places to-day at table,” said Lady Janet, as soon as +she had arranged her special table next the fire, with a shade in front +and a screen behind her, and was quite satisfied that, in regard to +cushions and footstools, she had monopolized the most comfortable in the +room. +</p> +<p> +“I thought—aw—that we—aw—were somewhat slow,” said +Captain Jennings, with his habitually tiresome, pompous intonation. +</p> +<p> +“What's the matter with Upton?” said a junior officer of his regiment, in +a whisper; “he looks so confoundedly put out.” + </p> +<p> +“I'm sure I don't know,” yawned out Lord Charles; “he has a very safe book +on the Oaks.” + </p> +<p> +“He's backing Dido at very long odds,” interposed Miss Meek, “and she's +weak before, they say.” + </p> +<p> +“Not staked, I hope,” said Frobisher, looking maliciously at her. +</p> +<p> +“I don't care what you say, Charley,” rejoined she; “I defy any one to +know whether a horse goes tender, while galloping in deep ground. You are +always unjust.” And she moved away in anger. +</p> +<p> +“She <i>is</i> so careless,” said Frobisher, listlessly. +</p> +<p> +“Tell me about these Kennyfecks. What is it all about?” said Mrs. White, +bustling up, as if she was resolved on a long confidence. +</p> +<p> +“They hedged against themselves, I hear,” said Frobisher. +</p> +<p> +“Indeed! poor things; and are they much hurt?” + </p> +<p> +“Not seriously, I fancy,” drawled he. “Lady Janet knows it all.” + </p> +<p> +Mrs. White did not neglect the suggestion, but at once repaired to that +part of the room where Lady Janet was sitting, surrounded by a select +circle, eagerly discussing the very question she had asked to be informed +upon. +</p> +<p> +“I had it from Verthinia,” said Mrs. Malone, with her peculiar, thick +enunciation, “Lady Kilgoff's maid. She said that not a day passes without +some such scene between the mother and daughters. Mrs. Kennyfeck had, it +seems, forbithen Cashel to call there in her abthence.” + </p> +<p> +“I must most respectfully interrupt you, madam,” said a large old lady, +with blond false hair, and a great deal of rouge, “but the affair was +quite different. Miss Olivia, that is the second girl, was detected by her +aunt, Miss O'Hara, packing up for an elopement.” + </p> +<p> +“Fudge!” said Lady Janet; “she'd have helped her, if that were the case! I +believe the true version of the matter is yet to come out. My woman, +Stubbs, saw the apothecary coming downstairs, after bleeding Livy, and +called him into her room; not, indeed, to speak of this matter”—here +Lady Janet caused her voice to be heard by Sir Andrew, who sat, in moody +sulk, right opposite—“it was to ask, if there should not be two pods +of capsicum in every pint of dandelion tea.” + </p> +<p> +“There may be twa horns o' the de'il in it,” ejaculated Sir Andrew, “but I +'ll na pit it to my mouth agen. I hae a throat like the fiery furnace that +roasted the three chaps in the Bible.” + </p> +<p> +“It suits your tongue all the better,” muttered Lady Janet, and turned +round to the others. “Stubbs, as I was saying, called the man in, and +after some conversation about the dandelion, asked, in a cursory way, you +know, 'How the lady was, upstairs?' He shook his head, and said nothing. +</p> +<p> +“'It will not be tedious, I hope?' said Stubbs. +</p> +<p> +“'These are most uncertain cases,' said he; 'sometimes they last a day, +sometimes eight or nine.' +</p> +<p> +“'I think you 're very mysterious, doctor,' said Stubbs. +</p> +<p> +“He muttered something about honor, and, seizing his hat went off, as +Stubbs says, 'as if he was shot!'” + </p> +<p> +“Honor!” cried one of the hearers. +</p> +<p> +“Honor!” ejaculated another, with an expression of pure horror. +</p> +<p> +“Did n't he say, madam,” said the blond old lady, “that it wasn't his +branch of the profession?” + </p> +<p> +“Oh! oh!” broke in the company together, while the younger ladies held up +their fans and giggled behind them. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm thorry for the poor mother!” sighed Mrs. Malone, who had seven +daughters, each uglier than the other. +</p> +<p> +“I pity the elder girl,” said Lady Janet; “she had a far better tone about +her than the rest.” + </p> +<p> +“And that dear, kind old creature, the aunt. It is said that but for her +care this would have happened long ago,” said Mrs. Malone. +</p> +<p> +“She was, to my thinking, the best of them,” echoed the blond lady; “so +discreet, so quiet, and so unobtrusive.” + </p> +<p> +“What could come of their pretension?” said a colonel's widow, with a very +large nose and a very small pension; “they attempted a style of living +quite unsuited to them! The house always full of young men, too.” + </p> +<p> +“You would n't have had them invite old ones, madam,” said Lady Janet, +with the air of rebuke the wife of a commander-in-chief can assume to the +colonel's relict. +</p> +<p> +“It's a very sad affair, indeed,” summed up Mrs. White, who, if she had +n't quarrelled with Mr. Howie, would have given him the whole narrative +for the “Satanist.” + </p> +<p> +“What a house to be sure! There's Lady Kilgoff on one side—” + </p> +<p> +“What of her, my Lady?” said the blonde. +</p> +<p> +“You did n't hear of Lord Kilgoff overtaking her to-day in the wood with +Sir Harvey Upton?—hush! or he 'll hear us. The poor old man—you +know his state of mind—snatched the whip from the coachman, and +struck Sir Harvey across the face. They say there's a great welt over the +cheek!” + </p> +<p> +Mrs. White immediately arose, and, under pretence of looking for a book, +made a circuit of the room in that part where Sir Harvey Upton was +lounging, with his head on his hand. +</p> +<p> +“Quite true,” said she, returning to the party. “It is so painful, he +can't keep his hand from the spot.” + </p> +<p> +“Has any one discovered who the strange-looking man was that was received +by Mr. Cashel this morning in his own study?” asked the blonde. “My maid +said he was for all the world like a sheriff's officer. It seems, too, he +was very violent in his language; and but for Mr. Kennyfeck, he would not +have left the house.” + </p> +<p> +“Too true, I fear, ma'am,” said Mrs. Malone; “my husband, the Thief,”—this +was Mrs. Malone's mode of abbreviating and pronouncing the words Chief +Justice,—“told me it was impothible for Mr. Cashel to continue his +extravaganth much longer.” + </p> +<p> +“It's shameful—it's disgraceful,” said Lady Janet; “the kitchen is a +scene of waste and recklessness, such as no fortune could stand.” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed, so the 'Thief' said,” resumed Mrs. Malone; “he said that robbery +went on, on every thide, and that Mr. Phillith, I think his name is, was +the worst of all.” + </p> +<p> +“Your husband was quite correct, ma'am,” said Lady Janet; “no one should +know it better.” And then she whispered in her neighbor's ear, “If the +adage be true, 'Set a thief to catch a thief.'” + </p> +<p> +The party intrusted with this could not restrain her laughter, and for a +space, a species of distrust seemed to pervade the circle. +</p> +<p> +We are certain that no apology will be required, if we ask of our reader +to quit this amiable society,—although seated at a comfortable fire, +in the very easiest of chairs, with the softest carpet beneath his feet,—and +accompany Roland Cashel, who now, with hasty step, trod the little path +that led to Tubber-beg Cottage. +</p> +<p> +However inhospitable the confession, we are bound to acknowledge Cashel +was growing marvellously weary of his character as a host. The hundred +little contrarieties which daily arose, and which he knew not how to +smooth down or conciliate, made him appear, in his own estimation at +least, deficient in worldly tact, and left him open to the belief that +others would judge him even less mercifully. The unbridled freedom of his +household, besides, stimulated all the selfishness of those who, in a +better arranged establishment, had kept “watch and ward” over their +egotism; and thus, instead of presenting the features of a society where +the elements of agreeability were not deficient, they resembled rather the +company in a packet-ship, each bent upon securing his own comfort, and +only intent how to make his neighbor subsidiary to himself. +</p> +<p> +Prosperity, too, was teaching him one of its least gracious lessons,—“Distrust.” + The mean and selfish natures by which he was surrounded were gradually +unfolding themselves to his view, and he was ever on the verge of that +dangerous frontier where scepticism holds sway. One conclusion—and +it was not the least wise—he formed was, that he was ill suited to +such companionship, and that he had been happier, far happier, on some +humble fortune, than as the rich proprietor of a great estate. +</p> +<p> +It was while thus ruminating, Cashel found himself at the little space +which intervened between one front of the cottage and the lake, and was +struck by the rapid movement of lights that glanced from window to window, +appearing and disappearing at every instant. +</p> +<p> +The dread that the old man was taken seriously ill at once came over him, +and he hastened forward in eager anxiety to learn the tidings. Then, +suddenly checking himself, he felt reluctant, almost stranger that he was, +to obtrude at such a moment. Fearing to advance, and unwilling to retire, +he stood uncertain and hesitating. +</p> +<p> +As he remained thus, the door of the drawing-room that opened upon the +lawn was flung wide, and Tiernay passed hastily out, saying in a loud and +excited voice, “I will have my own way. I 'll see Cashel at once.” And +with these words he issued forth in haste. Scarcely, however, had he gone +a dozen paces, than he stopped short, and, clasping his hands firmly +together, muttered aloud, “To what end should I seek him? What claim can I +pretend,—by what right appeal to him?” + </p> +<p> +“Every claim and every right,” cried Roland, advancing towards him, “if I +can only be of any service to you.” + </p> +<p> +“What! actually here at this moment!” exclaimed Tiernay. “Come this way +with me, sir; we must not go into the house just yet.” And so saying, he +passed his arm within Roland's, and led him onward towards the lake. +</p> +<p> +“Is he ill?” said Cashel,—“is Mr. Corrigan taken ill?” But although +the question was asked eagerly, Tiernay was too deeply sunk in his own +thoughts to hear it; while he continued to mutter hurriedly to himself. +</p> +<p> +“What <i>is</i> the matter?” said Roland at last, losing patience at a +preoccupation that could not be broken in upon. “Is Mr. Corrigan ill?” + </p> +<p> +“He is ruined!” said Tiernay, dropping Cashel's arm, and letting fall his +own as he spoke, with a gesture of despair. +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean? How?” + </p> +<p> +“Ruined! utterly ruined!” re-echoed Tiernay; and there was that in his +accent and the emotion of his manner that forbade any further questioning. +</p> +<p> +“It is not at a moment like this,” said the doctor, “that I can tell you a +long tale, where treachery and falsehood on one side, and generosity and +manliness on the other, played the game as ever it has been, and ever will +be played, between such antagonists;—enough, if I say my poor friend +became responsible for the debts of a man who, but for his aid, would have +had a felon's fate. This fellow, who possesses one terrible means of +vengeance, threatens now to use it, if a demand be not complied with, +which Corrigan may leave himself a beggar and yet not satisfy. The threat +has been held over him for years, and for years he has struggled on, +parting, one by one, with every little requirement of his station, and +submitting with noble resignation to any and every thing to stave off the +evil day; but it has come at last.” + </p> +<p> +“And what is the sum demanded?” said Cashel, hastily. +</p> +<p> +“I cannot tell. There are various bills; some have been renewed again and +again, others are yet current. It is a tangled web, and, in our +hopelessness, we never sought to unravel it!” + </p> +<p> +“But the danger is imminent?” + </p> +<p> +“So imminent that my friend will be arrested to-morrow if bail be not +forthcoming. I have not told him this; I dare not tell him so; but I have +made up a story to induce him to leave this to-night.” + </p> +<p> +“Where for?” cried Roland, anxiously. +</p> +<p> +“God knows! I lose memory as well as judgment in moments like this. I +believe I advised Limerick, and thence by ship to some port in England, +from which they could reach the Continent.” + </p> +<p> +“But all this will be unnecessary if I offer myself as security,” said +Roland. +</p> +<p> +“For a sum of which you know nothing!” muttered Tiernay, sorrowfully. +</p> +<p> +“No matter; it cannot be, in all likelihood, more than I can meet.” + </p> +<p> +“And for one who can never repay!” echoed the doctor still more sadly. +</p> +<p> +“Who can tell that?” said Cashel. “There's many a coinage costlier than +ever the mint fashioned; he may requite me thus.” + </p> +<p> +The doctor started. “You mean—no!—no!” cried he, interrupting +himself, “that were too great good fortune. I must tell you, sir,” added +he, in a firm voice, “that there is nothing—absolutely nothing—to +give you in requital for such aid. My friend's alternative is a prison, or +be your debtor for what he cannot pay.” + </p> +<p> +“I am content,—perfectly content,” said Roland. “There is no need to +say another word on the matter. Do not suffer him to endure any anxiety we +can spare him; tell him at once the thing is done.” + </p> +<p> +“We must think over this a little,” said Tiernay, musing. “Con is a +difficult fellow to deal with; there must be something which shall give it +the semblance of a loan; he must be made to believe it is only a change of +creditors.” + </p> +<p> +“Could not we arrange it without his knowledge, while you could affect to +have made some settlement which has satisfied the others?” + </p> +<p> +“Too late,—too late, for that; he has seen Hoare himself.” + </p> +<p> +“Hoare!—the money-lender from Dublin?” said Cashel, blushing at the +recollection of his own acquaintance with him. +</p> +<p> +“Ay, sir, of course you know him! A man cannot enjoy such distinguished +friendships as you have without the aid of usurers?” + </p> +<p> +Cashel smiled good-humoredly, and went on,— +</p> +<p> +“Where is this gentleman at present.” + </p> +<p> +“Yonder,” said Tiernay, pointing to the cottage; “but he intends shortly +returning to the inn at the village, where perhaps it would be better to +meet him than here. If you 'll permit me, I 'll just step in and say as +much, and then we can stroll that way together.” + </p> +<p> +Cashel consented, and his companion left him to do his errand. It was only +as he stood alone, and had time for reflection, that he remembered his +conversation with Kennyfeck in the morning, and learned that, with regard +to ready money at least, he stood in a very different position from what +he supposed. That there would be difficulties and legal obstacles +innumerable made by Kennyfeck to any sale of property, he well knew; but +he had made up his mind as to his course, and would not be thwarted. He +had but space for these reflections, when Tiernay joined him, saying,— +</p> +<p> +“So far all is well. Hoare will follow us in a few minutes, and, for +privacy' sake, I have made the rendezvous at my house.” + </p> +<p> +“And Corrigan,—how have you left him?” asked Cashel. +</p> +<p> +“Like one in a dream. He seems neither to know whether it be misfortune or +the opposite which impends him. Were it not for Mary, his poor heart had +given way long since. Ay, sir, there is more true heroism in one day of +that humble life, than in the boldest deed of bravery even you have ever +witnessed.” + </p> +<p> +Cashel did not speak, but, in the pressure of his arm against Tiernay's +the other felt how the theme had touched him. +</p> +<p> +“You only know her by the graceful elegance of her manner, and the +fascinations that, even to old men like myself, are a kind of sorcery; but +I have seen her in every trial, where temper and mind, and heart and +pride, are tested, and come through all victorious; draining the very +wells of her own hopefulness to feed the exhausted fountain which age and +disappointment had dried up; lending to manhood a greater courage than her +own; ay, and more,—showing that her temper could resist the jarring +influences of misfortune, and, like the bright moon above the storm-lashed +clouds, soar on, glorious and lustrous ever. What are men made of?” cried +he, energetically; “of what stuff are they formed, when such a girl as +this can excite more admiration for her beauty than for traits of +character that ennoble humanity?” + </p> +<p> +“You speak with all a lover's warmth, doctor,” said Cashel, half smiling, +while in reality, the subject interested him deeply. +</p> +<p> +“And why not, sir? I do love her, and with an affection that only such +beings inspire. It is creatures like her that redeem years of +disappointment and worldly disgust. It is in watching the +single-heartedness of that young girl that I, an old man, hackneyed and +hardened as I am, become trustful and hopeful of others. Love her!—to +be sure I love her. And so would you, if the poor fopperies amid which you +live but left you one moment free to think and feel as your own head and +heart would lead you. I hope you take no heed of my rude speech, sir,” + said he, hastily; “but it is the fault of my craft to believe that sweet +things are only 'Placebos,' given but to earn the fee and amuse the +patient.” + </p> +<p> +“I thank you for it,” said Cashel, pressing his hand; “few have ever cared +to tell me truths.” + </p> +<p> +“Say, rather, few have cared to resign their influence over you by showing +they knew your weak points. Now, I have too deep an interest in you, and +too slight a regard for any profit your acquaintance can render myself, to +be swayed by this. You don't know, you cannot know, what a charm there is +to an old fellow like myself—whose humble fortunes limit to a life +of mere routine—to think that he has an opportunity of counselling +one in your station,—to feel that he has sown the seed of some good +principle, that one day or other will bear its fruit. Yes, years hence, +when you have forgotten the old village doctor,—or if by chance +remember him, only to recall his vulgarity or eccentricity,—I will +be an anxious watcher over you, flattering myself to think that I have had +some share in instilling the precepts by which you are winning good men's +esteem. These thoughts are poor men's treasures, but he that feels them +would not barter them for gold.” + </p> +<p> +“I have long wished for such a counsellor,” said Cashel, fervently. +</p> +<p> +“The advice will not be the less stringent that it comes when you are +heart-sick of frivolity,” said Tiernay. “What could your fine company up +yonder teach you? Such of them as are above mere folly trade in vice. I +have seen them all since they have assembled here, and I am no mean +physiognomist, and there is but one among them deserving of better than +the poor heartless life they 're leading.” + </p> +<p> +“I can guess whom you mean,” said Roland, half pleased and half fearful. +</p> +<p> +“Well, she indeed would merit a better lot; and yet I would she were +gone.” + </p> +<p> +“Why so? Do you grudge as even a passing 'gleam of virtue's brightness'?” + </p> +<p> +“She is more dangerous than the veriest coquette that ever lured a man to +ruin. It is in such as she, where noble qualities have run to waste, where +generous sentiments and pure affections have been blighted by the cold +chill of a world that fosters not such gifts, the peril is ever greatest; +for her sake and for yours, I would she were gone.” + </p> +<p> +As they spoke thus, they had reached the wide esplanade in front of the +great house, from the windows of which lights were gleaming, while sounds +of festivity and pleasure floated on the night air. +</p> +<p> +Tiernay halted for a second, and then said, “Who could believe that the +owner of that princely mansion, filled as it is with pleasure-loving +guests, and every adjunct that can promote enjoyment, should leave it, to +wander on foot with a poor old village doctor, whose only merit is to +utter unpalatable truths!” + </p> +<p> +“And be happier while doing so,—add that, my worthy friend,” said +Cashel, pressing the arm that he held within his own. +</p> +<p> +“Come along, sir; this dalliance is pleasanter to me than to you. I begin +to feel that I may have done you good, and you should be a doctor to know +the full ecstasy of that feeling. Let us now move on, or this man will be +before us.” And so saying, they moved briskly forward towards the village +of Dunkeeran. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XII. SHYLOCK DEMANDS HIS BOND +</h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The debts we make by plighted vows, +Bear heaviest interest, ever! + +Haywood. +</pre> +<p> +The doctor's little parlor was the very “ideal” of snugness; there was +nothing which had the faintest resemblance to luxury save the +deep-cushioned arm-chair, into which he pressed Cashel at entering; but +there were a hundred objects that told of home. The book-shelves, no mean +indication of the owner's <i>trempe</i>, were filled with a mixture of +works on medicine, the older English dramatists, and that class of writers +who prevailed in the days of Steele and Addison. There was a microscope on +one table, with a great bunch of fresh-plucked fern beside it. A +chess-board, with an unfinished game—a problem from a newspaper, for +he had no antagonist—stood on another table; while full in front of +the fire, with an air that betokened no mean self-importance, sat a large +black cat, with a red leather collar, the very genius of domesticity. As +Cashel's eyes took a hasty survey of the room, they rested on a picture—it +was the only one there—which hung over the mantelpiece. It was a +portrait of Mary Leicester, and although a mere water-color sketch, an +excellent likeness, and most characteristic in air and attitude. +</p> +<p> +“Ay!” said Tiernay, who caught the direction of his glance, “a birthday +present to me! She had promised to dine with me, but the day, like most +Irish days when one prays for sunshine, rained torrents; and so she sent +me that sketch, with a note, a merry bit of doggerel verse, whose merit +lies in its local allusions to a hundred little things, and people only +known to ourselves; but for this, I 'd be guilty of breach of faith and +show it to you.” + </p> +<p> +“Is the drawing, too, by her own hand?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; she is a clever artist, and might, it is said by competent judges, +have attained high excellence as a painter had she pursued the study. I +remember an illustration of the fact worth mentioning. Carringford, the +well-known miniature-painter, who was making a tour of this country a +couple of years back, passed some days at the cottage, and made a picture +of old Con Corrigan, for which, I may remark passingly, poor Mary paid all +her little pocket-money,—some twenty guineas, saved up from Heaven +knows how long. Con did not know this, of course, and believed the +portrait was a compliment to his granddaughter. Carringford's ability is +well known, and there is no need to say the picture was admirably painted; +but still it wanted character; it had not the playful ease, the gentle, +indulgent pleasantry that marks my old friend's features; in fact, it was +hard and cold,—not warm, generous, and genial: so I thought, and so +Mary thought, and accordingly, scarcely had the artist taken his leave, +when she set to work herself, and made a portrait, which, if inferior as a +work of art, was infinitely superior as a likeness. It was Con himself; it +had the very sparkle of his mild blue eye, the mingled glance of drollery +and softness, the slightly curled mouth, as though some quaint conceit was +lingering on the lip,—all his own. Mary's picture hung on one side +of the chimney, and Carringford's at the other, and so they stood when the +painter came through from Limerick and passed one night at Tubber-beg, on +his way to Dublin. I breakfasted there that morning, and I remember, on +entering the room, I was surprised to see the frame of Carringford's +portrait empty, and a bank-note, carefully folded, stuck in the corner. +'What does that mean?' said I to him, for we were alone at the time. +</p> +<p> +“'It means simply that <i>my</i> picture cannot stand such competitorship +as <i>that</i>, said he; <i>mine</i> was a miniature, <i>that</i> is the +man himself.' I will not say one half of the flatteries he uttered, but I +have heard from others since, that he speaks of this picture as a +production of high merit. Dear girl! that meagre sketch may soon have a +sadder interest connected with it; it may be all that I shall possess of +her! Yes, Mr. Cashel, your generosity may stave off the pressure of one +peril, but there is another, from which nothing but flight will rescue my +poor friend.” + </p> +<p> +A sharp knocking at the door here interrupted the doctor's recital, and +soon Hoare's voice was heard without, inquiring if Dr. Tiernay was at +home. +</p> +<p> +Hoare's easy familiarity, as he entered, seemed to suffer a slight shock +on observing Roland Cashel, who received him with cold politeness. +</p> +<p> +Tiernay, who saw at once that business alone would relieve the awkwardness +of the scene, briefly informed the other that Mr. Cashel was there to +learn the exact amount and circumstances of Corrigan's liabilities, with a +view to a final settlement of them. +</p> +<p> +“Very pleasing intelligence this, doctor,” said the moneylender, rubbing +his hands, “and I am free to own, very surprising also! Am I to enter into +an explanation of the peculiar causes of these liabilities, doctor, or to +suppose,” said he, “that Mr. Cashel is already conversant with them?” + </p> +<p> +“You are to suppose, sir,” interposed Cashel, “that Mr. Cashel is aware of +every circumstance upon which he does not ask you for further +information.” There was a sternness in the way he spoke that abashed the +other, who, opening a huge pocket-book on the table, proceeded to scan its +contents with diligence; while Tiernay, whose agitation was great, sat +watching him without speaking. +</p> +<p> +“The transactions,” said Hoare, “date from some years back, as these bills +will show, and consist, for the most part, in drafts, at various dates, by +Mr. Leicester, of South Bank, New Orleans, on Cornelius Corrigan, Esq., of +Tubbermore. Some of these have been duly honored; indeed, at first, Mr. +Corrigan was punctuality itself; but bad seasons, distress at home here, +greater demands, the consequence of some commercial losses sustained by +Mr. Leicester in the States, all coming together, the bills were not met +as usual; renewals were given—and, when it comes to that, Mr. +Cashel, I need scarcely say difficulties travel by special train.” No one +joined in the little laugh by which Mr. Hoare welcomed his own attempt at +pleasantry, and he went on: “At first we managed tolerably well. Mr. +Corrigan devoted a portion of his income to liquidate these claims; he +made certain sales of property; he reduced his establishment; in fact, I +believe he really made every sacrifice consistent with his position—” + </p> +<p> +“No, sir,” broke in Tiernay, “but consistent with bare subsistence.” + </p> +<p> +The violent tone of the interruption startled the moneylender, who +hastened to concur with the sentiment, while he faltered out— +</p> +<p> +“Remember, gentlemen, I speak only from hearsay; of myself I know +nothing.” + </p> +<p> +“Go on with your statement, sir,” said Cashel, peremptorily. +</p> +<p> +“My statement,” said Hoare, provoked at the tone assumed towards him, +“resolves itself into a debt of three thousand seven hundred and +forty-eight pounds some odd shillings. There are the bills. The sums due +for interest and commission are noted down, and will, I believe, be found +duly correct.” + </p> +<p> +“Three thousand seven hundred pounds in less than five years!” ejaculated +Tiernay. “What iniquity!” + </p> +<p> +“If your expression is intended to apply to anything in the conduct of +this transaction, sir,” said Hoare, growing pale with passion as he spoke, +“I beg you to remember that there is such a thing in the land as redress +for libel.” + </p> +<p> +“If the laws will warrant sixty per cent, they may well punish the man who +calls it infamy,” said Tiernay, almost choking with anger. +</p> +<p> +“That will do, gentlemen, that will do,” said Hoare, replacing the bills +in the pocket-book, while his fingers trembled with passion. “I was not +aware that your object in this meeting was to insult me; I 'll not expose +myself a second time to such a casualty. I 'll thank you to hand me that +bill, sir!” This request was addressed to Cashel, who, with his eyes +riveted on a document which he held in both hands, sat perfectly unmindful +of all around him. +</p> +<p> +“If you will have the kindness to give me that bill, sir?” said Hoare, +again. +</p> +<p> +“Shylock wants his bond,” said Tiernay, who walked up and down the room +with clinched hands, and brows knitted into one deep furrow. +</p> +<p> +Hoare turned a scowling glance towards him, but not trusting himself to +reply, merely repeated his question to Cashel. +</p> +<p> +“How came you by this?” cried Roland, rising from the table, and holding +out a written paper towards Hoare; “I ask, sir, how came you by this?” + reiterated he, while the paper shook with the hand that held it. +</p> +<p> +“Oh! I perceive,” said Hoare; “that document has no concern with the case +before us; it refers to another and very different transaction.” + </p> +<p> +“This is no answer to my question, sir,” said Cashel, sternly; “I asked, +and I ask you again, how it came into your hands?” + </p> +<p> +“Don't you think, sir, that it would be more appropriate to express your +regret at having examined a paper not intended to have been submitted to +you?” said Hoare, in a tone half insolent, half deferential. +</p> +<p> +“I saw my name upon it,” said Cashel, “coupled, too, with that of another, +of whom I preserve too many memories to treat anything lightly wherein he +bears a part; besides, there can be but little indiscretion in reading +that to which I had attached my own signature. And now, once more, sir, +how do I see it in your possession?” + </p> +<p> +“Really, Mr. Cashel, when the question is put in this tone and manner, I +am much disposed to refuse an answer. I can see nothing in our relative +situations that can warrant the assumption of these airs towards <i>me</i>!” + </p> +<p> +“Shylock, again!” exclaimed Tiernay, who continued to pace the room during +this scene with hasty strides. +</p> +<p> +“Not so, sir,” said Cashel, as Hoare moved towards the door, against which +Roland now placing a chair, sat down. “Out of this room you shall not +stir, till I hear a distinct and clear account of the circumstances by +which I find you in possession of this paper.” + </p> +<p> +“You have no right, sir, to demand such an answer.” + </p> +<p> +“Possibly not, legally speaking,” said Cashel, whose voice became calmer +and deeper as his passion increased. “You are more conversant with law +than I am, and so I take it that your opinion is correct. But I have the +right which a good conscience and strong will beget, and I tell you again, +you 'll not leave this room before you satisfy me, or you 'll not leave it +living.” + </p> +<p> +“I call you to witness, Dr. Tiernay,” said Hoare, whose accents trembled +with fear and anger together, “that this is a case of false imprisonment,—that +a threat against my life has been uttered, if I do not surrender the +possession of certain papers.” + </p> +<p> +“Nothing of the kind,” broke in Tiernay; “there is no thought of taking +anything from you by force. Mr. Roland Cashel—doubtless for good +reasons of his own—has asked you a question, which you, demurring to +answer, he tells you that you shall not leave the room till you do.” + </p> +<p> +“And do you fancy, sir, that such conduct is legal?” cried Hoare. +</p> +<p> +“I cannot say,” rejoined Tiernay; “but that it is far more mild and +merciful than I could have expected under the circumstances, I am +perfectly ready to aver.” + </p> +<p> +“May I read the paper out?” said Hoare, with a malicious scowl at Cashel. +</p> +<p> +“There is no need that you should, sir,” said Roland; “its contents are +known to me, whom alone they concern.” + </p> +<p> +“You can, I opine, have no objection that your friend, Dr. Tiernay, should +hear them?” + </p> +<p> +“I repeat, sir, that with the contents of that paper neither you nor any +one else has any concern; they relate to me, and to me alone.” + </p> +<p> +“Then I must labor under some misapprehension,” said Hoare, affectedly; “I +had fancied there was another person at least equally interested.” + </p> +<p> +“Will you dare, sir!” said Roland; and in the thick guttural utterance +there was that which made the other tremble with fear. +</p> +<p> +“If the matter be one, then,” said he, rallying into his former assurance, +“that you deem best kept secret, it would be perhaps a judicious +preliminary to any conversation on the subject, that Dr. Tiernay should +withdraw.” + </p> +<p> +“I only await Mr. Cashel's pleasure,” said Tiernay, moving towards the +door. +</p> +<p> +“Then you will remain, sir,” said Roland, firmly. “Remain, and listen to +what this gentleman has so menacingly alluded. Here it is: it is the +promise, given under my hand, that I will espouse the daughter of a +certain Don Pedro Rica, to whom, in the date herein annexed, I have been +this day betrothed; or, in forfeiture of such pledge, pay down the sum of +seventy thousand dollars, thereby obtaining a full release from the +conditions of the contract. It was the rash pledge of a young and +thoughtless boy, with regard to one who neither accepted his affection nor +acknowledged the contract. I do not say this to absolve myself from the +forfeiture, which I am ready to acquit this hour; I speak of it, that, as +a man of honor, I may not seem to pay a debt of feeling by a check on my +banker.” + </p> +<p> +“But this betrothal,” said Tiernay,—“what does it imply?” + </p> +<p> +“It is a ceremony common enough in Old Spain and her once colonies, and is +simply the recognition of a private promise of marriage.” + </p> +<p> +“You have forgotten two circumstances, sir,” said Hoare, whose eyes never +quitted Cashel's face. +</p> +<p> +“Which are they?” + </p> +<p> +“One is, that this contract should be either fulfilled, or the forfeit +paid, within two years,—twenty-one months of which have already +expired.” + </p> +<p> +“True!—and the other condition?” + </p> +<p> +“That the acceptance or refusal of the forfeit is optional with Don Pedro, +who may, at his pleasure, select which clause he likes,—the marriage +or the penalty.” + </p> +<p> +“I never acknowledged this interpretation of the document,” said Cashel, +reddening. “I know Don Pedro did, and there we were at issue. Methinks it +were somewhat hard to compel a marriage distasteful to both parties, and +only to suit the speculations of a ruined adventurer.” + </p> +<p> +“I hope, sir, the likelihood of future relationship will moderate the +warmth of your language.” + </p> +<p> +“And is the man fool enough to fancy such a promise could be legally +enforced in this country?” said Tiernay. +</p> +<p> +“He is not without the opinion of learned counsel,” said Hoare, “who are +strongly of opinion that the interpretations Columbian law would put upon +the document would be recognized by our own courts, and recognize the +marriage as such.” + </p> +<p> +“And does he, or do you, suppose,” said Cashel, indignantly, “that I could +expose her name, were I indifferent about my own, to be bandied about your +assize courts, and printed in newspapers, and made the gossip of the town +for a nine days' wonder?” He stopped, for he saw by the elation of Hoare's +features with what triumph this avowal had been listened to. “And now, +sir, enough has been said of this; I come back to my former question,—How +came you by this paper?” + </p> +<p> +“I received it from Don Pedro, with whom I have had much business +intercourse, and who left it in my hands a few days back.” + </p> +<p> +“Then he is in this country?” said Cashel, anxiously. +</p> +<p> +Hoare nodded an assent. +</p> +<p> +“Here, in Ireland! and is Mari—” He stopped suddenly, remembering to +whom he was speaking; but Hoare, as if eager to show an intimacy with +names and events, said,— +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir, she is also here.” + </p> +<p> +Cashel became silent, his mind a very chaos of confused thought,—memories +of his buccaneer life, its lawless habits, its wild companionship, its +adventures of love and war, of play, of heroism, and of mad debauch. The +villa and Maritaña were before him as last he saw her at the fountain; and +from these he came to his fine and lordly friendships, with all their +fictitious warmth; and he began to fancy how would his present society—the +very guests at that moment beneath his roof—receive or recognize his +old associates! +</p> +<p> +The deep pre-occupation of his look suggested to Tiernay's mind the notion +that Cashel was overwhelmed by the intelligence he had just received, and +drawing close to him, he said, in a whisper,— +</p> +<p> +“That fellow is watching and enjoying your confusion; put a bolder face on +the matter, and we 'll see what is best to be done.” + </p> +<p> +Roland started, and then, as if by an effort chasing away an unpleasant +thought, he said to Hoare,— +</p> +<p> +“Our first business is Mr. Corrigan's. The sum due is—” + </p> +<p> +“Three thousand seven hundred and forty.” + </p> +<p> +“Will you accept my bill for this?” + </p> +<p> +“At what date, sir?” said Hoare, cautiously. +</p> +<p> +“At whatever date you please; a month or a week.” + </p> +<p> +“A month be it.” + </p> +<p> +“Does that release Mr. Corrigan from every claim so far as your principal +is concerned?” + </p> +<p> +“All, up to this date.” + </p> +<p> +“By which, probably, you would imply, that new liabilities may begin +again. Is that so?” + </p> +<p> +“I think, from the nature of Mr. Leicester's claim, such an event is not +impossible.” + </p> +<p> +“Never mind the threat,” whispered Tiernay; “it is but a threat.” + </p> +<p> +“As to the other affair,” said Cashel, approaching Hoare, “I will +accompany you to town. I will see Don Pedro myself.” + </p> +<p> +“That will be difficult, sir. I am not at liberty to mention his place of +abode; nor does he wish his presence here to be known.” + </p> +<p> +“But to <i>me</i>,” said Cashel, “this objection cannot apply.” + </p> +<p> +“His orders are positive, and without qualification; but any proposition +which you desire to submit—” + </p> +<p> +“Can come through Mr. Hoare?” said Cashel, sneer-ingly. “I prefer doing +these things in person, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“Leave this to me,” whispered Tiernay; “I'll manage him better.” + </p> +<p> +Cashel squeezed his friend's arm in assent, and turned away; while Hoare, +reseating himself, proceeded to draw out the bill for Cashel's signature. +</p> +<p> +“You are aware,” said Tiernay, “that Corrigan can give you nothing but +personal security for this sum, and the lease of Tubber-beg?” But Cashel +did not heed the remark, deep as he was in his own reflections. “There is +a small sum—a few thousand pounds—of Mary's, settled at her +mother's marriage. You are not attending to me,” said he, perceiving the +pre-occupation of Roland's look. “I was mentioning that Mary Leicester—” + </p> +<p> +“Yes,” said Cashel, talking his thoughts aloud, “to marry her would, +indeed, be the true solution of the difficulty.” + </p> +<p> +“What did you say?” whispered Tiernay, upon whose ear the muttered words +fell distinctly. +</p> +<p> +“She would refuse me,” Roland went on; “the more certainly that I am rich. +I know her well; the rank, the station, the thousand flatteries that +wealth bestows, would be things for her mockery if unallied with power.” + </p> +<p> +“You are wrong, quite wrong,” said Tiernay; “her ambition is of a +different order. Mary Leicester—” + </p> +<p> +“Mary Leicester!” echoed Cashel; and, in his suddenly awakened look, +Tiernay at once perceived that some mistake had occurred. Hoare relieved +the awkwardness of the moment as he said,— +</p> +<p> +“This wants but your signature, sir, and the matter is finished.” + </p> +<p> +Cashel wrote his name on the bill and was turning away, when Hoare said,— +</p> +<p> +“These are the bills; they are now your property, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“For what purpose?” + </p> +<p> +“They are vouchers for your claim on Mr. Corrigan,” said Hoare. +</p> +<p> +“His word will suffice,” said Cashel; and, gathering them up, he hurled +them into the fire. +</p> +<p> +“A costly blaze that,” said Hoare, as he watched the conflagration. +</p> +<p> +“Speak to him, doctor; learn what you can of Rica for me. If money will do +it, I 'll not quarrel with the price,” said Cashel to Tiernay, in a low +tone. “Another point,—I was nigh forgetting it,—you 'll not +tell Mr. Corrigan how the matter has been arranged. Promise me this. Nay, +I have a reason for it,—a reason you shall hear to-morrow or next +day, and will acknowledge to be good. Keep my secret for a month; I ask no +longer.” + </p> +<p> +“For a month, then, I am silent,” said Tiernay. +</p> +<p> +“Let me see you to-morrow early,” said Cashel. “Will you breakfast with +me?” + </p> +<p> +“No; I 'll not risk my character by going twice to your grand house in the +same week; besides, I am going to Limerick.” + </p> +<p> +“Good-night, then,” said Cashel; “good-night, sir.” And with a formal bow +to Hoare, Roland left the room, and took his way homeward alone. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XIII. CIGARS, ÉCARTÉ, AND HAZARD +</h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The Devil's back-parlor—a bachelor's room. + +Milyard. +</pre> +<p> +While Cashel continued his way homeward, a very joyous party had assembled +in Lord Charles Frobisher's room, who were endeavoring, by the united +merits of cigars, écarté, hazard, and an excellent supper, of which they +partook at intervals, to compensate themselves for the unusual dulness of +the drawing-room. It is well known how often the least entertaining +individuals in general society become the most loquacious members of a +party assembled in this fashion. The restraints which had held them in +check before are no longer present; their loud speech and empty laughter +are not any longer under ban, and they are tolerated by better men, pretty +much as children are endured, because at least they are natural. +</p> +<p> +At a round table in the middle of the room were a group engaged at hazard. +Upton was deep in écarté with his brother officer, Jennings, while +Frobisher lounged about, sipping weak negus, and making his bets at either +table as fancy or fortune suggested. The supper-table had few votaries; +none, indeed, were seated at it save Meek, who, with a newspaper on his +knee, seemed singularly out of place in the noisy gathering. +</p> +<p> +“Eleven's the nick—eleven! I say, Charley, have at you for a pony,” + called out a boyish-looking dragoon, from the middle table. +</p> +<p> +“You're under age, young gentleman,” said Frobisher; “I can't afford to +bet with you. Wait a moment, Upton, I 'll back you this time. Twenty +sovereigns—will you have it?” + </p> +<p> +“Done!” said Jennings, and the game began. +</p> +<p> +“The King,” cried Upton; “I propose.” + </p> +<p> +“To which of them?” said a sharp-looking infantry captain, behind his +chair. +</p> +<p> +“Olivia, of course,” slipped in Jennings. +</p> +<p> +“I 'd give fifty pounds to know if they have the money people say,” cried +Upton. +</p> +<p> +“Meek can tell you; <i>he</i> knows everything. I say, Downie,” said +Jennings, “come here for a moment, and enlighten us on a most interesting +point.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh dear! what is it? This room is so very cold. Don't you think, +Frobisher, that a double door would be advisable?” + </p> +<p> +“A green one, with a centre pane of glass, would make it devilish like a +'hell,'” said Upton; upon which the company all laughed approvingly. +</p> +<p> +“What is it you want?” said Meek, approaching, glass in hand. +</p> +<p> +“Play out the game, and have your gossip afterwards,” said Frobisher, who +felt far more anxious about the fate of his twenty pounds than for the +result of the conversation. +</p> +<p> +“A queen of hearts,” said Upton, leading; then, turning to Meek, said, +“These Kennyfeck girls—can you tell what the figure is?” + </p> +<p> +“Poor dear things,” said Meek, piteously; “they should be very well off.” + </p> +<p> +“I score two!” said Upton. “Well, have they twenty thousand each?” + </p> +<p> +“I should say more. Oh dear me! they must have more! Kennyfeck holds a +heavy mortgage on Kilgoff's estate, and has a great deal of other +property.” + </p> +<p> +“Then it would be a good thing, Meek, eh?” said Jennings. +</p> +<p> +“Game!” cried Upton, showing his cards upon the table. +</p> +<p> +“There is so much chaffing about girls and their fortunes, one can't play +his game here,” said Jennings, as he threw down a handful of gold on the +board. +</p> +<p> +“Who was it ordered the post-horses for to-morrow?” said a youth at the +supper-table. “The MacFarlines?” + </p> +<p> +“No; Lord Kilgoff.” + </p> +<p> +“I assure you,” cried a third, “it was the Kennyfecks. There has been a +'flare-up' about money between Cashel and him, and it is said he 'll lose +the agency. Who 'll get it, I wonder?” + </p> +<p> +“Tom Linton, of course,” said the former speaker. “I 'd wager he is gone +off to Dublin to furbish up securities, or something of that kind.” + </p> +<p> +“Who'd give Tom trust, or go bail for him?” said Frobisher. +</p> +<p> +A very general laugh did not sound like a contradiction of the sentiment. +</p> +<p> +“I heard a week ago,” said the cornet, “that Kilgoff would stand security +to any amount for him.” + </p> +<p> +“Ah, that comes of my Lady's good opinion of him!” cried Jennings. +</p> +<p> +“Nay, don't say that, it looks so ill-natured,” sighed Meek; “and there is +really nothing in it. You know she and Tom were old friends. Oh dear, it +was so sad!” + </p> +<p> +“Where does Cashel get such execrable champagne?” said an infantryman, +with a very wry expression of face. +</p> +<p> +“It's dry wine, that's all,” said Frobisher, “and about the best ever +imported.” + </p> +<p> +“We 'd be very sorry to drink it at our mess, my Lord, I know that,” said +the other, evidently nettled at the correction. +</p> +<p> +“Yours is the Fifty-third?” said a guardsman. +</p> +<p> +“No; the Thirty-fifth.” + </p> +<p> +“Aw! same thing,” sighed he; and he stooped to select a cigar. +</p> +<p> +“I wish the Kennyfecks were not going,” said Upton, drawing his chair +closer to Meek's; “there are so few houses one meets them at.” + </p> +<p> +“You should speak to Linton about that,” whispered Meek. +</p> +<p> +“Here's Jim's health,—hip, hip, hurrah!” cried out a +white-moustached boy, who had joined a hussar regiment a few weeks before, +and was now excessively tipsy. +</p> +<p> +The laughter at this toast was increased by Meek's holding out his glass +to be filled as he asked, “Of course,—whose health is it?” + </p> +<p> +“One of Frobisher's trainers,” said Upton, readily. +</p> +<p> +“No, it's no such thing,” hiccoughed the hussar. “I was proposing a bumper +to the lightest snaffle hand from this to Doncaster—the best judge +of a line of country in the kingdom—” + </p> +<p> +“That's me,” said a jolly voice, and at the same instant the door was +flung wide, and Tom Linton, splashed from the road, and travel-stained, +entered. +</p> +<p> +“I must say, gentlemen, you are no churls of your wit and pleasantry, for, +as I came up the stairs, I could hear every word you were saying.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh dear, how dreadful! and we were talking of <i>you</i> too,” said Meek, +with a piteous air that made every one laugh. +</p> +<p> +A thousand questions as to where he had been, whom with, and what for?—all +burst upon Linton, who only escaped importunity by declaring that he was +half dead with hunger, and would answer nothing till he had eaten. +</p> +<p> +“So,” said he, at length, after having devoted twenty minutes to a +grouse-pie of most cunning architecture, “you never guessed where I had +been?” + </p> +<p> +“Oh! we had guesses enough, if that served any purpose.” + </p> +<p> +“I thought it was a bolt, Tom,” said Upton; “but as <i>she</i> appeared at +breakfast, as usual, I saw my mistake.” + </p> +<p> +“Meek heard that you had gone over to Downing Street to ask for the Irish +Secretaryship,” said Jennings. +</p> +<p> +“I said you had been to have a talk with Scott about 'Regulator;' was I +far off the mark?” + </p> +<p> +“Mrs. White suggested an uncle's death,” said Frobisher; “but uncles don't +die nowadays.” + </p> +<p> +“Did you buy the colt?—Have you backed 'Runjeet Singh?'—Are +you to have the agency?—How goes on the borough canvass?” and twenty +similar queries now poured in on him. +</p> +<p> +“Well, I see,” cried he, laughing, “I shall sadly disappoint all the +calculations founded on my shrewdness and dexterity, for the whole object +of my journey was to secure a wardrobe for our fancy ball, which I +suddenly heard of as being at Limerick; and so, not trusting the mission +to another, I started off myself, and here I am, with materials for more +Turks, Monks, Sailors, Watchmen, Greeks, Jugglers, and Tyrolese, than ever +travelled in anything save a caravan with one horse.” + </p> +<p> +“Are your theatrical intentions all abandoned?” cried Jennings. +</p> +<p> +“I trust not,” said Linton; “but I heard that Miss Meek had decided on the +ball to come off first.” + </p> +<p> +“Hip! hip! hip!” was moaned out, in very lachrymose tone, from a sofa +where the boy hussar, very sick and very tipsy, lay stretched on his back. +</p> +<p> +“Who is that yonder?” asked Linton. +</p> +<p> +“A young fellow of ours,” said Jennings, indolently. +</p> +<p> +“I thought they made their heads better at Sandhurst.” + </p> +<p> +“They used in my time,” said Upton; “but you have no idea how the thing +has gone down.” + </p> +<p> +“Quite true,” chimed in another; “and I don't think we 've seen the worst +of it yet. Do you know, they talk of an examination for all candidates for +commissions!” + </p> +<p> +“Well, I must say,” lisped the guardsman, “I believe it would be an +improvement for the 'line.'” + </p> +<p> +“The household brigade can dispense with information,” said an infantry +captain. +</p> +<p> +“I demur to the system altogether,” said Linton. “Physicians tell us that +the intellectual development is always made at the expense of the +physical, and as one of the duties of a British army is to suffer yellow +fever in the West Indies and cholera in the East, I vote for leaving them +strong in constitution and intact in strength as vacant heads and +thoughtless skulls can make them.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh dear me! yes,” sighed Meek, who, by one of his mock concurrences, +effectually blinded the less astute portion of the audience from seeing +Linton's impertinence. +</p> +<p> +“What has been doing here in my absence?” said Linton; “have you no event +worth recording for me?” + </p> +<p> +“There is a story,” said Upton, “that Cashel and Kennyfeck have +quarrelled,—a serious rupture, they say, and not to be repaired.” + </p> +<p> +“How did it originate? Something about the management of the property?” + </p> +<p> +“No, no,—it was a row among the women. They laid some scheme for +making Cashel propose for one of the girls.” + </p> +<p> +“Not Olivia, I hope?” said Upton, as he lighted a new cigar. +</p> +<p> +“I rather suspect it was,” interposed another. +</p> +<p> +“In any case, Linton,” cried Jennings, “you are to be the gainer, for the +rumor says, Cashel will give you the agency, with his house to live in, +and a very jolly thing to spend, while he goes abroad to travel.” + </p> +<p> +“If this news be true, Tom,” said Frobisher, “I 'll quarter my yearlings +on you; there is a capital run for young horses in those flats along the +river.” + </p> +<p> +“The house is cold at this season,” said Meek, with a sad smile; “but I +think it would be very endurable in the autumn months. I should n't say +but you may see us here again at that time.” + </p> +<p> +“I hope 'ours' may be quartered at Limerick,” said an infantryman, with a +most suggestive look at the comforts of the apartment, which were a +pleasing contrast to barrack-room accommodation. +</p> +<p> +“Make yourselves perfectly at home here, gentlemen, when that good time +comes,” said Linton, with one of his careless laughs. “I tell you frankly, +that if Cashel does make me such a proposal—a step which, from his +knowledge of my indolent, lazy habits, is far from likely—I only +accept on one condition.” + </p> +<p> +“What is that?” cried a dozen voices. +</p> +<p> +“That you will come and pass your next Christmas here.” + </p> +<p> +“Agreed—agreed!” was chorused on every side. +</p> +<p> +“I suspect from that bit of spontaneous hospitality,” whispered Frobisher +to Meek, “that the event is something below doubtful.” + </p> +<p> +Meek nodded. +</p> +<p> +“What is Charley saying?” cried Linton, whose quick eye caught the glance +interchanged between the two. +</p> +<p> +“I was telling Meek,” said Frobisher, “that I don't put faith enough in +the condition to accept the invitation.” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed!” said Linton, while he turned to the table and filled his glass, +to hide a passing sign of mortification. +</p> +<p> +“Tom Linton for a man's agent, seems pretty like what old Frederick used +to call keeping a goat for a gardener.” + </p> +<p> +“You are fond of giving the odds, Frobisher,” said Linton, who, for some +minutes, continued to take glass after glass of champagne; “now, what's +your bet that I don't do the honors here next Christmas-day?” + </p> +<p> +“I can't say what you mean,” said Frobisher, languidly. “I've seen you do +'the honors' at more than one table where you were the guest.” + </p> +<p> +“This, I suppose, is meant for a pleasantry, my Lord?” said Linton, while +his face became flushed with passion. +</p> +<p> +“It is meant for fact,” said Frobisher, with a steady coolness in his air +and accent. +</p> +<p> +“A fact! and not in jest, then!” said he, approaching where the other sat, +and speaking in a low voice. +</p> +<p> +“That's very quarrelsome wine, that dry champagne,” said Frobisher, +lazily; “don't drink any more of it.” + </p> +<p> +Linton tried to smile; the effort, at first not very successful, became +easier after a moment, and it was with a resumption of his old manner he +said,— +</p> +<p> +“I 'll take you two to one in fifties that I act the host here this day +twelvemonth.” + </p> +<p> +“You hear the offer, gentlemen?” said Frobisher, addressing the party. “Of +course it is meant without any reservation, and so I take it.” + </p> +<p> +He produced a betting-book as he said this, and began to write in it with +his pencil. +</p> +<p> +“Would you prefer it in hundreds?” said Linton. +</p> +<p> +Frobisher nodded an assent. +</p> +<p> +“Or shall we do the thing sportingly, and say two thousand to one?” + continued he. +</p> +<p> +“Two thousand to one be it,” said Frobisher, while the least possible +smile might be detected on his usually immovable features. “There is no +knowing how to word this bet,” said he, at last, after two or three +efforts, followed by as many erasures; “you must write it yourself.” + </p> +<p> +Linton took the pencil, and wrote rapidly for a few seconds. +</p> +<p> +“Will that do?” said he. +</p> +<p> +And Frobisher read to himself: “'Mr. Linton, two thousand to one with Lord +C. Frobisher, that he, T. L., on the anniversary of this day, shall +preside as master of the house Tubbermore, by due right and title, and not +by any favor, grace, or sanction of any one whatsoever.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; that will do, perfectly,” said Frobisher, as he closed the book, and +restored it to his pocket. +</p> +<p> +“Was the champagne so strong as you expected?” whispered Upton, as he +passed behind Frobisher's chair. +</p> +<p> +A very knowing nod of acquiescence was the only reply. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0005" id="linkimage-0005"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/20146.jpg" alt="146 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +Indeed, it did not require the practised shrewdness of Lord Charles, or +his similarly sharp-eyed friends, to see that Linton's manner was very +different from his habitual calm collectedness, while he continued to +drink on, with the air of a man that was resolved on burying his faculties +in the excitement of wine. +</p> +<p> +Meek slipped away soon after, and, at Linton's suggestion a rouge-et-noir +bank was formed, at which the play became high, and his own losses very +considerable. +</p> +<p> +It was already daylight, and the servants were stirring in the house ere +the party broke up. +</p> +<p> +“Master Tom has had a squeeze to-night,” said Jennings, as he was bidding +Upton good-bye at his door. +</p> +<p> +“I can't understand it at all,” replied the other. “He played without +judgment, and betted rashly on every side. It was far more like Roland +Cashel than Tom Linton.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, you remember he said—to be sure, it was after drinking a +quantity of wine—'Master Roland and I may change characters yet. Let +us see if he can play “Linton,” as well as I can “Cashel.”'” + </p> +<p> +“He's so deep, that I wouldn't say but there is something under all this.” + And so they parted, sadly puzzled what interpretation to put on conduct, +the mere result of a passing intemperance; for so it is, your “cunning +men” are never reputed to be so deep by the world as when by some accident +they, have forgotten their craft. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XIV. MR. KENNYFECK AMONG THE BULLS +</h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +With a bright flie upon his hook, +He played mankind, as anglers play a fish. + +COTTER. +</pre> +<p> +An hour's sleep and a cold bath restored Linton to himself, and ere the +guests of Tubbermore were stirring, he was up and ready for the day. He +dressed with more than usual care, and having ordered a horse to be +saddled and a groom to follow him, he sauntered out into the park, taking +the road that led to the village. +</p> +<p> +The groom rapidly overtook him; and then, mounting, he rode at a brisk +trot down the road, and drew up at the door of the doctor's house. To his +question, “If Mr. Tiernay were at home?” he received for answer, that “He +had set out for Limerick that morning;” nor did the servant know when he +might be expected back. +</p> +<p> +For a moment this intelligence appeared to derange his plans; but he +rallied soon, and turning his horse's head towards Tubbermore, muttered to +himself, “As well,—perhaps better as it is.” He rode fast till he +gained the wood, and then dismounting, he gave the horse to the groom, +with directions to go home, as he would return on foot. +</p> +<p> +He stood looking after the horses as they retired, and it seemed as if his +thoughts were following them, so intent was his gaze; but, long after they +had disappeared, he remained standing in the same place, his features +still wearing the same expression of highly-wrought occupation. The spot +where he stood was a little eminence, from which the view stretched, upon +one side, over the waving woods of the demesne, and, on the other, showed +glimpses of the Shannon, as, in its sweeping curves, it indented the +margin of the grounds. Perhaps not another point could be found which +displayed so happily the extent and importance of the demesne, and yet +concealed so well whatever detracted from its picturesque effect. The +neighboring village of Derra-heeny—a poor, straggling, ruinous +street of thatched hovels, like most Irish villages—was altogether +hidden from view; while of the great house itself,—an object with +few pretensions to architectural elegance,—only so much was visible +as indicated its size and extent. The little cottage of Tubber-beg, +however, could be seen entire, glittering in the morning's sun like a gem, +its bright-leaved hollies and dark laurels forming a little grove of +foliage in the midst of winter's barrenness. +</p> +<p> +If this was by far the most striking object of the picture, it was not +that which attracted most of Linton's attention. On the contrary, his eye +ranged more willingly over the wide woods which stretched for miles along +the river's side, and rose and fell in many a gentle undulation inland. A +commonplace observer, had such been there to mark him, would have +pronounced him one passionately devoted to scenery,—a man who loved +to watch the passing cloud-shadows of a landscape, enjoying with all a +painter's delight the varying tints, the graceful lines, the sharp-thrown +shadows, and the brilliant lights of a woodland picture; a deeper +physiognomist would, however, have seen that the stern stare and the +compressed lip, the intense preoccupation which every feature exhibited, +did not denote a mind bent upon such themes. +</p> +<p> +“Tom Linton, of Tubbermore,” said he, at length,—and it seemed as if +uttering the words gave relief to his overburdened faculties, for his face +relaxed, and his habitual easy smile returned to his mouth,—“Linton, +of Tubbermore; it sounds well, too.” And then the great game! that game +for which I have pined so long and wished so ardently,—which I have +stood by and seen others play and lose, where I could have won,—ay, +won rank, honor, station, and fame. The heaviest curse that lies on men +like me is to watch those who rise to eminence in the world, and know +their utter shallowness and incapacity. There will soon be an end to that +now. +</p> +<p> +“Stand by, gentlemen; make way, my Lords Charles and Harry; it is Tom +Linton's turn—not Linton the 'adventurer,' as you were gracious +enough to call him—not the bear-leader of a marquis, or the +hanger-on of his grace the duke, but your equal in rank and fortune—more +than your equal in other things; the man who knows you all thoroughly, not +fancying your deficiencies and speculating on your shortcomings, as your +vulgar adversaries, your men of cotton constituencies, are wont to do, but +the man who has seen you in your club and your drawing-room, who has +eaten, drunk, betted, played, and lived with you all! who knows your +tactics well, and can expound your 'aristocratic prejudices better than +ever a Quaker of them all!'—Not but,” said he, after a pause, +“another line would satisfy me equally. The peerage, with such a fortune +as this, is no inordinate ambition; a few years in the House, of that +dogged, unmanageable conduct Englishmen call independence—a +capriciousness in voting—the repute of refusing office, and so on. +There's no originality in the thought, but it succeeds as well as if there +were! Besides, if hard pressed, I can be a Romanist, and, as times go, +with every party; that is a strong claim. And why not Lord Linton? I have +no doubt”—and he laughed as he spoke this—“there <i>is</i> a +peerage in the family already, if I only knew where to look for it! +</p> +<p> +“And now, sufficient of speculation! to open the campaign!” So saying, he +descended the knoll and took the path which led to the cottage. As he drew +near the wicket, he saw a man lounging beside it, in all that careless +indifference which an Irish peasant can assume, and soon perceived it was +Tom Keane, the gatekeeper. +</p> +<p> +“Good-morrow, Tom; how comes it you are up here so early?” + </p> +<p> +“'T is in throuble I am, your honer,” said he, taking off his hat, and +putting on that supplicating look so characteristic of his class. “The +master's going to turn me out of the little place beyant.” + </p> +<p> +“What for?” + </p> +<p> +“For nothing at all, your honer: that's just it; but ould Kennyfeck put +him up to it.” + </p> +<p> +“Up to what? That seems the whole question.” + </p> +<p> +“Your honer may remimber, that when you came here first, the cattle of the +neighbors was used to come and pick a mouthful of grass,—and poor +grass it was,—bekase there was no way of keeping them out. Well, +when the master came down, and all the people, by coorse the cows and pigs +couldn't be let in as afore; for, as the agint said, it was a disgrace to +see them under the nose of the quality, running about as if it was +Donnybrook fair! 'Don't let them appear here again, Tom Keane,' says he, +'or it will be worse for you.' And sorra one ever I let in since that, +till it was dark night. But ould Mr. Kennyfeck, the other evening, takes +it into his head to walk into the park, and comes right into a crowd of +two-year-old bulls, and did n't know a bit where he was, till a man called +out, 'Lie down on your face, for the love of the Virgin, or you are a dead +man! The bullsheens is comin'!' And down he lay, sure enough, and hard +work they had to get him up afterwards, for the herd went over him as the +man drov' them off; and what between bruises and fear, he kept his bed two +days; but the worst of it was, the spalpeens said that they paid +threepence apiece for the bullsheens every night for the grass, and it was +to me they gave it.” + </p> +<p> +“Which, of course, was untrue?” said Linton, smiling knowingly. +</p> +<p> +“By coorse it was!” said Tom, with a laugh, whose meaning there was no +mistaking; “and so, I 'm to be turned out of 'the gate,' and to lose my +few acres of ground, and be thrun on the wide world, just for sake of an +attorney!” + </p> +<p> +“It is very hard,—very hard indeed.” + </p> +<p> +“Is n't it now, your honer?” + </p> +<p> +“A case of destitution, completely; what the newspapers call +'extermination.'” + </p> +<p> +“Exactly, sir,—tarnination, and nothing less.” + </p> +<p> +“But how comes it that you are up here, on that account?” + </p> +<p> +“I was thinking, sir, if I saw Miss Mary, and could get her to spake a +word to the master,—they say she can do what she plazes with him.” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed!—who says so?” + </p> +<p> +“The servants' hall says it; and so does Mr. Corrigan's ould butler. He +towld me the other day that he hoped he 'd be claning the plate up at the +big house before he died.” + </p> +<p> +“How so?” said Linton, affecting not to catch the intention of the remark. +</p> +<p> +“Just that he was to be butler at the hall when the master was married to +Miss Mary.” + </p> +<p> +“And so, I suppose, this is very likely to happen?” + </p> +<p> +“Sure yer honer knows betther than ignorant craytures like us; but faix, +if walking about in the moonlight there, among the flowers, and talking +together like whisperin', is any sign, I would n't wonder if it came +about.” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed! and they have got that far?” + </p> +<p> +“Ay, faith!” said Tom, with a significance of look only an Irishman or an +Italian can call up. +</p> +<p> +“Well, I had no suspicion of this,” said Linton, with a frankness meant to +invite further confidence. +</p> +<p> +“An' why would yer honer? Sure was n't it always on the evenings, when the +company was all together in the great house, that Mr. Cashel used to steal +down here and tie his horse to the wicket, and then gallop back again at +full speed, so that the servants towld me he was never missed out of the +room!” + </p> +<p> +“And does she like him,—do they say she likes him?” + </p> +<p> +“Not like him wid a place such as this!” said Tom, waving his hand towards +the wide-spreading fields and woods of the demesne. “Bathershin! sure the +Queen of England might be proud of it!” + </p> +<p> +“Very true,” said Linton, affecting to be struck by the shrewdness of the +speaker. +</p> +<p> +“See, now,” said Tom, who began to feel a certain importance from being +listened to, “I know faymales well, and so I ought! but take the nicest, +quietest, and most innocent one among them, and by my conscience ye 'll +see, 't is money and money's worth she cares for more nor the best man +that ever stepped! Tell her 'tis silk she'll be wearin', and goold in her +ears, and ye may be as ould and ogly as Tim Hogan at the cross roods!” + </p> +<p> +“You have n't a good opinion of the fair sex, Thomas,” said Linton, +carelessly, for he was far less interested in his speculations than his +facts. “Well, as to your own case,—leave that in my hands. I may not +have all the influence of Miss Leicester, but I suspect that I can do what +you want on this occasion.” And without waiting for the profuse +expressions of his gratitude, Linton passed on and entered the garden, +through which a little path led directly to the door of the cottage. +</p> +<p> +“At breakfast, I suppose?” said Linton to the servant who received him. +</p> +<p> +“The master is, sir; but Miss Mary isn't well this morning.” + </p> +<p> +“Nothing of consequence, I hope?” + </p> +<p> +“Only a headache from fatigue, sir.” So saying, he ushered Linton, whose +visits were admitted on the most intimate footing, into the room where Mr. +Corrigan sat by himself at the breakfast-table. +</p> +<p> +“Alone, sir!” said Linton as he closed the door behind him, and conveying +in his look an air of surprise and alarm. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Mr. Linton, almost the only time I remember to have been so for many +a year. My poor child has had a night of some anxiety, which, although +bearing well at the time, has exacted its penalty at last in a slight +attack of fever. It will, I trust, pass over in a few hours; and you,—where +have you been; they said you had been absent for a day or two?” + </p> +<p> +“A very short ramble, sir,—one of business rather than pleasure. I +learned suddenly—by a newspaper paragraph, too—that a distant +relative of my mother's had died in the East, leaving a considerable +amount of property to myself; and so, setting out, I arrived at Limerick, +intending to sail for Liverpool, when, who should I meet, almost the first +person I saw, but my agent, just come in haste from London, to confer with +me on the subject. The meeting was so far agreeable, that it saved me a +journey I had no fancy for, and also put me in possession of the desired +information regarding the property. My agent, speaking of course from +imperfect knowledge, calls it a large—what a man like myself would +style—a very large fortune.” + </p> +<p> +“I give you joy, with all my heart,” cried Corrigan, grasping his hand in +both his, and shaking it cordially. “When wealth descends to men who have +shown their ability to maintain an honorable station without it, the +chances are greatly in favor of its being nobly and generously employed.” + </p> +<p> +“How I hope that I may not disgrace your theory,” said Linton, “for I am +not ashamed to assert that I have fulfilled the first condition of the +category. With little else but good birth and a fair education, I had to +start in the race against others with every aid of fortune; and if I have +not reached a more elevated position, I can say that the obstacle lay +rather in my own scruples than my incapacity. I declined Parliamentary +life because I would not be a nominee; I had a glancing suspicion that my +time would come, too, when, without other check upon my motives than the +voice of conscience, I should stand in the British Senate a free and +independent member. If I have waited patiently for this hour, I hope I +have not abused the leisure interval, and that I may bring to the public +service something besides the zeal of one who feels the importance of his +trust.” + </p> +<p> +“There is no failure with intentions pure and honorable as these,” said +Corrigan, warmly. “It does not need your talents, Mr. Linton, to insure +success in such a path; one half of <i>your</i> ability, so nobly backed, +would reach the goal. And now tell me, if I be not indiscreet in asking +some of your plans, what place do you mean to stand for?” + </p> +<p> +“Our good borough of Derraheeny,” said Linton, half smiling. “I am in a +measure committed to continue my canvass there, and, indeed, have already +entered into securities to keep my pledge. I see these words sound a +little mysteriously, but I intend to explain them; only I must ask one +favor of you. I hope, before I leave the room, to show that I have, if not +a claim upon your generosity, at least a plea to warrant my request. My +entreaty is this, that you will never divulge to any one what I shall now +tell you.” + </p> +<p> +“Pray, my dear friend, consider for a moment what you are asking. Why make +me the depositary of a secret? An old man, whose very years are like +'fissures in the strong keep,' where mysteries should be imprisoned.” + </p> +<p> +“Could I participate in your reasonings, my dear sir, there is yet enough +in the present instance to make it an exception. This is a matter you +ought to know for <i>your</i> sake, and to keep secret for <i>mine</i>.” + </p> +<p> +“Then you have my promise,” said Corrigan, frankly. +</p> +<p> +“I 'll be brief with my explanation,” said Linton. “When there was a +design, some time back, of my accepting the representation of the borough, +Cashel offered me his property of Tubber-beg, on terms which very nearly +approached a gift. This—though at the time our relations were those +of the closest friendship—I refused; but, as I had made some +progress in my canvass of the borough, there was a difficulty in +abandoning the position; and so the matter hung, each hoping that the +other would suggest some arrangement that might satisfy both. This +fortunate device, however, was not to be discovered, and as, for some time +back, our intercourse had become gradually less intimate, the chance of +such a solution diminished daily. +</p> +<p> +“In this way the affair stood, when, a couple of mornings since, I felt it +my duty, as one who really felt an interest in him, to remonstrate with +Roland on a circumstance which, without any affectation of prudery, would +have gravely compromised himself, and, worse still, another person. It was +a case,—I know not exactly how to touch upon a matter of such +delicacy; enough if I say it was one where a persistence in his conduct +must have ended in disgrace to him, ruin and misery to another. Poor +thing! she is, indeed, to be pitied; and if there be extenuation for such +cases, hers is one to claim it. I knew her as Laura Gardiner,—the +handsomest creature I ever beheld. Well, well, it is a theme I must not +linger on. Cashel, so far from receiving my counsel as I hoped, and indeed +expected, resented it with anger and rudeness, and even questioned the +degree of intimacy on which I presumed to give my unasked advice. +</p> +<p> +“I am fortunately a man of cool temper, and so I bore this ungenerous +return better than most others might; and seeing that it would possibly be +the last occasion I should ever have of giving even unwilling counsel, I +spoke to him freely and openly. I told him that his mode of living, while +derogatory to the hopes conceived of him, was one that must end at last in +ruin; that no fortune could stand his losses at play, and the wasteful +extravagance of his caprices. I pressed the matter as strongly as I was +able, and represented that his habits bore no reference whatever to his +income. +</p> +<p> +“'It is quite true,' said he, with a sneering tone; 'I cannot readily +forget I am chargeable with all these wasteful ways you speak of, nor do I +feel that I make any the slightest defence of myself, in regard to habits +where my generosity has been as lavish as it has been ill-bestowed.' +</p> +<p> +“'I wish I knew if I understand you aright,' said I. +</p> +<p> +“'Your comprehension is of the quickest where there is question of a favor +to be received.' +</p> +<p> +“I did not trust myself with any answer to this speech, which I well knew +was a trait of his old buccaneer life. I withdrew, and hastening to his +law-agent, Kennyfeck, I at once arranged for the purchase of this small +property. The moment for me was propitious; they were in want of ready +money, and the treaty was completed the same day. There is the title.” + </p> +<p> +As he spoke, he threw down the parchment deed upon the table, and lay back +in his chair, watching with intense delight the expression of sadness and +disappointment on Corrigan's features. +</p> +<p> +“Good heavens!” exclaimed the old man at last, “how deceived I have been +in him!” + </p> +<p> +“I confess that is what wounds me most in the whole transaction,” said +Linton, with a mock emotion in his manner. “One is well accustomed through +life to meet sordid motives in mere men of the world, and who deem their +low-born subtilty cleverness; but to find a young fellow, beginning life +with an ample fortune and a fair position, surrounded by all the +blandishments that wealth charms up—” + </p> +<p> +“Hold!” cried Corrigan, laying his hand on Linton's arm, “I cannot bear +this. It is not at my age, sir, that disappointments like these can be +borne easily. I have too short a time before me here to hope to recover +from such shocks.” + </p> +<p> +“I would not willingly give you pain, my dear sir; nor indeed, is this the +topic on which I am most anxious to address you. Another and a very +different interest led me hither this morning; and, although I have +thought long and maturely on the subject, I am as far as ever from knowing +how to approach it. My own unworthiness to what I aspire recoils upon me +at every instant, and nothing but the indulgent kindness with which you +have always regarded me could give me courage. Forgive me this prolixity; +I am like one who fears to plunge, lest he should never rise again.” + </p> +<p> +“If my estimate of you be correct,” said the old man, laying his hand upon +Linton's, “the goal must needs be high to which you dare not aspire.” + </p> +<p> +“It is indeed so!” cried Linton, as if carried away by an irresistible +emotion. “To me it means station, hope, worldly success, happiness,—ay, +life itself. I cannot longer tamper with your feelings, nor my own. The +ambition of which I speak, is to be your son; not alone in the +affectionate love which already I bear you, but by the closest and dearest +ties, to be bound to you in the same chain by which she is, who owns all +my heart and all my destiny.” + </p> +<p> +He stopped as if overcome; and Corrigan, compassionating the agitation he +seemed to suffer, said,— +</p> +<p> +“Be calm, my dear friend; this takes me by surprise. I was not in any way +prepared for such an announcement; nor have I courage to look at its +consequences; poor, old, companionless as I should be—” + </p> +<p> +“Nay, such cruelty was not in my thoughts. It was with far other +intentions I became possessed of the property; it was in the glorious hope +that it would be our home,—yours and mine together; not to render +your hearth desolate, but to give it another guest, whose duty would be +his title to be there.” + </p> +<p> +“Let me think,—let me reflect on this,—let me separate my own +selfish thoughts from the higher ones that should guide me. You have not +spoken to my daughter?” + </p> +<p> +“No, sir; I deemed the more honorable course to have your sanction; or, if +not that, to bury my sorrows in silence forever.” + </p> +<p> +“There is so much to consider, and I am so weak and infirm, so inadequate +to decide. Your proposal is a proud one for any girl,—I know it; and +we are proud, although poor. Ay, Mr. Linton, poor to very necessity! If +her affections were engaged by you, if I saw that your high qualities had +made the impression upon her that they have on me, I own this offer would +delight me; but can you say this is the case?” + </p> +<p> +“I hope, sir, I am not indifferent to Miss Leicester. The humble fortune +which has restrained me hitherto, and prevented my prosecuting an +attachment to which I felt I had no claim, exists no longer. I am +independent in means, as in opinion; and, however conscious of my personal +unworthiness, in all that regards station and condition I 'm in a position +to satisfy you. I only ask your sanction to address Miss Leicester, to +know, in fact, that if I should prove acceptable to <i>her</i>, that <i>you</i> +will not look unfavorably upon me.” + </p> +<p> +“This appears most candid and fair on your part; and it is a time when we +must both use candor and fairness. Now, Mr. Linton, there are +circumstances which at this moment involve me in considerable difficulty; +I cannot enter into them just yet; but they may offer grave obstacles to +what you propose. I will, therefore, beg of you not to press me for my +answer. I see this delay is displeasing—” + </p> +<p> +“Nay, sir, I am ready to yield to anything you suggest; but is it not +possible that my assistance and advice might be of service in these +difficulties you speak of?” + </p> +<p> +“There is another point, Mr. Linton,—and I know you will think +better of me for all my frankness. Are your friends—your family I +mean—aware of this step of yours? are you certain of their +concurrence in it?” + </p> +<p> +“I have few relatives living, sir,” said Linton, reddening; “but I can +answer for their participation in all that so nearly concerns my +happiness.” + </p> +<p> +“This evening, then; come to me this evening, then,” said Mr. Corrigan, +“and you shall hear my sentiments.” + </p> +<p> +“This is most kind; I can ask for nothing more,” said Linton; and, with a +most affectionate pressure of the old man's hand, departed. