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diff --git a/34883-h/34883-h.htm b/34883-h/34883-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..07af575 --- /dev/null +++ b/34883-h/34883-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9918 @@ +<?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 content="pg2html (binary v0.17)" name="linkgenerator" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + Barrington, Vol II. by Charles James Lever + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Barrington, 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: Barrington + Volume II (of II) + +Author: Charles James Lever + +Illustrator: Phiz. + +Release Date: January 8, 2011 [EBook #34883] +Last Updated: February 27, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BARRINGTON *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<h1> +BARRINGTON +</h1> +<h3> +Volume II. +</h3> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h2> +By Charles James Lever +</h2> +<h3> +With Illustrations By Phiz. +</h3> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +Boston: Little, Brown, And Company. +</h3> +<h4> +1907. +</h4> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/frontispiece.jpg" width="100%" alt="Frontispiece " /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img alt="titlepage (27K)" src="images/titlepage.jpg" width="100%" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<blockquote> +<p class="toc"> +<big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> +</p> +<p> +<br /> <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> FIFINE AND +POLLY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> AT +HOME AGAIN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> A +SMALL DINNER-PARTY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> A +MOVE IN ADVANCE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> A +CABINET COUNCIL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> AN +EXPRESS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a> CROSS-EXAMININGS +<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> GENERAL +CONYERS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a> MAJOR +M'CORMICK'S LETTER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> INTERCHANGED +CONFESSIONS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> STAPYLTON'S +VISIT AT “THE HOME” <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. +</a> A DOCTOR AND HIS PATIENT <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> CROSS-PURPOSES <br /><br /> +<a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> STORMS <br /><br /> +<a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a> THE OLD LEAVEN +<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> A HAPPY +MEETING <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a> MEET +COMPANIONSHIP <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a> AUNT +DOROTHEA <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a> FROM +GENERAL CONYERS TO HIS SON <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER +XX. </a> THE END <br /><br /> +</p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<h1> +VOLUME II. +</h1> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER I. FIFINE AND POLLY +</h2> +<p> +There are a few days in our autumnal season—very few and rare!—when +we draw the curtain against the glare of the sun at breakfast, and yet in +the evening are glad to gather around the cheerful glow of the fire. These +are days of varied skies, with fleecy clouds lying low beneath a broad +expanse of blue, with massive shadows on the mountains, and here and there +over the landscape tips of sunlight that make the meanest objects +pictures; and, with all these, a breezy wind that scatters the yellow +leaves and shakes the tree-tops, while it curls the current of the bright +river into mimic waves. The sportsman will tell you that on such days the +birds are somewhat wild, and the angler will vow that no fish will rise to +the fly, nor is it a scent-lying day for the harriers; and yet, with all +this, there is a spring and elasticity in the air that impart themselves +to the temperament, so that the active grow energetic, and even the +indolent feel no touch of lassitude. +</p> +<p> +It was on the morning of such a day that Barrington, with his sister and +granddaughter, drew nigh the Home. Conyers had parted with them at Dublin, +where his regiment was now stationed, but was to follow in a day or two. +All the descriptions—descriptions which had taken the shape of +warnings—which they had given Josephine of the cottage could not +prevent her asking at each turn of the road if that large house yonder, if +that sombre tower over the trees, if that massive gate-lodge were not +theirs. “I know this is it, grandpapa,” said she, clapping her hands with +delight as they came opposite a low wall within which lay the spacious +lawn of Cobham Park, a portion of the house itself being just visible +through the trees; “don't tell me, aunt,” cried she, “but let me guess +it.” +</p> +<p> +“It is the seat of Sir Charles Cobham, child, one of the richest baronets +in the kingdom.” +</p> +<p> +“There it is at last,—there it is!” cried she, straining oat of the +carriage to see the handsome portico of a very large building, to which a +straight avenue of oaks led up from the high-road. “My heart tells me, +aunt, that this is ours!” +</p> +<p> +“It was once on a time, Fifiue,” said the old man, with a quivering voice, +and a glassy film over his eyes; “it was once, but it is so no longer.” +</p> +<p> +“Barrington Hall has long ceased to belong to us,” said Miss Dinah; “and +after all the pains I have taken in description, I cannot see how you +could possibly confound it with our little cottage.” +</p> +<p> +The young girl sat back without a word, and, whether from disappointment +or the rebuke, looked forth no more. +</p> +<p> +“We are drawing very near now, Fifine,” said the old man, after a long +silence, which lasted fully two miles of the way. “Where you see the tall +larches yonder—not there—lower down, at the bend of the +stream; those are the trees. I declare, Dinah, I fancy they have grown +since we saw them last.” +</p> +<p> +“I have no doubt you do, Peter; not that you will find the cottage far +more commodious and comfortable than you remembered it.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, they've repaired that stile, I see,” cried he; “and very well they've +done it, without cutting away the ivy. Here we are, darling; here we are!” +and he grasped the young girl's hand in one of his, while he drew the +other across his eyes. +</p> +<p> +“They 're not very attentive, I must say, brother Peter, or they would not +leave us standing, with our own gate locked against us.” +</p> +<p> +“I see Darby running as fast as he can. Here he comes!” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, by the powers, ye're welcome home, your honor's reverence, and the +mistresses!” cried Darby, as he fumbled at the lock, and then failing in +all his efforts,—not very wonderful, seeing that he had taken a +wrong key,—he seized a huge stone, and, smashing the padlock at a +blow, threw wide the gate to admit them. +</p> +<p> +“You are initiated at once into our Irish ways, Fifine,” said Miss +Barrington. “All that you will see here is in the same style. Let that be +repaired this evening, sir, and at your own cost,” whispered she to Darby, +into whose hand at the same moment Peter was pressing a crown piece. +</p> +<p> +“'T is the light of my eyes to see your honors home again! 'Tis like rain +to the new potatoes what I feel in my heart, and looking so fresh and well +too! And the young lady, she isn't—” +</p> +<p> +From what dread anticipation Darby's sudden halt saved him the expression +is not for me to say, but that Peter Barrington guessed it is probable, +for he lay back in the carriage and shook with laughter. +</p> +<p> +“Drive on, sir,” said Miss Dinah to the postilion, “and pull up at the +stone cross.” +</p> +<p> +“You can drive to the door now, ma'am,” said Darby, “the whole way; Miss +Polly had the road made while you were away.” +</p> +<p> +“What a clever girl! Who could have thought it?” said Barrington. +</p> +<p> +“I opine that we might have been consulted as to the change. On a matter +as important as this, Peter, I think our voices might have been asked.” +</p> +<p> +“And how well she has done it too!” muttered he, half aloud; “never +touched one of those copper beeches, and given us a peep of the bright +river through the meadows.” +</p> +<p> +As the carriage rolled briskly along, Darby, who trotted alongside, kept +up a current narrative of the changes effected during their absence. +</p> +<p> +“The ould pigeon-house is tuck down, and an iligant new one put up in the +island; and the calves' paddock is thrown into the flower-garden, and +there's a beautiful flight of steps down to the river, paved with white +stones,—sorrow one is n't white as snow.” +</p> +<p> +“It is a mercy we had not a sign over the door, brother Peter,” whispered +Miss Dinah, “or this young lady's zeal would have had it emblazoned like a +shield in heraldry.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, how lovely, how beautiful, how exquisite!” cried Josephine, as they +came suddenly round the angle of a copse and directly in front of the +cottage. +</p> +<p> +Nor was the praise exaggerated. It was all that she had said. Over a light +trellis-work, carried along under the thatch, the roses and jessamine +blended with the clematis and the passion-flower, forming a deep eave of +flowers, drooping in heavy festoons across the spaces between the windows, +and meeting the geraniums which grew below. Through the open sashes the +rooms might be seen, looking more like beautifnl bowers than the chambers +of a dwelling-house. And over all, in sombre grandeur, bent the great +ilex-trees, throwing their grand and tranquil shade over the cottage and +the little grass-plot and even the river itself, as it swept smoothly by. +There was in the stillness of that perfumed air, loaded with the +sweet-brier and the rose, a something of calm and tranquillity; while in +the isolation of the spot there was a sense of security that seemed to +fill op the measure of the young girl's hopes, and made her exclaim with +rapture, “Oh, this, indeed, is beautiful!” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, my darling Fifine!” said the old man, as he pressed her to his +heart; “your home, your own home! I told you, my dear child, it was not a +great castle, no fine château, like those on the Meuse and the Sambre, but +a lowly cottage with a thatched roof and a rustic porch.” +</p> +<p> +“In all this ardor for decoration and smartness,” broke in Miss Dinah, “it +would not surprise me to find that the peacock's tail had been picked out +in fresh colors and varnished.” +</p> +<p> +“Faix! your honor is not far wrong,” interposed Darby, who had an Irish +tendency to side with the majority. “She made us curry and wash ould +Sheela, the ass, as if she was a race-horse.” +</p> +<p> +“I hope poor Wowsky escaped,” said Barrington, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“That's what he didn't! He has to be scrubbed with soap and water every +morning, and his hair divided all the way down his back, like a +Christian's, and his tail looks like a bunch of switch grass.” +</p> +<p> +“That 's the reason he has n't come out to meet me; the poor fellow is +like his betters,—he's not quite sure that his altered condition +improves him.” +</p> +<p> +“You have at least one satisfaction, brother Peter,” said Miss Dinah, +sharply; “you find Darby just as dirty and uncared for as you left him.” +</p> +<p> +“By my conscience, there 's another of us is n't much changed since we met +last,” muttered Darby, but in a voice only audible to himself. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, what a sweet cottage! What a pretty summer-house!” cried Josephine, +as the carriage swept round the copse, and drew short up at the door. +</p> +<p> +“This summer-house is your home, Fifine,” said Miss Barrington, tartly. +</p> +<p> +“Home! home! Do you mean that we live here,—live here always, aunt?” +</p> +<p> +“Most distinctly I do,” said she, descending and addressing herself to +other cares. “Where's Jane? Take these trunks round by the back door. +Carry this box to the green-room,—to Miss Josephine's room,” said +she, with a stronger stress on the words. +</p> +<p> +“Well, darling, it is a very humble, it is a very lowly,” said Barrington, +“but let us see if we cannot make it a very happy home;” but as he turned +to embrace her, she was gone. +</p> +<p> +“I told you so, brother Peter,—I told you so, more than once; but, +of course, you have your usual answer, 'We must do the best we can!' which +simply means, doing worse than we need do.” +</p> +<p> +Barrington was in no mood for a discussion; he was too happy to be once +more at home to be ruffled by any provocation his sister could give him. +Wherever he turned, some old familiar object met his eye and seemed to +greet him, and he bustled in and out from his little study to the garden, +and then to the stable, where he patted old Roger; and across to the +cow-house, where Maggie knew him, and bent her great lazy eyes softly on +him; and then down to the liver-side, where, in gilt letters, “Josephine” +shone on the trim row-boat he had last seen half rotten on the bank; for +Polly had been there too, and her thoughtful good-nature, forgetting +nothing which might glad them on their coming. +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile, Josephine had reached her chamber, and, locking the door, sat +down and leaned her head on the table. Though no tears fell from her eyes, +her bosom heaved and fell heavily, and more than one deep sigh escaped +her. Was it disappointment that had so overcome her? Had she fancied +something grander and more pretentious than this lonely cottage? Was it +that Aunt Dinah's welcome was wanting in affection? What revulsion could +it be that so suddenly overwhelmed her? Who can tell these things, who can +explain how it is that, without any definite picture of an unexpected joy, +imagination will so work upon us that reality will bring nothing but a +blank? It is not that the object is less attractive than is hoped for, it +is simply that a dark shadow has passed over our own hearts; the sense of +enjoyment has been dulled, and we are sad without a reason. If we +underrate sorrows of our youth,—and this is essentially one of them,—it +is because our mature age leaves us nothing of that temperament on which +such afflictions preyed. +</p> +<p> +Josephine, without knowing why, without even a reason, wished herself back +in the convent. There, if there was a life of sombre monotony and +quietude, there was at least companionship; she had associates of her own +age. They had pursuits in common, shared the same hopes and wishes and +fears; but here—but here—Just as her thoughts had carried her +so far, a tap—a very gentle tap—came to the door. Josephine +heard it, but made no answer. It was repeated a little louder, and then a +low pleasing voice she had never heard before said, “May I come in?” +</p> +<p> +“No,” said Josephine,—“yes—that is—who are you?” +</p> +<p> +“Polly Dill,” was the answer; and Josephine arose and unlocked the door. +</p> +<p> +“Miss Barrington told me I might take this liberty,” said Polly, with a +faint smile. “She said, 'Go and make acquaintance for yourself; I never +play master of the ceremonies.'” +</p> +<p> +“And you are Polly,—the Polly Dill I have heard so much of?” said +Josephine, regarding her steadily and fixedly. +</p> +<p> +“How stranded your friends must have been for a topic when they talked of +<i>me!</i>” said Polly, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“It is quite true you have beautiful teeth,—I never saw such +beautiful teeth,” said Josephine to herself, while she still gazed +earnestly at her. +</p> +<p> +“And you,” said Polly, “are so like what I had pictured you,—what I +hoped you would be. I find it hard to believe I see you for the first +time.” +</p> +<p> +“So, then, <i>you</i> did not think the Rajah's daughter should be a +Moor?” said Josephine, half haughtily. “It is very sad to see what +disappointments I had caused.” Neither the saucy toss of the head, nor the +tone that accompanied these words, were lost upon Polly, who began to feel +at once that she understood the speaker. +</p> +<p> +“And your brother,” continued Josephine, “is the famous Tom Dill I have +heard such stories about?” +</p> +<p> +“Poor Tom! he is anything rather than famous.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, he is remarkable; he is odd, original, or whatever you would call +it. Fred told me he never met any one like him.” +</p> +<p> +“Tom might say as much of Mr. Conyers, for, in truth, no one ever showed +him such kindness.” +</p> +<p> +“Fred told me nothing of that; but perhaps,” added she, with a flashing +eye, “you were more in his confidence than I was.” +</p> +<p> +“I knew very little of Mr. Conyers; I believe I could count on the fingers +of one hand every time I met him.” +</p> +<p> +“How strange that you should have made so deep an impression, Miss Dill!” +</p> +<p> +“I am flattered to hear it, but more surprised than flattered.” +</p> +<p> +“But I don't wonder at it in the least,” said Josephine, boldly. “You are +very handsome, you are very graceful, and then—” She hesitated and +grew confused, and stammered, and at last said, “and then there is that +about you which seems to say, 'I have only to wish, and I can do it.'” +</p> +<p> +“I have no such gift, I assure you,” said Polly, with a half-sad smile. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I know you are very clever; I have heard how accomplished you were, +how beautifully you rode, how charmingly you sang. I wish he had not told +me of it all—for if—for if—” +</p> +<p> +“If what? Say on!” +</p> +<p> +“If you were not so superior to me, I feel that I could love you;” and +then with a bound she threw her arms around Polly's neck, and clasped her +affectionately to her bosom. +</p> +<p> +Sympathy, like a fashionable physician, is wonderfully successful where +there is little the matter. In the great ills of life, when the real +afflictions come down to crush, to wound, or to stun us, we are +comparatively removed from even the kindest of our comforters. Great +sorrows are very selfish things. In the lighter maladies, however, in the +smaller casualties of fortune, sympathy is a great remedy, and we are +certain to find that, however various our temperaments, it has a sort of +specific for each. Now Josephine Barrington had not any great cares upon +her heart; if the balance were to be struck between them, Polly Dill could +have numbered ten, ay, twenty, for her one, but she thought hers was a +case for much commiseration, and she liked commiseration, for there are +moral hypochondrias as well as physical ones. And so she told Polly how +she had neither father nor mother, nor any other belongings than “dear old +grandpapa and austere Aunt Dinah;” that she had been brought up in a +convent, never knowing one of the pleasures of youth, or her mind being +permitted to stray beyond the dreary routine of prayer and penance. Of +music she knew nothing but the solemn chants of the organ, and even +flowers were to her eyes but the festal decorations of the high altar; +and, lastly, she vaguely balanced between going back to the dismal +existence of the cloister, or entering upon the troubled sea of life, so +full of perils to one unpractised and unskilled as she was. Now Polly was +a very pretty comforter through these afflictions; her own home +experiences were not all rose-colored, but the physician who whispers +honeyed consolations to the patient has often the painful consciousness of +a deeper malady within than that for which he ministers. Polly knew +something of a life of struggle and small fortune, with its daily incident +of debt and dun. She knew what it was to see money mix itself with every +phase of existence, throwing its damper over joy, arresting the hand of +benevolence, even denying to the sick-bed the little comforts that help to +cheat misery. She knew how penury can eat its canker into the heart till +all things take the color of thrift, and life becomes at last the terrible +struggle of a swimmer storm-tossed and weary; and yet, with all this +experience in her heart, she could whisper cheerful counsels to Josephine, +and tell her that the world had a great many pleasant paths through it, +though one was occasionally footsore before reaching them; and in this way +they talked till they grew very fond of each other, and Josephine was +ready to confess that the sorrow nearest to her heart was parting with +her. “But must you go, dearest Polly,—must you really go?” +</p> +<p> +“I must, indeed,” said she, laughing; “for if I did not, two little +sisters of mine would go supperless to bed, not to speak of a small boy +who is waiting for me with a Latin grammar before him; and the cook must +get her orders for to-morrow; and papa must have his tea; and this short, +stumpy little key that you see here unlocks the oat-bin, without which an +honest old pony would share in the family fast: so that, all things +considered, my absence would be far from advisable.” +</p> +<p> +“And when shall we meet again, Polly?” +</p> +<p> +“Not to-morrow, dear; for to-morrow is our fair at Inistioge, and I have +yarn to buy, and some lambs to sell.” +</p> +<p> +“And could you sell lambs, Polly?” said Josephine, with an expression of +blank disappointment in her face. +</p> +<p> +Polly smiled, but not without a certain sadness, as she said, “There are +some sentimentalities which, to one in my condition, would just be as +unsuitable as Brussels lace or diamonds. They are born of luxury and +indolence, and pertain to those whose existence is assured to them; and my +own opinion is, they are a poor privilege. At all events,” added she, +rapidly, “they are not for me, and I do not wish for them.” +</p> +<p> +“The day after to-morrow, then, you will come here,—promise me +that.” +</p> +<p> +“It will be late, then, towards evening, for I have made an engagement to +put a young horse in harness,—a three-year-old, and a sprightly one, +they tell me,—so that I may look on the morning as filled. I see, my +dear child, how shocked you are with all these unladylike cares and +duties; but poor Tom and I used to weld our lives together, and while I +took my share of boat-building one day, he helped me in the dairy the day +after; but now that he is gone, our double functions devolve upon me.” +</p> +<p> +“How happy you must be!” +</p> +<p> +“I think I am; at least, I have no time to spare for unhappiness.” +</p> +<p> +“If I could but change with you, Polly!” +</p> +<p> +“Change what, my dear child?” +</p> +<p> +“Condition, fortune, belongings,—everything.” +</p> +<p> +“Take my word for it, you are just as well as you are; but I suppose it's +very natural for one to fancy he could carry another's burden easier than +his own, for it was only a few moments back I thought how I should like to +be you.” +</p> +<p> +“To be me,—to be me!” +</p> +<p> +“Of course I was wrong, dearest. It was only a passing, fleeting thought, +and I now see how absurd I was to wish to be very beautiful, dearly loved, +and affectionately cared for, with a beautiful home to live in, and every +hour free to be happy. Oh, what a sigh, dearest, what a sigh! but I assure +you I have my calamities too; the mice have got at the seeds in my +onion-bed, and I don't expect to see one come up.” +</p> +<p> +If Josephine's first impulse was to feel angry, her next was to laugh out, +which she did heartily; and passing her arm fondly round Polly's waist, +she said, “I 'll get used to your raillery, Polly, and not feel sore at +it; but remember, too, it's a spirit I never knew before.” +</p> +<p> +“How good and generous, then, to bear it so well!” said Polly, +affectionately; “your friend Mr. Conyers did not show the same patience.” +</p> +<p> +“You tried him, then?” said Josephine, with a half-eager glance. +</p> +<p> +“Of course; I talked to him as I do to every one. But there goes your +dinner-bell.” Checking herself on a reflection over the pretension of this +summons of three people to a family meal in a cottage, Polly tied on her +bonnet and said “Good-bye.