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XV. POLITICAL ASPIRATIONS +</h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Be grateful too! you ask, “for what?” + Simply, for that you never got; +And you 'll get something yet. + +Machiavelli Travestied. +</pre> +<p> +Mr. Linton, like a large majority of the cunning people in this world, +made the mistake of supposing that every one had an “after-thought,”—some +secret mental reservation in all he said; that, in fact, no one told “the +whole truth” on any subject. Now, judging Mr. Corrigan by this rule, he +came to the conclusion that the old gentleman had not received his +addresses with all the warmth that might be expected;—possibly, in +the hope of a more advantageous offer; possibly, because, in his old Irish +pride of family, he had got to learn who this Mr. Linton was, what his +connections, and what position they held in the society of their own +country. +</p> +<p> +In this way did Linton read the old man's inquiry as to the “concurrence +of his relatives.” It was, to his thinking, a mere subtle attempt to +ascertain who and what these same relatives were. “A clever stroke in its +way,” thought Tom; “but I am not to be drawn out of my intrenchment so +easily. Still, the theme will linger in his mind, and must be got rid of.” + </p> +<p> +Linton knew well how the influence of rank and title can smooth down +difficulties of this kind, and ran over in his mind the names of at least +a dozen peers, any one of whom, in such an emergency, would have owned him +for a half-brother, or a cousin, at least. +</p> +<p> +It was provoking to think how many there were, at that dull season, +listless and unemployed, who could, were he only able to summon them, +stand sponsors to his rank and condition. Measuring Corrigan by what he +had witnessed in other men of small fortune and retired lives, he deemed +“a lord” was all-essential. Linton had seen a great deal of life, and a +great deal of that submissive homage so readily conceded to nobility. A +lord, at a wedding, is like a captain in a duel; they are the great +ingredients which warrant that these events “come off” properly; they +place beyond all cavil or question whatever may occur; and they are the +recognizances one enters into with the world that he is “spliced” or shot +like a gentleman. It is quite true Linton was above this vulgarity; but he +was not above the vulgarity of attributing it to another. +</p> +<p> +The more he reflected on this, the more did he believe it to be the +solution of the whole difficulty. “My kingdom for a lord!” exclaimed he, +laughing aloud at the easy gullibility of that world which he had duped so +often. +</p> +<p> +The reader is aware that of the pleasant company of Tub-bermore, Lord +Kilgoff was the only representative of the peerage; and to him Linton's +thoughts at once resorted as the last hope in his emergency. Of late his +Lordship had been gradually mending: clear intervals broke through the +mist of his clouded faculties, and displayed him, for the time, in all his +wonted self-importance, irritability, and pertinacity. To catch him in one +of these fortunate moments was the object, and so induce him to pay a +visit to the cottage. +</p> +<p> +Could he but succeed in this, none better than the old peer to play the +part assigned to him. The very qualities to make his society intolerable +would be, here, the earnest of success; the imperturbable conceit, the +pompous distance of his manner, would repel inquiry, and Linton saw that +his oracle would not utter one word more than he ought. +</p> +<p> +“He will not,—I dare not ask him to call me his relative,” said he; +“but I can easily throw a hazy indistinctness over our intimacy. He can be +a friend of 'my poor father,'”—Tom laughed at the conceit,—“one +who knew me from the cradle. With him for a foreground figure, I 'll soon +paint an imaginary group around him, not one of whom shall be less than a +marquis. +</p> +<p> +“With Mary this will not succeed. Laura, indeed, might do me good service +in that quarter, but I cannot trust her. Were she more skilled in this +world's ways, she would gladly aid me—it would be like drawing the +game between us; but she is rash, headlong, and passionate. I doubt if +even her fears would control her. And yet I might work well upon these! I +have the will, and the way, both; the event shall decide whether I employ +them.” With these thoughts passing in his mind he reached the house, and +entering unobserved, since they were all at breakfast, repaired to his own +room. +</p> +<p> +He immediately sat down and wrote a few lines to Lord Kilgoff, inquiring +with solicitude after his health, and craving the favor of being permitted +to wait upon him. This done, he amused himself by inventing a number of +little political “gossipries” for the old peer,—those small nothings +which form the sweepings of clubs and the whisperings of +under-secretaries' offices; the pleasant trifles which every one repeats, +but no one believes. +</p> +<p> +“My Lord will see Mr. Linton whenever he pleases,” was the answer of the +valet; and Linton lost no time in availing himself of the permission. +</p> +<p> +“His Lordship is at breakfast?” said he to the servant, as he walked +along. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“And her Ladyship?” + </p> +<p> +“My Lady breakfasts below stairs, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“As it ought to be; he is alone,” thought Linton, who, in his present +incertitude of purpose, had no desire to meet her. +</p> +<p> +“If you 'll have the goodness to wait a moment, sir, I 'll tell my Lord +you are here,” said the man, as he ushered Linton into a handsome +drawing-room, which various scattered objects denoted to be her +Ladyship's. +</p> +<p> +As Linton looked over the table, where books, drawings, and embroidery +were negligently thrown, his eye caught many an object he had known long, +long before; and there came over him, ere he knew it, a strange feeling of +melancholy. The past rushed vividly to his mind,—that time when, +sharing with her all his ambitions and his hopes, he had lived in a kind +of fairy world. He turned over the leaves of her sketch-book,—she +had done little of late,—an unfinished bit, here and there, was all +he found; and he sat gazing at the earlier drawings, every one of which he +remembered. There was one of an old pine-tree scathed by lightning, at the +top, but spreading out, beneath, into a light and feathery foliage, +beneath which they had often sat together. A date in pencil had been +written at the foot, but was now erased, leaving only enough to discover +where it had been. Linton's breathing grew hurried, and his pale cheek +paler, as with his head resting on his hands he sat, bent over this. “I +was happier, then,” said he, with a sigh that seemed to rise from his very +heart,—“far happier! But would it have lasted? that is the question. +Would mere love have compensated for thwarted ambition, delusive hope, and +poverty? How should I have borne continued reverses?” + </p> +<p> +The door opened, and Lady Kilgoff entered; not seeing him, nor expecting +any one in the apartment, she was humming an opera air, when suddenly she +perceived him. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Linton here? This is a surprise indeed!” exclaimed she, as, drawing +herself proudly up, she seemed to question the reason of his presence. +</p> +<p> +“I beg you will forgive an intrusion which was not of my seeking. I came +to pay my respects to Lord Kilgoff, and his servant showed me into this +chamber until his Lordship should be ready to receive me.” + </p> +<p> +“Won't you be seated, sir?” said she, with an accent which it would be +difficult to say whether it implied an invitation or the opposite. +</p> +<p> +Few men had more self-possession than Linton, fewer still knew better how +to construe a mere accent, look, or a gesture; and yet, he stood now, +uncertain and undecided how to act. Meanwhile Lady Kilgoff, arranging the +frame of her embroidery, took her seat near the window. +</p> +<p> +“Penelope must have worked in Berlin wool, I 'm certain,” said Linton, as +he approached where she sat. “These wonderful tissues seem never to +finish.” + </p> +<p> +“In that lies their great merit,” replied she, smiling; “it is sometimes +useful to have an occupation whose monotony disposes to thought, even when +the thoughts themselves are not all pleasurable.” + </p> +<p> +“I should have fancied that monotony would dispose to brooding,” said he, +slowly. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps it may, now and then,” said she, carelessly. “Life, like climate, +should not be all sunshine;” and then, as if wishing to change the theme, +she added, “you have been absent a day or two?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; an unexpected piece of fortune has befallen me. I find myself the +heir of a considerable property, just as I have reached that point in life +when wealth has no charm for me! There was a time when—but, no +matter; regrets are half-brother to cowardice.” + </p> +<p> +“We can no more help one than the other, occasionally,” said she, with a +faint sigh; and both were silent for some time. +</p> +<p> +“Is not that tulip somewhat too florid?” said he, stooping over her +embroidery. +</p> +<p> +“That tulip is a poppy, Mr. Linton.” + </p> +<p> +“What a natural mistake, after all!” said he. “How many human tulips who +not only look like, but are downright poppies! Is not this house +intolerably stupid?” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm ashamed to own I think it pleasant,” said she, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“You were more fastidious once, if my memory serves me aright,” said he, +meaningly. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps so,” said she, carelessly. “I begin to fancy that odd people are +more amusing than clever ones; and certainly they entertain without an +effort, and that is an immense gain.” + </p> +<p> +“Do you think so? I should have supposed the very effort would have +claimed some merit, showing that the desire to please had prompted it.” + </p> +<p> +“My Lord will see Mr. Linton at present,” said the servant. +</p> +<p> +Linton nodded, and the man withdrew. +</p> +<p> +“How long ago is it since you made this sketch?” said he, opening the +book, as if accidentally, at the page with the pine-tree. +</p> +<p> +She turned, and although her bent-down head concealed her features, Linton +saw the crimson flush spread over the neck as she answered, “About three +years ago.” + </p> +<p> +“Scarcely so much,” said he. “If I mistake not, I wrote the date myself +beneath it; but it has worn out.” + </p> +<p> +“You will excuse my reminding you, Mr. Linton, that Lord Kilgoff has not +regained his habitual patience, and will be very irritable if you defer a +pleasure such as a visit from you always affords him.” + </p> +<p> +“Happy conjuncture,” said he, smiling, “that can make my presence desired +in one quarter, when my absence is wished for in another.” And with a low, +respectful bow, he left the room. +</p> +<p> +Whatever the object of the hint, Lady Kilgoff had not exaggerated his +Lordship's deficiency in the Job-like element, and Linton found him, on +entering, interrogating the servant as to whether he “had conveyed his +message properly, and what answer he had received.” + </p> +<p> +“That will do; leave the room,” said he. Then turning to Linton, “I have +waited twelve minutes, sir,—nearly thirteen,—since my servant +informed you I would receive you.” + </p> +<p> +“I am exceedingly sorry, my Lord, to have occasioned you even a moment of +impatience. I was mentioning to Lady Kilgoff a circumstance of recent good +fortune to myself, and I grieve that my egotism should have mastered my +sense of propriety.” + </p> +<p> +“Twelve minutes, or thirteen, either, may seem a very unimportant fraction +of time to men of mere pleasure, but to those whose weightier cares impose +graver thoughts, is a very considerable inroad, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“I know it, my Lord. I feel it deeply, and I beg you to excuse me.” + </p> +<p> +“Life is too short, at least in its active period, to squander twelve +minutes, Mr. Linton; and however you, in <i>your</i> station, and with <i>your</i> +pursuits, may deem otherwise, I would wish to observe, that persons in <i>mine</i> +think differently.” + </p> +<p> +Linton looked a perfect statue of contrition, nor did he utter another +word. Perhaps he felt that continuing the discussion would be but an +indifferent mode of compensating for the injury already incurred. +</p> +<p> +“And now, Mr. Linton, I conclude that it was not without a reason you +sought an interview at this unusual hour.” + </p> +<p> +“The old story, my Lord; and as I came to ask a favor, I selected the <i>petit +lever</i> as the most appropriate hour.” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed! you surprise me much how an individual so much forgotten as Lord +Kilgoff can possibly be of service to that most promising gentleman, Mr. +Linton!” + </p> +<p> +Linton never heeded the sarcastic discontent of the speech, but went on,— +</p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lord, you find me, as you have so often found me, a suppliant.” + </p> +<p> +“I have nothing to bestow, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“You can do all that I could ask, or even wish for, my Lord. My ambition +is not very unmeasured; my greatest desire is to have the opportunity of +frequent intercourse with you, and the benefit of that practical wisdom +for which your Lordship s conversation is distinguished at home and +abroad.” + </p> +<p> +“My valet is not going to leave me,” said the old man, with an insolence +of look that tallied with the rude speech. +</p> +<p> +“My Lord!—” + </p> +<p> +“Nay, nay, you must not be offended; I was rather jesting on my own +barrenness of patronage than upon your proposal.” + </p> +<p> +Linton saw by the slight advantage he had gained that the bold course was +the more promising, and continued:— +</p> +<p> +“You will soon have a great deal of business on your hands, my Lord, and +so, I will economize your time and your patience. You have not heard, I am +aware, that Dollington has been recalled. The mission at Florence is to +give away, and I am here to ask for the secretaryship. I know well that +the appointment is a Foreign-Office one; but Blackwell, who gives me the +present information, says, 'If you have interest with Kilgoff, push it +now; his recommendation will, I know, be attended to.' He then goes on to +say that Dollington is most anxious to know if you would take his house +off his hands. He has been furnishing and arranging the interior most +expensively, never dreaming of a recall.” + </p> +<p> +“When did this news come?” said Lord Kilgoff, sitting down and wiping his +forehead, on which the perspiration now stood, from agitation. +</p> +<p> +“Yesterday. Blackwell sent a cabinet messenger to me, but with the +strictest injunctions to secrecy. In fact, the rumor would call so many +suitors in the field, that the Foreign Office would be besieged.” + </p> +<p> +“You can rely upon it, however?” + </p> +<p> +“Unquestionably. Blackwell writes me that the thing is done. You will +receive the offer immediately after the recess.” + </p> +<p> +“You acted very properly, I must say,—very properly, indeed, in +giving me this early notice of his Majesty's gracious intentions with +regard to me; the more, as I shall have time to consider how far my views +upon questions of foreign politics are in agreement with those of the +Government.” + </p> +<p> +“Upon that point your Lordship's mind may be at rest. I gather from +Blackwell that you will receive the widest discretion. The Secretary of +State has named you as <i>the</i> man; of course interference is out of +the question.” + </p> +<p> +“Of course it would be, sir, were I to accept the mission. Dollington's +house, I conclude, is a suitable one, and we 'll think of it; and as to +yourself, Linton, I really am at a loss what to say. Lady Kilgoff—it +is best to be candid—is prejudiced against you. She thinks you +satirical and sarcastic, as if,”—and here he raised his head, and +threw forward his chin with most imposing dignity,—“as if the person +who bore <i>my</i> name need fear such qualities anywhere; but besides +this, it appears to <i>me</i> that your abilities are not diplomatic. You +have neither that natural reserve nor that suave impressiveness 'the line' +requires. You are a Club man,-and will probably make a very good House of +Commons man; but diplomacy, Mr. Linton,—diplomacy is a high, I had +almost said a sacred vocation! To all the <i>prestige</i> of family and +ancient lineage must be added the most insinuating graces of manner. +Personal advantages should be combined with a high cultivation, so that +the Envoy may worthily mirror forth the Majesty he represents. It would be +an inestimable benefit if the Eastern principle of 'caste' were observed +in diplomacy, and the office of Ambassador be limited to certain families! +Believe me, sir, you may say of such, '<i>Nascitur non fit.</i>'” + </p> +<p> +As he spoke, his eyes flashed, and his cheek became flushed; the flutter +of self-importance gave a fresh impulse to his circulation, and he walked +back and forward in a perfect ecstasy of delight. +</p> +<p> +“Alas, my Lord! you have made me feel too deeply the presumption of my +request. I confess, till I had listened to your eloquent exposition, I had +formed other and very erroneous ideas upon this subject. I see, now, that +I am quite unsuited to the career. The very fact that it becomes your +Lordship is evidence enough how unfitted it would prove to me.” + </p> +<p> +“I will not say, that in Greece, or perhaps with some republican +government, you might not be very eligible. We'll consider about it.” + </p> +<p> +“No, no, my Lord; I'll content myself with more humble fortunes. I suppose +there is always a place for every capacity; and now, to a matter purely +personal to myself, and in which, I hope, I may count upon your kind +co-operation. I have thoughts of marriage, my Lord, and as I am a stranger +in this country, unconnected with it by kindred or connection, I would ask +of you to give me that sanction and currency which the honor of your +Lordship's friendship confers. The lady upon whom I have fixed my choice +is without fortune, but of a family which traces back to royalty, I fancy. +This Irish pride of lineage, then, requires that I, upon my side, should +not be deficient in such pretensions.” + </p> +<p> +“I am not a Clarencieux, nor Norroy, sir, to make out your genealogy,” + said the old peer, with ineffable disdain. +</p> +<p> +Linton had more difficulty to control his laughter than his anger at this +impertinent absurdity. “I was not thinking of 'the tree,' my Lord, but its +last and most insignificant twig, myself; and, remembering how many +kindnesses I owed you, how uniformly your patronage had befriended me +through life, I still reckon upon the feeling to serve me once more.” + </p> +<p> +“Be explicit. What do you ask?” said he, leaning back and looking like a +monarch whose will was half omnipotence. +</p> +<p> +“What I should like, my Lord, is this,—that you would permit me to +drive you over some morning to the gentleman's house, where, presenting +the family to your Lordship, I might, while enjoying the sanction of your +intimacy and friendship, also obtain your opinion upon the merits of one +with whom I would link my humble destinies. I have said that the lady has +no fortune; but your Lordship has shown the noble example of selecting for +far higher and more ennobling qualities than wealth.” This was said with a +spice of that subdued raillery of which Linton was a master; and he saw, +with delight, how the old peer winced under it. +</p> +<p> +“Very true, sir; your remark is just, except that the disparity between +our conditions does not give the instance the force of example; nor am I +certain the experiment will be always successful!” The irritation under +which the last words were uttered spread a triumphant joy through Linton's +heart, nor dare he trust himself to speak, lest he should reveal it! +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps a letter, Mr. Linton, would answer your object. It appears to <i>me</i> +that the condescension of a visit is a step too far in advance. You are +aware that, in a day or two, as his Majesty's representative, etiquette +would require that I should never make the initiative in acquaintance.” + </p> +<p> +“Pardon my interrupting, my Lord; but that rule will only apply to you at +the seat of your mission. Here, you have no other distinction than of +being the well-known leader of the Irish peerage,—the great head of +an illustrious body, who look up to you for guidance and direction.” + </p> +<p> +“You are right, perhaps, sir,—my station is what you have described +it. I trust you have not mentioned to Lady Kilgoff anything of your +Foreign-Office news?” + </p> +<p> +“Of course not, my Lord. It will always remain with your discretion when +and how to make the communication.” + </p> +<p> +“It appears to me, sir, that her Ladyship has admitted many of the inmates +here to a degree of intimacy quite inconsistent with their relative +stations.” + </p> +<p> +“Her Ladyship's youth and amiability of manner offer great temptations to +the inroads of obtrusiveness,” said Linton, with the air of one thinking +aloud. +</p> +<p> +“I disagree with you, sir, entirely. I was young myself, sir, and, I am +told, not quite destitute of those attractions you speak of; but I am not +aware that any one ever took a liberty with <i>me!</i> This must be looked +to. And now, your affair? When is it to come off? Your marriage, I mean?” + </p> +<p> +“That is by no means so certain, my Lord,” said Linton, who smiled in +spite of himself at the careless tone in which his Lordship treated so +very humble an event. “I may reckon on your Lordship's assistance, +however?” + </p> +<p> +Lord Kilgoff waved his hand in token of acquiescence, and Linton took a +formal leave, almost bursting with laughter at the ridiculous conceit he +had himself contributed to create. +</p> +<p> +“Ay,” muttered he, as he descended the stairs, “as a democrat, an +out-and-out democrat, I say, 'Long live' an Hereditary Peerage! 'I know +nothing can equal it, in making the untitled classes the rulers.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XVI. A WET DAT—THE FALSE SIGNAL +</h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +So cunning, like the doubling of the hare, +Oft turns upon itself. + +Bell. +</pre> +<p> +It was a rainy day,—one of those downright pelting, pouring, +swooping wet days which Ireland is accustomed to, for nearly one half of +every year. All out-of-door occupation was impossible; the most fidgety +could only get as far as the stables, to smoke a cigar and “chaff” + horse-talk with the grooms; while the more resigned wandered from room to +room, and place to place, in that restlessness that defies common +philosophy to subdue. +</p> +<p> +A wet day in a country house is always a severe trial. Sociability will +not be coerced, and the greater the necessity for mutual assistance, the +less is the disposition to render it; besides, they who habitually +contribute least to the enjoyment of their fellows have always great +resources of annoyance at such periods,—as the most insignificant +instrument in the orchestra can at any moment destroy the harmony of the +band. +</p> +<p> +Scarcely was breakfast over in Tubbermore than the guests were scattered +in various directions, it was difficult to say where. Now and then, some +one would peep into the drawing-room or the library, and, as if not seeing +“the right man,” shut the door noiselessly, and depart. Of the younger +men, many were sleeping off the debauch of the previous evening. Downie +Meek, who had a theory upon the subject, always kept his bed while it +rained. Sir Andrew had, unfortunately, mistaken a lotion containing +laudanum for some concoction of bitters, and was obliged to be kept +eternally walking up and down stairs, along corridors and passages, lest +he should drop asleep; his man, Flint, accompanying him with “the wakeful +announcement” of “Hae a care, Sir Andrew; here 's my leddy,”—an +antidote to the narcotic worth all the Pharmacopoeia contained. +</p> +<p> +Lady Janet was meanwhile deep in the formation of a stomachic, which, +judging from the maid's face as she tasted it, must needs have been of the +pungent order. Mrs. White was letter-writing. Howie was sketching heads of +the company, under the title of “Beauties of Ireland,” for a weekly +newspaper. Frobisher was instructing Miss Meek in the science of making +knee-caps for one of his horses; and so with the remainder, a few only +were to be seen below stairs; of these the “Chief” was fast asleep with +the “Quarterly” on his knee, and a stray subaltern or two sat conning over +the “Army List,” and gazing in stupid wonder at their own names in print! +And now we come to the Kennyfecks, at whose door a servant stands knocking +for the second or third time. “Come in” is heard, and he enters. +</p> +<p> +The blinds are drawn, which, adding to the gloom of the day, the vast +apartment is in semi-darkness, and it is some time before you can descry +the figures. On a sofa sits Mrs. Kennyfeck in a kind of travelling-dress, +with her bonnet beside her; fragments of ribbons and stray articles of +dress litter the sofa and the table, several trunks are strewn about, and +a maid and a man are performing a <i>pas de deux</i> on an “imperial,” + which, in its efforts to close at the lock, is giving way simultaneously +at the hinges. Miss Kennyfeck stands at the chimney burning notes and +letters, of which, as she glances from time to time, her features betray +the tenor; and, lastly, Olivia is lying on a sofa, her face concealed +between her hands, and only the quick palpitation of her bosom showing +that her agitation is not lulled in slumber. +</p> +<p> +“What does he say? I can't hear him with all that stamping,” said Mrs. +Kennyfeck; and her voice was not of the dulcet order. +</p> +<p> +“He says the post-horses have come, mamma, and wishes to know when he's to +come round with the carriage.” + </p> +<p> +“When I give orders for it; not till then,” said she, imperiously; and the +man, abashed in such a presence, departed. +</p> +<p> +“There, Pearse, leave it so; I cannot bear that noise any longer. Frances, +you need n't wait; I 'll send for you if I want you;” and the servants +withdrew. +</p> +<p> +“He's at least two hours away, now,” said she, addressing her eldest +daughter. +</p> +<p> +“Very nearly. It wanted only a few minutes to eleven when Mr. Cashel sent +for him.” + </p> +<p> +“I hope, Caroline, that he will remember what is due, not to himself,—I +cannot say that,—but to me, on this occasion. It is impossible that +Cashel can avoid the acknowledgment of his attentions; nothing but your +father's incompetence could permit of his escape.” + </p> +<p> +“It's too late, mamma,—altogether too late. When Aunt Fanny—” + </p> +<p> +“Don't speak of her; don't even mention her name in my presence,” cried +Mrs. Kennyfeck, with an accent of bitter anguish. +</p> +<p> +“I was merely going to observe, mamma, that her conduct has involved us in +such ridicule, that reparation of the mischief is out of the question.” + </p> +<p> +“I wish we were away; I cannot bear to stay another day here,” said +Olivia, with a deep sigh. +</p> +<p> +“If Aunt—” + </p> +<p> +“Don't call her your aunt, Caroline,—I forbid it; she is no sister +of mine; she has been the evil genius of our family all her life long. But +for her and her wiles I had never been married to your father! Just fancy +what a position you might have had now, but for that cruel mishap.” + </p> +<p> +The problem, to judge from Miss Kennyfeck's face, seemed difficult to +solve; but she prudently held her peace. +</p> +<p> +“You may rest assured they know it all below stairs. That odious Lady +Janet has told it in every dressing-room already.” + </p> +<p> +“And Linton, mamma,” said Caroline, whose sisterly feelings were merged in +most impartial justice,—“only fancy Linton imitating Aunt Fanny's +benediction with uplifted hands and eyes. I almost think I see him before +me, and hear the insolent shouts of laughter on every side.” + </p> +<p> +“Give me the aromatic vinegar!” cried Mrs. Kennyfeck, with an accent like +suffocation. +</p> +<p> +“I think there 's some one at the door. Come in,” cried Miss Kennyfeck; +and a very smartly dressed groom entered with a note. +</p> +<p> +“Is there any answer to this?” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, listlessly, who +thought it one of the habitual invitations to some excursion in a carriage +or on horseback. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lady,” said the servant, bowing. +</p> +<p> +The title sounded pleasantly, and Mrs. K.'s features relaxed as she broke +the seal. +</p> +<p> +Ah, Mrs. Kennyfeck, indolently and carelessly as you hold that small +epistle in your fingers, it cost him who wrote it many a puzzling thought, +and many a fair sheet of foolscap. Critics assure us that style is no +criterion of the labor of composition, and that Johnson's rounded periods +ran flippantly off the pen, while the seemingly careless sentences of +Rousseau cost days and nights of toil. The note was from Sir Harvey Upton, +and neither by its caligraphy nor grammar shed lustre on the literary +genius of his corps. It went thus:— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +My dear Madam,—The beauty and fascinations of your +daughters—but more especially of the second—have +conspired to inspire me with sentiments of respectful +admiration, which may speedily become something warmer +should I obtain the gratifying sensation of your +approbation. + +Family, fortune, and future expectations, will I fancy, be +found “all right.” + +Part of the estate entailed on the baronetcy; encumbrances, +a trifle. + +I am, waiting your reply, dear madam, Very respectfully +yours, + +Harvey Upton, + +——Hussars. +</pre> +<p> +“Shall we write, Cary?” whispered Mrs. Kennyfeck, in the very faintest of +tones. +</p> +<p> +“Better not, mamma; a verbal 'happy to see Sir Harvey,' safer,” was the +answer. +</p> +<p> +Mrs. Kennyfeck yielded to the sager counsel, and the servant departed with +the message. +</p> +<p> +“We may leave the matter entirely with Livy, mamma,” said her sister, half +sarcastically; “I opine that innocence, upon the present occasion, will +carry the day.” + </p> +<p> +“I am glad of it,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck; “I am fatigued and out of spirits: +I 'd rather not receive visitors.” + </p> +<p> +“A white frock and a little sentiment,—a sprig of jessamine and a +bit of poetry!” said Miss K., as she arranged her hair at the glass; “only +don't overdo it, Livy.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'd much rather you 'd not go!” said Olivia, languidly. +</p> +<p> +“Of course, my dear, we are perfectly aware of that; but we have our +duties also. Mamma must take care that Aunt Fanny does not 'give you away' +before you 're asked for; and I must see what the result of papa's +interview with Cashel may be, lest you should make a bad market while a +good bid is being offered.” + </p> +<p> +“Clever creature!” murmured Mrs. Kennyfeck, as she rose to leave the room. +</p> +<p> +“It will seem so odd, mamma, that I'm to receive him, alone!” + </p> +<p> +“Not at all, Livy; we are packing up to go off: there are the trunks and +cap-cases all strewn about. You can be engaged with Frances, and send her +to summon us when Sir Harvey comes,” said Miss Kennyfeck. +</p> +<p> +“Just so, my dear; and then you 'll entreat of him to sit down,—all +as if you had heard nothing of his note; you 'll be quite lively and +natural in your manner.” + </p> +<p> +“Ah, mamma, remember what Talleyrand said to the Emperor: 'Give me the +instructions, sire, but leave the knavery to myself.' My sweet sister is +quite diplomatic enough to re-echo it.” + </p> +<p> +Livy looked reproachfully at her, but said nothing. +</p> +<p> +“If I discover, my dear, that the high prize is on your ticket, I 'll wear +a handkerchief round my neck. Without you see this emblem, don't discard +your baronet.” + </p> +<p> +“Mamma, is this quite fair?” said Olivia. “Cary speaks as if my heart had +no possible concern in the matter.” + </p> +<p> +“Quite the reverse, my dear; but bear in mind that you have only one +heart, and it would not be altogether discreet to give it away to two +parties. Cary is always right, my love, in morals as in everything else!” + </p> +<p> +“And how am I to behave, mamma,” said Olivia, with more courage than +before, “if I am neither to refuse nor accept Sir Harvey's proposals?” + </p> +<p> +“Did you never flirt, Livy dearest? Doesn't every partner with whom you +dance twice of the same evening make advances that are neither repelled +nor received? The silliest boarding-school miss that ever blushed before +her Italian teacher knows how to treat such difficulties, if they deserve +the name. But we are delaying too long. Mamma! to your post, while I, in +the library, establish a strict blockade over papa.” + </p> +<p> +With these words Miss Kennyfeck waved her hand affectedly in adieu, and +led her mother from the room; while Olivia, after a second's pause, arose +and arrayed more smoothly the silky tresses of her hair before the glass. +</p> +<p> +We have once already, in this veracious narrative, been ungallant enough +to peep at this young lady, and coolly watch her strategy before the +enemy. We will not repeat the offence, nor linger to mark how, as she +walked the room, she stopped from time to time before the mirror to gaze +on charms which expectancy had already heightened; in fact, we will quit +the chamber with Mrs. Kennyfeck and her elder daughter, and as the choice +is permitted which to follow, we select the latter. +</p> +<p> +“Here 's Miss Kennyfeck, by Jove!” cried Jennings, as she crossed the +hall. “We have all been dying to see you; pray come here and give us your +counsel.” And he led her into a small drawing-room, where, around a table +covered with prints and colored drawings of costume, a considerable number +of the guests were assembled. +</p> +<p> +“For mercy's sake, nothing out of the Waverley novels!” said the blond +lady. “I am wearied of seeing the Jewess Rebecca wherever I go.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, I'll be Diana Vernon, I know that,” said Miss Meek; “you may all +choose how you please.” + </p> +<p> +“But you can't be, my love, if we have the 'Midsummer Night's Dream,'” + said Mrs. White. +</p> +<p> +“Why can't I, if Charley takes Osbaldiston?” said she. +</p> +<p> +“Because they are not characters of the piece.” + </p> +<p> +“Nobody cares for character in a masquerade!” said Linton. +</p> +<p> +“Or if they have any, they put a mask over it,” said Lady Janet +</p> +<p> +“I vote that we are all Tyrolese peasanths,” lisped the fat and dumpy Mrs. +Malone. “It's a most picthuresque costhume.” + </p> +<p> +“What will you be, Sir Andrew?” cried another, as the old general passed +the door in a dog-trot, with Flint behind him. +</p> +<p> +“By me saul! I thenk I'll be the Wanderin' Jew!” cried he, wiping the +perspiration off his forehead. +</p> +<p> +“You hear that, Lady Janet?” said Linton, roguishly. “Sir Andrew intends +to live forever.” + </p> +<p> +“So that I don't, sir, I can't complain,” said she, with a tartness quite +electric. +</p> +<p> +“I incline to leave the choice of each free,” said Miss Kennyfeck, as she +tossed over the drawings. “When you select a story, there are always a +certain number of characters nobody likes to take.” + </p> +<p> +“I'll be Henri Quatre,” said an infantry captain. “I wish you 'd be +Gabrielle, Miss Kennyfeck?” + </p> +<p> +“Thanks; but I 've a fancy for that Cephalonian costume.” + </p> +<p> +“Egad! you can always pick up a 'Greek' or two, here, to keep you +company,” said a hussar; but no one joined his laugh. +</p> +<p> +“I'll be Don Belianis!” said a tall, melancholy subaltern. +</p> +<p> +“What were you at Bellingden's last year, Fillymore?” + </p> +<p> +“I went as 'Chiffney;' but they turned me out. The whole was mediaeval, +and they said I was all wrong.” + </p> +<p> +“Try that turban, my dear Miss Kennyfeck,” said Mrs. White, who, +suspecting the young lady wore false ringlets, made a vigorous effort to +expose the cheat. +</p> +<p> +“By Jove! how becoming!” exclaimed Jennings. “Now, put on the mantle,—not +over the right shoulder, but so,—crossed a little.” + </p> +<p> +“You ought to have this scarf round your neck,” said another; “blue and +gold have such an excellent effect.” + </p> +<p> +“I vote for your wearing that,” said the hussar, quite smitten with her +beauty. “What do they call the dress?” + </p> +<p> +“Costume of Leopoldine of Eschingen, who defended the 'Irongate' against +the Turks, in 1662.” + </p> +<p> +“Where was that?” asked one. +</p> +<p> +“In somebody's avenue, I suppose,” lisped out the tall sub. +</p> +<p> +“No, no; it 's on some river or other. There's a cataract they call the +Irongate,—I forget where.” + </p> +<p> +“The Lethe, perhaps,” said Miss Kennyfeck, slyly. +</p> +<p> +“Is not that a pace! by Jove! Cashel 's in a hurry. This way,” said +Jennings; and they all rushed to the window in time to see Roland flit +past at a full gallop. +</p> +<p> +Miss Kennyfeck did not wait for more; but, throwing off the turban and +mantle, hastened out to catch her father, who, at the same instant, was +issuing from the library.. +</p> +<p> +“Now, pa,” said she, slipping her arm within his, “how is it to be? Pray, +now, don't affect the mysterious, but say at once,—has he proposed?” + </p> +<p> +“Who? has who proposed?” + </p> +<p> +“Mr. Cashel, of course. How could I mean any other?” + </p> +<p> +“For you, my dear?” said he, for once venturing upon a bit of raillery. +</p> +<p> +“Pshaw, pa; for Olivia!” + </p> +<p> +“Nothing of the kind, my dear. Such a subject has never been alluded to +between us.” + </p> +<p> +“Poor thing! she has been badly treated, then, that's all! It would, +however, have saved us all a world of misconception if you had only said +so at first; you must own that.” + </p> +<p> +“But you forget, Miss Kennyfeck, that I never supposed you entertained +this impression. Mr. Cashel's conversation with me related exclusively to +the affairs of his property.” + </p> +<p> +“Poor Livy!” said Miss Kennyfeck, letting go his arm and ascending the +stairs. As Miss Kennyfeck drew near the door of the drawing room, she +began to sing sufficiently loud to be heard by those within, and thus, +judiciously heralding her approach, she opened the door and entered. Sir +Harvey had been standing beside the chimney-piece with Olivia, but turned +hastily round, his countenance exhibiting that state of mingled doubt, +fear, and satisfaction, which vouched for the cleverness of the young +lady's tactics. Nothing, in truth, could have been more adroit than her +management; performing a feat which among naval men is known as “backing +and filling,” she succeeded in manoeuvring for nigh an hour, without ever +advancing or retiring. We should be unwilling to deny our reader the value +of a lesson, did we not feel how the fairer portion of our audience would +weary over a recital, in every detail of which they could instruct our +ignorance. +</p> +<p> +The late Lord Londonderry was famed for being able to occupy “the house” + for any given time without ever communicating a fact, raising a question, +solving a difficulty, or, what is harder than all, committing <i>himself</i>. +But how humbly does this dexterity appear beside the young-lady-like tact +that, opposed by all the importunity of a lover, can play the game in such +wise that after fifty-odd minutes the “pieces” should stand upon the board +precisely as they did at the beginning! +</p> +<p> +“How do you do, Sir Harvey? Why are you not on that committee of costume +in the little drawing-room where the great question at issue is between +the time of the crusades and the swell mob?” + </p> +<p> +“I have been far more agreeably occupied, in a manner that my feelings”—here +Olivia looked disappointed,—“my heart, I mean,” said he—and +the young lady looked dignified—“my feelings and my heart, too,” + resumed be, horribly puzzled which tack to sail upon, “assure me must +nearly concern my future happiness.” + </p> +<p> +“How pleasant!” said Cary, laughingly, as if she accepted the speech as +some high-flown compliment; “you are so fortunate to know what to do on a +dreary wet day like this.” + </p> +<p> +Olivia, whose eyes were bent upon her sister, changed color more than +once. “The signal was flying,” “Stop firing,” just at the moment when the +enemy had all but “struck;” in less figurative phrase, Miss Kennyfeck's +throat was encircled by the scarf which she had forgotten to lay aside on +leaving the drawing-room. +</p> +<p> +The object was too remarkable to escape notice, and Olivia's face grew +scarlet as she thought of her triumph. +</p> +<p> +Miss Kennyfeck saw this, but attributed the agitation to anything but its +true cause. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm in search of mamma,” said she, and with a very peculiar glance at +Olivia, left the room. +</p> +<p> +Sir Harvey's visit lasted full twenty minutes longer; and although no +record has been preserved of what passed on the occasion, they who met him +descending the stairs all agreed in describing his appearance as most +gloomy and despondent. As for Olivia, she saw the door close after him +with a something very like sorrow. There was no love in the case, nor +anything within a day's journey of it; but he was good-looking, +fashionable, well-mannered, and mustachioed. She would have been “my +lady,” too; and though this is but a “brevet nobility” after all, it has +all “the sound of the true metal.” She thought over all these things; and +she thought, besides, how very sad he looked when she said “No;” and, how +much sadder, when asked the usual question about “time, and proved +devotion, and all that sort of thing,” she said “No,” again; and how, +saddest of all, when she made the stereotyped little speech about +“sisterly affection, and seeing him happy with another!” Oh dear! oh dear! +is it not very wearisome and depressing to think that chess can have some +hundred thousand combinations, and love-making but its two or three +“gambits,”—the “fool's-mate” the chief of them? We have said she was +sorry for what had occurred; but she consoled herself by remembering it +was not her fault that Sir Harvey was not as rich as Cashel, and nephew to +a live uncle! +</p> +<p> +As Sir Harvey's “lady”—Heaven forgive me, I had almost written +“wife”—she would have been the envy of a very large circle of her +Dublin acquaintance; and then she knew that these dragoon people have a +way of making their money go so much further than civilians; and in all +that regards horses, equipage, and outward show, the smartest “mufti” is a +seedy affair beside the frogs of the new regulation pelisse! She actually +began to feel misgivings about her choice. A high drag at the Howth races, +a crowd of whiskered fellows of “ours,” and the band of the regiment in +Merrion Square, came home to her “dear Dublin” imagination with +irresistible fascination. In her mind's eye, she had already cut the +“bar,” and been coldly distant with the infantry. It was a little revery +of small triumphs, but the sum of them mounted up to something +considerable. +</p> +<p> +“Is he gone, Livy?” said Cary, as, entering noiselessly, she stole behind +her sister's chair. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, dear, he is gone!” said she, sighing slightly. +</p> +<p> +“My poor forlorn damsel, don't take his absence so much to heart! You 're +certain to see him at dinner!” + </p> +<p> +“He said he'd leave this afternoon,” said she, gravely; “that he could n't +bear to meet me after what had passed.” + </p> +<p> +“And what has passed, child?” + </p> +<p> +“You know, of course, Cary; I refused him!” + </p> +<p> +“Refused him!—refused him!—what possessed you to do so?” + </p> +<p> +“This!” said Olivia, gasping with terror at the unknown danger; and she +caught hold of the fringe of her sister's scarf. Miss Kennyfeck started, +and put her hand to her neck, and, suddenly letting it fall again, she +leaned against the wall for support. +</p> +<p> +“This was a mistake, Livy,” said she, in a voice barely above a whisper; +“I was trying on some costumes below stairs, and they tied this round my +neck, where I utterly forgot it.” + </p> +<p> +“And there is nothing—” She could not go on, but, hanging her head, +burst into tears. +</p> +<p> +“My poor dear Livy, don't give way so; the fault, I know, was all mine. +Let me try if I cannot repair it Have you positively refused him?” + </p> +<p> +She nodded, but could not speak. +</p> +<p> +“Did you say that there was no hope,—that your sentiments could +never change?” + </p> +<p> +“I did.” + </p> +<p> +“Come, that's not so bad; men never believe that. You did n't say that +your affections were engaged?” + </p> +<p> +“No!” + </p> +<p> +“There 's a dear child,” said she, kissing her neck; “I knew you 'd not be +guilty of such folly. And how did you part, Livy,—coldly, or in +affectionate sorrow?” + </p> +<p> +“Coldly; we did not shake hands.” + </p> +<p> +“That's right; all as it ought to be. It is a sad blunder, but I hope not +irreparable. Cheer up, child; depend upon it, <i>my</i> scarf is not so +fatal as Aunt Fanny's blessing.” + </p> +<p> +“Ah, then, my dear, I don't see much difference in the end,” said that +redoubtable lady herself, who issued from a small conservatory off the +drawing-room, where she had lain in wait for the last half hour. “I heard +it, my dears, and a nice hash you made of it between you, with your +signals and telescopes,”—we believe she meant telegraphs; “you threw +out the dirty water, now, in earnest!” And so saying, she proceeded to +disentangle herself from a prickly creeper which had a most pertinacious +hold of what Linton called her “scalp-lock.” + </p> +<p> +“Aunt Fanny's blessing indeed!” said she, for her temper knew no bounds +when she saw the enemy silenced. “'T is little harm that would have done, +if ye did n't take to screaming about it; as if any man could bear that! +You drove him away, my dear, just the way your own mother did poor Major +Cohlhayne,—with hard crying,—till he said, 'he 'd as soon go +to a wake as take tay in the house.' And sure enough, she had to take up +with your poor father, after! Just so. I never knew luck come of signals +and signs. When the good thing 's before you, help yourself. My poor +father used to say, 'Don't pass “the spirits” because there 's claret at +the head of the table; who knows if it 'll ever come down to you?' And +there you are, now! and glad enough you 'd be to take that curate I saw in +Dublin, with the smooth face, this minute. I don't blame you as much as +your poor foolish mother; she has you as she reared you. Bad luck to you +for a plant!” cried she, as the ingenious creeper insinuated itself among +the meshes of her Limerick lace collar. “Cary, just take this out for me;” + but Cary was gone, and her sister with her. Nor did Aunt Fanny know how +long her eloquence had been purely soliloquy. +</p> +<p> +She looked around her for a moment at the deserted battle-field, and then +slowly retired. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XVII. THE SHADOW IN THE MIRROR +</h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“No” is the feminine of “Yes!” + +Hungarian Proverb. +</pre> +<p> +Bad as the weather is,—and certainly even in Ireland a more +drenching, driving-down, pouring rain never fell,—we must ask of our +readers to follow Cashel, who at a slapping gallop rode on, over grass and +tillage, now careering lightly over the smooth sward, now sweltering along +heavily through deep ground, regardless of the pelting storm, and scarcely +noticing the strong fences which at every instant tried the stride and +strength of his noble horse. +</p> +<p> +If his speed was headlong, his seat was easy, and his hand as steady as if +lounging along some public promenade; his features, however, were flushed, +partly from the beating rain, but more from a feverish excitement that +showed itself in his flashing eye and closely compressed lip. More than +once, in crossing a difficult leap, his horse nearly fell, and although +half on the ground, and only recovering by a scramble, he seemed not to +heed the accident. At last he arrived at the tall oak paling which fenced +the grounds of the cottage, and where it was his wont to halt and fasten +his horse. Now, however, he rode fiercely at it, clearing the high leap +with a tremendous spring, and alighting on the trimly kept grass-plat +before the door. +</p> +<p> +A slight faint shriek was heard as the horse dashed past the window, and, +pale with terror, Mary Leicester stood in the porch. +</p> +<p> +Cashel had meanwhile dismounted, and given his horse to the old gardener. +</p> +<p> +“Not hurt, Mr. Cashel?” said she, trying to seem composed, while she +trembled in every limb. +</p> +<p> +“Not in the least. I never intended to have alarmed you, however.” + </p> +<p> +“Then it was no runaway?” said she, essaying a smile. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm ashamed to say I have not that excuse for so rudely trampling over +your neat sward. Will Mr. Corrigan forgive me?” + </p> +<p> +“Of course he will, if he even ever knows that he has anything to forgive; +but it so happens that he has gone into the village to-day,—an +excursion he has not made for nigh a year. He wished to consult our friend +the doctor on some matter of importance, and I half suspect he may have +stayed to share his dinner.” + </p> +<p> +As Miss Leicester continued to make this explanation, they had reached the +drawing-room, which, to Cashel's amazement, exhibited tokens of intended +departure. Patches here and there on the walls showed where pictures had +stood. The bookshelves were empty, the tables displayed none of those +little trifling objects which denote daily life and its occupations, and +his eye wandered over the sad-looking scene till it came back to her, as +she stood reading his glances, and seeming to re-echo the sentiment they +conveyed. “All this would seem to speak of leave-taking,” said Cashel, in +a voice that agitation made thick and guttural. +</p> +<p> +“It is so,” said she, with a sigh; “we are going away.” + </p> +<p> +“Going away!” Simple as the words are, we have no sadder sounds in our +language; they have the sorrowful cadence that bespeaks desertion; they +ring through the heart like a knell over long-past happiness; they are the +requiem over “friends no more,” and of times that never can come back +again. +</p> +<p> +“Going away!” How dreary does it sound,—as if life had no fixed +destination in future, but that we were to drift over its bleak ocean, the +“waifs” of what we once had been! +</p> +<p> +“Going away!” cried Cashel. “But surely you have not heard—” He +stopped himself; another word, and his secret had been revealed,—the +secret he had so imperatively enjoined Tiernay to keep; for it was his +intention to have left Ireland forever ere Mr. Corrigan should have +learned the debt of gratitude he owed him. It is true, indeed, that one +night of sleepless reflection had suggested another counsel, but had +altered not his desire that the mystery should be preserved. +</p> +<p> +He was confused, therefore, at the peril he had so narrowly escaped, and +for a moment was silent; at length he resumed, in a tone of assumed ease,— +</p> +<p> +“'Going away!' sounds to one like me, who have lived a life of wandering, +so like pleasure that I always associate it with new scenes of enjoyment; +I think all the sorrow is reserved for those who remain behind,—the +deserted.” + </p> +<p> +“So it may,” said she, “with those who, like yourself, have roamed the +world in the excitement of ardent youth, glorying in enterprise, thirsting +for adventure; but there are others—ourselves, for instance—whose +humble fortunes have linked them with one class of scenes and objects till +they have grown part of our very natures; so that we only know the world +as it is associated with things familiar to daily use. There are, +doubtless, plants of more gorgeous foliage and fairer flowers in other +countries, but <i>we</i> shall never learn to look at them as we do upon +these that speak to us of home, of spring and summer, when they gladdened +<i>us</i>, of autumn and winter, when our culture cared for <i>them</i>. +There are sunsets more rich and glowing, but if we see them, it will be to +think of that sinking orb which sent its last rays over that wide river, +and lit up in a golden glory this little chamber. There 's not a charm the +fairest clime can own but will have its highest merit in recalling some +humble scene that tells of 'home.'” + </p> +<p> +“I never could leave a spot so dear to me as this were!” cried Cashel, who +watched with ecstasy the impassioned beauty of her features. +</p> +<p> +“Do not say <i>that</i>,” said she, seriously. “We can all of us do what +we ought, however it may try our courage. Yes, I say courage,” said she, +smiling, “since I fancy it is a property you have a due respect for. If we +leave scenes so dear to us as these, it is because we feel it a duty; and +a duty fulfilled is a buckler against most sorrows. But we are wandering +into a very sad theme,—at least, to judge from your grave looks. +What news have you of your gay company?” + </p> +<p> +“I see but little of them,” said Cashel, abruptly. +</p> +<p> +“What a strange host!—and how do they amuse themselves?” + </p> +<p> +“As they fancy, I believe. I only know I never interfere with them, and +they are kind enough to reciprocate the civility; and so we get on +admirably.” + </p> +<p> +“I must say this scarcely speaks well for either party,” said she, +laughing. +</p> +<p> +“I fear not; but it is true, notwithstanding.” + </p> +<p> +“You have a most accomplished friend, I believe?” + </p> +<p> +“Linton. Do you mean Linton?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes. He must be an excellent counsellor in all difficulties.” + </p> +<p> +Cashel did not look as if he concurred in the sentiment, but he said +nothing; and Mary, half fearing that she had unwittingly given pain, was +silent also. She was the first to speak. +</p> +<p> +“Do you know, Mr. Cashel, how I passed the morning? You 'd scarcely guess. +It was in writing a long letter,—so long, indeed, that I began to +fear, like many efforts of over-zeal, it might defeat itself, and never +get read; and that letter was—to <i>you</i>.” + </p> +<p> +“To <i>me!</i> where is it, then?” + </p> +<p> +“There!” said she, pointing to some charred leaves beneath the grate. “I +see your curiosity, and I have no pretension to trifle with it. But last +night, late, papa dictated to me a long sermon on your account, premising +that the impertinence was from one you should never see again, and one +who, however indiscreet in his friendship, was assuredly sincere in it. +Were the document in existence, I should probably not have to utter so +many apologies; for, on the whole, it was very flattering to you.” + </p> +<p> +“And why is it not so?” cried Cashel, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“I cannot tell you why.” + </p> +<p> +“Do you mean that you do not wish to tell, or do not know the reason?” + </p> +<p> +“I do not know the reason,” said she, firmly. “I was ill, slightly ill, +this morning, and could not breakfast with papa. It was late when I arose, +and he was on the very brink of starting for Dunkeeran; he seemed agitated +and excited, and, after a few words of inquiry about my health, he said,— +</p> +<p> +“'That letter, Mary, have you written it? Well, burn it Throw it into the +fire at once.' +</p> +<p> +“I did so; but I cannot conceal from you the deep interest he has taken in +your fortunes,—a feeling which the dread of offending has possibly +sentenced him to cherish in secret. At least, so I read his change of +intention.” + </p> +<p> +“I had hoped he knew me better,” said Cashel, in whose voice a feeling of +disappointment might be traced. “It is the misfortune of men like myself +to make the most unfavorable impression, where alone they are anxious for +the opposite. Now, it may seem very uncourteous, but I am less than +indifferent what the fair company yonder think of me; and yet I would give +much to stand high in Mr. Corrigan's esteem.” + </p> +<p> +“And you do so, believe me,” cried she, her eagerness moved by the evident +despondency of his manner; “he speaks of you with all the interest of a +father.” + </p> +<p> +“Do not say so,” cried Cashel, in a voice tremulous with anxiety; “do not +say so, if you mean not to encourage hopes I scarcely dare to cherish.” + </p> +<p> +His look and manner, even more than his words, startled her, and she +stared at him, uncertain what reply to make. +</p> +<p> +“I never knew a father, nor have I ever tasted a mother's affection. I +have been one of whom fortune makes a plaything, as if to show how much +worldly prosperity can consort with a desolate condition, and a heart for +which none have sympathy. I had hoped, however, to attach others to me. I +had joined in pursuits that were not mine, to endeavor to render myself +companionable. I fell in with habits that were uncongenial, and tastes +that I ever disliked; but without success. I might be 'the dupe.' but +never 'the friend.' I could have borne much—I did bear much—to +win something that resembled cordiality and esteem; but all in vain! When +I lived the wild life of a Columbian sailor, I deemed that such men as I +now associate with must be the very types of chivalry, and I longed to be +of them, and among them. Still, the reproach lies not at their door. <i>They</i> +stepped not out of their sphere to act a part,—<i>I</i> did; mine +was all the sycophancy of imitation. The miserable cant of fashion formed +all my code. But for this, I might have won good men's esteem; but for +this, I might have learned what duties attach to fortune and station such +as mine; and now I see the only one, from whom I hoped to gain the +knowledge, about to leave me!” + </p> +<p> +“This despondency is ill-judging and unfair,” said Mary, in a kind tone. +“You did, perhaps, choose your friends unwisely, but you judge them +unjustly too. <i>They</i> never dreamed of friendship in their intercourse +with you; <i>they</i> only thought of that companionship which men of the +same age and fortune expect to meet in each other. If less worldly wise, +or more generous than themselves, they deemed that they once had paid for +their skill and cleverness; and so should <i>you</i>. Remember, that you +put a value upon their intimacy which it never laid claim to, and that <i>they</i> +were less false than were <i>you</i> self-deceived.” + </p> +<p> +“Be it so,” said Cashel, hastily. “I care little where the delusion began. +I meant honestly, and if they played not on the square with me, the fault +be theirs; but that is not what I would speak of, nor what brought me here +to-day. I came to throw my last stake for happiness.” He paused, and took +her hand in his. “I came,” said he,—and his lips trembled as he +spoke,—“I came to ask you to be my wife!” + </p> +<p> +Mary withdrew her hand, which he had scarcely dared to press, and leaned +upon the chimney-piece without speaking. It rarely happens that such an +announcement is made to a young lady quite unexpectedly; such was, +however, the case here: for nothing was she less prepared! Cashel, it is +true, had long ceased to be indifferent to her; the evenings of his visits +at the cottage were sure to be her very happiest; his absences made dreary +blanks. The inartificial traits of his character had at first inspired +interest; his generous nature, and his manly leaning to right, had created +esteem of him. There were passages of romantic interest in his former life +which seemed so well to suit his bold and dashing independence; and there +was also an implicit deference, an almost humility, in the obedience he +tendered to her grandfather which spoke much for one whom sudden wealth +and prosperity might be supposed to have corrupted. Yet, all this while, +had she never thought of what impression she herself was making. +</p> +<p> +“I have but one duty,” said she at last, in a faint whisper. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0006" id="linkimage-0006"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/20188.jpg" alt="188 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +“Might I not share it with you, Mary?” said he, again taking her hand +between his own; “you would not grudge me some part of his affection?” + </p> +<p> +“Who crossed the window there?” cried she, starting; “did you not see a +figure pass?” + </p> +<p> +“No, I saw no one,—I thought of none, save you.” + </p> +<p> +“I am too much frightened to speak. I saw someone stop before the window +and make a gesture, as if threatening,—I saw it in the glass.” + </p> +<p> +Cashel immediately hurried from the room, and, passing out, searched +through the shrubberies on either side of the cottage, but without +success. On examining closely, however, he could detect the trace of +recent footsteps on the wet grass, but lost the direction on the +gravel-walk; and it was in a frame of mind far from tranquil that be +reentered the room. +</p> +<p> +“You saw no one?” said she, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Not one.” + </p> +<p> +“Nor any appearance of footsteps?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, I did, or fancied I did, detect such before the window; but why +should this alarm you, or turn your mind from what we spoke of? Let me +once more—” + </p> +<p> +“Not now—not now, I beg of you; a secret misgiving is over me, and I +am not generally a coward; but I have not the collectedness to speak to +you as I ought. I would not wish to be unkind, nor would I yet deceive +you. This cannot be.” + </p> +<p> +“Cannot be, Mary?” + </p> +<p> +“Do not ask me more now. You are too generous to give pain: spare me, +then, the suffering of inflicting it on you. I will tell you my reasons, +you shall own them to be sufficient.” + </p> +<p> +“When are we to meet again?” said Roland, as he moved slowly towards the +door. +</p> +<p> +“There it is again!” cried she, in a voice of actual terror; and Cashel +opened the window and sprang out; but even the slight delay in unfastening +the sash prevented his overtaking the intruder, whoever he might be, +while, in the abundance of evergreens about, search was certain to prove +fruitless. +</p> +<p> +“Good-bye,” said she, endeavoring to smile; “you are too proud and high of +spirit, if I read you aright, to return to a theme like this.” + </p> +<p> +“I am humble enough to sue it out,—a very suppliant,” said he, +passionately. +</p> +<p> +“I thought otherwise of you,” said she, affecting a look of +disappointment. +</p> +<p> +“Think of me how you will, so that you know I love you,” cried he, +pressing his lips to her hand; and then, half-maddened by the conflict in +his mind, he hastened out, and, mounting his horse, rode off, not, indeed, +at the mad speed of his coming, but slowly, and with bent-down head. +</p> +<p> +Let a man be ever so little of a coxcomb, the chances are that he will +always explain a refusal of this kind on any ground rather than upon that +of his own unworthiness. It is either a case “of pre-engaged affection” or +some secret influence on the score of family and fortune; and even this +sophistry lends its balm to wounded self-love. Cashel, unhappily for his +peace of mind, had not studied in this school, and went his way in deep +despondency. Like many men who indulge but seldom in self-examination, he +never knew how much his affections were involved till his proffer of them +was refused. Now, for the first time, he felt that; now recognized what +store he placed on her esteem, and how naturally he had turned from the +wearisome dissipations of his own house to the cheerful happiness of “the +cottage.” Neither could he divest himself of the thought that had Mary +known him in his early and his only true character, she might not have +refused him, and that he owed his failure to that mongrel thing which +wealth had made him. +</p> +<p> +“I never was intended for this kind of life,” thought he. “I am driven to +absurdities and extravagances to give it any character of interest in my +eyes, and then I feel ashamed of such triviality. To live among the rich, +a man should be born among them,—should have the habits, the tastes, +and the traditions. These are to be imbibed from infancy, but not acquired +in manhood,—at least, I will not begin the study.” + </p> +<p> +He turned homeward, still slowly. The bell was ringing which called the +guests to dress for dinner, as he reached a large open lawn before the +house, and for a moment he halted, muttering to himself, “How would it be, +now, were I to turn my horse's head, and never re-enter that house? How +many are there, of all my 'dear friends,' who would ever ask what befell +me?” + </p> +<p> +Arrived at the door, he passed upstairs to his dressing-room, upon a table +of which he perceived a very small note, sealed with Lady Kilgoff's +initials. It was written in pencil, and merely contained one line: “Come +over to me, before dinner, for one minute.—L. K.” + </p> +<p> +He had not seen her since the day before, when he had in vain sought to +overtake her in the wood; and her absence from the dinner-table had seemed +to him in pique at his breach of engagement. Was this an endeavor, then, +to revive that strange relationship between them, which took every form +save love-making, but was all the more dangerous on that account? Or was +it merely to take up some commonplace plan of amusement and pleasure,—that +mock importance given to trifles which as frequently makes them cease to +be trifles? +</p> +<p> +Half careless as to what the invitation portended, and still pondering +over his failure, he reached her door and knocked. +</p> +<p> +“Come in,” said she; and he entered. +</p> +<p> +Dressed for dinner with unusual taste and splendor, he had never seen her +look so beautiful. For some time back she had observed an almost studied +simplicity of dress, rarely wearing an ornament, and distinguishing +herself rather by a half Puritanism of style. The sudden change to all the +blaze of diamonds, and the softening influence of deep folds of lace, gave +a brilliancy to her appearance quite magicial; nor was Cashel's breeding +proof against a stare of amazement and admiration. +</p> +<p> +A deeper flush on her cheek acknowledged how she felt his confusion, and, +hastening to relieve it, she said,— +</p> +<p> +“I have but a moment to speak to you. It is almost seven o'clock. You were +at 'the cottage' to-day?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes,” said Roland, his cheek growing scarlet as he spoke. +</p> +<p> +“And, doubtless, your visit had some object of importance. Nay, no +confessions. This is not curiosity on my part, but to let you know that +you were followed. Scarcely had you left this, when Linton set out also, +making a circuit by the wood, but at a speed which must have soon +overtaken you. He returned some time before you, at the same speed, and +entered by the back gate of the stables. From this window I could see him +each time.” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed,” said Roland, remembering the figure Mary had seen before the +window. +</p> +<p> +“You know my opinion of this man already. He never moves without a plan; +and a plan, with him, is ever a treachery.” + </p> +<p> +“He avoids me strangely; we rarely meet now,—never by any chance +alone. And even before others there is a forced gayety in his manner that +all his artifice cannot pass off for real.” + </p> +<p> +“Have you thwarted him in anything?” + </p> +<p> +“Not that I know of.” + </p> +<p> +“Have you refused him any favor that he sought for?” + </p> +<p> +“Never.” + </p> +<p> +“Is he your debtor for what he ought, but never means, to pay?” + </p> +<p> +“Not even that. What I may have given him has been always without any +reserve or thought of restitution.” + </p> +<p> +“Are your affections directed towards the same object?” + </p> +<p> +As she said this, the ease in which she commenced gradually left her, and +her cheek grew flushed ere she finished. +</p> +<p> +“I cannot tell. There are no confidences between us; besides, a very +bankrupt in love could not envy my solvency. Mine is a heart that cannot +threaten dangerous rivalry!” + </p> +<p> +“You cannot be certain of that!” said she, as if thinking aloud. +</p> +<p> +Fortunately, Cashel did not hear the words, but stood in deep revery for +some seconds. +</p> +<p> +“There! the second bell has rung; I must leave you. My Lord comes down to +dinner to-day. It is by his orders that I am thus showily dressed. Linton +has been filling his mind with stories of some embassy he is to have, and +we are already rehearsing 'our excellencies!' I have but time to say, Be +on your guard; Linton is no common enemy, nor does it need an injury to +make him one.” + </p> +<p> +“It is very rude of me, I know, to interrupt so interesting a <i>tête-à-tête</i>, +but Mr. Cashel's cook has feelings also at stake.” + </p> +<p> +These words were spoken by Lord Kilgoff, who, in a tone of no small +irritation, now joined them. +</p> +<p> +“I was speaking of your mission, my Lord.” + </p> +<p> +“Which you forgot, of course, was not to be mentioned,—even to so +sincere a well-wisher as Mr. Cashel.” + </p> +<p> +“In any case, my Lord, it remains safe in my keeping.” + </p> +<p> +“Very possibly, sir; but it is a poor earnest Lady Kilgoff gives of her +fitness as the wife of a 'diplomatist.'” + </p> +<p> +Cashel gave his arm to Lady Kilgoff, without speaking, and sis Lordship +followed them slowly towards the dining-room. Linton stood at the door as +they entered, and his wan features grew flushed as the haughty beauty +moved past him with the very coldest of recognitions. +</p> +<p> +“What an admirable taste is your Lordship's!” said he to the old peer; +“Lady Kilgoff's diamonds are disposed with an elegance that bespeaks the +guiding skill of a consummate artist.” + </p> +<p> +“Ha! you perceive it, then!” said he, smiling. “I own to you, the +festooning the robe with bouquets of brilliants was a fancy of mine, and +has, I think, a very pretty effect.” + </p> +<p> +“Storr told me that he had not one person in his employment could equal +your Lordship in the harmonious arrangement of gems. He mentioned a +bracelet, if I remember aright, made from your own designs, as the most +beautifully chaste ornament he had ever seen.” + </p> +<p> +“You must pronounce for yourself, sir,” said the old lord, with a smile of +elated vanity; and so, taking Linton's arm, he approached where Lady +Kilgoff was seated in a group of ladies. +</p> +<p> +“Will you oblige me, madam,” said he, with a courteous bow, “by showing +Mr. Linton your ruby and opal bracelet, which I had the poor merit of +designing?” + </p> +<p> +“I am unfortunate enough not to have it here,” replied she, with a +confusion which made the blood mount to her temples. +</p> +<p> +“I am grieved, madam, it should not enjoy the honor of your preference,” + said Lord Kilgoff, with an air of pique. “Will you order your maid to +fetch it?” + </p> +<p> +“I 've not got it, my Lord,” said she, coloring still deeper. +</p> +<p> +“Not got it, madam! You do not mean to imply—” + </p> +<p> +“Only that it is slightly broken,—a few stones have fallen out, and +I have sent it to be repaired.” + </p> +<p> +“To be repaired, madam; and without my knowledge I To whom, pray?” + </p> +<p> +“That man in Dublin; I forget his name.” + </p> +<p> +“Your Ladyship means Leonard, I presume,” interposed Linton, with an air +of courtesy, while, plainer than any words, his glance said, “My revenge +is coming!” + </p> +<p> +“Leonard!” exclaimed Lord Kilgoff, with a look of horror. “Give Leonard +that bracelet! the mould of which I refused to the Princess of +Hohenhoffingen, and which I made Storr destroy in my own presence!” + </p> +<p> +“You perceive, my Lord,” cried Lady Janet, “her Ladyship is less exclusive +than you are.” + </p> +<p> +“And generous enough to admire what may belong to another,” added Linton, +but in a tone only audible by Lady Kilgoff. +</p> +<p> +“We have got a few minutes before dinner, madam. I must beg you will +employ them in writing to Mr. Leonard to return the bracelet at once. Say +it was a mistake on your part,—an inadvertence,—and done +without my knowledge. Caution the man, too, about appropriating any +portion of the design, and remind him that articles of <i>virtu</i> are +protected by the Act of copyright.” + </p> +<p> +“We had better delay the postboy, my Lord,” said Linton; “he starts at +seven precisely.” + </p> +<p> +“Do so, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“Dinner!” cried the butler, flinging wide the folding-doors. +</p> +<p> +“Could we delay that pleasant summons a few minutes, Mr. Cashel?” said +Lord Kilgoff. +</p> +<p> +“It will not be necessary on my account, sir; I 'll write to-morrow.” And +this she said with an air of haughty defiance that never failed to subdue +the old peer's petulance; and then, accepting Cashel's arm, moved on +without a word. +</p> +<p> +“Where is it? that's the question!” whispered Mrs. White to Lady Janet. +</p> +<p> +“Take you two to one it's not at Leonard's,” said Frobisher. +</p> +<p> +“Give you an even fifty, Linton knows all about it,” replied Upton. +</p> +<p> +“And ten to two that he 'll never tell!” chimed in Miss Meek; and so they +took their places at the table. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XVIII. THE OLD FRIENDS IN COUNCIL +</h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +I could an I would, Sir Harry. + +Old Play. +</pre> +<p> +While the gay company at Tubbermore dined sumptuously, and enjoyed the +luxuries of a splendid table with no other alloy to their pleasure than +the <i>ennui</i> of people whose fastidiousness has grown into malady, Mr. +Corrigan sat in council at the cottage with his ancient ally, the doctor. +There was an appearance of constraint over each,—very unusual with +men who had been friends from boyhood; and in their long pauses, and +short, abrupt sentences, might be read the absence of that confiding +spirit which had bound them so many years like brothers. +</p> +<p> +It may be in the reader's recollection that while Corrigan was pledged to +secrecy by Linton respecting his revelations of Cashel, Tiernay was +equally bound by Roland not to divulge any of his plans for the old man's +benefit. Perhaps it was the first time in the life of either that such a +reserve had been practised. Certainly it weighed heavily upon both; and +more than once they were coming to the fatal resolve to break their vows, +and then some sudden thought—some unknown dread of disconcerting the +intentions of those who trusted them—would cross their mind, and +after a momentary struggle, a half cough, and muttered “Well! well!” they +would relapse into silence, each far too occupied by himself to note the +other's embarrassment. +</p> +<p> +It was after a long time and much thought that Corrigan perceived, however +pledged to Linton not to speak of Cashel's conduct respecting the cottage, +that he was in no wise bound to secrecy regarding the proposal for Mary +Leicester's hand; and this was, indeed, the topic on which he was most +desirous of the doctor's counsel. +</p> +<p> +“I have a secret for you, Tiernay,” said the old man, at length; “and it +is one which will surprise you. I have had an offer this morning for Mary! +Ay; just so. You often told me that nothing but this life of isolation and +retirement would have left her with me so long; but the thought of losing +her—the tangible, actual dread—never presented itself before +this day!” + </p> +<p> +“Who is it?” said Tiernay, shortly, but not without evident agitation of +manner. +</p> +<p> +“One who has never enjoyed much of your favor, Tiernay, and whom I suspect +you have judged with less than your habitual fairness.” + </p> +<p> +“I know the man. Linton?” + </p> +<p> +“It was Linton.” + </p> +<p> +“And he actually made this proposition?” said Tiernay, with an expression +of the most unbounded surprise in his features. +</p> +<p> +“To me, myself, in this room, he made it.” + </p> +<p> +“He asked you what her fortune would be?” said Tiernay, gruffly. +</p> +<p> +“He did not; he told me of his own. He said, that by a recent event he had +become possessed of sufficient property to make him indifferent to the +fortune of whoever he might marry. He spoke sensibly and well of his +future career, of the plans he had conceived, and the rules he made for +his own guidance; he spoke warmly of her with whom he wished to share his +fortunes; and lastly, he alluded in kind terms to myself, dependent as I +am upon her care, and living as I do upon her affection. In a word, if +there was not the ardor of a passionate lover, there was what I augur +better from,—the sentiments of one who had long reflected on his own +position in life, who knew the world well, and could be no mean guide amid +its dangers and difficulties.” + </p> +<p> +“Have you told Mary of this?” + </p> +<p> +“I have not. My answer to Linton was: 'Let me have time to think over this +proposal; give me some hours of thought before I even speak to my +granddaughter;' and he acceded at once.” + </p> +<p> +“Good heavens!” exclaimed Tiernay, rising, and pacing the room. “How +inadequate are we two old men—removed from intercourse with the +world, neither players nor lookers-on at the game of life—to cope +with one like him, and see what he purposes to himself by this alliance! +As for his affection, as for his power to feel her worth, to estimate the +gentle virtues of her spotless nature, I cannot, I will not believe it.” + </p> +<p> +“And for that very reason are you unfit to judge him. Your prejudices, +ever against him, are rendered stronger because you cannot divine motives +black enough to suit your theory; you give the benefit of all your doubts +against himself.” + </p> +<p> +“I know him to be a gambler in its worse sense. Not one who plays even for +the gratification of those alternating vacillations of hope and fear which +jaded, worn-out natures resort to as the recompense for blunted emotions +and blasted ambitions, but a gambler for gain!—that foul amalgam of +the miser and the knave. I 've seen him play the sycophant, too, like one +who studied long his part, and knew it thoroughly. No, no, Con, it is not +one like this must be husband of Mary!” + </p> +<p> +“I tell you again, Tiernay, you suffer your prejudices to outrun all your +prudence. The very fact that he asks in marriage a portionless girl, +without influence from family, and without the advantage of station, +should outweigh all your doubts twice told.” + </p> +<p> +“This does but puzzle me,—nothing more,” said Tiernay, doggedly. +“Were it Cashel, that high-hearted, generous youth, who made this offer—” + </p> +<p> +“I must stop you, Tiernay; you are as much at fault in your over-estimate +of <i>one</i> as in your disparagement of the <i>other</i>. Cashel is not +what you deem him. Ask me not how I know it. I cannot, I dare not tell +you; it is enough that I do know it, and know it by the evidence of my own +eyes.” + </p> +<p> +“Then they have deceived you, that's all,” said Tiernay, roughly; “for I +tell you, and I speak now of what my own knowledge can sustain, that he is +the very soul of generosity,—a generosity that would imply +recklessness, if not guided by the shrinking delicacy of an almost girlish +spirit.” + </p> +<p> +“Tiernay, Tiernay, you are wrong, I say,” cried Corrigan, passionately. +</p> +<p> +“And <i>I</i> say it is <i>you</i> who are in error,” said Tiernay. “It +was but this morning I held in my hands—” He stopped, stammered, and +was silent. +</p> +<p> +“Well,” cried Corrigan, “go on,—not that, indeed, you could convince +me against what my eyes have assured; for here, upon this table, I beheld—” + </p> +<p> +“Out with it, man! Tell what jugglery has been practised on you, for I see +you have been duped.” + </p> +<p> +“Hush! here 's Mary!” cried Corrigan, who, scarcely able to control +himself, now walked the room in great agitation. +</p> +<p> +“You were talking so loud,” said Mary, “that I guessed you were +quarrelling about politics, and so I came to make peace.” + </p> +<p> +“We were not, Mary; but Tiernay is in one of his wrong-head humors.” + </p> +<p> +“And your grandfather in the silliest of his foolish ones!” exclaimed +Tiernay, as, snatching up his hat he left the cottage. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XIX. A TÊTE-À-TÊTE INTERRUPTED +</h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Like battle-tramps +The chaos of their tongues did drown reflection. + +Oswald. +</pre> +<p> +It might be thought that in a household so full of contrarieties as +Tubbermore, any new plan of pleasure would have met but a meagre success. +Here, were the Kilgoffs, upon one side, full of some secret importance, +and already speaking of the uncertainty of passing the spring in Ireland. +There, were the Kennyfecks, utterly disorganized by intestine troubles,—mother, +aunt, and daughters at open war, and only of one mind for some few minutes +of each day, when they assailed the luckless Kennyfeck as the “author of +all evil;” Frobisher, discontented that no handicap could be “got up,” to +remunerate him for the weariness of his exile; Upton, suffering under the +pangs of rejection; Sir Andrew, reduced to a skeleton by the treatment +against his unhappy opiate, being condemned, as “Jim” phrased it, to “two +heavy sweats without body-clothes, and a drench every day;” Meek, grown +peevish at the little prospect of making anything of Cashel politically; +and Cashel himself, hipped and bored by all in turn, and wearied of being +the head of a house where the only pleasantry existed in the servants' +hall,—and they were all rogues and thieves who made it. +</p> +<p> +It might be easily supposed these were not the ingredients which would +amalgamate into any agreeable union, and that even a suggestion to that +end would meet but few supporters. +</p> +<p> +Not so; the very thought of doing “anything” was a relief: each felt, +perhaps, his share of shame at the general <i>ennui</i>, and longed for +whatever gave a chance of repelling it. It was as in certain political +conditions in seasons of general stagnation,—men are willing even to +risk a revolution rather than continue in a state of unpromising monotony. +</p> +<p> +Linton, whose own plans required that the others should be full of +occupation of one kind or other, was the first to give the impulse, by +reminding Miss Meek that her sovereignty had, up to this time, been a dead +letter. +</p> +<p> +“You have positively done nothing,” said he, “since your accession. Here +we are, all ready to do your bidding, only waiting for the shadow of a +wish on your part. There is no obstacle anywhere; pray let us commence a +series of such right royal festivities as shall cause the envy of every +other sovereign in Christendom.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm sure I wish for nothing better; but nobody minds me,” said she, +pouting. +</p> +<p> +“What shall be the opening, then?” said Linton, taking a sheet of paper, +and seating himself, in all form, to write. “A masquerade?” + </p> +<p> +“By all means! A masquerade!” exclaimed a dozen voices; and at once a +large circle gathered round the table where he sat. +</p> +<p> +“Does the country afford materials for one?” asked Jennings. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, dear, yes!” sighed Meek; “you could gather a great many important +people here by a little management.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll tell Macnevin, wha commands at Limerick, to send ye every officer +wha is n't under arrest,” said Sir Andrew,—a speech received with +great favor by various young ladies unknown to the reader. +</p> +<p> +Every one who knew anything of the three neighboring counties was at once +summoned to form part of a select committee to name those who ought to be +invited. The Chief Justice was acquainted with the principal persons, from +his having gone circuit; but then, those he mentioned were rarely of the +stamp to add lustre or brilliancy to a fancy ball,—indeed, as Linton +whispered, “The old judge had either hanged or transported all the +pleasant fellows.” + </p> +<p> +The Infantry men from Limerick were familiar with every pretty girl of +that famed capital and its environs for some miles round; and as +exclusiveness was not to be the rule, a very imposing list was soon drawn +up. +</p> +<p> +Then came the question of receiving so large a party, and each vied with +his neighbor in generous sacrifices of accommodation; even Downie +vouchsafed to say that the noise would be terrible, “but one ought to +submit to anything to give pleasure to his friends.” + </p> +<p> +The theatre should be the ball-room; the two drawing-rooms and the library +would offer space for the company to promenade; the buffet stand in the +dining-room; and supper be served in the great conservatory, which, with +its trellised vines all studded with lights disposed as stars, would have +a new and beautiful effect. +</p> +<p> +Sir Andrew promised two military bands, and unmarried officers <i>à +discrétion</i>. +</p> +<p> +Devoted offers of assistance poured in from every side. Foraging parties +were “told off” to shoot snipe and woodcocks without ceasing; and +Frobisher was to ply with a four-in-hand—of Cashel's horses—to +and from Limerick every day, carrying every body and every thing that was +wanting. +</p> +<p> +All the servants of the guests, as well as of the house, were to be +attired in a costume which, after some discussion, was decided to be +Spanish. +</p> +<p> +Unlimited facilities were to be at the disposal of all, for whatever they +pleased to order. Mrs. White sat down to write to Paris for an envoy of +moss-roses and camellias, with a postscript from Upton on the subject of +red partridges and <i>foie gras</i>. +</p> +<p> +Jennings dictated a despatch to Mayence for two cases of Steinberger; and +Howie took notes of all for a series of papers which, in four different +styles, were to appear in four periodicals simultaneously. +</p> +<p> +As each guest was at full liberty to invite some half-dozen friends, there +was quite an excitement in comparing lists with each other, and +speculations innumerable as to the dress and character they would appear +in, for all were mysterious upon that head. +</p> +<p> +“But whar is Maister Cashel all this time?” said Sir Andrew; “methinks it +wud na be vara polite na to hae his opinion upon a' this, syne he must gie +the siller for it.” + </p> +<p> +“He's playing chess with Lady Kilgoff in the boudoir,” said Jennings. +</p> +<p> +“Tell Kennyfeck,” said Frobisher; “that's quite enough! Cashel calls +everything where money enters, business, and hates it, in consequence.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, dear! I'm precisely of his mind, then,” sighed Meek, caressing his +whiskers. +</p> +<p> +“Kilgoff will not remain, you 'll see,” said Upton. “He is not pleased +with my Lady's taste for close intimacy.” + </p> +<p> +“The Kennyfecks are going to-morrow or next day,” said another. +</p> +<p> +“So they have been every day this last week; but if some of you gentlemen +will only be gallant enough to give a good reason for remaining, they 'll +not stir.” This was spoken by Lady Janet in her tartest of voices, and +with a steady stare at Upton, who stroked his moustaches in very palpable +confusion. “Yes, Sir Harvey,” continued she, “I 'm perfectly serious, and +Mr. Linton, I perceive, agrees with me.” + </p> +<p> +“As he always does, Lady Janet, when he desires to be in the right,” said +Linton, bowing. +</p> +<p> +“Aw—I, aw—I did n't think it was so easy in that quarter, aw!” + said Jennings, in a low semi-confidential tone. +</p> +<p> +“I 'll insure you for a fair premium, Jennings, if you have any fancy that +way.” + </p> +<p> +“Aw, I don't know,—concern looks hazardous,—ha, ha, ha!—don't +you think so?” But as nobody joined in his laughter, he resumed, in a +lower voice, “There, Upton 's very spooney indeed about one of them.” + </p> +<p> +“It's the aunt,” said Linton,—“a very fine woman, too; what the +French call <i>beauté sévère</i>; but classical, quite classical.” + </p> +<p> +“Confounded old harridan!” muttered Upton, between his teeth; “I 'd not +take her with Rothschild's bank at her disposal.” + </p> +<p> +All this little chit-chat was a thing got up by Linton, while stationing +himself in a position to watch Cashel and Lady Kilgoff, who sat, at a +chess-table, in an adjoining room. It needed not Linton's eagle glance to +perceive that neither was attentive to the game, but that they were +engaged in deep and earnest conversation. Lady Kilgoff's back was towards +him, but Roland's face he could see clearly, and watch the signs of anger +and impatience it displayed. +</p> +<p> +“A little more noise and confusion here,” thought Linton, “and they 'll +forget that they 're not a hundred miles away;” and, acting on this, he +set about arranging the company in various groups; and while he disposed a +circle of very fast-talking old ladies, to discuss rank and privileges in +one corner, he employed some others in devising a character quadrille, +over which Mrs. White was to preside; and then, seating a young lady at +the piano,—one of those determined performers who run a +steeple-chase through waltz, polka, and mazurka, for hours +uninterruptedly,—he saw that he had manufactured a very pretty chaos +“off-hand.” + </p> +<p> +While hurrying hither and thither, directing, instructing, and advising +every one, he contrived also, as it were by mere accident, to draw across +the doorway of the boudoir the heavy velvet curtain that performed the +function of a door. The company were far too busied in their various +occupations to remark this; far less was it perceived by Lady Kilgoff or +Roland. Nobody knew better than Linton how to perform the part of +fly-wheel to that complicated engine called society; he could regulate its +pace to whatever speed he pleased; and upon this occasion he pushed the +velocity to the utmost; and, by dint of that miraculous magnetism by which +men of warm imagination and quick fancy inspire their less susceptible +neighbors, he spread the contagion of his own merry humor, and converted +the drawing-room into a scene of almost riotous gayety. +</p> +<p> +“They want no more leadership now,” said he, and slipped from the room and +hastened towards the library, where sat Lord Kilgoff, surrounded by folios +of Grotius and Puffendorf,—less, indeed, for perusal and study than +as if inhaling the spirit of diplomatic craft from their presence. +</p> +<p> +“Nay, my Lord, this is too much,” said he, entering with a smile; “some +relaxation is really necessary. Pray come and dissipate a little with us +in the drawing-room.” + </p> +<p> +“Don't lose my place, however,” said he, smiling far more graciously than +his wont. “I was just considering that assertion of Grotius, wherein be +lays it down that 'a river is always objectionable as a national +boundary.' I dissent completely from the doctrine. A river has all the +significance of a natural frontier. It is the line of demarcation drawn +from the commencement of the world between different tracts, and at once +suggests separation.” + </p> +<p> +“Very true, my Lord; I see your observation in all its justice. A river, +in the natural world, is like the distinguishing symbol of rank in the +social, and should ever be a barrier against unwarrantable intrusion.” + </p> +<p> +Lord Kilgoff smiled, tapped his snuff-box, and nodded, as though to say, +“Continue.” Linton understood the hint in this wise, and went on,— +</p> +<p> +“And yet, my Lord, there is reason to fear that, with individuals as with +nations, these demarcations are losing their prestige. What people call +enlightenment and progress, nowadays, is the mere negation of these +principles.” + </p> +<p> +“Every age has thrown some absurd theory to the surface, sir,” said Lord +Kilgoff, proudly; “Southcotians, Mormons, and Radicals among the rest. But +truth, sir, has always the ascendency in the long run. Facts cannot be +sneered down; and the Pyrenees and the English peerage are facts, Mr. +Linton,—and similar facts, too!” + </p> +<p> +Linton looked like one who divided himself between rebuke and conviction,—submissive, +but yet satisfied. +</p> +<p> +“Give me your arm, Linton; I'm still very far from strong,—this +place disagrees with me. I fancy the air is rheumatic, and I am impatient +to get away; but the fact is, I have been lingering in the hope of +receiving some tidings from the Foreign Office, which I had rather would +reach me here than at my own house.” + </p> +<p> +“Precisely, my Lord; the request, then, has the air—I mean it shows +you have been sought after by the Minister, and solicited to take office +when not thinking of the matter yourself.” + </p> +<p> +“Quite so; I open the despatch, as it may be, at the breakfast-table, +jocularly observing that it looks official, eh?” + </p> +<p> +“Exactly, my Lord; you even surmise that it may prove an appointment you +have solicited for one of your numerous <i>protégés</i>,—something +in the Colonies, or the 'troop,' without purchase, in the Blues?” + </p> +<p> +Lord Kilgoff laughed—for him, heartily—at Linton's concurrence +in his humor, and went on,— +</p> +<p> +“And when I open it, Linton, and read the contents, eh?” + </p> +<p> +Here he paused, as if asking what effect his astute friend would ascribe +to such pleasant tidings. +</p> +<p> +“I think I see your Lordship throw the heavy packet from you with a +'pshaw!' of disappointment; while you mutter to your next neighbor, 'I +have been warding off this these two or three last years; but there's no +help for it: the King insists upon my taking the mission at Florence!'” + </p> +<p> +“I must say, Mr. Linton, your conjecture strikes me as strained and +unnatural. The appointment to represent my august master at the court of +Tuscany might be a worthy object of my ambition. I cannot agree with the +view you take of it.” + </p> +<p> +Linton saw that he had “charged too far,” and hastened to secure his +retreat. +</p> +<p> +“I spoke, my Lord, rather with reference to your regret at quitting the +scenes of your natural influence at home, of withdrawing from this +distracted country the high example of your presence, the wisdom of your +counsels, the munificence of your charity. These are sad exports at such a +time as this!” + </p> +<p> +Lord Kilgoflf sighed, he sighed heavily; he knew Ireland had gone through +many trials and afflictions, but the dark future which Linton pictured had +never presented itself so full of gloom before. He doubtless felt that +when he left the ship she would not long survive the breakers; and, sunk +in these reveries, he walked along at Linton's side till they gained the +picture-gallery, at one extremity of which lay the boudoir we have spoken +of. +</p> +<p> +“Poor things, my Lord!” said Linton, shrugging his shoulders as he passed +along, and casting a contemptuous glance at the apocryphal Vandykes and +Murillos around, and for whose authenticity he had himself, in nearly +every case, been the guarantee. +</p> +<p> +Lord Kilgoff gave a fleeting look at them, but said nothing; and Linton, +to occupy time, went on,— +</p> +<p> +“New men, like our friend here, should never aspire above the Flemish +school. Your Cuyps, and Hobbemas, and Vanderveldes are easily understood, +and their excellences are soon learned. Even Mieris and Gerard Dow are +open to such connoisseurship; but, to feel the calm nobility of a +Velasquez, the sublime dignity of a Vandyck, or the glorious +intellectuality of a Titian portrait, a man must be a born gentleman, in +its most exalted signification. What a perfect taste your collection at +Kilgoff displays! All Spanish or Venetian, if I mistake not.” + </p> +<p> +“Are we not like to disturb a <i>tête-à-tête</i>, Linton?” said Lord +Kilgoff, nudging his friend's arm, and laughing slyly, as he pointed +through the large frame of plate-glass that formed a door to the boudoir. +</p> +<p> +“By Jove!” said Linton, in a low whisper, “and so we were; you are always +thoughtful, my Lord!” + </p> +<p> +“You know the adage, Linton, 'An old poacher makes the best gamekeeper!' +Ha, ha, ha!” + </p> +<p> +“Ah, my Lord! I have heard as much of you. But who can they be?” + </p> +<p> +“We shall soon see, for it is always better in these cases to incur the +rudeness of interruption than the meanness of espionage;” and so saying, +Lord Kilgoff opened the door and entered. Although in so doing the noise +he made might easily have attracted notice, the chess-players, either deep +in their preoccupation, or habituated to the uproar of the drawing-room, +paid no attention, so that it was only as he exclaimed “Lady Kilgoff!” + that both started, and beheld him, as, pale with passion, he stood +supporting himself on the back of a chair. +</p> +<p> +“Pray don't stir, sir; be seated, I beg,” said he, addressing Cashel, in a +voice that shook with anger; “my interruption of your game was pure +accident.” + </p> +<p> +“No apologies, my Lord; we are both but indifferent players,” said Cashel, +smiling, but yet very far from at ease. +</p> +<p> +“Your seclusion at least bespeaks the interest you feel in the game. Mr. +Linton and I can vouch—” (Here his Lordship turned to call his +witness; but he had left the court, or, more properly speaking, had never +entered it.) +</p> +<p> +“Linton here?” said Lady Kilgoff, in a voice which, though scarce a +whisper, was actually thrilling in the intensity of its meaning. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0007" id="linkimage-0007"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/20208.jpg" alt="208 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +“I hope, sir, when you have lived somewhat more in the world, you will +learn that the first duty of a host is not to compromise a guest.” + </p> +<p> +“I am most willing to be taught by your Lordship's better knowledge; but +if I am to benefit by the lesson in the present case, it must be more +clearly expressed,” said Cashel, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“As for you, madam,” said Lord Kilgoff, “I cannot compliment you on the +progress you have made in acquiring the habits and instincts of 'your +order.'” + </p> +<p> +“My Lord!” exclaimed she; and then, with a countenance wherein rebuke and +entreaty were blended, she stopped. +</p> +<p> +“I am aware, sir, what <i>éclat</i> young gentlemen nowadays derive from +the supposed preference of individuals of exalted rank; and I hope that +your vanity may be most in fault here.” + </p> +<p> +“My Lord, one word,—only one,” said Cashel, eagerly; “I am sadly +afflicted with the infirmity of hot temper, which never gives way more +surely, nor more suddenly, than when accused wrongfully. Such is your +Lordship doing at present. I would entreat you not to say what a very +little calm reflection will call upon you to retract.” + </p> +<p> +“This concerns me, sir, most of all,” said Lady Kilgoff, rising, and +drawing herself proudly up. “These unworthy suspicions had never occurred +to you had they not been prompted; but you might have believed that when I +sacrificed all I have done for that rank of which so incessantly you +remind me, that I would not rashly hazard the position for which I paid so +dearly. Let us leave this now, my Lord; Mr. Cashel can scarcely desire a +presence that has so ungratefully rewarded his hospitality, and I, at +least, shall be spared the mortification of meeting one who has been a +witness to such an outrage.” + </p> +<p> +“This is not to end here, sir,” said Lord Kilgoff, in a whisper to Cashel, +who, more intent upon the words Lady Kilgoff had just uttered, carelessly +answered,— +</p> +<p> +“As you will.” + </p> +<p> +“Good-bye, Mr. Cashel,” said she, holding out her hand; “I wish I was +leaving a better <i>souvenir</i> behind me than the memory of this last +scene.” + </p> +<p> +“I will never remember it, madam,” said Cashel; “but I would beg that you +may not let an incident so trivial, so perfectly devoid of everything like +importance, hasten your going. Nothing save malevolence and calumny could +suggest any other impression, and I would beseech you not to favor, by +such a step as a hasty departure, the malice that scandal-lovers may +circulate.” + </p> +<p> +“This is matter for <i>my</i> consideration, sir,” said Lord Kilgoflf, +haughtily; while, drawing Lady Kilgoffs arm within his own, he made a +vigorous attempt to move away with dignity. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XX. LORD KILGOFF DETERMINES TO “MEET” ROLAND +</h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Is he not too old for such gambols? + +—Sir Raymond. +</pre> +<p> +Cashel was in no mood to join his company after such a scene, and +hastening upstairs, he entered his dressing-room. What was his surprise to +see that Linton was seated in an easy-chair, before the fire, enjoying a +cigar and a new novel, with all the cool negligence of his unruffled +nature. +</p> +<p> +“At last!” cried he, as Cashel entered. “I have been waiting here most +impatiently to know how you got through it.” + </p> +<p> +“Through what!—how—what do you mean?” + </p> +<p> +“That affair with Kilgoff. I slipped away when I saw that he <i>would</i> +enter the boudoir, after having coughed and sneezed like a grampus, in the +hope of attracting your attention; but you were so confoundedly engrossed +by my Lady's agreeability,—so excessively tender—” + </p> +<p> +“Linton, I must stop you at once. I may barter some of my own self-respect +for quietness' sake, and let you talk this way of me, but you shall not do +so of another.” + </p> +<p> +“Hang it, man, she is an older friend than yourself. I have known her +these seven years—as little more than a child.” + </p> +<p> +“Your friendship would seem a costly blessing, if you understand its +duties always in this fashion.” + </p> +<p> +“I hope it will admit of a little frankness, at all events,” said he, +affecting a laugh. “It will be too bad if you both fall out with me for +watching over your interests.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't understand you.” + </p> +<p> +“I will be plain enough. I have seen for many a day back what has been +going on. I perceived the very commencement of the mischief, when probably +neither she nor you dreamed of it; and, resigning all the esteem that +years had cemented between us, I spoke to her. Ay, Roland, I told her what +would happen. I said that qualities like yours could not be brought every +day into contrast with those of poor Kilgoff without most unhappy +comparisons. I explained to her, that if she did form an attachment to +you, it could not be one of those passing flirtations that an easy code of +fashion admits and sanctions; that you were a fellow whose generous nature +could never descend to such heartless levity, and that there was no +sacrifice of position and prospect you would hesitate to make for a woman +that loved you; and I asked her flatly, would she bring such ruin upon +you? The greater fool myself; I ought to have known better. She not only +refused to listen to me, but actually resented my at-tempted kindness by +actual injury. I don't want to speak for myself here, so I 'll hasten on. +It was all but a cut between us, for months before we met here. You may +remember, in Dublin, we rarely even spoke to each other; we, who once had +been like brother and sister! +</p> +<p> +“Well, before she was a week here, I saw that the danger I had dreaded so +long was hourly becoming more imminent. <i>You</i>, very possibly, had not +a serious thought upon the matter, but <i>she</i> had actually fallen in +love! I suppose you must have played hero, at that shipwreck, in some very +chivalrous fashion; however it was, my Lady had lost her heart, precisely +at the same time that his Lordship had lost his head,—leaving you, I +conjecture, in a very awkward dilemma. Seeing there was no time to lose, +and resolving to sacrifice myself to save her, I made one more effort. +I'll not weary you with a narrative of my eloquence, nor repeat any of the +ten-thousand-and-one reasons I gave for her shunning your society, and, if +need were, leaving your house. The whole ended as I ought to have foreseen +it would,—in an open breach between us; she candidly avowing that +she would be my deadly enemy through life, and even procure a personal +rupture between you and me, if pushed to it, by my 'impertinent +importunity,' so she called it. I own to you I was completely dumfounded +by this. I knew that she had courage for anything, and that, if she did +care for a man, there would be a recklessness in the course she would +follow that would defy guidance or direction, and so I abstained from any +further interference; and, as you may have remarked yourself, I actually +estranged myself from you.” + </p> +<p> +“I did remark that,” said Cashel, gravely. +</p> +<p> +“Well, to-night, when by mere accident Kilgoff and I had sauntered into +the gallery and came upon you in the boudoir, I own frankly I was not +sorry for it; unpleasant as such scenes are, they are better—a +hundred thousand times better—than the sad consequences they +anticipate; and even should anything take place personally, I 'd rather +see you stand Kilgoff's fire at 'twelve paces,' than be exposed to the +flash of my Lady's eye at 'one.'” + </p> +<p> +“Your friendly zeal,” said Cashel, with a very peculiar emphasis on the +words, “would seem to have got the upper hand of your habitually sharp +perception; there was nothing to fear in any part of my intimacy with Lady +Kilgoff. I have been but too short a time conversant with fashionable life +to forget more vulgar habits, and, among them, that which forbids a man to +pay his addresses to the wife of another. I need not vindicate her +Ladyship; that she has taken a warm, I shame not to say an affectionate, +interest in my fortunes, may have been imprudent I know not what your code +admits of or rejects, but her kindness demands all my gratitude, and, if +need be, the defence that a man of honor should always be ready to offer +for the cause of truth.” + </p> +<p> +“Don't you perceive, Cashel, that all you are saying only proves what I +have been asserting,—that, while you are actually ignorant of your +danger, the peril is but the greater? I repeat it to you, however intact +<i>your</i> heart may be, <i>hers</i> is in your keeping. I know this; +nay, I say it advisedly—don't shake your head and look so confident—I +repeat it, I know this to be the case.” + </p> +<p> +“You <i>know</i> it?” said Cashel, as though Linton's words had startled +his convictions. +</p> +<p> +“I <i>know</i> it, and I 'll prove it, but upon one condition—your +word of honor as to secrecy.” Cashel nodded, and Linton went on. “Some +short time back, some one, under the shelter of the anonymous, wrote her a +letter, stating that they had long watched her intimacy with you—grieving +over it, and regretting that she should have yielded any portion of her +affection to one whose whole life had been a series of deceptions; that +your perjuries in Love's Court were undeniable, and that you were actually +married—legally and regularly married—to a young Spanish +girl.” + </p> +<p> +“Was this told her?” said Cashel, gasping for breath. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, the very name was given—Maritaña, if I mistake not. Is there +such a name?” + </p> +<p> +Cashel bent his head slightly in assent. +</p> +<p> +“How you had deserted this poor girl after having won her affections—” + </p> +<p> +“This is false, sir; every word of it false!” said Cashel, purple with +passion; “nor will I permit any man to drag her name before this world of +slanderers in connection with such a tale. Great Heaven! what hypocrisy it +is to have a horror for the assassin and the cut-throat, and yet give +shelter, in your society, to those who stab character and poison +reputation! I tell you, sir, that among those buccaneers you have so often +sneered at, you'd not meet one base enough for this.” + </p> +<p> +“I think you are too severe upon this kind of transgression, Cashel,” said +Linton, calmly. “It is as often prompted by mere idleness as malice. The +great mass of people in this life have nothing to do, and they go wrong +just for occupation. There may have been—there generally is—a +little grain of truth amid all the chaff of fiction; there may, therefore, +be a young lady whose name was—” + </p> +<p> +“I forbid you to speak it. I knew her, and, girl as she was, she was not +one to suffer insult in her presence, nor shall it be offered to her in +her absence.” + </p> +<p> +“My dear fellow, your generous warmth should not be unjust, or else you +will find few friends willing to incur your anger in the hope of doing you +service. I never believed a word of this story. Marriage—adventure—even +the young lady's identity, I deemed all fictions together.” + </p> +<p> +Cashel muttered something he meant to be apologetic for his rudeness, and +Linton was not slow in accepting even so unwilling a reparation. +</p> +<p> +“Of course I think no more of it,” cried he, with affected cordiality. “I +was going to tell you how Lady Kilgoff received the tidings—exactly +the very opposite to what her kind correspondent had intended. It actually +seemed to encourage her in her passion, as though there was a similarity +in your cases. Besides, she felt, perhaps, that she was not damaging your +future career, as it might be asserted she had done, were you unmarried. +These are mere guesses on my part. I own to you, I have little skill in +reading the Machiavellism of a female heart; the only key to its mystery I +know of is, 'always suspect what is least likely.'” + </p> +<p> +“And I am to sit down patiently under all this calumny!” said Cashel, as +he walked the room with hasty steps. “I am perhaps to receive at my table +those whose amusement it is so to sport with my character and my fame!” + </p> +<p> +“It is a very naughty world, no doubt of it,” said Linton, lighting a +fresh cigar; “and the worst of it is, it tempts one always to be as +roguish as one's neighbors for self-preservation.” + </p> +<p> +“You say I am not at liberty to speak of this letter to Lady Kilgoff?” + </p> +<p> +“Of course not; I am myself a defaulter in having told the matter to you.” + </p> +<p> +Cashel paced the room hurriedly; and what a whirlwind of opposing thoughts +rushed through his brain! for while at times all Lady Kilgoff s warnings +about Linton, all his own suspicions of his duplicity and deceit, were +uppermost, there was still enough in Linton's narrative, were it true, to +account for Lady Kilgoff's hatred of him. The counsels <i>he</i> had +given, and <i>she</i> rejected, were enough to furnish a feud forever +between them. At which side lay the truth? And then, this letter about +Maritaña,—who was the writer? Could it be Linton himself? and if so, +would he have ventured to allude to it? +</p> +<p> +These thoughts harassed and distressed him at every instant, and in his +present feeling towards Linton he could not ask his aid to solve the +mystery. +</p> +<p> +Now, he was half disposed to charge him with the whole slander; his +passion prompted him to seek an object for his vengeance, and the very +cool air of indifference Linton assumed was provocative of anger. The next +moment, he felt ashamed of such intemperate warmth, and almost persuaded +himself to tell him of his proposal for Mary Leicester, and thus prove the +injustice of the suspicion about Lady Kilgoff. +</p> +<p> +“There's a tap at the door, I think,” said Linton. “I suppose, if it's +Frobisher, or any of them, you'd rather not be bored?” And, as if divining +the answer, he arose and opened it. +</p> +<p> +“Lord Kilgoff's compliments, and requests Mr. Linton will come over to his +room,” said his Lordship's valet. +</p> +<p> +“Very well,” said Linton, and closed the door. “What can the old peer want +at this time of night? Am I to bring a message to you, Cashel?” + </p> +<p> +Cashel gave an insolent laugh. +</p> +<p> +“Or shall I tell him the story of Davoust at Hamburg, when the Syndicate +accused him of peculating, and mentioned some millions that he had +abstracted from the treasury. 'All untrue, gentlemen,' said he; 'I never +heard of the money before, but since you have been polite enough to +mention the fact, I 'll not show myself so ungrateful as to forget it.' Do +you think Kilgoff would see the <i>à propos?</i>” + </p> +<p> +With this speech, uttered in that half-jocular mood habitual to him, +Linton left the room, while Cashel continued to ponder over the late +scene, and its probable consequences; not the least serious of which was, +that Linton was possessor of his secrets. Now thinking upon what he had +just heard of Lady Kilgoff, now picturing to himself how Mary Leicester +would regard his pledge to Maritaña, he walked impatiently up and down, +when the door opened, and Linton appeared. +</p> +<p> +“Just as I surmised!” said he, throwing himself into a chair, and laughing +heartily. “My Lord will be satisfied with nothing but a duel <i>à mort</i>.” + </p> +<p> +“I see no cause for mirth in such a contingency,” said Cashel, gravely; +“the very rumor of it would ruin Lady Kilgoff.” + </p> +<p> +“That of course is a grave consideration,” said Linton, affecting +seriousness; “but it is still more his than yours.” + </p> +<p> +“<i>He</i> is a dotard!” said Cashel, passionately, “and not to be thought +of; <i>she</i> is young, beautiful, and unprotected. Her fortune is a hard +one already, nor is there any need to make it still more cruel.” + </p> +<p> +“I half doubt she would think it so!” said Linton, with an air of levity, +as he stooped to select a cigar. +</p> +<p> +“How do you mean, sir?” cried Cashel, angrily. +</p> +<p> +“Why, simply that, when you shoot my Lord, you'll scarcely desert my +Lady,” said he, with the same easy manner. +</p> +<p> +“You surely told him that his suspicions were unfounded and unjust; that +my intimacy, however prompted by the greatest admiration, had never +transgressed the line of respect?” + </p> +<p> +“Of course, my dear fellow, I said a thousand things of you that I did n't +believe—and, worse still, neither did he; but the upshot of all is, +that he fancies it is a question between the peerage and the great +untitled class; he has got it into his wise brain that the barons of +Runnymede will rise from their monumental marble in horror and shame at +such an invasion of 'the order;' and that there will be no longer security +beneath the coronet when such a domestic Jack Cade as yourself goes at +large.” + </p> +<p> +“I tell you again, Linton,—and let it be for the last time,—your +pleasantry is most ill-timed. I cannot, I will not, gratify this old man's +humor, and make myself ridiculous to pamper his absurd vanity. Besides, to +throw a slander upon his wife, he must seek another instrument.” + </p> +<p> +By accident, mere accident, Cashel threw a more than usual significance +into these last few words; and Linton, whose command over his features +rarely failed, taken suddenly by what seemed a charge, grew deep red. +</p> +<p> +Cashel started as he saw the effect of his speech; he was like one who +sees his chance shot has exploded a magazine. +</p> +<p> +“What!” cried he, “have you a grudge in that quarter, and is it thus you +would pay it?” + </p> +<p> +“I hope you mean this in jest, Cashel?” said Linton, with a voice of +forced calm. +</p> +<p> +“Faith, I never was less in a mood for joking; my words have only such +meaning as your heart accuses you of.” + </p> +<p> +“Come, come, then there is no harm done. But pray, be advised, and never +say as much to any one who has less regard for you. And now, once more, +what shall we do with Kilgoff? He has charged me to carry you a message, +and I only undertook the mission in the hope of some accommodation,—something +that should keep the whole affair strictly amongst ourselves.” + </p> +<p> +“Then you wish for my answer?” + </p> +<p> +“Of course.” + </p> +<p> +“It is soon said. I 'll not meet him.” + </p> +<p> +“Not meet him? But just consider—” + </p> +<p> +“I <i>have</i> considered, and I tell you once more I 'll not meet him. He +cannot lay with truth any injury at my door; and I will not, to indulge +his petulant vanity, be led to injure one whose fair fame is of more +moment than our absurd differences.” + </p> +<p> +“I own to you, Cashel, this does not strike me as a wise course. By going +out and receiving his fire, you have an opportunity of declaring on the +ground your perfect innocence of the charge; at least, such, I fancy, +would be what I should do, in a like event. I would say, 'My Lord, it is +your pleasure, under a very grave and great misconception, to desire to +take my life. I have stood here for you once, and will do so again, as +many times as you please, till either your vengeance be satisfied or your +error recognized; simply repeating, as I now do, that I am innocent.' In +this way you will show that personal risk is nothing with you in +comparison with the assertion of a fact that regards another far more +nearly than yourself. I will not dispute with you which line is the better +one; but, so much will I say, This is what 'the World' would look for.” + </p> +<p> +The word was a spell! Cashel felt himself in a difficulty perfectly novel; +he was, as it were, arraigned to appear before a court of whose +proceedings he knew little or nothing. How “the World” would regard the +affair, was the whole question,—what “the World” would say of Lady +Kilgoff,—how receive her exculpation. Now Linton assuredly knew this +same “World” well; he knew it in its rare moods of good-humor, when it is +pleased to speak its flatteries to some popular idol of the hour; and he +knew it in its more congenial temper, when it utters its fatal judgments +on unproved delinquency and imputed wrong. +</p> +<p> +None knew better than himself the course by which the “Holy Office” of +slander disseminates its decrees, and he had often impressed Roland with a +suitable awe of its mysterious doings. The word was, then, talismanic; +for, however at the bar of Conscience he might stand acquitted, Cashel +knew that it was to another and very different jurisdiction the appeal +should be made. Linton saw what was passing in his mind, for he had often +watched him in similar conflicts, and he hastened to press his advantage. +</p> +<p> +“Understand me well, Cashel; I do not pretend to say that this is the +common-sense solution of such a difficulty; nor is it the mode which a man +with frankness of character and honorable intentions would perhaps have +selected; but it is the way in which the world will expect to see it +treated, and any deviation from which would be regarded as a solecism in +our established code of conduct.” + </p> +<p> +“In what position will it place <i>her?</i> That's the only question worth +considering.” + </p> +<p> +“Perfect exculpation. You, as I said before, receive Kilgoff's fire, and +protest your entire innocence; my Lord accepts your assurance, and goes +home to breakfast—<i>voilà tout!</i>” + </p> +<p> +“What an absurd situation! I declare to you I shrink from the ridicule +that must attach to such a <i>rencontre</i>, meeting a man of his age and +infirmity!” + </p> +<p> +“They make pistols admirably now-a-days,” said Linton, dryly; “even the +least athletic can pull a hair-trigger.” + </p> +<p> +Cashel made no answer to this speech, but stood still, uncertain how to +act. +</p> +<p> +“Come, come,” said Linton, “you are giving the whole thing an importance +it does not merit; just let the old peer have the pleasure of his bit of +heroism, and it will all end as I have mentioned. They 'll leave this +to-morrow early, reach Killaloe to breakfast, whence Kilgoff will start +for the place of meeting, and, by ten o'clock, you 'll be there also. The +only matter to arrange is, whom you 'll get Were it a real affair, I 'd +say Upton, or Frobisher; but, here, it is a question of secrecy, not +skill. I 'd advise, if possible, your having MacFarline.” + </p> +<p> +“Sir Andrew?” said Cashel, half laughing. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; his age and standing are precisely what we want here. He'll not +refuse you; and if he should, it's only telling Lady Janet that we want to +shoot Kilgoff, and she 'll order him out at once.” + </p> +<p> +“I protest it looks more absurd than ever!” said Roland, impatiently. +</p> +<p> +“That is merely your own prejudice,” said Linton. “You cannot regard +single combat but as a life struggle between two men, equal not merely in +arms, but alike in bodily energy, prowess, skill, and courage. We look on +the matter here as a mere lottery, wherein the less expert as often draws +the prize—But there, as I vow, that was two o'clock! It struck, and +I promised to see Kilgoff again to-night. By the way, he 'll want horses. +Where can he get them?” + </p> +<p> +“Let him take mine; there are plenty of them, and he 'll never know +anything of it.” + </p> +<p> +“Very true. What an obliging adversary, that actually 'posts' his enemy to +the ground!” + </p> +<p> +“How am I to see MacFarline to-night?” + </p> +<p> +“You 'll have to call him out of bed. Let Flint say there 's an orderly +from Limerick with despatches; that Biddy Molowney won't pay her +poor-rate, or Paddy Flanagan has rescued his pig, and the magistrates are +calling for the Fifty-something and two squadrons of horse, to protect the +police. You'll soon have him up; and, once up, his Scotch blood will make +him as discreet as an arch-deacon. So, good-night; add a codicil to your +will in favor of my Lady, and to bed.” + </p> +<p> +With this Linton took his candle and retired. +</p> +<p> +Cashel, once more alone, began to ponder over the difficulty of his +position. The more he reasoned on the matter, the stronger appeared his +fears that Lady Kilgoff's name would be compromised by a foolish and +unmeaning quarrel; while, for himself, he saw nothing but ridicule and +shame from his compliance. That omnipotent arbiter, “the World,” might +indeed be satisfied, but Roland suspected that few of its better-judging +members would hesitate to condemn a course as unfeeling as it was unwise. +</p> +<p> +A quick, sharp knocking at the door of his room aroused him from his +musings; it was Lady Kilgoff's maid, breathless and agitated. She came to +say that Lord Kilgoff, after a scene of passionate excitement with her +Ladyship, had been seized with paralysis, and that he was now lying +powerless and unconscious on his bed. +</p> +<p> +“Come, sir, for mercy's sake; come quickly. My Lady is distracted, nor can +any of us think of what to do.” + </p> +<p> +Cashel scratched a few lines in pencil to Tiernay, requesting his +immediate presence, and ringing for his servant, at once despatched a +message to the village. This done, he followed the maid to Lord Kilgoff's +chamber. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXI. THE SECOND SHOCK +</h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The waters darken, and the rustling sound +Tells of the coming “squall.” + +The Pilot. +</pre> +<p> +Lord Kilgoff was stretched upon a bed, breathing heavily; one arm lay +straight beside him, and the other crossed upon his breast. His features +were deadly pale, save in the centre of each cheek, where a deep-red spot +seemed to burn. A slight, very slight, distortion marked his features, and +a faint tremor seemed to quiver on his lip. Beside the bed, with an +expression of some conscious terror in her face, sat Lady Kilgoff; her +white dressing-gown, over which her hair fell in long abundant masses, +added pallor to her looks. Her eyes met Cashel's as he entered, and then +reverted to the bed where the sick man lay, but with an expression less of +sorrow than of bewilderment and confusion. +</p> +<p> +She looked, indeed, like one whose faculties had been stunned by some +sudden shock, and had, as yet, made no effort to recall them to their +wonted exercise. At the foot of the bed stood the maid, whose half-uttered +sobs were the only sounds to break the stillness. +</p> +<p> +Cashel drew near, and placed his fingers on the sick man's pulse. Often +had he, in his former adventurous career, felt the ebbing current of a +life's blood, and measured its power by its resistance. The full but +laboring swell of the heart might well deceive him, then, into the +impression that no grave consequences were near. He knew not that in such +affections the pulse can be round and strong and impulsive; and it was +with an earnest conviction of truth he whispered to her,— +</p> +<p> +“There is no danger.” + </p> +<p> +She looked up, but it was easy to see that although the words had sounded +like comfort, they had not pierced the dense veil that clouded her mind. +</p> +<p> +Cashel repeated the phrase, and said,— +</p> +<p> +“Tiernay will soon be here, but have no fears; my own slight skill can +tell you there is nothing of peril. Had you not better retire from this—even +to the window?” + </p> +<p> +A faint “No” was all she uttered. +</p> +<p> +“He was in perfect health this afternoon?” said Cashel to the maid. +</p> +<p> +“My Lord was better than usual, sir; he took out his collar and his star +to look at them, and he spoke very pleasantly of going abroad in the +spring. He was reading in the library when Mr. Linton went to him.” + </p> +<p> +“Linton!” muttered Lady Kilgoff, with a shudder. +</p> +<p> +“I think I hear voices in the corridor,” said Cashel. “If it be the +doctor, say I wish to speak with him before he sees my Lord.” + </p> +<p> +The maid left the room to perform the commission, and scarcely had the +door closed, than Lady Kilgoff started up, and seizing an object which lay +on the bed, exclaimed, “How came it in your keeping?” + </p> +<p> +“What?” cried Cashel, in amazement +</p> +<p> +“This bracelet,” said she, holding out towards him the massive bracelet +which Linton had contrived to detach from her arm at their meeting in the +“Park.” + </p> +<p> +“I never saw it before—never in my life.” + </p> +<p> +She sank slowly back upon the chair without speaking, while a faint tremor +shook her frame. +</p> +<p> +“The doctor is without, sir,” said the maid at this moment, and Cashel +hastened out. He spoke a few hurried words to Tiernay, and then walked +towards his own room. That some deep and artful treachery had drawn its +web around and about him, involving not himself alone, but another too, he +now clearly felt. He saw danger, as the sailor sees it in the lowering sky +and fleeting scud, but as yet he knew not from what quarter the “squall” + was coming. His suspicions all pointed to Linton; but why attribute such a +game to him? and if such were his purpose, to what end could be practise +this treachery? +</p> +<p> +“Would it not be better,” thought he, “to see him at once; tell him my +suspicions openly; say, that I no longer trust him as my friend, but feel +towards him the misgivings of a secret enemy? If there is manliness about +him, he will avow his enmity, or resent my distrust; either or both would +be a relief to what I now suffer. Ah! here he comes,” said he; but he was +deceived; it was Tiernay entered. +</p> +<p> +“What say you, doctor? Is the case a grave one?” + </p> +<p> +“Worse; it is nearly hopeless!” + </p> +<p> +“What! do you fear for his life?” + </p> +<p> +“Life or intellect, one or the other, must pay the penalty. This is the +second shock. The shipwreck gave the first, and rent the poor edifice +almost in twain; this will, in all likelihood, lay it in ashes.” + </p> +<p> +“This is very dreadful!” said Cashel, upon whom the attendant event and +the consequences were weighing heavily. +</p> +<p> +“He has told me all!” said Tiernay, almost sternly. “<i>His</i> jealousy +and <i>her</i> levity, the rampant pride of station, the reckless freedom +of a broken heart,—such are the ingredients that have made up a sad +story, which may soon become a tragedy.” + </p> +<p> +“But there was no reason for it; his jealousy was absurd—unfounded.” + </p> +<p> +“As you will. You may go further, and say he could not lose what he never +owned. I saw the peril—I even warned you of it.” + </p> +<p> +“I can only comprehend you by half,” said Cashel, impatiently. “You imply +blame to me where I can feel none.” + </p> +<p> +“I blame you as I will ever do those who, not fearing danger for +themselves, are as indifferent about their neighbors. It is not of this +silly old man I am thinking here,—it is of her who, without a +protector, should have found one in every man of generous and honorable +feeling; not as you, perhaps, understand protection,—not by the +challenge hurled in the face of all who would dare to asperse her fair +name, but by that studied respect, that hallowed deference, that should +avert detraction. Neither you nor any other could be the champion of her +honor; but you might have been its defender by a better and a nobler +heroism. It is too late to think of this now; let us not lose time in vain +regrets. We must take measures that ungenerous reports should not be +circulated.” + </p> +<p> +The door suddenly opened at the instant, and Linton, in his dressing-gown, +entered; but, seeing Tiernay, made a motion to retire. +</p> +<p> +“Come in,” said Cashel; and there was something almost peremptory in the +words. +</p> +<p> +“I feared I might prove an intruder, seeing the doctor here. Is it true +what my servant says, that Kilgoff is dangerously ill?” + </p> +<p> +Cashel nodded. +</p> +<p> +“Poor fellow! he has no command over himself in those paroxysms of +passion, which his folly and vanity are so constantly stirring up. But is +the case serious?” + </p> +<p> +“He will scarcely recover, sir,” said Tiernay; “and it was because my +functions as a physician can be of so little benefit, that I ventured to +offer my services as a friend in the case, and give some counsel as to +what should be done.” + </p> +<p> +“Most considerate, indeed,” said Linton, but in an accent at once +impossible to say whether ironical or the reverse. +</p> +<p> +“I said, sir,” resumed Tiernay, “that it would be becoming that no false +representation should obtain currency as to the origin of the illness, nor +that a momentary excitement of a feeble intellect should be assumed as the +settled conviction of a sound mind. My Lord Kilgoff has had something like +altercation with his wife, and being a weak and failing man, with breaking +faculties, has been seized with a paralytic attack.” + </p> +<p> +“Very thoughtful, all this,” said Linton, gravely; “pray command me in any +part of your plan where I may be serviceable.” + </p> +<p> +“The plan is this,” said Cashel: “here is a case where a terrible calamity +has befallen, and which can be made worse only by calumny. To make the +slanderer pay the heaviest penalty of his infamy—” + </p> +<p> +“Nay, nay; this is not our plan,” said Tiernay, gently. “Lord Kilgoff's +attack must be spoken of without connection with any circumstances which +preceded it this evening. Nothing was more likely to occur than such a +seizure; his age, his late illness, his peculiar habit, all predisposed to +it.” + </p> +<p> +“Just so,” interposed Cashel, hastily; “and as none, save you, Linton, and +myself, know anything of the matter, it need never gain wider publicity.” + </p> +<p> +“Of course nothing can be easier than this. The Lady 'Janets' need never +hear a word more than you choose to tell them,” said Linton. +</p> +<p> +“In a few days he will bear removal. Change will be necessary for him; +and, in fact, our caution is, doubtless, greater than the necessity +warrants,” added Tiernay. +</p> +<p> +“You will, of course, leave everything to take its course in the house?” + said Linton. “To interfere with all the plans of pleasure would be to give +rise to malicious rumors.” + </p> +<p> +“I scarcely know how to act,” said Cashel. “It looks unfeeling and unkind +that we should give ourselves up to gayety at such a moment.” + </p> +<p> +“Mr. Linton's counsel may be wise, notwithstanding,” said Tiernay. “His +Lordship may continue a long time in his present state.” + </p> +<p> +“Exactly what I mean,” said Linton. “He will probably linger on, +unchanged; so that if events follow their habitual train, there will be +little time or temptation to spread scandal about him; and then, what, at +first blush, seems to lack kindness, is, in reality, the very truest and +most considerate service we can render.” + </p> +<p> +“Then you will look to this part of the matter, Linton?” said Cashel, on +whom his apparent frankness had resumed its former ascendancy. +</p> +<p> +“Leave it all to me,” said he; “and so good-night.” And, with that, he +departed, leaving Cashel and Tiernay together. +</p> +<p> +They were silent for some minutes, as Linton's retiring steps were heard +going towards his own room. Soon after the loud bang of a door resounded +through the house, and all was still. Little knew they, that scarcely had +he gained his room than he left it noiselessly, and, slipping down the +great stairs, crossed the hall, and, entering the theatre, proceeded by +the secret passage which led to Cashel's dressing-room, and through the +thin panel that covered which, he could easily overhear whatever was +spoken within. +</p> +<p> +“At least you will allow that he has been candid with us here?” said +Cashel, in a tone of remonstrance. +</p> +<p> +“I cannot afford to give a man my confidence, because I am unable to sound +his intentions,” said Tiernay. “I disliked this Linton from the first, and +I never yet saw any distinct reason to alter the sentiment. That he has +puzzled me—ay, completely puzzled me and all my calculations, within +the last few days, is quite true. He has done that which, in a man like +himself, disconcerts one altogether, because it is so difficult to trace +his probable motive. What would you say, were I to tell you that this deep +man of the world, this artful and subtle gambler in the game of life, has +actually proposed for a girl who is utterly without fortune or family +influence? That she is endowed with noble attributes—that she is one +a prince might have chosen to share his fortunes, I deem as nothing to the +purpose, for I cannot conceive such qualities as hers could weigh with +him; but so it is,—he has actually made an offer of his hand.” + </p> +<p> +“Dare your confidence go further?” said Cashel, eagerly, “and tell me—to +whom?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes. I have been guilty of one breach of faith in telling you so much, +and I 'll hazard all, and let you hear the remainder. It was Mary +Leicester.” + </p> +<p> +“Mary Leicester!” echoed Cashel, but in a voice barely audible. +</p> +<p> +“Mary Leicester,” continued Tiernay, “may count it among her triumphs to +have attracted one whom all the world regards as an adventurer; a man +living by the exercise of his clever wits, profiting by the weaknesses and +follies of his acquaintances, and deriving his subsistence from the vices +he knows how to pamper.” + </p> +<p> +“And what answer has he received?” asked Cashel, timidly. +</p> +<p> +“None, as yet. Poor Corrigan, overwhelmed by misfortune, threatened by one +whose menace, if enforced, would be his death-stroke, has begged for a day +or two to consider; but the reply is certain.” + </p> +<p> +“And will be—” Cashel could not command his emotion as he spoke. +</p> +<p> +“Refusal.” + </p> +<p> +“You are certain of this, Tiernay? You are positive of what you say?” + </p> +<p> +“I know it. My old friend, were, he even inclined to this alliance, could +never coerce her; and Mary Leicester has long since learned to distinguish +between the agreeable qualities of a clever man and the artful devices of +a treacherous one. She knows him; she reads him thoroughly, and as +thoroughly she despises him. I will not say that her impressions have been +unaided; she received more than one letter from a kind friend—Lady +Kilgoff; and these were her first warnings. Poor Corrigan knows nothing of +this; and Mary, seeing how Linton's society was pleasurable to the old +man, actually shrank from the task of undeceiving him. 'He has so few +pleasures,' said she to me one evening; 'why deny him this one?'—'It +is a poison which cannot injure in small doses, doctor,' added she, +another time; and so, half jestingly, she reasoned, submitting to an +intimacy that was odious to her, because it added a gleam of comfort to +the chill twilight of his declining life.” + </p> +<p> +“And you are sure of this—you are certain she will refuse him?” + cried Cashel, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“I am her confidant,” said Tiernay; “and you see how worthily I repay the +trust! Nay, nay! I would not tell these things to any other living; but I +feel that I owe them to you. I have seen more misery in life from +concealment, from the delicacy that shuns a frank avowal, than from all +the falsehood that ever blackened a bad heart. Mary has told me all her +secrets; ay—don't blush so deeply—and some of yours also.” + </p> +<p> +Cashel did indeed grow red at this speech, and, in his effort to conceal +his shame, assumed an air of dissatisfaction. +</p> +<p> +“Not so, my dear young friend,” said Tiernay; “I did not mean to say one +word which could offend you. Mary has indeed trusted me with the secret +nearest to her heart She has told me of the proudest moment of her life.” + </p> +<p> +“When she rejected me?” said Cashel, bitterly. +</p> +<p> +“So was it—when she rejected you,” re-echoed Tiernay. “When poor, +she refused wealth; when friendless in all that friendship can profit, she +declined protection; when almost homeless, she refused a home; when sought +by one whom alone of all the world she preferred, she said him nay! It was +at that moment of self-sacrifice, when she abandoned every thought of +present happiness and of future hope, and devoted herself to one humble +but holy duty, she felt the ecstasy of a martyr's triumph. You may think +that these are exaggerations, and that I reckon at too exalted a standard +such evidences of affection, but I do not think so. I believe that there +is more courage in the patient submission to an obscure and unnoticed +fortune, beset with daily trials and privations, than in braving the stake +or the scaffold, with human sympathies to exalt the sacrifice.” + </p> +<p> +“But I offered to share this duty with her; to be a son to him whom she +regarded as a father.” + </p> +<p> +“How little you know of the cares—the thoughtful, watchful, anxious +cares—you were willing to share! You could give wealth and splendor, +it is true; you could confer all the blandishments of fortune, all the +luxuries that rich men command; but one hour of gentle solicitude in +sickness—one kind look, that recalled years of tenderness—one +accustomed service, the tribute of affection—were worth all that +gold could purchase, told ten times over. And these are not to be +acquired; they are the instincts that, born in childhood, grow strong with +years, till at length they form that atmosphere of love in which parents +live among their children. No! Mary felt that it were a treason to rob her +poor old grandfather of even a thought that should be his.” + </p> +<p> +“But, I repeat it,” cried Cashel, passionately, “I would participate in +every care; I would share her duties, as she should share my fortunes.” + </p> +<p> +“And what guarantee did you give for your fitness to such a task?” said +Tiernay. “Was it by your life of pleasure, a career of wild and wasteful +extravagance—was it by the unbridled freedom with which you followed +every impulse of your will—was it by the example your friendships +exhibited—was it by an indiscriminating generosity, that only throws +a shade over better-regulated munificence, you would show that you were +suited to a life of unobtrusive, humble duties?” + </p> +<p> +“You wrong me,” said Cashel. “I would have lived in that cottage yonder, +without a thought or a wish for the costly pleasures you think have such +attractions for me.” + </p> +<p> +“You had already sold it to your friend.” + </p> +<p> +“Sold it I—never!—to whom?” + </p> +<p> +“I thought Linton had purchased it.” + </p> +<p> +“Never!” + </p> +<p> +“Well, you gave it as a gift?” + </p> +<p> +“I did intend to do so; but seeing the value Corrigan puts upon it, I will +give Linton double—thrice the value, rather than part with it.” + </p> +<p> +“What if he refuse?” + </p> +<p> +“He will not. Linton's fancies never run counter to solid advantages. A +thousand pounds, with him, is always twice five hundred, come with what +condition it may.” + </p> +<p> +“But Linton may, for his own reasons, think differently here; his proposal +to marry seems as though it were part of some settled plan; and if you +have already given him a legal claim here, my opinion is that he will +uphold it.” + </p> +<p> +“That I have never done; but my word is pledged, and to it he may hold me, +if he will. Meanwhile, I have seen Kennyfeck this morning. The man Hoare +has offered us a large sum on mortgage, and I have promised to meet them +both the day after to-morrow. If I read Tom aright, £10,000 will free me +from every claim he has upon me.” + </p> +<p> +“A heavy sum, but not ill spent if it liberate you from his friendship,” + cried Tiernay, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“And so it shall.” + </p> +<p> +“You promise me this—you give me your word upon it?” + </p> +<p> +“I do.” + </p> +<p> +“Then there are good days in store for you. That man's intimacy has been +your bane; even when you thought least of it, his influence swayed your +actions and perverted your motives. Under the shadow of his evil counsels +your judgment grew warped and corrupted; you saw all things in a false and +distorted light; and your most fatal error of all was, that you deemed +yourself a 'gentleman.'” + </p> +<p> +“I have done with him forever,” said Cashel, with slow, deliberate +utterance. +</p> +<p> +“Again I say, good days are in store for you,” said Tiernay. +</p> +<p> +“I cannot live a life of daily, hourly distrust,” said Cashel; “nor will I +try it. I will see him to-morrow; I will tell him frankly that I am weary +of his fashionable protectorate; that as a scholar in modish tastes I +should never do him credit, and that we must part. Our alliance was ever a +factitious one; it will not be hard to sever it.” + </p> +<p> +“You mistake much,” said Tiernay; “the partnership will not be so easily +relinquished by him who reaps all the profit.” + </p> +<p> +“You read me only as a dupe,” said Cashel, fiercely. +</p> +<p> +Tiernay made no reply, but waving his hand in adieu, left the room. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXII. LINTON INSTIGATES KEANE TO MURDER +</h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Hell's eloquence—“Temptation!” + +Harold +</pre> +<p> +Tom Keane, the gatekeeper, sat moodily at his door on the morning after +the events recorded in our last chapter. His reflections seemed of the +gloomiest, and absorbed him so completely that he never noticed the +mounted groom, who, despatched to seek the doctor for Lord Kilgoff, twice +summoned him in vain to open the gate. +</p> +<p> +“Halloa!” cried the smartly equipped servant, “stupid! will you open that +gate, I say?” + </p> +<p> +“It 's not locked,” said Tom, looking up, but without the slightest +indication of obeying the request. +</p> +<p> +“Don't you see the mare won't stand?” cried he, with an oath. +</p> +<p> +Tom smoked away without replying. +</p> +<p> +“Sulky brute you are!” cried the groom; “I 'm glad we 're to see the last +of you soon.” + </p> +<p> +With this he managed to open the gate and pass on his way. +</p> +<p> +“So it's for turnin' me out yez are,” said Tom to himself; “turnin' me out +on the road—to starve, or maybe—to rob”—(these words +were uttered between the puffs of his tobacco-smoke)—“after forty +years in the same place.” + </p> +<p> +The shrill barking of a cur-dog, an animal that in spitefulness as in +mangy condition seemed no bad type of its master, now aroused him, and Tom +muttered, “Bite him, Blaze! hould him fast, yer soule!” + </p> +<p> +“Call off your dog, Keane—call him off!” cried out a voice whose +tones at once bespoke a person of condition; and at the same instant +Linton appeared. “You'd better fasten him up, for I feel much tempted to +ballast his heart with a bullet.” + </p> +<p> +And he showed a pistol which he held at full cock in his fingers. +</p> +<p> +“Faix, ye may shoot him for all I care,” said Tom; “he's losing his teeth, +and won't be worth a 'trawneen' 'fore long. Go in there—into the +house,” cried he, sulkily; and the animal shrank away, craven and cowed. +</p> +<p> +“You ought to keep him tied up,” said Linton; “every one complains of +him.” + </p> +<p> +“So I hear,” said Tom, with a low, sardonic laugh; “he used only to bite +the beggars, but he's begun now to be wicked with the gentlemen. I suppose +he finds they taste mighty near alike.” + </p> +<p> +“Just so,” said Linton, laughing; “if the cur could speak, he 'd tell us a +laborer was as tender as 'my lord.' I've come over to see you,” added he, +after a moment's pause, “and to say that I 'm sorry to have failed in my +undertaking regarding you; they are determined to turn you out.” + </p> +<p> +“I was thinking so,” said Tom, moodily. +</p> +<p> +“I did my best. I told them you had been many years on the estate—” + </p> +<p> +“Forty-two.” + </p> +<p> +“Just so. I said forty and upwards—that your children had grown up +on it—that you were actually like a part of the property. I spoke of +the hardship of turning a man at your time of life, with a helpless family +too, upon the wide world. I even went so far as to say that these were not +the times for such examples; that there was a spirit abroad of regard for +the poor man, a watchful inquiry into the evils of his condition, that +made these 4 clearances,' as they call them, unwise and impolitic, as well +as cruel.” + </p> +<p> +“An' what did they say to that?” asked Tom, abruptly. +</p> +<p> +“Laughed—laughed heartily.” + </p> +<p> +“They laughed?” + </p> +<p> +“No—I am wrong,” said Linton, quickly. “Kennyfeck did not laugh; on +the contrary, he seemed grave, and observed that up at Drumcoologan—is +there such a name?” + </p> +<p> +“Ay, and nice boys they 're in it,” said Tom, nodding. +</p> +<p> +“'Well, up at Drumcoologan,' said he, 'such a step would be more than +dangerous.' +</p> +<p> +“'How do you mean?' said Mr. Cashel. +</p> +<p> +“'They 'd take the law into their own hands,' replied Kennyfeck. The man +who would evict one of those fellows might as well make his will, if he +wished to leave one behind him. They are determined fellows, whose fathers +and grandfathers have lived and died on the land, and find it rather hard +to understand how a bit of parchment with a big seal on it should have +more force than kith and kindred.” + </p> +<p> +“Did ould Kennyfeck say that?” asked Tom, with a glance of unutterable +cunning. +</p> +<p> +“No,” replied Linton; “that observation was mine, for really I was +indignant at that summary system which disposes of a population as coolly +as men change the cattle from one pasturage to another. Mr. Cashel, +however, contented himself with a laugh, and such a laugh as, for his +sake, I am right glad none of his unhappy tenantry were witness to.” + </p> +<p> +“'You may do as you please down here, sir,' said Kenny-feck—who, by +the way, does not seem to be any friend of yours—'but the +Drumcoologan fellows must be humored.' +</p> +<p> +“'I will see that,' said Mr. Cashel, who, in his own hotheaded way, +actually likes opposition, 'but we 'll certainly begin with this fellow +Keane.' +</p> +<p> +“'I suppose you'll give him the means to emigrate?' said I, addressing +Kennyfeck. +</p> +<p> +“'We generally do in these cases,' said he. +</p> +<p> +“'I'll not give the scoundrel a farthing,' broke in Mr. Cashel. 'I took a +dislike to him from the very hour I came here.' And then he went on to +speak about the dirt and neglect about the gate-lodge, the ragged +appearance of the children—even your own looks displeased him; in +fact, I saw plainly that somehow you had contrived to make him your enemy, +not merely of a few days' standing, but actually from the moment of his +first meeting you. Kennyfeck, though not your friend, behaved better than +I expected: he said that to turn you out was to leave you to starve; that +there was no employment to be had in the country; that your children were +all young and helpless; that you were not accustomed to daily labor; +indeed, he made out your case to be a very hard one, and backed as it was +by myself, I hoped that we should have succeeded; but, as I said before, +Mr. Cashel, for some reason of his own, or perhaps without any reason, +hates you. He has resolved that out you shall go, and go you must!” + </p> +<p> +Keane said nothing, but sat moodily moving his foot backwards and forwards +on the gravel. +</p> +<p> +“For Mr. Cashel's sake, I 'm not sorry the lot has fallen upon a +quiet-tempered fellow like yourself; there are plenty here who would n't +bear the hardship so patiently.” + </p> +<p> +Keane looked up, and the keen twinkle of his gray eyes seemed to read the +other's very thoughts. Linton, so proof against the searching glances of +the well-bred world, actually cowered under the vulgar stare of the +peasant. +</p> +<p> +“So you think he's lucky that I 'm not one of the Drumcoologan boys?” said +Keane; and his features assumed a smile of almost insolent meaning. +</p> +<p> +“They're bold fellows, I've heard,” said Linton, “and quick to resent an +injury.” + </p> +<p> +“Maybe there's others just as ready,” said he, doggedly. +</p> +<p> +“Many are ready to feel one,” said Linton; “that I'm well aware of. The +difference is that some men sit down under their sorrows, crestfallen and +beaten; others rise above them, and make their injuries the road to +fortune. And really, much as people say against this 'wild justice' of the +people, when we consider they have no other possible—that the law is +ever against them—that their own right hand alone is their defence +against oppression—one cannot wonder that many a tyrant landlord +falls beneath the stroke of the ruined tenant, and particularly when the +tyranny dies with the tyrant.” + </p> +<p> +Keane listened greedily, but spoke not; and Linton went on,— +</p> +<p> +“It so often happens that, as in the present case, by the death of one +man, the estate gets into Chancery; and then it's nobody's affair who pays +and who does not. Tenants then have as mach right as the landlord used to +have. As the rents have no owner, there's little trouble taken to collect +them; and when any one makes a bold stand and refuses to pay, they let him +alone, and just turn upon the others that are easier to deal with.” + </p> +<p> +“That's the way it used to be here long ago,” said Keane. +</p> +<p> +“Precisely so. You remember it yourself, before Mr. Cashel's time; and so +it might be again, if he should try any harsh measures with those +Drumcoologan fellows. Let me light my cigar from your pipe, Keane,” said +he; and, as he spoke, he laid down the pistol which he had still carried +in his hand. Keane's eyes rested on the handsome weapon with an expression +of stern intensity. +</p> +<p> +“Cashel would think twice of going up to that mountain barony to-morrow, +if he but knew the price that lies upon his head. The hundreds of acres +that to-day are a support to as many people, and this day twelvemonth, +perhaps, may lie barren and waste; while the poor peasants that once +settled there have died of hunger, or wander friendless and houseless in +some far-away country—and all this to depend on the keen eye and the +steady hand of any one man brave enough to pull a trigger!” + </p> +<p> +“Is he going to Drumcoologan to-morrow?” asked Keane, dryly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; he is to meet Kennyfeck there, and go over the property with him, +and on Tuesday evening he is to return here. Perhaps I may be able to put +in another word for you, Tom, but I half fear it is hopeless.” + </p> +<p> +“'T is a lonely road that leads from Sheehan's Mill to the ould +churchyard,” said Keane, more bent upon following out his own fancies than +in attending to Linton. +</p> +<p> +“So I believe,” said Linton; “but Mr. Cashel cares little for its +solitude; he rides always without a servant, and so little does he fear +danger, that he never goes armed.” + </p> +<p> +“I heard that afore,” observed Tom, significantly. +</p> +<p> +“I have often remonstrated with him about it,” said Linton. “I 've said, +'Remember how many there are interested in your downfall. One bullet +through your forehead is a lease forever, rent free, to many a man whose +life is now one of grinding poverty.' But he is self-willed and obstinate. +In his pride, he thinks himself a match for any man—as if a +rifle-bore and a percussion-lock like that, there, did not make the merest +boy his equal! Besides, he will not bear in mind that his is a life +exposed to a thousand risks; he has neither family nor connections +interested in him; were he to be found dead on the roadside to-morrow, +there is neither father nor brother, nor uncle nor cousin, to take up the +inquiry how he met his fate. The coroner would earn his guinea or two, and +there would be the end of it!” + </p> +<p> +“Did he ever do you a bad turn, Mr. Linton?” asked Keane, while he fixed +his cold eyes on Linton with a stare of insolent effrontery. +</p> +<p> +“Me! injure me? Never. He would have shown me many a favor, but I would +not accept of such. How came you to ask this question?” + </p> +<p> +“Because you seem so interested about his comin' home safe to-morrow +evening,” said Tom, with a dry laugh. +</p> +<p> +“So I am!” said Linton, with a smile of strange meaning. +</p> +<p> +“An' if he was to come to harm, sorry as you 'll be, you couldn't help it, +sir?” said Keane, still laughing. +</p> +<p> +“Of course not; these mishaps are occurring every day, and will continue +as long as the country remains in its present state of wretchedness.” + </p> +<p> +Keane seemed to ponder over the last words, for he slouched his hat over +his eyes, and sat with clasped hands and bent-down head for several +minutes in silence. At last he spoke, but it was in a tone and with a +manner whose earnestness contrasted strongly with his former levity. +</p> +<p> +“Can't we speak openly, Mr. Linton, would n't it be best for both of us to +say fairly what's inside of us this minit?” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm perfectly ready,” said Linton, seating himself beside him; “I do not +desire anything better than to show my confidence in a man of courage like +yourself.” + </p> +<p> +“Then let us not be losin' our time,” said the other, gruffly. “What's the +job worth? that's the chat. What is it worth?” + </p> +<p> +“You are certainly a most practical speaker,” said Linton, laughing in his +own peculiar way, “and clear away preliminaries in a very summary +fashion.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0008" id="linkimage-0008"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/20240.jpg" width="798" height="1041" alt="240 " /><br /> +</div> +<p> +“If I'm not worth trustin' now,” replied the other, doggedly, “ye 'd +betther have nothin' to say to me.” + </p> +<p> +“I did not mean that, nor anything like it, Tom. I was only alluding to +your straightforward, business-like way of treating a subject which less +vigorously minded men would approach timidly and carefully.” + </p> +<p> +“Faix, I 'd go up to him bouldly, if ye mane that!” cried the other, who +misconceived the eulogy passed upon his candor. +</p> +<p> +“I know it,—well I know it,” said Linton, encouraging a humor he had +thus casually evoked; for in the bloodshot eyes and flushed cheeks of the +other, it was plain to see what was passing within him. +</p> +<p> +“Do ye want it done? Tell me that,—be fair and above boord with me,—do +you want it done?” + </p> +<p> +Linton was silent; but a slight, an almost imperceptible motion of his +brows made the reply. +</p> +<p> +“And now what's it worth?” resumed Tom. +</p> +<p> +“To <i>you</i>,” said Linton, speaking slowly, “it is worth much—everything. +It is all the difference between poverty, suffering, and a jail, and a +life of ease and comfort either here or in America. Your little farm, that +you hold at present by the will, or rather the caprice, of your landlord, +becomes your own forever; when I say forever, I mean what is just as good, +since the estate will be thrown back into Chancery; and it is neither <i>your</i> +children nor mine will see the end of that.” + </p> +<p> +“That's no answer to <i>me</i>,” said Keane, fixing his cold, steady stare +on Linton's face. “I want to know—and I won't ax it again—what +is it worth to <i>you?</i>” + </p> +<p> +“To <i>me!</i>—to <i>me!</i>” said Linton, starting. “How could it +be worth anything to <i>me?</i>” + </p> +<p> +“You know that best yourself,” said Tom, sulkily. +</p> +<p> +“I am neither the heir to his estates, nor one of his remote kindred. If I +see a fine property going to ruin, and the tenantry treated like +galley-slaves, I may, it is true, grieve over it; I may also perceive what +a change—a total and happy change—a mere accident might work; +for, after all, just think of the casualties that every day brings forth—” + </p> +<p> +“I have n't time for these thoughts now,” muttered Tom. +</p> +<p> +“Always to the point,—always thinking of the direct question!” said +Linton, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“'T is n't yer honer's failin', anyhow,” said Tom, laughing sardonically. +</p> +<p> +“You shall not say that of me, Tom,” said Linton, affecting to relish the +jocularity; “I'll be as prompt and ready as yourself. I'll wager you ten +sovereigns in gold—there they are—that I can keep a secret as +well as you can.” + </p> +<p> +As he spoke, he threw down the glittering pieces upon the step on which +they sat. +</p> +<p> +The peasant's eyes were bent upon the money with a fierce and angry +expression, less betokening desire than actual hate. As he looked at them, +his cheek grew red, and then pale, and red once more; his broad chest rose +and fell like a swelling wave, and his bony fingers clasped each other in +a rigid grasp. +</p> +<p> +“There are twenty more where these came from,” said Linton, significantly. +</p> +<p> +“That's a high price,—devil a lie in it!” muttered Tom, +thoughtfully. +</p> +<p> +Linton spoke not, but seemed to let the charm work. +</p> +<p> +“A high price, but the 'dhrop' in Limerick is higher,” said Tom, with a +grin. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps it may be,” rejoined Linton, carelessly; “though I don't perceive +how the fact can have any interest for you or me.” + </p> +<p> +“Be gorra, ye 're a cowld man, anyhow,” said Keane, his savage nature +struck with admiring wonder at the unmoved serenity of Linton's manner. +</p> +<p> +“I'm a determined one,” said Linton, who saw the necessity of impressing +his companion; “and with such alone would I wish to act.” + </p> +<p> +“And where would you be, after it was all over, sir?” + </p> +<p> +“Here, where I am at present, assisting the magistrates to scour the +country,—searching every cabin at Drumoologan,—draining +ditches to discover the weapon, and arresting every man that killed a pig +and got blood on his corduroys for the last fortnight.” + </p> +<p> +“And where would <i>I</i> be?” asked Keane. +</p> +<p> +“Here too; exactly where you sit this moment, quietly waiting till the +outcry was over. Nor need that make you impatient. I have said already +there is neither wife, nor sister, nor brother, nor child to take up the +pursuit. There are forty people in the great house yonder, and there would +n't be four of them left two hours after it was known, nor one out of the +four that would give himself the trouble of asking how it happened.” + </p> +<p> +“An' them's <i>gentlemen!</i>,” said Keane, closing his lips and shaking +his head sententiously. +</p> +<p> +Linton arose; he did not over-fancy the turn of reflection Tom's remark +implied: it looked too like the expression of a general condemnation of +his class—at the very moment, too, when he was desirous of +impressing him with the fullest trust and confidence in his own honor. +</p> +<p> +“I believe it's safer to have nothin' to do with it,” muttered Keane. +</p> +<p> +“As you please, friend,” replied Linton; “I never squeeze any man's +conscience. <i>You</i> know best what your own life is.” + </p> +<p> +“Hard enough, that's what it is,” said the other, bitterly. +</p> +<p> +“You can also make a guess what it will be in future, when you leave +this.” + </p> +<p> +A deep groan was all that he gave for answer. +</p> +<p> +“For all that <i>I</i> know, you may have many friends who 'll not see +your wife and children begging along the roads, or sitting in a hole +scooped out of a clay ditch, without food or fire, waiting for the fever +to finish what famine has begun. You have n't far to seek for what I mean; +about two hundred yards from that gate yonder there 's a group exactly +like it.” + </p> +<p> +“Ye 're a terrible man, that's the truth,” said Tom, as he wiped the big +drops of perspiration from his forehead. “Be gorra, I never seed your like +afore!” + </p> +<p> +“I told you that I was a <i>determined</i> man,” said Linton, sternly; +“and I'm sorry to see that's not what I should say of <i>you</i>.” He +moved a step or two as he spoke, and then turning carelessly back, added, +“Leave that money for me at 'The house' this evening; I don't wish to +carry gold about me on the roads here.” And with this negligent remark he +departed. +</p> +<p> +Linton sauntered carelessly away; nothing in his negligent air and +carriage to show that he was not lounging to kill the weary hours of a +winter's day. No sooner, however, had he turned an angle of the road than +he entered the wood, and with cautious steps retraced his way, till he +stood within a few paces of where Keane yet sat, still and motionless. +</p> +<p> +His worn hat was pressed down upon his brows, his hands were firmly +clasped, and his head bent so as to conceal his features; and in this +attitude he remained as rigidly impassive as though he were seized with a +catalepsy. A few heavy drops of rain fell, and then a low growling roar of +thunder followed, but he heeded not these signs of coming storm. The loud +cawing of the rooks as they hastened homeward filled the air, but he never +once lifted his head to watch them! Another crash of thunder was heard, +and suddenly the rain burst forth in torrents. Swooping along in heavy +drifts, it blackened the very atmosphere, and rushed in rivulets down the +gravel walk; but still he sat, while the pelting storm penetrated his +frail garments and soaked them through. Nor was it till the water lay in +pools at his feet that he seemed conscious of the hurricane. Then rising +suddenly, he shook himself roughly, and entered the house. +</p> +<p> +Linton's eyes were earnestly fixed upon the stone—he crept nearer to +observe it. The money was gone. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXIII. LINTON IS BAFFLED—HIS RAGE AT THE DISCOVERY +</h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The mask is falling fast.—Harold. +</pre> +<p> +The day of the great masquerade arrived; and, from an early hour, the +whole household was astir in preparing for the occasion. The courtyard was +thronged with carriages of various sorts. Confectioners from London, +table-deckers from Paris, were there, accompanied by all the insignia of +their callings. Great lumbering packing-cases were strewn about; while +rich stuffs, rare exotics, and costly delicacies littered the stone +benches, and even lay upon the pavement, in all the profusion of haste and +recklessness. To see the rare and rich articles which were heaped on every +side, almost suggested the notion that it was some gorgeous mansion which +was put to pillage. There was that, too, in the lounging insolence of the +servants, as they went, that favored the illusion. The wanton waste +exhibited everywhere was the very triumph of that vulgar and vindictive +spirit which prompts the followers of a spendthrift master to speed the +current of his ruin. Such would seem to be the invariable influence that +boundless profusion exercises on the mind; and it is thus that affluence, +unchastened by taste, unruled by principle, is always a corrupter! +</p> +<p> +A light travelling-carriage, with a few articles of travelling use +attached, stood in the midst of this confusion; and shortly after day-dawn +two gentlemen issued from the house, and taking their seats, drove hastily +forth, and at full speed passed down the avenue towards the high-road. +</p> +<p> +These were Cashel and Mr. Kennyfeck, who had made an appointment to meet +Mr. Hoare at Killaloe, and proceed with him to Drumcoologan, on which +portion of the estate it was proposed to raise a considerable sum by +mortgage. +</p> +<p> +Some observation of Mr. Kennyfeck upon the wasteful exhibition of the +scene in the courtyard, was met by a sharp and angry reply from Cashel; +and these were both overheard as they issued forth,—vague words, +spoken thoughtlessly at the time, but to be remembered afterwards with a +heavier significance than the speakers could have anticipated! As they +hastened along, little was said on either side; the trifling irritation of +the first moment created a reserve, which deepened into actual coldness, +as each following out his own thoughts took no heed of his companion's. +</p> +<p> +Kennyfeck's mind was full of sad and gloomy forebodings. The reckless +outlay he had witnessed for weeks back was more than a princely fortune +could sustain. The troops of useless servants, the riotous disorder of the +household, the unchecked, unbridled waste on every side, demanded supplies +to raise which they were already reduced to loans at usurious interest. +What was to come of such a career, save immediate and irretrievable ruin? +</p> +<p> +As for Cashel, his reveries were even darker still. The whirlwind current +of events seemed to carry him onward without any power of resistance. He +saw his fortune wasted, his character assailed, his heart-offered proposal +rejected—all at once, and as if by the influence of some evil +destiny. Vigorous resolutions for the future warred with fears lest that +they were made too late, and he sat with closed eyes and compressed lips, +silent and sunk in meditation. +</p> +<p> +Leaving them, therefore, to pursue a journey on which their companionship +could scarcely afford much pleasure to the reader, let us turn to one who, +whatever his other defects, rarely threw away the moments of his life on +unavailing regrets: this was Mr. Linton. If he was greatly disappointed by +the information he gleaned when overhearing the conversation between +Cashel and the doctor, he did not suffer his anger either to turn him from +his path, or distract him from his settled purpose. +</p> +<p> +“To-day for ambition!” said he, “to-morrow revenge!” + </p> +<p> +Too well accustomed to obstacles to be easily thwarted, he recognized life +as a struggle wherein the combatant should never put off his armor. +</p> +<p> +“She must and shall accept me as her husband; on that I am determined. A +great game, and a glorious stake, shall not be foiled for a silly girl's +humor. Were she less high-flown in her notions, and with more of the +'world' about her, I might satisfy her scruples, that, of her affections—her +heart, as she would call it—there is no question here. <i>Je suis +bon prince</i>,—I never coerce my liege's loyalty. As to the old +man, his dotage takes the form of intrepidity, so that it might be unsafe +to use menace with him. The occasion must suggest the proper tactic.” + </p> +<p> +And with this shrewd resolve he set forth to pay his visit at the cottage. +If in his step and air, as he went, none could have read the lover's +ardor, there was that in his proud carriage and glancing eye that bespoke +a spirit revelling in its own sense of triumph. +</p> +<p> +While Mr. Linton is thus pursuing his way, let us use the privilege of our +craft by anticipating him, and taking a peep at that cottage interior in +which he is so soon to figure. Old Mr. Corrigan had arisen from his bed +weary and tired: a night of sleepless care weighed heavily on him; and he +sat at his untasted breakfast with all the outward signs of a sick man. +</p> +<p> +Mary Leicester, too, was pale and sad-looking; and although she tried to +wear her wonted smile, and speak with her accustomed tones, the heavy +eyelids and the half-checked sighs that broke from her at times betrayed +how sad was the spirit from which they came. +</p> +<p> +“I have been dreaming of that old nunnery at Bruges all night, Mary,” said +her grandfather, after a long and unbroken silence; “and you cannot think +what a hold it has taken of my waking thoughts. I fancied that I was +sitting in the little parlor, waiting to see you, and that, at last, a +dark-veiled figure appeared at the grille, and beckoned me to approach. I +hastened to do so, my heart fluttering with I know not what mixture of +hope and fear,—the hope it might be you, and then the fear, stronger +than even hope, that I should read sadness in that sweet face—sorrow, +Mary—regret for leaving that world you never were to see more.” + </p> +<p> +“And was it me, dearest papa?” + </p> +<p> +“No, Mary,” said he, with a lower and more meaning tone, “it was another, +one whom I never saw before. She came to tell me that—that”—he +faltered, and wiping a tear from his eyes, made an effort to seem calm—“that +I had lost you, darling! lost by a separation darker and more terrible +than even the iron bars of a nunnery can make. And although I bethought me +that you had but gone there, whither I myself was hastening, I felt +sorrow-struck by the tidings. I had clung so long to the hope of leaving +you behind me here, to enjoy that world of which all your affectionate +care has denied you enjoyment—to know how, amidst its troubles and +reverses, there are healing springs of love that recompense its heaviest +inflictions—I cherished this wish so long, so ardently, that I could +not face the conviction which told me it should never be.” + </p> +<p> +“Dearest papa, remember this was but a dream; bethink you, for an instant, +that it was all unreal; that I am beside you, my hand in yours, my head +upon your shoulder; that we are not parted, nor ever shall be.” + </p> +<p> +The tone of deep fervor in which she spoke drew tears from the old man's +eyes, and he turned away to hide them. +</p> +<p> +“It was but a dream, as you say, Mary; but do not my waking thoughts +conjure up a future to the full as gloomy? A few months, at furthest, a +year or so more—less sanguine prophets would perhaps say weeks—and +where shall I be? and where you, Mary?” + </p> +<p> +The old man's grief could no longer be restrained, and it was in a perfect +burst of sorrow the last words came forth. She would have spoken, but she +knew not from what source to draw consolation. The future, which to his +eyes looked dark and lowering, presented an aspect no less gloomy to her +own; and her only remedy against its depressing influence was to make her +present cares occupy her mind, to the exclusion of every other thought. +</p> +<p> +“And yet, Mary,” said he, recovering something of his habitual tone, +“there is an alternative—one which, if we could accept of it from +choice as freely as we might adopt it from convenience, would solve our +difficulties at once. My heart misgives me, dearest, as I approach it. I +tremble to think how far my selfishness may bias you—how thoughts of +<i>me</i> old and worthless as I am, may rise uppermost in your breast and +gain the mastery, where other and very different feelings should prevail. +I have ever been candid with you, my child, and I have reaped all the +benefit of my frankness; let me then tell you all. An offer has been made +for your hand, Mary, by one who, while professing the utmost devotion to +you, has not forgotten your old grandfather. He asks that he should be one +of us, Mary—a new partner in our firm—a new member in the +little group around our hearth. He speaks like one who knew the ties that +bind us most closely—he talks of our home here as we ourselves might +do—he has promised that we shall never leave it, too. Does your +heart tell you whom I mean, Mary? If not, if you have not already gone +before me in all I have been saying, his visions of happiness are baseless +fabrics. Be candid with me, as I have ever been with you. It is a question +on which everything of the future hangs; say if you guess of whom I +speak.” + </p> +<p> +Mary Leicester's cheek grew scarlet; she tried to speak, but could not; +but with a look far more eloquent than words, she pressed the old man's +hand to her lips, and was silent. +</p> +<p> +“I was right then, Mary; you have guessed him. Now, my sweet child, there +is one other confession you must make me, or leave me to divine it from +that crimson cheek. Have his words found an echo in your heart?” + </p> +<p> +The old man drew her more closely to his side, and passed his arm around +her as he spoke; while she, with heaving bosom and bent-down head, seemed +struggling with an agitation she could not master. At last she said,— +</p> +<p> +“You have often told me, papa, that disproportion of fortune was an +insurmountable obstacle to married happiness; that the sense of perfect +equality in condition was the first requisite of that self-esteem which +must be the basis of an affection free and untrammelled from all unworthy +considerations.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, dearest; I believe this to be true.” + </p> +<p> +“Then, surely, the present is not a case in point; for while there is +wealth and influence on one side, there are exactly the opposites on the +other. If <i>he</i> be in a position to make his choice among the great +and titled of the land, <i>my</i> destiny lies among the lowly and humble. +What disparity could be greater?” + </p> +<p> +“When I spoke of equality,” said the old man, “I referred rather to that +of birth and lineage than to any other; I meant that social equality by +which uniformity of tastes and habits are regulated. There is no <i>mésalliance</i> +where good blood runs on both sides.” + </p> +<p> +This was the tenderest spot in the old man's nature; the pride of family +surviving every successive stroke of fortune, or, rather, rising superior +to them all. +</p> +<p> +“I thought, moreover,” said Mary, “that in his preference of me, there was +that suddenness which savored more of caprice than deep conviction. How +should I reckon upon its lasting? What evidence have I that he cares for +the qualities which will not change in me, and not for those which spring +from youth and happiness?—for I am happy, dearest pa; so happy that, +with all our trials and difficulties, I often accuse myself of levity—insensibility +even—feeling so light-hearted as I do.” + </p> +<p> +The old man looked at her with rapture, and then pressed his lips upon her +forehead. +</p> +<p> +“From all this, then, I gather, Mary,” said he, smiling archly, “that, +certain misgivings apart, the proposition is not peculiarly disagreeable +to you?” + </p> +<p> +“I am sure I have not said so,” said she, confusedly. +</p> +<p> +“No, dearest; only looked it. But stay, I heard the wicket close—there +is some one coming. I expected Tiernay on a matter of business. Leave us +together, child; and, till we meet, think over what we 've been saying. +Remember, too, that although I would not influence your decision, my heart +would be relieved of its heaviest load if this could be.” + </p> +<p> +Mary Leicester arose hastily and retired, too happy to hide, in the +secrecy of her own room, that burst of emotion which oppressed her, and +whose utterance she could no longer restrain. +</p> +<p> +Scarcely had she gone, when Linton crossed the grass-plot, and entered the +cottage. A gentle tap at the door of the drawing-room announced him, and +he entered. A more acute observer than Mr. Corrigan might have remarked +that the deferential humility so characteristic of his manner was changed +for an air of more purpose-like determination. He came to carry a point by +promptness and boldness; and already his bearing announced the intention. +</p> +<p> +After a few words of customary greeting, and an inquiry more formal than +cordial for Miss Leicester's health, he assumed an air of solemn purpose, +and said,— +</p> +<p> +“You will not accuse me of undue impatience, my dear Mr. Corrigan, nor +think me needlessly pressing, if I tell you that I have come here this +morning to learn the answer to my late proposition. Circumstances have +occurred at the hall to make my remaining there, even another day, almost +impossible. Cashel's last piece of conduct is of such a nature as to make +his acquaintance as derogatory as his friendship.” + </p> +<p> +“What was it?” + </p> +<p> +“Simply this. Lord Kilgoff has at length discovered what all the world has +known for many a day back; and, in his passionate indignation, the poor +old man has been seized with a paralytic attack.” + </p> +<p> +Mr. Corrigan passed his hand across his brow, as if to clear away some +terrible imagination, and sat then pale, silent, and attentive, as Linton +went on,— +</p> +<p> +“The most heartless is yet to come! While this old man lies stretched upon +his bed—insensible and dying—this is the time Cashel selects +to give a great entertainment, a ball, to above a thousand people. It is +almost too much for belief—so I feel it myself. The palsied figure +of his victim—his victim, do I say? there are two: that miserable +woman, who sits as paralyzed by terror as he is by disease—might +move any man from such levity; but Cashel is superior to such timidity; he +fancies, I believe, that this ruffian hardihood is manliness, that brutal +insensibility means courage, and so he makes his house the scene of an +orgy, when his infamy has covered it with shame. I see how this affects +you, sir; it is a theme on which I would never have touched did it not +concern my own fortunes. For me, the acquaintance of such a man is no +longer possible. For the sake of that unhappy woman, whom I knew in better +days—to cover, as far as may be, the exposure that sooner or later +must follow her fault—I am still here. You will, therefore, forgive +my importunity if I ask if Miss Leicester has been informed of my +proposal, and with what favor she deigns to regard it.” + </p> +<p> +“I have told my granddaughter, sir,” said the old man, tremulously, “we +have talked together on the subject; and while I am not able to speak +positively of her sentiments towards you, it strikes me that they are +assuredly not unfavorable. The point is, however, too important to admit a +doubt: with your leave, we will confer together once again.” + </p> +<p> +“Might I not be permitted to address the young lady myself, sir? The case +too nearly concerns all my future happiness to make me neglect whatever +may conduce to its accomplishment.” + </p> +<p> +The old man hesitated; he knew not well what reply to make. At length he +said,— +</p> +<p> +“Be it so, Mr. Linton; you shall have this permission. I only ask, that +before you do so, we should clearly and distinctly understand each other. +<i>We</i> are of the world, and can discuss its topics, man to man. With +<i>her</i>, the matter rests on other and very different grounds.” + </p> +<p> +“Of course; so I understand the permission, sir,” said Linton, +courteously, “on the distinct understanding that her acceptance alone is +wanting to fill up the measure of my wishes.” + </p> +<p> +“Is it necessary that I should repeat that I am totally destitute of +fortune—that the humble means I possess expire with me, and that I +am as poor in influence as in all else?” + </p> +<p> +“I have sufficient for both, sir, for all that moderate wishes can desire. +Pray do not add a word upon the subject.” + </p> +<p> +“I must be explicit, Mr. Linton, however wearisome to you the theme. You +will pardon an old man's prolixity, in consideration for the motives which +prompt it. We have absolutely nothing of our once powerful family, save +the name and the escutcheon,—mementos to remind us of our fall! They +did, indeed, say, some time back, that our title to the estate afforded +strong grounds for litigation—that there were points of considerable +importance—” + </p> +<p> +“May I interrupt you, sir?” said Linton, laying his hand on Corrigan's +arm. “A subject so full of regrets to <i>you</i> can never be a pleasing +topic to <i>me</i>. I am fully as rich as a man like myself could desire; +and I trust to personal exertions for whatever I may wish to add in the +way of ambition.” + </p> +<p> +“And with good reason, sir,” said Corrigan, proudly. “There are no +failures to those who unite honesty of purpose with fine abilities. I will +not add a word. Go—speak to my granddaughter: I tell you frankly my +best wishes go with you.” + </p> +<p> +Linton smiled a look of deep gratitude, and moved towards the door. +</p> +<p> +“One second more,” cried Corrigan, as the other laid his hand on the lock; +“it may soon be, that, as a member of our family, you would have the right +to express a will on the subject we have been talking of. I would wish to +say, that, as I have abandoned all desire to contest this question, I +should equally expect the same line of conduct from you.” + </p> +<p> +“Can you doubt it, sir—or is it necessary that I should give my +promise?” + </p> +<p> +“I hope and trust not. But having myself given a written pledge, under my +own hand and seal, to Mr. Cashel, surrendering all right and title to this +estate—” + </p> +<p> +“Who gave this?” said Linton, turning suddenly round, and relinquishing +his hold upon the lock of the door. “Who gave this?” + </p> +<p> +“I gave it.” + </p> +<p> +“To whom?” + </p> +<p> +“To Mr. Cashel, in the presence of his agent.” + </p> +<p> +“When?” exclaimed Linton, from whose pale features, now, intense agitation +had banished all disguise. “When did you give it?” + </p> +<p> +“Within a fortnight.” + </p> +<p> +“And this document—this release, was formal and explicit?” + </p> +<p> +“Perfectly so. I knew enough of law to make it obligatory. I stated the +conditions for which it was given,—certain concessions that Mr. +Cashel had lately granted me, respecting this small property.” + </p> +<p> +Linton sat down, and covered his face with both hands. The trouble of his +feelings had carried him far away from all thought of concealment, and of +the part which so long he had been playing. Indeed, so insensible was he +to every consideration save one, that he forgot Corrigan's presence—forgot +where he was; and in the paroxysm of his baffled purpose, muttered half +aloud broken curses upon the insane folly of the old man's act. +</p> +<p> +“I am compelled to remind you, sir, that I am a listener,” said Mr. +Corrigan, whose face, suffused with a flush of anger, showed that the +insulting remarks had been overheard by him. +</p> +<p> +“And this was done without advice or consultation with any one?” said +Linton, not heeding the last remark, nor the look that accompanied it. +</p> +<p> +“I was free then, sir, to speak my gratitude, as I now am to utter my +indignation that you should dare to canvass <i>my</i> acts and question <i>my</i> +motives, both of which are above your control.” + </p> +<p> +Linton stared at him almost vacantly; his own thoughts, and not the old +man's words, had possession of his mind. With a rapidity of computation in +which few were his equals, he ran over all the varying chances of success +which had accompanied his game,—the pains he had taken to avert all +cause of failure; the unwearying attention he had given to every minute +point and doubtful issue,—and now, here, at the very last, came the +ruin of all his plans, and wreck of all his hopes. +</p> +<p> +“You have said enough—more than enough, sir—to show me how +disinterested were the views in which you sought my granddaughter in +marriage,” said Corrigan, haughtily; “nor would it much surprise me, now, +were I to discover that he who is so skilful a double-dealer may be no +less expert as a calumniator. I will beg you to leave my house this +instant.” + </p> +<p> +“Not so fast, sir,” said Linton, assuming a seat, and at once regaining +that insolent composure for which he was noted; “I have not that generous +warmth of character which is so conspicuous in <i>you</i>. I have never +given Mr. Cashel a release of any obligation I possess upon him. This +house is <i>mine</i>, sir—mine by legal transfer and right; and it +is <i>you</i> who are the intruder!” + </p> +<p> +The old man staggered backwards, and leaned against the wall; a clammy +perspiration covered his face and forehead, and he seemed sick to the very +death. It was some time before he could even utter a word; and then, as +with clasped hands and uplifted eyes he spoke, the fervor of his words +told that they were heart-spoken. “Thank God for this! but for it, and I +had given my child to a scoundrel!” + </p> +<p> +“Scarcely polite, sir, and, perhaps, scarcely politic,” said Linton, with +his treacherous half-smile. “It would be as well to bear in mind how we +stand toward each other.” + </p> +<p> +“As enemies, open and declared,” cried Corrigan, fiercely. +</p> +<p> +“I should say as creditor and debtor,” said Linton; “but probably we are +speaking in synonyms. Now, sir, a truce to this altercation, for which I +have neither time nor taste. Tell me frankly, can you obtain repossession +of this unlucky document which, in an ill-starred moment, you parted with? +If you can, and will do so, I am willing to resume the position I occupied +towards you half an hour ago. This is plain speaking, I am aware; but how +much better than to bandy mock courtesies, in which neither of us have any +faith! We are both men of the world—I, at least, have no shame in +saying that I am such. Let us then be frank and business-like.” + </p> +<p> +“You have at last filled up the measure of your insults, sir,” said +Corrigan, fiercely; “you have dared to speak of me as of yourself.” + </p> +<p> +“It is a compliment I have not paid a great many, notwithstanding,” + replied Linton, with a languid insolence of manner that contrasted +strongly with the other's natural warmth; “and there are people in this +world would accept it as a flattery; but once more I say, let us abandon +this silly squabble. Will you, or will you not, accept my proposal? I am +ready to purchase the wreck as she lies upon the rocks, wave-tossed and +shattered. Is it not better to give me the chance of floating her, than +see her go to pieces before your eyes, and drift piecemeal into the wide +ocean?” + </p> +<p> +“Leave me, sir—leave me! =” was all the old man could utter. +</p> +<p> +“If I take you at your word,” said Linton, rising, “remember that the last +gleam of hope for you departs when I close that door behind me. I warn you +that I am little given to relenting.” + </p> +<p> +“Insolent scoundrel!” cried Corrigan, carried away by indignation. +</p> +<p> +“Unhandsomely spoken, old gentleman; such words are ill-befitting gray +hairs and palsied hands, but I forgive them. I repeat, however, my nature +is not over-disposed to forgiveness; an injury with me is like a malady +that leaves its mark behind it. The day may come when all your entreaties, +aided even by the fair supplications of a more gentle penitent—” + </p> +<p> +“If you dare, sir!” cried Corrigan, interrupting; and the insolence, +schooled and practised in many a trial, quailed before the look and +gesture of the old man. +</p> +<p> +“You shall have your choice, then,” said Linton. “From henceforth you will +have to confess that I am not a secret enemy.” And so saying, he opened +the sash which led into the garden and passed out, leaving Corrigan +overcome by emotion, and almost panic-stricken. +</p> +<p> +The deceptions which are practised on youth are seldom attended with +lasting influence; but when they fall upon a heart chilled and saddened by +age, they are stunning in their effect, and seldom, or never, admit of +relief. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXIV. GIOVANNI UNMASKED +</h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Can sight and hearing—even touch deceive? +Or, is this real? + +Play. +</pre> +<p> +Probably, in all his varied life, Cashel had never passed a day less to +his satisfaction than that spent at Drumcoologan. His mind, already +tortured by anxieties, was certainly not relieved by the spectacle that +presented itself to his eyes. The fearful condition of a neglected Irish +property, where want, crime, disease, and destitution were combined, was +now seen by him for the first time. There was one predominant expression +on and over everything,—“Despair.” The almost roofless cabin, the +scarce-clad children, the fevered father stretched upon his bed of clay, +the starving mother, with a dying infant at her bosom, passed before him +like the dreadful images of a dream. And then he was to hear from his +agent, that these were evils for which no remedy existed: “there had +always been fever in Ireland;” “dirt they were used to;” want of clothing +had become “natural” to them; falsehood was the first article of their +creed; their poverty was only fictitious,—this one owned several +cows; the other had money in a savings' bank; and so on. In fact, he had +to hear that every estate had its plague-spot of bad characters, where +crime and infamy found a refuge; and that it might be poor morality, but +good policy, to admit of the custom. +</p> +<p> +Confused by contradictory statements, wearied by explanations, to +understand which nothing short of a life long should have passed in +studying the people,—imposed upon by some, unjust towards others,—he +listened to interminable discussions without one gleam of enlightenment—and, +what is far worse, without one ray of hope; the only piece of satisfaction +he derived from the visit being, that Hoare had consented to advance a sum +of money upon mortgage of the property, which, in his secret soul, Cashel +resolved should be a purchase, and not a mere loan. The object he had in +view was to buy off Linton's claim upon the cottage; and having settled +all his most pressing debts, to retire for some years to the Continent, +till a sufficient sum should have accumulated to permit him to recommence +his life as a country gentleman, in a manner and with views very different +from what he had hitherto done. He hoped, by travel, to improve his mind +and extend his knowledge; he trusted that, by observing the condition of +the peasant in different countries of Europe, he might bring back with him +certain suggestions applicable to his own tenantry; and, at all events, he +determined that the resources of his large fortune should no longer be +squandered in meaningless debauch, so long as real destitution and +grinding misery lay at his very door. He made many a good and noble +resolve, and, like most men in such cases, with youth on their side, he +was impatient to begin to act upon them. +</p> +<p> +It was, then, with a feeling like that of a liberated prisoner, he heard +from Mr. Kennyfeck that, although Mr. Hoare and himself had yet many +preliminaries to arrange, which might detain them several hours longer, he +might now return homeward to Tubbermore, where his company were doubtless +in anxious expectation of his coming. There were two roads which led to +Drumcoologan,—one was a species of carriage-road, by which they had +come that morning; the other was a mere bridle-path over the mountain, and +though shorter in mileage, required fully as much time, if not more, to +travel. Refusing the assistance of a guide, and preferring to be alone, he +set out by himself, and on foot, to pursue the way homeward. +</p> +<p> +It was the afternoon of a sharp, clear winter's day, when the bracing air +and the crisp atmosphere elevate the spirits, and make exercise the most +pleasurable of stimulants; and as Cashel went along, he began to feel a +return of that buoyancy of heart which had been so peculiarly his own in +former days. The future, to which his hope already lent its bright colors, +was rapidly erasing the past, and in the confidence of his youth he was +fashioning a hundred schemes of life to come. +</p> +<p> +The path along which he travelled lay between two bleak and barren +mountains, and followed the course of a little rivulet for several miles. +There was not a cabin to be seen; not a trace of vegetation brightened the +dreary picture; not a sheep, nor even a goat, wandered over the wild +expanse. It was a solitude the most perfect that could be conceived. +Roland often halted to look around him, and each time his eye wandered to +a lofty peak of rock on the very summit of the mountain, and where +something stood which he fancied might be a human figure. Although gifted +with strong power of vision, the great height prevented his feeling any +degree of certainty; so that he abandoned the effort, and proceeded on his +way for miles without again thinking on the subject. At last, as he was +nearing the exit of the glen, he looked up once more; the cliff was now +perceptible in its entire extent, and the figure was gone! He gave no +further thought to the circumstance, but seeing that the day was declining +fast, increased his speed, in order to reach the high-road before night +closed in. Scarcely had he proceeded thus more than half a mile, when he +perceived, full in front of him, about a couple of hundred yards distant, +a man seated upon a stone beside the pathway. Cashel had been too long a +wanderer in the wild regions of the “Far West,” not to regard each +new-comer as at least a possible enemy. His prairie experience had taught +him that men do not take their stand in lonely and unfrequented spots +without an object; and so, without halting, which might have awakened +suspicion in the other, he managed to slacken his pace somewhat, and thus +gave himself more time for thought. He well knew that, in certain parts of +Ireland, landlord murder had become frequent; and although he could not +charge himself with any act which should point him out as a victim, his +was not a mind to waste in casuistry the moments that should be devoted +more practically. He was perfectly unarmed, and this consideration +rendered him doubly cautious. The matter, however, had but few issues. To +go back would be absurd; to halt where he was, still more so. There was +nothing, then, for it but to advance; and he continued to do so, calmly +and warily, till about twenty paces from the rock where the other sat, +still and immovable. Then it was that, dropping on one knee, the stranger +threw back a cloak that he wore, and took a deliberate aim at him. +</p> +<p> +The steady precision of the attitude was enough to show Cashel that the +man was well versed in the use of firearms. The distance was short, also, +and the chance of escape consequently, the very smallest imaginable. +Roland halted, and crossing his arms upon his breast, stood to receive the +fire exactly as he would have done in a duel. The other never moved; his +dark eye glanced along the barrel without blinking, and his iron grasp +held the weapon still pointed at Cashel's heart. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0009" id="linkimage-0009"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/20262.jpg" alt="262 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +“Fire!” cried Roland, with the loud utterance he would have used in giving +the word of command; and scarcely was it spoken when the rifle was flung +to the earth, and, springing to his feet, a tall and muscular man advanced +with an outstretched hand to meet him. +</p> +<p> +“Don't you know me yet, Roland?” cried a deep voice in Spanish; “not +remember your comrade?” + </p> +<p> +“What!” exclaimed Casbel, as he rubbed his eyes and shook himself as if to +insure he was not dreaming. “This is surely impossible! you cannot be my +old friend and shipmate Enrique!” + </p> +<p> +“That am I, my boy,” cried the other, throwing his arms around him and +embracing him in true Mexican fashion; “your own old comrade for many a +year, who has sailed with you, fought with you, drunk with you, played +with you, and swears now that he wishes for nothing but the old times over +again.” + </p> +<p> +“But how came you here? and when? By what chance did you discover me?” + said Roland, as he clasped the other's hand in both his own. +</p> +<p> +“'T is a long story, <i>amigo mio</i> but you shall have it all one of +these days.” + </p> +<p> +“True; there will be time enough to tell it, for you shall not leave me, +Enrique. I was longing for a face of an old comrade once again—one +of the old 'Esmeralda's,' with whom my happiest days were passed.” + </p> +<p> +“I can well believe it,” said Enrique; “and it was to see if wealth had +not sapped your courage, as I know it has your high spirits, that I took +aim at you, a while ago. Had you quailed, Roland, I almost think I could +have pulled the trigger.” + </p> +<p> +“And I had well deserved it, too,” said Cashel, sternly. “But let us +hasten forward. Enrique, I am longing to see an old friend beneath my +roof,—longing to see you seated opposite to me, and answering the +hundred questions about old friends and times that are thronging to my +mind.” + </p> +<p> +“No, Roland, my way lies thither,” said he, pointing towards the west; “I +have been too long your guest already.” + </p> +<p> +“How do you mean?” cried Roland, in amazement. +</p> +<p> +“Simply, that for seven weeks I have lived beneath your roof. The +narrative is too long for a moment like this; but enough if I tell you +that it was a plot of Maritaña's, who, had I not acceded to the notion, +would have disguised herself and come hither, to watch and see with her +own eyes how you played the great man. To save her from such a step, when +all persuasion failed, I came here as the sailor Giovanni.” + </p> +<p> +“You Giovanni?” + </p> +<p> +“Ay, Roland; and if wealth had not blinded you so effectually, you had +soon seen through the counterfeit. As Giovanni, I saw your daily life,—the +habits of your household; the sterling worth and fidelity of the men you +made your friends; and let me tell you, Cashel, our old associates of the +Villa de las Noches were men of unblemished honor compared with those +well-bred companions of your prosperity. Often and often have I been upon +the brink of declaring myself, and then have I held back, sometimes from a +curiosity to see the game played out, sometimes anxious to know how far +this course of treachery might be carried on without its awakening your +suspicions. At length, I actually grew weary of seeing you the dupe. I +almost ceased to feel interest in one who could be imposed upon with such +slender artifice. I forgot, Roland, that I was the looker-on, and not the +player of the game. It was in this mood of mind I had half determined to +leave your house, and suffer you to go down the stream as chance might +pilot, when I discovered that treachery had taken a higher flight than I +suspected; and that, not content with the slow breaching of your fortune +by play and reckless waste, your utter ruin, your very beggary had been +compassed!” + </p> +<p> +Cashel started back, and grasped the other's arm tightly, but never spoke. +</p> +<p> +“Are you still so infatuated as not to guess the traitor?” cried Enrique. +</p> +<p> +“You mean Linton?” + </p> +<p> +“I do.” + </p> +<p> +“But are you certain of what you speak? or do you mistake the cunning +devices of a subtle mind for the darker snares of downright treachery?” + </p> +<p> +“You shall hear,” said Enrique. “Sit down hereupon this stone; I have some +hours before I sail. The vessel leaves Limerick to-morrow for Naples; and +thither I am bound, for Maritaña is there. No, no, my dear friend, you +must not ask me to stay; I have remained longer than I ought; but I waited +for the time when I might be able to recompense you for having thus played +the spy upon your actions. Hear me out patiently now, for that hour is +come.” + </p> +<p> +As Cashel seated himself beside Enrique, it was only by a great effort he +could compose himself to listen, when a hundred questions came thronging +to his mind, and doubts and inquiries, of every possible kind, demanded +explanation. +</p> +<p> +“I will not waste your time nor my own by dwelling upon your losses at +play. I may one day or another amuse you by showing how little chance our +old Columbian friends would have had against these honorable and right +honorable swindlers. That you should be the mark for artifice is natural +enough; but I have little patience with your blindness in not seeing it. +From the first hour of your arrival here, Linton set a watch upon your +doings. Phillis was his principal agent. But even upon him Linton had his +spies,—myself among the number. Ay, Roland, I was perhaps the only +one he trusted! As I have said, Linton marked every step you took, heard +all you said, read every letter that reached you. Every night it was his +practice, at a certain hour when you repaired to the cottage, to enter +your dressing-room by a secret door that led from the theatre; and then, +at his leisure, he ransacked your papers, examined your correspondence, +searched through all the documents which concerned your estate, possessing +himself of information on every point of your circumstances. Nor was this +all; he abstracted papers of value from amongst them, well knowing the +carelessness of your habits, and with what little risk of detection his +boldest darings were attended. I studied him long and closely. For a great +while I could not detect the clew to his proceedings. I even at one time +ascribed all to jealousy, for he <i>was</i> jealous of the favor by which +Lady Kilgoff distinguished you. This, however, could not explain all I +saw, for it was on the subject of your fortune his deepest interest was +excited. At last came his first move, and the whole game disclosed itself +before me. There lay upon your table for several days a deed concerning +the cottage where the old gentleman resided with his daughter. This, +Linton, to my surprise, did not take away, but simply contented himself by +placing it in such a prominent position as would in all likelihood attract +your notice. To no purpose, however; you would seem to have tossed it +over, among other papers, without attention. He went a step further; he +broke the seal, and left the enclosure half open. Still it lay unminded. +The next night he carried it off, but you never missed it.” + </p> +<p> +“Nor was it of any consequence,” broke in Cashel. “It was never perfected, +and had neither my signature nor my seal.” + </p> +<p> +“Are you certain of that?” said Enrique, smiling dubiously. +</p> +<p> +“I could swear to it.” + </p> +<p> +“Look here, then,” said the other, as he drew forth a pocket-book, from +the folds of which he took a heavy package, and opened it before Cashel. +“Is that name, there,—that signature, 'Roland Cashel,'—yours?” + </p> +<p> +Cashel stared at the writing without speaking; his hands trembled as they +held the paper, and his very frame shook with agitation. +</p> +<p> +“I never wrote it!” cried he, at last, with an effort almost convulsive. +</p> +<p> +“Yet, see if it be not witnessed; there are the names and address of two +persons.” + </p> +<p> +“It is a forgery; a clever one, I own, but still a forgery. I never signed +that paper—never saw it till this instant.” + </p> +<p> +“Well,” said Enrique, slowly, “I scarcely expected so much of memory from +you. It is true, as you say, you never did sign it; but <i>I</i> did.” + </p> +<p> +“You, Enrique,—you?” exclaimed Cashel. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Roland. I accompanied Linton to Limerick at his request, dressed to +personate <i>you</i>. We were met at the hotel by two persons summoned to +witness this act of signature; of the meaning of which I, of course, +appeared to know nothing; nor did I, indeed, till long afterwards discover +the real significance.” + </p> +<p> +“And how came you by it eventually?” + </p> +<p> +“By imitating Linton's own proceedings. I saw that for security he placed +it in an iron box, which he carried with him to Limerick, and which +contained another document of apparently far greater value. This casket +was long enough in my company on that morning to enable me to take a model +of the key, by which I afterwards had another made, and by means of which +I obtained possession of both these papers—for here is the other.” + </p> +<p> +“And when did you take them?” + </p> +<p> +“About an hour ago. I saw this drama was drawing to a finish. I knew that +Linton's schemes were advancing more rapidly than I could follow; his +increased confidence of manner proved to me his consciousness of strength, +and yet I could neither unravel his cunning nor detect his artifice. +Nothing then remained but to carry off these papers; and as the hour of my +own departure drew nigh, there was no time to lose. There they are both. I +hope you will be a more careful depositary than you have been hitherto.” + </p> +<p> +“And where is Linton?” cried Roland, his passionate eagerness for revenge +mastering every other feeling. +</p> +<p> +“Still your guest. He dines and does the honors of your board to-day, as +he did yesterday, and will to-morrow.” + </p> +<p> +“Nay, by my oath, that he will never do more! The man is no coward, and he +will not refuse me the <i>amende</i> I 'll ask for.” + </p> +<p> +“Were he on board, it is a loop and a leap I 'd treat him to,” said +Enrique. +</p> +<p> +“So should I, perhaps,” said Cashel, “but the circumstances change with +the place. Here he shall have the privilege of the class he has belonged +to and disgraced.” + </p> +<p> +“Not a bit of it, Roland. He is an average member of the guild; the only +difference being, with more than average ability. These fellows are all +alike. Leave them, I say. Come and rough it with me in the Basque, where a +gallant band are fighting for the true sovereign; or let us have another +dash in the Far West, where the chase is as the peril and glory of war; or +what say you to the East? a Circassian saddle and a cimeter would not be +strange to us. Choose your own land, my boy, and let us meet this day +month at Cadiz.” + </p> +<p> +“But why leave me, Enrique? I never had more need of a true-hearted friend +than now.” + </p> +<p> +“No, I cannot stay; my last chance of seeing Maritaña depends on my +reaching Naples at once; and as to your affair with Linton, it will be one +of those things of etiquette, and measured distance, and hair-trigger, in +which a rough sailor like myself would be out of place.” + </p> +<p> +“And Maritaña—tell me of her. They said that Rica had come to +England.” + </p> +<p> +“Rica! He dared not set foot on shore. The fellow has few countries open +to him now: nor is it known where he is.” + </p> +<p> +“And is she alone? Is Maritaña unprotected?” + </p> +<p> +“Alone, but not unprotected. The girl who has twice crossed the +Cordilleras with a rifle on her shoulder need scarcely fear the insults of +the coward herd that would molest her.” + </p> +<p> +“But how is she living? In what rank—among what associates?” + </p> +<p> +“I only know that she maintains a costly retinue at the 'Albergo Reale;' +that her equipages, her servants, her liveries, bespeak wealth without +limit. She is a mystery to the city she inhabits. So much have I heard +from others; from herself, a few lines reached me at Dieppe, begging me to +see you, and—you will scarcely believe it—asking for a release +from that bond of betrothal that passed between you,—as if it could +signify anything.” + </p> +<p> +“Was the freedom thus obtained to be used in your favor, Enrique?” + </p> +<p> +The other grew purple, and it was a few seconds before he could answer. +“No; that is over forever. She has refused me as one so much below her +that the very thought of an alliance would be degradation. The sailor—the +buccaneer—raise his eyes to her whom princes seek in vain? I go now +to say my last farewell: so long as there dwells upon my mind the +slenderest chance of meeting her, so long will hope linger in my heart; +not the high hope that spirits one to glorious enterprise, but that +feverish anxiety that unnerves the courage and shakes the purpose. I +cannot endure it any longer.” + </p> +<p> +“Remain with me, then, for a day—for two at furthest—and we +will go together to Naples.” + </p> +<p> +“Do not ask me, Roland. Some accident—some one of those chances +which befall each hour of life—might delay us; and then I might +never see her more. She is to leave Naples by the end of the month, but to +go whither, or how, she will not tell. Promise me to follow. Let us meet +there; and then, if the world has not a faster hold upon you than I deem +it has, we 'll seek our fortune together in new lands. What say you? is it +a bargain?” + </p> +<p> +“Agreed,” said Roland. “I'll leave this within a week, without it be my +fate to quit it never. Let us rendezvous at Naples, then; and fortune +shall decide what after.” + </p> +<p> +“How hundreds of things press upon my mind, all of which, when I am gone, +will be remembered, but which now are confusedly mingled up together! What +warnings I meant to have given you! what cautions! and now I can think of +nothing.” + </p> +<p> +“I have room for but one thought,” said Cashel, sternly: “it is a debt +which every hour unpaid increases by a tenfold interest.” + </p> +<p> +“It need not weigh long upon your conscience. Linton wears the dress of a +grandee of Spain to-night; but he 'll conceal it from time to time beneath +a plain brown domino with yellow cape. Do not mix with your company on +arriving, but wait till about twelve o'clock in your room, and you'll hear +him as he enters his own: then, without risk of disturbance, you can see +him; or, if you like it better, send another to him. Should he be the man +you suppose, the whole can easily be arranged by the light of morning.” + </p> +<p> +“And so shall it be,” said Cashel, in a deep low voice. +</p> +<p> +“If this life of luxury has not unsteadied your finger, I'd not take his +place for half your fortune.” + </p> +<p> +A short motion of the head from Cashel seemed to concur with this speech. +</p> +<p> +“How I wish you were to be with me, Enrique!” said he, after a silence of +some minutes. +</p> +<p> +“So should I, Roland; but you will not need me: were there two to bring to +reckoning, I'd stay, cost what it might. And here we say farewell.” They +had walked together, during this colloquy, to the high-road, which on one +side leads towards Tubbermore, and on the other to Limerick. +</p> +<p> +Cashel held his comrade's hand fast clasped in his own, without speaking. +The sense of isolation had never struck him so forcibly as now that, +having met an old and attached friend, he was about to part with him so +suddenly. It appeared to darken his solitude into something more lonely +still. +</p> +<p> +“I 'd have thought that all this wealth had made you happier,” said +Enrique, as he gazed at the sorrow-struck features of his friend. +</p> +<p> +“Neither happier nor better,” said Roland, mournfully. +</p> +<p> +“There! see yonder,” cried Enrique, “where you see the lamps flashing; +those are the carriages of your gay company. Remember that you are the +host to-night; and so, good-bye.” + </p> +<p> +“Good-bye, my old comrade.” + </p> +<p> +“One word more,” said Enrique. “Be not weak-hearted—trust none of +them—they are false, every one: some from envy; some from treachery; +some from that fickleness that they fancy to be knowledge of life; but all +are alike. And so, till we meet again at Naples.” + </p> +<p> +“At Naples,” echoed Cashel; and, with head bent down, pursued his way +homeward. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXV. TIERNAY INTIMIDATED——THE ABSTRACTED DEEDS +</h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Warmth may suit the gen'rous fool; +The deeper knave must aye be cool. + +Bell. +</pre> +<p> +Rapidly as carriage after carriage rolls up the broad approach to +Tubbermore, the lamps flashing and glittering through the dark wood, we +must beg of our reader to turn back a few hours in our history, and follow +the steps of Mr. Linton, as, leaving the cottage, he turned towards the +“great house.” + </p> +<p> +Probably, to a mind constituted like his there could be no more poignant +sense of sorrow and regret than that experienced in consequence of a +sudden and irrepressible burst of passion. It was a great fault,—the +greatest he could commit. In justice to him, we will own it was of the +very rarest in occurrence. His outbreaks of anger, like his moments of +calm, were all studied beforehand; and nothing short of a catastrophe, +unexpected and overwhelming, could have surprised him into the fatal +excess of which his interview with Corrigan was an instance. +</p> +<p> +If repentance could have compensated for his sin, assuredly the offence +might have been effaced from the tablet of his misdeeds. Never was sorrow +more true, heartfelt, and cutting. He called none of his accustomed +casuistry to aid him in softening down his fault; he saw it in all the +breadth of its enormity, as a foul blot upon that system of deceit in +which years of practice had made him so perfect. He felt compromised by +himself; and possibly, to a cunning man, this is the bitterest of all +self-reproaches. +</p> +<p> +Very little consideration was needed to show that, so far as Corrigan +went, reconciliation was impossible. He knew the old man too well to have +a doubt upon that subject. +</p> +<p> +What, then, was to be done? In which was the most profitable channel to +turn the stream of coming events? Were Cashel a man of different mould, +there would be no price too high to pay for that document which stood +between him and his title to the estate. It was all the difference between +rank and obscurity—between wealth and want—between the +condition of an estated gentleman and the assumption of a mere pretender. +Wide as the alternatives lay, Linton knew they would not affect Cashel's +mind. He foresaw clearly that, in a burst of his “most virtuous probity,” + he would declare Corrigan the rightful owner of the estate, and walk forth +into the world as poor as when he began it. With Cashel, therefore, all +treaty would be impossible. The next consideration was, what terms might +be made with Corrigan through Tiernay. The rough frankness of the old +doctor had always been reckoned by Linton as a commonplace trick of +certain coarse minds, to simulate honesty and straightforwardness. He +believed that mankind consisted of but two categories,—the knave and +the fool: he who was not one must necessarily be the other. Now, an acute +study of Tiernay persuaded him that he was a shrewd, sound-headed man, +whose very profession had trained him into habits of investigation; and +thought there could be little doubt, therefore, into which class be fell. +There was, moreover, this advantage in treating with him, that neither +personal feeling nor pride of station would interfere with the +negotiation; he would entertain the question in the simple light of a +bargain,—so much for so much. The unlucky release of all claim upon +their property was, of course, to be thought of—as deteriorating, if +not altogether invalidating, the title; but of this it might be possible, +perhaps, to obtain possession. Cashel's papers must be ransacked +throughout; it was very unlikely that he had taken an unusual care of it, +so that Linton was far from supposing that this would present a serious +difficulty. But why had he not thought of this before? Why had he suffered +his disappointment to blind him to what was so palpable? “So much for +thinking the game won ere it is finished,” exclaimed he; “but who would +have thought Linton should make this blunder?” + </p> +<p> +To treat with Tiernay, then, realized every advantage he could think of. +It offered the prospect of better terms, an easier negotiation; and it +presented one feature of inestimable merit in his eyes,—it afforded +the means of gratifying his hatred against Cashel, without the vengeance +costing him anything. This thought, for a while, left him incapable of +entertaining every other. Cashel reduced to poverty—humiliated to +the position of an adventurer who had obtained a property under false +pretences—was a picture he could never weary of contemplating. What +a glorious consummation of revenge, could he have involved one other in +the ruin!—if Laura had been the companion of his fall! But that +scheme had failed; a friendship—a perilous one, 't is true—had +sprung up where Linton had sowed the seeds of a very different passion; +and nothing remained but to involve them both in the disgrace and ruin +which a separation and its consequences could inflict. “Even this,” + thought be, “will now be no trifling penalty,—the 'millionnaire' +Roland Cashel would have conferred an <i>éclat</i> on the fall, that would +become ludicrous when associated with the name of a mere adventurer.” + </p> +<p> +If thoughts of these vengeances afforded the most intense pleasure to his +vindictive mind, there came, ever and anon, deep regrets at the loss of +that greater game for which he had planned and plotted so anxiously. That +noble fortune which he had almost held within his grasp; that high station +from which he would have known how to derive all its advantages; the +political position he had so long ambitioned,—were now all to flit +from before his eyes like the forms of a dream, unreal and impossible. +</p> +<p> +So intently had he pursued these various reasonings, that he utterly +forgot everything of his late interview with Tom Keane; and when the +remembrance did flash upon him, the effect was almost stunning. The crime +would now be useless, so far as regarded Linton's own advantage. Mary +Leicester could never be his wife; why, then, involve himself, however +remotely, in a deed as profitless as it was perilous? No time should be +lost about this. He must see Keane immediately, and dissuade him from the +attempt. It would be easy to assure him that the whole was a +misconception,—a mistake of meaning. It was not necessary to +convince, it was enough to avert the act; but this must be done at once. +</p> +<p> +So reflecting, Linton took his way to the gate-lodge, which lay a +considerable distance off. The space afforded much time for thought, and +he was one whose thoughts travelled fast. His plans were all matured and +easy of accomplishment. After seeing Keane, he would address a few lines +to Tiernay, requesting an interview on the following morning. That night, +he resolved, should be his last at Tubbermore; the masquerade had, as may +be conjectured, few charms for one whose mind was charged with heavier +cares, but still it would give him an occasion to whisper about his +scandal on Lady Kilgoff, and, later on, give him the opportunity of +searching Cashel's papers for that document he wished to obtain. +</p> +<p> +On reaching the gate-lodge, under pretence of lighting his cigar he +entered the house, where, in all the squalid misery of their un tractable +habits, Keane's wife sat, surrounded by her ragged children. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0010" id="linkimage-0010"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/20274.jpg" alt="274 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +“Tom is at work, I suppose?” said he, carelessly. +</p> +<p> +“No, yer honer; he went out early this morning to look after a little +place for us, as the master is goin' to turn us out.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm sorry for that,” said he, compassionately; “land is dear, and hard +to be got now-a-days. Why don't he go to America?” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed an' I don't know, sir. They say it's the asy place to gain a +livin'; fine pay, and little to do for it.” + </p> +<p> +Linton smiled at an encomium for whose accuracy he would not have vouched, +and then tried to ascertain, in the same careless fashion, in what +direction Keane had gone; but the woman could not tell. She believed it +was by the high road, but could not be certain, since he had left the +house shortly after daybreak. +</p> +<p> +Linton sauntered out in deep thought. It was evident enough to him what +the object of that journey was; it needed no clew to track his path. It +was strange; but now, when the deed was not to secure any future benefits +to himself, it appeared before his eyes in all the glaring colors of its +criminality. It was a cold-blooded and useless crime, and he actually +shuddered as he thought upon it. +</p> +<p> +Although he well knew that it would not be possible to connect him in any +way with the act, his conscience made him restless and uneasy, and he +would have given much that he had never mooted it. It was too late, +however, now, to think of these things; were he to mount his horse and +follow the fellow Keane, the chances of coming up with him were few. The +man would inevitably have concealed himself till the very moment came; and +were Linton to be present at such a time, the fact of his presence might, +in such a remote and unfrequented spot, give rise to the very worst +suspicions. “Be it so,” said he, at length, and with the tone of one who +left the issue to fortune. He found himself now upon the high road, and +remembering that he was not far from Tiernay's house, resolved on making a +visit to the doctor in person. It might so happen hereafter that a +question would arise where he had passed the morning. There was no saying +what turn events might take, and it would be as well were he able to show +that he had spent some time in Tiernay's company; and as, in such a +critical moment, it would have been far from wise to discuss any matter +connected with Cashel's property, it were safest to make the object of the +visit appear an effort to obtain Dr. Tiernay's kind mediation in the +difference with Mr. Corrigan. +</p> +<p> +To pass half an hour in his company, under any pretext, would be to put on +record his occupation on that morning; and with this resolve, he knocked +at the door. +</p> +<p> +It was with a start of surprise Tiernay received Linton as he entered his +study. The doctor arose from the chair where he had been sitting, and +stood in the attitude of one who desires by his very air and deportment to +express that he does not mean that the other should be seated. +</p> +<p> +“This is an honor, sir,” said he, at last, “so undeserved on my part, that +I am at a loss how to acknowledge it.” + </p> +<p> +“A little patience and a little courtesy are all I ask for, Dr. Tiernay,” + replied Linton, while he placed a chair and seated himself with the most +perfect unconcern. “You may easily guess that I do not intrude my presence +upon you without what at least seem to me to be sufficient reasons. +Whether you may think them so or not, will in a great measure depend upon +whether you prefer to be guided by the false lights of an unjust +prejudice, or the true illumination of your own natural good sense and +practical intelligence.” + </p> +<p> +Tiernay sat down without speaking; the appeal was made calmly and +dispassionately to him, and he felt that he could not but entertain it, +particularly as the scene was beneath his own roof. +</p> +<p> +Linton resumed,— +</p> +<p> +“<i>Your</i> friend,—I hope the time is not far distant when I may +be enabled to say and <i>mine</i>,—Mr. Corrigan, acting under the +greatest of all misconceptions, mistaking my heartfelt zeal in his behalf +for an undue interference in his affairs, has to-day expressed himself +towards me in a manner so uncalled for, so unfair, and ungenerous, that, +considering the position I sought to occupy in his regard, either bespeaks +the existence of some secret attack upon my character, or that a mere +sudden caprice of temper overbalances with him the qualities he has been +gracious enough to speak of in terms of praise and approbation.” + </p> +<p> +Tiernay gave a short, dry nod, whose significance was so very doubtful +that Linton stopped and stared at him, as if asking for further +information. +</p> +<p> +“I had made a proposition for the hand of his granddaughter,” resumed he, +“and surely my pretensions could not subject me to rebuke?” + </p> +<p> +Tiernay nodded again, in the same puzzling way as before. +</p> +<p> +“Knowing the influence you possess in the family,” resumed Linton, “seeing +how much confidence they repose in your counsels, I have thought it +advisable to state to you that, although naturally indignant at the +treatment I have met with, and possibly carried away for a moment by +passion, my feelings regarding Miss Leicester are unchanged, and, I +believe, unchangeable.” + </p> +<p> +Tiernay moved his head slightly, as though implying assent. +</p> +<p> +“Am I to understand, sir, that my communication is pleasing to you?” said +Linton, firmly. +</p> +<p> +“Very pleasing in every respect,” said Tiernay. +</p> +<p> +“And I may reckon upon your kind offices in my behalf, Dr. Tiernay?” + </p> +<p> +Tiernay shook his head negatively. +</p> +<p> +“Be kind enough to speak your mind more intelligibly, sir, for there is +need that we should understand each other here.” + </p> +<p> +“I will be as explicit as you can desire, sir. Your communication was +gratifying to me in so far that it showed me how my old and esteemed +friend, Mr. Corrigan, had thrown off the delusion in which he had indulged +regarding you, and saw you as I have always thought you,—a clever +worldly man, without scruples as to his means when an object had once +gained possession of his wishes, and who never could have dreamed of +making Miss Leicester his wife were there not other and deeper purposes to +be attained by so doing.” + </p> +<p> +“You are candor itself, sir,” said Linton; “but I cannot feel offence at a +frankness I have myself asked for. Pray extend the favor, and say what +could possibly be these other and deeper purposes you allude to? What +advantages could I propose myself by such an alliance, save increased +facilities of conversation with Dr. Tiernay, and more frequent +opportunities of indulging in 'tric-trac' with Mr. Corrigan?” + </p> +<p> +Tiernay winced under the sarcasm, but only said,— +</p> +<p> +“To divine your motives would be to become your equal in skill and +cleverness. I have no pretensions to such excellence.” + </p> +<p> +“So that you are satisfied with attributing to another objects for which +you see no reason and motive, and of which you perceive no drift?” + </p> +<p> +“I am satisfied to believe in much that I cannot fathom.” + </p> +<p> +“We will pursue this no further,” said Linton, impatiently. “Let us +reverse the medal. Mr. Corrigan's refusal of me, coupled with his +uncourteous conduct, may lead to unpleasant results. Is he prepared for +such?” + </p> +<p> +“I have never known him to shrink from the consequences of his own +conduct,” replied Tiernay, steadfastly. +</p> +<p> +“Even though that conduct should leave him houseless?” whispered Linton. +</p> +<p> +“It cannot, sir, while <i>I</i> have a roof.” + </p> +<p> +“Generously spoken, sir,” said Linton, while he threw his eyes over the +humble decorations of his chamber with an expression of contempt there was +no mistaking. +</p> +<p> +“Humble and poor enough it is, sir,” said Tiernay, answering the glance, +“but the fruit of honest industry. Neither a father's curse, nor a +mother's tear, hovers over one of the little comforts around me.” + </p> +<p> +“An ancient Roman in virtue!” exclaimed Linton, affectedly. “How sad that +our degenerate days so ill reward such excellence!” + </p> +<p> +“You are wrong there, sir. Even for merits poor and unobtrusive as mine, +there are tributes of affection more costly than great men know of. There +are those on every hand around me who would resign health, and hope, and +life itself, to do me service. There are some who, in their rude zeal, +would think little of making even Mr. Linton regret his having needlessly +insulted me. Ay, sir, I have but to open that window and speak one word, +and you would sorely repent this day's proceeding.” + </p> +<p> +Linton sat calm and collected under this burst of anger, as though he were +actually enjoying the outbreak he had provoked. “You have a lawless +population here, it would seem, then,” said he, smiling blandly, as he +rose from his seat. “I think the Government is badly rewarded by bestowing +its resources on such a neighborhood. A police-barracks would suit you +better than an hospital, and so I shall tell Mr. Downie Meek.” + </p> +<p> +Tiernay grew suddenly pale. The threat was too papable to be mistaken, nor +was he sufficiently conversant with the world of policy to detect its +fallacy. +</p> +<p> +“Two hundred pounds a year,” resumed Linton, “can be of no moment to one +who is surrounded by such generous devotion; while some respect for law or +order will be a good 'alterative,'—is n't that the phrase, doctor?” + </p> +<p> +Tiernay could not utter a word. Like many men who pass their lives in +seclusion, he had formed the most exaggerated ideas of the despotism of +those in power; he believed that for the gratification of a mere whim or +passing caprice they would not scruple at an act of oppression that might +lead to ruin itself; he felt shocked at the peril to which a hasty word +had exposed him. Linton read him like a book, and, gazing fixedly at him, +said, “Your craft has taught you little of worldly skill, Dr. Tiernay, or +you would have seen that it is better to incur a passing inconvenience +than run the risk of a severe and perhaps fatal misfortune. Me-thinks that +a science of expediencies might have instilled a few of its wise precepts +into every-day life.” + </p> +<p> +The doctor stared, half in astonishment, half in anger, but never spoke. +</p> +<p> +“Reflect a little upon this point,” said Linton, slowly; “remember, too, +that a man like myself, who never acts without an object, may be a very +good associate for him who has neither courage nor energy for action at +all; and lastly, bethink you that the subtlety and skill which can make a +useful friend, can become very readily the materials of a dangerous +enemy.” + </p> +<p> +Linton knew well the force and significance of vagueness, either in threat +or promise; and no sooner had he done speaking than he left the room and +the house; while Tiernay, bewildered and terrified, sat down to think over +what had passed. +</p> +<p> +“He 'll come to terms, I see that!” cried Linton to himself, as he entered +the park of Tubbermore. “A little time, a sleepless night or two, the +uncertainty of that future which to every man past fifty gets another +tinge of black with each year, will do the business, and I 'll have him +suing for the conditions he would now reject.” + </p> +<p> +Never yet, however, had time been a greater object with Linton. The host +of creditors whom he had staved off for some months back—some by +paying large sums on account; others by the assurance that he was on the +eve of a rich marriage—would, at the very first semblance of his +defeat, return and overwhelm him. Many of his debts were incurred to hush +up play transactions, which, if once made public, his station in society +would be no longer tenable. Of his former associates, more than one lived +upon him by the mere menace of the past. Some were impatient, too, at the +protracted game he played with Roland, and reproached him with not +“finishing him off” long before, by cards and the dice-box. Others were +indignant that they were not admitted to the share of the spoil, with all +the contingent advantages of mixing in a class where they might have found +the most profitable acquaintances. To hold all these in check had been a +difficult matter, and few save himself could have accomplished it To +restrain them much longer was impossible. With these thoughts he walked +along, scarce noticing the long string of carriages which now filled the +avenue, and hastened towards the house. Occasionally a thought would cross +his mind, “What if the bullet had already done its work? What if that vast +estate were now once more thrown upon the wide ocean of litigation? Would +Corrigan prefer his claim again, or would some new suitor spring up?