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER II. AT HOME AGAIN +</h2> +<p> +The Barringtons had not been quite a fortnight settled in their home, when +a note came from Conyers, lamenting, in most feeling terms, that he could +not pay them his promised visit. If the epistle was not very long, it was +a grumble from beginning to end. “Nobody would know,” wrote he, “it was +the same regiment poor Colonel Hunter commanded. Our Major is now in +command,—the same Stapylton you have heard me speak of; and if we +never looked on him too favorably, we now especially detest him. His first +step was to tell us we were disorderly, ill-dressed, and ill-disciplined; +but we were even less prepared to hear that we could not ride. The result +of all this is, we have gone to school again,—even old captains, who +have served with distinction in the field, have been consigned to the +riding-house; and we poor subs are treated as if we were the last refuse +of all the regiments of the army, sent here to be reformed and corrected. +We have incessant drills, parades, and inspections, and, worse again, all +leave is stopped. If I was not in the best of temper with the service +before, you may judge how I feel towards it now. In fact, if it were not +that I expect my father back in England by the middle of May, I 'd send in +my papers and leave at once. How I fall back now in memory to the happy +days of my ramble with you, and wonder if I shall ever see the like again. +And how I hate myself for not having felt at the time how immeasurably +delightful they were! Trust me never to repeat the mistake if I have the +opportunity given me. I asked this morning for three days—only three—to +run down and see you once more before we leave,—for we are ordered +to Honnslow,—and I was refused. But this was not all: not content +with rejecting my request, he added what he called an expression of +astonishment that an officer so deficient in his duties should care to +absent himself from regimental discipline.” +</p> +<p> +“Poor boy!—this is, indeed, too bad,” said Miss Dinah, as she had +read thus far; “only think, Peter, how this young fellow, spoiled and +petted as he was as a child,—denied nothing, pampered as though he +were a prince,—should find himself the mark of so insulting a +tyranny. Are you listening to me, Peter Barrington?” +</p> +<p> +“Eh,—what? No, thank you, Dinah; I have made an excellent +breakfast,” said Barrington, hurriedly, and again addressed himself to the +letter he was reading. “That's what I call a Trump, Dinah,—a regular +Trump.” +</p> +<p> +“Who is the especial favorite that has called for the very choice eulogy?” +said she, bridling up. +</p> +<p> +“Gone into the thing, too, with heart and soul,—a noble fellow!” +continued Barrington. +</p> +<p> +“Pray enlighten us as to the name that calls forth such enthusiasm.” +</p> +<p> +“Stapylton, my dear Dinah,—Major Stapylton. In all my life I do not +remember one instance to parallel with this generous and disinterested +conduct. Listen to what Withering says,—not a man given to take up +rash impressions in favor of a stranger. Listen to this: 'Stapylton has +been very active,—written to friends, both at Calcutta and Agra, and +shown, besides, an amount of acuteness in pursuit of what is really +important, that satisfies me a right good common lawyer has been lost by +his being a soldier.' And here, again he recurs to him: it is with +reference to certain documents: 'S. persists in believing that with proper +diligence these may be recovered; he says that it is a common practice +with the Moonshees to retain papers, in the hope of their being one day +deemed of value; and he is fully persuaded that they have not been +destroyed. There is that about the man's manner of examining a question,—his +patience, his instinctive seizure of what is of moment, and his invariable +rejection of whatever is immaterial; and, lastly, his thorough +appreciation of the character of that evidence which would have most +weight with the Indian Board, which dispose me to regard him as an +invaluable ally to our cause.'” +</p> +<p> +“Do me the favor to regard this picture of your friend now,” said Miss +Barrington, as she handed the letter from Conyers across the table. +</p> +<p> +Barrington read it over attentively. “And what does this prove, my dear +sister?” said he. “This is the sort of stereotyped complaint of every +young fellow who has been refused a leave. I have no doubt Hunter was too +easy-tempered to have been strict in discipline, and the chances are these +young dogs had everything their own way till Stapylton came amongst them. +I find it hard to believe that any man likes unpopularity.” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps not, Peter Barrington; but he may like tyranny more than he hates +unpopularity; and, for my own part, this man is odious to me.” +</p> +<p> +“Don't say so, Dinah,—don't say so, I entreat of you, for he will be +our guest here this very day.” +</p> +<p> +“Our guest!—why, is not the regiment under orders to leave?” +</p> +<p> +“So it is; but Withering says it would be a great matter if we could have +a sort of consultation together before the Major leaves Ireland. There are +innumerable little details which he sees ought to be discussed between us; +and so he has persuaded him to give us a day,—perhaps two days,—no +small boon, Dinah, from one so fully occupied as he is.” +</p> +<p> +“I wish he would not make the sacrifice, Peter.” +</p> +<p> +“My dear sister, are we so befriended by Fortune that we can afford to +reject the kindness of our fellows?” +</p> +<p> +“I'm no believer in chance friendships, Peter Barrington; neither you nor +I are such interesting orphans as to inspire sympathy at first sight.” +</p> +<p> +Josephine could not help a laugh at Miss Dinah's illustration, and old +Barriqgton himself heartily joined in the merriment, not sorry the while +to draw the discussion into a less stern field. “Come, come, Dinah,” said +he, gayly, “let us put out a few bottles of that old Madeira in the sun; +and if Darby can find us a salmon-trout, we 'll do our best to entertain +our visitors.” +</p> +<p> +“It never occurred to me to doubt the probability of their enjoying +themselves, Peter; my anxieties were quite on another score.” +</p> +<p> +“Now, Fifine,” continued Barrington, “we shall see if Polly Dill has +really made you the perfect housekeeper she boasted. The next day or two +will put your talents to the test.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, if we could only have Polly herself here!” +</p> +<p> +“What for?—on what pretext, Miss Barrington?” said Dinah, haughtily. +“I have not, so far as I am aware, been accounted very ignorant of +household cares.” +</p> +<p> +“Withering declares that your equal is not in Europe, Dinah.” +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Withering's suffrage can always be bought by a mock-turtle soup, and +a glass of Roman punch after it.” +</p> +<p> +“How he likes it,—how he relishes it! He says that he comes back to +the rest of the dinner with the freshness of a man at an assize case.” +</p> +<p> +“So like him!” said Dinah, scornfully; “he has never an illustration that +is not taken from the Four Courts. I remember one day, when asking for the +bill of fare, he said, 'Will you kindly let me look at the cause list.' +Prepare yourself, Josephine, for an avalanche of law anecdotes and Old +Bailey stories, for I assure you you will hear nothing for the next three +days but drolleries that have been engrossed on parchment and paid stamp +duty to the Crown.” +</p> +<p> +Barrington gave a smile, as though in protest against the speech, and left +the room. In truth, he was very anxious to be alone, and to think over, at +his leisure, a short passage in his letter which he had not summoned +courage to read aloud. It was Withering's opinion that to institute the +inquiries in India a considerable sum of money would be required, and he +had left it for Barrington's consideration whether it were wiser to risk +the great peril of this further involvement, or once more to try what +chance there might be of a compromise. Who knows what success might have +attended the suggestion if the old lawyer had but employed any other word! +Compromise, however, sounded to his ears like an unworthy concession,—a +surrender of George's honor. Compromise might mean money for his +granddaughter, and shame to her father's memory. Not, indeed, that +Withering was, as a man, one to counsel such a course, but Withering was a +lawyer, and in the same spirit that he would have taken a verdict for half +his claim if he saw an adverse feeling in the jury-box, so he would bow to +circumstances that were stronger than him, and accept the best he could, +if he might not have all that he ought But could Barrington take this +view? He thought not. His conviction was that the main question to +establish was the fair fame and honor of his son; his guide was, how +George himself would have acted—would have felt—in the same +contingency; and he muttered, “He'd have been a hardy fellow who would +have hinted at compromise to <i>him</i>.” +</p> +<p> +The next point was how the means for the coming campaign were to be +provided. He had already raised a small sum by way of mortgage on the +“Home,” and nothing remained but to see what further advance could be made +on the same security. When Barrington was a great estated gentleman with a +vast fortune at his command, it cost him wonderfully little thought to +contract a loan, or even to sell a farm. A costly election, a few weeks of +unusual splendor, an unfortunate night at play, had made such sacrifices +nothing very unusual, and he would give his orders on this score as +unconcernedly as he would bid his servant replenish his glass at table. +Indeed, he had no more fear of exhausting his fortune than he felt as to +out-drinking his cellar. There was enough there, as he often said, for +those who should come after him. And now, what a change! He stood actually +appalled at the thought of a mortgage for less than a thousand pounds. But +so it is; the cockboat may be more to a man than was once the +three-decker. The cottage was his all now; that lost, and they were +houseless. Was it not a bold thing to risk everything on one more throw? +There was the point over which he now pondered as he walked slowly along +in the little shady alley between the laurel hedges. He had no friend +nearer his heart than Withering, no one to whom he could unbosom himself +so frankly and so freely, and yet this was a case on which he could not +ask his counsel. All his life long he had strenuously avoided suffering a +question of the kind to intervene between them. Of his means, his +resources, his straits, or his demands, Withering knew positively nothing. +It was with Barrington a point of delicacy to maintain this reserve +towards one who was always his lawyer, and often his guest. The very +circumstance of his turning innkeeper was regarded by Withering as +savoring far more of caprice than necessity, and Barrington took care to +strengthen this impression. +</p> +<p> +If, then, Withering's good sense and worldly knowledge would have been +invaluable aids to him in this conjunction, he saw he could not have them. +The same delicacy which debarred him heretofore, would still interpose +against his appeal to that authority. And then he thought how he had once +troops of friends to whom he could address himself for counsel. There is +nothing more true, indeed, than the oft-uttered scoff on the hollowness of +those friendships which attach to the days of prosperous fortune, and the +world is very prone to point to the utter loneliness of him who has been +shipwrecked by Fate; but let us be just in our severity, and let us own +that a man's belongings, his associates, his—what common parlance +calls—friends, are the mere accidents of his station, and they no +more accompany him in his fall than do the luxuries he has forfeited. From +the level from which he has lapsed they have not descended. They are +there, living to-day as they lived yesterday. If their sympathy is not +with him, it is because neither are they themselves; they cross each other +no more. Such friendships are like the contracts made with a crew for a +particular voyage,—they end with the cruise. No man ever understood +this better than Barrington; no man ever bore the world less of ill will +for its part towards himself. If now and then a sense of sadness would +cloud him at some mark of passing forgetfulness, he would not own to the +gloomy feeling; while to any show of recognition, to any sign of a +grateful remembrance of the past, he would grow boastful to very vanity. +“Look there, Dinah,” he would say, “what a noble-hearted fellow that is! I +scarcely was more than commonly civil to him formerly, and you saw how +courteous he was in making a place for us, how heartily he hoped I was in +good health.” +</p> +<p> +“I'll send over to Dill and have a talk with him,” was Barrington's last +resolve, as he turned the subject over and over in his mind. “Dill 's a +shrewd fellow, and I 'm not sure that he has not laid by a little money; +he might feel no objection to a good investment for it, with such +security.” And he looked around as he spoke on the trees, some of which he +planted, every one of which he knew, and sighed heavily. “He 'll scarce +love the spot more than I did,” muttered he, and walked along with his +head down. After a while he took out Withering's letter from his pocket +and re-read it. Somehow, it was hard to say why, it did not read so +promisingly as at first. The difficulties to be encountered were very +stubborn ones, so much so that he very palpably hinted how much better +some amicable settlement would be than an open contest wherein legal +subtlety and craft should be evoked. There was so much of that matter +always taken for granted, to be proved, to be demonstrated true on +evidence, that it actually looked appalling. “Of the searches and +inquiries instituted in India,” wrote Withering, “I can speak but vaguely; +but I own the very distance magnifies them immensely to my eyes.” “Tom is +growing old, not a doubt of it,” muttered Barrington; “these were not the +sort of obstacles that could have terrified him once on a time. He 'd have +said, 'If there 's evidence, we 'll have it; if there's a document, we 'll +find it.' It's India, that far-away land, that has frightened him. These +lawyers, like certain sportsmen, lose their nerve if you take them out of +their own country. It 's the new style of fences they can't face. Well, +thanks to him who gave it, I have my stout heart still, and I 'll go on.” +</p> +<p> +“Going on” was, however, not the easy task it first seemed, nor was the +pleasantest part of it the necessity of keeping the secret from his +sister. Miss Dinah had from the first discouraged the whole suit. The +adversary was too powerful, the odds against them were too great; the +India Board had only to protract and prolong the case and <i>they</i> must +be beaten from sheer exhaustion. How, then, should he reconcile her to +mortgaging the last remnant of all their fortune for “one more throw on +the table”? “No chance of persuading a woman that this would be wise,” +said he. And he thought, when he had laid the prejudice of sex as the +ground of error, he had completed his argument. +</p> +<p> +“Going on” had its fine generous side about it, also, that cheered and +elevated him. It was for George he was doing it, and that dear girl, whose +every trait recalled her father; for let those explain it who can, she, +who had never seen nor even heard of her father since her infancy, +inherited all his peculiar ways and habits, and every trick of his manner. +Let me own that these, even more than any qualities of sterling worth, +endeared her to her grandfather; and just as he had often declared no rank +or position that could befall George would have been above his deserts, so +he averred that if Josephine were to be the greatest heiress in England +to-morrow, she would be a grace and an ornament to the station. If Aunt +Dinah would occasionally attempt to curb this spirit, or even limit its +extravagance, his invariable answer was, “It may be all as you say, +sister, but for the life of me I cannot think my swans to be geese.” +</p> +<p> +As he thus mused and meditated, he heard the wicket of the garden open and +shut, and shortly afterwards a half-shambling shuffling step on the +gravel. Before he had time to speculate on whose it should be, he saw +Major M'Cormick limping laboriously towards him. +</p> +<p> +“How is this, Major?” cried he; “has the change of weather disagreed with +your rheumatism?” +</p> +<p> +“It's the wound; it's always worse in the fall of the year,” croaked the +other. “I'd have been up to see you before but for the pains, and that old +fool Dill—a greater fool myself for trusting him—made me put +on a blister down what he calls the course of the nerve, and I never knew +torture till I tried it.” +</p> +<p> +“My sister Dinah has, I verily believe, the most sovereign remedy for +these pains.” +</p> +<p> +“Is it the green draught? Oh, don't I know it,” burst out the Major. “You +might hear my shouts the day I took it down at Inistioge. There was n't a +bit of skin left on my lips, and when I wiped the perspiration off my head +my hair came off too. Aquafortis is like egg-flip compared to that blessed +draught; and I remember well how I crawled to my writing-desk and wrote, +'Have me opened,' for I knew I was poisoned.” +</p> +<p> +“Did you tell my sister of your sufferings?” +</p> +<p> +“To be sure I did, and she only smiled and said that I took it when I was +fasting, or when I was full, I forget which; and that I ought to have +taken a brisk walk, and I only able to creep; and only one spoonful at a +time, and it was the whole bottle I swallowed. In fact, she owned +afterwards that nothing but the strength of a horse could have saved me.” +</p> +<p> +Peter found it very hard to maintain a decent gravity at the play of the +Major's features, which during the narrative recalled every dire +experience of his medicine. +</p> +<p> +“Well, come into the house and we'll give you something better,” said +Barrington, at last. +</p> +<p> +“I think I saw your granddaughter at the window as I came by,—a +good-looking young woman, and not so dark as I suspected she 'd be.” +</p> +<p> +“There's not a handsomer girl in Ireland; and as to skin, she 's not as +brown as her father.” +</p> +<p> +“It wouldn't be easy to be that; he was about three shades deeper than a +Portuguese.” +</p> +<p> +“George Barrington was confessedly the finest-looking fellow in the King's +army, and as English-looking a gentleman as any man in it.” +</p> +<p> +The tone of this speech was so palpably that of one who would not stand +the very shadow of a rejoinder, that the Major held his peace, and +shuffled along without a word. The thought, however, of administering a +rebuke to any one within the precincts of his home was so repugnant to +Barrington's nature, that he had scarcely uttered the words than he was +eager to repair them, and with a most embarrassed humility he stammered +out something about their recent tour abroad and all the enjoyment it had +given them. +</p> +<p> +“Maybe so,” rejoined the other, dryly; “but I never saw any pleasure in +spending money you could keep.” +</p> +<p> +“My dear Major, that is precisely the very money that does procure +pleasure.” +</p> +<p> +“Wasn't that a post-chaise I saw through the trees? There it is again; +it's making straight for the 'Home,'” said M'Cormick, pointing with his +stick. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said Peter; “I was expecting a couple of friends to pass a day or +so with me here. Will you excuse me if I hurry forward to welcome them?” +</p> +<p> +“Don't make a stranger of me; I'll saunter along at my leisure,” said the +Major, as Barrington walked briskly on towards the cottage. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER III. A SMALL DINNER-PARTY +</h2> +<p> +Withering and Stapylton had arrived fully two hoars earlier than they were +expected, and Miss Dinah was too deeply engaged in the household cares +that were to do them honor to receive them. Josephine, too, was not less +busily occupied, for her conventual education had made her wonderfully +skilful in all sorts of confectionery, and she was mistress of devices in +spun sugar and preserved fruits, which rose in Aunt Dinah's eyes to the +dignity of high art. Barrington, however, was there to meet them, and with +a cordial welcome which no man could express more gracefully. The luncheon +hour passed pleasantly over, for all were in good humor and good spirits. +Withering's holiday always found him ready to enjoy it, and when could old +Peter feel so happy as when he had a guest beneath his roof who thoroughly +appreciated the cottage, and entered into the full charm of its lovely +scenery! Such was Stapylton; he blended a fair liking for the picturesque +with a natural instinct for comfort and homeliness, and he saw in this +spot what precisely embraced both elements. It was very beautiful; but, +better still, it was very lovable. “It was so rare”—so, at least, he +told Barrington—“to find a cottage wherein internal comfort had not +been sacrificed to some requirement of outward show. There was only one +way of doing this,” said he, as Barrington led him through the little +flower-garden, giving glimpses of the rooms within as they passed,—“only +one way, Mr. Barrington; a man must have consummate taste, and strong +credit at his banker's.” Barrington's cheek grew a thought redder, and he +smiled that faint sad smile which now and then will break from one who +feels that he could rebut what he has just heard, if it were but right or +fitting he should do so. Of course, amongst really distressing sensations +this has no place; but yet there is a peculiar pain in being complimented +by your friend on the well-to-do condition of your fortune when your +conscience is full of the long watching hours of the night, or, worse +still, the first awaking thought of difficulties to which you open your +eyes of a morning. It is not often, nor are there many to whom you can +say, “I cannot tell the day or the hour when all this shall pass away from +me; my head is racked with care, and my heart heavy with anxiety.” How +jarring to be told of all the things you ought to do! You who could so +well afford it! And how trying to have to take shelter from your necessity +under the shadow of a seeming stinginess, and to bear every reflection on +your supposed thrift rather than own to your poverty! +</p> +<p> +If Withering had been with them as they strolled, this, perhaps, might +have been avoided; he had all a lawyer's technical skill to change a +topic; but Withering had gone to take his accustomed midday nap, the +greatest of all the luxuries his time of idleness bestowed upon him. +</p> +<p> +Now, although Stapylton's alludings—and they were no more—to +Barrington's gifts of fortune were such as perfectly consisted with good +taste and good breeding, Barring-ton felt them all painfully, and probably +nothing restrained him from an open disclaimer of their fitness save the +thought that from a host such an avowal would sound ungracefully. “It is +my duty now,” reasoned he, “to make my guest feel that all the attentions +he receives exact no sacrifice, and that the pleasure his presence affords +is unalloyed by a single embarrassment. If he must hear of my +difficulties, let it be when he is not beneath my roof.” And so he let +Stapylton talk away about the blessings of tranquil affluence, and the +happiness of him whose only care was to find time for the enjoyments that +were secured to him. He let him quote Pope and Wharton and Edmund Burke, +and smiled the blandest concurrence with what was irritating him almost to +fever. +</p> +<p> +“This is Withering's favorite spot,” said Peter, as they gained the shade +of a huge ilex-tree, from which two distinct reaches of the river were +visible. +</p> +<p> +“And it shall be mine, too,” said Stapylton, throwing himself down in the +deep grass; “and as I know you have scores of things which claim your +attention, let me release you, while I add a cigar—the only possible +enhancement—to the delight of this glorious nook.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, it shall be as you wish. We dine at six. I 'll go and look after a +fish for our entertainment;” and Barrington turned away into the copse, +not sorry to release his heart by a heavy sigh, and to feel he was alone +with his cares. +</p> +<p> +Let us turn for a moment to M'Cormick, who continued to saunter slowly +about the garden, in the expectation of Barrington's return. Wearied at +length with waiting, and resolved that his patience should not go entirely +unrequited, he turned into a little shady walk on which the windows of the +kitchen opened. Stationing himself there, in a position to see without +being seen, he took what he called an observation of all within. The sight +was interesting, even if he did not bring to it the appreciation of a +painter. There, upon a spacious kitchen table, lay a lordly sirloin, +richly and variously colored, flanked by a pair of plump guinea-hens and a +fresh salmon of fully twenty pounds' weight. Luscious fruit and vegetables +were heaped and mingled in a wild profusion, and the speckled plumage of +game was half hidden under the massive bunches of great hot-house grapes. +It is doubtful if Sneyders himself could have looked upon the display with +a higher sense of enjoyment It is, indeed, a question between the relative +merits of two senses, and the issue lies between the eye and the palate. +</p> +<p> +Wisely reasoning that such preparations were not made for common guests, +M'Cormick ran over in his mind all the possible and impossible names he +could think of, ending at last with the conviction it was some “Nob” he +must have met abroad, and whom in a moment of his expansive hospitality he +had invited to visit him. “Isn't it like them!” muttered he. “It would be +long before they'd think of such an entertainment to an old neighbor like +myself; but here they are spending—who knows how much?