—and +if so, what sum could recompense the possession of that pardon by which +the whole property might be restored to its ancient owners?” Amid all +these canvassings, no feeling arose for the fate of him who had treated +him as a bosom friend,—not one regret, not so much as one sensation +of pity. True, indeed, he did reflect upon what course to adopt when the +tidings arrived. Long did he vacillate whether Tom Keane should not be +arrested on suspicion. There were difficulties in either course, and, as +usual, he preferred that coming events should suggest their own conduct. +</p> +<p> +At last he reached the great house, but instead of entering by the front +door, he passed into the courtyard, and gained his own apartment +unobserved. As he entered he locked the door, and placed the key in such a +manner that none could peep through the keyhole. He then walked leisurely +around the room; and although he knew there was no other outlet, he cast a +glance of scrutinizing import on every side, as if to ensure himself that +he was alone. This done, he opened a small cupboard in the wall behind his +bed, and took forth the iron box, in which, since its discovery, he had +always kept the pardon, as well as the forged conveyance of Tubber-beg. +</p> +<p> +Linton placed the box before him on the table, and gazed at it in a kind +of rapture. “There,” thought he, “lies the weapon by which at once I +achieve both fortune and revenge. Let events take what turn they will, <i>there</i> +is a certain source of wealth. A great estate like this will have its +claimants; with me it rests who shall be the successful one.” + </p> +<p> +A hurried knocking at the door interrupted the current of these musings; +and Linton, having replaced the casket in the press, unlocked the door. It +was Mr. Phillis, who, in all the gala of full dress, and with a rare +camellia in his button-hole, entered. +</p> +<p> +“Well, Phillis, is all going on as it ought?” said Linton, carelessly. +</p> +<p> +“Scarcely so, sir,” said the soft-voiced functionary; “the house is +filling fast, but there is no one to receive the company; and they are +walking about staring at each other, and asking who is to do the honors.” + </p> +<p> +“Awkward, certainly,” said Linton, coolly; “Lady Kilgoff ought to have +been the person.” + </p> +<p> +“She is gone, sir,” said Phillis. +</p> +<p> +“Gone! gone! When, and where?” + </p> +<p> +“I cannot say, sir; but my Lord and her Ladyship left this morning early, +with post-horses, taking the Dublin road.” + </p> +<p> +Linton did not speak, but the swollen vein in his forehead, and the red +flush upon his brow, told how the tidings affected him. He had long +speculated on witnessing the agonies of her grief when the hour of his +revenge drew nigh; and this ecstasy of cruelty was now to be denied him. +</p> +<p> +“And my Lord—had he regained any consciousness, or was he still +insensible?” + </p> +<p> +“He appeared like a child, sir, when they lifted him into the carriage.” + </p> +<p> +“And Lady Kilgoff?” + </p> +<p> +“She held her veil doubled over her face as she passed; but I thought she +sighed, and even sobbed, as she handed me this letter.” + </p> +<p> +“'For Roland Cashel, Esquire,'” said Linton, reading as he took it. “Did +she speak at all, Phillis?” + </p> +<p> +“Not a word, sir. It was a sad-looking procession altogether, moving away +in the dim gray of the morning.” + </p> +<p> +Linton placed the letter in a rack upon the chimney, and for some seconds +was lost in thought. +</p> +<p> +“If Lady Janet, sir, would be kind enough to receive the company,” + murmured Phillis, softly. +</p> +<p> +“Pooh, man, it is of no consequence!” said Linton, roughly, his mind +dwelling on a very different theme. “Let who will play host or hostess.” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps you would come down yourself soon, sir?” asked Phillis, who read +in the impatience of Linton's manner the desire to be alone, and coupled +that desire with some mysterious purpose. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, leave me, Phillis; I'm going to dress,” said he, hurriedly. “Has <i>he</i> +returned yet?” + </p> +<p> +“No, sir; and we expected him at five o'clock.” + </p> +<p> +“And it is now nine,” said the other, solemnly; “four hours later.” + </p> +<p> +“It is very singular!” exclaimed Phillis, who was more struck by the +altered expression of Linton's face than by the common-place fact he +affected to marvel at. +</p> +<p> +“Why singular? What is remarkable? That a man should be delayed some time +on a business matter, particularly when there was no urgency to repair +elsewhere?” + </p> +<p> +“Nothing more common, sir; only that Mr. Cashel said positively he should +be here at five. He had ordered the cob pony to be ready for him,—a +sign that he was going to pay a visit at the cottage.” + </p> +<p> +Linton made no reply, but his lips curled into a smile of dark and ominous +meaning. +</p> +<p> +“Leave me, Phillis,” said he, at length; “I shall be late with all this +cumbrous finery I am to wear.” + </p> +<p> +“Shall I send your man, sir?” said Phillis, slyly eying him as he spoke. +</p> +<p> +“Yes—no, Phillis—not yet I 'll ring for him later.” + </p> +<p> +And with these words Linton seated himself in a large chair, apparently +unconscious of the other's presence. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Phillis withdrew noiselessly—but not far; for after advancing a +few steps along the corridor, he cautiously returned, and listened at the +door. +</p> +<p> +Linton sat for a few seconds, as if listening to the other's retreating +footsteps; and then, noiselessly arising from his chair, he approached the +door of the chamber, at which, with bent-down head, Phillis watched. With +a sudden jerk of the handle Linton threw open the door, and stood before +the terrified menial. +</p> +<p> +“I was afraid you were ill, sir. I thought your manner was strange.” + </p> +<p> +“Not half so strange as this conduct, Mr. Phillis,” said Linton, slowly, +as he folded his arms composedly on his breast. “Come in.” He pointed, as +he spoke, to the room; but Phillis seemed reluctant to enter, and made a +gesture of excuse. “Come in, sir,” said Linton, peremptorily; and he +obeyed. Linton immediately locked the door, and placed the key upon the +chimney-piece; then deliberately seating himself full in front of the +other, he stared at him long and fixedly. “So, sir,” said he, at length, +“you have thought fit to become a spy upon my actions. Now, there is but +one <i>amende</i> you can make for such treachery,—which is, to +confess frankly and openly what it is you want to know, and what small +mystery is puzzling your puny intelligence, and making your nights +sleepless. Tell me this candidly, and I'll answer as freely.” + </p> +<p> +“I have really nothing to confess, sir. I was fearful lest you were +unwell. I thought—it was mere fancy, perhaps—that you were +flurried and peculiar this morning; and this impression distressed me so, +that—that—” + </p> +<p> +“That you deemed fit to watch me. Be it so. I have few secrets from any +one; I have none from my friends. You shall hear, therefore what—without +my knowing it—has made me appear unusually agitated. It was my +intention to leave this house to-morrow, Phillis, and in the preparation +for my departure I was arranging my letters and papers, among which I +found a very considerable quantity that prudence would consign to the +flames,—that is to say, if prudence were to be one-sided, and had +only regard for the interests of one individual where there were two +concerned. In plain language, Phillis, I was just about to burn the mass +of documents which fill that iron safe, and which it were to the honor and +credit of Mr. Phillis should be reduced to charcoal as speedily as may be, +the same being nothing more nor less than the accounts of that 'honest +steward,' pinned to the real and bona fide bills of Mr. Cashel's +tradespeople. There are, it is true, strange little discrepancies between +the two, doubtless capable of satisfactory explanation, but which, to +plain-thinking men like myself, are difficult to reconcile; and in some +one or two instances—a wine merchant's account, for example, and a +saddler's bill—savor somewhat of that indiscreet procedure people +call forgery. What a mistake—what an inadvertence, Phillis!” + </p> +<p> +There was something of almost coaxing familiarity in the way Linton +uttered the last words; and Phillis grew sick at heart as he listened to +them. +</p> +<p> +“A moment more, an instant later, and I had thrown them into the fire; but +your footsteps, as you walked away, sounded too purpose-like; you were so +palpably honest that I began to suspect you. Eh, Phillis, was I right?” + </p> +<p> +Phillis essayed a smile, but his features only accomplished a ghastly +grin. +</p> +<p> +“I will keep them, therefore, where they are,” said Linton. “These +impulses of rash generosity are very costly pleasures; and there is no +such good practical economy as to husband one's confidence.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm sure, sir, I never thought I should have seen the day—” + </p> +<p> +“Go on, man; don't falter. What day do you mean?—that on which you +had attempted to outwit <i>me</i>; or, that on which I should show you all +the peril of your attempting it? Ay, and there is peril, Mr. Phillis: a +felony whose punishment is transportation for life is no small offence.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, sir!—oh, Mr. Linton, forgive me!” cried the other, in the most +abject voice. “I always believed that my devotion to your interests would +claim your protection.” + </p> +<p> +“I never promised to further anything that was base or dishonest,” said +Linton, with an air of assumed morality. +</p> +<p> +“You opened and read letters that were addressed to another; you spied his +actions, and kept watch upon all his doings; you wrote letters in his +name, and became possessed of every secret of his life by treachery; you—” + </p> +<p> +“Don't talk so loud, Phillis; say all you have to say to <i>me.</i>” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, dear, sir, forgive me the burst of passion. I never meant it. My +temper carried me away in spite of me.” And he burst into tears as he +spoke. +</p> +<p> +“What a dangerous temper, that may at any moment make a felon of its +owner! Go, Phillis, there is no need of more between us. You know <i>me</i>. +I almost persuaded myself that I knew you. But if I know anything, it is +this”—here he approached, and laid his hand solemnly on the other's +shoulder—“that I would make hell itself the punishment of him who +injured me, were I even to share it with him.” + </p> +<p> +Phillis's knees smote each other with terror at the look that accompanied +these words; they were spoken without passion or vehemence, but there was +that in their tone that thrilled to his inmost heart Powerless, and +overcome by his emotions, he could not stir from the spot: he wanted to +make explanations and excuses, but all his ingenuity deserted him; he +tried to utter vows of attachment and fidelity, but shame was too strong +for him there also. He would have resorted to menace itself rather than +remain silent, but he had no courage for such a hazardous course. Linton +appeared to read in turn each change of mood that passed across the +other's mind; and after waiting, as it were, to enjoy the confusion under +which he suffered, said,— +</p> +<p> +“Just so, Phillis; it is a sad scrape you fell into. But when a man +becomes bankrupt either in fame or fortune, it is but loss of time to +bewail the past; the wiser course is to start in business again, and make +a character by a good dividend. Try that plan. Good-bye!” + </p> +<p> +These words were a command; and so Phillis understood them, as, with an +humble bow, he left the room. Linton again locked the door, and drawing +the table to a part of the room from which no eavesdropper at the door +could detect it, he once more sat down at it. His late scene with Phillis +had left no traces upon his memory; such events were too insignificant to +claim any notice beyond the few minutes they occupied; his thoughts were +now upon the greater game, where all his fortune in life was staked. He +took out the key, which he always wore round his neck, and placed it in +the lock; at the same instant the clock on the chimney-piece struck ten. +He sat still, listening to the strokes; and when they ceased, he muttered, +“Ay, mayhap cold enough ere this!” A slight shuddering shook him as he +uttered these words, and a dreamy revery seemed to gather around him; but +he arose, and walking to the window, opened it. The fresh breeze of the +night rallied him almost at once, and he closed the sash and returned to +his place. +</p> +<p> +“To think that I should hold within my hands the destinies of those whom +most of all the world I hate!” muttered he, as he turned the key and threw +back the lid. The box was empty! With a wild cry, like the accent of +intense bodily pain, he sprang up and dashed both hands into the vacant +space, and then held them up before his eyes, like one who could not +credit the evidence of his own senses. The moment was a terrible one, and +for a few seconds the staring eyeballs and quivering lips seemed to +threaten the access of a fit; but reason at last assumed the mastery, and +he sat down before the table and leaned his head upon it to think. Twice +before in life had it been his lot to lose a fortune at one turn of the +die, but never before had he staked all the revengeful feelings of his bad +heart, which, baffled in their flow, now came back upon himself. +</p> +<p> +He sat thus for nigh an hour; and when he arose at last, his features were +worn as though by a long illness; and as he moved his fingers through his +hair, it came away in masses, like that of a man after fever. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXVI. AN UNDERSTANDING BETWEEN THE DUPE AND HIS VICTIM +</h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +So, then, we meet at last.—Harold. +</pre> +<p> +As the rooms began to fill with company, costumed in every variety that +taste, fancy, or absurdity could devise, many were surprised that neither +was there a host to bid them welcome, nor was there any lady to perform +the accustomed honors of reception. The nature of the entertainment, to a +certain extent, took off from the awkwardness of this want. In a +masquerade, people either go to assume a part, or to be amused by the +representation of others, and are less dependent on the attentions of the +master or mistress of the house; so that, however struck at first by the +singularity of a <i>fête</i> without the presence of the giver, pleasure, +ministered to by its thousand appliances, overcame this feeling, and few +ever thought more of him beneath whose roof they were assembled. +</p> +<p> +The rooms were splendid in their decoration, lighted <i>a giomo</i>, and +ornamented with flowers of the very rarest kind. The music consisted of a +celebrated orchestra and a regimental band, who played alternately; the +guests, several hundred in number, were all attired in fancy costumes, in +which every age and nation found its type; while characters from +well-known fictions abounded, many of them admirably sustained, and +dressed with a pomp and splendor that told the wealth of the wearers. +</p> +<p> +It was truly a brilliant scene; brilliant as beauty, and the glitter of +gems, and waving of plumes, and splendor of dress could make it. The magic +impulse of pleasure communicated by the crash of music; the brilliant +glare of wax-lights; the throng; the voices; the very atmosphere, +tremulous with sounds of joy,—seemed to urge on all there to give +themselves up to enjoyment. There was a boundless, lavish air, too, in all +the arrangements. Servants in gorgeous liveries served refreshments of the +most exquisite kind; little children, dressed as pages, distributed +bouquets, bound round with lace of Valenciennes or Brussels, and +occasionally fastened by strings of garnets or pearls; a <i>jet d'eau</i> +of rose-water cooled the air of the conservatory, and diffused its +delicious freshness through the atmosphere. There was something princely +in the scale of the hospitality; and from every tongue words of praise and +wonder dropped at each moment. +</p> +<p> +Even Lady Janet, whose enthusiasm seldom rose much above the zero, +confessed that it was a magnificent <i>fête</i>, adding, by way of +compensation for her eulogy, “and worthy of better company.” + </p> +<p> +Mrs. White was in ecstasies with everything, even to the cherubs in pink +gauze wings, who handed round sherbet, and whom she pronounced quite +“classical.” The Kenny-fecks were in the seventh heaven of delight, +affecting little airs of authority to the servants, and showing the +strangers, by a hundred little devices, that all the magnificence around +was no new thing to <i>them</i>. Miss Kennyfeck, as the Queen of +Madagascar, was a most beautiful savage; while Olivia appeared as the fair +“Gabrielle,”—a sly intimation to Sir Harvey, whose dress, as Henry +IV., won universal admiration. Then there were the ordinary number of +Turks, Jews, Sailors, Circassians, Greeks, Highland Chiefs, and Indian +Jugglers,—“Jim” figuring as a Newmarket “Jock,” to the unbounded +delight and wonderment of every “sub” in the room. +</p> +<p> +If in many quarters the question ran, “Where is Mr. Cashel?” or, “Which is +he?” Lady Janet had despatched Sir Andrew, attired as a “Moonshee,” to +find out Linton for her. “He is certain to know every one here; tell him +to come to me at once,” said she, sitting down near a doorway to watch the +company. +</p> +<p> +While Lady Janet is waiting for him who, better than any other, could +explain the mysterious meaning of many a veiled figure, unravel the hidden +wickedness of every chance allusion, or expound the secret malice of each +calembourg or jest, let us track his wanderings, and follow him as he +goes. +</p> +<p> +Throwing a large cloak over his brilliant dress, Linton made his way by +many a by-stair and obscure passage to the back of the theatre, by which +the secret approach led to Cashel's dressing-room. Often as he had trod +that way before, never had he done so in the same state of intense +excitement. With the loss of the papers, he saw before him not alone the +defeat of every hope he nurtured, but discovery, shame, and ruin! He whose +whole game in life was to wield power over others, now saw himself in the +grasp of some one, to whom he had not the slightest clew. At one moment +his suspicions pointed to Cashel himself, then to Tiernay, and lastly to +Phillis. Possibly rage has no bitterer moment than that in which an +habitual deceiver of others first finds himself in the toils of treachery. +There was over his mind, besides, that superstitious terror that to +unbelieving intellects stands in place of religion, which told him that +luck had turned with him; that fortune, so long favorable, had changed at +last; and that, in his own phrase, “the run had set in against him.” Now a +half-muttered curse would burst from his lips over the foolhardiness that +had made him so dilatory, and not suffered him to reap the harvest when it +was ripe; now a deep-breathed vow, that if fate were propitious once +again, no matter bow short the interval, he would strike his blow, come +what might of it Sometimes he blamed himself for having deserted the safe +and easy road to ruin by play, for the ambitious course he had followed; +at other times he inveighed against his folly for not carrying off Mary +Leicester before Cashel had acquired any intimacy at the cottage. Burning +and half-maddened with this conflict of regrets and hopes, he touched the +spring, moved back the panel, and entered Cashel's room. +</p> +<p> +His first care was to see that the door from the corridor was secured on +the inside; his next, to close the shutters and draw the curtains. These +done, he lighted the candles on the table, and proceeded to make a +systematic search through the entire chamber. “It is my last visit here,” + said he to himself; “I must take care to do my work cleanly.” A mass of +papers had been that morning left behind him by Cashel, most of them legal +documents referring to his transactions with Hoare; but some were +memoranda of his intentions respecting Corrigan, and plainly showing that +Cashel well remembered he had never completed his assignment to Linton. +“If Keane's hand has not faltered,” muttered he, “Master Roland's memory +will not be taxed in this world at least; but where to discover the deed? +that is the question.” In his anxiety on this bead, he ransacked drawers +and cabinets with wild and furious haste, strewing their contents around +him, or wantonly throwing them on the fire. With false keys for every +lock, he opened the most secret depositories,—scarce glancing at +letters which at any other time he had devoured with interest. Many were +from Lady Kil-goff, warning Cashel against him; his own name, seen +passingly, would arrest his attention for a second, but the weightier +interest soon intervened, and he would throw the papers from him with +contempt. “How shrewd! how very cunning!” muttered he, once or twice, as +his glance caught some suspicion, some assumed clew to his own motives, in +her well-known handwriting. Baffled by the unsuccessful result of his +search, he stood in the midst of the floor, surrounded by open boxes, the +contents of which were strewn on every side; rage and disappointment were +depicted in his features; and, as his clenched hand struck the table, his +whole expression became demoniac. Curses and deep blasphemies fell from +his half-moving lips as he stood insensible to everything save the wreck +of his long-cherished hope. +</p> +<p> +Let us turn from him to another, in whose fortunes we are more interested. +Roland Cashel, after parting with Enrique, hastened on towards Tubbermore; +his thoughts engaged on every topic save that which might be supposed to +occupy the mind of a host at such a time. Pleasure assuredly held a weaker +hold upon him than the thirst for vengeance, and the ardent longing to +throw off the thraldom of that servitude he had endured too long. +</p> +<p> +It was only by observing the long string of carriages, whose lamps flashed +and disappeared at intervals among the trees, that he remembered anything +of the <i>fête</i>, and bethought him of that character of entertainer he, +at the moment, should have been performing. There seemed to him a terrible +inconsistency between his own thoughts and that scene of pleasure,—between +the object in pursuit of which so many were hastening with furious speed, +and that to which his slower steps were leading him! +</p> +<p> +“There can be but one <i>amende</i> for such infamous conduct,” muttered +he; “he shall pay it with his life's blood.” And as he spoke, he opened +the documents which Enrique had given him, and endeavored to read them; +the dusky shadows of the fast-falling night prevented him, and he stood +for some minutes lost in thought. +</p> +<p> +One of the papers, he was aware, bore the forged signature of his name; +the other, whose antique form and massive seal bespoke an importance far +greater, he tried again and again to decipher, but in vain. As he was thus +occupied, he chanced to look up, and suddenly perceived that a stream of +light issued from beneath the shutters of his own dressing-room, the door +of which he had himself locked at his departure, taking the key along with +him. Enrique's words flashed across his memory at once. It was Linton was +there! “At his old work again,” muttered he, in deep anger; “but it shall +be for the last time.” A moment of coming peril was all that Cashel needed +to elicit the resources of his character. The courage tried in many a +danger supplied him with a calm foresight, which the ordinary occasions of +life rarely or never called forth. He bethought him that it were best at +such a conjuncture to deposit the sealed document in some place of safety +ere he went forth upon an enterprise the result of which must be doubtful; +for all purposes of confronting Linton it were sufficient to take the +forged deed along with him. These were conclusions formed as rapidly as +they occurred, and acted upon no less speedily; for, folding up the +parchment, he inserted it into a cleft in an aged elm-tree, noting well +the spot, and marking all the signs by which he would be able to return to +it. His next thought was how to reach his chamber: to enter the house at +such a time undiscovered was of course out of the question; he would be +seen and recognized at once, and then there would be an end forever of all +the secrecy by which he hoped to cover the proceedings with Linton. +</p> +<p> +It neither suited his inclinations nor his plans that the world should be +a party to his vengeance. “Let them discover it when it is over,” said he, +“but let them not be able to interfere with its course.” All approach to +his dressing-room through the house being thus impracticable, nothing +remained but to reach it from without. The chamber was in the second story +of the building, at a great height from the ground; but the walls were +here covered with thick ivy of ancient growth, and by this Cashel resolved +to make the attempt. +</p> +<p> +The act was not devoid of danger; but there are times when peril is a +relief to the mad conflict of thought, and this was such a moment to +Cashel. In an instant he made himself ready for the attempt, and with an +activity that many a danger had tested, began the ascent. There are +occasions when rashness is safety, and now, the headlong intrepidity of +Roland's attempt proved its security, for at each step, as the ivy gave +way beneath his grasp or his footing, by an upward spring he reached +another spot, which in its turn broke with his weight: every instant the +danger increased, for the frail tendrils grew weaker as he ascended, and +beneath him the jagged and drooping branches hung down in ruinous +disorder. By one bold spring he reached the window-sill, and after a +momentary struggle, in which his athletic frame saved him from certain +death, he gained a footing upon the stone, and was able to see what was +passing within the room. +</p> +<p> +At a table covered with papers and open letters Linton sat, searching with +eager haste for the missing documents; open boxes and presses on every +side, rifled of their contents, were seen, some of which lay in disordered +masses upon the floor, some in charred heaps within the fender. As the +light fell upon his features, Cashel remarked that they were lividly pale,—the +very lips were colorless; his hands, too, trembled violently as they moved +among the papers, and his mouth continued to be moved by short convulsive +twitches. To Roland these signs of suffering conveyed a perfect ecstasy of +pleasure. That careworn, haggard face, that tremulous cheek and lustreless +eye, were already an instalment of his vengeance. +</p> +<p> +There was one box which contained many of Cashel's early letters, when he +was following the wild buccaneering life of the West; and this, secured by +a lock of peculiar construction, Linton had never succeeded in opening. It +stood before him, as with a last effort he tried every art upon it. The +hinges alone seemed to offer a prospect of success, and he was now +endeavoring to remove the fastenings of these. With more of force than +skill, for defeat had rendered him impatient, Linton had already loosened +the lid, when Cashel burst open the sash with one vigorous blow, and +leaped into the room. +</p> +<p> +The terrible crash of the shattered window made Linton spring round; and +there he stood, confronted with the other,—each, motionless and +silent. In Cashel's steady, manly form there was a very world of indignant +contempt; and Linton met the gaze with a look of deadly hatred. All the +dissimulation by which he could cover over a treachery was at an end; his +deceit was no longer of use, and he stood forth in the full courage of his +scoundrelism,—bold, steady, and assured. +</p> +<p> +“This admits of no excuse, no palliation,” said Cashel, as he pointed to +the open letters and papers which covered the floor; and although the +words were uttered calmly, they were more disconcerting than if given with +passionate vehemence. +</p> +<p> +“I never thought of any,” replied Linton, collectedly. +</p> +<p> +“So much the better, sir. It seems to me frankness is the only reparation +you can make for past infamy!” + </p> +<p> +“It may be the only one you will be disposed to ask for,” said Linton, +sneeringly. +</p> +<p> +Cashel grew fiery red. To taunt him with want of courage was something so +unexpected—for which he was so totally unprepared—that he lost +his self-possession, and in a passionate tone exclaimed,— +</p> +<p> +“Is it <i>you</i> who dare to say this to <i>me</i>—you, whose +infamy has need but to be published abroad, to make every one who calls +himself 'gentleman' shun your very contact!” + </p> +<p> +“This punctilious reverence for honor does infinite credit to your +buccaneer education,” said Linton, whose eyes sparkled with malignant +delight at the angry passion he had succeeded in evoking. “The friendship +of escaped felons must have a wondrous influence upon refinement.” + </p> +<p> +“Enough, sir!” said Cashel. “How came you into the room, since the key of +it is in my pocket?” + </p> +<p> +“Were I to inform you,” said Linton, “you would acknowledge it was by a +much more legitimate mode than that by which you effected your entrance.” + </p> +<p> +“You shall decide which is the pleasanter then!” cried Cashel, as he tore +open the window, and advanced in a menacing manner towards the other. +</p> +<p> +“Take care, Cashel,” said Linton, in a low, deliberate voice; “I am +armed!” + </p> +<p> +And while he spoke, he placed one hand within the breast of his coat, and +held it there. Quick as was the motion, it was not sudden enough to escape +the flashing eye of Roland, who sprang upon him, and seized his wrist with +a grasp that nearly jammed the bones together. +</p> +<p> +“Provoke me a little further,” cried he, “and, by Heaven! I 'll not give +you the choice or chance of safety, but hurl you from that window as I +would the meanest housebreaker.” + </p> +<p> +“Let me free,—let me loose, sir,” said Linton, in a low weak voice, +which passion, not fear, had reduced to a mere whisper. “You shall have +the satisfaction you aim at, when and how you please.” + </p> +<p> +“By daylight to-morrow, at the boat-quay beside the lake.” + </p> +<p> +“Agreed. There is no need of witnesses,—we understand each other.” + </p> +<p> +“Be it so. Be true to your word, and none shall hear from <i>me</i> the +reasons of our meeting, nor what has occurred here this night.” + </p> +<p> +“I care not if all the world knew it,” said Linton, insolently; “I came in +quest of a lost document,—one which I had my reasons to suspect had +fallen into your possession.” + </p> +<p> +“And of whose forgery I have the proofs,” said Cashel, as opening the +deed, he held it up before Linton's eyes. “Do you see that?” + </p> +<p> +“And do you know, Cashel,” cried Linton, assuming a voice of slow and most +deliberate utterance, “that your own title to this property is as +valueless and as worthless as that document you hold there? Do you know +that there is in existence a paper which, produced in an open court of +justice, would reduce you to beggary, and stamp you, besides, as an +impostor? It may be that you are well aware of that fact; and that the +same means by which you have possessed yourself of what was mine has +delivered into your hands this valuable paper. But the subtlety is thrown +away; <i>I</i> am cognizant of its existence; <i>I</i> have even shown it +to another; and on <i>me</i> it depends whether you live here as a master, +or walk forth in all the exposure of a cheat.” + </p> +<p> +The nature of this announcement, its possible truth, added to the +consummate effrontery of him who made it, contributed to render Cashel +silent, for he was actually stunned by what he heard. Linton saw the +effect, but mistook its import. He believed that some thought of a +compromise was passing through a mind where vengeance alone predominated; +and in this error he drew nearer to him, and in a voice of cool and calm +persuasion, added,— +</p> +<p> +“That <i>you</i> could pilot the course through all these difficulties, no +one knows better than yourself to be impossible. There is but one living +able to do so, and <i>I</i> am that one.” + </p> +<p> +Cashel started back, and Linton went on,— +</p> +<p> +“There is no question of friendship between us here. It is a matter of +pure interest and mutual convenience that binds us. Agree to my terms, and +you are still the owner of the estate; reject them, and you are as poor as +poverty and exposure can make you.” + </p> +<p> +“Scoundrel!” said Cashel. It was all that he could utter; the fulness of +his passion had nearly choked him, as, taking a heavy riding-glove from +the table, he struck Linton with it across the face. “If there be any +manhood in such a wretch, let this provoke it!” + </p> +<p> +Linton's hand grasped the weapon he carried within his coat, but with a +quick, short stroke, Cashel struck down his arm, and it fell powerless to +his side. +</p> +<p> +“You shall pay dearly for this—dearly, by heaven!” cried Linton, as +he retired towards the door. +</p> +<p> +“Go, sir,” said Cashel, flinging it wide open, “and go quickly, or I may +do that I should be sorry for.” + </p> +<p> +“You have done that you will be sorry for, if it costs me my life's blood +to buy it.” And with these words, delivered in a voice guttural from rage, +Linton disappeared, and Cashel stood alone in the centre of the room, +overwhelmed by the terrible conflict of his passions. +</p> +<p> +The room littered with papers, the open boxes scattered on every side, his +own hands cut and bleeding from the broken glass of the window, his dress +torn from the recent exertion, were evidences of the past; and it seemed +as though, without such proofs, he could not credit his memory, as to +events so strange and stunning. +</p> +<p> +To restore something like order to his chamber, as a means of avoiding the +rumors that would be circulated by the servants; to write some letters,—the +last, perhaps, he should ever indite; to dress and appear among his +company; to send for some one with whom he might confer as to his affairs,—such +were the impulses that alternately swayed him, and to which he yielded by +turns; now seating himself at his table; now hastening hither and thither, +tossing over the motley livery of distasteful pleasure, or handling, with +the rapture of revenge, the weapons by which he hoped to wreak his +vengeance. The only fear that dwelt upon his mind was, lest Linton should +escape him,—lest, by any accident, this, which now appeared the +great business of his life, should go unacquired. Sometimes he reproached +himself for having postponed the hour of vengeance, not knowing what +chances might intervene, what accidents interrupt the course of his sworn +revenge. Fortune, wealth, station, love itself had no hold upon him; it +was that mad frame of mind where one sole thought predominates, and, in +its mastery, makes all else subordinate. Would Linton be true to the +rendezvous?—Could such a man be a coward?—Would he compass the +vengeance he had threatened by other means? were questions that constantly +occurred to his mind. +</p> +<p> +If the sounds of music and the clangor of festivity did break in upon this +mood from time to time, it was but to convey some indistinct and shadowy +impression of the inconsistency between his sad brooding and the scene by +which he was surrounded,—between the terrible conflict within him +and the wild gayety of those who wasted no thought upon him. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXVII. MURDER OF MR. KENNYFECK—CASHEL DETAINED ON SUSPICION. +</h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Amid their feasting and their joy +A cry of 'Blood!' was heard.” + </pre> +<p> +It was past midnight, and the scene within the walls of Tubbermore was one +of the most brilliant festivity. All that could fascinate by beauty,—all +that could dazzle by splendor, or amuse by fancy, or enliven by wit, were +there, stimulated by that atmosphere of pleasure in which they moved. +Loveliness elevated by costume, gayety exalted into exuberant joyousness +by the impulse of a thousand high-beating hearts, passed and repassed, and +mingled together, till they formed that brilliant assemblage wherein +individuality is lost, and the memory carries away nothing but dreamy +images of enjoyment, visions of liquid eyes and silky tresses, of fair +rounded arms and fairy feet, with stray syllables that linger on the ear +and vibrate in the heart for many a long year to come. +</p> +<p> +It would have been difficult to imagine that one, even one, amid that +gorgeous throng, had any other thought than pleasure, so headlong seemed +the impulse of enjoyment.' In vain the moralist might have searched for +any trace of that care which is believed to be the unceasing burden of +humanity. Even upon those who sustained no portion of the brilliancy +around them, pleasure had set its seal. Lady Janet herself wondered, and +admired, and stared, in an ecstasy of delight she could neither credit nor +comprehend. It was true, Linton's absence—“unaccountable,” as she +called it—was a sad drawback upon her enjoyment. Yet her own +shrewdness enabled her to penetrate many a mystery, and detect beneath the +dusky folds of more than one domino those who a few moments previous had +displayed themselves in all the splendor of a gorgeous costume. +</p> +<p> +In vain did Lord Charles Frobisher cover his Tartar dress with a +Laplander's cloak and hood, to follow Miss Meek unnoticed. In vain did +Upton abandon his royalty as Henry IV. for a Dominican's cowl, the better +to approach a certain fair nun with dark blue eyes; Lady Janet whispered, +“Take care, Olivia,” as she passed her. Even Mrs. Leicester White, +admirably disguised as a Gypsy Fortune-teller, did not dare to speculate +upon Lady Janet's “future”—possibly, out of fear of her “present.” + Mr. Howie alone escaped detection, as, dressed to represent the Obelisk of +the “Luqsor,” he stood immovable in the middle of the room, listening to +everybody, and never supposed to be anything but an inanimate ornament of +the saloon. +</p> +<p> +It was only when a minuet was about to be formed, and a question arose as +to whether the obelisk could not be removed, that the Egyptian monument +was seen slowly sidling off amidst the company, to the great amusement of +all who had not opened their confidences beneath its shadow. For an +instant, the laughter that circulated in many a distant group was directed +to this quarter, and bursts of merriment were excited by the absurdity of +the incident. With that mysterious instinct by which moods of joy or grief +are perpetuated from heart to heart, till each in a crowded assembly is +moved as is his neighbor, the whole room shook with convulsive laughter. +It was just then—at the very moment when boundless pleasure filled +every avenue of feeling—a terrible cry, shrill and piercing, burst +upon the air. All was still—still as a lone church at midnight. Each +gazed upon the other, as if silently asking, had he heard the sound? Again +it came, louder and nearer; and then a long, loud, swelling chant rang +out, wild and frantic as it rose, till it died away in a cadence of the +very saddest and dreariest meaning. +</p> +<p> +“What is it?—what can it be?” were uttered by many in broken voices; +while others, too much terrified to speak, sank half fainting upon their +seats, their colorless cheek and livid lips in terrible contrast to their +gay attire. +</p> +<p> +“There! listen to it again!—Good Heaven! what can it be?” + </p> +<p> +“It's a death 'keen'!” said a country gentleman, a magistrate named +Goring; “something must have happened among the people?” + </p> +<p> +And now, none knew from what quarter arising, or by whom spoken, but the +dreadful word “Murder” was heard through the room. Many issued forth to +ask for tidings; some stayed to assure and rally the drooping courage of +others; some, again, divested of the “motley,” moved hurriedly about, +seeking for this one or that. All was terror, confusion, and dismay. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, here is Mr. Linton!” cried several, as, with his domino on his arm, +pale, and like one terror-struck, he entered the room. “What is it, Mr. +Linton? Do you know what has happened?” + </p> +<p> +“Get Mrs. Kennyfeck and the girls away,” whispered he to a friend, +hurriedly; “tell them something—anything—but take them from +this.” + </p> +<p> +“What!” exclaimed Meek, to whom Linton had whispered something, but in a +voice too low to be clearly audible. +</p> +<p> +“Kennyfeck is murdered!” said Linton, louder. +</p> +<p> +As if the terrible tidings had floated on the air, in an instant it was on +every tongue, and vibrating in every ear; and then, in heartrending +screams of passionate grief, the cry of the widow and her children burst +forth, cry following cry in wild succession. Seized with an hysteric +paroxysm, Mrs. Kennyfeck was carried to her room; while of her daughters, +the elder sat mute, speechless and, to all seeming, insensible; the +younger struggling in convulsive passion to go to her father. +</p> +<p> +What a scene was that! How dreadful to mark the symbols of levity—the +decorations by which pleasure would mock the stern realities of life—surrounded +as they now were by suffering and sorrow! to see the groups as they stood; +some ministering to one who had fainted, others conversing in low and +eager whispers. The joyous smiles, the bright glances were gone, as though +they had been by masks assumed at will; tears furrowed their channels +through the deep rouge, and convulsive sobs broke from beneath corsets +where joy alone had vibrated before. While in the ballroom the scene was +one of terror and dismay, a few had withdrawn into a small apartment +adjoining the garden, to consult upon what the emergency might require. +These were drawn together by Linton, and included Sir Andrew MacFarline, +the Chief Justice, Meek, and a few others of lesser note. In a few words +Linton informed them that he heard the tidings as he passed through the +hall; that a peasant, taking the mountain path to Scariff, had come upon +the spot where the murder was committed, and found the body still warm, +but lifeless—“he also found this weapon, the bore of which was dirty +from a recent discharge as he took it up.” + </p> +<p> +“Why, this pistol is Mr. Cashel's!” exclaimed Sir Andrew, examining the +stock closely; “I know it perfectly—I have fired with it myself a +hundred times.” + </p> +<p> +“Impossible, my dear Sir Andrew!” cried Linton, eagerly. “You must be +mistaken.” + </p> +<p> +“Where is Mr. Cashel?” asked the Chief Justice. +</p> +<p> +“No one seems to know,” replied Linton. “At a very early hour this morning +he left this in company with poor Kennyfeck. It would appear that they +were not on the best of terms together; at least, some of the servants +overheard angry words pass between them as they drove away.” + </p> +<p> +“Let us call these people before us,” said Sir Andrew. +</p> +<p> +“Not at present, sir. It would be premature and indiscreet,” interposed +the judge., Then, turning to Linton, he added, “Well, sir, and after +that?” + </p> +<p> +“After that we have no tidings of either of them.” + </p> +<p> +“I'll swear to the pistol, onyhow,” said Sir Andrew, who sat staring at +the weapon, and turning it about in every direction. +</p> +<p> +“Of what nature were the differences between Cashel and Kennyfeck supposed +to be?” asked Meek of Linton. +</p> +<p> +“It is impossible to collect, from the few and broken sentences which have +been reported; possibly, dissatisfaction on Cashel's part at the +difficulty of obtaining money; possibly, some misunderstanding about his +intentions regarding one of the girls, whom the Kennyfecks were silly +enough to suppose he was going to marry.” + </p> +<p> +A slight tap at the door here arrested their attention. It was Mr. +Phillis, who came to say that footsteps had been heard in Mr. Cashel's +dressing-room, although it was well known he himself had not returned. +</p> +<p> +“Might he not have returned and entered the room unseen, sir?” said the +Chief Justice, who cast a shrewd and piercing look upon the valet. +</p> +<p> +“Scarcely, my Lord, since he is known to every servant in the house, and +people are passing and repassing in every direction.” + </p> +<p> +“But there is every reason to believe that he has not returned at all,” + interposed Linton. “It is some one else has been heard in his +dressing-room.” + </p> +<p> +“Would it not be as well to despatch messengers to Drumcoologan,” said +Meek, “and assure ourselves of Cashel's safety? Up to this we are ignorant +if he have not shared the fate of poor Kennyfeck.” + </p> +<p> +“The very suggestion I was about to make. I 'll take Phillis along with +me, and set out this instant,” cried Linton. +</p> +<p> +“We shall miss your assistance greatly here, sir,” said the Chief Justice. +</p> +<p> +“Your Lordship overvalues my poor ability; but I will hasten to the +utmost, and be soon back again.” And thus saying, he left the room, +followed by Phillis. +</p> +<p> +“There must be an inquest at once,” said the Chief Justice. “The coroner +has power to examine witnesses on oath; and it seems to me that some clew +to the affair will present itself.” + </p> +<p> +“As to this room, don't you think it were proper to inquire if any one be +really within it?” asked Meek. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; we will proceed thither together,” replied the judge. +</p> +<p> +“I canna be mistaken in the pistol; I 'll swear to that,” chimed in Sir +Andrew, whose whole thoughts were centred on that object. +</p> +<p> +“Well, Mr. Goring,” said Meek, as that gentleman advanced to meet them in +the corridor, “have you obtained any clew to this sad affair?” + </p> +<p> +The magistrate drew near, and whispered a few words in the other s ear. +Meek started, and grasped the speaker's arm convulsively; then, after a +pause, said, “Tell the Chief Justice.” Mr. Goring approached, and said +something in a low voice to the judge. +</p> +<p> +“Be cautious, sir; take care to whom you mention these circumstances, lest +they be bruited about before we can examine into them,” said the Chief +Justice; then retiring into a window with Sir Andrew and Meek, he +continued: “This gentleman has just informed me that the impress of a boot +with a high heel has been discovered near the spot where the murder was +committed; which boot exactly tallies with that worn by Mr. Cashel.” + </p> +<p> +“The pistol is his; I'll tak' my oath on that,” muttered Sir Andrew. +</p> +<p> +“Here's Phillis coming back,” said Meek. “What's the matter, Phillis?” + </p> +<p> +“Mr. Linton sent me back, sir, to say that the ivy which covered the wall +on the east end of the house has been torn down, and seems to infer that +some one must have climbed up it, to reach my master's dressing-room.” + </p> +<p> +“This is a very important circumstance,” said the Chief Justice. “Let us +examine the room at once.” And so saying, he led the way towards it. +</p> +<p> +Not a word was spoken as the party passed along the corridor and ascended +the stairs; each feared, even by a syllable, to betray the terrible +suspicions that were haunting his mind. It was a solemn moment; and so +their looks and gestures bespoke it. The house itself had suddenly become +silent; scarce a sound was beard within that vast building, which so late +had rung with revelry and joy. A distant door would clap, or a faintly +heard shriek from some one still suffering from the recent shock; but all +else was hushed and still. +</p> +<p> +“That is the room,” said Meek, pointing to a door, beneath which, although +it was now daybreak, a stream of light issued; and, slight as the +circumstance was, the looks exchanged among the party seemed to give it a +significance. +</p> +<p> +The Chief Justice advanced and tapped at the door. Immediately a voice was +heard from within that all recognized as Cashel's asking,— +</p> +<p> +“Who's there?” + </p> +<p> +“We want you, Mr. Cashel,” said the judge, in an accent which all the +instincts of his habit had not rendered free from a slight tremor. +</p> +<p> +The door was immediately thrown wide, and Roland stood before them. He had +not changed his dress since his arrival, and his torn sleeve and +blood-stained trousers at once caught every eye that was fixed upon him. +The disorder, too, was not confined to his own haggard look; the room +itself was littered with papers and letters, with clothes strewn +carelessly in every direction; and conspicuously amid all, an open +pistol-case was seen, from which one of the weapons was missing. A mass of +charred paper lay within the fender, and a great heap of paper lay, as it +were, ready for burning, beside the hearth. There was full time for those +who stood there to notice all these particulars, since neither spoke, but +each gazed on the other in terrible uncertainty. Cashel was the first to +break the silence. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0011" id="linkimage-0011"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/20304.jpg" alt="304 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +“Well, sirs,” said he, in a voice that only an effort made calm, “are my +friends so very impatient at my absence that they come to seek me in my +dressing-room?” + </p> +<p> +“The dreadful event that has just occurred, sir,” said the judge, “makes +apology for our intrusion unnecessary. We are here from duty, Mr. Cashel, +not inclination, still less caprice.” + </p> +<p> +The solemnity of manner in which he spoke, and the grave faces around him +on every side, seemed to apprise Roland that bad tidings awaited him, and +he looked eagerly to each for an explanation. At length, as none spoke, he +said,— +</p> +<p> +“Will no one vouchsafe to put an end to this mystification? What, I pray, +is this event that has happened?” + </p> +<p> +“Mr. Kennyfeck has been murdered,” said the judge. +</p> +<p> +Roland staggered backwards, and grasped a chair for support. “When?—How?—Where?” + said he, in a low voice, every accent of which trembled. +</p> +<p> +“All as yet is hidden in mystery, sir. We know nothing beyond the fact +that his dead body was discovered in the Gap of Ennismore, and that a +pistol-shot had penetrated his brain.” Sir Andrew grasped the weapon more +tightly as these words were uttered. +</p> +<p> +“You left this in his company, Mr. Cashel?” asked Goring. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; we set out at daybreak for Drumcoologan, where an affair of business +required our presence. We spent the whole of the day together, and as +evening drew nigh, and our business had not been completed, I resolved to +hasten back here, leaving him to follow whenever he could.” + </p> +<p> +“You have been on the best terms together, I believe?” said Goring. +</p> +<p> +“Stay—I cannot permit this,” interposed the Chief Justice, +authoritatively. “There must be nothing done here which is not strictly +honorable as well as legal. It is right that Mr. Cashel should understand +that when an event of this nature has occurred, no one, however high his +station, or umblemished his fame, can claim exemption from that scrutiny +which the course of justice demands; and the persons latest in the company +of the deceased are more peculiarly those exposed to such inquiry. I +would, therefore, caution him against answering any questions here, which +may be prejudicial hereafter.” + </p> +<p> +“Do I understand you aright, my Lord?” said Cashel, whose whole frame +trembled with agitation as he spoke. “Do your words imply that I stand +here in the light of a suspected party?” + </p> +<p> +“I mean to say, sir,” replied the judge, “that so long as doubt and +obscurity veil the history of a crime, the accusation hangs over the +community at large among whom it was enacted, and that those who were last +seen in the presence of the victim have the greatest obligation to +disconnect themselves with the sad event.” + </p> +<p> +“But you stopped me while about to do so,” cried Roland, angrily. +</p> +<p> +“I cautioned you, rather, against any disclosures which, whatever your +innocence, might augment suspicion against you,” said the judge, mildly. +</p> +<p> +“These distinctions are too subtle for me, my Lord. The insult of such an +accusation ought to be enough, without the aggravation of chicanery.” + Then, turning to Meek, Roland went on: “You, at least, are above this +meanness, and will listen to me patiently. Look here.” He took a sheet of +paper as he spoke, and proceeded with a pen to mark out the direction of +the two roads from Drumcoologan to Tubbermore. “Here stands the village; +the road by which we travelled in the morning takes this line, skirting +the base of the mountain towards the north: the path by which I returned +follows a shorter course, and after crossing a little rivulet here, comes +out at Ennismore, somewhere about this point.” + </p> +<p> +Just as Roland's description reached thus far, a large drop of blood oozed +from his wounded hand, and fell heavily upon the paper. There seemed +something so terribly significant in its falling exactly on the very spot +where the murdered body was found, that each looked at the other in +anxious dread; and then, as if with a common impulse, every eye was bent +on Cashel, who, heart-sick with indignant anger, stood unable to utter a +word. +</p> +<p> +“I pray you, sir, do not misconstrue my advice,” said the judge, mildly, +“nor resent a counsel intended for your good. Every explanation you may +offer, hereafter, will be serviceable to your case; every detail you enter +into, now, necessarily vague, and unsupported as it must be by other +testimony, will only be injurious to you.” + </p> +<p> +Cashel seated himself in a chair, and crossing his arms, seemed to be lost +in thought; then, suddenly starting to his feet, he cried,— +</p> +<p> +“Is all this a deep-laid scheme against my honor and my life, or do you, +indeed, desire to trace this crime to its author? If so, let us mount our +horses and scour the country; let us search every cabin; let us try if +some discovery of a weapon—” + </p> +<p> +“Ech, sirs, we hae the weapon!” said Sir Andrew, with a sardonic grin; +“an' it's muckle like to its brither yonder,” pointing to the open +pistol-case. +</p> +<p> +Roland turned suddenly, and now for the first time perceived that one of +his pistols was missing from the case. Up to this moment his anger at the +suspicions directed towards him was mingled with a degree of contemptuous +disregard of them; but now, suddenly, a terrible fear shot through his +heart that he was in the meshes of some deep-laid scheme for his ruin; and +his mind ran over in eager haste every circumstance that seemed to point +towards guilt. His presence with Kennyfeck on the mountain; his departure +from Drumcoologan alone-, his unexplained reappearance in his own chamber, +disordered and littered as it stood; his torn dress; his bleeding fingers; +and lastly, the missing pistol,—arose in terrible array before him; +and with a heart-sick sigh, he laid his forehead on the table, and never +uttered a word. +</p> +<p> +It was at this juncture that a groom, splashed and heated from a hard +ride, placed a small bit of twisted paper in Mr. Goring's hand. It was +written with pencil, and ran thus:— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Gap of Ennismore. + +Dear G.,—It looks badly; but I fear you have no other +course than to arrest him. In fact, it is too late for +anything else. Consult Malone and Meek. + +Yours, in great haste, T. Linton. +</pre> +<p> +Goring handed the note to the Chief Justice, who, having read it, passed +it on to Meek. A nod from the latter, as he refolded the paper, seemed to +accord concurrence with the counsel. +</p> +<p> +“Would it not be better to defer this till after the inquest?” he +whispered. +</p> +<p> +“Are ye certain o' findin' him when ye want him?” dryly remarked Sir +Andrew. +</p> +<p> +The Chief Justice conferred for a few seconds with Meek apart, and then +approaching Cashel, addressed him in a tone inaudible to all but himself,— +</p> +<p> +“It would be excessively painful to us, Mr. Roland Cashel, to do anything +which should subject you to vulgar remark or impertinent commentary; and +as, until some further light be thrown upon this sad catastrophe, your +detention is absolutely necessary, may I ask that you will submit to this +rigor, without compelling us to any measures to enforce it?” + </p> +<p> +“Am I a prisoner, my Lord?” asked Roland, growing lividly pale as he +spoke. +</p> +<p> +“Not precisely, sir. No warrant has been issued against you; but as it is +manifestly for your advantage to disprove any suspicions that may attach +to you in this unhappy affair, I hope you will see the propriety of +remaining where you are until they be entirely removed.” + </p> +<p> +Roland bowed coldly, and said,— +</p> +<p> +“May I ask to be left alone?” + </p> +<p> +“Of course, sir; we have neither the right nor the inclination to obtrude +ourselves upon you. I ought to mention, perhaps, that if you desire to +confer with any friends—” + </p> +<p> +“Friend!” echoed Cashel, in bitter derision; “such friends as I have seen +around my table make the selection difficult.” + </p> +<p> +“I used the phrase somewhat technically, sir, as referring to a legal +adviser,” said the judge, hastily. +</p> +<p> +“I thank you, my Lord,” replied Roland, haughtily. “I am a plain man, and +am well aware that in <i>your</i> trade truth is no match for falsehood.” + He walked to the window as he spoke, and by his gesture seemed to decline +further colloquy. +</p> +<p> +The Chief Justice moved slowly away, followed by the others; Meek +withdrawing last of all, and seeming to hesitate whether he should not say +something as he went. At last he turned and said,— +</p> +<p> +“I sincerely trust, Mr. Cashel, that you will not connect me with this +most painful suspicion; your own good sense will show you how common minds +may be affected by a number of concurring circumstances; and how, in fact, +truth may require the aid of ingenuity to reconcile and explain them.” + </p> +<p> +“I am not certain that I understand your meaning, sir,” said Cashel, +sternly; “but when a number of 'concurring circumstances' seemed to point +out those with whom I associated as blacklegs, parasites, and +calumniators, I gave them the benefit of a doubt, and believed them to be +gentle-men; I almost expected they might return the favor when occasion +offered.” + </p> +<p> +For a second or two Meek seemed as if about to reply; but he moved +noiselessly away at last and closed the door, leaving Roland alone with +his own distracted thoughts. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXVIII. SCENE OF THE MURDER—THE CORONER'S VERDICT +</h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Are there not proofs enough? +Or can the stubborn mind reject all truth +And cling to fallacy? + +The Will. +</pre> +<p> +What a change did Tubbermore present to its aspect of the day before! All +the emblems of joy and festivity, all the motley of pleasure, all the gay +troops of guests hastening onward in glowing eagerness and anticipation, +were gone; and in their stead a dreary and mysterious silence brooded over +the place, interrupted at intervals by the bustle of some departure. For +thus, without one word of sympathy, without even a passing good-bye, +Roland's “friends” hurried away, as if flying from the very memories of +the spot. +</p> +<p> +It was a dreary winter's day; the dark leaden clouds that flitted past, +and the long-sighing wind, seemed to add their sad influence to the +melancholy. The house itself already appeared to feel its altered +fortunes. Most of the windows were closed and shuttered; the decorations +of rare plants and shrubs and lamps were removed; instead of the movement +of liveried servants to and fro, ill-favored and coarse-clad men, the +underlings of the law, crept stealthily about, noticing each circumstance +of the locality, and conferring together in mysterious whispers. Mounted +messengers, too, came and went with a haste that boded urgency; and +post-horses were each moment arriving to carry away those whose impatience +to leave was manifested in a hundred ways. Had the air of the place been +infected with some pestilential malady, their eagerness could scarce have +been greater. All the fretful irritability of selfishness, all the peevish +discontent of petty natures, exhibited themselves without shame; and +envious expressions towards those fortunate enough to “get away first,” + and petulant complaints over their own delay, were bandied on every side. +</p> +<p> +A great table was laid for breakfast in the dining-room, as usual. All the +luxuries and elegances that graced the board on former occasions were +there, but a few only took their places. Of these, Frobisher and some +military men were the chief; they, indeed, showed comparatively little of +that anxiety to be gone so marked in the others. The monotony of the +barrack and the parade was not attractive, and they lingered like men who, +however little they had of pleasure here, had even less of inducement to +betake them elsewhere. +</p> +<p> +Meek had been the first to make his escape, by taking the post-horses +intended for another, and already was many miles on his way towards +Dublin. The Chief Justice and his family were the next. From the hour of +the fatal event, Mrs. Malone had assumed a judicial solemnity of demeanor +that produced a great impression upon the beholders, and seemed to convey, +by a kind of reflected light, the old judge's gloomiest forebodings of the +result. +</p> +<p> +Mrs. Leicester White deferred her departure to oblige Mr. Howie, who was +making a series of sketches for the “Pictorial Paul Pry,” showing not only +the various façades of Tubbermore House, but several interesting +“interiors:” such as the “Ball-room, when the fatal tidings arrived:” + “Dressing-room of Roland Cashel, Esq., when entered by the Chief Justice +and his party;” the most effective of all being a very shadowy picture of +the “Gap of Ennismore—the scene of the murder;” the whole connected +by a little narrative so ingeniously drawn up as to give public opinion a +very powerful bias against Cashel, whose features, in the woodcut, would +in themselves have made a formidable indictment. +</p> +<p> +Of the Kennyfecks, few troubled themselves with even a casual inquiry: +except the fact that a fashionable physician had been sent for to Dublin, +little was known about them. But where was Linton all this while? Some +averred that he had set out for the capital, to obtain the highest legal +assistance for his friend; others, that he was so overwhelmed by the +terrible calamity as to have fallen into a state of fatuous insensibility. +None, however, could really give any correct account of him; he had left +Tubbermore, but in what direction none could tell. +</p> +<p> +As the day wore on, a heavy rain began to fall; and of those who still +remained in the house, little knots of two and three assembled at the +windows, to watch for the arrival of their wished-for “posters,” or to +speculate upon the weather. Another source of speculation there was +besides. Some hours before, a magistrate, accompanied by a group of +ill-dressed and vulgar-looking men, had been seen to pass the house, and +take the path which led to the Gap of Ennismore. These formed the inquest, +who were to inquire into the circumstances of the crime, and whose +verdict, however unimportant in a strictly legal sense, was looked for +with considerable impatience by some of the company. To judge from the +anxious looks that were directed towards the mountain road, or the +piercing glances which at times were given through telescopes in that +direction, one would have augured that some, at least, of those there, +were not destitute of sympathy for him whose guests they had been, and +beneath whose roof they still lingered. A very few words of those that +passed between them will best answer how this impression is well founded. +</p> +<p> +“Have you sent your groom off, Upton?” asked Frobisher, as he stood with a +coffee-cup in his hand at the window. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, he passed the window full half an hour ago.” + </p> +<p> +“They are confoundedly tedious,” said Jennings, half suppressing a yawn. +“I thought those kind of fellows just gave a look at the body, and +pronounced their verdict at once.” + </p> +<p> +“So they do when it's one of their own class; but in the case of a +gentleman they take a prodigious interest in examining his watch and his +purse and his pocket-book; and, in fact, it is a grand occasion for prying +as far as possible into his private concerns.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll double our bet, Upton, if you like,” said Frobisher, languidly. +</p> +<p> +The other shook his head negatively. +</p> +<p> +“Why, the delay is clearly in your favor, man. If they were strong in +their convictions, they 'd have brought him in guilty an hour ago.” + </p> +<p> +“That is my opinion too,” said Jennings. +</p> +<p> +“Well, here goes. Two fifties be it,” cried Upton. +</p> +<p> +Frobisher took out his memorandum-book and wrote something with a pencil. +</p> +<p> +“Is n't that it?” said he, showing the lines to Upton. +</p> +<p> +“Just so. 'Wilful murder,'” muttered the other, reading. +</p> +<p> +“You have a great 'pull' upon me, Upton,” said Frobisher; “by Jove! if you +were generous, you'd give me odds.” + </p> +<p> +“How so?” + </p> +<p> +“Why, you saw his face since the affair, and I did n't.” + </p> +<p> +“It would need a better physiognomist than I am to read it. He looked +exactly as he always does; a thought paler, perhaps, but no other change.” + </p> +<p> +“Here comes a fellow with news,” said Jennings, throwing open the window. +“I say, my man, is it over?” + </p> +<p> +“No, sir; the jury want to see one of Mr. Cashel's boots.” + </p> +<p> +Jennings closed the sash, and, lighting a cigar, sat down in an +easy-chair. A desultory conversation here arose among some of the younger +military men whether a coroner's verdict were final, and whether a “fellow +could be hanged” when it pronounced him guilty; the astute portion of the +debaters inclining to the opinion that although this was not the case in +England, such would be “law” in Ireland. Then the subject of confiscation +was entertained, and various doubts and surmises arose as to what would +become of Tubbermore when its proprietor had been executed; with sly jests +about the reversionary rights of the Crown, and the magnanimity of +extending mercy at the price of a great landed estate. These filled up the +time for an hour or so more, interspersed with conjectures as to Cashel's +present frame of mind, and considerable wonderment why he had n't “bolted” + at once. +</p> +<p> +At last Upton's groom was seen approaching at a tremendous pace; and in a +few minutes after he had pulled up at the door, and dismounting with a +spring, hastened into the house. +</p> +<p> +“Well, Robert, how did it go?” cried Upton, as, followed by the rest, he +met him in the hall. +</p> +<p> +“You 've lost, sir,” said the man, wiping his forehead. +</p> +<p> +“Confound the rascals! But what are the words of the verdict?” + </p> +<p> +“'Wilful murder,' sir.” + </p> +<p> +“Of course,” said Frobisher, coolly; “they could give no other.” + </p> +<p> +“It's no use betting against you,” cried Upton, pettishly. “You are the +luckiest dog in Europe.” + </p> +<p> +“Come, I 'll give you a chance,” said Frobisher; “double or quit that they +hang him.” + </p> +<p> +“No, no; I 've lost enough on him. I 'll not have it.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, I suppose we've nothing to wait for now,” yawned Jennings. “Shall +we start?” + </p> +<p> +“Not till we have luncheon, I vote,” cried an infantry sub.; and his +suggestion met general approval. And while they are seated at a table +where exquisite meats and rarest wines stimulated appetite and provoked +excess, let us turn for a few brief moments to him who, still their +entertainer, sat in his lone chamber, friendless and deserted. +</p> +<p> +So rapid had been the succession of events which occupied one single +night, that Roland could not believe it possible months had not passed +over. Even then, he found it difficult to disentangle the real +circumstances from those fancied results his imagination had already +depicted; many of the true incidents appearing far more like fiction than +the dreamy fancies his mind invented. His meeting with Enrique, for +instance, was infinitely less probable than that he should have fought a +duel with Linton; and so, in many other cases, his faculties wavered +between belief and doubt, till his very senses reeled with the confusion. +Kennyfeck's death alone stood out from this chaotic mass, clear, distinct, +and palpable, and, as he sat brooding over this terrible fact, he was +totally unconscious of its bearing upon his own fortunes. Selfishness +formed no part of his nature; his fault lay in the very absence of +self-esteem, and the total deficiency of that individuality which prompts +men to act up to a self-created standard. He could sorrow for him who was +no more, and from whom he had received stronger proofs of devotion than +from all his so-called friends; he could grieve over the widowed mother +and the fatherless girls, for whose destitution he felt, he knew not how, +or wherefore, a certain culpability; but of himself and his own critical +position, not a thought arose. The impressions that no effort of his own +could convey fell with a terrific shock upon him when suggested by +another. +</p> +<p> +He was seated at his table, trying, for the twentieth time, to collect his +wandering thoughts, and determine what course to follow, when a tap was +heard at his door, and it opened at the same instant. +</p> +<p> +“I am come, sir,” said Mr. Goring, with a voice full of feeling, “to bring +you sad tidings; but for which events may have, in a measure, prepared +you.” He paused, perhaps hoping that Cashel would spare him the pain of +continuing; but Roland never spoke. +</p> +<p> +“The inquest has completed its labors,” said Goring, with increasing +agitation; “and the verdict is one of 'wilful murder.'” + </p> +<p> +“It was a foul and terrible crime,” said Cashel, shuddering; “the poor +fellow was animated with kind intentions and benevolent views towards the +people. In all our intercourse he displayed but one spirit—” + </p> +<p> +“Have a care, sir,” said Goring, mildly. “It is just possible that, in the +frankness of the moment something may escape you which hereafter you might +wish unsaid; and standing in the position you now do—” + </p> +<p> +“How so? What position, sir, do I occupy, that should preclude me from the +open expression of my sentiments?” + </p> +<p> +“I have already told you, sir, that the verdict of the jury was wilful +murder, and I hold here in my hand the warrant for your arrest.” + </p> +<p> +“As the criminal? as the murderer?” cried Cashel, with a voice almost like +a shriek of agony. Goring bowed his head, and Roland fell powerless on the +floor. +</p> +<p> +Summoning others to his aid, Goring succeeded in lifting him up and +placing him on a bed. A few drops of blood that issued from his mouth, and +his heavy snoring respiration, indicated an apoplectic seizure. Messengers +were sent in various directions to fetch a doctor. Tiernay was absent, and +it was some hours ere one could be found. Large bleeding and quiet +produced the usual effects, and towards evening Cashel's consciousness had +returned; but memory was still clouded and incoherent, and he lay without +speaking, and almost without thought. +</p> +<p> +After the lapse of about a week he was able to leave his bed and creep +about his chamber, whose altered look contributed to recall his mind to +the past. All his papers and letters had been removed; the window was +secured with iron stanchions; and policemen stood sentry at the door. He +remembered everything that had occurred, and sat down in patient thought +to consider what he should do. +</p> +<p> +He learned without surprise, but not without a pang, that of all his +friends not one had remained,—not one had offered a word of counsel +in his affliction, or of comfort in his distress. He asked after Mr. +Corrigan, and heard that he had quitted the country, with his +granddaughter, on the day before the terrible event. Tiernay, it was said, +had accompanied them to Dublin, and not since returned. Roland was, then, +utterly friendless! What wonder if he became as utterly reckless, as +indifferent to life, as life seemed valueless? And so was it: he heard +with indifference the order for his removal to Limerick, although that +implied a Jail! He listened to the vulgar but kindly meant counsels of his +keepers, who advised him to seek legal assistance, with a smile of +half-contempt. The obdurate energy of a martyrdom seemed to take +possession of him; and, so far from applying his mind to disentangle the +web of suspicion around him, he watched, with a strange interest, the +convergence of every minute circumstance towards the proof of his guilt; a +secret vindictiveness whispering to his heart that the day would come when +his innocence should be proclaimed; and then, what tortures of remorse +would be theirs who had brought him to a felon's death! +</p> +<p> +Each day added to the number of these seeming proofs, and the newspapers, +in paragraphs of gossiping, abounded with circumstances that had already +convinced the public of Cashel's guilt: and how often do such shadowy +convictions throw their gloom over the prisoner's dock! One day, the fact +of the boot-track tallying precisely with Roland's, filled the town; +another, it was the pistol-wadding—part of a letter addressed to +Cashel—had been discovered. Then, there were vague rumors afloat +that the causes of Cashel's animosity to Kennyfeck were not so secret as +the world fancied; that there were persons of credit to substantiate and +explain them; and, lastly, it was made known that among the papers seized +on Cashel's table was a letter, just begun by himself, but to whom +addressed uncertain, which ran thus:— +</p> +<p> +“As these in all likelihood may be the last lines I shall eyer write—” + </p> +<p> +Never, in all the gaudy glare of his prosperity, had he occupied more of +public attention. The metaphysical penny-a-liners speculated upon the +influence his old buccaneer habits might have exercised upon a mind so +imperfectly trained to civilization; and amused themselves with guesses as +to how far some Indian “cross” in blood might not have contributed to his +tragic vengeance. Less scrupulous scribes invented deeds of violence: in a +word, there seemed a kind of impulse abroad to prove him guilty; and it +would have been taken as a piece of casuistry, or a mawkish sympathy with +crime, to assume the opposite. Not, indeed, that any undertook so +ungracious a task; the tide of accusation ran uninterrupted and unbroken. +The very friendless desolation in which he stood was quoted and commented +on to this end. One alone of all his former friends made an effort in his +favor, and ventured to insinuate that his guilt was far from certain. This +was Lord Charles Frobisher, who, seeing in the one-sidedness of public +opinion the impossibility of obtaining a bet, tried thus to “get up” an +“innocent party,” in the hope of a profitable wager. +</p> +<p> +But what became of Linton all this time? His game was a difficult one; and +to enable him to play it successfully he needed reflection. To this end he +affected to be so shocked by the terrible event as to be incapable of +mixing in society. He retired, therefore, to his cottage near Dublin, and +for some weeks lived a life of perfect seclusion. Mr. Phillis accompanied +him; for Linton would not trust him out of his sight till—as he +muttered in his own phrase—“all was over.” + </p> +<p> +This was, indeed, the most eventful period of Linton's life; and with +consummate skill he saw that any move on his part would be an error. It is +true that, through channels with whose workings he was long conversant, he +contributed the various paragraphs to the papers by which Cashel's guilt +was foreshadowed; his knowledge of Roland suggesting many a circumstance +well calculated to substantiate the charge of crime. If he never ventured +abroad into the world, he made himself master of all its secret +whisperings; and heard how he was himself commended for delicacy and good +feeling, with the satisfaction of a man who glories in a cheat. And how +many are there who play false in life, less from the gain than the +gratification of vanity!—a kind of diabolical pride in outwitting +and overreaching those whose good faith has made them weak! The polite +world does not take the same interest in deeds of terror as do their more +humble brethren; they take their “horrors” as they do their one glass of +Tokay at dessert,—a something, of which a little more would be +nauseating. The less polished classes were, therefore, those who took the +greatest pleasure in following up every clew and tracing each circumstance +that pointed to Roland's guilt; and so, at last, his name was rarely +mentioned among those with whom so lately he had lived in daily, almost +hourly, companionship. +</p> +<p> +When Linton, then, deemed the time expired which his feelings of grief and +shame had demanded for retirement, he reappeared in the world pretty much +as men had always seen him. A very close observer, if he would have +suffered any one to be such, might have perhaps detected the expression of +care in certain wrinkles round his mouth, and in the extra blackness of +his whiskers, where gray hairs had dared to show themselves; but to the +world at large these signs were inappreciable. To them he was the same +even-tempered, easy-mannered man they ever saw him. Nor was this +accomplished without an effort; for, however Linton saw the hour of his +vengeance draw nigh, he also perceived that all his personal plans of +fortune and aggrandizement had utterly failed. The hopes he had so often +cherished were all fled. His title to the cottage, his prospect of a seat +in Parliament, the very sums he had won at play, and which to a large +amount remained in Cashel's hands, he now perceived were all forfeited to +revenge. The price was, indeed, a heavy one! and already he began to feel +it so. Many of his creditors had abstained from pressing him so long as +his intimacy with Cashel gave promise of future solvency. That illusion +was now dispelled, and each post brought him dunning epistles, and +threatening notices of various kinds. Exposures menaced him from men whose +vindictiveness he was well aware of; but far more perilous than all these +were his relations with Tom Keane, who continued to address letter after +letter to him, craving advice and pecuniary assistance, in a tone where +menace was even more palpable than entreaty. To leave these unreplied to +might have been dangerous in the extreme; to answer them even more +perilous. No other course was, then, open than to return to Tubbermore, +and endeavor, in secret, to confer with this man face to face. There was +not any time to lose. Cashel's trial was to take place at the ensuing +assizes, which now were close at hand. Keane was to figure there as an +important witness. It was absolutely necessary to see him, and caution him +as to the nature of the evidence he should give, nor suffer him in the +exuberance of his zeal to prove “too much.” + </p> +<p> +Under pretence, therefore, of a hurried trip to London, he left his house +one evening, and went on board the packet at Kingstown, dismissing his +carriage as if about to depart; then, suddenly affecting to discover that +his luggage had been carried away by mistake, he landed, and set out with +post-horses across country towards the western road. Before midnight he +was safe in the mail, on his way to Limerick; and by daybreak on the +following morning he was standing in the wood of Tubbermore, and gazing +with a thoughtful head upon the house, whose shuttered windows and barred +doors told of its altered destiny. +</p> +<p> +From thence he wandered onward towards the cottage—some strange, +inexplicable interest over him—to see once more the spot he had so +often fancied to be his own, and where, with a fervor not altogether +unreal, he had sworn to pass his days in tranquil solitude. Brief as had +been the interval since last he stood there, the changes were +considerable. The flower-plots were trampled and trodden down, the palings +smashed, the ornamental trees and shrubs were injured and broken by the +cattle; traces of reckless haste and carelessness were seen in the broken +gates and torn gate-posts; while fragments of packing-cases, straw, and +paper littered the walks and the turf around. +</p> +<p> +Looking through the windows, broken in many places, he could see the +cottage was perfectly dismantled. Everything was gone: not a trace +remained of those who for so many years had called it home! The desolation +was complete; nor was it without its depressing influence upon him who +stood there to mark it; for, strange enough, there are little spots in the +minds of those, where evil actions are oftenest cradled, that form the +refuge of many a tender thought! Linton remembered the cottage as he saw +it bright in the morning sun; or, more cheerful still, as the closed +curtains and the blazing fire gave a look of homelike comfort to which the +veriest wanderer is not insensible; and now it was cold and dark. He had +no self-accusings as to the cause. It was, to him, one of those sad +mutations which the course of fortune is ever effecting. He even went +further, and fancied how different had been their fate if they had not +rejected his own alliance. +</p> +<p> +“In this world of ours,” muttered he, “the cards we are dealt by Fortune +would nearly always suffice to win, had we but skill. These people had a +noble game before them, but, forsooth, they did not fancy their partner! +And see what is come of it—ruin on every side!” + </p> +<p> +Gloomy thoughts over his own opportunities neglected—over eventful +moments left to slip by unprofitably—stole over him. Many of his +late speculations had been unsuccessful; he had had heavy losses on the +“turf” and the “'Change.” He had failed in promises by which menacing +dangers had been long averted. His enemies would soon be upon him, and he +was ill provided for the encounter. Vengeance alone, of all his +aspirations, seemed to prosper; and he tried to revel in that thought as a +compensation for every failure. +</p> +<p> +Nor was this unmixed with fear. What if Cashel should enter upon a defence +by exposing the events of that last night at Tubbermore? What if he should +produce the forged deed in open court? Who was to say that Enrique himself +might not be forthcoming to prove his falsehood? Again: how far could he +trust Tom Keane? might not the fellow's avarice suggest a tyranny +impossible to endure? Weighty considerations were these, and full of their +own peril. Linton paused beside the lake to ruminate, and for some time +was deep buried in thought A light rustling sound at last aroused him; he +looked up, and perceived, directly in front of him, the very man of whom +he was thinking—Tom Keane himself. +</p> +<p> +Both stood still, each fixedly regarding the other without speaking. It +seemed a game in which he who made the first move should lose. So, +certainly, did Linton feel; but not so Tom Keane, who, with an easy +composure that all the other's “breeding” could not compass, said,— +</p> +<p> +“Well, sir, I hope you like your work?” + </p> +<p> +“<i>My</i> work! <i>my</i> work! How can you call it <i>mine</i>, my good +friend?” replied Linton, with a great effort to appear as much at ease as +the other. +</p> +<p> +“Just as ould Con Corrigan built the little pier we're standin' on this +minit, though his own hands did n't lay a stone of it.” + </p> +<p> +“There's no similarity between the cases whatever,” said Linton, with a +well-feigned laugh. “Here there was a plan—an employer—hired +laborers engaged to perform a certain task.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, well,” broke in Keane, impatiently; “sure we're not in 'Coort,' +that you need make a speech. 'T was your own doing: deny it if you like, +but don't drive me to prove it.” + </p> +<p> +The tone of menace in which these words were uttered was increased by the +fact, now for the first time apparent to Linton, that Tom Keane had been +drinking freely that morning, and was still under the strong excitement of +liquor. +</p> +<p> +Linton passed his arm familiarly within the other's, and in a voice of +deep meaning, said: “Were you only as cautious as you are courageous, Tom, +there's not a man in Europe I 'd rather take as my partner in a dangerous +enterprise. You are a glorious fellow in the hour of peril, but you are a +child, a mere child, when it's over.” + </p> +<p> +Keane did not speak, but a leer of inveterate cunning seemed to answer +this speech. +</p> +<p> +“I say this, Tom,” said Linton, coaxingly, “because I see the risk to +which your natural frankness will expose you. There are fellows prowling +about on every side to scrape up information about this affair; and as, in +some unguarded moment, when a glass too much has made the tongue run +freely, any man may say things, to explain which away afterwards he is +often led to go too far—You understand me, Tom?” + </p> +<p> +“I do, sir,” said the other, nodding shortly. +</p> +<p> +“It was on that account I came down here to-day, Tom. The trial is fixed +for the 15th: now, the time is so short between this and that, you can +surely keep a strict watch over yourself till 'all is over'?” + </p> +<p> +“And what then, sir?” asked Tom, with a cunning glance beneath his brows. +</p> +<p> +“After that,” rejoined Linton, affecting to mistake the meaning of the +question—“after that, the law takes its course, and you trouble +yourself no more on the matter.” + </p> +<p> +“And is that all, Mr. Linton?—is that all?” asked the man, as, +freeing himself from the other's arm, he drew himself up to his full +height, and stood directly in front of him. +</p> +<p> +“I must own, Tom, that I don't understand your question.” + </p> +<p> +“I'll make it plain and azy for you, then,” said Keane, with a hardened +determination in his manner. “'T was you yourself put me up to this +business. 'T was you that left the pistol in my possession. 'T was you +that towld me how it was to be done, and where to do it; and”—here +his voice became deep, thick, and guttural with passion—“and, by the +'mortal God! if I 'm to hang for it, so will you too.” + </p> +<p> +“Hang!” exclaimed Linton. “Who talks of hanging? or what possible danger +do you run—except, indeed, what your own indiscreet tongue may bring +upon you?” + </p> +<p> +“Is n't it as good to die on the gallows as on the roadside?” asked the +other, fiercely. “What betther am I for what I done, tell me that?” + </p> +<p> +“I have told you before, and I tell you again, that when 'all is over' you +shall be amply provided for.” + </p> +<p> +“And why not before?” said he, almost insolently. +</p> +<p> +“If you must know the reason,” said Linton, affecting a smile, “you shall +hear it. Your incaution would make you at once the object of suspicion, +were you to be seen with money at command as freely as you will have it +hereafter.” + </p> +<p> +“Will you give me that in writin'?—will you give it to me undher +your hand?” asked Keane, boldly. +</p> +<p> +“Of course I will,” said Linton, who was too subtle a tactician to +hesitate about a pledge which could not be exacted on the instant. +</p> +<p> +“That's what I call talkin fair,” said Keane; “an', by my sowl, it's the +best of your play to trate me well.” + </p> +<p> +“There is only one thing in the world could induce me to do otherwise.” + </p> +<p> +“An' what's that, sir?” + </p> +<p> +“Your daring to use a threat to me!” said Linton, sternly. “There never +was the man that tried that game—and there have been some just as +clever fellows as Tom Keane who did try it—who did n't find that +they met their match.” + </p> +<p> +“I only ax what's right and fair,” said the other, abashed by the daring +effrontery of Linton's air. +</p> +<p> +“And you shall have it, and more. You shall either have enough to settle +in America, or, if you prefer it, to live abroad.” + </p> +<p> +“And why not stay at home here?” said Tom, doggedly. +</p> +<p> +“To blurt out your secret in some drunken moment, and be hanged at last!” + said Linton, with a cutting irony. +</p> +<p> +“An', maybe, tell how one Misther Linton put the wickedness first in my +head,” added Tom, as if finishing the sentence. +</p> +<p> +Linton bit his lip, and turned angrily away to conceal the mortification +the speech had caused him. “My good friend,” said he, in a deliberate +voice, “you think that whenever you upset the boat you will drown <i>me</i>; +and I have half a mind to dare you to it, just to show you the shortness +of your calculation. Trust me”—there was a terrible distinctness in +his utterance of these words—“trust me, that in all my dealings with +the world, I have left very little at the discretion of what are called +men of honor. I leave nothing, absolutely nothing, in the power of such as +you.” + </p> +<p> +At last did Linton strike the right chord of the fellow's nature; and in +his subdued and crestfallen countenance might be read the signs of his +prostration. +</p> +<p> +“Hear me now attentively, Keane, and let my words rest well in your +memory. The trial comes on on the 15th; your evidence will be the most +important of all; but give it with the reluctance of a man who shrinks +from bringing his landlord to the scaffold. You understand me? Let +everything you say show the desire to screen Mr. Cashel. Another point: +affect not to know anything save what you actually saw. You never can +repeat too often the words, 'I did n't see it.' This scrupulous reliance +on eyesight imposes well upon a jury. These are the only cautions I have +to give you. Your own natural intelligence will supply the rest. When all +is finished you will come up to Dublin, and call at a certain address +which will be given you hereafter. And now we part. It is your own fault +if you lose a friend who never deserted the man that stood by him.” + </p> +<p> +“An' are you going back to Dublin now, sir?” asked Keane, over whose mind +Linton's influence had become dominant, and who actually dreaded to be +left alone, and without his guidance. +</p> +<p> +Linton nodded an assent. +</p> +<p> +“But you 'll be down here at the trial, sir?” asked Tom, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“I suspect not,” said Linton. “If not summoned as a witness, I'll +assuredly not come.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, murther!” exclaimed Tom. “I thought I 'd have you in the 'Coort,' +just to look up at you from time to time, to give me courage and make me +feel bowld; for it does give me courage when I see you so calm and so azy, +without as much as a tremble in your voice.” + </p> +<p> +“It is not likely that I shall be there,” rejoined Linton; “but mind, if I +be, that you do <i>not</i> direct your eyes towards me. Remember, that +every look you give, every gesture you make, will be watched and noted.” + </p> +<p> +“I wondher how I'll get through it!” exclaimed the other, sorrowfully. +</p> +<p> +“You'll get through it admirably, man, if you'll only think that you are +not the person in peril. It is your conscience alone can bring you into +any danger.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, I hope so! with the help of—” The fellow stopped short, and a +red flush of shame spread itself over features which in a whole life long +had never felt a blush. +</p> +<p> +“I 'd like to be able to give you something better than this, Tom,” said +Linton, as he placed a handful of loose silver in the other's palm, “but +it is safer for the present that you should not be seen with much money.” + </p> +<p> +“I owe more than this at Mark Shea's 'public,'” said Tom, looking +discontentedly at the money. +</p> +<p> +“And why should you owe it?” said Linton, bitterly. “What is there in your +circumstances to warrant debts of this kind?” + </p> +<p> +“Did n't I earn it—tell me that?” asked the ruffian, with a savage +earnestness. +</p> +<p> +“I see that you are hopeless,” said Linton, turning away in disgust. “Take +your own course, and see where it will lead you.” + </p> +<p> +“No—you mean where it will lead us,” said the fellow, insolently. +</p> +<p> +“What! do you dare to threaten me? Now, once for all, let this have an +end. I have hitherto treated you with candor and with kindness. If you +fancy that my hate can be more profitable than my friendship, say so, and +before one hour passes over your head I 'll have you committed to prison +as an accessory to the murder.” + </p> +<p> +“I ax your pardon humbly—I did n't mean to anger yer Honer,” said +the other, in a servile tone. “I'll do everything you bid me—and +sure you know best what ought to be done.” + </p> +<p> +“Then let us part good friends,” said Linton, holding out his hand towards +him. “I see a boat coming over the lake which will drop me at Killaloe; we +must not be seen together—so good-bye, Tom, good-bye.” + </p> +<p> +“Good-bye, and a safe journey to yer Honer,” said Tom, as, touching his +hat respectfully, he retired into the wood. +</p> +<p> +The boat which Linton descried was still above a mile from the shore, and +he sat down upon a stone to await its coming. Beautiful as that placid +lake was, with its background of bold mountains, its scattered islands, +and its jutting promontories, he had no eye for these, but followed with a +peering glance the direction in which Tom Keane had departed. +</p> +<p> +“There are occasions,” muttered he to himself, “when the boldest courses +are the safest. Is this one of these? Dare I trust that fellow, or would +this be better?” And, as if mechanically, he drew forth a double-barrelled +pistol from his breast, and looked fixedly at it. +</p> +<p> +He arose from his seat, and sat down again—his mind seemed beset +with hesitation and doubt; but the conflict did not last long, for he +replaced the weapon, and walking down to the lake, dipped his fingers in +the water and bathed his temples, saying to himself,— +</p> +<p> +“Better as it is: over-caution is as great an error as foolhardiness.” + </p> +<p> +With a dexterity acquired by long practice, he now disguised his features +so perfectly that none could have recognized him; and by the addition of a +wig and whiskers of bushy red hair, totally changed the character of his +appearance. This he did, that at any future period he might not be +recognized by the boatmen, who, in answer to his signal, now pulled +vigorously towards the shore. +</p> +<p> +He soon bargained with them to leave him at Killaloe, and as they rowed +along engaged them to talk about the country, in which he affected to be a +tourist. Of course the late murder was the theme uppermost in every mind, +and Linton marked with satisfaction how decisively the current of popular +belief ran in attributing the guilt to Cashel. +</p> +<p> +With a perversity peculiar to the peasant, the agent whom they had so +often inveighed against for cruelty in his lifetime, they now discovered +to have been the type of all that was kind-hearted and benevolent; and had +no hesitation in attributing his unhappy fate to an altercation in which +he, with too rash a zeal, was the “poor man's advocate.” + </p> +<p> +The last words he was heard to utter on leaving Tub-bermore were quoted, +as implying a condemnation on Cashel's wasteful extravagance, at a time +when the poor around were “perishing of hunger.” Even to Linton, whose +mind was but too conversant with the sad truths of the story, these +narratives assumed the strongest form of consistency and likelihood; and +he saw how effectually circumstantial evidence can convict a man in public +estimation, long before a jury are sworn to try him. +</p> +<p> +Crimes of this nature, now, had not been unfrequent in that district; and +the country people felt a species of savage vengeance in urging their +accusations against a “gentleman,” who had not what they reckoned as the +extenuating circumstances to diminish or explain away his guilt. +</p> +<p> +“He was n't turned out of his little place to die on the roadside,” + muttered one. “He wasn't threatened, like poor Tom Keane, to be +'starminated,'” cried another. +</p> +<p> +“And who is Tom Keane?” asked Linton. +</p> +<p> +“The gatekeeper up at the big house yonder, sir; one that's lived man and +boy nigh fifty years there; and Mr. Cashel swore he 'd root him out, for +all that!” + </p> +<p> +“Ay!” chimed in another, in a moralizing whine, “an' see where he is +himself, now!” + </p> +<p> +“I wondher now if they'd hang him, sir?” asked one. +</p> +<p> +“Why not,” asked Linton, “if he should be found guilty?” + </p> +<p> +“They say, sir, the gentlemen can always pay for another man to be hanged +instead of them. Musha, maybe 'tis n't true,” added he, diffidently, as he +saw the smile on Linton's face. +</p> +<p> +“I think you 'll find that the right man will suffer in this case,” said +Linton; and a gleam of malignant passion shot from his dark eyes as he +spoke. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXIX. THE TRIAL—THE PROSECUTION +</h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +As I listened I thought myself guilty. + +—Warren Hastings. +</pre> +<p> +For several days before that appointed for the trial of Roland Cashel, the +assize town was crowded with visitors from every part of the island. Not a +house, not a room was unoccupied, so intense was the interest to witness a +cause into which so many elements of exciting story entered. His great +wealth, his boundless extravagance, the singular character of his early +life, gave rise to a hundred curious anecdotes, which the press circulated +with a most unscrupulous freedom. +</p> +<p> +Nor did public curiosity stop at the walls of the prison; for every detail +of his life, since the day of his committal, was carefully recorded by the +papers. The unbroken solitude in which he lived; the apparent calm +collectedness in which he awaited his trial; his resolute refusal to +employ legal assistance; his seeming indifference to the alleged clews to +the discovery of the murder,—were commented on and repeated till +they formed the table-talk of the land. +</p> +<p> +The only person with whom he desired to communicate was Dr. Tiernay; but +the doctor had left Ireland in company with old Mr. Corrigan and Miss +Leicester, and none knew whither they had directed their steps. +</p> +<p> +Of all his former friends and acquaintances, Cashel did not appear to +remember one; nor, certainly, did they obtrude themselves in any way upon +his recollection. The public, it is true, occupied themselves abundantly +with his interests. Letters, some with signatures, the greater number +without, were addressed to him, containing advices and counsels the +strangest and most opposite, and requests, which to one in his situation +were the most inappropriate. Exhortations to confess his crime came from +some, evidently more anxious for the solution of a mystery than the +repentance of a criminal. Some suggested legal quibbles to be used at the +trial; others hinted at certain most skilful advocates, whose services had +been crowned with success in the case of most atrocious wretches. A few +asked for autographs; and one, in a neat crowquill hand, with paper +smelling strongly of musk, requested a lock of his hair! +</p> +<p> +If by any accident Cashel opened one of these epistles, he was certain to +feel amused. It was to him, at least, a new view of life, and of that +civilization against which he now felt himself a rebel. Generally, +however, he knew nothing of them: a careless indifference, a reckless +disregard of the future, had taken complete possession of him; and the +only impatience he ever manifested was at the slow march of the time which +should elapse before the day of trial. +</p> +<p> +The day at length arrived; and even within the dreary walls of the prison +were heard the murmured accents of excitement as the great hour drew nigh. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Goring at an early hour had visited the prisoner, to entreat him, for +the last time, to abandon his mad refusal of legal aid; explaining +forcibly that there were constantly cases occurring where innocence could +only be asserted by disentangling the ingenious tissue with which legal +astuteness can invest a circumstance. Cashel rejected this counsel calmly +but peremptorily; and when pressed home by other arguments, in a moment of +passing impatience confessed that he was “weary of life, and would make no +effort to prolong it.” + </p> +<p> +“Even so, sir,” said Goring. “There is here another question at issue. Are +you satisfied to fill the dishonored grave of a criminal? Does not the +name by which men will speak of you hereafter possess any terror for you +now?” + </p> +<p> +A slight tremor shook Cashel's voice as he replied, “Were I one who left +kindred or attached friends behind him, these considerations would have +their weight, nor would I willingly leave them the heritage of such +disgrace; but I am alone in the world, without one to blush for my +dishonor, or shed a tear over my sorrow. The calumny of my fellowmen will +only fall on ears sealed by death; nor will their jeers break the slumber +I am so soon to sleep.” + </p> +<p> +Goring labored hard to dissuade him from his resolve, but to no purpose. +The only consolation of which Roland seemed capable arose from the dogged +indifference he felt as to the result, and the consciousness of an +innocence he was too proud to assert. +</p> +<p> +From an early hour of the morning the court was crowded. Many persons +distinguished in the world of fashion were to be seen amid the gowned and +wigged throng that filled the body of the building; and in the galleries +were a vast number of ladies, whose elegance of dress told how much they +regarded the scene as one of display, as well as of exciting interest. +Some had been frequent guests at his house; others had often received him +at their own; and there they sat, in eager expectancy to see how he would +behave, to criticise his bearing, to scan his looks through their +“lorgnettes,” and note the accents in which he would speak. A few, indeed, +of his more intimate friends denied themselves the treat such an +exhibition promised; and it was plain to see how highly they estimated +their own forbearance. Still, Frobisher and some of his set stood beneath +the gallery, and watched the proceedings with interest. +</p> +<p> +Some routine business of an uninteresting nature over, the case of the +King <i>versus</i> Roland Cashel was called, and the governor of the jail +was ordered to produce the prisoner. A murmur of intense interest quickly +ran through the crowded assembly, and as suddenly was subdued to a dead +silence as the crowd, separating, permitted the passage of two armed +policemen, after whom Cashel walked, followed by two others. Scarcely had +he merged from the dense throng and taken his place in the dock, when a +buzz of astonishment went round; for the prisoner, instead of being +dressed decorously in black, as is customary, or at least in some costume +bespeaking care and respect, was attired in the very suit he wore on the +eventful night of the murder, the torn sleeves and blood-stained patches +attracting every eye around him. He was paler and thinner than his wont; +and if his countenance was more deeply thoughtful, there was nothing in it +that evinced anxiety, or even expectancy. As he entered the dock, they who +stood nearest to him remarked that a slight flush stole over his face, and +something that seemed painful to his feelings appeared to work within him. +A brief effort overcame this, and he raised his eyes and carried his looks +around the court with the most perfect unconcern. +</p> +<p> +The prisoner was now arraigned, and the clerk proceeded to read over the +indictment; after which came the solemn question, “How say you, prisoner, +Guilty or Not Guilty?” Either not understanding the “quaere” as directly +addressed to himself, or conceiving it to be some formality not requiring +an answer, Cashel stood in a calm and respectful silence for some minutes, +when the judge, in a mild voice, explained the meaning of the +interrogation. +</p> +<p> +“Not Guilty, my Lord,” said Cashel, promptly; and though the words were +few, and those almost of course on such an occasion, the feeling in the +court was manifestly in concurrence with the speaker. The routine detail +of calling over the jury panel involving the privilege of “challenge,” it +became necessary to explain this to Cashel, whose ignorance of all legal +forms being now so manifest, the judge asked who was counsel for the +prisoner. +</p> +<p> +“He has not named any, my Lord.” + </p> +<p> +With patient kindness the judge turned to the dock, and counselled him, +even now, late as it was, to select some one among the learned members of +the Bar, whose guidance would materially serve his interests, and save him +from the many embarrassments his own unassisted efforts would produce. +</p> +<p> +“I thank you, my Lord, for your consideration,” replied he, calmly, “but +if I be innocent of this crime, I stand in need of no skill to defend me. +If guilty, I do not deserve it.” + </p> +<p> +“Were guilt and innocence always easy of detection,” said the judge, “your +remark might have some show of reason; but such is rarely the case, and +once more I would entreat you to intrust your cause to some one conversant +with our forms and acquainted with our duties.” + </p> +<p> +“I am not guilty, my Lord,” replied Roland, boldly, “nor do I fear that +any artifice can make me appear such. I will not have counsel.” + </p> +<p> +The Attorney-General here in a low voice addressed the Bench, and +suggested that although the prisoner might not himself select a defender, +yet the interests of justice generally requiring that the witnesses should +be cross-examined, it would be well if the Court would appoint some one to +that duty. +</p> +<p> +The judge repeated the suggestion aloud, adding his perfect concurrence in +its nature, and inviting the learned Bar to lend a volunteer in the cause; +when a voice called out, “I will willingly accept the office, my Lord, +with your permission.” + </p> +<p> +“Very well, Mr. Clare Jones,” replied the judge; and that gentleman, of +whom we have so long lost sight, advanced to the front of the bar, beside +the dock. +</p> +<p> +Cashel, during this scene, appeared like one totally uninterested in all +that was going forward; nor did he even turn his head towards where his +self-appointed advocate was standing. As the names of the jury were called +over, Jones closely scrutinized each individual, keenly inquiring from +what part of the county he came—whether he had resided as a tenant +on the Cashel estate—and if he had, on any occasion, expressed +himself strongly on the guilt or innocence of the accused. To all these +details Roland listened with an interest the novelty suggested, but, it +was plain to see, without any particle of that feeling which his own +position might have called for. The jury were at length impanelled, and +the trial began. +</p> +<p> +Few, even among the most accomplished weavers of narrative, can equal the +skill with which a clever lawyer details the story of a criminal trial. +The orderly sequence in which the facts occur; the neat equipoise in which +matters are weighed; the rigid insistence upon some points, the insinuated +probabilities and the likelihood of others,—are all arranged and +combined with a masterly power that more discursive fancies would fail in. +</p> +<p> +Events and incidents that to common intelligence appear to have no bearing +on the case, arise, like unexpected witnesses, at intervals, to +corroborate this, or to insinuate that. Time, place, distance, locality, +the laws of light and sound, the phenomena of science, are all invoked, +not with the abstruse pedantry of a bookworm, but with the ready-witted +acuteness of one who has studied mankind in the party-colored page of real +life. +</p> +<p> +To any one unaccustomed to these efforts, the effect produced is almost +miraculous: conviction steals in from so many sources, that the mind, like +a city assaulted on every side, is captured almost at once. All the force +of cause and effect is often imparted to matters which are merely +consecutive; and it requires patient consideration to disembarrass a case +of much that is merely insinuated, and more that is actually speculative. +</p> +<p> +In the present instance everything was circumstantial; but so much the +more did it impress all who listened, even to him who, leaning on the +rails of the dock, now heard with wonderment how terribly consistent were +all the events which seemed to point him out as guilty. +</p> +<p> +After a brief exordium, in which he professed his deep sorrow at the duty +which had devolved on him, and his ardent desire to suffer nothing to +escape him with reference to the prisoner save what the interests of truth +and justice imperatively might call for, the Attorney-General entered upon +a narrative of the last day of Mr. Kennyfeck's life; detailing with minute +precision his departure from Tubbermore at an early hour in Mr. Cashel's +company, and stating how something bordering upon altercation between them +was overheard by the bystanders as they drove away. “The words themselves, +few and unimportant as they might seem,” added he, “under common +circumstances, come before us with a terrible significance when remembered +in connection with the horrible event that followed.” He then traced their +course to Drumcoologan, where differences of opinion, trivial, some might +call them, but of importance to call for weighty consideration here, +repeatedly occurred respecting the tenantry and the management of the +estate. These would all be proved by competent witnesses, he alleged; and +he desired the jury to bear in mind that such testimony should be taken as +that of men much more disposed to think and speak well of Mr. Cashel, +whose very spendthrift tastes had the character of virtues in the peasants +eyes, in contrast with the careful and more scrupulous discretion +practised by “the agent.” + </p> +<p> +“You will be told, gentlemen of the jury,” continued he, “how, after a day +spent in continued differences of opinion, they separated at evening,—one +to return to Tubbermore by the road; the other, by the less travelled path +that led over the mountains. And here it is worthy of remark that Mr. +Cashel, although ignorant of the way, a stranger, for the first time in +his life in the district, positively refuses all offers of accompaniment, +and will not even take a guide to show him the road. Mr. Kennyfeck +continues for some time to transact business with the tenantry, and leaves +Drumcoologan, at last, just as night was closing in. Now, about halfway +between the manor-house of Tubbermore and the village of Drumcoologan, the +road has been so much injured by the passage of a mountain-torrent, that +when the travellers passed in the morning they found themselves obliged to +descend from the carriage and proceed for some distance on foot,—a +precaution that Mr. Kennyfeck was compelled also to take on his return, +ordering the servant to wait for him on the crest of the hill. That spot +he was never destined to reach! The groom waited long and anxiously for +his coming; he could not leave his horses to go back and find out the +reasons of his delay,—he was alone. The distance to Tubbermore was +too great to permit of his proceeding thither to give the alarm; he +waited, therefore, with that anxiety which the sad condition of our +country is but too often calculated to inspire even among the most +courageous, when, at last, footsteps were heard approaching, he called out +aloud his master's name, but, instead of hearing the well-known voice in +answer, he was accosted in Irish by an old man, who told him, in the +forcible accents of his native tongue, 'that a murdered man was lying on +the roadside.' The groom at once hurried back, and at the foot of the +ascent discovered the lifeless but still warm body of his master; a +bullet-wound was found in the back of the skull, and the marks of some +severe blows across the face. On investigating further, at a little +distance off, a pistol was picked up from a small drain, where it seemed +to have been thrown in haste; the bore corresponded exactly with the +bullet taken from the body; but more important still, this pistol appears +to be the fellow of another belonging to Mr. Cashel, and will be +identified by a competent witness as having been his property. +</p> +<p> +“An interval now occurs, in which a cloud of mystery intervenes; and we +are unable to follow the steps of the prisoner, of whom nothing is known, +till, on the alarm of the murder reaching Tubbermore, a rumor runs that +footsteps have been heard in Mr. Cashel's apartment, the key of which the +owner had taken with him. The report gains currency rapidly that it is Mr. +Cashel himself; and although the servants aver that he never could have +traversed the hall and the staircase unseen by some of them, a new +discovery appears to explain the fact. It is this. The ivy which grew on +the wall of the house, and which reached to the window of Mr. Cashel's +dressing-room, is found torn down, and indicating the passage of some one +by its branches. On the discovery of this most important circumstance, the +Chief Justice, accompanied by several other gentlemen, proceeded in a body +to the chamber, and demanded admittance. From them you will hear in detail +what took place,—the disorder in which they found the apartment; +heaps of papers littered the floor; letters lay in charred masses upon the +hearth; the glass of the window was broken, and the marks of feet upon the +window-sill and the floor showed that some one had entered by that means. +Lastly—and to this fact you will give your utmost attention—the +prisoner himself is found with his clothes torn in several places; marks +of blood are seen upon them, and his wrist shows a recent wound, from +which the blood flows profusely. Although cautioned by the wise foresight +of the learned judge against any rash attempt at explanation, or any +inadvertent admission which might act to his prejudice hire-after, he +bursts forth into a violent invective upon the murderer, and suggests that +they should mount their horses at once, and scour the country in search of +him. This counsel being, for obvious reasons, rejected, and his plan of +escape frustrated, he falls into a moody despondency and will not speak. +Shrouding himself in an affected misanthropy, he pretends to believe that +he is the victim of some deep-planned treachery,—that all these +circumstances, whose detail I have given you, have been the deliberate +schemes of his enemies. It is difficult to accept of this explanation, +gentlemen of the jury; and, although I would be far from diminishing in +the slightest the grounds of any valid defence a man so situated may take +up, I would caution you against any rash credulity of vague and +unsupported assertions; or, at least, to weigh them well against the +statements of truth-telling witnesses. The prisoner is bound to lay before +you a narrative of that day, from the hour of his leaving home to that of +his return, to explain why he separated from his companion, and came back +alone by a path he had never travelled before, and at night; with what +object he entered his own house by the window,—a feat of +considerable difficulty and of some danger. His disordered and +blood-stained dress; his wounded hand; the missing pistol; the agitation +of his manner when discovered amid the charred and torn remains of +letters,—all these have to be accounted for. And remember at what +moment they occurred! When his house was the scene of festivity and +rejoicing; when above a thousand guests were abandoning themselves to the +unbridled enjoyment of pleasure,—this is the time the host takes to +arrange papers, to destroy letters, to make, in fact, those hurried +arrangements that men are driven to on the eve of either flight or some +desperate undertaking. Bear all this in mind, gentlemen: and remember +that, to explain these circumstances, the narrative of the prisoner must +be full, coherent, and consistent in all its parts. The courts of justice +admit of neither reservations nor mysteries. We are here to investigate +the truth, whose cause admits of no compromise.” + </p> +<p> +The witnesses for the prosecution were now called over and sworn. The +first examined were some of the servants who had overheard the +conversation between Cashel and Kennyfeck on the morning of leaving +Tubbermore. They differed slightly as to the exact expressions used, but +agreed perfectly as to their general import,—a fact which even the +cross-examination of Mr. Jones only served to strengthen. Some peasants of +Drumcoologan were next examined, to show that during the day slight +differences were constantly occurring between the parties, and that Cashel +had more than once made use of the expression, “Have your own way <i>now</i>, +but ere long I'll take mine;” or words very similar. +</p> +<p> +The old man who discovered the body, and the postilion, were then +questioned as to all the details of the place, the hour, and the fact; and +then Tom Keane was called for. It was by him the pistol was picked up from +the drain. The air of reluctance with which the witness ascended the +table, and the look of affectionate interest he bestowed upon the dock +were remarked by the whole assemblage. If the countenance of the man +evinced little of frankness or candor, the stealthy glance he threw around +him as he took his seat showed that he was not deficient in cunning. +</p> +<p> +As his examination proceeded, the dogged reluctance of his answers, the +rugged bluntness by which he avoided any clear explanation of his meaning, +were severely commented on by the Attorney-General, and even called forth +the dignified censure of the Bench; so that the impression produced by his +evidence was, that he was endeavoring throughout to screen his landlord +from the imputation of a well-merited guilt. +</p> +<p> +The cross-examination now opened, but without in any way serving to shake +the material character of the testimony, at the same time that it placed +in a still stronger light the attachment of the witness to the prisoner. +Cashel, hitherto inattentive and indifferent to all that was going +forward, became deeply interested as this examination proceeded; his +features, apathetic and heavy before, grew animated and eager, and he +leaned forward to hear the witness with every sign of anxiety. +</p> +<p> +The spectators who thronged the court attributed the prisoner's eagerness +to the important nature of the testimony, and the close reference it bore +to the manner of the crime; they little knew the simple truth, that it was +the semblance of affection for him,—the pretended interest in his +fate,—which touched his lonely heart, and kindled there a love of +life. +</p> +<p> +“That poor peasant, then,” said Roland to himself, “he, at least, deems me +guiltless. I did not think that there lived one who cared as much for me!” + </p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0012" id="linkimage-0012"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/20338.jpg" alt="338 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +With the apparent intention of showing to the Court and jury that Keane +was not biassed towards his former master, Mr. Jones addressed several +questions to him; but instead of eliciting the fact, they called forth +from the witness a burst of gratitude and love for him that actually shook +the building by the applause it excited, and called for the interference +of the Bench to repress. +</p> +<p> +“You may go down, sir,” said Jones, with the fretful impatience of a man +worsted in a controversy; and the witness descended from the table amid +the scarcely suppressed plaudits of the crowd. As he passed the dock, +Cashel leaned forward and extended his hand towards him. The fellow drew +back, and they who were next him perceived that a sallow sickly color +spread itself over his face, and that his lips became bloodless. +</p> +<p> +“Give me your hand, man!” said Cashel. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Mr. Cashel! oh, sir!” said he, with that whining affectation of +modesty the peasant can so easily assume. +</p> +<p> +“Give me your hand, I say,” said Cashel, firmly. “Its honest grasp will +make me think better of the world than I have done for many a day.” + </p> +<p> +The fellow made the effort, but with such signs of inward terror and +trepidation that he seemed like one ready to faint; and when his cold, +nerveless hand quitted Cashel's, it fell powerless to his side. He moved +now quickly forward, and was soon lost to sight in the dense throng. +</p> +<p> +The next witnesses examined were the group who, headed by the Chief +Justice, had entered Cashel's room. If they all spoke guardedly, and with +great reserve, as to the manner of the prisoner, and the construction they +would feel disposed to put upon the mode in which he received them, they +agreed as to every detail and every word spoken with an accuracy that +profoundly impressed the jury. +</p> +<p> +The magistrate, Mr. Goring, as having taken the most active part in the +proceedings, was subjected to a long and searching cross-examination by +Jones, who appeared to imply that some private source of dislike to Cashel +had been the animating cause of his zeal in this instance. +</p> +<p> +Although not a single fact arose to give a shade of color to this +suspicion, the lawyer clung to it with the peculiar pertinacity that often +establishes by persistence when it fails in proof; and so pointedly and +directly at last, that the learned judge felt bound to interfere, and +observe, that nothing in the testimony of the respected witness could lay +any ground for the insinuation thrown out by the counsel. +</p> +<p> +Upon this there ensued one of those sharp altercations between Bench and +Bar which seem the “complement” of every eventful trial in Ireland; and +which, after a brief contest, usually leave both the combatants +excessively in the wrong. +</p> +<p> +The present case was no exception to this rule. The Judge was heated and +imperious; the counsel flippant in all the insolence of mock respect, and +ended by the stereotyped panegyric on the “glorious sanctity that invests +the counsel of a defence in a criminal action—the inviolability of a +pledge which no member of the Bar could suffer to be sullied in his +person”—and a great many similar fine things, which, if not +“briefed” by the attorney, are generally paid for by the client! The +scrimmage ended, as it ever does, by a salute of honor; in which each, +while averring that he was incontestably right, bore testimony to the +conscientious scruples and delicate motives of the other; and at last they +bethought them of the business for which they were there, and of him whose +fate for life or death was on the issue. The examination of Mr. Goring was +renewed. +</p> +<p> +“You have told us, sir,” said Jones, “that immediately after the terrible +tidings had reached Tubbermore of Mr. Kennyfeck's death, suspicion seemed +at once to turn on Mr. Cashel. Will you explain this, or at least let us +hear how you can account for a circumstance so strange?” + </p> +<p> +“I did not say as much as you have inferred,” replied Goring. “I merely +observed that Mr. Cashel's name became most singularly mixed up with the +event, and rumors of a difference between him and his agent were buzzed +about.” + </p> +<p> +“Might not this mention of Mr. Cashel's name have proceeded from an +anxious feeling on the part of his friends to know of his safety?” + </p> +<p> +“It might.” + </p> +<p> +“Are you not certain that it was so?” + </p> +<p> +“In one instance, certainly. I remember that a gentleman at once drew our +attention to the necessity of seeing after him.” + </p> +<p> +“Who was this gentleman?” + </p> +<p> +“Mr. Linton,—a near and intimate friend of Mr. Cashel.” + </p> +<p> +“And he suggested that it would be proper to take steps for Mr. Cashers +safety?” + </p> +<p> +“He did so.” + </p> +<p> +“Was anything done in consequence of that advice?” + </p> +<p> +“Nothing, I believe. The state of confusion that prevailed; the terror +that pervaded every side, the dreadful scenes enacting around us,—prevented +our following up the matter with all the foresight which might be +desired.” + </p> +<p> +“And, in fact, you sought relief from the unsettled distraction of your +thoughts, by fixing the crime upon some one—even though he should +prove, of all assembled there, the least likely.” + </p> +<p> +“We did not attach anything to Mr. Cashel's disfavor until we discovered +that he was in his dressing-room, and in the manner already stated.” + </p> +<p> +“But you certainly jumped to your conclusion by a sudden bound?” + </p> +<p> +“It would be fairer to say that our thoughts converged to the same +impression at the same time.” + </p> +<p> +“Where is this Mr. Linton? Is he among the list of your witnesses, Mr. +Attorney?” + </p> +<p> +“No, we have not called him.” + </p> +<p> +“I thought as much!” said Jones, sneeringly; “and yet the omission is +singular, of one whose name is so frequently mixed up in these +proceedings. He might prove an inconvenient witness.” + </p> +<p> +A slight murmur here ran through the court; and a gentleman, advancing to +the bar, whispered some words to the Attorney-General, who, rising, said:— +</p> +<p> +“My Lord, I am just this instant informed that Mr. Linton is dangerously +ill of fever at his house near Dublin. My informant adds, that no hopes +are entertained of his recovery.” + </p> +<p> +“Was he indisposed at the period in which my learned friend drew up this +case? or was there any intention of summoning him here for examination?” + asked Jones. +</p> +<p> +“We did not require Mr. Linton's testimony,” replied the Attorney-General. +</p> +<p> +“It can scarcely be inferred that we feared it,” said a junior barrister, +“since the first palpable evidences that implicated the prisoner were +discovered by Mr. Linton: the wadding of the pistol; part of a letter in +Mr. Cashel's own handwriting; and the tracks corresponding with his +boots.” + </p> +<p> +“This is all most irregular, my Lord,” broke in Jones, eagerly. “Here are +statements thrown out in all the loose carelessness of conversation, +totally unsupported by evidence. I submit that it is impossible to offer a +defence to a cause conducted in this manner.” + </p> +<p> +“You are quite right, Mr. Jones; this is not evidence.” + </p> +<p> +“But this is, my Lord!” said the Attorney-General, in a heated manner; +“and for motives of delicacy we might not have used it, if not driven to +this course by the insinuations of counsel. Here is a note in pencil, +dated from the 'Pass of Ennismore,' and running thus: 'It looks badly; but +I fear you have no other course than to arrest him. In fact, it is too +late for anything else. Consult Malone and Meek.' And this can be proved +to be in Mr. Linton's handwriting.” + </p> +<p> +Mr. Clare Jones did not speak a word as the note was handed up to the +Bench, and then to the jury-box; he even affected to think it of no +importance, and did not deign to examine it for himself. +</p> +<p> +“You may go down, Mr. Goring,” said he, after a slight pause, in which he +appeared deliberating what course to follow. +</p> +<p> +Making his way to the side of the dock, Jones addressed himself to Cashel +in a low, cautious voice:— +</p> +<p> +“It now remains with you, Mr. Cashel, to decide whether you will intrust +me with the facts on which you ground your innocence, or prefer to see +yourself overwhelmed by adverse testimony.” + </p> +<p> +Cashel made no reply, but leaned his head on his hand in deep thought +</p> +<p> +“Have you any witnesses to call?” whispered Jones. “Shall we try an <i>alibi?</i>” + </p> +<p> +Cashel did not answer. +</p> +<p> +“What is your defence, sir, in one word?” asked Jones, shortly. +</p> +<p> +“I am not guilty,” said Cashel, slowly; “but I do not expect others to +believe me so.” + </p> +<p> +“Is your defence to rest upon that bare assertion?” asked the lawyer; but +Roland did not seem to heed the question, as, folding his arms, he stood +erect in the dock, his attention to all appearance bestowed upon the +ceremonial of the court. +</p> +<p> +Jones, at once turning to the Bench, expressed his regret that, neither +being able, from the shortness of the time, to obtain proper information +on the case, nor being honored by the confidence of the accused, he must +decline the task of commenting on the evidence; and would only entreat the +jury to weigh the testimony they had heard with a merciful disposition, +and wherever discrepancies and doubts occurred, to give the full benefit +of such to the prisoner. +</p> +<p> +“You have no witnesses to call?” asked the judge. +</p> +<p> +“I am told there are none, my Lord,” said Jones, with an accent of +resignation. +</p> +<p> +A brief colloquy, in a low voice, ensued between the Crown lawyers and +Clare Jones, when, at length, a well-known barrister rose to address the +jury for the prosecution. The gentleman who now claimed the attention of +the Court was one who, not possessing either the patient habits of study, +or that minute attention to technical detail which constitute the legal +mind, was a fluent, easy speaker, with an excellent memory, and a thorough +knowledge of the stamp and temperament of the men that usually fill a +jury-box. He was eminently popular with that class, on whom he had often +bestowed all the flatteries of his craft; assuring them that their “order” + was the bone and sinew of the land, and that “our proudest boast as a +nation was in the untitled nobility of commerce.” + </p> +<p> +His whole address on the present occasion tended to show that the murder +of Mr. Kennyfeck was one among the many instances of the unbridled license +and tyranny assumed by the aristocracy over the middle ranks. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Kennyfeck was no bad subject for such eulogium as he desired to +bestow. He was the father of a family; a well-known citizen of Dublin; a +grave, white-cravated, pompous man of respectable exterior, always seen at +vestries, and usually heading the lists of public charities. Cashel was +the very antithesis to all this: the reckless squanderer of accidentally +acquired wealth; the wayward and spoiled child of fortune, with the tastes +of a buccaneer and the means of a prince, suddenly thrown into the world +of fashion. What a terrible ordeal to a mind so untrained—to a +temper so unbridled! and how fearfully had it told upon him! After +commenting upon the evidence, and showing in what a continuous chain each +event was linked with the other,—how consistent were all,—how +easily explicable every circumstance, he remarked that the whole case had +but one solitary difficulty; and although that was one which weighed more +in a moral than a legal sense, it required that he should dwell a few +moments upon it. +</p> +<p> +“The criminal law of our land, gentlemen of the jury, is satisfied with +the facts which establish guilt or innocence, without requiring that the +motives of accused parties should be too closely scrutinized. Crime +consists, of course, of the spirit in which a guilty action is done; but +the law wisely infers that a guilty act is the evidence of a guilty +spirit; and therefore, although there may be circumstances to extenuate +the criminality of an act, the offence before the law is the same; and the +fact, the great fact, that a man has killed his fellow-man, is what +constitutes murder. +</p> +<p> +“I have said that this case has but one difficulty; and that is, the +possible motive which could have led to the fatal act Now, this would +present itself as a considerable obstacle if the relations between the +parties were such as we happily witness them in every county of this +island, where the proprietor and his agent are persons linked, by the +sacred obligation of duty, and the frequent intercourse of social life, +into the closest friendship. +</p> +<p> +“That blood should stain the bonds of such brotherhood would be scarcely +credible—and even when credible, inexplicable; it would be repugnant +to all our senses to conceive an act so unnatural. But was the present a +similar case? or rather, was it one exactly the opposite? You have heard +that repeated differences occurred between the parties, amounting even to +altercations. Mr. Hoare's evidence has shown you that Mr. Cashel's +extravagance had placed him in difficulties of no common kind; his demands +for money were incessant, and the utter disregard of the cost of obtaining +it is almost beyond belief. The exigence on one side, the manly resistance +on the other, must have led to constant misunderstanding. But these were +not the only circumstances that contributed to a feeling of estrangement, +soon to become something still more perilous. And here I pause to ask +myself how far I am warranted in disclosing facts of a private nature, +although in their bearing they have an important relation to the case +before us! It is a question of great delicacy; and were it not that the +eternal interests of truth and justice transcend all others, I might +shrink from the performance of a task which, considered in a merely +personal point of view, is deeply distressing. But it is not of one so +humble as myself of whom there is a question here: the issue is, whether a +man's blood should be spilled, and no expiation be made for it?” + </p> +<p> +The counsel after this entered into a discursive kind of narrative of +Cashel's intimacy with the Kennyfeck family, with whom he had been for a +time domesticated; and after a mass of plausible generalities, wound up by +an imputed charge that he had won the affections of the younger daughter, +who, with the consent of her parents, was to become his wife. +</p> +<p> +“It will not seem strange to you, gentlemen,” said he, “that I have not +called to that table as a witness either the widow or the orphan to prove +these facts, or that I have not subjected their sacred sorrows to the rude +assaults of a cross-examination. You will not think the worse of me for +this reserve, nor shall I ask of you to give my statements the value of +sworn evidence; you will hear them, and decide what value they possess in +leading you to a true understanding of this case. +</p> +<p> +“I have said, that if a regular pledge and promise of marriage did not +bind the parties, something which is considered equivalent among persons +of honor did exist, and that by their mutual acquaintances they were +regarded as contracted to each other. Mr. Cashel made her splendid and +expensive presents, which had never been accepted save for the relations +between them; he distinguished her on all occasions by exclusive +attention, and among his friends he spoke of his approaching marriage as a +matter fixed and determined on. In this state of things a discovery took +place, which at once served to display the character of the young +gentleman, and to rescue the family from one of the very deepest, because +one of the most irremediable, of all calamities. Information reached them, +accompanied by such circumstances as left no doubt of its veracity, that +this Mr. Cashel had been married already, and that his wife, a young +Spanish lady, was still living, and residing at the Havannah. +</p> +<p> +“I leave you to imagine the misery which this sad announcement produced in +that circle, where, until he entered it, happiness had never been +disturbed. It is not necessary that I should dwell upon the distress this +cruel treachery produced: with its consequences alone we have any concern +here; and these were a gradual estrangement,—a refusal, calm but +firm, to receive Mr. Cashel as before; an intimation that they knew of +circumstances which, from delicacy to him, they would never advert to +openly, but which must at once bar all the contemplated relations: and to +this sad, humiliating alternative he submitted! +</p> +<p> +“To avoid the slanderous stories which gossip would be certain to put in +circulation, they did not decline the invitation they had before accepted +to visit Tubbermore; they came, however, under the express stipulation +that no close intimacy was ever to be resumed between Mr. Cashel and +themselves; he was not even to use the common privilege of a host,—to +visit them in their own apartments. That this degree of cold distance was +maintained between them, on every occasion, all the guests assembled at +the house can testify; and he neither joined the party in carriage nor on +horseback. Perhaps this interdiction was carried out with too rigid a +discipline; perhaps the cold reserve they maintained had assumed a +character of insult, to one whose blood still glowed with the fire of +southern associations; perhaps some circumstance with which we are +unacquainted contributed to render this estrangement significant, and +consequently painful to a man who could not brook the semblance of a +check. It is needless to ask how or whence originating, since we can see +in the fact itself cause sufficient for indignant reproof on one side, for +a wounded self-love and tarnished honor on the other. +</p> +<p> +“Are we at a loss for such motives, then, in the presence of facts like +these? Ask yourselves, Is a man, bred and trained up in all the riotous +freedom of a service scarcely above the rank of piracy,—accustomed +to the lawless license of a land where each makes the law with his own +right hand,—is such a man one to bear a slight with patient +submission, or to submit to an open shame in tame obedience? Can you not +easily imagine how all the petty differences of opinion they might have +had were merely skirmishes in front of that line where deeper and graver +feelings stood in battle array? Can you suppose that, however ruled over +by the ordinary courtesies of life, this youth nourished his plans of +ultimate revenge, not only upon those who refused with indignation his +traitorous alliance, but who were the depository of a secret that must +interdict all views of marriage in any other quarter?” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXX. THE DEFENCE +</h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Equal to either fortune. + +—Eugene Aram. +</pre> +<p> +As the Crown counsel sat down, a low murmur ran through the Court, whose +meaning it would be difficult to define; for if the greater number present +were carried away by the indignant eloquence of the pleader to believe +Cashel a hardened criminal, some few still seemed to cling to his side, +and bent their eyes towards the dock with looks of sympathy and comfort. +And oh, how little know they, whose eyes are beaming with the bright spark +that warms their generous hearts, what loadstars are they to him who +stands alone, forsaken, and accused in the criminal dock! What a +resting-place does the weary and tired soul feel that glance of kindly +meaning! How does it speak to his bruised and wounded spirit of hope and +charity! What energy will it impart to the fast-failing courage! what +self-respect and self-reliance to him who, a few moments back, was sinking +beneath the abasement of despair! +</p> +<p> +Such was the effect now produced upon Roland Cashel. The array of +circumstances, so formidably marshalled by his accuser, had completely +overwhelmed him; the consciousness of innocence failed to support him +against the feeling which he saw spreading like a mist around him. Against +the accusation—against its fearful penalty—his own stout heart +could sustain him; but how bear up against the contempt and the abhorrence +of his fellow-men! Under the crushing weight of this shame he was sinking +fast, when a stray glance—a chance expression of interest, like +sunlight piercing a dark cloud—gave promise that all was not lost. +He felt that there were yet some who wished to believe him guiltless, and +that all sympathy for him had not yet died out. +</p> +<p> +“Does the prisoner desire to avail himself of the privilege he possesses +to call witnesses to character?” asked the judge. +</p> +<p> +“No, my Lord,” said Cashel, firmly, but respectfully. “Since my accession +to fortune, my life has been passed for the most part in what is called +the 'fashionable world;' and from what I have seen of it, the society does +not seem rich in those persons whose commendations, were they to give +them, would weigh heavily with your Lordship. Besides, they could say +little to my praise, which the learned counsel has not already said to my +disparagement,—that I had the command of wealth, and squandered it +without taste and without credit.” + </p> +<p> +Few and insignificant as were these words, the easy and fearless mode of +their delivery, the manly energy of him who spoke them, seemed to produce +a most favorable impression throughout the court, which as rapidly reacted +upon Cashel; for now the embers of hope were fanned, and already glowed +into a slight flicker. +</p> +<p> +“The prisoner having waived his privilege, my Lord,” said the +Attorney-General, “I beg to observe that the case is now closed.” + </p> +<p> +“Is it too late, then, my Lord, for me to address a few words to the +jury?” asked Roland, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“What say you, Mr. Attorney-General?” asked the judge. +</p> +<p> +“Your Lordship knows far better than I, that to address the Court at this +stage of the proceedings, would be to concede the right of reply—and, +in fact, of speaking twice; since the prisoner's not having availed +himself of the fitting occasion to comment on the evidence, gives him not +the slightest pretension to usurp another one.” + </p> +<p> +“Such is the law of the case,” said the judge, solemnly. +</p> +<p> +“I have nothing to observe against it, my Lord,” said Cashel. “If I have +not availed myself of the privilege accorded to men placed as I am, I must +only submit to the penalty my pride has brought upon me,—for it was +pride, my Lord. Since that, however, another, and I hope a higher pride +has animated me, to vindicate my character and my fame; so that, at some +future day—a long future, it may be—when the true facts of +this dark mystery shall be brought to light, a more cautious spirit will +pervade men's minds as to the guilt of him assailed by circumstantial +evidence. It might be, my Lord, that all I could adduce in my own behalf +would weigh little against the weight of accusations which even to myself +appear terribly consistent. I know, for I feel, how hard it would be to +accept the cold unsupported narrative of a prisoner, in which many +passages might occur of doubtful probability, some of even less credit, +and some again of an obscurity to which even he himself could not afford +the clew; and yet, with all these difficulties, enhanced tenfold by my +little knowledge of the forms of a court, and my slender capacity, I +regret, my Lord, that I am unable to address the few words I had intended +to the jury,—less, believe me, to avert the shipwreck that awaits +myself, than to be a beacon to some other who may be as solitary and +unfriended as I am.” + </p> +<p> +These words, delivered with much feeling, but in a spirit of calm +determination, seemed to thrill through the entire assemblage; and even +the senior judge stopped to confer for some minutes with his brother on +the bench, in evident hesitation what course to adopt. At length he said,— +</p> +<p> +“However we may regret the course you have followed in thus depriving +yourself of that legitimate defence the constitution of our country +provides, we see no sufficient reason to deviate from the common order of +proceeding in like cases. I will now, therefore, address the jury, who +have already heard your words, and will accord them any consideration they +may merit.” + </p> +<p> +“It may be, my Lord,” said Cashel, “that evidence so strongly imbued with +probability may induce the gentlemen in that box to believe me guilty; in +which case, I understand, your Lordship would address to me the formal +question, 'If I had anything to say why sentence of death should not be +passed upon me.' Now, if I am rightly informed, any observations of a +prisoner at such a moment are regarded rather in the light of petitions +for mercy, than as explanations or corrections of falsehood. I have, +therefore, only now to say, that, whatever decision you may come to, the +Court shall not be troubled further with interference of mine.” + </p> +<p> +The Judge bowed slightly, as if in reply to this, and began his charge; +but the foreman of the jury, leaning forward, said that his fellow-jurors +had desired him to ask, as a favor to themselves, that the prisoner might +be heard. A short conference ensued between the Bench and the Crown +counsel, which ended by the permission being accorded; and now Cashel rose +to address the Court. +</p> +<p> +“I will not,” said he, “abuse the time of this Court by any irrelevant +matter, nor will I advert to a single circumstance foreign to the +substance of the charge against me. I purpose simply to give a narrative +of the last day I passed with my poor friend, and to leave on record this +detail as the solemn protestation of innocence of one who has too little +to live for to fear death.” + </p> +<p> +With this brief preface he began a regular history of that eventful day, +from the hour he had started from Tubbermore in company with Mr. +Kennyfeck. +</p> +<p> +The reader is already familiar with every step and circumstance of that +period, so that it is not necessary we should weary him by any +recapitulation; enough if we say that Cashel proceeded with a minuteness +devoid of all prolixity, to mention each fact as it occurred, commenting +as he went on upon the evidence already given, and explaining its import +without impugning its truth. Juries are ever disposed to listen favorably +to a speaker who brings to his aid no other allies than candor and +frankness, and who, without pretensions to legal acuteness, narrates facts +with clear and distinctive precision. Leaving him, therefore, still +speaking, and in the irresistible force of truth gradually winning upon +his hearers, let us quit the court for a brief time, and passing through +the crowded space before the doors, traverse the town, densely thronged by +curious and eager visitors. We do not mean to linger with them, nor +overhear the comments they passed upon the eventful scene beside them; our +business is about a mile off, at a small public-house at a short distance +from the roadside, usually frequented by cattle-dealers and the customers +at the weekly markets. Here, in a meanly-furnished room, where, for it was +now evening, a common dip candle shed its lugubrious yellow light upon the +rude appliances of vulgar life, sat a man, whose eager expectancy was +marked in every line of his figure. Every now and then he would arise from +his chair, and, screening the candle from the wind, open the window to +look out. +</p> +<p> +The night was dark and gusty; drifting rain beat at intervals against the +glass, and seemed the forerunner of a great storm. The individual we have +spoken of did not seem to care for, if he even noticed, the inclemency; he +brushed the wet from his bushy beard and mustaches with indifference, and +bent his ear to listen to the sounds upon the road in deepest earnestness. +At last the sound of horses' feet and wheels was heard rapidly +approaching, and a car drove up to the door, from which a man, wrapped up +in a loose frieze coat, descended, and quickly mounted the stairs. As he +reached the landing, the door of the room was thrown vide, and the other +man, in a low, but distinct, voice said, “Well, what news?” + </p> +<p> +“All right,” said he of the frieze coat, as, throwing off the wet garment, +he discovered the person of Mr. Clare Jones. “Nothing could possibly go +better; my cross-examination clinched Keane's evidence completely, and no +jury could get over it.” + </p> +<p> +“I almost wish you had let him alone,” said the other, gruffly, and in +evident discontent; “I foresee that the sympathy the scoundrel affected +will be troublesome to us yet.” + </p> +<p> +“I have no fears on that head,” replied the other, confidently. “The facts +are there, and Crankle's speech to evidence ripped him up in a terrific +manner.” + </p> +<p> +“Did he allude to the Spanish girl?” + </p> +<p> +“He did, and with great effect.” + </p> +<p> +“And the Kilgoff affair—did he bring 'My Lady' up for judgment?” + </p> +<p> +“No. The Attorney-General positively forbade all allusion to that +business.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, indeed!” said the other, with a savage sneer. “'The Court' was too +sacred for such profanation.” + </p> +<p> +“I think he was right, too,” said Jones. “The statement could never have +been brought to bear upon the case before the Court. It would have been a +mere episode outside of the general history, and just as likely impress +the Jury with the opinion that all the charges were trumped up to gain a +conviction in any way.” + </p> +<p> +The other paused, and seemed to reflect for some minutes, when he said, +“Well, what are they about now?” + </p> +<p> +“When I left, the Court had just refused Cashel's demand to address the +jury. The Chief Baron had ruled against him, and, of course, the charge is +now being pronounced. As I know how this must run, I took the opportunity +of coming over here to see you.” + </p> +<p> +“<i>My</i> name was but once mentioned, you tell me,” said the other, in +an abrupt manner. +</p> +<p> +“It was stated that you were dangerously ill, without hope of recovery,” + said Jones, faltering, and with evident awkwardness. +</p> +<p> +“And not alluded to again?” asked the other, whom there is no need of +calling Mr. Linton. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, once passingly,” said Jones, still faltering. +</p> +<p> +“How do you mean, passingly?” asked Linton, in anger. +</p> +<p> +“The Crown lawyers brought forward that note of yours from Ennismore.” + </p> +<p> +Linton dashed his closed fist against the table, and uttered a horrible +and blasphemous oath. +</p> +<p> +“Some bungling of yours, I'll be sworn, brought this about,” said he, +savagely; “some piece of that adroit chicanery that always recoils upon +its projector.