—for +somebody that to-morrow or next day won't remember their names, or maybe, +perhaps, laugh when they think of the funny old woman they saw,—the +'Fright' with the yellow shawl and the orange bonnet. Oh, the world, the +world!” +</p> +<p> +It is not for me to speculate on what sort of thing the world had been, if +the Major himself had been intrusted with the control and fashion of it; +but I have my doubts that we are just as well off as we are. “Well, though +they haven't the manners to say 'M'Cormick; will you stop and dine?' they +haven't done with me yet; not a bit!” And with this resolve he entered the +cottage, and found his way to the drawing-room. It was unoccupied; so he +sat himself down in a comfortable armchair, to await events and their +issue. There were books and journals and newspapers about; but the Major +was not a reader, and so he sat musing and meditating, while the time went +by. Just as the clock struck five, Miss Dinah, whose various cares of +housewifery had given her a very busy day, was about to have a look at the +drawing-room before she went to dress, and being fully aware that one of +her guests was asleep, and the other full stretched beside the river, she +felt she could go her “rounds” without fear of being observed. Now, +whatever had been the peculiar functions she was lately engaged in, they +had exacted from her certain changes in costume more picturesque than +flattering. In the first place, the sleeves of her dress were rolled up +above the elbows, displaying arms more remarkable for bone than beauty. A +similar curtailment of her petticoats exhibited feet and ankles which—not +to be ungallant—might be called massive rather than elegant; and +lastly, her two long curls of auburn hair—curls which, in the +splendor of her full toilette, were supposed to be no mean aids to her +captivating powers—were now tastefully festooned and fastened to the +back of her head, pretty much as a pair of hawsers are occasionally +disposed on the bow of a merchantman! Thus costumed, she had advanced into +the middle of the room before she saw the Major. +</p> +<p> +“A pleasure quite unexpected, sir, is this,” said she, with a vigorous +effort to shake out what sailors would call her “lower courses.” “I was +not aware that you were here.” +</p> +<p> +“Indeed, then, I came in myself, just like old times. I said this morning, +if it 's fine to-day, I 'll just go over to the 'Fisherman's Home.'” +</p> +<p> +“'The Home,' sir, if you please. We retain so much of the former name.” +But just as she uttered the correction, a chance look at the glass +conveyed the condition of her head-gear,—a startling fact which made +her cheeks perfectly crimson. “I lay stress upon the change of name, sir,” +continued she, “as intimating that we are no longer innkeepers, and expect +something, at least, of the deference rendered to those who call their +house their own.” +</p> +<p> +“To be sure, and why not?” croaked out the Major, with a malicious grin. +“And I forgot all about it, little thinking, indeed, to surprise you in +'dishabille,' as they call it.” +</p> +<p> +“<i>You</i> surprise me, sir, every time we meet,” said she, with flashing +eyes. “And you make me feel surprised with myself for my endurance!” And +so saying, she retired towards the door, covering her retreat as she went +by every object of furniture that presented itself, and, like a skilful +general, defending her rear by every artifice of the ground. Thus did she +exit, and with a bang of the door—as eloquent as any speech—close +the colloquy. +</p> +<p> +“Faix! and the Swiss costume doesn't become you at all!” said the Major, +as he sat back in his chair, and cackled over the scene. +</p> +<p> +As Miss Barrington, boiling with passion, passed her brother's door, she +stopped to knock. +</p> +<p> +“Peter!” cried she. “Peter Barrington, I say!” The words were, however, +not well out, when she heard a step ascending the stair. She could not +risk another discovery like the last; so, opening the door, she said, +“That hateful M'Cormick is below. Peter, take care that on no account—” +</p> +<p> +There was no time to finish, and she had barely an instant to gain her own +room, when Stapylton reached the corridor. +</p> +<p> +Peter Barrington had, however, heard enough to inform him of his sister's +high behest. Indeed, he was as quick at interpreting brief messages as +people have grown in these latter days of telegraphic communication. +Oracular utterings had been more than once in his life his only +instructors, and he now knew that he had been peremptorily ordered not to +ask the Major to dinner. +</p> +<p> +There are, doubtless, people in this world—I almost fancy I have met +one or two such myself—who would not have felt peculiar difficulty +in obeying this command; who would have gone down to the drawing-room and +talked coolly to the visitor, discussing commonplaces, easily and +carelessly, noting the while how at every pause of the conversation each +was dwelling on the self-same point, and yet, with a quiet abstinence, +never touching it, till with a sigh, that was half a malediction, the +uninvited would rise to take leave. Barrington was not of this number. The +man who sat under his roof was sacred. He could have no faults; and to +such a pitch had this punctilio carried him, that had an actual enemy +gained the inside of his threshold, he would have spared nothing to treat +him with honor and respect. +</p> +<p> +“Well, well,” muttered he, as he slowly descended the stairs, “it will be +the first time in my life I ever did it, and I don't know how to go about +it now.” +</p> +<p> +When a frank and generous man is about to do something he is ashamed of, +how readily will a crafty and less scrupulous observer detect it! +M'Cormick read Barrington's secret before he was a minute in the room. It +was in vain Peter affected an off-hand easy manner, incidentally dropping +a hint that the Attorney-General and another friend had just arrived,—a +visit, a mere business visit it was, to be passed with law papers and +parchments. “Poor fun when the partridges were in the stubble, but there +was no help for it. Who knew, however, if he could not induce them to give +him an extra day, and if I can, Major, you must promise to come over and +meet them. You 'll be charmed with Withering, he has such a fund of +agreeability. One of the old school, but not the less delightful to you +and me. Come, now, give me your word—for—shall we say +Saturday?—Yes, Saturday!” +</p> +<p> +“I 've nothing to say against it,” grumbled out M'Cormick, whose assent +was given, as attorneys say, without prejudice to any other claim. +</p> +<p> +“You shall hear from me in the morning, then,” said Peter. “I 'll send you +a line to say what success I have had with my friends.” +</p> +<p> +“Any time in the day will do,” said the Major, unconcernedly; for, in +truth, the future never had in his estimation the same interest as the +present. As for the birds in the bush, he simply did not believe in them +at all. +</p> +<p> +“No, no,” said Barrington, hurriedly. “You shall hear from me early, for I +am anxious you should meet Withering and his companion, too,—a +brother-soldier.” +</p> +<p> +“Who may he be?” asked M'Cormick. +</p> +<p> +“That's my secret, Major,—that's my secret,” said Peter, with a +forced laugh, for it now wanted but ten minutes to six; “but you shall +know all on Saturday.” +</p> +<p> +Had he said on the day of judgment, the assurance would have been as +palatable to M'Cormick. Talking to him of Saturday on a Monday was asking +him to speculate on the infinite. Meanwhile he sat on, as only they sit +who understand the deep and high mystery of that process. Oh, if you who +have your fortunes to make in life, without any assignable mode for so +doing, without a craft, a calling, or a trade, knew what success there was +to be achieved merely by sitting—by simply being “there,” eternally +“there”—a warning, an example, an illustration, a what you will, of +boredom or infliction; but still “there.” The butt of this man, the terror +of that,—hated, feared, trembled at,—but yet recognized as a +thing that must be, an institution that was, and is, and shall be, when we +are all dead and buried. +</p> +<p> +Long and dreary may be the days of the sitter, but the hour of his reward +will come at last. There will come the time when some one—any one—will +be wanted to pair off with some other bore, to listen to his stories and +make up his whist-table; and then he will be “there.” I knew a man who, +merely by sitting on patiently for years, was at last chosen to be sent as +a Minister and special Envoy to a foreign Court just to get rid of him. +And for the women sitters,—the well-dressed and prettily got-up +simperers, who have sat their husbands into Commissionerships, Colonial +Secretaryships, and such like,—are they not written of in the Book +of Beauty? +</p> +<p> +“Here 's M'Cormick, Dinah,” said Barrington, with a voice shaking with +agitation and anxiety, “whom I want to pledge himself to us for Saturday +next. Will you add your persuasions to mine, and see what can be done?” +</p> +<p> +“Don't you think you can depend upon me?” cackled out the Major. +</p> +<p> +“I am certain of it, sir; I feel your word like your bond on such a +matter,” said Miss Dinah. “My grandniece, Miss Josephine Barrington,” said +she, presenting that young lady, who courtesied formally to the +unprepossessing stranger. +</p> +<p> +“I'm proud of the honor, ma'am,” said M'Cormick, with a deep bow, and +resumed his seat; to rise again, however, as Withering entered the room +and was introduced to him. +</p> +<p> +“This is intolerable, Peter,” whispered Miss Barrington, while the lawyer +and the Major were talking together. “You are certain you have not asked +him?” +</p> +<p> +“On my honor, Dinah! on my honor!” +</p> +<p> +“I hope I am not late?” cried Stapylton, entering; then turning hastily to +Barrington, said, “Pray present me to your niece.” +</p> +<p> +“This is my sister, Major Stapylton; this is my granddaughter;” and the +ladies courtesied, each with a degree of satisfaction which the reader +shall be left to assign them. +</p> +<p> +After a few words of commonplace civility, uttered, however, with a +courtesy and tact which won their way for the speaker, Stapylton +recognized and shook hands with M'Cormick. +</p> +<p> +“You know my neighbor, then?” said Barrington, in some surprise. +</p> +<p> +“I am charmed to say I do; he owes me the <i>denouement</i> of a most +amusing story, which was suddenly broken off when we last parted, but +which I shall certainly claim after dinner.” +</p> +<p> +“He has been kind enough to engage himself to us for Saturday,” began +Dinah. But M'Cormick, who saw the moment critical, stepped in,— +</p> +<p> +“You shall hear every word of it before you sleep. It's all about +Walcheren, though they think Waterloo more the fashion now.” +</p> +<p> +“Just as this young lady might fancy Major Stapylton a more interesting +event than one of us,” said Withering, laughing. “But what 's become of +your boasted punctuality, Barrington? A quarter past,—are you +waiting for any one?” +</p> +<p> +“Are we, Dinah?” asked Barrington, with a look of sheepishness. +</p> +<p> +“Not that I am aware of, Peter. There is no one to <i>come</i>;” and she +laid such an emphasis on the word as made the significance palpable. +</p> +<p> +To Barrington it was painful as well as palpable; so painful, indeed, that +he hurriedly rang the bell, saying, in a sharp voice, “Of course, we are +all here,—there are six of us. Dinner, Darby!” +</p> +<p> +The Major had won, but he was too crafty to show any triumph at his +victory, and he did not dare even to look towards where Miss Barrington +stood, lest he should chance to catch her eye. Dinner was at length +announced. Withering gave his arm to Miss Barrington, Stapylton took +charge of Josephine, and old Peter, pleasantly drawing his arm within +M'Cormick's, said, “I hope you 've got a good appetite, Major, for I have +a rare fish for you to-day, and your favorite sauce, too,—smelt, not +lobster.” +</p> +<p> +Poor Barrington! it was a trying moment for him, that short walk into the +dinner-room, and he felt very grateful to M'Cormick that he said nothing +peevish or sarcastic to him on the way. Many a dinner begins in +awkwardness, but warms as it proceeds into a pleasant geniality. Such was +the case here. Amongst those, besides, who have not the ties of old +friendship between them, or have not as yet warmed into that genial +good-fellowship which is, so to say, its foster-brother, a character of +the M'Cormick class is not so damaging an element as might be imagined, +and at times there is a positive advantage in having one of whose merits, +by a tacit understanding, all are quite agreed. Withering and Stapylton +both read the man at once, and drew out his salient points—his +parsimony, his malice, and his prying curiosity—in various ways, but +so neatly and so advisedly as to make him fancy he was the attacking +party, and very successful, too, in his assaults upon the enemy. Even +Barrington, in the honest simplicity of his nature, was taken in, and more +than once thought that the old Major was too severe upon the others, and +sat in wondering admiration of their self-command and good temper. No +deception of this sort prevailed with Miss Barrington, who enjoyed to the +fullest extent the subtle raillery with which they induced him to betray +every meanness of his nature, and yet never suffered the disclosure to +soar above the region of the ludicrous. +</p> +<p> +“You have been rather hard upon them, Major,” said Barrington, as they +strolled about on the greensward after dinner to enjoy their coffee and a +cigar. “Don't you think you have been a shade too severe?” +</p> +<p> +“It will do them good. They wanted to turn me out like a bagged fox, and +show the ladies some sport; but I taught them a thing or two.” +</p> +<p> +“No, no, M'Cormick, you wrong them there; they had no such intentions, +believe me.” +</p> +<p> +“I know that <i>you</i> did n't see it,” said he, with emphasis, “but your +sister did, and liked it well, besides; ay, and the young one joined in +the fun. And, after all, I don't see that they got much by the victory, +for Withering was not pleased at my little hit about the days when he used +to be a Whig and spout liberal politics; and the other liked just as +little my remark about the fellows in the Company's service, and how +nobody knew who they were or where they came from. He was in the Madras +army himself, but I pretended not to know it; but I found his name written +on the leaf of an old book he gave me, and the regiment he was in: and did +you see how he looked when I touched on it? But here he comes now.” +</p> +<p> +“Make your peace with him, M'Cormick, make your peace!” said Barrington, +as he moved away, not sorry, as he went, to mark the easy familiarity with +which Stapylton drew his arm within the other's, and walked along at his +side. +</p> +<p> +“Wasn't that a wonderful dinner we had to-day, from a man that hasn't a +cross in his pocket?” croaked out M'Cormick to Stapylton. +</p> +<p> +“Is it possible?” +</p> +<p> +“Sherry and Madeira after your soup, then Sauterne,—a thing I don't +care for any more than the oyster patties it came with; champagne next, +and in tumblers too! Do you ever see it better done at your mess? Or where +did you ever taste a finer glass of claret?” +</p> +<p> +“It was all admirable.” +</p> +<p> +“There was only one thing forgotten,—not that it signifies to me.” +</p> +<p> +“And what might that be?” +</p> +<p> +“It was n't paid for! No, nor will it ever be!” +</p> +<p> +“You amaze me, Major. My impression was that our friend here was, without +being rich, in very comfortable circumstances; able to live handsomely, +while he carried on a somewhat costly suit.” +</p> +<p> +“That 's the greatest folly of all,” broke out M'Cormick; “and it's to get +money for that now that he's going to mortgage this place here,—ay, +the very ground under our feet!” And this he said with a sort of tremulous +indignation, as though the atrocity bore especially hard upon <i>them</i>. +“Kinshela, the attorney from Kilkenny, was up with me about it yesterday. +'It's an elegant investment, Major,' says he, 'and you 're very likely to +get the place into your hands for all the chance old Peter has of paying +off the charge. His heart is in that suit, and he 'll not stop as long as +he has a guinea to go on with it.' +</p> +<p> +“I said, 'I 'd think of it: I 'd turn it over in my mind;' for there's +various ways of looking at it.” +</p> +<p> +“I fancy I apprehend one of them,” said Stapylton, with a half-jocular +glance at his companion. “You have been reflecting over another +investment, eh? Am I not right? I remarked you at dinner. I saw how the +young brunette had struck you, and I said to myself, 'She has made a +conquest already!'” +</p> +<p> +“Not a bit of it; nothing of the kind,” said M'Cormick, awkwardly. “I 'm +too 'cute to be caught that way.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, but remember it might be a very good catch. I don't speak of the +suit, because I agree with you, the chances in that direction are very +small, indeed, and I cannot understand the hopeful feeling with which he +prosecutes it; but she is a fine, handsome girl, very attractive in +manner, and equal to any station.” +</p> +<p> +“And what's the good of all that to me? Wouldn't it be better if she could +make a pease-pudding, like Polly Dill, or know how to fatten a turkey, or +salt down a side of bacon?” +</p> +<p> +“I don't think so; I declare, I don't think so,” said Stapylton, as he +lighted a fresh cigar. “These are household cares, and to be bought with +money, and not expensively, either. What a man like you or I wants is one +who should give a sort of tone,—impart a degree of elegance to his +daily life. We old bachelors grow into self-indulgence, which is only +another name for barbarism. With a mistaken idea of comfort we neglect +scores of little observances which constitute the small currency of +civilization, and without which all intercourse is unpleasing and +ungraceful.” +</p> +<p> +“I'm not quite sure that I understand you aright, but there's one thing I +know, I 'd think twice of it before I 'd ask that young woman to be Mrs. +M'Cormick. And, besides,” added he, with a sly side-look, “if it's so good +a thing, why don't you think of it for yourself?” +</p> +<p> +“I need not tell an old soldier like <i>you</i> that full pay and a wife +are incompatible. Every wise man's experience shows it; and when a fellow +goes to the bishop for a license, he should send in his papers to the +Horse Guards. Now, I 'm too poor to give up my career. I have not, like +you, a charming cottage on a river's bank, and a swelling lawn dotted over +with my own sheep before my door. I cannot put off the harness.” +</p> +<p> +“Who talks of putting off the harness?” cried Withering, gayly, as he +joined them. “Who ever dreamed of doing anything so ill-judging and so +mistaken? Why, if it were only to hide the spots where the collar has +galled you, you ought to wear the trappings to the last. No man ever knew +how to idle, who had n't passed all his life at it! Some go so far as to +say that for real success a man's father and grandfather should have been +idlers before him. But have you seen Barrington? He has been looking for +you all over the grounds.” +</p> +<p> +“No,” said Stapylton; “my old brother-officer and myself got into pipeclay +and barrack talk, and strolled away down here unconsciously.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, we 'd better not be late for tea,” broke in the Major, “or we 'll +hear of it from Miss Dinah!” And there was something so comic in the +seriousness of his tone, that they laughed heartily as they turned towards +the house. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER IV. A MOVE IN ADVANCE +</h2> +<p> +How pleasantly did the next day break on the “Home”! Polly Dill arrived in +the best of possible spirits. A few lines from Tom had just reached them. +They were written at sea; but the poor fellow's notions of latitude and +longitude were so confused that it was not easy to say from whence. They +were cheery, however, he was in good health, his comrades were +kind-hearted creatures, and evidently recognized in him one of a station +above their own. He said that he could have been appointed hospital +sergeant-if he liked, but that whatever reminded him of his old calling +was so distasteful that he preferred remaining as he was, the rather as he +was given to believe he should soon be a corporal. +</p> +<p> +“Not that I mean to stop there, Polly; and now that I have n't got to +study for it, I feel a courage as to the future I never knew before. Give +my love to Mr. Conyers, and say that I 'm never tired of thinking over the +last night I saw him, and of all his good nature to me, and that I hope I +'ll see his father some day or other to thank him. I suppose father does +n't miss me? I 'm sure mother does n't; and it 's only yourself, Polly, +will ever feel a heavy heart for the poor castaway! But cheer up! for as +sure as my name is Tom, I 'll not bring discredit on you, and you 'll not +be ashamed to take my arm down the main street when we meet. I must close +now, for the boat is going. +</p> +<p> +“P. S. I dreamed last night you rode Sid Davis's brown mare over the +Millrace at Graigue. Would n't it be strange if it came true? I wish I +could know it.” +</p> +<p> +“May I show this to my friend here, Polly?” said Barrington, pointing to +Withering. “It's a letter he 'd like to read; and as she nodded assent, he +handed it across the breakfast-table. +</p> +<p> +“What is your brother's regiment, Miss Dill?” said Stapylton, who had just +caught a stray word or two of what passed. +</p> +<p> +“The Forty-ninth.” +</p> +<p> +“The Forty-ninth,” said he, repeating the words once or twice. “Let me +see,—don't I know some Forty-ninth men? To be sure I do. There's Rep +ton and Hare. Your brother will be delighted with Hare.” +</p> +<p> +“My brother is in the ranks, Major Stapylton,” said she, flushing a deep +scarlet; and Barrington quickly interposed,— +</p> +<p> +“It was the wild frolic of a young man to escape a profession he had no +mind for.” +</p> +<p> +“But in foreign armies every one does it,” broke in Stapylton, hurriedly. +“No matter what a man's rank may be, he must carry the musket; and I own I +like the practice,—if for nothing else for that fine spirit of <i>camaraderie</i> +which it engenders.” +</p> +<p> +Fifine's eyes sparkled with pleasure at what she deemed the well-bred +readiness of this speech, while Polly became deadly pale, and seemed with +difficulty to repress the repartee that rose to her mind. Not so Miss +Dinah, who promptly said, “No foreign customs can palliate a breach of our +habits. We are English, and we don't desire to be Frenchmen or Germans.” +</p> +<p> +“Might we not occasionally borrow from our neighbors with advantage?” +asked Stapylton, blandly. +</p> +<p> +“I agree with Miss Barrington,” said Withering,—“I agree with Miss +Barrington, whose very prejudices are always right. An army formed by a +conscription which exempts no man is on a totally different footing from +one derived from voluntary enlistment.” +</p> +<p> +“A practice that some say should be reserved for marriage,” said +Barrington, whose happy tact it was to relieve a discussion by a ready +joke. +</p> +<p> +They arose from table soon after,—Polly to accompany Miss Barrington +over the garden and the shrubberies, and show all that had been done in +their absence, and all that she yet intended to do, if approved of; +Withering adjourned to Barrington's study to pore over parchments; and +Stapylton, after vainly seeking to find Josephine in the drawing-room, the +flower-garden, or the lawn, betook himself with a book, the first he could +find on the table, to the river's side, and lay down, less to read than to +meditate and reflect. +</p> +<p> +A breezy morning of a fine day in early autumn, with slow sailing clouds +above and a flickering sunlight on the grass below, besides a rippling +river, whose banks are glowing with blue and purple heath-bells,—all +these and a Waverley novel were not enough to distract Stapylton from the +cares that pressed upon his mind; for so it is, look where we may on those +whom Fortune would seem to have made her especial favorites, and we shall +find some unsatisfied ambition, some craving wish doomed to +disappointment, some hope deferred till the heart that held it has ceased +to care for its accomplishment. To the world's eyes, here was a man +eminently fortunate: already high up in the service, with health, vigor, +and good looks, a reputation established for personal gallantry in the +field, and an amount of capacity that had already won for him more than +one distinction, and yet all these, great and solid advantages as they +are, were not sufficient to give the ease of mind we call happiness. +</p> +<p> +He had debts, some of them heavy debts, but these sat lightly on him. He +was one of those men creditors never crush, some secret consciousness +seeming to whisper that, however ill the world may go with them for a +while, in the long run they must triumph; and thus Mr. Hirman Davis, to +whom he owed thousands, would have cashed him another bill to-morrow, all +on the faith of that future which Stapylton talked about with the careless +confidence of a mind assured. +</p> +<p> +He had enemies, too,—powerful and determined enemies,—who +opposed his advancement for many a year, and were still adverse to him; +but, like the creditors, they felt he was not a man to be crushed, and so +he and his ill-wishers smiled blandly when they met, exchanged the most +cordial greetings, and even imparted little confidences of their several +fortunes with all that well-bred duplicity which so simulates friendship. +</p> +<p> +He had been crossed,—no, not in love, but in his ambition to marry +one greatly above him in station; but her subsequent marriage had been so +unfortunate that he felt in part recompensed for the slight she passed +upon him; so that, taking it all and all, fate had never been cruel to him +without a compensation. +</p> +<p> +There are men who feel their whole existence to be a hand-to-hand struggle +with the world, who regard the world as an adversary to be worsted, and +all whose efforts are devoted to reach that point upon which they can turn +round and say, “You see that I have won the game. I was unknown, and I am +famous; I was poor, and I am rich; I was passed over and ignored, and now +the very highest are proud to recognize me!” Stapylton was one of these. +All the egotism of his nature took this form, and it was far more in a +spirit against his fellows than in any indulgence of himself he fought and +struggled with Fortune. Intrusted by Withering with much of the secret +history of Barring-ton's claim against the India Company, he had learned +considerably more through inquiries instituted by himself, and at length +arrived at the conclusion that if old Barring-ton could be persuaded to +limit his demands within moderate bounds, and not insist upon the details +of that personal reparation which he assumed so essential to his son's +honor, a very ample recompense would not be refused him. It was to induce +Barrington to take this course Stapylton had consented to come down with +Withering,—so, at least, he said, and so Withering believed. Old +lawyer that he was, with a hundred instincts of distrust about him, he had +conceived a real liking for Stapylton, and a great confidence in his +judgment. “We shall have to divide our labors here, Major,” said he, as +they travelled along together; “I will leave the ladies to your care. +Barrington shall be mine.” A very brief acquaintance with Miss Dinah +satisfied Stapylton that she was one to require nice treatment, and what +he called “a very light hand.” The two or three little baits he had thrown +out took nothing; the stray bits of sentimentality, or chance scraps of +high-toned principle he had addressed to her, had failed. It was only when +he had with some sharpness hit off some small meanness in M'Cormick's +nature that she had even vouchsafed him so much as a half-smile of +approval, and he saw that even then she watched him closely. +</p> +<p> +“No,” said he, half aloud to himself, “that old woman is not one easily to +be dealt with; and the younger one, too, would have a will of her own if +she had but the way to use it. If Polly had been in her place,—the +clever, quickwitted Polly,—she would have gone with me in my plans, +associated herself in all my projects, and assured their success. Oh for a +good colleague just to keep the boat's head straight when one is weary of +rowing!” +</p> +<p> +“Would I do?” said a low voice near. And, on looking up, he saw Josephine +standing over him, with an arch smile on her face as though she had +surprised him in a confession. +</p> +<p> +“How long have you been there?” asked he, hurriedly. +</p> +<p> +“A few seconds.'' +</p> +<p> +“And what have you heard me say?” +</p> +<p> +“That you wanted a colleague, or a companion of some sort; and as I was +the only useless person here, I offered myself.” +</p> +<p> +“In good faith?” +</p> +<p> +“In good faith!—why not? I am more likely to gain by the association +than you are; at least, if you can only be as pleasant of a morning as you +were yesterday at dinner.” +</p> +<p> +“I 'll try,” said he, springing to his feet; “and as a success in these +efforts is mainly owing to the amount of zeal that animates them, I am +hopeful.” +</p> +<p> +“Which means a flattery at the outset,” said she, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“Only as much as your friend Mr. Withering would throw out to dispose the +court in his favor; and now, which way shall we walk? Are you to be the +guide, or I?” +</p> +<p> +“You, by all means, since you know nothing of the locality.” +</p> +<p> +“Agreed. Well, here is my plan. We cross the river in this boat, and take +that path yonder that leads up by the waterfall. I know, from the dark +shadow of the mountain, that there is a deep glen, very wild, very +romantic, and very solemn, through which I mean to conduct you.” +</p> +<p> +“All this means a very long excursion, does it not?” +</p> +<p> +“You have just told me that you were free from all engagement.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes; but not from all control. I must ask Aunt Dinah's leave before I set +out on this notable expedition.” +</p> +<p> +“Do nothing of the kind. It would be to make a caprice seem a plan. Let us +go where you will,—here, along the river's side; anywhere, so that +we may affect to think that we are free agents, and not merely good +children sent out for a walk.” +</p> +<p> +“What a rebel against authority you are for one so despotic yourself!” +</p> +<p> +“I despotic! Who ever called me so?” +</p> +<p> +“Your officers say as much.” +</p> +<p> +“I know from what quarter that came,” said he; and his bronzed face grew a +shade deeper. “That dilettante soldier, young Conyers, has given me this +character; but I 'd rather talk of you than myself. Tell me all about your +life. Is it as delightful as everything around would bespeak it? Are these +trees and flowers, this sunny bank, this perfumed sward, true emblems of +the existence they embellish, or is Paradise only a cheat?” +</p> +<p> +“I don't think so. I think Paradise is very like what it looks, not but I +own that the garden is pleasanter with guests in it than when only Adam +and Eve were there. Mr. Withering is charming, and you can be very +agreeable.” +</p> +<p> +“I would I knew how to be so,” said he, seriously, “just at this moment; +for I am going away from Ireland, and I am very desirous of leaving a good +impression behind me.” +</p> +<p> +“What could it signify to you how you were thought of in this lonely +spot?” +</p> +<p> +“More than you suspect,—more than you would, perhaps, credit,” said +he, feelingly. +</p> +<p> +There was a little pause, during which they walked along side by side. +</p> +<p> +“What are you thinking of?” said she, at last +</p> +<p> +“I was thinking of a strange thing,—it was this: About a week ago +there was no effort I was not making to obtain the command of my regiment. +I wanted to be Lieutenant-Colonel; and so bent was I on gaining my object, +that if giving away three or four years of that life that I may hope for +would have done it, I 'd have closed the bargain; and now the ambition is +gone, and I am speculating whether I 'll not take the cottage of your +friend Major M'Cormick,—he offered it to me last night,—and +become your neighbor. What say <i>you</i> to the project?” +</p> +<p> +“For us the exchange will be all a gain.” +</p> +<p> +“I want your opinion,—your own,” said he, with a voice reduced to a +mere whisper. +</p> +<p> +“I'd like it of all things; although, if I were your sister or your +daughter, I'd not counsel it.” +</p> +<p> +“And why not, if you were my sister?” said he, with a certain constraint +in his manner. +</p> +<p> +“I'd say it was inglorious to change from the noble activity of a +soldier's life to come and dream away existence here.” +</p> +<p> +“But what if I have done enough for this same thing men call fame? I have +had my share of campaigning, and as the world looks there is wondrous +little prospect of any renewal of it. These peace achievements suit your +friend Conyers better than me.” +</p> +<p> +“I think you are not just to him. If I read him aright, he is burning for +an occasion to distinguish himself.” +</p> +<p> +A cold shrug of the shoulders was his only acknowledgment of this speech, +and again a silence fell between them. +</p> +<p> +“I would rather talk of <i>you</i>, if you would let me,” said he, with +much significance of voice and manner. “Say would you like to have me for +your neighbor?” +</p> +<p> +“It would be a pleasant exchange for Major M'Cormick,” said she, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“I want you to be serious now. What I am asking you interests me too +deeply to jest over.” +</p> +<p> +“First of all, is the project a serious one?” +</p> +<p> +“It is.” +</p> +<p> +“Next, why ask advice from one as inexperienced as I am?” +</p> +<p> +“Because it is not counsel I ask,—it is something more. Don't look +surprised, and, above all, don't look angry, but listen to me. What I have +said now, and what more I would say, might more properly have been uttered +when we had known each other longer; but there are emergencies in life +which give no time for slow approaches, and there are men, too, that they +suit not. Imagine such now before you,—I mean, both the moment and +the man. Imagine one who has gone through a great deal in life, seen, +heard, and felt much, and yet never till now, never till this very +morning, understood what it was to know one whose least word or passing +look was more to him than ambition, higher than all the rewards of glory.” +</p> +<p> +“We never met till yesterday,” said she, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“True; and if we part to-morrow, it will be forever. I feel too +painfully,” added he, with more eagerness, “how I compromise all that I +value by an avowal abrupt and rash as this is; but I have had no choice. I +have been offered the command of a native force in India, and must give my +answer at once. With hope—the very faintest, so that it be hope—I +will refuse. Remember I want no pledge, no promise; all I entreat is that +you will regard me as one who seeks to win your favor. Let time do the +rest.” +</p> +<p> +“I do not think I ought to do this—I do not know if you should ask +it.” +</p> +<p> +“May I speak to your grandfather—may I tell him what I have told you—may +I say, 'It is with Josephine's permission—'” +</p> +<p> +“I am called Miss Barrington, sir, by all but those of my own family.” +</p> +<p> +“Forgive me, I entreat you,” said he, with a deep humility in his tone. “I +had never so far forgotten myself if calm reason had not deserted me. I +will not transgress again.” +</p> +<p> +“This is the shortest way back to the cottage,” said she, turning into a +narrow path in the wood. +</p> +<p> +“It does not lead to my hope,” said he, despondingly; and no more was +uttered between them for some paces. +</p> +<p> +“Do not walk so very fast, Miss Barrington,” said he, in a tone which +trembled slightly. “In the few minutes—the seconds you could accord +me—I might build the whole fortune of my life. I have already +endangered my hopes by rashness; let me own that it is the fault I have +struggled against in vain. This scar”—and he showed the deep mark of +a sabre-wound on the temple—“was the price of one of my offendings; +but it was light in suffering to what I am now enduring.” +</p> +<p> +“Can we not talk of what will exact no such sacrifice?” said she, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“Not now, not now!” said he, with emotion; “if you pass that porch without +giving me an answer, life has no longer a tie for me. You know that I ask +for no pledge, no promise, merely time,—no more than time,—a +few more of those moments of which you now would seem eager to deny me. +Linger an instant here, I beseech you, and remember that what to <i>you</i> +may be a caprice may to <i>me</i> be a destiny.” +</p> +<p> +“I will not hear more of this,” said she, half angrily. “If it were not +for my own foolish trustfulness, you never would have dared to address +such words to one whom you met yesterday for the first time.” +</p> +<p> +“It is true your generous frankness, the nature they told me you +inherited, gives me boldness, but it might teach you to have some pity for +a disposition akin to it. One word,—only one word more.” +</p> +<p> +“Not one, sir! The lesson my frankness has taught me is, never to incur +this peril again.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you part from me in anger?” +</p> +<p> +“Not with <i>you</i>; but I will not answer for myself if you press me +further.” +</p> +<p> +“Even this much is better than despair,” said he, mournfully; and she +passed into the cottage, while he stood in the porch and bowed +respectfully as she went by. “Better than I looked for, better than I +could have hoped,” muttered he to himself, as he strolled away and +disappeared in the wood. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER V. A CABINET COUNCIL +</h2> +<p> +“What do you think of it, Dinah?” said Barrington, as they sat in conclave +the next morning in her own sitting-room. +</p> +<p> +She laid down a letter she had just finished reading on the table, +carefully folding it, like one trying to gain time before she spoke: “He's +a clever man, and writes well, Peter; there can be no second opinion upon +that.” +</p> +<p> +“But his proposal, Dinah,—his proposal?” +</p> +<p> +“Pleases me less the more I think of it. There is great disparity of age,—a +wide discrepancy in character. A certain gravity of demeanor would not be +undesirable, perhaps, in a husband for Josephine, who has her moments of +capricious fancy; but if I mistake not, this man's nature is stern and +unbending.” +</p> +<p> +“There will be time enough to consider all that, Dinah. It is, in fact, to +weigh well the chances of his fitness to secure her happiness that he +pleads; he asks permission to make himself known to her, rather than to +make his court.” +</p> +<p> +“I used to fancy that they meant the same thing,—I know that they +did in my day, Peter,” said she, bridling; “but come to the plain question +before us. So far as I understand him, his position is this: 'If I satisfy +you that my rank and fortune are satisfactory to you, have I your +permission to come back here as your granddaughter's suitor?'” +</p> +<p> +“Not precisely, Dinah,—not exactly this. Here are his words: 'I am +well aware that I am much older than Miss Barrington, and it is simply to +ascertain from herself if, in that disparity of years, there exists that +disparity of tastes and temper which would indispose her to regard me as +one to whom she would intrust her happiness. I hope to do this without any +offence to her delicacy, though not without peril to my own self-love. +Have I your leave for this experiment?'” +</p> +<p> +“Who is he? Who are his friends, connections, belongings? What is his +station independently of his military rank, and what are his means? Can +you answer these questions?” +</p> +<p> +“Not one of them. I never found myself till to-day in a position to +inquire after them.” +</p> +<p> +“Let us begin, then, by that investigation, Peter. There is no such test +of a man as to make him talk of himself. With you alone the matter, +perhaps, would not present much difficulty to him, but I intend that Mr. +Withering's name and my own shall be on the committee; and, take <i>my</i> +word for it, we shall sift the evidence carefully.” +</p> +<p> +“Bear in mind, sister Dinah, that this gentleman is, first of all, our +guest.” +</p> +<p> +“The first of all that I mean to bear in mind is, that he desires to be +your grandson.” +</p> +<p> +“Of course,—of course. I would only observe on the reserve that +should be maintained towards one who honors us with his presence.” +</p> +<p> +“Peter Barrington, the Arabs, from whom you seem to borrow your notions on +hospitality, seldom scruple about cutting a guest's head off when he +passes the threshold; therefore I would advise you to adopt habits that +may be more suited to the land we live in.” +</p> +<p> +“All I know is,” said Barrington, rising and pacing the room, “that I +could no more put a gentleman under my roof to the question as to his +father and mother and his fortune, than I could rifle his writing-desk and +read his letters.” +</p> +<p> +“Brother Peter, the weakness of your disposition has cost you one of the +finest estates in your country, and if it could be restored to you +to-morrow, the same imbecility would forfeit it again. I will, however, +take the matter into my own hands.” +</p> +<p> +“With Withering, I suppose, to assist you?” +</p> +<p> +“Certainly not. I am perfectly competent to make any inquiry I deem +requisite without a legal adviser. Perhaps, were I to be so accompanied, +Major Stapylton would suppose that he, too, should appear with his +lawyer.” +</p> +<p> +Barrington smiled faintly at the dry jest, but said nothing. +</p> +<p> +“I see,” resumed she, “that you are very much afraid about my want of tact +and delicacy in this investigation. It is a somewhat common belief amongst +men that in all matters of business women err on the score of hardness and +persistence. I have listened to some edifying homilies from your friend +Withering on female incredulity and so forth,—reproaches which will +cease to apply when men shall condescend to treat us as creatures +accessible to reason, and not as mere dupes. See who is knocking at the +door, Peter,” added she, sharply. “I declare it recalls the old days of +our innkeeping, and Darby asking for the bill of the lame gentleman in No. +4.” +</p> +<p> +“Upon my life, they were pleasant days, too,” said Barrington, but in a +tone so low as to be unheard by his sister. +</p> +<p> +“May I come in?” said Withering, as he opened the door a few inches, and +peeped inside. “I want to show you a note I have just had from Kinshela, +in Kilkenny.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes; come in,” said Miss Barrington. “I only wish you had arrived a +little earlier. What is your note about?” +</p> +<p> +“It's very short and very purpose-like. The first of it is all about +Brazier's costs, which it seems the taxing-officer thinks fair and +reasonable,—all excepting that charge for the additional affidavits. +But here is what I want to show you. 'Major M'Cormick, of M'Cormick's +Grove, has just been here; and although I am not entitled to say as much +officially on his part, I entertain no doubt whatever but that he is ready +to advance the money we require. I spoke of fifteen hundred, but said +twelve might possibly be taken, and twelve would be, I imagine, his limit, +since he held to this amount in all our conversation afterwards. He +appears to be a man of strange and eccentric habits, and these will +probably be deemed a sufficient excuse for the singular turn our interview +took towards its conclusion. I was speaking of Mr. Barrington's wish for +the insertion in the deed of a definite period for redemption, and he +stopped me hastily with, “What if we could strike out another arrangement? +What if he was to make a settlement of the place on his granddaughter? I +am not too old to marry, and I 'd give him the money at five per cent.” I +have been careful to give you the very expressions he employed, and of +which I made a note when he left the office; for although fully aware how +improper it would be in me to submit this proposal to Mr. Barrington, I +have felt it my duty to put you in possession of all that has passed +between us.'” +</p> +<p> +“How can you laugh, Peter Barrington?—how is it possible you can +laugh at such an insult,—such an outrage as this? Go on, sir,” said +she, turning to Withering; “let us hear it to the end, for nothing worse +can remain behind.” +</p> +<p> +“There is no more; at least, there is not anything worth hearing. Kinshela +winds up with many apologies, and hopes that I will only use his +communication for my own guidance, and not permit it in any case to +prejudice him in your estimation.” As he spoke, he crumpled up the note in +his hand in some confusion. +</p> +<p> +“Who thinks of Mr. Kinshela, or wants to think of him, in the matter?” +said she, angrily. “I wish, however, I were a man for a couple of hours, +to show Major M'Cormick the estimate I take of the honor he intends us.” +</p> +<p> +“After all, Dinah, it is not that he holds us more cheaply, but rates +himself higher.” +</p> +<p> +“Just so,” broke in Withering; “and I know, for my own part, I have never +been able to shake off the flattery of being chosen by the most nefarious +rascal to defend him on his trial. Every man is a great creature in his +own eyes.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, sir, be proud of your client,” said she, trembling with anger. +</p> +<p> +“No, no,—he 's no client of mine, nor is this a case I would plead +for him. I read you Kinshela's note because I thought you were building +too confidently on M'Cormick's readiness to advance this money.” +</p> +<p> +“I understood what that readiness meant, though my brother did not. +M'Cormick looked forward to the day—and not a very distant day did +he deem it—when he should step into possession of this place, and +settle down here as its owner.” +</p> +<p> +Barrington's face grew pale, and a glassy film spread over his eyes, as +his sister's words sunk into his heart. “I declare, Dinah,” said he, +falteringly, “that never did strike me before.” +</p> +<p> +“'It never rains but it pours,' says the Irish adage,” resumed she. “My +brother and I were just discussing another proposal of the same kind when +you knocked. Read that letter. It is from a more adroit courtier than the +other, and, at least, he does n't preface his intentions with a bargain.” +And she handed Stapylton's letter to Withering. +</p> +<p> +“Ah!” said the lawyer, “this is another guess sort of man, and a very +different sort of proposal.” +</p> +<p> +“I suspected that he was a favorite of yours,” said Miss Dinah, +significantly. +</p> +<p> +“Well, I own to it. He is one of those men who have a great attraction for +me,—men who come out of the conflict of life and its interests +without any exaggerated notions of human perfectibility or the opposite, +who recognize plenty of good and no small share of bad in the world, but, +on the whole, are satisfied that, saving ill health, very few of our +calamities are not of our own providing.” +</p> +<p> +“All of which is perfectly compatible with an odious egotism, sir,” said +she, warmly; “but I feel proud to say such characters find few admirers +amongst women.” +</p> +<p> +“From which I opine that he is not fortunate enough to number Miss Dinah +Barrington amongst his supporters?” +</p> +<p> +“You are right there, sir. The prejudice I had against him before we met +has been strengthened since I have seen him.” +</p> +<p> +“It is candid of you, however, to call it a prejudice,” said he, with a +smile. +</p> +<p> +“Be it so, Mr. Withering; but prejudice is only another word for an +instinct.” +</p> +<p> +“I 'm afraid if we get into ethics we 'll forget all about the proposal,” +said Barrington. +</p> +<p> +“What a sarcasm!” cried Withering, “that if we talk of morals we shall +ignore matrimony.” +</p> +<p> +“I like the man, and I like his letter,” said Barrington. +</p> +<p> +“I distrust both one and the other,” said Miss Dinah. +</p> +<p> +“I almost fancy I could hold a brief on either side,” interposed +Withering. +</p> +<p> +“Of course you could, sir; and if the choice were open to you, it would be +the defence of the guilty.” +</p> +<p> +“My dear Miss Barrington,” said Withering, calmly, “when a great legal +authority once said that he only needed three lines of any man's writing +'to hang him,' it ought to make us very lenient in our construction of a +letter. Now, so far as I can see in this one before us, he neither asks +nor protests too much. He begs simply for time, he entreats leave to draw +a bill on your affections, and he promises to meet it.” +</p> +<p> +“No, sir, he wishes to draw at sight, though he has never shown us the +letter of credit.” +</p> +<p> +“I vow to Heaven it is hopeless to expect anything practical when you two +stand up together for a sparring-match,” cried Barrington. +</p> +<p> +“Be practical, then, brother Peter, and ask this gentleman to give you a +quarter of an hour in your study. Find out who he is; I don't expect you +to learn what he is, but what he has. With his fortune we shall get the +clew to himself.