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll not endure this language, sir,” said Jones. “I have done more to +serve you than any man would have stooped to in my profession. Unsay those +words.” + </p> +<p> +“I do unsay them. I ask pardon for them, my dear Jones. I never meant them +seriously,” said Linton, in that fawning tone he could so well assume. +“You ought to know me better than to think that <i>I</i>, who have sworn +solemnly to make your fortune, could entertain such an opinion of you. +Tell me now of this. Did Cashel say anything as the note was read?” + </p> +<p> +“Not a syllable.” + </p> +<p> +“How did he look?” + </p> +<p> +“He smiled slightly.” + </p> +<p> +“Ah, he smiled,” said Linton, growing pale; “he smiled! He can do that +when he is most determined.” + </p> +<p> +“What avails all his determination now? No narrative of his can shake the +testimony which the examination has confirmed. It was a masterstroke of +yours, Mr. Linton, to think of supplying him with counsel.” + </p> +<p> +Linton smiled superciliously, as though he was accustomed to higher +flights of treachery than this. “So then,” said he, at length, “you say +the case is strong against him?” + </p> +<p> +“It could scarcely be stronger.” + </p> +<p> +“And the feeling—how is the feeling of the Court?” + </p> +<p> +“Variable, I should say; in the galleries, and among the fashionably +dressed part of the assemblage, inclined somewhat in his favor.” + </p> +<p> +“How? Did not the charge of attempted bigamy tell against him with his +fair allies?” + </p> +<p> +“Not so much as I had hoped.” + </p> +<p> +“What creatures women are!” said Linton, holding up his hands. “And how +are they betting? What says Frobisher?” + </p> +<p> +“He affects to think it no case for odds; he says there 's a little fellow +in the jury-box never was known to say 'Guilty.'” + </p> +<p> +“A scheme to win money,—a stale trick, my Lord Charles!” muttered +Linton, contemptuously; “but I've no objection to hedge a little, for all +that.” + </p> +<p> +“I must be going,” said Jones, looking at his watch; “the charge will soon +be over, and I must look to the proceedings.” + </p> +<p> +“Will they be long in deliberation, think you?” asked Linton. +</p> +<p> +“I suspect not; they are all weary and tired. It is now ten o'clock.” + </p> +<p> +“I thought it later,” said Linton, thoughtfully; “time lags heavily with +him whose mind is in expectancy. Hark! there is some one below talking of +the trial! What says he?” + </p> +<p> +“He speaks of Cashel as still addressing the Court. Can they have +consented to hear him, after all?” + </p> +<p> +A fearful curse broke from Linton, and he closed the door noiselessly. +</p> +<p> +“See to this, Jones; see to it speedily. My mind misgives me that +something will go wrong.” + </p> +<p> +“You say that you know him thoroughly, and that he never would—” + </p> +<p> +“No, no,” broke in Linton, passionately; “he'll not break one tittle of +his word, even to save his life! When he promised me that all should be +secret between us, he made no reservations, and you 'll see that he 'll +not avail himself of such privileges now. I do know him thoroughly.” + </p> +<p> +“Then what, or whence, is your fear?” + </p> +<p> +Linton made no other answer than a gesture of his hand, implying some +vague and indistinct dread. “But go,” said he, “and go quickly. You ought +never to have left the court. Had you remained, perhaps this might have +been prevented. If all goes right, you 'll be here by daybreak at +furthest, and Keane along with you. Take care of that, Jones; don't lose +sight of him. If—if—we are unfortunate—and do you think +such possible?” + </p> +<p> +“Everything is possible with a jury.” + </p> +<p> +“True,” said he, thoughtfully; “it is an issue we should never have left +it to. But away; hasten back. Great Heaven! only to think how much hangs +upon the next half-hour!” + </p> +<p> +“To Cashel, you mean?” said Jones, as he prepared himself for the road. +</p> +<p> +“No; I mean to <i>me</i>, I <i>do</i> know him thoroughly; and well I know +the earth would be too narrow to live upon, were that man once more free +and at liberty.” + </p> +<p> +In his eagerness for Jones's departure, he almost pushed him from the +room; and then, when he had closed and locked the door again, he sat down +beside the low flickering fire, and as the fitful light played upon his +features, all the appliances of disguise he wore could not hide the +terrible ravages that long corroding anxiety had made in him. Far more did +he resemble the arraigned criminal than he who now stood in the dock, and +with a cheek blanched only by imprisonment, waited calm, collected, and +erect—“Equal to either fortune.” + </p> +<p> +Linton had often felt all the terrible suspense which makes the paradise +or the hell of the gambler: he had known what it was to have his whole +fortune on the issue, at a moment when the rushing mob of horsemen and +foot concealed the winning horse from view, and mingled in their mad +cheers the names of those whose victory had been his ruin and disgrace. He +had watched the rolling die, on whose surface, as it turned, all he owned +in the world was staked; he had sat gazing on the unturned card, on which +his destiny was already written;—and yet all these moments of +agonizing suspense were as nothing compared to that he now suffered, as he +sat with bent down head trying to catch the sounds which from time to time +the wind bore along from the town. +</p> +<p> +As if to feed his mind with hope, he would recapitulate to himself all the +weighty and damnatory details which environed Cashel, and which, by their +singular consistency and coherence, seemed irrefutable. He would even +reckon them upon his fingers, as “so many chances against him.” He would +try to imagine himself one of the jury, listening to the evidence and the +charge; and asked himself “were it possible to reject such proofs?” He +pictured to his mind Cashel addressing the Court with all that rash and +impetuous eloquence so characteristic of him, and which, to more trained +and sober tempers, would indicate a nature little subject to the cold +discipline of restraint; and from all these speculative dreams he would +start suddenly up, to lean out of the window and listen. Other thoughts, +too, would cross his mind, scarcely less distracting. What would become of +himself should Cashel escape? Whither should he retire? If, at one moment, +he half resolved to “stand his ground” in the world, and trust to his +consummate skill in secret calumny to ruin him, another reflection showed +that Cashel would not play out the game on these conditions. A duel, in +which one at least must fall, would be inevitable; and although this was +an ordeal he had braved oftener than most men, he had no courage to dare +it now. Through all this tangled web of harassing hope and fear, regrets +deep and poignant entered, that he had not worked his ruin by slower and +safer steps. “I might have been both judge and jury—ay, and +executioner too,” muttered he, “had I been patient.” And here he gave a +low, sardonic laugh. “When the hour of confiscation came, I might have +played the Crown's part also.” But so is it: there is no halting in the +downward course of wickedness; the very pleadings of self-interest cannot +save men from the commission of <i>crimes</i>, by which they are to hide +<i>follies</i>. +</p> +<p> +The slow hours of the night dragged heavily on; the fire had gone out, and +the candle too—unnoticed, and Linton sat in the dark, brooding over +his gloomy thoughts. At one moment he would start up, and wonder if the +whole were not a terrible dream,—the nightmare of his own +imagination; and it was only after an effort he remembered where he was, +and with what object. He could not see his watch to tell the hour, but he +knew it must be late, since the fire had long since died out, and the room +was cold and chill. The agony of expectation became at last too great to +endure; he felt his way to the door and passed out, and groping down the +narrow stair, reached the outer door, and the road. +</p> +<p> +All was dark and lonely; not a sound of horseman or foot-traveller broke +the dreary stillness of the hour, as Linton, urged on by an impulse he +could not restrain, took his way towards the town. The distance was +scarcely above a mile, but his progress was slow, for the road was wet and +slippery, and the darkness very great. At last he reached the long +straggling suburb, with its interminable streets of wretched hovels; but +even here none were yet astir, and not a light was seen to glimmer. To +this succeeded the narrow streets of the town itself,—where, at long +intervals, a dusky yellow haze glimmered by way of lamplight. Stopping +beneath one of these, Linton examined his watch, and found that it was +near five o'clock. The lateness of the hour, and the unbroken stillness on +every side, half induced him to believe that “all was over,” and Cashel's +fate sealed for good or evil; but then Jones would have hastened back to +bring the tidings! There could not be a doubt on this head. Urged onward +to greater speed by emotions which now were scarcely supportable, he +traversed street after street in frantic haste; when suddenly, on turning +a corner, he came in front of a large building, from whose windows, dimmed +by steam, a great blaze of light issued, and fell in long columns upon the +“Square” in front. A dense, dark mass of human figures crowded the wide +doorway, but they were silent and motionless all. Within the court, too, +the stillness was unbroken; for as Linton listened he could now hear a +cough, which resounded through the building. +</p> +<p> +“The jury are in deliberation,” thought he, and sat down upon the step of +a door, his eyes riveted upon the court-house, and his heart beating so +that he could count its strokes. Not far from him, as he sat there, +scarcely a hundred paces off, within the building, there sat another man, +waiting with a high throbbing heart for that word to be uttered which +should either open the door of his prison, or close that of the grave upon +him forever. The moments of expectancy were terrible to both! they were +life-long agonies distilled to seconds; and he who could live through +their pains must come forth from the trial a changed man forever after. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXI. “NOT GUILTY” + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Free to go forth once more, but oh, How changed! + +Harold. +</pre> +<p> +A slight movement in the crowd near the door—a kind of waving motion +like the quiet surging of the sea—seemed to-indicate some commotion +within the court; and although Linton saw this, and judged it rightly, as +the evidence of something eventful about to happen, he sat still to await +the result with the dogged firmness with which he would have awaited death +itself. +</p> +<p> +As we are less interested spectators of the scene, let us press our way +through the tired and exhausted crowd that fill the body of the building. +And now we stand beneath the gallery, and immediately behind a group of +about half a dozen, whose dress and demeanor at once proclaim them of the +world of fashion. These are Lord Charles Frobisher and his friends, who, +with memorandum-books and timepieces before them, sit in eager anxiety, +for they have wagers on everything: on the verdict—how the judge +will charge—if the prisoner will confess—if he will attempt a +defence; and even the length of time the jury will sit in deliberation, is +the subject of a bet! +</p> +<p> +This anxiety was now at its climax, for, directly in front of them, a +small door had just opened, and a crowd of men entered, and took their +seats in the gallery. +</p> +<p> +Their grave countenances, marked by watching and eager discussion, at once +proclaimed that they were the jury. +</p> +<p> +There was a low murmur heard throughout the court as they took their +seats; and instinctively many an eye was turned towards the dock, to watch +how <i>he</i> bore himself in that trying moment With a steady gaze fixed +upon the spot from which his doom was to be spoken, he stood erect, with +arms folded and his head high. He was deathly pale; but not a trace of +anything like fear in the calm lineaments of his manly features. +</p> +<p> +“The jury seem very grave,” whispered Upton to Frobisher. +</p> +<p> +“I wish that stupid old judge would bestir himself,” replied Lord Charles, +looking at his watch; “it wants four minutes to five: he 'll scarcely be +in court before it strikes, and I shall lose a pony through it.” + </p> +<p> +“Here he comes!—here he comes!” said another; and the Chief Baron +entered the court, his face betraying that he had been aroused from sleep. +</p> +<p> +“Are you agreed, gentlemen of the jury?” asked the judge, in a low voice. +</p> +<p> +“Not perfectly, my Lord,” said the foreman. “We want your Lordship to +decide a point for us; which is—If we should be of opinion that any +grave provocation led to the death of Kennyfeck, whether our verdict could +be modified, and our finding be, in consequence, for manslaughter, and not +murder?” + </p> +<p> +“The indictment,” said the judge, “does not give you that option. It is +framed without any count for the minor offence. I ought, perhaps, also to +observe, that nothing has transpired in the evidence given here, this day, +to warrant the impression you seem inclined to entertain. Your verdict +must be one of Guilty or Not Guilty.” + </p> +<p> +“We are of opinion, my Lord,” said a juryman, “that great latitude in the +expression of temper should be conceded to a young man reared and educated +as the prisoner has been.” + </p> +<p> +“These sentiments, honorable to you as they are, cannot be indulged at the +expense of justice, however they may find a fitting place in a +recommendation to mercy; and even this must be accompanied by something +more than sympathies.” + </p> +<p> +“Well said, old boy!” muttered Frobisher to himself. “My odds are looking +up again.” + </p> +<p> +“In that case, my Lord, we must retire again,” said the foreman; and the +jury once more quitted the court, whose occupants at once resumed all the +lounging attitudes from which the late scene had aroused them. Exhaustion, +indeed, had overcome all save the prisoner himself, who paced the narrow +limits of the dock with slow and noiseless steps, raising his head at +intervals, to watch the gallery where the jury were to appear. +</p> +<p> +In less than half an hour the creaking of a door awoke the drowsy court, +and the jury were seen re-entering the box. They continued to talk among +each other as they took their seats, and seemed like men still under the +influence of warm discussion. +</p> +<p> +“Not agreed!” muttered Frobisher, looking at his book. “I stand to win, +even on that.” + </p> +<p> +To the formal question of the Court, the foreman for an instant made no +reply, for he was still in eager conversation with another juror. +</p> +<p> +“How say you, gentlemen of the jury? Are you agreed?” + </p> +<p> +“We are, my Lord,” said the foreman; “that is to say, some of the jury +have conceded to the rest for the sake of a verdict.” + </p> +<p> +“This does not seem to me like agreement,” interposed the judge. “If you +be not of the same mind, it will be your duty to retire once more, and +strive by the use of argument and reason to bring the minority to your +opinion; or, in failure of such result, to avow that you are not +like-minded.” + </p> +<p> +“We have done all that is possible in that respect, my Lord; and we beg +you will receive our verdict.” + </p> +<p> +“If it be your verdict, gentlemen,” said the judge, “I desire nothing +more.” + </p> +<p> +“We say, Not Guilty, my Lord,” said the foreman. +</p> +<p> +There was a solemn pause followed the words, and then a low murmur arose, +which gradually swelled till it burst forth into a very clamor, that only +the grave rebuke of the Bench reduced to the wonted decorum of a court of +justice. +</p> +<p> +“I am never disposed, gentlemen of the jury, to infringe upon the sacred +prerogative which environs your office. You are responsible to God and +your own consciences for the words you have uttered here, this day; but my +duty requires that I should be satisfied that you have come to your +conclusion by a due understanding of the facts laid before you in +evidence, by just and natural inferences from those facts, and by weighing +well and dispassionately all that you have heard here, to the utter +exclusion of anything you may have listened to outside of this court. Is +your verdict in accordance with these conditions?” + </p> +<p> +“So far, my Lord, as the mysterious circumstances of this crime admit, I +believe it is. We say 'Not Guilty,' from a firm conviction on our minds +that we are saying the truth.” + </p> +<p> +“Enough,” said the judge. “Clerk, record the verdict.” Then turning to the +dock, towards which every eye was now bent, he continued: “Roland Cashel, +a jury of your countrymen, solemnly sworn to try you on the charge of +murder, have this day pronounced you 'Not Guilty.' You go, therefore, free +from this dock, to resume that station you occupied in society, without +stain upon your character or blemish upon your fame. The sworn verdict we +have recorded obliterates the accusation. But, for the sake of justice, +for the interests of the glorious prerogative we possess in trial by jury, +for the sacred cause of truth itself, I implore you, before quitting this +court, to unravel the thread of this dark mystery, so far as in you lies,—to +fill up those blanks in the narrative you have already given us,—to +confirm, to the extent in your power, the justice of that sentence by +which you are restored once more to the society of your friends and +family. This, I say, is now your duty; and the example you will give, in +performing it, will reflect credit upon yourself, and do service to the +cause of truth, when you and I and those around us shall be no more.” + </p> +<p> +It was with stronger show of emotion than Cashel had yet displayed that he +leaned over the dock and said,— +</p> +<p> +“My Lord, when life, and something more than life, were in peril, I deemed +it right to reserve certain details from the notoriety of this court. I +did so, not to involve any other in the suspicion of this guilt, whose +author I know not. I did not do so from any caprice, still less from that +misanthropic affectation the counsel was ungenerous enough to ascribe to +me. I believe that I had good and sufficient reasons for the course I +adopted. I still think I have such. As to the rest, the discovery of this +guilt is now become the duty of my life,—I owe it to those whose +words have set me free, and I pledge myself to the duty.” + </p> +<p> +The Bench now conferred with the Crown lawyers as to the proceedings +necessary for the discharge of the prisoner; and already the crowds, +wearied and exhausted, began to withdraw. The interest of the scene was +over; and in the various expressions of those that passed might be read +the feelings with which they regarded the result. Many reprobated the +verdict as against law and all the facts; some attributed the “finding” to +the force of caprice; others even hinted the baser motive, that they +didn't like “to hang a man who spent his income at home;” and others, +again, surmised that bribery might have had “something to do with it.” Few +believed in Cashel's innocence of the crime; and even they said nothing, +for their convictions were more those of impulse than reason. +</p> +<p> +“Who could have thought it!” muttered Upton, as, with a knot of others, he +stood waiting for the crowd to pass out. +</p> +<p> +Frobisher shrugged his shoulders, and went on totting a line of figures in +his memorandum-book. +</p> +<p> +“Better off than I thought!” said he to himself; “seven to five taken that +he would not plead—eight to three that he would not call Linton. +Long odds upon time won: lost by verdict four hundred and fifty. Well, it +might have been worse; and I 've got a lesson—never to trust a +Jury.” + </p> +<p> +“I say, Charley,” whispered Upton, “what are you going to do?” + </p> +<p> +“How do you mean?” + </p> +<p> +“Will you go up and speak to him?” said he, with a motion of his head +towards the dock. +</p> +<p> +Frobisher's sallow cheek grew scarlet. Lost and dead to every sense of +honorable feeling for many a day, the well had not altogether dried up, +and it was with a look of cutting insolence he said,— +</p> +<p> +“No, sir; if I did not stand by him before, I 'll not be the hound to +crawl to his feet now.” + </p> +<p> +“By Jove! I don't see the thing in that light. He's all right now, and +there 's no reason why we should n't know him as we used to do.” + </p> +<p> +“Are you so certain that he will know <i>you?</i>” was Fro-bisher's sharp +reply as he turned away. +</p> +<p> +The vast moving throng pressed forward, and now all were speedily +commingled,—spectators, lawyers, jurors, witnesses. The spectacle +was over, and the empty court stood silent and noiseless, where a few +moments back human hopes and passions had surged like the waves of a sea. +</p> +<p> +The great space in front of the court-house, filled for a few moments by +the departing crowd, grew speedily silent and empty,—for day had not +yet broken, and all were hastening homeward to seek repose. One figure +alone was seen to stand in that spot, and then move slowly, and to all +seeming irresolutely, onward. It was Cashel himself, who, undecided +whither to turn, walked listlessly and carelessly on. +</p> +<p> +As he turned a corner of a street, a jaunting-car, around which some +travellers stood, stopped the way, and he heard the words of the driver. +</p> +<p> +“There's another place to spare.” + </p> +<p> +“Where for?” asked Cashel. +</p> +<p> +“Limerick, sir,” said the man. +</p> +<p> +“Drive on, b———t you,” cried a deep voice from the other +side of the vehicle; and the fellow's whip descended with a heavy slash, +and the beast struck out into a gallop, and speedily was out of sight. +</p> +<p> +“Did n't you see who it was?” muttered the speaker to the man beside him. +</p> +<p> +“No.” + </p> +<p> +“It was Cashel himself,—I knew him at once; and I tell you, Jones, +he would have known <i>me</i>, too, for all this disguise, when a gleam of +day came to shine.” + </p> +<p> +As for Cashel, he stood gazing after the departing vehicle, with a strange +chaos of thought working within. +</p> +<p> +“Am I then infamous?” said he at last, “that these men will not travel in +my company? Is it to this the mere accusation of crime has brought me!” + And, slight as the incident was, it told upon him as some acrid substance +would irritate and corrode an open wound,—festering the tender +surface. +</p> +<p> +“Better thus dreaded than the 'dupe' I have been!” said he, boldly, and +entered the inn, where now the preparations for the coming day had begun. +He ordered his breakfast, and post-horses for Killaloe, resolved to see +Tubbermore once again, ere he left it forever. +</p> +<p> +It was a bright morning in the early spring as Cashel drove through the +wide-spreading park of Tubbermore. Dewdrops spangled the grass, amid which +crocus and daffodil flowers were scattered. The trees were topped with +fresh buds; the birds were chirping and twittering on the branches; the +noiseless river, too, flowed past, its circling eddies looking like +blossoms on the stream. All was joyous and redolent of promise, save him +whose humbled spirit beheld in everything around him the signs of +self-reproach. +</p> +<p> +“These,” thought he, “were the rich gifts of fortune that I have +squandered. This was the paradise I have laid waste! Here, where I might +have lived happy, honored, and respected, I see myself wretched and +shunned! The defeats we meet with in hardy and hazardous enterprise are +softened down by having dared danger fearlessly,—by having combated +manfully with the enemy. But what solace is there for him whose reverses +spring from childlike weakness and imbecility,—whose life becomes +the plaything of parasites and flatterers! Could I ever have thought I +would become this? What should I have once said of him who would have +prophesied me such as I now am?” + </p> +<p> +These gloomy reveries grew deeper and darker as he wandered from place to +place, and marked the stealthy glances and timid reverences of the +peasants as they passed him. “It is only the jury have called me 'Not +Guilty,'” said he to himself; “the world has pronounced another verdict. I +have come from that dock as one might have risen from an unhonored grave, +to be looked on with fear and sorrow. Be it so; mine must be a lonely +existence.” + </p> +<p> +Every room he entered recalled some scene of his past life. Here was the +spacious hall, where, in all the excesses of the banquet, laughter had +rung and wit had sparkled, loud toasts were proffered, and high-spirited +mirth had once held sway. Here was the drawing-room, where grace and +female loveliness were blended, mingling their odors like flowers in a +“bouquet.” Here, the little chamber he had often sought to visit Lady +Kilgoff, and passed those hours of “sweet converse” wherein his whole +nature became changed, and his rude spirit softened by the tender +influences of a woman's mind. Here was his own favorite room,—the +spot from which, in many an hour snatched from the cares of host, he had +watched the wide-flowing river, and thought of the current of his own +life, mingling with his reveries many a high hope and many a glorious +promise. And now the whole scene was changed. The mirth, the laughter, the +guests, the hopes, were fled, and he stood alone in those silent halls, +that never again were to echo with the glad voice of pleasure. +</p> +<p> +The chief object of his return to Tubbermore was to regain possession of +that document which he had concealed in the cleft of a beech-tree, before +scaling the approach to the window. He found the spot without difficulty, +and soon possessed himself of the paper, the contents of which, however, +from being conveyed in a character he was not familiar with, he could not +master. +</p> +<p> +He next proceeded to the gate-lodge, desirous to see Keane, and make some +arrangement for his future support before he should leave Tubbermore. The +man, however, was absent; his wife, whose manner betrayed considerable +emotion, said that her husband had returned in company with another, who +remained without, while he hastily packed a few articles of clothing in a +bundle, and then left the house, whither to she knew not. +</p> +<p> +Roland's last visit was to Tiernay's house; but he, too, was from home. He +had accompanied Corrigan to Dublin, intending to take leave of him there; +but a few hurried lines told that he had resolved to proceed further with +his friends, and darkly hinting that his return to the village was more +than doubtful. +</p> +<p> +Wherever Cashel turned, desertion and desolation met him; and the cutting +question that ever recurred to his mind was, “Is this <i>my</i> doing? Are +these the consequences of <i>my</i> folly?” The looks of the villagers +seemed to tally with the accusation, as in cold respect they touched their +hats as he passed, but never spoke: “not one said God bless him.” + </p> +<p> +He twice set out for the cottage, and twice turned back,—his +over-full heart almost choked with emotion. The very path that led thither +reminded him too fully of the past, and he turned from it into the wood, +to wander about for hours long, lost in thought. +</p> +<p> +He sought and found relief in planning out something for his future life. +The discovery of the murderer—the clearing up of the terrible +mystery that involved that crime—had become a duty, and he resolved +to apply himself to it steadily and determinedly. His unacquitted debt of +vengeance on Linton, too, was not forgotten. These accomplished, he +resolved again to betake himself to the “new world beyond seas.” Wealth +had become distasteful to him; it was associated with all that lowered and +humiliated him. He felt that with poverty his manly reliance, his +courageous daring to confront danger, would return,—that once more +upon the wild prairie, or the blue waters of the Pacific, he would grow +young of heart, and high in spirit, forgetting the puerile follies into +which a life of affluence had led him. “Would that I could believe it all +a dream!” thought he. “Would that this whole year were but a vision, and +that I could go back to what I once was, even as 'the buccaneer,' they +called me!” + </p> +<p> +His last hours in Tubbermore were spent in arrangements that showed he +never intended to return there. His household was all discharged; his +equipages and horses despatched to the capital to be sold; his books, his +plate, and all that was valuable in furniture, were ordered to be packed +up, and transmitted to Dublin. He felt a kind of malicious pleasure in +erasing and effacing, as it were, every trace of the last few months. +</p> +<p> +“I will leave it,” muttered he, “to become the wreck I found it—would +that I could be what I was ere I knew it!” + </p> +<p> +The following day he left Tubbermore forever, and set out for Dublin. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXII. ON THE TRACK +</h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“And with a sleuth-hound's scent, +Smells blood afar!” + </pre> +<p> +It was nightfall when Roland Cashel entered Dublin. The stir and movement +of the day were over, and that brief interval which separates the life of +business from that of pleasure had succeeded. Few were stirring in the +streets, and they were hastening to the dinner-parties whose hour had now +arrived. It was little more than a year since Cashel had entered that same +capital, and what a change had come over him within that period! Then he +was buoyant in all the enjoyment of youth, health, and affluence; now, +although still young, sorrow and care had worn him into premature age. His +native frankness had become distrust; his generous reliance on the world's +good faith had changed into a cold and cautious reserve which made him +detestable to himself. +</p> +<p> +Although he passed several of his former acquaintance without being +recognized, he could not persuade himself but that their avoidance of him +was intentional, and he thought he saw a purpose-like insolence in the +pressing entreaties with which the news-vendors persecuted him to buy “The +Full and True Report of the Trial of Roland Cashel for Murder.” + </p> +<p> +And thus it was that he, whose fastidious modesty had shrunk from +everything like the notoriety of fashion, now saw himself exposed to that +more terrible ordeal, the notoriety of crime. The consciousness of +innocence could not harden him against the poignant suffering the late +exposure had inflicted. His whole life laid bare! Not even to gratify the +morbid curiosity of gossips; not to amuse the languid listlessness of a +world devoured by its own ennui; but far worse! to furnish motives for an +imputed crime! to give the clew to a murder! In the bitterness of his torn +heart, he asked himself: “Have I deserved all this? Is this the just +requital for my conduct towards others? Have the hospitality I have +extended, the generous assistance I have proffered—have the thousand +extravagances I have committed to gratify others—no other fruits +than these?” Alas! the answer of his enlightened intelligence could no +longer blind him by its flatteries. He recognized, at last, that to his +abuse of fortune were owing all his reverses; that the capricious +extravagance of the rich man—his misplaced generosity, his pompous +display—can create enemies far more dangerous than all the straits +and appliances of rebellious poverty; that the tie of an obligation which +can ennoble a generous nature, may, in a bad heart, develop the very +darkest elements of iniquity; and that he who refuses to be bound by +gratitude is enslaved by hate! +</p> +<p> +He stopped for an instant before Kennyfeck's house; the closed shutters +and close-drawn blinds bespoke it still the abode of mourning. He passed +the residence of the Kilgoffs, and there the grass-grown steps and rusted +knocker spoke of absence. They had left the country. He next came to his +own mansion,—that spacious building which, at the same hour, was +wont to be brilliant with wax-lights and besieged by fast-arriving guests, +where the throng of carriages pressed forward in eager haste, and where, +as each step descended, some form or figure moved by, great in fame or +more illustrious still by beauty. Now, all was dark, gloomy, and deserted. +A single gleam of light issued from the kitchen, which was speedily +removed as Roland knocked at the door. +</p> +<p> +The female servant who opened the door nearly dropped the candle as she +recognized the features of her master, who, without speaking, passed on, +and, without even removing his hat, entered the library. Profuse in +apologies for the disorder of the furniture, and excuses for the absence +of the other servants, she followed him into the room, and stood, half in +shame and half in terror, gazing at the wan and worn countenance of him +she remembered the very ideal of health and youth. +</p> +<p> +“If we only knew your honor was coming home tonight—” + </p> +<p> +“I did not know it myself, good woman, at this hour yesterday. Let me have +something to eat—well, a crust of bread and a glass of wine—there's +surely so much in the house?” + </p> +<p> +“I can give your honor some bread, but all the wine is packed up and +gone.” + </p> +<p> +“Gone! whither, and by whose order?” said Roland, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Phillis, sir, sent it off about ten days ago, with the plate, and I +hear both are off to America!” + </p> +<p> +“The bread alone, then, with a glass of water, will do,” said he, without +any emotion or the least evidence of surprise in his manner. +</p> +<p> +“The fare smacks of the prison still,” said Roland, as he sat at his +humble meal; “and truly the house itself is almost as gloomy.” + </p> +<p> +The aspect of everything was sad and depressing; neglect and disorder +pervaded wherever he turned his steps. In some of the rooms the remains of +past orgies still littered the tables. Smashed vases of rare porcelain, +broken mirrors, torn pictures—all the work, in fact, which ruffian +intemperance in its most savage mood accomplishes—told who were they +who replaced his fashionable society; while, as if to show the unfeeling +spirit of the revellers, several of the pasquinades against himself, the +libellous calumnies of the low press, the disgusting caricatures of +infamous prints, were scattered about amid the wrecks of the debauch. +</p> +<p> +Roland saw these things with sorrow, but without anger. “I must have +fallen low indeed,” muttered he, “when it is by such men I am judged.” + </p> +<p> +In the room which once had been his study a great pile of unsettled bills +covered the table, the greater number of which he remembered to have given +the money for; there were no letters, however, nor even one card of an +acquaintance, so that, save to his creditors, his very existence seemed to +be forgotten. +</p> +<p> +Wearied of his sad pilgrimage from room to room, he sat down at last in a +small boudoir, which it had been his caprice once to adorn with the +portraits of “his friends!” sketched by a fashionable artist. There they +were, all smiling blandly, as he left them. What a commentary on their +desertion of him were the looks so full of benevolence and affection! +There was Frobisher, lounging in all the ease of fashionable indifference, +but still with a smile upon his languid features; there was Upton, the +very picture of straightforward good feeling and frankness; there was +Jennings, all beaming with generosity; and Linton, too, occupying the +chief place, seemed to stare with the very expression of resolute +attachment that so often had imposed on Cashel, and made him think him a +most devoted but perhaps an indiscreet friend. Roland's own portrait had +been turned to the wall, while on the reverse was written, in large +characters, the words “To be hung, or hanged, elsewhere.” The brutal jest +brought the color for an instant to his cheek, but the next moment he was +calm and tranquil as before. +</p> +<p> +Lost in musings, the time stole by; and it was late in the night ere he +betook himself to rest His sleep was the heavy slumber of an overworked +mind; but he awoke refreshed and with a calm courage to breast the tide of +fortune, however it might run. +</p> +<p> +Life seemed to present to him two objects of paramount interest. One of +these was the discovery of Kennyfeck's murderer; the second was the +payment of his debt of vengeance to Linton. Some secret instinct induced +him to couple the two together; and although neither reason nor reflection +afforded a clew to link them, they came ever in company before his mind, +and rose like one fact before him. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Hammond, the eminent lawyer, to whom he had written a few lines, came +punctually at ten o'clock to confer with him. Roland had determined to +reveal no more of his secret to the ears of counsel than he had done +before the Court, when an accidental circumstance totally changed the +course of his proceeding. +</p> +<p> +“I have sent for you, Mr. Hammond,” said Cashel, as soon as they were +seated, “to enlist your skilful services in tracing out the real authors +of a crime of which I narrowly escaped the penalty. I will first, however, +entreat your attention to another matter, for this may be the last +opportunity ever afforded me of personally consulting you.” + </p> +<p> +“You purpose to live abroad, sir?” asked Hammond. +</p> +<p> +“I shall return to Mexico,” said Roland, briefly; and then resumed: “Here +is a document, sir, of whose tenor and meaning I am ignorant, but of whose +importance I cannot entertain a doubt: will you peruse it?” + </p> +<p> +Hammond opened the parchment, but scarcely had his eyes glanced over it, +when he laid it down before him and said,— +</p> +<p> +“I have seen this before, Mr. Cashel. You are aware that I already gave +you my opinion as to its value?” + </p> +<p> +“I am not aware of that,” said Roland, calmly. “Fray, in whose possession +did you see it, and what does it mean?” + </p> +<p> +Hammond seemed confused for a few seconds; and then, as if overcoming a +scruple, said,— +</p> +<p> +“We must both be explicit here, sir. This document was shown to me by Mr. +Linton, at Limerick, he alleging that it was at your desire and by your +request. As to its import, it simply means that you hold your present +estates without a title; that document being a full pardon, revoking the +penalty of confiscation against the heirs of Miles Corrigan, and +reinstating them and theirs in their ancient possessions. Now, sir, may I +ask, do you hear this for the first time?” + </p> +<p> +Roland nodded in acquiescence; his heart was too full for utterance, and +the sudden revulsion of his feeling had brought a sickly sensation over +him. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Linton,” resumed Hammond, “in showing me this deed, spoke of a +probable alliance between you and the granddaughter of Mr. Corrigan; and I +freely concurred in the propriety of a union which might at once settle +the difficulty of a very painful litigation. He promised me more full +information on the subject, and engaged me to make searches for a +registry, if such existed, of the pardon; but I heard nothing more from +him, and the matter escaped my memory till this moment.” + </p> +<p> +“So that all this while I have been dissipating that which was not mine,” + said Roland, with a bitterness of voice and manner that bespoke what he +suffered. +</p> +<p> +“You have done what some thousands have done, are doing, and will do +hereafter,—enjoyed possession of that which the law gave you, and +which a deeper research into the same law may take away.” + </p> +<p> +“And Linton knew this?” + </p> +<p> +“He certainly knew my opinion of this document; but am I to suppose that +you were ignorant of it up to this moment?” + </p> +<p> +“You shall hear all,” said Cashel, passing his hand across his brow, which +now ached with the torture of intense emotion. “To save myself from all +the ignominy of a felon's death, I did not reveal this before. It was with +me as a point of honor, that I would reserve this man for a personal +vengeance; but now a glimmering light is breaking on my brain, that darker +deeds than all he worked against me lie at his door, and that in following +up my revenge I may be but robbing the scaffold of its due. Listen to me +attentively.” So saying, Cashel narrated every event of the memorable day +of Kennyfeck's death, detailing his meeting with Enrique in the glen, and +his last interview with Linton in his dressing-room. +</p> +<p> +Hammond heard all with deepest interest, only interrupting at times to ask +such questions as might throw light upon the story. The whole body of the +circumstantial evidence against Roland not only became easily explicable, +but the shrewd perception of the lawyer also saw the consummate skill with +which the details had been worked into regular order, and what consistency +had been imparted to them. The great difficulty of the case lay in the +fact that, supposing Kennyfeck's death had been planned by others, with +the intention of imputing the crime to Cashel, yet all the circumstances, +or nearly all, which seemed to imply his guilt, were matters of perfect +accident, for which they never could have provided, nor even ever +foreseen,—such as his entrance by the window, his torn dress, the +wound of his hand, and the blood upon his clothes. +</p> +<p> +“I see but one clew to this mystery,” said Hammond, thoughtfully; “but the +more I reflect upon it, the more likely does it seem. Kennyfeck's fate was +intended for you,—he fell by a mistake.” + </p> +<p> +Roland started with astonishment, but listened with deep attention as +Hammond recapitulated everything which accorded with this assumption. +</p> +<p> +“But why was one of my own pistols taken for the deed?” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps to suggest the notion of suicide.” + </p> +<p> +“How could my death have been turned to profit? Was I not better as the +living dupe than as the dead enemy?” + </p> +<p> +“Do you not see how your death legalized the deed with a forged signature? +Who was to dispute its authenticity? Besides, how know we what ambitions +Linton may not have cherished when holding in his hands the only title to +the estate. We may go too fast with these suspicions, but let us not +reject them as inconsistent Who is this same witness, Keane? What motives +had he for the gratitude he evinced on the trial?” + </p> +<p> +“None whatever; on the contrary, I never showed him any favor; it was even +my intention to dismiss him from the gate-lodge!” + </p> +<p> +“And he was aware of this?” + </p> +<p> +“Perfectly. He had besought several people to intercede for him, Linton +among the rest.” + </p> +<p> +“So that he was known to Linton? And what has become of him since the +trial?” + </p> +<p> +“That is the strangest of all; my wish was to have done something for the +poor fellow. I could not readily forget the feeling he showed, at a +moment, too, when none seemed to remember me; so that when I reached +Tubbermore, I at once repaired to the lodge, but he was gone.” + </p> +<p> +“And in what direction?” + </p> +<p> +“His wife could not tell. The poor creature was distracted at being +deserted, and seemed to think, from what cause I know not, that he would +not return. He had come back after the trial in company with another, who +remained on the roadside while Keane hastily packed up some clothes, after +which they departed together.” + </p> +<p> +“This must be thought of,” said Hammond, gravely, while he wrote some +lines in his note-book. +</p> +<p> +“It is somewhat strange, indeed,” said Cashel, “that the very men to whom +my gratitude is most due are those who seem to avoid me. Thus—Jones, +who gave me his aid upon the trial—” + </p> +<p> +“Do not speak of him, sir,” said Hammond, in a voice of agitation; “he is +one who has sullied an order that has hitherto been almost without a +stain. There is but too much reason to think that he was bribed to destroy +you. His whole line of cross-examination on the trial was artfully devised +to develop whatever might injure you; but the treachery turned upon the +men who planned it. The Attorney General saw it, and the Court also; it +was this saved you.” + </p> +<p> +Cashel sat powerless and speechless at this disclosure. It seemed to fill +up in his mind the cup of iniquity, and he never moved nor uttered a word +as he listened. +</p> +<p> +“Jones you will never see again. The bar of some other land across the sea +may receive him, but there is not one here would stoop to be his +colleague. But now for others more important. I will this day obtain the +judge's notes of the trial, and give the whole case the deepest +consideration. Inquiry shall be set on foot as to Keane, with whom he has +gone, and in what direction. Linton, too, must be watched; the report is +that he lies dangerously ill at his country house, but that story may be +invented to gain time.” + </p> +<p> +Cashel could scarcely avoid a smile at the rapidity with which the lawyer +detailed his plan of operation, and threw out, as he went, the signs of +distrust so characteristic of his craft As for himself, he was enjoined to +remain in the very strictest privacy,—to see no one, nor even to +leave the house, except after nightfall. +</p> +<p> +“Rely upon it,” said Hammond, “your every movement is watched; and our +object will be to ascertain by whom. This will be our first clew; and when +we obtain one, others will soon follow.” + </p> +<p> +It was no privation for Cashel to follow a course so much in accordance +with his wishes. Solitude—even that which consigned him to the +saddest reveries—was far more pleasurable than any intercourse; so +that he never ventured beyond the walls of his house for weeks, nor +exchanged a word, except with Hammond, who regularly visited him each day, +to report the progress of his investigation. +</p> +<p> +The mystery did not seem to clear away, even by the skilful contrivances +of the lawyer. Of Keane not a trace could be discovered; nor could any +clew be obtained as to his companion. All that Hammond knew was that +although a doctor's carriage daily drove to Linton's house, Linton himself +had long since left the country,—it was believed for the Continent. +</p> +<p> +Disappointed by continual failures, and wearied by a life whose only +excitement lay in anxieties and cares, Cashel grew each day sadder and +more depressed. The desire for vengeance, too, that first had filled his +mind, grew weaker as time rolled on. The wish to reinstate himself fully +in the world's esteem diminished, as he lived apart from all its +intercourse, and he sank into a low and gloomy despondency, which soon +showed its ravages upon his face and figure. +</p> +<p> +One object alone remained for him,—this was to seek out Corrigan and +place in his hand the document of his ancestor's pardon; this done, Roland +resolved to betake himself to Mexico, and again, among the haunts of his +youth, to try and forget that life of civilization which had cost him so +dearly. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXIII. LA NINETTA +</h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“How sweete and lovely dost thou make the shame +Which, like a canker in the fragrant rose, +Doth spot the beautie of thy budding name.” + </pre> +<p> +Some years passed over, and the name of Roland Cashel ceased to be +uttered, or his memory even evoked, in that capital where once his wealth, +his eccentricities, and his notoriety had been the theme of every tongue. +A large neglected-looking house, with closed shutters and grass-grown +steps, would attract the attention of some passing stranger to ask whom it +belonged to, but the name of Mr. Cashel was almost all that many knew of +him, and a vague impression that he was travelling in some remote and +faraway land. +</p> +<p> +Tubbermore, too, fell back into its former condition of ruin and decay. No +one seemed to know into whose hands the estate had fallen, but the +talismanic word “Chancery” appeared to satisfy every inquiry, and account +for a desolation that brooded over the property and all who dwelt on it. +The very “Cottage” had yielded to the course of time, and little remained +of it save a few damp discolored walls and blackened chimneys; while here +and there a rare shrub, or a tree of foreign growth, rose among the rank +weeds and thistles, to speak of the culture which once had been the pride +of this lovely spot. +</p> +<p> +Had there been a “curse upon the place” it could not have been more dreary +and sad-looking! +</p> +<p> +Of the gate-lodge, where Keane lived, a few straggling ruins alone +remained, in a corner of which a miserable family was herded together, +their wan looks and tattered clothing showing that they were dependent for +existence on the charity of the very poor. These were Keane's wife and +children, to whom he never again returned. There was a blight over +everything. The tenantry themselves, no longer subject to the visits of +the agent, the stimulus to all industry withdrawn, would scarcely labor +for their own support, but passed their lives in brawls and quarrels, +which more than once had led to a felon's sentence. The land lay untilled; +the cattle, untended, strayed at will through the unfenced fields. The +villages on the property were crammed by a host of runaway wretches whose +crimes had driven them from their homes, till at length the district +became the plague-spot of the country, where, even at noonday, few +strangers were bold enough to enter, and the word “Tub-bermore” had a +terrible significance in the neighborhood round about. +</p> +<p> +Let us now turn for the last time to him whose fortune had so powerfully +influenced his property, and whose dark destiny seemed to throw its shadow +over all that once was his. For years Roland Cashel had been a wanderer. +He travelled every country of the Old World and the New; his appearance +and familiarity with the language enabling him to assume the nationality +of a Spaniard, and thus screen him from that painful notoriety to which +his story was certain to expose him. Journeying alone, and in the least +expensive manner,—for he no longer considered himself entitled to +any of the property he once enjoyed,—he made few acquaintances and +contracted no friendships. One object alone gave a zest to existence,—to +discover Mr. Cor-rigan, and place within his hands the title-deeds of +Tubber-more. With this intention he had searched through more than half of +Europe, visiting the least frequented towns, and pursuing inquiries in +every possible direction; at one moment cheered by some glimmering +prospect of success, at another dashed by disappointment and failure. If a +thought of Linton did occasionally cross him, he struggled manfully to +overcome the temptings of a passion which should thwart the dearest object +of his life, and make vengeance predominate over truth and honesty. As +time rolled on, the spirit of his hatred became gradually weaker; and if +he did not forgive all the ills his treachery had worked, his memory of +them was less frequent and less painful. +</p> +<p> +His was a cheerless, for it was a friendless, existence. Avoiding his own +countrymen from the repugnance he felt to sustain his disguise by +falsehood, he wandered from land to land and city to city like some +penitent in the accomplishment of a vow. The unbroken monotony of this +life, the continued pressure of disappointment, at last began to tell upon +him, and in his moody abstractions—his fits of absence and +melancholy—might be seen the change which had come over him. He +might have been a long time ignorant of an alteration which not only +impressed his mind, but even his “outward man,” when his attention was +drawn to the fact by overhearing the observations of some young Englishmen +upon his appearance, as he sat one evening in a <i>café</i> at Naples. +Conversing in all that careless freedom of our young countrymen, which +never supposes that their language can be understood by others, they +criticised his dress, his sombre look, and his manner; and, after an +animated discussion as to whether he were a refugee political offender, a +courier, or a spy, they wound up by a wager that he was at least forty +years of age; one of the party dissenting on the ground that, although he +looked it, it was rather from something on the fellow's mind than years. +</p> +<p> +“How shall we find out?” cried the proposer of the bet. “I, for one, +should n't like to ask him his age.” + </p> +<p> +“If I knew Spanish enough, I'd do it at once,” said another. +</p> +<p> +“It might cost you dearly, Harry, for all that; he looks marvellously like +a fellow that wouldn't brook trifling.” + </p> +<p> +“He would n't call it trifling to lose me ten 'carlines,' and I 'm sure I +should win my wager; so here goes at him in French.” Rising at the same +moment, the young man crossed the room and stood before the table where +Cashel sat, with folded arms and bent-down head, listening in utter +indifference to all that passed. “Monsieur,” said the youth, bowing. +</p> +<p> +Cashel looked up, and his dark, heavily browed eyes seemed to abash the +other, who stood, blushing, and uncertain what to do. +</p> +<p> +With faltering accents and downcast look he began to mutter excuses for +his intrusion; when Cashel, in a mild and gentle voice, interrupted him, +saying in English, “I am your countryman, young gentleman, and my age not +six-and-twenty.” + </p> +<p> +The quiet courtesy of his manner as he spoke, as well as the surprise of +his being English, seemed to increase the youth's shame for the liberty he +had taken, and he was profuse in his apologies; but Cashel soon allayed +this anxiety by adroitly turning to another part of the subject, and +saying, “If I look much older than I am, it is that I have travelled and +lived a good deal in southern climates, not to speak of other causes, +which give premature age.” + </p> +<p> +A slight, a very slight touch of melancholy in the latter words gave them +a deep interest to the youth, who, with a boyish frankness, far more +fascinating than more finished courtesy, asked Roland if he would join +their party. Had such a request been made half an hour before, or had it +come in more formal fashion, Cashel would inevitably have declined it; but +what between the generous candor of the youth's address, and a desire to +show that he did not resent his intrusion, Cashel acceded good-naturedly, +and took his seat amongst them. +</p> +<p> +As Roland listened to the joyous freshness of their boyish talk,—the +high-hearted hope, the sanguine trustfulness with which they regarded +life,—he remembered what but a few years back he had himself been. +He saw in them the selfsame elements which had led him on to every +calamity that he suffered,—the passionate pursuit of pleasure, the +inexhaustible craving for excitement that makes life the feverish paroxysm +of a malady. +</p> +<p> +They sat to a late hour together; and when they separated, the chance +acquaintance had ripened into intimacy. Night after night they met in the +same place; and while they were charmed with the gentle seriousness of one +in whom they could recognize the most manly daring, he, on his side, was +fascinated by the confiding warmth and the generous frankness of their +youth. +</p> +<p> +One evening, as they assembled as usual, Roland remarked a something like +unusual excitement amongst them; and learned that from a letter they had +received that morning, they were about to leave Naples the next day. There +seemed some mystery in the reason, and a kind of reserve in even alluding +to it, which made Cashel half suspect that they had been told who he was, +and that a dislike to further intercourse had suggested the departure. It +was the feeling that never left him by day or night, that dogged his +waking and haunted his dreams,—that he was one to be shunned and +avoided by his fellow-men. His pride, long dormant, arose under the +supposed slight, and he was about to say a cold farewell, when the elder +of the party, whose name was Sidney, said,— +</p> +<p> +“How I wish you were going with us!” + </p> +<p> +“Whither to?” said Cashel, hurriedly. +</p> +<p> +“To Venice—say, is this possible?” + </p> +<p> +“I am free to turn my steps in any direction,—too free, for I have +neither course to sail nor harbor to reach.” + </p> +<p> +“Come with us, then, Roland,” cried they all, “and our journey will be +delightful.” + </p> +<p> +“But why do you start so hurriedly? What is there to draw you from this at +the very brightest season of the year?” + </p> +<p> +“There is rather that which draws us to Venice,” said Sidney, coloring +slightly? “but this is our secret, and you shall not hear it till we are +on our way.” + </p> +<p> +Roland's curiosity was not exacting; he asked no more: nor was it till +they had proceeded some days on their journey that Sidney confided to him +the sudden cause of their journey, which he did in the few words.— +</p> +<p> +“La Ninetta is at Venice,—she is at the 'Fenice.'” + </p> +<p> +“But who is La Ninetta? You forgot that you are speaking to one who lives +out of the world.” + </p> +<p> +“Not know La Ninetta!” exclaimed he; “never have seen her?” + </p> +<p> +“Never even heard of her.” + </p> +<p> +To the pause which the shock of the first astonishment imposed there now +succeeded a burst of enthusiastic description, in which the three youths +vied with each other who should be most eloquent in praise. Her beauty, +her gracefulness, the witching fascination of her movements, the +enchanting captivation of her smile, were themes they never wearied of. +Nor was it till he had suffered the enthusiasm to take its course that +they would listen to his calm question,— +</p> +<p> +“Is she an actress?” + </p> +<p> +“She is the first <i>Ballarina</i> of the world,” cried one. “None ever +did, nor ever will, dance like her.” + </p> +<p> +“They say she is a <i>Prima Donna</i> too; but how could such excellence +be united in one creature?” + </p> +<p> +To their wild transports of praise Roland listened patiently, in the hope +that he might glean something of her story; but they knew nothing, except +that she was reputed to be a Sicilian, of a noble family, whose passion +for the stage had excited the darkest enmity of her relatives; insomuch +that it was said she was tracked from city to city by hired assassins. She +remained two days at Naples; she appeared but once at Rome; in Genoa, +though announced, she never came to the theatre. Such were the extravagant +tales, heightened by all the color of romantic adventure,—how, at +one time, she had escaped from a royal palace by leaping into the sea,—how, +at another, she had ridden through a squadron of the Swiss Guard, sabre in +hand, and got clean away from Bologna, where a cardinal's letter had +arrested her. Incidents the strangest, the least probable, were recounted +of her,—the high proffers of marriage she had rejected; the +alliances, even with royal blood, she had refused. There was nothing, +where her name figured, that seemed impossible; hers was a destiny above +all the rules that guide humbler mortals. +</p> +<p> +Excellence, of whatever kind it be, has always this attraction,—that +it forms a standard by which men measure with each other their capacities +of enjoyment and their powers of appreciation. Roland's curiosity was +stimulated, therefore, to behold with his own eyes the wonder which had +excited these youthful heroics. He had long since ceased to be sanguine on +any subject; and he felt that he could sustain disappointment on graver +matters than this. +</p> +<p> +When they reached Venice, they found that city in a state of enthusiastic +excitement fully equal to their own. All the excesses into which +admiration for art can carry a people insensible to other emotions than +those which minister to the senses, had been committed to welcome “La +Regina de la Balla.” Her <i>entrée</i> had been like a triumph; garlands +of flowers, bouquets, rich tapestries floating from balconies, gondolas +with bands of music; the civic authorities even, in robes of state, met +her as she entered; strangers flocked in crowds from the other cities of +the north, and even from parts beyond the Alps. The hotels were crammed +with visitors all eager to see one of whom every tongue was telling. A +guard of honor stood before the palace in which she resided,—as much +a measure of necessity to repel the pressure of the anxious crowd as it +was a mark of distinction. +</p> +<p> +The epidemic character of enthusiasm is well known. It is a fervor to +which none can remain insensible. Cashel was soon to experience this. How +could he preserve a cold indifference to the emotions which swayed +thousands around him? How maintain his calm amid that host, which surged +and fretted like the sea in a storm? La Ninetta was the one word repeated +on every side; even to have seen her once was a distinction, and they who +had already felt her fascinations were listened to as oracles. +</p> +<p> +She was to give but three representations at Venice, and ere Cashel's +party had arrived all the tickets were already disposed of. By unceasing +efforts, and considerable bribery, they contrived at last to obtain places +for the first night, and early in the forenoon were admitted among a +privileged number to take their seats. They who were thus, at a heavy +cost, permitted to anticipate the general public, seemed—at least to +Cashel's eyes—to fill the house; and so, in the dim indistinctness, +they appeared. Wherever the eye turned, from the dark parterre below, to +the highest boxes above, seemed filled with people. There was something +almost solemn in that vast concourse, who sat subdued and silent in the +misty half light of the theatre. The intense anxiety of expectation, the +dreary gloom of the scene, contributed to spread a kind of awestruck +influence around, and brought up to Roland's memory a very different place +and occasion—when, himself the observed of all observers, he stood +in the felons' dock. Lost in the gloomy revery these sad thoughts +suggested, he took no note of time, nor marked the lagging hours which +stole heavily past. +</p> +<p> +Suddenly the full glare of light burst forth, and displayed the great +theatre crowded in every part. That glittering spectacle, into which +beauty, splendor of dress, jewels, and rich uniforms enter, broke upon the +sight, while a kind of magnetic sense of expectancy seemed to pervade all, +and make conversation a mere murmur. The opera—a well-known one of a +favorite composer, aud admirably sustained—attracted little +attention. The thrilling cadences, the brilliant passages, all fell upon +senses that had no relish for their excellence; and even the conventional +good-breeding of the spectators was not proof against the signs of +impatience that every now and then were manifested. +</p> +<p> +The third act at last began, and the scene represented a Spanish village +of the New World, which, had it been even less correct and true to nature, +had yet possessed no common attraction for Roland,—recalling by a +hundred little traits a long unvisited but well-remembered land. The usual +troops of villagers paraded about in all that mock grace which +characterizes the peasant of the ballet. There were the same active +mountaineers, the same venerable fathers, the comely matrons with little +baskets of nothing carefully covered by snowy napkins, and the young +maidens, who want only beauty to make them what they affect to be. Roland +gazed at all this with the indifference a stupid prelude ever excites, and +would rapidly have been wearied, when a sudden pause in the music ensued, +and then a deathlike stillness reigned through the house. The orchestra +again opened, and with a melody which thrilled through every fibre of +Roland's heart. It was a favorite Mexican air; one to which, in happier +times, he had often danced. What myriads of old memories came flocking to +his mind as he listened! What fancies came thronging around him! Every bar +of the measure beat responsively with some association of the past. He +leaned his head downwards, and, covering his face with his hands, all +thought of the present was lost, and in imagination he was back again on +the greensward before the “Villa de las Noches;” the mocking-bird and the +nightingale were filling the air with their warblings; the sounds of gay +voices, the plash of fountains, the meteor-like flashes of the fireflies, +were all before him. He knew not that a thousand voices were shouting +around him in wildest enthusiasm,—that bouquets of rarest flowers +strewed the stage,—that every form adulation can take was assumed +towards one on whom every eye save his own was bent; and that before her +rank, beauty, riches—all that the world makes its idols—were +now bending in deepest homage. He knew nothing of all this, as he sat with +bent-down head, lost in his own bright dreamings. At length he looked up, +but, instead of his fancy being dissipated by reality, it now assumed form +and substance. There was the very scenery of that far-off land; the music +was the national air of Mexico; the dance was the haughty manolo; and, oh! +was it that his brain was wandering,—had reason, shaken by many a +rude shock, given way at last? The dancer—she on whose witching +graces every glance was bent—was Maritaña! There she stood, more +beautiful than he had ever seen her before; her dark hair encircled with +brilliants, her black eyes flashing in all the animation of triumph, and +her fairly rounded limbs the perfection of symmetry. +</p> +<p> +Oh, no! this was some mind-drawn picture; this was the shadowy image that +failing intellect creates ere all is lost in chaos and confusion! Such was +the conflict in his brain as, with staring eyeballs, he tracked her as she +moved, and followed each graceful bend, each proud commanding attitude. +Nor was it till the loud thunder-roll of applause had drawn her to the +front of the stage, to acknowledge the favor by a deep reverence, that he +became assured beyond all question. Then, when he saw the long dark lashes +fall upon the rounded cheek, when he beheld the crossed arm upon her +bosom, and marked the taper fingers he had so often held within his own, +in a transport of feeling where pride and joy and shame and sorrow had +each their share. He cried aloud,— +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Maritaña! Maritaña! Shame! shame!” Scarcely had the wild cry +re-echoed through the house than, with a scream, whose terror pierced +every heart, the girl started from her studied attitude, and rushed +forward towards the footlights, her frighted looks and pale cheeks seeming +ghastly with emotion. +</p> +<p> +“Where?—where?” cried she. “Speak again—I know the voice!” But +already a scene of uproar and confusion had arisen in the parterre around +Cashel, whose interruption of the piece called down universal reprobation; +and cries of “Out with him!” “Away with him!” rose on every side. +</p> +<p> +Struggling madly and fiercely against his assailants, Cashel for a brief +space seemed likely to find his way to the stage; but overcome by numbers, +he was subdued at last, and consigned to the hands of the guard. His last +look, still turned to the “scene,” showed him Maritaña, as she was carried +away senseless and fainting. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXIV. THE FATE OF KEANE—HIS DEPOSITION. +</h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +The laughing Seine, whose midnight flood +Shrouds many a deed of crime and blood! + +Warren. +</pre> +<p> +They alone who have passed much of their lives on the Continent of Europe +can estimate the amount of excitement caused by such an incident as that +we have just related. So much of life is centred in the theatre, so many +interests revolve around it, engrossing, as it does, so much of the +passions and the prejudices of those whose existence seldom rises above +the pursuit of pleasure, that anything which might interrupt “the scene,” + which should disturb its progress, or mar its effect, is sure to evoke the +loudest evidence of public indignation. Where a high cultivation of the +arts is employed to gloss over the corruptions of a vicious system, it may +be easily conceived how men would be judged more leniently for crimes than +for those minor offences which rebel against the usages of good society. +</p> +<p> +The “Ballet interrupted in its most interesting moment,” “La Ninetta +carried away fainting at the very commencement of her most attractive +movement,” insulted—so it was rumored—“by some offensive +epithet of a Spaniard,” were enough to carry indignation to the highest +pitch, and it needed the protection of the guard to screen him from the +popular vengeance. +</p> +<p> +After a night of feverish anxiety, where hopes and fears warred and +conflicted with each other, Cashel was early on the following morning +conducted before the chief commissary of the police. His passport +represented him as a Spaniard, and he adhered to the pretended nationality +to avoid the dreaded notoriety of his name. +</p> +<p> +While he answered the usual questions as to age, religion, and profession, +an officer deposited a sealed paper in the hands of the prefetto; who, +opening it, appeared to study the contents with much care. +</p> +<p> +“You have called yourself Il Señor Roland da Castel, sir?” said the +official, staring fixedly upon him. “Have you always gone by this name?” + </p> +<p> +“In Mexico and the New World I was ever known as such. In England men +called me Roland Cashel.” + </p> +<p> +“Which is your more fitting appellation—is it not?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes.” + </p> +<p> +“You are then an English, and not a Spanish subject?” + </p> +<p> +He nodded assent. +</p> +<p> +“You were, however, in a South American service?” said the prefetto, +reading from his paper. +</p> +<p> +Roland bowed again. +</p> +<p> +“In which service, or pretended service, you commanded a slaver?” + </p> +<p> +“This is untrue,” said Cashel, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“I have it asserted here, however, by those of whose statements you have +already acknowledged the accuracy.” + </p> +<p> +“It is not the less a falsehood.” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps you will allow more correctness to the next allegation? It is +said that, under the pretended right to a large inheritance, you visited +England, and succeeded in preferring a claim to a vast estate?” + </p> +<p> +Roland bent his head in assent. +</p> +<p> +“And that to this property you possessed neither right nor title?” + </p> +<p> +Roland started: the charge involved a secret he believed unknown, save to +himself, Hammond, and Linton, and he could not master his surprise enough +to reply. +</p> +<p> +“But a weightier allegation is yet behind, sir,” said the prefetto, +sternly. “Are you the same Roland Cashel whose trial for murder occupied +the assizes of Ennis in the spring of the year 18—?” + </p> +<p> +“I am,” said Cashel, faintly. +</p> +<p> +“Your escape of conviction depended on the absence of a material witness +for the prosecution, I believe?” + </p> +<p> +“I was acquitted because I was not guilty, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“On that point we are not agreed,” said the prefetto, sarcastically; “but +you have admitted enough to warrant me in the course I shall pursue +respecting you—the fact of a false name and passport, the identity +with a well-known character admitted—I have now to detain you in +custody until such time as the consul of your country may take steps for +your conveyance to England, where already new evidence of your criminality +awaits you. Yes, prisoner, the mystery which involved your guilt is at +length about to be dissipated, and the day of expiation draws nigh.” + </p> +<p> +Roland did not speak. Shame at the degraded position he occupied, even in +the eyes of those with whom he had associated, overwhelmed him, and he +suffered himself to be led away without a word. +</p> +<p> +Alone in the darkness and silence of a prison, he sat indifferent to what +might befall him, wearied of himself and all the world. +</p> +<p> +Days, even weeks passed on, and none inquired after him; he seemed +forgotten of all, when the consul, who had been absent, having returned, +it was discovered that the allegations respecting the murder were not +sufficient to warrant his being transmitted to England, and that the only +charge against him lay in the assumed nationality,—an offence it was +deemed sufficiently expiated by his imprisonment. He was free then once +more,—free to wander forth into the world where his notoriety had +been already proclaimed, and where, if not his guilt, his shame was +published. +</p> +<p> +Of Maritaña all that he could learn was that she had left Venice without +again appearing in public; but in what direction none knew accurately. +Cashel justly surmised that she had not gone without seeing him once more +had it not been from the compulsion of others; and if he grieved to think +they were never to meet more, he felt a secret consolation on reflecting +how much of mutual shame and sorrow was spared them. Shame was indeed the +predominant emotion of his mind; shame for his now sullied name—his +character tarnished by the allegations of crime; and shame for her, +degraded to a <i>ballarina</i>. +</p> +<p> +Had fortune another reverse in store for him? Was there one cherished hope +still remaining? Had life one solitary spot to which he could now direct +his weary steps, and be at rest? The publicity which late events had given +to his name rendered him more timid and retiring than ever. A morbid sense +of modesty—a shrinking dread of the slights to which he would be +exposed in the world—made him shun all intercourse, and live a life +of utter seclusion. +</p> +<p> +Like all men who desire solitude, he soon discovered that it is alone +attainable in great cities. Where the great human tide runs full and +strong, the scattered wrecks are scarcely noticeable. +</p> +<p> +To Paris, therefore, he repaired; not to that brilliant Paris where +sensuality and vice costume themselves in all the brilliant hues derived +from the highest intellectual culture, but to the dark and gloomy Paris +which lies between the arms of the Seine,—“the Ile St. Louis.” + There, amid the vestiges of an extinct feudalism, and the trials of a +present wretchedness, he passed his life in strict solitude. In a mean +apartment, whose only solace was the view of the river, with a few books +picked up on a neighboring stall, and the moving crowd beneath his window +to attract his wandering thoughts, he lived his lonely life. The past +alone occupied his mind; for the future he had neither care nor interest, +but of his bygone life he could dream for hours. These memories he used to +indulge each evening in a particular spot; it was an old and ruinous stair +which descended to the river, from a little wooden platform, near where he +lived. It had been long disused, and suffered to fall into rot and decay. +Here he sat, each night, watching the twinkling lights that glittered +along the river, and listening to the distant hum of that great hive of +pleasure that lay beyond it. +</p> +<p> +That the neighborhood about was one of evil repute and danger, mattered +little to one who set small store by his life, and whose stalwart figure +and signs of personal prowess were not unknown in the quarter. The +unbroken solitude of the spot was its attraction to him, and truly none +ever ventured near it after nightfall. +</p> +<p> +There he was sitting one night, as usual, musing, as was his wont. It was +a period when men's minds were stirred by the expectation of some great +but unknown event; a long political stagnation—the dead sea of +hopeless apathy—was beginning to be ruffled by short and fitful +blasts that told of a coming hurricane. Vague rumors of a change—scattered +sentences of some convulsion, whence proceeding, or whither tending, none +could guess—were abroad. The long-sleeping terrors of a past time of +blood were once more remembered, and men talked of the guillotine and the +scaffold, as household themes. It was the summer of 1830—that +memorable year, whose deeds were to form but the prologue of the great +drama we are to-day the spectators at. Roland heard these things as he who +wanders along the shore at night may hear the brooding signs of a +gathering storm, but has no “venture on the sea.” He thought of them with +a certain interest, too—but it was with that interest into which no +personal feeling enters; for how could great convulsions of states affect +<i>him</i> How could the turn of fortune raise or depress him? +</p> +<p> +He sat, now pondering over his own destiny, now wondering whither the +course of events to come was tending, when he heard the plash of oars, and +the rushing sound of a boat moving through the water in the direction of +the stair. The oars, which at some moments were plied vigorously, ceased +to move at others; and, as well as Cashel could mark, the course of the +boat seemed once or twice to be changed. Roland descended to the lowest +step of the ladder, the better to see what this might portend. That +terrible river, on whose smiling eddies the noonday sun dances so +joyously, covers beneath the shadow of night crimes the most awful and +appalling. +</p> +<p> +As Cashel listened, he perceived that the rowing had ceased, and two +voices, whose accents sounded like altercation, could be heard. +</p> +<p> +The boat, drifting meanwhile downward on the fast current, was now nearly +opposite to where he sat, but only perceptible as a dark speck upon the +water. The night was calm, without a breath of wind, and on the +vapor-charged atmosphere sounds floated dull and heavily; still Cashel +could hear the harsh tones of men in angry dispute, and to his amazement +they spoke in English. +</p> +<p> +“It's the old story,” cried one, whose louder voice and coarser accents +bespoke him the inferior in condition—“the old story that I am sick +of listening to—when you have luck! when you have luck!” + </p> +<p> +“I used not to have a complaint against Fortune,” said the other. “Before +we met, she had treated me well for many a year.” + </p> +<p> +“And 'twas me that changed it, I suppose,” said the first, in the same +insolent tone as before; “do you mean that?” + </p> +<p> +“The world has gone ill with me since that day.” + </p> +<p> +“And whose fault is that?” + </p> +<p> +“Partly yours,” said the other, in a slow, deliberate voice, every +syllable of which thrilled through Cashers heart as he listened. “Had you +secured the right man, it was beyond the power of Fortune to hurt either +of us. That fatal, fatal mistake!” + </p> +<p> +“How could I help it?” cried the other, energetically; “the night was as +dark as this—it was between two high banks—there was nothing +to be seen but a figure of a man coming slowly along—you yourself +told me who it would be—I did n't wait for more; and troth!”—here +he gave a fiendish laugh—“troth! you'll allow the work was well +done.” + </p> +<p> +“It was a most determined murder,” said the other, thoughtfully. +</p> +<p> +“Murder! murder!” screamed the first, in a voice of fierce passion; “and +is it you that calls it a murder?” + </p> +<p> +“No matter how it is called. Let us speak of something else.” + </p> +<p> +“Very well. Let us talk about the price of it. It is n't paid yet!” + </p> +<p> +“Is it nothing that I have taken you from abject, starving misery—from +a life of cold, want, and wretchedness, to live at ease in the first city +of the universe? Is it no part of the price that you spend your days in +pleasure and your nights in debauch?—that, with the appetite of the +peasant, you partake of the excesses of the gentleman? Is it no instalment +of the debt, I say, that you, who might now be ground down to the very +earth as a slave at home, dare to lift your head and speak thus to <i>me?</i>” + </p> +<p> +“And is it <i>you</i> dares to tell me this?” cried the other, in savage +energy; “is it you, that made me a murderer, and then think that I can +forget it because I'm a drunkard? But I don't forget it! I 'll never +forget it! I see him still, as he lay gasping before me, and trying to beg +for mercy when he could n't ask for it. I see him every day when I 'm in a +lonely place; and, oh! he's never away from me at night, with his bloody +hands on his head trying to save it, and screaming out for God to help +him. And what did I get for it? answer me that,” yelled he, in accents +shrill with passion. “Is it my wife begging from door to door—is it +my children naked and hungry—is it my little place, a ruin and a +curse over it—or is it myself trying to forget it in drink, not +knowing the day nor the hour that it will rise up against me, and that I +'ll be standing in the dock where I saw <i>him</i> that you tried to +murder too?” + </p> +<p> +“There is no use in this passion,” said the other, calmly; “let us be +friends, Tom; it is our interest to be so.” + </p> +<p> +“Them's the very words you towld Mr. Phillis, and the next day he was +taken up for robbery, and you had him transported.” + </p> +<p> +“Phillis was a fool, and paid the penalty of a fool; but you are a shrewd +fellow, who can see to his own advantage. Now listen to me calmly: were it +not for bad luck, we might all of us have had more money now than we could +count or squander. Had Maritaña continued upon the stage, her gains would +by this time have been enormous. The bank, too, would have prospered; her +beauty would have drawn around us all that was wealthy and dissipated in +the world of fashion; we could have played what stake we pleased. Princes, +ambassadors, ministers of state would have been our game. Curses be on his +head who spoiled this glorious plan! From that unhappy night at Venice she +never would appear again, nor could she. The shock has been like a blight +upon her. You have seen her yourself, and know what it has made her.” + </p> +<p> +The artifice by which the speaker contrived to change the topic, and +withdraw the other from a painful subject to one of seeming confidence, +was completely successful; and in the altered tone of voice might be read +the change which had come over him. +</p> +<p> +“You wish to go to America, Tom?” continued he, after a pause. +</p> +<p> +“Ay; I never feel safe here. I 'm too near home.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, if everything prospers with us, you shall have the money by Tuesday—Wednesday +at farthest. Rica has at last found a clew to old Corrigan, and, although +he seems in great poverty, his name upon a bill will still raise some +hundreds.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't care who pays it, but I must get it,” said the other, whose +savage mood seemed to have returned. “I 'll not stay here. 'T is little +profit or pleasure I have standin' every night to see the crowds that are +passing in, to be cheated out of their money,—to hear the clink of +the goold I 'm never to handle,—and to watch all the fine livin' and +coortin' that I 've no share in.” + </p> +<p> +“Be satisfied. You shall have the money; I pledge my word upon it.