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” chimed in Withering, “all that is very businesslike and +reasonable.” +</p> +<p> +“And it pledges us to nothing,” added she. “We take soundings, but we +don't promise to anchor.” +</p> +<p> +“If you go off again with your figures of speech, Dinah, there is an end +of me, for I have one of those unhappy memories that retain the +illustration and forget what it typified. Besides this, here is a man who, +out of pure good nature and respect for poor George's memory, has been +doing us most important services, written letters innumerable, and taken +the most active measures for our benefit. What sort of a figure shall I +present if I bring him to book about his rental and the state of his bank +account?” +</p> +<p> +“With the exercise of a little tact, Barrington,—a little management—” +</p> +<p> +“Ask a man with a club-foot to walk gingerly! I have no more notion of +getting at anything by address than I have of tying the femoral artery.” +</p> +<p> +“The more blunt the better, Peter Barrington. You may tumble into the +truth, though you'd never pick your way into it. Meanwhile, leave me to +deal with Major M'Cor-mick.” +</p> +<p> +“You'll do it courteously, Dinah; you'll bear in mind that he is a +neighbor of some twenty years' standing?” said Barrington, in a voice of +anxiety. +</p> +<p> +“I 'll do it in a manner that shall satisfy <i>my</i> conscience and <i>his</i> +presumption.” +</p> +<p> +She seated herself at the table as she said this, and dashed off a few +hasty lines. Indeed, so hurried was the action, that it looked far more +like one of those instances of correspondence we see on the stage than an +event of real life. +</p> +<p> +“Will that do?” said she, showing the lines to Withering. +</p> +<p> +The old lawyer read them over to himself, a faint twitching of the mouth +being the only sign his face presented of any emotion. “I should say +admirably,—nothing better.” +</p> +<p> +“May I see it, Dinah?” asked Peter. +</p> +<p> +“You shall hear it, brother,” said she, taking the paper and reading,— +</p> +<p> +“'Miss Barrington informs Mr. Kinshela that if he does not at once retract +his epistle of this morning's date, she will place it in the hands of her +legal adviser, and proceed against it as a threatening letter.'” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, sister, you will not send this?” +</p> +<p> +“As sure as my name is Dinah Barrington.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER VI. AN EXPRESS +</h2> +<p> +In the times before telegraphs,—and it is of such I am writing,—a +hurried express was a far more stirring event than in these our days of +incessant oracles. While, therefore, Barrington and his sister and +Withering sat in deep consultation on Josephine's fate and future, a hasty +summons arrived from Dublin, requiring the instantaneous departure of +Stapylton, whose regiment was urgently needed in the north of England, at +that time agitated by those disturbances called the Bread Riots. They were +very formidable troubles, and when we look back upon them now, with the +light which the great events of later years on the Continent afford us, +seem more terrible still. It was the fashion, however, then, to treat them +lightly, and talk of them contemptuously; and as Stapylton was eating a +hasty luncheon before departure, he sneered at the rabble, and scoffed at +the insolent pretension of their demands. Neither Barrington nor Withering +sympathized with the spirit of the revolt, and yet each felt shocked at +the tone of haughty contempt Stapylton assumed towards the people. “You'll +see,” cried he, rising, “how a couple of brisk charges from our fellows +will do more to bring these rascals to reason than all the fine pledges of +your Parliament folk; and I promise you, for my own part, if I chance upon +one of their leaders, I mean to lay my mark on him.” +</p> +<p> +“I fear, sir, it is your instinctive dislike to the plebeian that moves +you here,” said Miss Dinah. “You will not entertain the question whether +these people may not have some wrongs to complain of.” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps so, madam,” said he; and his swarthy face grew darker as he +spoke. “I suppose this is the case where the blood of a gentleman boils +indignantly at the challenge of the <i>canaille</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“I will not have a French word applied to our own people, sir,” said she, +angrily. +</p> +<p> +“Well said,” chimed in Withering. “It is wonderful how a phrase can seem +to carry an argument along with it.” +</p> +<p> +And old Peter smiled, and nodded his concurrence with this speech. +</p> +<p> +“What a sad minority do I stand in!” said Stapylton, with an effort to +smile very far from successful. “Will not Miss Josephine Barrington have +generosity enough to aid the weaker side?” +</p> +<p> +“Not if it be the worst cause,” interposed Dinah. “My niece needs not to +be told she must be just before she is generous.” +</p> +<p> +“Then it is to your own generosity I will appeal,” said Stapylton, turning +to her; “and I will ask you to ascribe some, at least, of my bitterness to +the sorrow I feel at being thus summoned away. Believe me it is no light +matter to leave this place and its company.” +</p> +<p> +“But only for a season, and a very brief season too, I trust,” said +Barrington. “You are going away in our debt, remember.” +</p> +<p> +“It is a loser's privilege, all the world over, to withdraw when he has +lost enough,” said Stapylton, with a sad smile towards Miss Dinah; and +though the speech was made in the hope it might elicit a contradiction, +none came, and a very awkward silence ensued. +</p> +<p> +“You will reach Dublin to-night, I suppose?” said Withering, to relieve +the painful pause in the conversation. +</p> +<p> +“It will be late,—after midnight, perhaps.” +</p> +<p> +“And embark the next morning?” +</p> +<p> +“Two of our squadrons have sailed already; the others will, of course, +follow to-morrow.” +</p> +<p> +“And young Conyers,” broke in Miss Dinah,—“he will, I suppose, +accompany this—what shall I call it?—this raid?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, madam. Am I to convey to him your compliments upon the first +opportunity to flesh his maiden sword?” +</p> +<p> +“You are to do nothing of the kind, sir; but tell him from me not to +forget that the angry passions of a starving multitude are not to be +confounded with the vindictive hate of our natural enemies.” +</p> +<p> +“Natural enemies, my dear Miss Barrington! I hope you cannot mean that +there exists anything so monstrous in humanity as a natural enemy?” +</p> +<p> +“I do, sir; and I mean all those whose jealousy of us ripens into hatred, +and who would spill their heart's blood to see us humbled. When there +exists a people like this, and who at every fresh outbreak of a war with +us have carried into the new contest all the bitter animosities of long +past struggles as debts to be liquidated, I call these natural enemies; +and, if you prefer a shorter word for it, I call them Frenchmen.” +</p> +<p> +“Dinah, Dinah!” +</p> +<p> +“Peter, Peter! don't interrupt me. Major Stapylton has thought to tax me +with a blunder, but I accept it as a boast!” +</p> +<p> +“Madam, I am proud to be vanquished by you,” said Stapylton, bowing low. +</p> +<p> +“And I trust, sir,” said she, continuing her speech, and as if heedless of +his interruption, “that no similarity of name will make you behave at +Peterloo—if that be the name—as though you were at Waterloo.” +</p> +<p> +“Upon my life!” cried he, with a saucy laugh, “I don't know how I am to +win your good opinion, except it be by tearing off my epaulettes, and +putting myself at the head of the mob.” +</p> +<p> +“You know very little of my sister, Major Stapylton,” said Barrington, “or +you would scarcely have selected that mode of cultivating her favor.” +</p> +<p> +“There is a popular belief that ladies always side with the winning +cause,” said Stapylton, affecting a light and easy manner; “so I must do +my best to be successful. May I hope I carry your <i>good</i> wishes away +with me?” said he, in a lower tone to Josephine. +</p> +<p> +“I hope that nobody will hurt you, and you hurt nobody,” said she, +laughingly. +</p> +<p> +“And this, I take it, is about as much sympathy as ever attends a man on +such a campaign. Mr. Barrington, will you grant me two minutes of +conversation in your own room?” And, with a bow of acquiescence, +Barrington led the way to his study. +</p> +<p> +“I ought to have anticipated your request, Major Stapyl-ton,” said +Barrington, when they found themselves alone. “I owe you a reply to your +letter, but the simple fact is, I do not know what answer to give it; for +while most sensible of the honor you intend us, I feel still there is much +to be explained on both sides. We know scarcely anything of each other, +and though I am conscious of the generosity which prompts a man with <i>your</i> +prospects and in <i>your</i> position to ally himself with persons in <i>ours</i>, +yet I owe it to myself to say, it hangs upon a contingency to restore us +to wealth and station. Even a portion of what I claim from the East India +Company would make my granddaughter one of the richest heiresses in +England.” +</p> +<p> +Stapylton gave a cold, a very cold smile, in reply to this speech. It +might mean that he was incredulous or indifferent, or it might imply that +the issue was one which need not have been introduced into the case at +all. Whatever its signification, Barrington felt hurt by it, and hastily +said,— +</p> +<p> +“Not that I have any need to trouble you with these details: it is rather +my province to ask for information regarding <i>your</i> circumstances +than to enter upon a discussion of <i>ours</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“I am quite ready to give you the very fullest and clearest,—I mean +to yourself personally, or to your sister; for, except where the lawyer +intervenes of necessity and <i>de droit</i>, I own that I resent his +presence as an insult. I suppose few of us are devoid of certain family +circumstances which it would be more agreeable to deal with in confidence; +and though, perhaps, I am as fortunate as most men in this respect, there +are one or two small matters on which I would ask your attention. These, +however, are neither important nor pressing. My first care is to know,—and +I hope I am not peremptory in asking it,—have I your consent to the +proposition contained in my letter; am I at liberty to address Miss +Barrington?” +</p> +<p> +Barrington flushed deeply and fidgeted; he arose and sat down again,—all +his excitement only aggravated by the well-bred composure of the other, +who seemed utterly unconscious of the uneasiness he was causing. +</p> +<p> +“Don't you think, Major, that this is a case for a little time to reflect,—that +in a matter so momentous as this, a few days at least are requisite for +consideration? We ought to ascertain something at least of my +granddaughter's own sentiments,—I mean, of course, in a general way. +It might be, too, that a day or two might give us some better insight into +her future prospects.” +</p> +<p> +“Pardon my interrupting you; but, on the last point, I am perfectly +indifferent. Miss Barrington with half a province for her dower, would be +no more in my eyes than Miss Barrington as she sat at breakfast this +morning. Nor is there anything of high-flown sentiment in this +declaration, as my means are sufficiently ample for all that I want or +care.” +</p> +<p> +“There, at least, is one difficulty disposed of. You are an eldest son?” +said he; and he blushed at his own boldness in making the inquiry. +</p> +<p> +“I am an only son.” +</p> +<p> +“Easier again,” said Barrington, trying to laugh off the awkward moment. +“No cutting down one's old timber to pay off the provisions for younger +brothers.” +</p> +<p> +“In my case there is no need of this.” +</p> +<p> +“And your father. Is he still living, Major Stapylton?” +</p> +<p> +“My father has been dead some years.” +</p> +<p> +Barrington fidgeted again, fumbled with his watch-chain and his eye-glass, +and would have given more than he could afford for any casualty that +should cut short the interview. He wanted to say, “What is the amount of +your fortune? What is it? Where is it? Are you Wiltshire or Staffordshire? +Who are your uncles and aunts, and your good friends that you pray for, +and where do you pray for them?” A thousand questions of this sort arose +in his mind, one only more prying and impertinent than another. He knew he +ought to ask them; he knew Dinah would have asked them. Ay, and would have +the answers to them as plain and palpable as the replies to a life +assurance circular; but he could n't do it. No; not if his life depended +on it. +</p> +<p> +He had already gone further in his transgression of good manners than it +ever occurred to him before to do, and he felt something between a holy +inquisitor and a spy of the police. +</p> +<p> +Stapylton looked at his watch, and gave a slight start. +</p> +<p> +“Later than you thought, eh?” cried Peter, overjoyed at the diversion. +</p> +<p> +Stapylton smiled a cold assent, and put up his watch without a word. He +saw all the confusion and embarrassment of the other, and made no effort +to relieve him. At last, but not until after a considerable pause, he +said,—“I believe, Mr. Barrington,—I hope, at least,—I +have satisfactorily answered the questions which, with every right on your +part, you have deemed proper to put to me. I cannot but feel how painful +the task has been to you, and I regret it the more, since probably it has +set a limit to inquiries which you are perfectly justified in making, but +which closer relations between us may make a matter far less formidable +one of these days.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes,—just so; of course,” said Barrington, hurriedly assenting +to he knew not what. +</p> +<p> +“And I trust I take my leave of you with the understanding that when we +meet again, it shall be as in the commencement of these pleasanter +relations. I own to you I am the more eager on this point, that I perceive +your sister, Miss Barrington, scarcely regards me very favorably, and I +stand the more in need of your alliance.” +</p> +<p> +“I don't think it possible, Major Stapylton,” said Barrington, boldly, +“that my sister and I could have two opinions upon anything or anybody.” +</p> +<p> +“Then I only ask that she may partake of yours on this occasion,” said +Stapylton, bowing. “But I must start; as it is, I shall be very late in +Dublin. Will you present my most respectful adieux to the ladies, and say +also a goodbye for me to Mr. Withering?” +</p> +<p> +“You'll come in for a moment to the drawing-room, won't you?” cried +Barrington. +</p> +<p> +“I think not. I opine it would be better not. There would be a certain +awkwardness about it,—that is, until you have informed Miss Dinah +Barrington of the extent to which you have accorded me your confidence, +and how completely I have opened every detail of my circumstances. I +believe it would be in better taste not to present myself. Tell Withering +that if he writes, Manchester will find me. I don't suspect he need give +himself any more trouble about establishing the proofs of marriage. They +will scarcely contest that point. The great question will and must be, to +ascertain if the Company will cease to oppose the claim on being fully +convinced that the letter to the Meer Busherat was a forgery, and that no +menace ever came from Colonel Barrington's hand as to the consequences of +opposing his rule. Get them to admit this,—let the issue rest upon +this,—and it will narrow the whole suit within manageable limits.” +</p> +<p> +“Would you not say this much to him before you go? It would come with so +much more force and clearness from yourself.” +</p> +<p> +“I have done so till I was wearied. Like a true lawyer, he insists upon +proving each step as he goes, and will not condescend to a hypothetical +conclusion, though I have told him over and over again we want a +settlement, not a victory. Good-bye, good-bye! If I once launch out into +the cause, I cannot tear myself away again.” +</p> +<p> +“Has your guest gone, Peter?” said Miss Dinah, as her brother re-entered +the drawing-room. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; it was a hurried departure, and he had no great heart for it, +either. By the way, Withering, while it is fresh in my head, let me tell +you the message he has sent you.” +</p> +<p> +“Was there none for <i>me</i>, Peter?” said she, scofflngly. +</p> +<p> +“Ay, but there was, Dinah! He left with me I know not how many polite and +charming things to say for him.” +</p> +<p> +“And am I alone forgotten in this wide dispensation of favors?” asked +Josephine, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“Of course not, dear,” chimed in Miss Dinah. “Your grandpapa has been +charged with them all. You could not expect a gentleman so naturally timid +and bashful as our late guest to utter them by his own lips.” +</p> +<p> +“I see,” said Withering, laughing, “that you have not forgiven the haughty +aristocrat for his insolent estimate of the people!” +</p> +<p> +“He an aristocrat! Such bitter words as his never fell from any man who +had a grandfather!” +</p> +<p> +“Wrong for once, Dinah,” broke in Barrington. “I can answer for it that +you are unjust to him.” +</p> +<p> +“We shall see,” said she. “Come, Josephine, I have a whole morning's work +before me in the flower-garden, and I want your help. Don't forget, Peter, +that Major M'Cormick's butler, or boatman, or bailiff, whichever he be, +has been up here with a present of seakale this morning. Give him +something as you pass the kitchen; and you, Mr. Withering, whose trade it +is to read and unravel mysteries, explain if you can the meaning of this +unwonted generosity.” +</p> +<p> +“I suppose we can all guess it,” said he, laughing. “It's a custom that +begins in the East and goes round the whole world till it reaches the vast +prairie in the Far West.” +</p> +<p> +“And what can that custom be, Aunt Dinah?” asked Josephine, innocently. +</p> +<p> +“It's an ancient rite Mr. Withering speaks, of, child, pertaining to the +days when men offered sacrifices. Come along; I 'm going!” +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER VII. CROSS-EXAMININGS. +</h2> +<p> +While Barrington and his lawyer sat in conclave over the details of the +great suit, Stapylton hurried along his road with all the speed he could +summon. The way, which for some miles led along the river-side, brought +into view M'Cormick's cottage, and the Major himself, as he stood +listlessly at his door.' +</p> +<p> +Halting his carriage for a moment, Stapylton jumped out and drew nigh the +little quickset hedge which flanked the road. +</p> +<p> +“What can I do for you in the neighborhood of Manchester, Major? We are +just ordered off there to ride down the Radicals.” +</p> +<p> +“I wish it was nearer home you were going to do it,” said he, crankily. +“Look here,”—and he pointed to some fresh-turned earth,—“they +were stealing my turnips last night.” +</p> +<p> +“It would appear that these fellows in the North are growing dangerous,” +said Stapylton. +</p> +<p> +“'T is little matter to us,” said M'Cormick, sulkily. “I'd care more about +a blight in the potatoes than for all the politics in Europe.” +</p> +<p> +“A genuine philosopher! How snug you are here, to be sure! A man in a +pleasant nook like this can well afford to smile at the busy ambitions of +the outer world. I take it you are about the very happiest fellow I know?” +</p> +<p> +“Maybe I am, maybe I'm not,” said he, peevishly. +</p> +<p> +“This spot only wants what I hinted to you t'other evening, to be +perfection.” +</p> +<p> +“Ay!” said the other, dryly. +</p> +<p> +“And you agree with me heartily, if you had the candor to say it. Come, +out with it, man, at once. I saw your gardener this morning with a great +basketful of greenery, and a large bouquet on the top of it,—are not +these significant signs of a projected campaign? You are wrong, Major, +upon my life you are wrong, not to be frank with me. I could, by a strange +hazard, as the newspapers say, 'tell you something to your advantage.'” +</p> +<p> +“About what?” +</p> +<p> +“About the very matter you were thinking of as I drove up. Come, I will be +more generous than you deserve.” And, laying his arm on M'Cormick's +shoulder, he halt whispered in his ear; “It is a good thing,—a +deuced good thing! and I promise you, if I were a marrying man, you 'd +have a competitor. I won't say she 'll have one of the great fortunes +people rave about, but it will be considerable,—very considerable.” +</p> +<p> +“How do you know, or what do you know?” +</p> +<p> +“I 'll tell you in three words. How I know is, because I have been the +channel for certain inquiries they made in India. What I know is, the +Directors are sick of the case, they are sorely ashamed of it, and not a +little uneasy lest it should come before the public, perhaps before the +Parliament. Old Barrington has made all negotiation difficult by the +extravagant pretensions he puts forward about his son's honor, and so +forth. If, however, the girl were married, her husband would be the person +to treat with, and I am assured with him they would deal handsomely, even +generously.” +</p> +<p> +“And why would n't all this make a marrying man of you, though you were +n't before?” +</p> +<p> +“There's a slight canonical objection, if you must know,” said Stapylton, +with a smile. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I perceive,—a wife already! In India, perhaps?” +</p> +<p> +“I have no time just now for a long story, M'Cormick,” said he, +familiarly, “nor am I quite certain I 'd tell it if I had. However, you +know enough for all practical purposes, and I repeat to you this is a +stake I can't enter for,—you understand me?” +</p> +<p> +“There's another thing, now,” said M'Cormick; “and as we are talking so +freely together, there's no harm in mentioning it. It 's only the other +day, as I may call it, that we met for the first time?” +</p> +<p> +“Very true: when I was down here at Cobham.” +</p> +<p> +“And never heard of each other before?” +</p> +<p> +“Not to my knowledge, certainly.” +</p> +<p> +“That being the case, I 'm curious to hear how you took this wonderful +interest in me. It wasn't anything in my appearance, I 'm sure, nor my +manner; and as to what you 'd hear about me among those blackguards down +here, there's nothing too bad to say of me.” +</p> +<p> +“I'll be as frank as yourself,” said Stapylton, boldly; “you ask for +candor, and you shall have it. I had n't talked ten minutes with you till +I saw that you were a thorough man of the world; the true old soldier, who +had seen enough of life to know that whatever one gets for nothing in this +world is just worth nothing, and so I said to myself, 'If it ever occurs +to me to chance upon a good opportunity of which I cannot from +circumstances avail myself, there's my man. I'll go to him and say, +“M'Cormick, that's open to you, there's a safe thing!” And when in return +he 'd say, “Stapylton, what can I do for you?” my answer would be, “Wait +till you are satisfied that I have done you a good turn; be perfectly +assured that I have really served you.” And then, if I wanted a loan of a +thousand or fifteen hundred to lodge for the Lieutenant-Colonelcy, I 'd +not be ashamed to say, “M'Cormick, let me have so much.”'” +</p> +<p> +“That's <i>it</i>, is it?” said M'Cormick, with a leer of intense cunning. +“Not a bad bargain for <i>you</i>, anyhow. It is not every day that a man +can sell what is n't his own.” +</p> +<p> +“I might say, it's not every day that a man regards a possible loan as a +gift, but I 'm quite ready to reassure all your fears on that score; I'll +even pledge myself never to borrow a shilling from you.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I don't mean that; you took me up so quick,” said the old fellow, +reddening with a sense of shame he had not felt for many a year. “I may be +as stingy as they call me, but for all that I 'd stand to a man who stands +to <i>me</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“Between gentlemen and men of the world these things are better left to a +sense of an honorable understanding than made matters of compact. There is +no need of another word on the matter. I shall be curious, however, to +know how your project speeds. Write to me,—you have plenty of time,—and +write often. I 'm not unlikely to learn something about the Indian claim, +and if I do, you shall hear of it.” +</p> +<p> +“I'm not over good at pen and ink work; indeed, I haven't much practice, +but I'll do my best.” +</p> +<p> +“Do, by all means. Tell me how you get on with Aunt Dinah, who, I suspect, +has no strong affection for either of us. Don't be precipitate; hazard +nothing by a rash step; secure your way by intimacy, mere intimacy: avoid +particular attentions strictly; be always there, and on some pretext or +other—But why do I say all this to an old soldier, who has made such +sieges scores of times?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I think I see my way clear enough,” said the old fellow, with a +grin. “I wish I was as sure I knew why you take such an interest in me.” +</p> +<p> +“I believe I have told you already; I hope there is nothing so strange in +the assurance as to require corroboration. Come, I must say good-bye; I +meant to have said five words to you, and I have stayed here +five-and-twenty minutes.” +</p> +<p> +“Would n't you take something?—could n't I offer you anything?” said +M'Cormick, hesitatingly. +</p> +<p> +“Nothing, thanks. I lunched before I started; and although old Dinah made +several assaults upon me while I ate, I managed to secure two cutlets and +part of a grouse-pie, and a rare glass of Madeira to wash them down.” +</p> +<p> +“That old woman is dreadful, and I'll take her down a peg yet, as sure as +my name is Dan.” +</p> +<p> +“No, don't, Major; don't do anything of the kind. The people who tame +tigers are sure to get scratched at last, and nobody thanks them for their +pains. Regard her as the sailors do a fire-ship; give her a wide berth, +and steer away from her.” +</p> +<p> +“Ay, but she sometimes gives chase.” +</p> +<p> +“Strike your flag, then, if it must be; for, trust me, you 'll not conquer +<i>her</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“We 'll see, we 'll see,” muttered the old fellow, as he waved his adieux, +and then turned back into the house again. +</p> +<p> +As Stapylton lay back in his carriage, he could not help muttering a +malediction on the “dear friend” he had just parted with. When the <i>bourgeois +gentilhomme</i> objected to his adversary pushing him <i>en tierce</i> +while he attacked him <i>en quarte</i>, he was expressing a great social +want, applicable to those people who in conversation will persist in +saying many things which ought not to be uttered, and expressing doubts +and distrusts which, however it be reasonable to feel, are an outrage to +avow. +</p> +<p> +“The old fox,” said Stapylton, aloud, “taunted me with selling what did +not belong to me; but he never suspects that I have bought something +without paying for it, and that something himself! Yes, the mock siege he +will lay to the fortress will occupy the garrison till it suits me to open +the real attack, and I will make use of him, besides, to learn whatever +goes on in my absence. How the old fellow swallowed the bait! What +self-esteem there must be in such a rugged nature, to make him imagine he +could be successful in a cause like this! He is, after all, a clumsy agent +to trust one's interest to. If the choice had been given me, I'd far +rather have had a woman to watch over them. Polly Dill, for instance, the +very girl to understand such a mission well. How adroitly would she have +played the game, and how clearly would her letters have shown me the exact +state of events!” +</p> +<p> +Such were the texts of his musings as he drove along, and deep as were his +thoughts, they never withdrew him, when the emergency called, from +attention to every detail of the journey, and he scrutinized the +post-horses as they were led out, and apportioned the rewards to the +postilions as though no heavier care lay on his heart than the road and +its belongings. While he rolled thus smoothly along, Peter Barrington had +been summoned to his sister's presence, to narrate in full all that he had +asked, and all that he had learned of Stapylton and his fortunes. +</p> +<p> +Miss Dinah was seated in a deep armchair, behind a formidable +embroidery-frame,—a thing so complex and mysterious in form as to +suggest an implement of torture. At a short distance off sat Withering, +with pen, ink, and paper before him, as if to set down any details of +unusual importance; and into this imposing presence poor Barrington +entered with a woful sense of misgiving and humiliation. +</p> +<p> +“We have got a quiet moment at last, Peter,” said Miss Barrington. “I have +sent the girls over to Brown's Barn for the tulip-roots, and I have told +Darby that if any visitors came they were to be informed we were +particularly occupied by business, and could see no one.” +</p> +<p> +“Just so,” added Withering; “it is a case before the Judge in Chamber.” +</p> +<p> +“But what have we got to hear?” asked Barrington, with an air of +innocence. +</p> +<p> +“We have got to hear your report, brother Peter; the narrative of your +late conversation with Major Stapylton; given, as nearly as your memory +will serve, in the exact words and in the precise order everything +occurred.” +</p> +<p> +“October the twenty-third,” said Withering, writing as he spoke; “minute +of interview between P. B. and Major S. Taken on the same morning it +occurred, with remarks and observations explanatory.” +</p> +<p> +“Begin,” said Dinah, imperiously, while she worked away without lifting +her head. “And avoid, so far as possible, anything beyond the precise +expression employed.” +</p> +<p> +“But you don't suppose I took notes in shorthand of what we said to each +other, do you?” +</p> +<p> +“I certainly suppose you can have retained in your memory a conversation +that took place two hours ago,” said Miss Dinah, sternly. +</p> +<p> +“And can relate it circumstantially and clearly,” added Withering. +</p> +<p> +“Then I 'm very sorry to disappoint you, but I can do nothing of the +kind.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you mean to say that you had no interview with Major Stapylton, +Peter?” +</p> +<p> +“Or that you have forgotten all about it?” said Withering. +</p> +<p> +“Or is it that you have taken a pledge of secrecy, brother Peter?” +</p> +<p> +“No, no, no! It is simply this, that though I retain a pretty fair general +impression of what I said myself, and what he said afterwards, I could no +more pretend to recount it accurately than I could say off by heart a +scene in 'Romeo and Juliet.'” +</p> +<p> +“Why don't you take the 'Comedy of Errors' for your illustration, Peter +Barrington? I ask you, Mr. Withering, have you in all your experience met +anything like this?” +</p> +<p> +“It would go hard with a man in the witness-box to make such a +declaration, I must say.” +</p> +<p> +“What would a jury think of, what would a judge say to him?” said she, +using the most formidable of all penalties to her brother's imagination. +“Wouldn't the court tell him that he would be compelled to speak out?” +</p> +<p> +“They'd have it out on the cross-examination, at all events, if not on the +direct.” +</p> +<p> +“In the name of confusion, what do you want with me?” exclaimed Peter, in +despair. +</p> +<p> +“We want everything,—everything that you heard about this man. Who +he is, what he is; what by the father's side, what by the mother's; what +are his means, and where; who knows him, who are his associates. Bear in +mind that to us, here, he has dropped out of the clouds.” +</p> +<p> +“And gone back there too,” added Withering. +</p> +<p> +“I wish to Heaven he had taken me with him!” sighed Peter, drearily. +</p> +<p> +“I think in this case, Miss Barrington,” said Withering, with a +well-affected gravity, “we had better withdraw a juror, and accept a +nonsuit.” +</p> +<p> +“I have done with it altogether,” said she, gathering up her worsted and +her needles, and preparing to leave the room. +</p> +<p> +“My dear Dinah,” said Barrington, entreatingly, “imagine a man as wanting +in tact as I am,—and as timid, too, about giving casual offence,—conducting +such an inquiry as you committed to my hands. Fancy how, at every attempt +to obtain information, his own boldness, I might call it rudeness, stared +him in the face, till at last, rather than push his investigations, he +grew puzzled how to apologize for his prying curiosity.” +</p> +<p> +“Brother, brother, this is too bad! It had been better to have thought +more of your granddaughter's fate and less of your own feelings.” And with +this she flounced out of the room, upsetting a spider-table, and a case of +stuffed birds that stood on it, as she passed. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/410.jpg" width="100%" alt="410 " /> +</div> +<p> +“I don't doubt but she 's right, Tom,” said Peter, when the door closed. +</p> +<p> +“Did he not tell you who he was, and what his fortune? Did you really +learn nothing from him?” +</p> +<p> +“He told me everything; and if I had not been so cruelly badgered, I could +have repeated every word of it; but you never made a hound true to the +scent by flogging him, Tom,—is n't that a fact, eh?” And consoled by +an illustration that seemed so pat to his case, he took his hat and +strolled out into the garden. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER VIII. GENERAL CONYERS +</h2> +<p> +In a snug little room of the Old Ship Hotel, at Dover, a large, heavy man, +with snow-white hair, and moustaches,—the latter less common in +those days than the present,—sat at table with a younger one, so +like him that no doubt could have existed as to their being father and +son. They had dined, and were sitting over their wine, talking +occasionally, but oftener looking fondly and affectionately at each other; +and once, by an instinct of sudden love, grasping each other's hand, and +sitting thus several minutes without a word on either side. +</p> +<p> +“You did not expect me before to-morrow, Fred,” said the old man, at last. +</p> +<p> +“No, father,” replied young Conyers. “I saw by the newspapers that you +were to dine at the Tuileries on Tuesday, and I thought you would not quit +Paris the same evening.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes; I started the moment I took off my uniform. I wanted to be with you, +my boy; and the royal politeness that detained me was anything but a +favor. How you have grown, Fred,—almost my own height, I believe.” +</p> +<p> +“The more like you the better,” said the youth, as his eyes ran over, and +the old man turned away to hide his emotion. +</p> +<p> +After a moment he said: “How strange you should not have got my letters, +Fred; but, after all, it is just as well as it is. I wrote in a very angry +spirit, and was less just than a little cool reflection might have made +me. They made no charges against me, though I thought they had. There were +grumblings and discontents, and such-like. They called me a Rajah, and +raked up all the old stories they used to circulate once on a time about a +far better fellow—” +</p> +<p> +“You mean Colonel Barrington, don't you?” said Fred. +</p> +<p> +“Where or how did you hear of that name?” said the old man, almost +sternly. +</p> +<p> +“An accident made me the guest of his family, at a little cottage they +live in on an hish river. I passed weeks there, and, through the favor of +the name I bore, I received more kindness than I ever before met in life.” +</p> +<p> +“And they knew you to be a Conyers, and to be my son?” +</p> +<p> +“It was Colonel Barrington's aunt was my hostess, and she it was who, on +hearing my name, admitted me at once to all the privileges of old +friendship. She told me of the close companionship which once subsisted +between you and her nephew, and gave me rolls of his letters to read +wherein every line spoke of you.” +</p> +<p> +“And Mr. Barrington, the father of George, how did he receive you?” +</p> +<p> +“At first with such coolness that I could n't bring myself to recross his +threshold. He had been away from home when I arrived, and the day of his +return I was unexpectedly presented to him by his sister, who evidently +was as unprepared as myself for the reception I met with.” +</p> +<p> +“And what was that reception,—how was it? Tell me all as it +happened.” +</p> +<p> +“It was the affair of a moment. Miss Barrington introduced me, saying, +'This is the son of poor George's dearest friend,—this is a +Conyers;' and the old man faltered, and seemed like to faint, and after a +moment stammered out something about an honor he had never counted upon,—a +visit he scarcely could have hoped for; and, indeed, so overcome was he +that he staggered into the house only to take to his bed, where he lay +seriously ill for several days after.” +</p> +<p> +“Poor fellow! It was hard to forgive,—very hard.” +</p> +<p> +“Ay, but he has forgiven it—whatever it was—heartily, and +wholly forgiven it. We met afterwards by a chance in Germany, and while I +was hesitating how to avoid a repetition of the painful scene which marked +our first meeting, he came manfully towards me with his hand out, and +said, 'I have a forgiveness to beg of you; and if you only know how I long +to obtain it, you would scarce say me no.'” +</p> +<p> +“The worthy father of poor George! I think I hear him speak the very words +himself. Go on, Fred,—go on, and tell me further.” +</p> +<p> +“There is no more to tell, sir, unless I speak of all the affectionate +kindness he has shown,—the trustfulness and honor with which he has +treated me. I have been in his house like his own son.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah! if you had known that son! If you had seen what a type of a soldier +he was! The most intrepid, the boldest fellow that ever breathed; but with +a heart of childlike simplicity and gentleness. I could tell you traits of +him, of his forbearance, his forgiveness, his generous devotion to +friendship, that would seem to bespeak a nature that had no room for other +than soft and tender emotion; and yet, if ever there was a lion's heart +within a man's bosom it was his.” For a moment or two the old man seemed +overcome by his recollections, and then, as if by an effort, rallying +himself, he went on: “You have often heard the adage, Fred, that enjoins +watching one's pennies and leaving the pounds to take care of themselves; +and yet, trust me, the maxim is truer as applied to our morals than our +money. It is by the smaller, finer, and least important traits of a man +that his fate in life is fashioned. The caprices we take no pains to curb, +the tempers we leave unchecked, the petty indulgences we extend to our +vanity and self-love,—these are the great sands that wreck us far +oftener than the more stern and formidable features of our character. I +ought to know this truth; I myself lost the best and truest and the +noblest friend that ever man had, just from the exercise of a spirit of +bantering and ridicule which amused those about me, and gave me that +pre-eminence which a sarcastic and witty spirit is sure to assert. You +know already how George Barrington and I lived together like brothers. I +do not believe two men ever existed more thoroughly and sincerely attached +to each other. All the contrarieties of our dispositions served but to +heighten the interest that linked us together. As for myself, I was never +wearied in exploring the strange recesses of that great nature that seemed +to unite all that could be daring and dashing in man with the tenderness +of a woman. I believe I knew him far better than he knew himself. But to +come to what I wanted to tell you, and which is an agony to me to dwell +on. Though for a long while our close friendship was known in the +regiment, and spoken of as a thing incapable of change, a sort of rumor—no, +not even a rumor, but an impression—seemed to gain, that the ties +between us were looser on my side than his; that George looked up to <i>me</i>, +and that I, with the pride of a certain superiority, rather lorded it over +<i>him</i>. This feeling became painfully strengthened when it got about +that Barrington had lent me the greater part of the purchase-money for my +troop,—a promotion, by the way, which barred his own advancement,—and +it was whispered, so at least I heard, that Barrington was a mere child in +my hands, whom I rebuked or rewarded at pleasure. If I could have traced +these rumors to any direct source, I could have known how to deal with +them. As it was, they were vague, shadowy, and unreal; and their very +unsubstantiality maddened me the more. To have told George of them would +have been rasher still. The thought of a wrong done to <i>me</i> would +have driven him beyond all reason, and he would infallibly have +compromised himself beyond recall. It was the very first time in my life I +had a secret from him, and it eat into my heart like a virulent disease. +The consciousness that I was watched, the feeling that eyes were upon me +marking all I did, and tongues were commenting on all I said, exasperated +me, and at one moment I would parade my friendship for Barrington in a +sort of spirit of defiance, and at another, as though to give the lie to +my slanderers, treat him with indifference and carelessness, as it were, +to show that I was not bound to him by the weight of a direct obligation, +and that our relations involved nothing of dependence. It was when, by +some cruel mischance, I had been pursuing this spirit to its extreme, that +the conversation one night at mess turned upon sport and tiger-hunting. +Many stories were told, of course, and we had the usual narratives of +hairbreadth escapes and perils of the most appalling kind; till, at +length, some one—I forget exactly who it was—narrated a +single-handed encounter with a jaguar, which in horror exceeded anything +we had heard before. The details were alone not so terrible, but the +circumstances so marvellous, that one and all who listened cried out, 'Who +did it?' +</p> +<p> +“'The man who told me the tale,' replied the narrator, 'and who will +probably be back to relate it here to you in a few days,—Colonel +Barrington.' +</p> +<p> +“I have told you the devilish spirit which had me in possession. I have +already said that I was in one of those moods of insolent mockery in which +nothing was sacred to me. No sooner, then, did I hear Barrington's name +than I burst into a hearty laugh, and said, 'Oh! if it was one of George +Barrington's tigers, you ought to have mentioned that fact at the outset. +You have been exciting our feelings unfairly.' +</p> +<p> +“'I assume that his statement was true,' said the other, gravely. +</p> +<p> +“'Doubtless; just as battle-pieces are true, that is, pic-torially true. +The tiger did nothing that a tiger ought not to do, nor did George +transgress any of those “unities” which such combats require. At the same +time, Barring-ton's stories have always a something about them that stamps +the authorship, and you recognize this trait just as you do a white horse +in a picture by Wouvermans.' +</p> +<p> +“In this strain I went on, heated by my own warmed imagination, and the +approving laughter of those around me. I recounted more than one feat of +Barrington's,—things which I knew he had done, some of them almost +incredible in boldness. These I told with many a humorous addition and +many an absurd commentary, convulsing the listeners with laughter, and +rendering my friend ridiculous. +</p> +<p> +“He came back from the hills within the week, and before he was two hours +in his quarters he had heard the whole story. We were at luncheon in the +mess-room when he entered, flushed and excited, but far more moved by +emotion than resentment. +</p> +<p> +“'Ormsby,' said he, 'you may laugh at me to your heart's content and I'll +never grumble at it; but there are some young officers here who, not +knowing the ties that attach us, may fancy that these quizzings pass the +limits of mere drollery, and even jeopardize something of my truthfulness. +<i>You</i>, I know, never meant this any more than I have felt it, but +others might, and might, besides, on leaving this and sitting at other +tables, repeat what they had heard here. Tell them that you spoke of me as +you have a free right to do, in jest, and that your ridicule was the +good-humored banter of a friend,—of a friend who never did, never +could, impugn my honor.' +</p> +<p> +“His eyes were swimming over, and his lips trembling, as he uttered the +last words. I see him now, as he stood there, his very cheek shaking in +agitation. That brave, bold fellow, who would have marched up to a battery +without quailing, shook like a sickly girl. +</p> +<p> +“'Am I to say that you never draw the long-bow, George?' asked I, half +insolently. +</p> +<p> +“'You are to say, sir, that I never told a lie,' cried he, dark with +passion. +</p> +<p> +“'Oh, this discussion will be better carried on elsewhere,' said I, as I +arose and left the room. +</p> +<p> +“As I was in the wrong, totally in the wrong, I was passionate and +headstrong. I sat down and wrote a most insolent letter to Barrington. I +turned all the self-hate that was consuming <i>me</i> against my friend, +and said I know not what of outrage and insult. I did worse; I took a copy +of my letter, and declared that I would read it to the officers in the +mess-room. He sent a friend to me to beg I would not take this course of +open insult. My answer was, 'Colonel Barrington knows his remedy.' When I +sent this message, I prepared for what I felt certain would follow. I knew +Barrington so well that I thought even the delay of an hour, then two +hours, strange. At length evening drew nigh, and, though I sat waiting in +my quarters, no one came from him,—not a letter nor a line apprised +me what course he meant to take. +</p> +<p> +“Not caring to meet the mess at such a moment, I ordered my horses and +drove up to a small station about twenty miles off, leaving word where I +was to be found. I passed three days there in a state of fevered +expectancy. Barrington made no sign, and, at length, racked and distressed +by the conflict with myself,—now summoning up an insolent spirit of +defiance to the whole world, now humbling myself in a consciousness of the +evil line I had adopted,—I returned one night to my quarters. The +first news that greeted me was that Barrington had left us. He had +accepted the offer of a Native command which had been made to him some +months before, and of which we had often canvassed together all the +advantages and disadvantages. I heard that he had written two letters to +me before he started, and torn them up after they were sealed. I never +heard from him, never saw him more, till I saw his dead body carried into +camp the morning he fell. +</p> +<p> +“I must get to the end of this quickly, Fred, and I will tell you all at +once, for it is a theme I will never go back on. I came to England with +despatches about two years after Barrington's death. It was a hurried +visit, for I was ordered to hold myself in readiness to return almost as +soon as I arrived. I was greatly occupied, going about from place to +place, and person to person, so many great people desired to have a verbal +account of what was doing in India, and to hear confidentially what I +thought of matters there. In the midst of the mass of letters which the +post brought me every morning, and through which, without the aid of an +officer on the staff, I could never have got through, there came one whose +singular address struck me. It was to 'Captain Ormsby Conyers, 22d Light +Dragoons,' a rank I had held fourteen years before that time in that same +regiment. I opined at once that my correspondent must have been one who +had known me at that time and not followed me in the interval. I was +right. It was from old Mr. Barrington,—George Barrington's father. +What version of my quarrel with his son could have reached him, I cannot +even guess, nor by what light he read my conduct in the affair; but such a +letter I never read in my life. It was a challenge to meet him anywhere, +and with any weapon, but couched in language so insulting as to impugn my +courage, and hint that I would probably shelter myself behind the pretext +of his advanced age. 'But remember,' said he, 'if God has permitted me to +be an old man, it is <i>you</i> who have made me a childless one!'” +</p> +<p> +For a few seconds he paused, overcome by emotion, and then went on: “I sat +down and wrote him a letter of contrition, almost abject in its terms. I +entreated him to believe that for every wrong I had done his noble-hearted +son, my own conscience had repaid me in misery ten times told; that if he +deemed my self-condemnation insufficient, it was open to him to add to it +whatever he wished of obloquy or shame; that if he proclaimed me a coward +before the world, and degraded me in the eyes of men, I would not offer +one word in my defence. I cannot repeat all that I said in my deep +humiliation. His answer came at last, one single line, re-enclosing my own +letter to me: 'Lest I should be tempted to make use of this letter, I send +it back to you; there is no need of more between us.' +</p> +<p> +“With this our intercourse ceased. When a correspondence was published in +the 'Barrington Inquiry,' as it was called, I half hoped he would have +noticed some letters of mine about George; but he never did, and in his +silence I thought I read his continued unforgiveness.” +</p> +<p> +“I hope, father, that you never believed the charges that were made +against Captain Barrington?” +</p> +<p> +“Not one of them; disloyalty was no more his than cowardice. I never knew +the Englishman with such a pride of country as he had, nor could you have +held out a greater bribe to him, for any achievement of peril, than to +say, 'What a gain it would be for England!'” +</p> +<p> +“How was it that such a man should have had a host of enemies?” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing so natural. Barrington was the most diffident of men; his +bashfulness amounted to actual pain. With strangers, this made him cold to +very sternness, or, as is often seen in the effort to conquer a natural +defect, gave him a manner of over-easy confidence that looked like +impertinence. And thus the man who would not have wounded the self-love of +the meanest beggar, got the reputation of being haughty, insolent, and +oppressive. Besides this, when he was in the right, and felt himself so, +he took no pains to convince others of the fact. His maxim was,—have +I not heard it from his lips scores of times,—'The end will show.'” +</p> +<p> +“And yet the end will not show, father; his fame has not been vindicated, +nor his character cleared.” +</p> +<p> +“In some measure the fault of those who took up his cause. They seemed +less to insist on reparation than punishment. They did not say, 'Do +justice to this man's memory;' but, 'Come forward and own you wronged him, +and broke his heart.' Now, the accusation brought against George +Barrington of assuming sovereign power was not settled by his death; his +relatives forgot this, or merged it in their own charge against the +Company. They mismanaged everything.” +</p> +<p> +“Is it too late to put them on the right track, father; or could you do +it?” asked the youth, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“It is not too late, boy! There is time for it yet. There is, however, one +condition necessary, and I do not see how that is to be secured.” +</p> +<p> +“And what is that?” +</p> +<p> +“I should see Mr. Barrington and confer with him alone; he must admit me +to his confidence, and I own to you, I scarcely deem that possible.” +</p> +<p> +“May I try—may I attempt this?” +</p> +<p> +“I do not like to refuse you, Fred: but if I say Yes, it will be to +include you in my own defeated hopes. For many a year Mr. Barrington has +refused to give one sign of his forgiveness; for in his treatment of you I +only recognize the honorable feeling of exempting the son from the penalty +due to the father. But perhaps defeat is better than self-reproach, and as +I have a strong conviction I could serve him, I am ready to risk a +failure.” +</p> +<p> +“I may make the attempt, then?” said Fred, eagerly. “I will write to Miss +Barrington to-day.” +</p> +<p> +“And now of yourself. What of your career? How do you like soldiering, +boy?” +</p> +<p> +“Less than ever, sir; it is only within the last week or two that we have +seen anything beyond barrack or parade duty. Now, however, we have been +called to repress what are called risings in the northern shires; and our +task has been to ride at large unarmed mobs and charge down masses, whose +grape-shot are brickbats. Not a very glorious campaign!” +</p> +<p> +The old man smiled, but said nothing for a moment. +</p> +<p> +“Your colonel is on leave, is he not?” asked he. +</p> +<p> +“Yes. We are commanded by that Major Stapylton I told you of.” +</p> +<p> +“A smart officer, but no friend of yours, Fred,” said the General, +smiling. +</p> +<p> +“No, sir; certainly no friend of mine,” said the young man, resolutely. +“To refuse me a week's leave to go and meet my father, whom I have not +seen for years, and, when pressed, to accord me four days, is to disgust +me with himself and the service together.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, as you cannot be my guest, Fred, I will be yours. I 'll go back +with you to headquarters. Stapylton is a name I used to be familiar with +long ago. It may turn out that I know his family; but let us talk of +Barrington. I have been thinking it would be better not to link any +question of his own interests with my desire to meet him, but simply to +say I 'm in England, and wish to know if he would receive me.” +</p> +<p> +“It shall be as you wish, sir. I will write to his sister by this post.” +</p> +<p> +“And after one day in town, Fred, I am ready to accompany you anywhere.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER IX. MAJOR M'CORMICK'S LETTER +</h2> +<p> +As it was not often that Major M'Cormick performed the part of a +letter-writer, perhaps my reader will pardon me if I place him before him +on one of these rare occasions. If success would always respond to labor, +his would have been a real triumph; for the effort cost him many days, two +sleepless nights, a headache, and half a quire of paper. +</p> +<p> +Had not Stapylton retained him by an admirably selected hamper of good +things from a celebrated Italian warehouse in the Strand, I am afraid that +M'Cormick's zeal might have cooled down to the zero of forgetfulness; but +the reindeer hams and the Yarmouth bloaters, the potted shrimps and the +preserved guavas, were an appeal that addressed themselves to that organ +which with him paid the double debt of digestion and emotion. He felt that +such a correspondent was worth a sacrifice, and he made it That my reader +may appreciate the cost of the achievement, I would have him imagine how a +mason about to build a wall should be obliged to examine each stone before +he laid it, test its constituent qualities, its shape and its size,—for +it was thus that almost every word occasioned the Major a reference to the +dictionary, spelling not having been cultivated in his youth, nor much +practised in his riper years. Graces of style, however, troubled him +little; and, to recur to my figure of the stone-mason, if he was +embarrassed in his search for the materials, he cared wonderfully little +for the architecture. His letter ran thus, and the reader will perceive +that it must have been written some weeks after the events recorded in the +last chapter:— +</p> +<p> +“Mac's Nest, October, Thursday. +</p> +<p> +“Dear S.,—A touch of my old Walcheren complaint has laid me up since +Tuesday, and if the shakes make me illegible now, that's the reason why. +Besides this the weather is dreadful; cold east winds and rains, sometimes +sleet, every day; and the turf so wet, it 's only smoke, not fire. I +believe it is the worst climate in Europe, and it gets wetter every year. +</p> +<p> +“The hamper came to hand, but though it was marked 'Carriage paid, this +side up,' they upset it and broke two bottles, and charged seven and +fourpence-halfpenny for the bringing it, which is, I think, enormous; at +least, Tim Hacket got over a thrashing-machine from Scotland last spring +for twelve and four, and there 's no comparison between the two. Thanks to +you, however, all the same; but if you can get any of this charge reduced, +so much the better, not to speak of the bottles,—both mixed pickles—which +they ought to make good. +</p> +<p> +“I am glad to see you are touching up the Radicals in the North; powder +and ball will do more to bring them to reason than spouting in Parliament. +The papers say there was nine killed and twenty-three wounded; and one +fellow, the 'Stockport Bee,' says, that 'if the Butcher that led the +dragoons is n't turned out of the service with disgrace no gentleman will +degrade himself by entering the army.' Isn't the Butcher yourself? Miss +Barrington, always your friend, says it is; and that if the account of +another paper, called the 'Ægis,' be true, you 'll have to go to a +court-martial. I stood stoutly to you through it all, and declared that +when the niggers was up at Jamaica, we had n't time to take the names of +the prisoners, and we always cut one of their ears off to know them again. +Old Peter laughed till the tears ran down his face, but Dinah said, 'If I +did not suppose, sir, that you were inventing a very graceless joke, I'd +insist on your leaving this room and this house on the instant.' It was +ten o'clock at night, and raining hard; so you may guess I gave in. Bad as +she is, the young one is her equal, and I gave up all thoughts of what you +call 'prosecuting my suit' in that quarter. She isn't even commonly civil +to me, and when I ask her for, maybe, the mustard at dinner, she turns +away her head, and says, 'Darby, give Major M'Cormick the salt.' That's +French politeness, perhaps; but I'll pay them all off yet, for they can't +get sixpence on the mortgage, and I 'm only drinking out that bin of old +Madeira before I tell them that I won't advance the money. Why should I? +The women treat me worse than a dog, and old B. is neither more nor less +than a fool. Dill, the doctor, however he got it, says it's all up about +the suit with the India Company; that there's no proof of the Colonel's +marriage at all, that the charges against him were never cleared up, and +that nothing can come out of it but more disgrace and more exposure. +</p> +<p> +“I wish you 'd send me the correct account of what took place between you +and one of your subalterns, for old Dinah keeps harping on it in a sort of +mysterious and mischievous way of her own, that provokes me. Was it that +he refused to obey orders, or that <i>you</i>, as <i>she</i> says, used +such language towards him that he wrote to report you? Give it to me in +black and white, and maybe I won't try her temper with it. At all events, +make out some sort of a case, for the old woman is now intolerable. She +said yesterday, 'Major Stapylton, to whom I write by this post, will see +that his visit here must be preceded by an explanation.' There's her words +for you, and I hope you like them! +</p> +<p> +“I think you are right to be in no hurry about purchasing, for many say +the whole system will be changed soon, and the money would be clean thrown +away. Besides this, I have been looking over my bauk-book, and I find I +could n't help you just now. Two bad harvests, and the smut in the wheat +last year, are running me mighty close. I won't finish this till +to-morrow, for I 'm going to dine at 'The Home' to-day. It is the +granddaughter's birthday, and there was a regular shindy about who was +going to be asked. Old Peter was for a grand celebration, and inviting the +Admiral, and the Gores, and God knows who besides; and Dinah was for what +she called a family party, consisting, I suppose, of herself and Darby. I +'ll be able, before I close this, to tell you how it was ended; for I only +know now that Dill and his daughter are to be there. +</p> +<p> +“Wednesday.—I sit down with a murdering headache to finish this +letter. Maybe it was the pickled lobster, or the ice punch, or the other +drink they called champagne-cup that did it. But I never passed such a +night since I was in the trenches, and I am shaking still, so that I can +scarce hold the pen. It was a grand dinner, to be sure, for ruined people +to give. Venison from Carrick Woods, and game of every kind, with all +kinds of wine; and my Lord Car-rickmore talking to Miss Dinah, and the +Admiral following up with the niece, and Tom Brabazon, and Dean of +Deanspark, and the devil knows who besides, bringing up the rear, with +Dill and your obedient servant. Every dish that came in, and every bottle +that was uncorked, I said to myself, 'There goes another strap on the +property;' and I felt as if we were eating the trees and the timber and +the meadows all the time at table. +</p> +<p> +“It 's little of the same sympathy troubled the others. My Lord was as +jolly as if he was dining with the King; and old Cobham called for more of +the Madeira, as if it was an inn; and Peter himself—the heartless +old fool—when he got up to thank the company for drinking his +granddaughter's health, said, 'May I trust that even at my advanced age +this may not be the last time I may have to speak my gratitude to you all +for the generous warmth with which you have pledged this toast; but even +should it be so, I shall carry away with me from this evening's happiness +a glow of pleasure that will animate me to the last. It was only this +morning I learned what I know you will all hear with satisfaction, that +there is every probability of a speedy arrangement of my long-pending suit +with the Company, and that my child here will soon have her own again.' +Grand applause and huzzas, with a noise that drowned 'Bother!' from +myself, and in the middle of the row up jumps the Admiral, and cries out, +'Three cheers more for the Rajah's daughter!' I thought the old roof would +come down; and the blackguards in the kitchen took up the cry and shouted +like mad, and then we yelled again, and this went on for maybe five +minutes. 'What does it all mean,' says I, 'but a cheer for the Court of +Bankruptcy, and Hip, hip, hurray! for the Marshalsea Prison!' After that, +he had half an hour or more of flatteries and compliments. My Lord was so +happy, and Peter Barrington so proud, and the Admiral so delighted, and +the rest of us so much honored, that I could n't stand it any longer, but +stole away, and got into the garden, to taste a little fresh air and +quietness. I had n't gone ten paces, when I came plump upon Miss Dinah, +taking her coffee under a tree. 'You are a deserter, I fear, sir,' said +she, in her own snappish way; so I thought I 'd pay her off, and I said, +'To tell you the truth, Miss Barrington, at our time of life these sort of +things are more full of sadness than pleasure. We know how hollow they +are, and how little heart there is in the cheers of the people that are so +jolly over your wine, but would n't stop to talk to you when you came down +to water!' +</p> +<p> +“'The worse we think of the world, Major M'Cormick,' says she, 'the more +risk we run of making ourselves mean enough to suit it.' +</p> +<p> +“'I don't suspect, ma'am,' says I, 'that when people have known it so long +as you and I, that they are greatly in love with it.' +</p> +<p> +“'They may, however, be mannerly in their dealings with it, sir,' said +she, fiercely; and so we drew the game, and settled the men for another +battle. +</p> +<p> +“'Is there anything new, ma'am?' says I, after a while. +</p> +<p> +“'I believe not, sir. The bread riots still continue in the North, where +what would seem the needless severity of some of the military commanders +has only exasperated the people. You have heard, I suppose, of Major +Stapylton's business?' +</p> +<p> +“'Not a word, ma'am,' says I; 'for I never see a paper.' +</p> +<p> +“'I know very little of the matter myself,' says she. 'It was, it would +appear, at some night assemblage at a place called Lund's Common. A young +officer sent forward by Major Stapylton to disperse the people, was so +struck by the destitution and misery he witnessed, and the respectful +attitude they exhibited, that he hesitated about employing force, and +restricted himself to counsels of quietness and submission. He did more,—not +perhaps very prudently, as some would say,—he actually emptied his +pockets of all the money he had, giving even his watch to aid the starving +horde before him. What precise version of his conduct reached his +superior, I cannot say; but certainly Major Stapylton commented on it in +terms of the harshest severity, and he even hinted at a reason for the +forbearance too offensive for any soldier to endure.' +</p> +<p> +“She did not seem exactly to know what followed after this, but some sort +of inquiry appeared to take place, and witnesses were examined as to what +really occurred at Lund's Common; and amongst others, a Lascar, who was +one of the factory hands,—having come to England a great many years +before with an officer from India. This fellow's evidence was greatly in +favor of young Conyers, and was subjected to a very severe +cross-examination from yourself, in the middle of which he said something +in Hindostanee that nobody in the court understood but you; and after this +he was soon dismissed and the case closed for that day. +</p> +<p> +“'What do you think, Major M'Cormick,' said she, 'but when the court of +inquiry opened the next morning, Lal-Adeen, the Lascar, was not to be +found high or low. The court have suspended their sittings to search for +him; but only one opinion prevails,—that Major Stapylton knows more +of this man's escape than he is likely to tell.' I have taken great pains +to give you her own very words in all this business, and I wrote them down +the moment I got home, for I thought to myself you 'd maybe write about +the matter to old Peter, and you ought to be prepared for the way they +look at it; the more because Miss Dinah has a liking for young Conyers,—what +she calls a motherly affection; but I don't believe in the motherly part +of it! But of course you care very little what the people here say about +you at all. At least, I know it would n't trouble <i>me</i> much, if I was +in your place. At all events, whatever you do, do with a high hand, and +the Horse Guards is sure to stand to you. Moderation may be an elegant +thing in civil life, but I never knew it succeed in the army. There's the +rain coming on again, and I just sent out six cars to the bog for turf; so +I must conclude, and remain, yours sincerely, +</p> +<p> +“Daniel T. M'Cormick. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm thinking of foreclosing the small mortgage I hold on 'The Home,' but +as they pay the interest regularly, five per cent, I would n't do it if I +knew things were going on reasonably well with them; send me a line about +what is doing regarding the 'claim,' and it will guide me.” +</p> +<p> +While Major M'Cormick awaited the answer to his postscript, which to him—as +to a lady—was the important part of his letter, a short note arrived +at 'The Home' from Mr. Withering, enclosing a letter he had just received +from Major Stapylton. Withering's communication was in answer to one from +Barrington, and ran thus:— +</p> +<p> +“Dear B.,—All things considered, I believe you are right in not +receiving General Conyers at this moment. It would probably, as you +suspect, enable calumnious people to say that you could make your +resentments play second when they came in the way of your interests. If +matters go on well, as I have every hope they will, you can make the <i>amende</i> +to him more satisfactorily and more gracefully hereafter. Buxton has at +length consented to bring the case before the House; of course it will not +go to a division, nor, if it did, could it be carried; but the discussion +will excite interest, the Press will take it up, and after a few regretful +and half-civil expressions from the Ministry, the India Board will see the +necessity of an arrangement. +</p> +<p> +“It is somewhat unfortunate and <i>mal à propos</i> that Stapylton should +at this moment have got into an angry collision with young Conyers. I have +not followed the case closely, but, as usual in such things, they seem +each of them in the wrong,—the young sub wanting to make his +generous sympathy supply the place of military obedience, and the old +officer enforcing discipline at the cost of very harsh language. I learn +this morning that Conyers has sold out, intending to demand a personal +satisfaction. You will see by S.'s letter that he scarcely alludes to this +part of the transaction at all. S. feels very painfully the attacks of the +Press, and sees, perhaps, more forcibly than I should in his place, the +necessity of an exchange. Read attentively the portion I have underlined.” +</p> +<p> +It is to this alone I have to direct my readers' attention, the first two +sides of the letter being entirely filled with details about the “claim”:— +</p> +<p> +“'The newspapers have kept me before you for some days back, much more, I +doubt not, to their readers' amusement than to my own gratification. I +could, if I pleased, have told these slanderers that I did not charge a +crowd of women and children,—that I did not cut down an elderly man +at his own door-sill,—that I did not use language “offensive and +unbecoming” to one of my officers, for his having remonstrated in the name +of humanity against the cruelty of my orders. In a word, I might have +shown the contemptible scribblers that I knew how to temper duty with +discretion, as I shall know how, when the occasion offers, to make the +punishment of a calumniator a terror to his colleagues. However, there is +a very absurd story going about of a fellow whose insolence I certainly <i>did</i> +reply to with the flat of my sabre, and whom I should be but too happy to +punish legally, if he could be apprehended. That he made his escape after +being captured, and that I connived at or assisted in it,—I forget +which,—you have probably heard. In fact, there is nothing too +incredible to say of me for the moment; and what is worse, I begin to +suspect that the Home Secretary, having rather burned his fingers in the +business, will not be very sorry to make an Admiral Byng of a Major of +Hussars. For each and all these reasons I mean to exchange, and, if +possible, into a regiment in India. This will, of course, take some time; +meanwhile, I have asked for and obtained some months' leave. You will be +surprised at my troubling you with so much of purely personal matters, but +they are the necessary preface to what I now come. You are aware of the +letter I wrote some time back to Mr. Barrington, and the request it +preferred. If the reply I received was not discouraging, neither was it +conclusive. The ordinary commonplaces as to the shortness of our +acquaintance, the want of sufficient knowledge of each other's tastes, +characters, &c, were duly dwelt upon; but I could not at the end say, +was I an accepted or a rejected suitor. Now that the critical moment of my +life draws nigh,—for such I feel the present emergency,—an act +of confidence in me would have more than double value. Can you tell me +that this is the sentiment felt towards me, or am I to learn that the +yells of a rabble have drowned the voices of my friends? In plain words, +will Miss Josephine Barrington accept my offer? Will she intrust her +happiness to my keeping, and change the darkest shadow that ever lowered +over my life into a gleam of unspeakable brightness? You have given me too +many proofs of a friendly disposition towards me, not to make me feel that +you are the best fitted to bring this negotiation to a good issue. If I do +not mistake you much, you look with favor on my suit and wish it success. +I am ashamed to say how deeply my hopes have jeopardized my future +happiness, but I tell you frankly life has no such prize to my ambition, +nor, in fact, any such alternative of despair before me.' +</p> +<p> +“Now, my dear Barrington,” continued Withering's letter, “there is a great +deal in this that I like, and something with which I am not so much +pleased. If, however, I am not the Major's advocate to the extent he asks, +or expects me, it is because I feel that to be unjustly dealt with is a +stronger claim on <i>your</i> heart than that of any other man I ever met +with, and the real danger here would be that you should suffer that +feeling to predominate over all others. Consult your granddaughter's +interests, if you can, independently of this; reflect well if the plan be +one likely to promise her happiness. Take your sensible, clear-headed +sister into your counsels; but, above all, ascertain Josephine's own +sentiments, and do nothing in direct opposition to them.” +</p> +<p> +“There, Dinah,” said Barrington, placing the letter in her hands, “this is +as much to your address as to mine. Read it over carefully, and you'll +find me in the garden when you have done.” +</p> +<p> +Miss Barrington laid down her great roll of worsted work, and began her +task without a word. She had not proceeded very far, however, when +Josephine entered in search of a book. “I beg pardon, aunt, if I derange +you.” +</p> +<p> +“We say disturb, or inconvenience, in English, Miss Barrington. What is it +you are looking for?” +</p> +<p> +“The 'Legend of Montrose,' aunt. I am so much amused by that Major +Dalgetty that I can think of nothing but him.” +</p> +<p> +“Umph!” muttered the old lady. “It was of a character not altogether +dissimilar I was thinking myself at that moment. Sit down here, child, and +let me talk to you. This letter that I hold here, Josephine, concerns +you.” +</p> +<p> +“Me, aunt—concerns <i>me?