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't care for your word. I have a better security than ever it was.” + </p> +<p> +“And what may that be?” said the other, cautiously. +</p> +<p> +“Your neck in a halter, Mr. Linton,” said he, laughing ironically. “Ay, ye +don't understand me,—poor innocent that ye are! but I know what I 'm +saying, and I have good advice about it besides.” + </p> +<p> +“How do you mean good advice, Tom?” said Linton, with seeming kindliness +of manner. “Whom have you consulted?” + </p> +<p> +“One that knows the law well,” said Tom, with all the evasive shrewdness +of his class. +</p> +<p> +“And he tells you—” + </p> +<p> +“He tells me that the devil a bit betther off you'd be than myself,—that +you are what they call an 'accessory'—that's the word; I mind it +well.” + </p> +<p> +“And what does that mean?” + </p> +<p> +“A chap that plans the work, but has n't the courage to put hand to it.” + </p> +<p> +“That's an accessory, is it?” said the other, slowly. +</p> +<p> +“Just so.” He paused for a few seconds, then added, +</p> +<p> +“Besides, if I was to turn 'prover, he says that <i>I'd</i> only be +transported, and 't is <i>you</i> would be hanged”—the last word was +uttered in a harsh and grating tone, and followed by a laugh of insolent +mockery—“so that you see 'tis better be honest with me, and pay me +my hire.” + </p> +<p> +“You shall have it, by G——!” said Linton, with a deep +vehemence; and, drawing a pistol from his bosom, he fired. The other fell, +with a loud cry, to the bottom of the boat. A brief pause ensued, and then +Linton raised the body in his arms to throw it over. A faint struggle +showed that life was not extinct, but all resistance was impossible. The +lightness of the boat, however, made the effort difficult; and it was only +by immense exertion that he could even lift the heavy weight half-way; and +at last, when, by a great effort, he succeeded in laying the body over the +gunwale, the boat lost its balance and upset. With a bold spring, Linton +dashed into the current, and made for shore; but almost as he did so, +another and a stronger swimmer, who had thrown off his clothes for the +enterprise, had reached the spot, and, grasping the inert mass as it was +about to sink, swam with the bleeding body to the bank. +</p> +<p> +When Casbel gained the stairs, he threw the wounded man upon his shoulder, +for signs of life were still remaining, and hastened to a cabaret near. A +surgeon was soon procured, and the bullet was discovered to have +penetrated the chest, cutting in its passage some large blood-vessel, from +which the blood flowed copiously. That the result must be fatal it was +evident; but as the bleeding showed signs of abatement, it seemed possible +life might be protracted some hours. No time was therefore to be lost in +obtaining the dying man's declaration, and a Juge d'Instruction, +accompanied by a notary, was immediately on the spot. As the surgeon had +surmised, a coagulum had formed in the wounded vessel, and, the bleeding +being thus temporarily arrested, the man rallied into something like +strength, and with a mind perfectly conscious and collected. To avoid the +shock which the sight of Cashel might occasion, Roland did not appear at +the bedside. +</p> +<p> +Nor need we linger either at such a scene, nor witness that fearful +straggle between the hope of mercy and the dread consciousness of its all +but impossibility. The dying confession has nothing new for the reader; +the secret history of the crime is already before him, and it only remains +to speak of those events which followed Keane's flight from Ireland. As +Linton's servant he continued for years to travel about the Continent, +constantly sustained by the hope that the price of his crime would one day +be forthcoming, and as invariably put off by the excuse that play, on +which he entirely depended for means, had been unlucky, but that better +times were certainly in store for him. The struggles and difficulties of +an existence thus maintained; the terrible consciousness of an unexpiated +crime; the constant presence of one who knew the secret of the other, and +might at any moment of anger, or in some access of dissipation, reveal it, +made up a life of torture to which death would be a boon; added to this, +that they frequently found themselves in the same city with Cashel, whom +Linton never dared to confront. At Messina they fell in with Rica, as the +proprietor of a gaming-table which Linton continually frequented. His +consummate skill at play, his knowledge of life, and particularly the life +of gamblers, his powers of agreeability, soon attracted Rica's notice, and +an intimacy sprang up which became a close friendship—if such a +league can be called by such a name. +</p> +<p> +By the power of an ascendancy acquired most artfully, and by persuasive +flatteries of the most insidious kind, he induced Rica to bring Maritaña +on the stage; where her immense success had replenished their coffers far +more rapidly and abundantly than play. At Naples, however, an incident +similar to what happened at Venice was nigh having occurred. She was +recognized by a young Spaniard who had known her in Mexico; and as the +whole assumed history of her noble birth and Sicilian origin was thus +exposed to contradiction, they took measures to get rid of this unwelcome +witness. They managed to hide among his effects some dies and moulds for +coining,—an offence then, as ever, rife at Naples. A police +investigation, in which bribery had its share, was followed by a +mock-trial, and the young fellow was sentenced to the galleys for seven +years, with hard labor. +</p> +<p> +Their career from this moment was one of unchanging success. Maritaña's +beauty attracted to the play-table all that every city contained of +fashion, wealth, and dissipation. In her ignorance of the world she was +made to believe that her position was one the most exalted and enviable. +The homage she received, the devotion exhibited on every side, the +splendor of her life, her dress, her jewels, her liveries, dazzled and +delighted her. The very exercise of her abilities was a source of +enthusiastic pleasure to one who loved admiration. Nor had she perhaps +awoke from this delusion, had not the heart-uttered cry of Roland burst +the spell that bound her, and evoked the maiden's shame in her young +heart. Then—with a revulsion that almost shook reason itself—she +turned with abhorrence from a career associated with whatever could +humiliate and disgrace. Entreaties, prayers, menaces—all were +unavailing to induce her to appear again; and soon, indeed, her altered +looks and failing health rendered it impossible. A vacant unmeaning smile, +or a cold impassive stare, usurped the place of an expression that used to +shine in joyous brilliancy. Her step, once bounding and elastic, became +slow and uncertain. She seldom spoke; when she did, her accents were +heavy, and her thoughts seemed languid, as though her mind was weary. None +could have recognized in that wan and worn face, that frail and delicate +figure, the proud and beautiful Maritaña. +</p> +<p> +She lived now in total seclusion. None ever saw her, save Rica, who used +to come and sit beside her each day, watching, with Heaven alone knows +what mixture of emotion! that wasting form and decaying cheek. What +visions of ambition Linton might yet connect with her none knew or could +guess; but he followed the changing fortunes of her health with an +interest too deep and earnest to be mistaken for mere compassion. Such, +then, was her sad condition when they repaired to Paris, and, in one of +the most spacious hotels of the Rue Richelieu, established their “Bank of +Rouge et Noir.” This costly establishment vied in luxury and splendor with +the most extravagant of those existing in the time of the Empire. All that +fastidious refinement and taste could assemble, in objects of art and <i>virtu</i>, +graced the <i>salons</i>. The cookery, the wines, the service of the +different menials, rivalled the proudest households of the nobility. +</p> +<p> +A difficult etiquette restricted the admission to persons of acknowledged +rank and station, and even these were banded together by the secret tie of +a political purpose, for it was now the eve of that great convulsion which +was to open once more in Europe the dread conflict between the masses and +the few. +</p> +<p> +While Linton engaged deep in play, and still deeper in politics, “making +his book,” as he called it, “to win with whatever horse he pleased,” one +dreadful heartsore never left him: this was Keane, whose presence +continually reminded him of the past, and brought up besides many a dread +for the future. +</p> +<p> +It would have been easy at any moment for Linton to have disembarrassed +himself of the man by a sum of money; but then came the reflection, “What +is to happen when, with exhausted means and dissolute habits, this fellow +shall find himself in some foreign country? Is he not likely, in a moment +of reckless despair, to reveal the whole story of our guilt? Can I even +trust him in hours of convivial abandonment and debauch? Vengeance may, at +any instant, overrule in such a nature the love of life,—remorse may +seize upon him. He is a Romanist, and may confess the murder, and be moved +by his priest to bring home the guilt to the Protestant.” Such were the +motives which Linton never ceased to speculate on and think over, always +reverting to the one same conviction, that he must keep the man close to +his person, until the hour might come when he could rid himself of him +forever. +</p> +<p> +The insolent demeanor of the fellow; his ruffian assurance, the evidence +of a power that he might wield at will—became at last intolerable. +Linton saw this “shadow on his path” wherever he wandered. The evil was +insupportable from the very fact that it occupied his thoughts when great +and momentous events required them. It was like the paroxysm of some +painful disease, that came at moments when health and calm of spirit were +most wanted. To feel this, to recognize it thoroughly, and to resolve to +overcome it, were, with Linton, the work of a moment. “His hour is come,” + said he, at length; “the company at La Morgue to-morrow shall be graced by +a guest of my inviting.” + </p> +<p> +Although to a mind prolific in schemes of villany the manner of the crime +could offer no difficulty, strange enough, his nature revolted against +being himself the agent of the guilt It was not fear, for he was a man of +nerve and courage, and was, besides, certain to be better armed than his +adversary. It was not pity, nor any feeling that bordered on pity, +deterred him; it was some instinctive shrinking from an act of ruffianism; +it was the blood of a man of birth that curdled at the thought of that +which his mind associated with criminals of the lowest class,—the +conventional feeling of Honor surpassing all the dictates of common +Humanity. +</p> +<p> +Nothing short of the pressing emergency of the hour could have overcome +these scruples, but Keane's insolence was now in itself enough to +compromise him, and Linton saw that but one remedy remained, and that it +could not be deferred. Constant habits of intercourse with men of a +dangerous class in the Faubourgs and the Cite gave the excuse for the +boating excursion at night. The skiff was hired by Keane himself, who took +up Linton at a point remote from where he started, and thus no clew could +be traced to the person who accompanied him. The remainder is in the +reader's memory, and now we pursue our story. +</p> +<p> +The surgeon who examined Keane's wound not only pronounced it inevitably +fatal, but that the result must rapidly ensue. No time was, therefore, to +be lost in obtaining the fullest revelations of the dying man, and also in +taking the promptest measures to secure the guilty party. +</p> +<p> +The authorities of the British Embassy lent a willing aid to Cashel in +this matter, and an express was at once despatched to London for the +assistance of a police force, with the necessary warrant for Linton's +arrest Meanwhile Keane was watched with the narrowest vigilance; and so +secretly was everything done, that his very existence was unknown beyond +the precincts of the room he inhabited. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXV. THE “BANK OF ROUGE ET NOIR” + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Vice has its own ambitions. + +Morton. +</pre> +<p> +It was already nigh daybreak. The “bank” had long since been closed, and +none remained of Rica's guests save the most inveterate gamblers, who were +now assembled in a small room in a secret part of the establishment, +presided over by the host himself. +</p> +<p> +The persons here met were no bad representatives of the “play world,” of +which they formed an important part. They were men, many of them of the +highest rank, who had no other object or pursuit in life than play! +Mingling to a certain extent in public life, they performed before the +world their various parts as soldiers, statesmen, courtiers, or +ambassadors; their thoughts meanwhile travelled but one solitary track. +The only field in which their ambition ranged was the green cloth of the +rouge et noir table. As soldiers they would have lost a battle with more +fortitude than as gamblers they would lose a bet. As statesmen they would +have risked the fate of a kingdom to secure a good “martingale” at play. +Men of highest breeding, in society, abounding in all the graces that +adorn intercourse; here they were taciturn, reserved, almost morose, never +suffering their attention to wander for an instant from that engrossing +theme where gain and loss contended. +</p> +<p> +Into this society, noiseless and still as stifled feelings and repressed +emotions could make it, Linton entered; a full dress replacing the clothes +he so lately wore, not a trace of unusual agitation on his features, he +seemed in every respect the easy man of fashion for which the world took +him. +</p> +<p> +A slight nod, a familiar motion of the hand, were all the greetings which +passed between him and such of his acquaintances as deigned to raise their +heads from the game. Linton perceived at once that the play was high, nor +did he need to cast a look at the mountain of gold, the coinage of every +European nation, to know that the “bank” was a winner. The chief player +was a young noble of the king's household, the Duke de Marsac, a man of +originally immense fortune, the greater part of which he had already +squandered at play. His full dress of the Court, for he had dined the day +before at the royal table, contrasted strangely with the haggard +expression of his features, while his powdered hair hung in stray and +dishevelled masses over his temples,—even his deep lace ruffles, +which in his agitation he had torn to very rags,—all bespoke the +abandonment of the loser. Linton, who always passed for a mere frequenter +of the house, unconnected with its interests in any way, saw at a glance +that a perfectly quiet demeanor was imperatively necessary; that not a +word should be uttered, not a syllable let fall, which should break the +spell of that enchantment that was luring on the gambler to his ruin. +</p> +<p> +No man was more master of the hundred little artifices by which the +spectator—“the gallery” is the play phrase—can arouse the +hopes and stimulate the expectations of the losing player. He knew to +perfection when to back the unlucky gambler, and how to throw out those +half-muttered words of encouragement so dear and precious to the loser's +heart. But if he knew all this well, he also knew that there are times +when these interferences become impertinent, and when the intense +excitement of the game will not admit of the distraction of sympathy. +Linton, therefore, was silent; he took his seat behind the chair of one of +his intimates, and watched the table attentively. +</p> +<p> +At the close of a game wherein fortune vacillated for a long time, the +Duke lost above a hundred thousand francs,—a kind of pause, like a +truce, seemed to intervene, and Rica sat with the cards before him, not +making preparations for a new deal. +</p> +<p> +“Fortune is too decidedly your enemy this evening, my Lord Duke; I am +really ashamed to see you lose thus continuously.” + </p> +<p> +“There is a certain Château de Marlier, which belongs to me, near St. +Germain,” said the Duke. “It has been valued, with its grounds, at upwards +of seven hundred thousand francs; are you disposed to advance so much upon +it?” + </p> +<p> +“As loan or purchase?” asked Rica. +</p> +<p> +“Whichever you prefer. If the choice were mine, I should say as a loan.” + </p> +<p> +“<i>Parbleu!</i> it is a beautiful spot,” said one of the players. “It was +formerly a hunting-seat of Louis XIV.” + </p> +<p> +“You are quite correct, sir,” said the Duke. “It was a present from that +monarch to my grandfather, and possesses, amongst its other advantages, +the privilege of giving the owner a ducal coronet. If any man be weak +enough in these days to care for the distinction, he can be Duke de +Marlier on easy terms.” + </p> +<p> +“Take him,” whispered Linton in Rica's ear. “I accept the venture as my +own.” + </p> +<p> +“Were I to accept this offer, my Lord Duke,” said Rica, “am I to +understand that no mortgages nor charges of any kind are in existence +against this property?” + </p> +<p> +“It is perfectly unencumbered,” said the Duke, calmly. “There are some +half-dozen pictures—a Velasquez or two amongst them—which I +should reserve as my own; but everything else would belong to the +purchaser.” + </p> +<p> +“The cost of transferring property in France is considerable, I believe, +and there is some difficulty respecting the right of foreigners to +inherit,” said Rica, again. +</p> +<p> +“Take him, I say; the risk is mine,” whispered Linton, whose impatience at +the other's caution became each moment stronger. +</p> +<p> +“Do you accept, Monsieur de Rica?” said the Duke, pushing back his chair +from the table, as though about to rise, “or is there to be an armistice +for the present?” + </p> +<p> +“It would be ungenerous, my Lord Duke, to refuse you anything in my power +to grant,” said Rica, obsequiously. “As a high-spirited but unfortunate +player—” + </p> +<p> +“Let not this weigh with you, sir,” said the Duke, proudly; “the chances +are that I leave my estate behind me on this table. That is the only +consideration for you to entertain.” + </p> +<p> +“Take him at once; it will be too late soon,” whispered Linton again. +</p> +<p> +“I agree, my Lord,” said Rica, with a slight sigh, as if yielding in +opposition to his inclination. “When is the money to be forthcoming?” + </p> +<p> +“Now, sir. Here, upon this spot; here, where, before I rise, I am +determined to have my revenge.” + </p> +<p> +“The bank always closes at daybreak,” said Rica, gravely. +</p> +<p> +“Upon this occasion it will not,” said the Duke, with an air of command. +</p> +<p> +“Be it so, my Lord Duke; you shall have everything as you wish it. I only +call these gentlemen to witness that this proceeding is contrary to my +desire, and must form no precedent for the future.” + </p> +<p> +“Few will be found to ask for such concession,” said the Duke, tartly. +“Let us have no more trifling, but begin.” + </p> +<p> +“I back the Duke,” said Linton, opening his pocket-book, and taking out a +roll of bank-notes. “Whatever I have touched to-night has gone luckily +with me, and I am sure to bring him good fortune.” + </p> +<p> +“If I might ask a favor, Monsieur,” said the Duke, “it would be to leave +me to deal single-handed with my destiny.” + </p> +<p> +“As you please, my Lord,” said Linton, gayly. “If you will not accept me +as ally, you must have me as adversary. Charley, make room for me beside +you,” continued he, addressing a man whose haggard cheek and deep sunken +eye could scarcely recall the features of Lord Charles Frobisher. +</p> +<p> +“He's in for it,” muttered Frobisher, as Linton seated himself at his +side. +</p> +<p> +“We shall see,” said Linton, calmly, arranging his notebook before him. +Meanwhile, Rica was busily engaged in counting out to the Duke the heavy +sum of the purchase. This occupied a considerable time, during which +Linton amused the others with a running fire of that gossipry which goes +the round of Parisian society, and takes in the world of politics, of +literature, of art, and of morals. The eventful period was full of rumors, +and none knew better than Linton how to exalt some into certainty, and +degrade others into mere absurdity. “If the bank wins,” said he, +laughingly, at the close of some observation on the condition of parties, +“our friend Rica will be the last Duke in Europe.” + </p> +<p> +“Bah!” said an officer of the Royal Guard, “grape and canister are just as +effectual as ever they were; there is nothing to be apprehended from the +mob. Two battalions of infantry and a squadron of hussars will carry the +'ordinances,' if the ministry but give the order.” + </p> +<p> +“I wish they would begin the game,” said Frobisher, querulously, for he +took no interest in any topic but that of play. +</p> +<p> +“Has any one given orders that the doors shall be close-barred and +locked?” said another. “The police will be here presently.” + </p> +<p> +“What should bring the police here, sir?” said Linton, turning suddenly +towards the speaker with a look of almost insolent defiance. +</p> +<p> +“They are making perquisitions everywhere the last few days,” said the +youth, abashed by the tone and manner of the question. +</p> +<p> +“Ah! so they are—very true. I beg your pardon,” cried Linton, +affecting a smile. “We are so intent upon our game here, that one actually +forgets what is occurring in the greater game that is playing without.” + </p> +<p> +“If there 's to be no more play I 'm off to bed,” yawned Frobisher, as he +stretched himself along the chairs. A group had meanwhile gathered round a +table where refreshments and wine were laid out, and were invigorating +themselves for the coming campaign. +</p> +<p> +“I remember the last <i>séance</i> with closed doors I assisted at,” said +a handsome middle-aged man, with a gray moustache, and short-cut gray +hair, “was in the stable at Fontainebleau. We played for seventeen hours, +and when we separated we discovered that the Empire was at an end, and the +Emperor departed!” + </p> +<p> +“We might do something of the same kind now, Blancharde,” said another; +“it would be no difficult matter, I fancy, to play an old dynasty out and +a new one in at this moment.” + </p> +<p> +“Hush, Rozlan! Marsac is not one 'of us,'” whispered the former, +cautiously. +</p> +<p> +“He 's going the shortest way to become so, notwithstanding. Nothing +enlarges the sphere of political vision like being ruined! One always +becomes liberal, in the political sense, when it is impossible to be so in +any other!” + </p> +<p> +The chatting now turned on the events that were then impending, a great +diversity of opinion existing as to whether the King would insist upon +carrying the “ordinances,” and a still wider divergence as to what result +would follow. During this discussion, Frobisher's impatience went beyond +all control, and at last he rose, declaring that he would remain no +longer. +</p> +<p> +“You forget that the doors are locked for twenty-four hours, sir,” said +another, “and neither can any one leave or enter the room before that +time.” + </p> +<p> +“We are more sacred than a privy council or a chapter of the knights of +St. Louis,” said Rozlan. +</p> +<p> +“Now then to see who is the next Duc de Marlier!” whispered Linton in +Rica's ear. “Let us begin.” + </p> +<p> +“One word with you, Linton,” whispered Rica; “don't bet high, it distracts +my attention,—make a mere game of amusement, for this will be a hard +struggle, and it must be the last.” + </p> +<p> +“So I perceive,” rejoined Linton; “events are coming fast; we must be off +ere the tide overtake us.” + </p> +<p> +“The game, the game!” cried Frobisher, striking the table with his rake. +</p> +<p> +“And Maritaña?” whispered Linton, holding Rica by the arm. +</p> +<p> +The other grew lividly pale, and his lip quivered as he said, “Is this the +time, Linton—” + </p> +<p> +“It is the very time,” rejoined the other, determinedly, “and I will have +my answer now. You cannot equivocate with me.” + </p> +<p> +“I do not seek to do so. I have told you always what I tell you still—I +cannot coerce her.” + </p> +<p> +“There will be no need; this dukedom will do the business. I know her well—better +than you do. See, they are watching us yonder. Say the word at once—it +is agreed.” + </p> +<p> +“Hear me, Linton—” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll hear nothing; save the one word 'agreed.'” + </p> +<p> +“Let me but explain—” + </p> +<p> +“There is nothing to explain. The betrothal you allude to is, as none +knows better than yourself, an idle ceremony; and if she loves the fellow, +so much the more urgent are the reasons for my request. Be quick, I say.” + </p> +<p> +“If she consent—” + </p> +<p> +“She shall. My Lord Duke, a thousand pardons, I beg, for this delay; but +Rica has been tormenting me these ten minutes by the refusal of a petty +favor. He is become reasonable at last; and now for the combat!” + </p> +<p> +The party seated themselves like men about to witness an exciting event; +and although each had his venture on the game, the Duke was the great +object of interest, and speculation was high as to how the struggle was to +end. +</p> +<p> +It is no part of our object to follow the changing fortunes of that long +contest, nor watch the vacillating chances which alternately elevated to +hope and lowered to very desperation. Before the day began to dawn, every +player, save the Duke, had ceased to bet. Some, worn out and exhausted, +had sunk to sleep upon the rich ottomans; others, drinking deep of +champagne, seemed anxious to forget everything. Frobisher, utterly ruined, +sat in the same place at the table, mechanically marking the game, on +which he had no longer a stake, and muttering exclamations of joy or +disappointment at imaginary gains and losses, for he still fancied that he +was betting large sums, and participating in all the varying emotions of a +gambler's life. +</p> +<p> +The luck of the bank continued. Play how he would, boldly “back the +color,” or try to suit the fitful fortunes of the game, the Duke went on +losing. +</p> +<p> +Were such an ordeal one to evoke admiration, it could scarcely be withheld +from him, who, with an unwearied brain and unbroken temper, sat patiently +there, fighting foot to foot, contesting every inch of ground, and even in +defeat, preserving the calm equanimity of his high breeding. +</p> +<p> +Behind his chair stood Linton,—a flush of triumph on his cheek as he +continued to behold the undeviating course of luck that attended the bank, +“Another deal like that,” muttered he, “and I shall quarter the arms of +Marlier with Linton.” + </p> +<p> +The words were scarcely uttered, when a deep sigh broke from the Duke—it +was the first that had escaped him—and he buried his head between +his hands. Rica looked over at Linton, and a slight, almost imperceptible, +motion of his eyebrows signalled that the battle was nigh over. +</p> +<p> +“Well! how is the game? Am I betting?—what's the color?” said the +Duke, passing his clammy hand across his brow. +</p> +<p> +“I am waiting for you, my Lord Duke,” said Rica, obsequiously. +</p> +<p> +“I am ready—quite ready,” cried the other. “Am I the only player? I +fancied that some others were betting. Where's my Lord Charles?—ah! +I see him. And Mr. Linton—is he gone?” + </p> +<p> +“He has just left the room, my Lord Duke. Will you excuse me if I follow +him for an instant?” And at the same moment Rica arose, and left the +chamber with hasty steps. +</p> +<p> +It was at the end of a long corridor, tapping gently at a door, Linton +stood, as Rica came up. +</p> +<p> +“What! is't over already?” said Linton, with a look of angry impatience. +</p> +<p> +“This is not fair, Linton!” said Rica, endeavoring to get nearest to the +door. +</p> +<p> +“What is not fair?” said the other, imperiously. “You told me awhile ago +that she must pronounce, herself, upon her own future. Well, I am willing +to leave it to that issue.” + </p> +<p> +“But she is unfit to do so at present,” said Rica, entreat-ingly. “You +know well how unsettled is her mind, and how wandering are her faculties. +There are moments when she scarcely knows <i>me</i>—her father.” + </p> +<p> +“It is enough if she remember me,” said Linton, insolently. “Her +intellects will recover—the cloud will pass away; and, if it should +not, still—as my wife, it is an object I have set my heart on; and +so, let me pass.” + </p> +<p> +“I cannot—I will not peril her chances of recovery by such a shock,” + said Rica, firmly; then changing suddenly, he spoke in accents of deep +feeling: “Remember, Linton, how I offered you <i>her</i> whom you +acknowledged you preferred. I told you the means of coercion in my power, +and pledged myself to use them. It was but two days since I discovered +where they were; to-morrow we will go there together. I will claim her as +my daughter; the laws of France are imperative in the matter. Mary +Leicester shall be yours.” + </p> +<p> +“I care for her no longer,” said Linton, haughtily. “I doubt, indeed, if I +ever cared for her; she is not one to suit my fortunes. Maritaña is, or at +least may become so.” + </p> +<p> +“Be it so, but not now, Linton; the poor child's reason is clouded.” + </p> +<p> +“When she hears she is a duchess,” said Linton, half sneeringly, “it will +dispel the gloomy vapor.” + </p> +<p> +“I implore you—I entreat—on my knees I beg of you—” said +the distracted father, and, unable to utter more, he sank powerless at +Linton's feet; meanwhile the other opened the door, and, stepping +noiselessly over the prostrate figure, entered the room. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXVI. ARREST OF LINTON +</h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Like a bold criminal he stood, +Calm in his guilt + +The Forger. +</pre> +<p> +With firm step and head high, Linton entered a room where the dim +half-light of the closed jalousies made each object indistinct. He halted +for an instant, to cast a searching glance around, and then advanced to a +door at the farthest end of the apartment; at this he tapped twice gently +with his knuckles. He waited for an instant, and then repeated his +summons. Still no answer, even though he rapped a third time, and louder +than before. Linton now turned the handle noiselessly, and opened the +door. For a moment or two he seemed uncertain whether to advance or +retire; but his resolution was soon made,—he entered and closed the +door behind him. +</p> +<p> +The chamber in which Linton now stood was smaller than the outer one, and +equally shaded from the strong sunlight. His eyes were now, however, +accustomed to the dusky half-light, and he was able to mark the costly +furniture and splendid ornaments of the room. The walls were hung with +rose-colored damask, over which a drapery of white lace was suspended, +looped up at intervals to admit of small brackets of bronze, on which +stood either “statuettes” or vases of rare “Sevres.” At a toilet-table in +the middle of the room were laid out the articles of a lady's +dressing-case, but of such costly splendor that they seemed too gorgeous +for use. Trinkets and jewellery of great value were scattered carelessly +over the table, and an immense diamond cross glittered from the +mother-o'-pearl frame of the looking-glass. +</p> +<p> +The half-open curtains at the end of the room showed a marble bath, into +which the water flowed from a little cascade of imitation rustic, its tiny +ripple murmuring in the still silence of the room. There was another +sound, still softer and more musical than that, there,—the +long-drawn breathing of a young girl, who, with her face upon her arm, lay +asleep upon a sofa. With stealthy step and noiseless gesture, Linton +approached and stood beside her. He was not one to be carried away by any +enthusiasm of admiration, and yet he could not look upon the faultless +symmetry of that form, the placid beauty of that face, on which a passing +dream had left a lingering smile, and not feel deeply moved. In her +speaking moments, her dark and flashing eyes often lent a character of +haughty severity to her handsome features; now their dark lashes shrouded +them, and the expression of the face was angelic in sweetness. The +olive-darkness of her skin, too, was tempered by the half-light, while the +slight tinge of color on her cheek might have vied with the petal of a +rose. Linton drew a chair beside the sofa, and sat down. With folded arms, +and head slightly bent forward, he watched her, while his fast-hurrying +thoughts travelled miles and miles,—speculating, planning, +contriving; meeting difficulties here, grasping advantages there,—playing +over a game of life, and thinking if an adversary could find a flaw in it. +</p> +<p> +“She is worthy to be a duchess,” said he, as he gazed at her. “A duchess! +and what more?—that is the question. Ah, these women, these women! +if they but knew their power! If they but knew how all the boldest +strivings of our intellects are as nothing compared to what their beauty +can effect! Well, well; it is better that they should not. They are +tyrants, even as it is,—petty tyrants,—to all who care for +them; and he who does not is their master. <i>That</i> is the real power,—there +the stronghold; and how they fear the man who takes his stand behind it! +how they crouch and tremble before him! what fascinating graces do they +reserve for <i>him</i>, that they would not bestow upon a lover! Is it +that they only love where they fear? How beautiful she looks, and how +calmly sweet!—it is the sleeping tigress, notwithstanding. And now +to awake her: pity, too; that wearied mind wants repose, and the future +gives but little promise of it.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0013" id="linkimage-0013"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/20411.jpg" alt="411 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +He bent down over her, till he almost touched the silken masses of her +long dark hair, and, in a low, soft voice, said,— +</p> +<p> +“Maritaña! Maritaña!” + </p> +<p> +“No, no, no,” said she, in the low, muttering accents of sleep, “not here,—not +here!” + </p> +<p> +“And why not here, dearest?” said he, catching at the words. +</p> +<p> +A faint shudder passed over her, and she gathered her shawl more closely +around her. +</p> +<p> +“Hace mal tiempo,—the weather looks gloomy,” said she, in a faint +voice. +</p> +<p> +“And if not here, Maritaña, where then?” said he, in a low tone. +</p> +<p> +“In our own deep forests, beneath the liana and the cedar; where the +mimosa blossoms, and the acacia scents the air; where fountains are +springing, and the glow-worm shines like a star in the dark grass. Oh, not +here! not here!” cried she, plaintively. +</p> +<p> +“Then in Italy, Maritaña mia, where all that the tropics can boast is +blended with whatever is beautiful. In art; where genius goes hand-in-hand +with nature; and where life floats calmly on, like some smooth-flowing +river, unruffled and unbroken.” + </p> +<p> +A faint, low sigh escaped her, and her lips parted with a smile of +surpassing loveliness. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, dearest—there, with me, beside the blue waters of the +Adriatic, or lost amid the chestnut forests of the Apennines. Think of +those glorious cities, too, where the once great still live, enshrined by +memory, in their own palace walls. Think of Venice—” + </p> +<p> +The word was not well uttered, when, with a shrill scream, she started up +and awoke. +</p> +<p> +“Who spoke to me of my shame? Who spoke of Venice?” cried she, in accents +of wild terror. +</p> +<p> +“Be calm, Maritaña. It was a dream,—nothing but a dream,” said +Linton, pressing her gently down again. “Do not think more of it.” + </p> +<p> +“Where am I?” said she, drawing a long breath. +</p> +<p> +“In your own dressing-room, dearest,” said he, in an accent of deep +devotion. +</p> +<p> +“And you, sir? Why are <i>you</i> here? and by what right do you address +me thus?” + </p> +<p> +“By no right,” said Linton, with a submissive deference which well became +him. “I can plead nothing, save the devotion of a heart long since your +own, and the good wishes of your father, Maritaña, who bade me speak to +you.” + </p> +<p> +“I will not believe it, sir,” said she, proudly, as she arose and walked +the room with stately step. “I know but too well the influence you wield +over him, although I cannot tell how it is acquired. I have seen your +counsels sway and your wishes guide him, when my entreaties were unheard +and unheeded. Tell me nothing, then, of his permission.” + </p> +<p> +“Let me speak of that better reason, where my heart may plead, Maritaña. +It was to offer you a share in my fortunes that I have come here,—to +place at your feet whatever I possess in rank, in station, and in future +hope; to place you where your beauty and your fascinations entitle you to +shine,—a peeress of the Court of France; a duchess, of a name only +second to royalty itself.” + </p> +<p> +The girl's dark eyes grew darker, and her flushed cheek grew crimson, as +with heaving bosom she listened. “A duchess!” murmured she, between her +lips. +</p> +<p> +“La Duchesse de Marlier,” repeated Linton, slowly, while his keen eyes +were riveted on her. +</p> +<p> +“And this real—not a pageant—not as that thing you made of me +before?” + </p> +<p> +“La Duchesse de Marlier,” said Linton again, “knows of no rank above her +own, save in the blood royal. Her château was the present of a king,—her +grounds are worthy of such a donor.” + </p> +<p> +“And the Duke de Marlier,” said she, with a look of ineffable irony, “who +is to play <i>him?</i> Is that part reserved for Mr. Linton?” + </p> +<p> +“Could he not look the character?” said Linton, putting on a smile of +seeming good-humor, while his lip trembled with passion. +</p> +<p> +“Look it,—ay, that could he; and if looks would suffice, he could be +all that his ambition aims at.” + </p> +<p> +“You doubt my sincerity, Maritafia,” said he, sorrowfully; “have I ever +given you cause to do so?” + </p> +<p> +“Never,” cried she, impetuously: “I read you from the first hour I saw +you. You never deceived <i>me</i>. My training has not been like that of +others of my sex and age, amidst the good, the virtuous, and the pure. It +was the corrupt, the base-born, and the abandoned offered their examples +to my eyes; the ruined gambler, the beggared adventurer,—<i>their</i> +lives were my daily study. How, then, should I not recognize one so worthy +of them all?” + </p> +<p> +“This is less than fair, Maritafia; you bear me a grudge for having +counselled that career wherein your triumphs were unbounded; and now you +speak to me harshly for offering a station a princess might accept without +a derogation.” + </p> +<p> +“Tell me not of my triumphs,” said she, passionately: “they were my shame! +You corrupted me, by trifling with my ignorance of the world. I did not +know then, as now I know, what were the prizes of that ambition I +cherished! But <i>you</i> knew them; <i>you</i> speculated on them, as now +you speculate upon others. Ay, blush for it; let your cheek glow, and sear +your cold heart for the infamy! The coroneted duchess would have been a +costlier merchandise than the wreathed dancer! Oh, shame upon you! shame +upon you! Could you not be satisfied with your gambler's cruelty, and ruin +those who have manhood's courage to sustain defeat, but that you should +make your victim a poor, weak, motherless girl, whose unprotected life +might have evoked even <i>your</i> pity?” + </p> +<p> +“I will supplicate no longer; upon you be it if the alternative be heavy. +Hear me, young lady; it is by your father's consent—nay, more, at +his desire—that I make you the proffer of my name and rank. He is in +my power,—not his fortune nor his future prospects, but his very +life is in my hands. You shudder at having been a dancer; think of what +you may be,—the daughter of a forçat, a galley-slave! If these be +idle threats, ask himself; he will tell you if I speak truly. It is my +ambition that you should share my title and my fortune. I mean to make +your position one that the proudest would envy; reject my offer if you +will, but never reproach me with what your own blind folly has +accomplished.” + </p> +<p> +Maritaña stood with clasped hands, and eyes wildly staring on vacancy, as +Linton, in a voice broken with passion, uttered these words,— +</p> +<p> +“I will not press you now, Maritaña; you shall have to-night to think over +all I have said; to-morrow you will give me your answer.” + </p> +<p> +“To-morrow?” muttered she, after him. +</p> +<p> +“Who is there?” said Linton, as a low, faint knock was heard at the door. +It was repeated, and Linton approached and opened the door. A slight +gesture of the hand was all that he could perceive in the half-light; but +he understood it, and passed out, closing the door noiselessly behind him. +</p> +<p> +“Well?” said Rica, as he grasped the other's arm; “well?” + </p> +<p> +“Well?” echoed Linton, peevishly. “She is in her most insolent of moods, +and affects to think that all the splendor I have offered her is but the +twin of the mock magnificence of the stage. She is a fool, but she'll +think better of it, or she must be taught to do so.” + </p> +<p> +Rica sighed heavily, but made no answer; at last he said,— +</p> +<p> +“It is over with the Duke, and he bears it well.” + </p> +<p> +“Good blood always does,” said Linton. “Your men of birth have a lively +sense of how little they have done for their estates, and therefore part +with them with a proportionate degree of indifference. Where is he?” + </p> +<p> +“Writing letters in the boudoir off the drawing-room. You must see him, +and ask when the necessary papers can be signed and exchanged.” + </p> +<p> +Linton walked on, and passing through the play-room, around which in every +attitude of slumber the gamblers lay, entered the boudoir, before a table +in which the Duke de Marsac was busy writing. +</p> +<p> +“Fortune has still been obdurate, my Lord Duke, I hear,” said he, entering +softly. +</p> +<p> +The Duke looked up, and his pale features were totally devoid of all +emotion as he said,— +</p> +<p> +“I have lost heavily, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“I am sincerely grieved to hear it; as an old sufferer in the same field, +I can feel for others.” A very slight movement of impatience on the Duke's +part showed that he regarded the sympathy as obtrusive. Linton saw this, +and went on: “I would not have invaded your privacy to say as much, my +Lord Duke, but I thought it might be satisfactory to you to learn that +your ancient dukedom—the château of your proud ancestors—is +not destined to fall into plebeian hands, nor suffer the indignity of +their profanation. I mean to purchase the property from Rica myself.” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed!” said the Duke, carelessly, as though the announcement had no +interest for him. +</p> +<p> +“I had fancied, my Lord, this information would have given you pleasure,” + said Linton, with evident irritation of manner. +</p> +<p> +“No, sir,” said the other, languidly, “I am ashamed to say I cannot +appreciate the value of these tidings.” + </p> +<p> +“Can the contract and transfer be speedily made out?” said Linton, +abruptly. +</p> +<p> +“Of course; there shall be no delay in the matter. I will give orders to +my 'notaire' at once.” + </p> +<p> +“And where shall you be found to-morrow, my Lord Duke, in case we desire +to confer with you?” + </p> +<p> +The Duke grew lividly pale, and he arose slowly from his chair, and, +taking Linton's arm, drew him towards a window in silence. Linton saw well +that some new train of thought had suddenly sprung up, and wondered what +could so instantaneously have wrought this change in his manner. +</p> +<p> +“You ask me, sir,” said the Duke, with a slow emphasis on every word, +“where am I to be found to-morrow? Is not Mr. Linton's knowledge of Paris +sufficient to suggest the answer to that question?” There was a fierce +boldness in the way these words were uttered Linton could not comprehend, +any more than he understood what they might mean. +</p> +<p> +“I must plead ignorance, my Lord Duke. I really discredit the eulogium you +have pronounced upon my information.” + </p> +<p> +“Then I will tell you, sir,” said the Duke, speaking in a low thick +whisper, while his dark eyes glared with the fire of intense excitement. +“You will find me in the Seine!” + </p> +<p> +Linton staggered back as if he had been struck, and a pallor spread over +his features, making the very lips bloodless. “How do you mean, sir? Why +do you dare to say this to <i>me?</i>” said he, in a voice broken and +guttural. +</p> +<p> +“Since none should better know how to appreciate the news,” was the cold +answer. +</p> +<p> +Linton trembled from head to foot, and, casting a wary look around on +every side to see that they were alone, he said, “These words may mean +much, or they may mean nothing,—at least nothing that has concern +for me. Now, sir, be explicit; in what sense am I to read them?” + </p> +<p> +The Duke looked astonished at the emotion which all the other's +self-command could not repress; he saw, too, that he had touched a secret +spring of conscience, and with a calm reserve he said, “Take what I have +said in the sense your own heart now suggests, and I venture to affirm it +will be the least pleasing interpretation you can put upon it!” + </p> +<p> +“You shall give me satisfaction for this, sir,” said Linton, whose passion +now boiled over. “I will not endure the tyranny of insinuations from any +man. Here, before you quit the house,—if ever you quit it,—I +will have full satisfaction for your insolence.” + </p> +<p> +“Insolence!” cried the Duke. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, insolence. I repeat the word, and these gentlemen shall hear a still +stronger word addressed to you, if that will not suffice to arouse your +courage.” + </p> +<p> +This speech was now directed to the crowd of gamblers, who, suddenly +awakened by the loud talking, rushed in a body into the room. +</p> +<p> +Questions, and demands for explanation, pressed on every hand, their +countrymen gathering round the antagonists on either side, both of whom +maintained for some minutes a perfect silence. The Duke was the first to +speak. “Gentlemen,” said he, “you have heard an expression addressed to me +which no Frenchman listens to without inflicting chastisement on the +speaker—I do not ask—I do not care in the least—who this +person may be—what his rank and position in life; I am ready to +admit him to the fullest equality with myself. It only remains that I +should satisfy myself of certain doubts, which his own manner has +originated. It may be that he cannot call me, or any other gentleman, to +account for his words.” + </p> +<p> +Linton's face twitched with short convulsive jerks as he listened, and +then, crossing the room to where the Duke stood, he struck him with his +glove across the face, while, with a very shout of passion, he uttered the +one word, “Coward!” The scene became now one of the wildest confusion. The +partisanship of country surrounded either with a group, who in loud tones +expressed their opinions, and asked for explanations of what had occurred. +That some gross insult had been put upon Linton was the prevailing +impression; but how originating, or of what nature, none knew, nor did the +principals seem disposed to afford the information. +</p> +<p> +“I tell you, Frobisher,” said Linton, angrily, “it is a matter does not +admit of explanation.” + </p> +<p> +“<i>Parbleu</i>, sir! you have placed it out of the reach of such,” said +an old French officer, “and I trust you will feel the consequences.” + </p> +<p> +The chaos of tongues, loud in altercation and dispute, now burst forth +again, some asserting that the cause of quarrel should be openly declared +at once, others averring that the opprobrious epithet applied by Linton to +the Duke effectually debarred negotiation, and left no other arbitrament +than the pistol. In the midst of this tumult, where angry passions were +already enlisted, and insolent rejoinders passed from mouth to mouth, a +still louder uproar was now heard in the direction of the <i>salon</i>, +and the crash of a breaking door, and the splintering noise of the +shattered wood, overtopped the other sounds. +</p> +<p> +“The commissaire de police!” cried some one, and the words were electric. +The hours of play were illegal,—the habits of the house such as to +implicate all in charges more or less disgraceful; and immediately a +general rush was made for escape,—some seeking the well-known +private issues from the apartment, others preparing for a bold attempt to +force their passage through the armed followers of the commissary. +</p> +<p> +Every avenue of escape had been already occupied by the gendarmes; and the +discomfited gamblers were seen returning into the room crestfallen and +ashamed, when the commissary, followed by a knot of others in plain +clothes, advancing into the middle of the chamber, pronounced the legal +form of arrest on all present. +</p> +<p> +“I am a peer of France,” said the Duc de Marsac, haughtily. “I yield to no +authority that does not carry the signature of my sovereign.” + </p> +<p> +“You are free, Monsieur le Duc,” said the commissary, bowing respectfully. +</p> +<p> +“I am an English gentleman,” said Linton, stepping forward. “I demand by +what right you presume to detain me in custody?” + </p> +<p> +“What is your name, sir?” asked the commissary. +</p> +<p> +“Linton!” was the brief reply. +</p> +<p> +“That's the man,” whispered a voice from behind the commissary; and, at +the same instant, that functionary approached, and laying his hand on the +other's shoulder, said,— +</p> +<p> +“I arrest you, sir, on the charge of murder.” + </p> +<p> +“Murder!” repeated Linton, with a sneer that he could not merge into a +laugh. “This is a sorry jest, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“You will find it sad earnest!” said a deep voice. +</p> +<p> +Linton turned round, and straight in front of him stood Roland Cashel, +who, with bent brows and compressed lips, seemed struggling to repress the +passion that worked within him. +</p> +<p> +“I say, Frobisher, are you omitted in the indictment?” cried Linton, with +a sickly attempt to laugh; “or has our buccaneering friend forgotten to +stigmatize you for the folly of having known him?” + </p> +<p> +“He is in <i>my</i> custody,” said a gruff English voice, in reply to some +observation of the commissary; and a short, stout-built man made a gesture +to another in the crowd to advance. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0014" id="linkimage-0014"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/20422.jpg" alt="422 " width="100%" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +“What! is this indignity to be put upon me?” said Linton, as he saw the +handcuffs produced, and prepared to be adjusted to his wrists. “Is the +false accusation of a pirate and a slaver to expose me to the treatment of +a convicted felon?” + </p> +<p> +“I will do my duty, sir,” said the police officer, steadily. “If I do +more, my superiors can hear of it. Tom, put on the irons.” + </p> +<p> +“Is this your vengeance, sir?” said Linton, as he cast a look of ineffable +hate towards Cashel; but Roland made no reply, as he stood regarding the +scene with an air of saddest meaning. +</p> +<p> +“You knew him better than I did, Charley,” said Linton, sneeringly, “when +you black-balled him at the yacht club; but the world shall know him +better yet than either of us,—mean-spirited scoundrel that he is.” + </p> +<p> +“Come away, sir,” said the officer, as he placed himself on one side of +his prisoner, his fellow doing the same at the other. +</p> +<p> +“Not till I see your warrant,” said Linton, resolutely. +</p> +<p> +“There it is, sir, all reg'lar,” said the man; “signed by the secretary of +state, and attested by the witness.” + </p> +<p> +“The rascality is well got up,” said Linton, trying to laugh, “but by +Heaven they shall pay for it!” These words were directed to where Roland +stood, and uttered with a concentrated hate that thrilled through every +heart around. +</p> +<p> +As Linton was led forth, the commissary proceeded to arrest the different +individuals present on the charge of gambling in secret. In the midst of +the group was Rica, standing pale with terror, and overcome by the +revelations he had listened to. +</p> +<p> +“I will be responsible for this gentleman's appearance,” said Cashel, +addressing the commissary. “There is no need to subject him to the insult +of an arrest.” + </p> +<p> +“He can only be liberated by a bail bond in the presence of the judge, +sir. You can accompany me to the court, and enter into the recognizances, +if you will.” + </p> +<p> +“Be it so,” said Cashel, bowing. +</p> +<p> +Rica made a sign for Roland to approach him. He tried to speak, but his +voice was inarticulate from faint-ness, and the only audible sound was the +one word “Maritaña.” + </p> +<p> +“Where?” said Cashel, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +Rica nodded in the direction of a small door that led from the chamber, +and Cashel made a gesture of assent in answer. +</p> +<p> +With headlong speed Roland traversed the corridor, and entered the +antechamber at the end of it. One glance showed him that the room was +empty, and he passed on into the chamber where so lately Linton had spoken +with Maritaña. This, too, was deserted, as was the bedroom which opened +into it. Hastening from place to place, he called her name aloud, but no +answer came. Terrified by a hundred fears, for he well knew the rash, +impetuous nature of the girl, Roland entreated, in tones of wildest +passion, “that she might come forth,—that her friends were all +around her, and nothing more to fear.” But no voice replied, and when the +sound of his own died away, all was silent. The window of the +dressing-room was open, and as Roland looked from it into the street +beneath, his eye caught the fragment of a dress adhering to the hook of +the “jalousie.” It was plain now she had made her escape in this manner, +and that she was gone. +</p> +<p> +Too true! Overcome by terror—her mind distracted by fears of Linton—without +one to succor or protect her, she had yielded to the impulse of her dread, +and leaped from the window! That small rag of fluttering gauze was all +that remained of Maritaña. +</p> +<p> +Rica was to hear these sad tidings as he was led away by the commissary, +but he listened to them like one whose mind was stunned by calamity. A few +low murmuring words alone escaped him, and they indicated that he felt +everything which was happening as a judgment upon him for his own crimes. +</p> +<p> +Even in his examination before the judge, these half-uttered +self-accusings broke forth, and he seemed utterly indifferent as to what +fate awaited him. By Cashel's intervention, and the deposit of a large sum +as bail for Rica's future appearance, his liberation was effected, and he +was led away from the spot unconscious of all around him. +</p> +<p> +As Cashel assisted the weak and tottering man through the crowded passages +of the court, he felt his arm gently touched by a hand, at the same +instant that his name was uttered. He turned hastily, and saw at his side +a woman, who, youthful and still handsome, bore in her appearance the +signs of deep poverty and still deeper sorrow. Her dress had once been +rich, but now, from time and neglect, was disfigured and shabby; her veil, +partly drawn across her face, was torn and ragged, and her very shoes were +in tatters. A more sad-looking object it were difficult to conceive, and +in the hurried glance Roland bestowed upon her, at a moment when all his +thoughts were intent upon other cares, he believed she was one entreating +charity. Hastily drawing forth his purse, he offered her some money, but +she drew proudly up, saying, “This is insult, sir, and I have not deserved +it.” + </p> +<p> +Cashel started with amazement, and drawing closer, stared eagerly at her. +</p> +<p> +“Great Heaven!” cried he, “is this possible? Is this—” + </p> +<p> +“Hush!” cried she. “Let me not hear my name—or what was once my name—spoken +aloud. I see now—you did not know me, nor would I have brought +myself to the shame of being recognized but for <i>his</i> sake. <i>He</i> +is now before the tribunal, and will be sent to prison for want of bail.” + </p> +<p> +Cashel motioned her not to leave the spot; and having safely placed Rica +in his carriage, returned to the court. +</p> +<p> +By the guarantee of his name, and the offer of any moneyed security which +might be required, Cashel obtained permission for Lord Charles Frobisher +to go free; and then hurrying outside, communicated the tidings to her who +stood trembling with fear and anxiety. +</p> +<p> +With tearful eyes, and in a voice broken by sobs, she was uttering her +thanks as Lord Charles joined them. +</p> +<p> +“This, then, was <i>your</i> doing?” said he, staring coldly at her. +</p> +<p> +“Say, rather, it was your own, my Lord,” said Cashel, sternly. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Charles! thank him—thank him,” cried she, hysterically. +“Friends have not been so plenty with us, that we can treat them thus!” + </p> +<p> +“Lady Charles is most grateful, sir,” said Frobisher, with a cold sneer. +“I am sure the show of feeling she evinces must repay all your +generosity.” And, with, this base speech, he drew her arm within his, and +moved hastily away. One look towards Cashel, as she turned to go, told +more forcibly than words the agony of her broken heart. +</p> +<p> +And this was the once gay, light-hearted girl,—the wild and daring +romp, whose buoyant spirit seemed above every reverse of fortune. Poor +Jemima Meek! she had run away from her father's home to link her lot with +a gambler! Some play transaction, in which his name was involved, +compelled him to quit the service, and at last the country. Now depending +for support upon his family, now hazarding his miserable means at play, he +had lived a life of recklessness and privation,—nothing left to him +of his former condition save the name that he had brought down to infamy! +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXVII. ALL MYSTERY CEASES—MARRIAGE AND GENERAL JOY +</h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“The end of all.” + </pre> +<p> +What a contrast did Roland Cashel's life now present to the purposeless +vacuity of his late existence! Every hour was occupied; even to a late +period of each night was he engaged by cares which seemed to thicken +around him as he advanced. +</p> +<p> +We should but weary our reader were we to follow him in the ceaseless +round of duties which hard necessity imposed. Each morning his first visit +was to the hospital of St. Louis, where Keane still lay, weakly struggling +against a malady whose fatal termination was beyond a doubt; and although +Roland could not wish for the prolongation of a life which the law would +demand in expiation, he felt a craving desire that the testimony of the +dying man should be full and explicit on every point, and that every +dubious circumstance should be explained ere the grave closed over him. +</p> +<p> +To seek for Maritaña, to endeavor to recover this poor forlorn girl, was +his next care, and to this end he spared nothing. Whatever money could +purchase, or skill and unwearied enterprise suggest, were all employed in +the search. Rica, whose nature seemed totally changed by the terrible +shock of Linton's culpability, gave himself up implicitly to Cashel's +guidance, and was unceasing in his efforts to discover his missing child. +But with all the practised acuteness of the police at their command, and +all the endeavors which their zeal could practise, the search was +fruitless, and not a trace of her could be detected. +</p> +<p> +Through the Neapolitan Embassy, orders were transmitted to Naples to +inquire into the case of Enrique, whose innocence the testimony of Keane +went far to establish. The result was, as Cashel ardently hoped, his +complete vindication, and a telegraphic despatch brought tidings that he +was already liberated, and on his way to Paris. While both Roland and Rica +waited impatiently for the arrival of one whose assistance in their search +would be so valuable, the most perfect good understanding grew up between +them, and Cashel began to perceive how, beneath the vices which a life of +reckless debauchery had created, there lay—inactive and unused for +many a day—kindly feelings and warm affections for which he had +never given him credit. As this confidence grew stronger, Rica became more +frank and open in all his intercourse, and at last revealed to Cashel the +whole story of his life,—a strange, eventful history, whose +vicissitudes were the changing fortunes of a gambler's existence. For such +was he,—without a passion, a pursuit of any kind but play, he had +passed his life in that one baneful vice. For it he had toiled and +labored: to indulge that passion he had engaged in deadly duels, and +perilled his life by acts of forgery. +</p> +<p> +His marriage with Corrigan's daughter was brought about solely to procure +the means of play; nor was there an energy of his mind or an impulse of +his nature had any other direction. Linton's skill as a gambler, the +unceasing resources he seemed to possess, the stratagems and devices he +could deploy, created for him, in Rica's mind, a species of admiration +that soon degenerated into a blind submission to all his dictates. Such an +ally as this, so deeply versed in all the weak points of his fellow-men,—so +thoroughly master of every impulse that moves, of every hope and fear that +sways the gambler's nature,—had been the cherished desire of his +heart for many a year, and now fortune bad at last given him such an +associate. Their sudden success seemed to warrant the justice of the hope. +Everything prospered with them since their new league. If he did not gain +an equal ascendancy over the daughter's mind as he had acquired over the +father's, still the ambitious future he often pictured before her, dazzled +and delighted her, and thus, erelong, he contrived to obtain a degree of +power, although of different kinds, over both. From such an associate as +Linton concealment was impossible; and Rica soon saw himself completely at +the mercy of a man who had sifted every motive of his heart, and weighed +every action of his life, and at last became his pitiless, tyrannical +master. +</p> +<p> +Rica's connection with Corrigan suggested to Linton's inventive mind the +possibility of succeeding to that estate for which already he had perilled +so much. His plan was to obtain from Corrigan a full renunciation of his +claim to the property, and then to take the necessary steps to investigate +the long dormant title. All their efforts to discover the old man's +residence were, however, vain; for although they once obtained a clew to +the fact, some information seemed to have apprised the others of their +danger, and their abode was immediately changed. +</p> +<p> +It was with a strange thrill of mingled pain and pleasure Cashel heard +Rica speak of his daughter Mary,—of her he had deserted for so many +a year, and yet now yearned towards with an affection that sprang from his +self-accusings. The terrible chastisement his own vices had inflicted on +his lonely and deserted lot seemed never absent from his thoughts; and he +would sit for hours silently, while the heavy tears rolled along his +furrowed cheeks, and his strong, heaving bosom showed his agony. +</p> +<p> +The fruitlessness of their search after Maritaña in Paris, and the death +of Tom Keane in the hospital, removed the only obstacles to their +departure from that city; and Rica and Cashel, who now felt their fortunes +bound up together, prepared to take their leave of Paris. The trial of +Linton was to take place in Limerick, and thither Roland was summoned by +the law-officers of the Crown. This sad duty accomplished, he was to +accompany Rica to Columbia, whither some slight hope of recovering +Maritaña induced him to proceed. As for Cashel, once in the old haunts of +childhood, he had resolved never to quit them more. +</p> +<p> +Roland's arrangements for departure were soon made, and he repaired to the +Embassy, where he had been invited to breakfast on the last morning of his +stay. There was a certain bustle and movement in the courtyard which +attracted his attention; and he saw two travelling-carriages, with an +attendant “fourgon,” surrounded by servants, and loaded with all the +preparations for a long journey. +</p> +<p> +“You have come in time, Mr. Cashel,” said the ambassador, as he shook +hands with him, “to see our new minister at Florence, who is now on his +way thither; and what will have more interest in your eyes, a very pretty +girl, who has become the great literary character of our circles here. I +regret much that she is about to leave us.” + </p> +<p> +Cashel bowed politely, but with the cold indifference of one for whom the +tidings had no peculiar interest, and accompanied the ambassador into a <i>salon</i>, +crowded with company. +</p> +<p> +“I have a young countryman to present to you, my Lord,” said his +excellency, leading Cashel forward, “who I trust will wear a less sombre +face in the sunny south than he has done in our northern latitudes. Mr. +Roland Cashel—Lord Kilgoff.” + </p> +<p> +A sudden start of surprise was made by both, and Roland stood mute and +thunderstruck as Lord Kilgoff advanced towards him with extended hand, and +said,— +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Mr. Cashel, your old friend in better health and spirits than when +last you saw him; and better able to thank you for much hospitality, and +apologize for much injustice.” + </p> +<p> +“Let me have my share in both acknowledgments,” said Lady Kilgoff, rising, +and taking Cashel's hand with much cordiality. +</p> +<p> +Roland tried to mutter a few words, but he could not succeed; and his eyes +ranged about the chamber till they fell upon one who, pale and motionless, +regarded him with a look of most expressive sadness. +</p> +<p> +“Miss Leicester, too, here?” said he, at last. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Mr. Cashel,” said Lady Kilgoff; “chance is about to do for us what +all our skill would have failed in. Here are two worthy people who will +not hear your name mentioned, and who now must consent, not alone to hear, +but see you in person. I am quite convinced you never did or could have +injured them. Stand forward, Mr. Corrigan, and make your charge.” + </p> +<p> +“I will save that gentleman the pain of accusing me,” said Roland, with +deep emotion. “I have injured him deeply, but yet unwittingly. I have long +desired this meeting, to place in his hands a document I have never ceased +to carry about me,—the title to a property of which I was not the +rightful owner, and which is his—and his only.” + </p> +<p> +“I will not, I cannot accept of it, sir,” said Corrigan, proudly. “I will +never see that cottage more.” + </p> +<p> +“I do not speak of 'the Cottage,'” said Cashel, “but of the whole estate +of Tubbermore, the ancient possession of your house—still yours. +There is the proof.” And, as he spoke, he drew forth the pardon, and +handed it to Corrigan. +</p> +<p> +The old man trembled in every limb as he perused the paper, which he now +read over for the third time. +</p> +<p> +“A royal pardon to Miles Corrigan, my grandfather?” exclaimed he, gasping +for breath; “and how came you by this, sir?” + </p> +<p> +“The story is soon told,” said Cashel, relating in a few words the +singular steps of the discovery. +</p> +<p> +“And you have travelled throughout Europe for upwards of three years to +disencumber yourself of £16,000 a year?” said the ambassador, smiling +good-naturedly. +</p> +<p> +“I have done so to disencumber myself of the weight of an injustice.” + </p> +<p> +“And this is the youth you would accuse of deception?” said Lady Kilgoff, +haughtily. +</p> +<p> +“Forgive me, Lady; forgive one who has suffered too heavily from the world +not to fall into the error of thinking once unjustly of a benefactor.” + </p> +<p> +“I have no title to the name, sir,” said Cashel. “Nay, more. I am your +debtor for wealth which I squandered, believing it my own.” + </p> +<p> +“I knew him better than any of you,” cried old Dr. Tiernay, rushing +forward and grasping Cashel by both hands. “My own generous, high-hearted +boy. Come here, Mary; tell him candidly that you, too, were always of my +opinion. This is no time for coyness. Let us have a little honesty after +all this deception.” He drew Cashel to one side, and, in a deep whisper, +said, “What of that Spanish girl?—Are you married or not?” + </p> +<p> +Roland smiled at the eagerness of the old man's manner, and, in +half-sadness, said, “Poor Maritaña is now a fugitive—we know not +where.” + </p> +<p> +A sudden commotion at the door, and a tumult of voices, interrupted the +scene, and Rica rushed in, crying in ecstasy, “She is found—my child +is found!” + </p> +<p> +The travellers of the diligence passing through the wood of Versailles had +discovered the form of a sleeping girl at the foot of a tree, and carried +her back with them to Paris. Enrique himself, being among them, recognized +her at once, and soon succeeded in finding out Rica, into whose arms he +restored her. +</p> +<p> +While Rica hurriedly poured forth this explanation, old Corrigan stood +tremulous with agitation, and at last, advancing towards him, said, +“Leicester, I am no longer afraid to meet you. Fortune has, at last, +favored me. I am rich now, and can make you rich also.” + </p> +<p> +Rica started back: a sudden sickness came over him, and he fell powerless +at the old man's feet. +</p> +<p> +What a scene of heartfelt emotion followed, as Mary recognized her +long-lost father; and the careworn, sorrow-struck man saw the warm +affections of those whom, in a life long, he had injured. +</p> +<p> +“The end of this will be,” said Lady Kilgoff, laughing through tears, +“that I shall have to proceed on my journey alone. I foresee that we shall +not share in all the general joy at these discoveries.” + </p> +<p> +“I have a sister, too,” exclaimed Mary, with enthusiasm, “whom I am +burning with impatience to see. Where is she? when are we to meet?” + </p> +<p> +“She is below—she is in my carriage at the door,” said Rica. +</p> +<p> +The ambassador heard the words and left the room, returning in a moment +with Maritaña on his arm. Wearied and exhausted as she was, there was that +in her native grace and beauty that caused a thrill of admiration as she +entered. +</p> +<p> +“Here is your sister, Maritaña,” said Rica, leading her to where Mary +stood, gazing with wistful eyes at the Spanish beauty. Maritaña looked +steadily at the fair loveliness before her, where timidity and gentleness +seemed impressed; and then, as if yielding to some sudden impulse, she +sprang forward, and, clasping her hand, covered it with kisses, exclaiming +with rapture,— +</p> +<p> +“Non! non la sua hermana, ma la sua esclava!—Not her sister, but her +slave.” + </p> +<p> +Among the group who with admiring eyes gazed upon this little scene, there +stood a dark, sombre-looking man, whose mean attire and travel-worn look +could not conceal a certain dignity of air and manner. Cashel's quick +glance soon discovered him, and in a moment they were locked in a fast +embrace. “My old, true-hearted comrade!” cried Roland. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, señora!” said Maritaña, as if answering the look of astonishment of +Mary; “and for all that he seems now, he is a well-born caballero, and +noble to boot.” + </p> +<p> +“Everything looks worse and worse for my prospects of companionship,” said +Lady Kilgoff, poutingly. “Mr. Corrigan—Mary—are you both bent +on desertion?” + </p> +<p> +“We are bound for Ireland, fair Lady; the little remnant of my life is a +debt I owe my country.” + </p> +<p> +“Señor Rica and your lovely daughter, will you be our companions?” + </p> +<p> +“Our road lies westward, Lady. The New World must teach us to forget the +Old one.” + </p> +<p> +“Mr. Cashel, am I to guess whither your steps will lead you?” + </p> +<p> +“It would save me the pain of deciding if you did,” said Roland, sadly. +</p> +<p> +“You come with us, Roland,” said Mr. Corrigan; “you once told me that you +felt Tubber-beg a home. Let us see if time has not erased the impression.” + </p> +<p> +“And Maritaña, too!” cried Mary. +</p> +<p> +“And Enrique!” said Maritaña. +</p> +<p> +“Then I must be of the party,” said Dr. Tiernay. “I was never intended by +nature for an embassy physician, but as a village doctor I still feel that +I shall hold up my head with dignity.” + </p> +<p> +Rica, who meanwhile was in earnest conversation with Cashel, now advanced +into the middle of the group, and said, “Mr. Cashel once contracted a +solemn pledge to me, from which I feel no inclination to release him. I +ask him before this assemblage if it be true he promised to marry my +daughter?” + </p> +<p> +Roland grew deadly pale, but in a faint voice replied, “It is true.” + </p> +<p> +“Are you willing to keep your pledge?” said Rica, firmly. +</p> +<p> +Cashel made no answer but a slight motion of the bead. +</p> +<p> +“Then she is yours,” said Rica, placing Mary Leicester's hand in his; +while Maritaña, in a transport of feeling, fell into her father's arms and +sobbed aloud. +</p> +<p> +“Then we are all bound at once for Ireland,” cried Mr. Corrigan; “and I +trust never to leave it more.” + </p> +<p> +“I will not promise,” said Cashel, as he drew Mary closer to him. “The +memories I bear of the land are not all painless.” + </p> +<p> +“But you have seen nothing of Ireland that was Irish!” exclaimed Tiernay, +boldly. “You saw a mongrel society made up of English adventurers, who, +barren of hope at home, came to dazzle with their fashionable vices the +cordial homeliness of our humbler land. You saw the poor pageantry of a +mock court, and the frivolous pretension of a tinsel rank. You saw the +emptiness of pretended statesmanship, and the assumed superiority of a +class whose ignorance was only veiled by their insolence. But of hearty, +generous, hospitable Ireland—of the land of warm impulses and kindly +affections—you saw nothing. That is a country yet to be explored by +you; nor are its mysteries the less likely to be unravelled that an Irish +wife will be your guide to them. And now to breakfast, for I am +famishing.” + </p> +<p> +Where the characters of a tale bear a share in influencing its +catastrophe, the reader seems to have a prescriptive right to learn +something of their ultimate destiny, even though the parts they played +were merely subordinate. Many of ours here cannot lay claim to such an +interest, and were seen but like the phantoms which a magic lantern throws +upon the wall,—moving and grouping for a moment and then lost +forever. +</p> +<p> +It is from no want of respect to our reader, if we trace not the current +of such lives; it is simply from the fact that when they ceased to act, +they ceased, as it were, to exist. Are we not, all of us in the world, +acted upon and influenced by events and people,—purely passers-by, +known to-day, seen perhaps for a week, or known for a month, and yet never +after met with in all life's journey? As on a voyage many a casual air of +wind, many a wayward breeze helps us onward, and yet none inquire “whence +it cometh or whither it goeth,”—so is it in the real world; and why +not in the world of fiction, which ought to be its counterpart? +</p> +<p> +Of those in whom our interest centred, the reader knows all that we know +ourselves. Would he, or rather she, care to learn that the elder Miss +Kennyfeck never married, but became a companion to Lady Janet, who on the +death of Sir Andrew, caused by his swallowing a liniment, and taking into +his stomach what was meant for his skin, went abroad, and is still a +well-known character in the watering-places of Germany, where she and her +friend are the terror of all who tremble at evil-speaking and slandering? +</p> +<p> +Olivia married the Reverend Knox Softly, and seems as meek as a curate's +wife ought to be, nor bears a trace of those days when she smiled on +cornets or mingled sighs with captains of hussars. If some of our +characters have fared ill in this adventurous history, others have been +more fortunate. The Dean is made a Colonial Bishop, and the distinguished +Mr. Howie's picture occupies a place in the last Exhibition! +</p> +<p> +Meek is still a placeman: bland, gentle, and conciliating as ever, he made +at the close of the session a most affecting speech upon the sorrows of +Ireland, and drew tears from the ventilator at his picture of her +destitution! +</p> +<p> +Mrs. Kennyfeck and “Aunt Fanny” keep house together in the ancient city of +Galway. Attracted to each other by a thousand antipathies, more cohesive +than any friendship, they fight and quarrel unceasingly, and are never +known to agree, save when the enthusiasm of their malevolence has +discovered a common victim in the circle of their “friends.” + </p> +<p> +Here ends our history; nor need we linger longer with those whose +happiness, so far as worldly prosperity can make it, is at last secured. +</p> +<p> +There is but one destiny of which we have to speak. Linton was never +brought to trial; the day after his landing in England he was found dead +in the cell of his prison,—no trace of violence, nor any evidence of +poison to account for the circumstance; and whether through some agency of +his own, or by the workings of a broken heart, the fact remains a mystery. +</p> +<p> +THE END. <br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Roland Cashel, by Charles James Lever + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROLAND CASHEL *** + +***** This file should be named 33469-h.htm or 33469-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/3/3/4/6/33469/ + +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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