</i> And who on earth could have written a +letter in which I am interested?” +</p> +<p> +“You shall hear it.” She coughed only once or twice, and then went on: +“It's a proposal of marriage,—no less. That gallant soldier who left +us so lately has fallen in love with you,—so he says, and of course +he knows best. He seems fully aware that, being older than you, and graver +in temperament, his offer must come heralded with certain expressions +almost apologetic; but he deals with the matter skillfully, and tells us +that being well off as regards fortune, of good blood, and with fair +prospects before him, he does not wish to regard his suit as hopeless. +Your grandfather was minded to learn how you might feel disposed to accept +his addresses by observing your demeanor, by watching what emotion mention +of him might occasion, by seeing how far you felt interested in his good +or ill repute. I did not agree with him. I am never for the long road when +there is a short one, and therefore I mean to let you hear his letter. +This is what he writes.” While Miss Dinah read the extract which the +reader has just seen, she never noticed, or, if noticed, never attended +to, the agitation in her niece's manner, or seemed to remark that from a +deep-crimson at first her cheeks grew pale as death, and her +lips-tremulous. “There, child,” said Miss Dinah, as she finished—“there +are his own words; very ardent words, but withal respectful. What do you +think of them,—of them and of him?” +</p> +<p> +Josephine hung down her head, and with her hands firmly clasped together, +she sat for a few moments so motionless that she seemed scarcely to +breathe. +</p> +<p> +“Would you like to think over this before you speak of it, Josephine? +Would you like to take this letter to your room and ponder over it alone?” +No answer came but a low, half-subdued sigh. +</p> +<p> +“If you do not wish to make a confidante of me, Josephine, I am sorry for +it, but not offended.” +</p> +<p> +“No, no, aunt, it is not that,” burst she in; “it is to <i>you</i> and you +alone, I wish to speak, and I will be as candid as yourself. I am not +surprised at the contents of this letter. I mean, I was in a measure +prepared for them.” +</p> +<p> +“That is to say, child, that he paid you certain attentions?” +</p> +<p> +She nodded assent. +</p> +<p> +“And how did you receive them? Did you let him understand that you were +not indifferent to him,—that his addresses were agreeable to you?” +</p> +<p> +Another, but shorter, nod replied to this question. +</p> +<p> +“I must confess,” said the old lady, bridling up, “all this amazes me +greatly. Why, child, it is but the other day you met each other for the +first time. How, when, and where you found time for such relations as you +speak of, I cannot imagine. Do you mean to tell me, Josephine, that you +ever talked alone together?” +</p> +<p> +“Constantly, aunt!” +</p> +<p> +“Constantly!” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, aunt. We talked a great deal together.” +</p> +<p> +“But how, child,—where?” +</p> +<p> +“Here, aunt, as we used to stroll together every morning through the wood +or in the garden; then as we went on the river or to the waterfall.” +</p> +<p> +“I can comprehend nothing of all this, Josephine. I know you mean to deal +openly with me; so say at once, how did this intimacy begin?” +</p> +<p> +“I can scarcely say how, aunt, because I believe we drifted into it. We +used to talk a great deal of ourselves, and at length we grew to talk of +each other,—of our likings and dislikings, our tastes and our +tempers. And these did not always agree!” +</p> +<p> +“Indeed!” +</p> +<p> +“No, aunt,” said she, with a heavy sigh. “We quarrelled very often; and +once,—I shall not easily forget it,—once seriously.” +</p> +<p> +“What was it about?” +</p> +<p> +“It was about India, aunt; and he was in the wrong, and had to own it +afterwards and ask pardon.” +</p> +<p> +“He must know much more of that country than you, child. How came it that +you presumed to set up your opinion against his?” +</p> +<p> +“The presumption was his,” said she, haughtily. “He spoke of <i>his</i> +father's position as something the same as <i>my</i> father's. He talked +of him as a Rajah!” +</p> +<p> +“I did not know that he spoke of his father,” said Miss Dinah, +thoughtfully. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, he spoke much of him. He told me, amongst other things, how he had +been a dear friend of papa's; that as young men they lived together like +brothers, and never were separate till the fortune of life divided them.” +</p> +<p> +“What is all this I am listening to? Of whom are you telling me, +Josephine?” +</p> +<p> +“Of Fred, Aunt Dinah; of Fred, of course.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you mean young Conyers, child?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes. How could I mean any other?” +</p> +<p> +“Ta, ta, ta!” said the old lady, drumming with her heel on the floor and +her fingers on the table. “It has all turned out as I said it would! +Peter, Peter, will you never be taught wisdom? Listen to me, child!” said +she, turning almost sternly towards Josephine. “We have been at +cross-purposes with each other all this time. This letter which I have +just read for you—” She stopped suddenly as she reached thus far, +and after a second's pause, said, “Wait for me here; I will be back +presently. I have a word to say to your grandfather.” +</p> +<p> +Leaving poor Josephine in a state of trepidation and bewilderment,—ashamed +at the confession she had just made, and trembling with a vague sense of +some danger that impended over her,—Miss Dinah hurried away to the +garden. +</p> +<p> +“Here's a new sort of worm got into the celery, Dinah,” said he, as she +came up, “and a most destructive fellow he is. He looks like a mere +ruffling of the leaf, and you 'd never suspect him.” +</p> +<p> +“It is your peculiarity never to suspect anything, brother Peter, even +after you have had warning of peril. Do you remember my telling you, when +we were up the Rhine, what would come of that intimacy between Conyers and +Josephine?” +</p> +<p> +“I think I do,” said he, making what seemed an effort of memory. +</p> +<p> +“And can you recall the indolent slipshod answer you made me about it? But +of course you cannot. It was an old-maid's apprehensions, and you forgot +the whole thing. Well, Peter, I was right and you were wrong.” +</p> +<p> +“Not the first time that the double event has come off so!” said he, +smiling. +</p> +<p> +“You are too fond of that cloak of humility, Peter Barrington. The plea of +Guilty never saved any one from transportation!” Waiting a moment to +recover her breath after this burst of passion, she went on: “After I had +read that letter you gave me, I spoke to Josephine; I told her in a few +words how it referred to her, and frankly asked her what she thought of +it. She was very candid and very open, and, I must say, also very +collected and composed. Young ladies of the present day possess that +inestimable advantage over their predecessors. Their emotions do not +overpower them.” This was the second time of “blowing off the steam,” and +she had to wait a moment to rally. “She told me, frankly, that she was not +unprepared for such an offer; that tender passages had already been +exchanged between them. The usual tomfoolery, I conclude,—that +supreme effort of selfishness people call love,—in a word, Peter, +she was in no wise disinclined to the proposal; the only misfortune was, +she believed it came from young Conyers.” +</p> +<p> +Barrington would have laughed, and laughed heartily, if he dared. As it +was, the effort to restrain himself sent the blood to his head, and made +his eyes run over. +</p> +<p> +“You may well blush, Peter Barrington,” said she, shaking her finger at +him. “It's all your own doing.” +</p> +<p> +“And when you undeceived her, Dinah, what did she say?” +</p> +<p> +“I have not done so yet; but my impression is that so susceptible a young +lady should find no great difficulty in transferring her affections. For +the present I mean to limit myself to declaring that this offer is not +from Conyers; if she has curiosity to know the writer, she shall learn it. +I always had my doubts about these convents Bread and water diet makes +more epicures than abstinents!” +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER X. INTERCHANGED CONFESSIONS +</h2> +<p> +Miss Barrington, with Josephine at one side and Polly Dill on the other, +sat at work in her little room that opened on the garden. Each was engaged +in some peculiar task, and each seemed bent upon her labor in that +preoccupied way which would imply that the cares of needlework make no +mean call upon human faculties. A close observer would, however, have +remarked that though Miss Barrington stitched vigorously away at the +background for a fierce tiger with measly spots over him, Polly seemed +oftener to contemplate than continue her handiwork; while Josephine's +looks strayed constantly from the delicate tracery she was following, to +the garden, where the roses blended with the jasmine, and the drooping +honeysuckles hung listlessly over the boughs of the apple-tree. +</p> +<p> +“If your work wearies you, Fifine,” said Miss Dinah, “you had better read +for us.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh no, not at all, aunt; I like it immensely. I was only wondering why +one should devise such impossible foliage, when we have the real thing +before us, in all its grace and beauty.” +</p> +<p> +“Humph!” said the old lady; “the sight of a real tiger would not put me +out of countenance with my own.” +</p> +<p> +“It certainly ought not, ma'am,” said Polly; while she added, in a faint +whisper, “for there is assuredly no rivalry in the case.” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps Miss Dill is not too absorbed in her study of nature, as applied +to needlework, to read out the newspaper.” +</p> +<p> +“I will do it with pleasure, ma'am. Where shall I begin?” +</p> +<p> +“Deaths and marriages first, of course, child. Then fashion and varieties; +take the accidents afterwards, and close with anything remarkable in +politics, or any disastrous occurrence in high life.” +</p> +<p> +Polly obeyed to the letter; once only straying into an animated account of +a run with the Springfield fox-hounds, where three riders out of a large +field came in at the death; when Miss Dinah stopped her abruptly, saying, +“I don't care for the obituary of a fox, young lady. Go on with something +else.” +</p> +<p> +“Will you have the recent tragedy at Ring's End, ma'am?” +</p> +<p> +“I know it by heart Is there nothing new in the fashions,—how are +bonnets worn? What's the latest sleeve? What's the color in vogue?” +</p> +<p> +“A delicate blue, ma'am; a little off the sky, and on the hyacinth.” +</p> +<p> +“Very becoming to fair people,” said Miss Dinah, with a shake of her blond +ringlets. +</p> +<p> +“'The Prince's Hussars!' Would you like to hear about <i>them</i>, ma'am?” +</p> +<p> +“By all means.” +</p> +<p> +“It's a very short paragraph. 'The internal troubles of this unhappy +regiment would seem to be never ending. We last week informed our readers +that a young subaltern of the corps, the son of one of our most +distinguished generals, had thrown up his commission and repaired to the +Continent, to enable him to demand a personal satisfaction from his +commanding officer, and we now learn that the Major in question is +precluded from accepting the gage of battle by something stronger than +military etiquette.'” +</p> +<p> +“Read it again, child; that vile newspaper slang always puzzles me.” +</p> +<p> +Polly recited the passage in a clear and distinct voice. +</p> +<p> +“What do you understand by it, Polly?” +</p> +<p> +“I take it to mean nothing, madam. One of those stirring pieces of +intelligence which excites curiosity, and are no more expected to be +explained than a bad riddle.” +</p> +<p> +“It cannot surely be that he shelters himself under his position towards +us? That I conclude is hardly possible!” +</p> +<p> +Though Miss Barrington said this as a reflection, she addressed herself +almost directly to Josephine. +</p> +<p> +“As far as I am concerned, aunt,” answered Josephine, promptly, “the Major +may fight the monster of the Drachenfels to-morrow, if he wishes it.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, here is another mystery apparently on the same subject. 'The Lascar, +Lal-Adeen, whom our readers will remember as having figured in a +police-court a few days back, and was remanded till the condition of his +wound—a severe sabre-cut on the scalp—should permit his +further examination, and on the same night made his escape from the +hospital, has once again, and very unexpectedly, turned up at +Boulogne-sur-Mer. His arrival in this country—some say voluntarily, +others under a warrant issued for his apprehension—will probably +take place to-day or to-morrow, and, if report speak truly, be followed by +some of the most singular confessions which the public has heard for a +long time back.' 'The Post' contradicts the statement, and declares 'no +such person has ever been examined before the magistrate, if he even have +any existence at all.'” +</p> +<p> +“And what interest has all this for us?” asked Miss Dinah, sharply. +</p> +<p> +“You do not forget, ma'am, that this is the same man Major Stapylton was +said to have wounded; and whose escape scandal hinted he had connived at, +and who now 'does not exist.'” +</p> +<p> +“I declare Miss Dill, I remember no such thing; but it appears to me that +Major Stapylton occupies a very considerable space in your own thoughts.” +</p> +<p> +“I fancy Polly likes him, aunt,” said Josephine, with a slight smile. +</p> +<p> +“Well, I will own he interests me; there is about him a mysterious +something that says, 'I have more in my head and on my heart than you +think of, and more, perhaps, than you could carry if the burden were +yours.'” +</p> +<p> +“A galley-slave might say the same, Miss Dill.” +</p> +<p> +“No doubt of it, ma'am; and if there be men who mix in the great world, +and dine at grand houses, with something of the galley-slave on their +conscience, they assuredly impress us with an amount of fear that is half +a homage. One dreads them as he does a tiger, but the terror is mingled +with admiration.” +</p> +<p> +“This is nonsense, young lady, and baneful nonsense, too, begotten of +French novels and a sickly sentimentality. I hope Fifine despises it as +heartily as I do.” The passionate wrath which she displayed extended to +the materials of her work-basket, and while rolls of worsted were upset +here, needles were thrown there; and at last, pushing her embroidery-frame +rudely away, she arose and left the room. +</p> +<p> +“Dearest Polly, how could you be so indiscreet! You know, far better than +I do, how little patience she has with a paradox.” +</p> +<p> +“My sweet Fifine,” said the other, in a low whisper, “I was dying to get +rid of her, and I knew there was only one way of effecting it. You may +remark that whenever she gets into a rage, she rushes out into the +flower-garden, and walks round and round till she's ready to drop. There +she is already; you may gauge her anger by the number of her revolutions +in a minute.” +</p> +<p> +“But why did you wish her away, Polly?” +</p> +<p> +“I'll tell you why; that is, there is a charming French word for what I +mean, the verb 'agacer,' all untranslatable as it is. Now there are +moments when a person working in the same room—reading, writing, +looking out of the window—becomes an insupportable infliction. You +reason, and say, 'How absurd, how childish, how ungenerous,' and so forth. +It won't do; for as you look round he is there still, and by his mere +presence keeps up the ferment in your thoughts. You fancy, at last, that +he stands between you and your inner self, a witness that won't let your +own conscience whisper to you, and you come in the end to hate him. Your +dear aunt was on the high-road to this goal, when I bethought me of my +expedient! And now we are all alone, dearest, make me a confession.” +</p> +<p> +“What is it?” +</p> +<p> +“You do not like Major Stapylton?” +</p> +<p> +“No.” +</p> +<p> +“And you do like somebody else?” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps,” said she, slowly, and dividing the syllables as she spoke them. +</p> +<p> +“That being the case, and seeing, as you do, that your aunt is entirely of +your own mind, at least as to the man you do not care for, why don't you +declare as much frankly to your grandfather, and break off the negotiation +at once?” +</p> +<p> +“Just because that dear old grandpapa asked me not to be precipitate, not +to be rash. He did not tell me that I must love Major Stapylton, or must +marry him; but he said, 'If you only knew, Fifine, what a change in our +fortune would come of a change in <i>your</i> feelings; if you could but +imagine, child, how the whole journey of life might be rendered easier, +all because you took the right-hand road instead of the left; if you could +guess these things, and what might follow them—'” She stopped. +</p> +<p> +“Well, go on.” +</p> +<p> +“No. I have said all that he said; he kissed my cheek as he got thus far, +and hurried away from the room.” +</p> +<p> +“And you, like a sweet, obedient child, hastened away to yours; wrote a +farewell, a heart-broken farewell, to Fred Conyers; and solemnly swore to +your own conscience you 'd marry a man you disliked. These are the sort of +sacrifices the world has a high admiration for; but do you know, Fifine, +the world limps a little in its morality sometimes, and is not one-half +the fine creature it thinks itself. For instance, in the midst of all its +enthusiasm for you, it has forgotten that in accepting for your husband a +man you do not love, you are doing a dishonesty; and that, besides this, +you really love another. It is what the French call the aggravating +circumstance.” +</p> +<p> +“I mean to do nothing of the kind!” broke in Fifine, boldly. “Your lecture +does not address itself to <i>me</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“Do not be angry, Fifine,” said the other, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“It is rather too hard to be rebuked for the faults one might have, but +has not committed. It's like saying how wet you 'd have been had you +fallen into that pool!” +</p> +<p> +“Well, it also means, don't fall into the pool!” +</p> +<p> +“Do you know, Polly,” said Josephine, archly, “I have a sort of suspicion +that you don't dislike this Major yourself! Am I right?” +</p> +<p> +“I'm not say you were altogether wrong; that is, he interests me, or, +rather, he puzzles me, and it piques my ingenuity to read him, just as it +would to make out a cipher to which I had only one-half the key.” +</p> +<p> +“Such a feeling as that would never inspire a tender interest, at least, +with <i>me</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“Nor did I say it was, Fifine. I have read in some book of my father's how +certain physicians inoculated themselves with plague, the better to note +the phenomena, and trace the course; and I own I can understand their +zeal, and I 'd risk something to decipher this man.” +</p> +<p> +“This may be very nice in medicine, Polly, but very bad in morals! At all +events, don't catch the plague for the sake of saving <i>me?</i>” +</p> +<p> +“Oh! I assure you any step I take shall be done in the interests of +science solely; not but that I have a small debt to acquit towards the +gallant Major.” +</p> +<p> +“You have! What can it possibly be?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, it was this wise,” said she, with a half-sigh. “We met at a +country-house here, and he paid me certain attentions, made me compliments +on my riding, which I knew to be good, and my singing, which was just +tolerable; said the usual things which mean nothing, and a few of those +more serious ones which are supposed to be more significant; and then he +asked my father's leave to come and visit him, and actually fixed a day +and an hour. And we, poor people, all delighted with the flattery of such +high notice, and thinking of the effect upon our neighbors so splendid a +visitor would produce, made the most magnificent preparations to receive +him,—papa in a black satin waistcoat, mamma in her lilac ribbons. I +myself,—having put the roof on a pigeon-pie, and given the last +finishing touch to a pagoda of ruby jelly,—I, in a charming figured +muslin and a blush rose in my hair, awaited the hour of attack! And, after +all, he never came. No, Fifine, never came! He forgot us, or he changed +his mind, or something else turned up that he liked better; or—which +is just as likely as any of the three—he thought it would be a +charming piece of impertinence to pass off on such small folk, who +presumed to fancy themselves company for him. At all events, Fifine, we +saw him no more. He went his way somewhere, and we were left lamenting.” +</p> +<p> +“And you really liked him, Polly?” +</p> +<p> +“No, of the two, I disliked him; but I wished very much that he might like +<i>me!</i> I saw him very overbearing and very insolent to those who were +certainly his equals, assuming a most offensive superiority everywhere and +to any one, and I thought what an awful humiliation it would be if so +great a personage were to be snubbed by the doctor's daughter. I wanted to +give a lesson which could only be severe if it came from one humble as +myself; but he defeated me, Fifine, and I am still his debtor! If I did +not like him before, you may believe that I hate him now; and I came off +here this morning, in hot haste, for no other purpose than to set you +against him, and induce you to regard him as I do.” +</p> +<p> +“There was little need,” said Fifine, calmly; “but here comes my aunt back +again. Make your submission quickly, Polly, or it will be too late to +expect mercy.” +</p> +<p> +“I 'll do better,” said Polly, rising. “I 'll let my trial go on in my +absence;” and with this she stepped out of the window as Miss Barrington +entered by the door. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XI. STAPYLTON'S VISIT AT “THE HOME” +</h2> +<p> +So secretly had Barrington managed, that he negotiated the loan of five +hundred pounds on a mortgage of the cottage without ever letting his +sister hear of it; and when she heard on a particular day that her brother +expected Mr. Kinshela, the attorney, from Kilkenny, on business, she made +the occasion the pretext of a visit to Dr. Dill, taking Josephine with +her, to pass the day there. +</p> +<p> +Barrington was therefore free to receive his lawyer at his ease, and +confer with him alone. Not that he cared much for his company; he felt +towards the attorney pretty much as an ardent soldier feels to a +non-combatant, the commissary, or the paymaster. Had he been a barrister, +indeed, old Peter would have welcomed him with the zest of true +companionship; he would have ransacked his memory for anecdotes, and +prepared for the meeting as for an encounter of sharp wits. Now it is no +part of my task to present Mr. Kinshela more than passingly to my reader, +and I will merely say that he was a shrewd, commonplace man, whose +practice rarely introduced him to the higher classes of his county, and +who recognized Barrington, even in his decline, as a person of some +consideration. +</p> +<p> +They had dined well, and sat over their wine in the little dining-room +over the river, a favorite spot of Barrington's when he wished to be +confidential, for it was apart from the rest of the cottage, and removed +from all intrusion. +</p> +<p> +“So, you won't tell me, Kinshela, who lent us this money?” said the old +man, as he passed the decanter across the table. +</p> +<p> +“It is not that I won't, sir, but I can't. It was in answer to an +advertisement I inserted in the 'Times,' that I got an application from +Granger and Wood to supply particulars; and I must say there was no +unnecessary security on their part. It was as speedily settled a +transaction as I ever conducted, and I believe in my heart we might have +had a thousand pounds on it just as easily as five hundred.” +</p> +<p> +“As well as it is, Kinshela. When the day of repayment comes round, I'll +perhaps find it heavy enough;” and he sighed deeply as he spoke. +</p> +<p> +“Who knows, sir? There never was a time that capital expended on land was +more remunerative than the present.” +</p> +<p> +Now, Mr. Kinshela well knew that the destination of the money they spoke +of was not in this direction, and that it had as little to say to subsoil +drainage or top dressing as to the conversion of the heathen; but he was +angling for a confidence, and he did not see how to attain it. +</p> +<p> +Barrington smiled before he answered,—one of those sad, melancholy +smiles which reveal a sorrow a man is not able to suppress,—and then +he said, “I 'm afraid, Kinshela, I 'll not test the problem this time.” +</p> +<p> +“It will be better employed, perhaps, sir. You mean, probably, to take +your granddaughter up to the drawing-room at the Castle?” +</p> +<p> +“I never so much as thought of it, Joe Kinshela; the fact is, that money +is going where I have sent many a hundred before it,—in law! I have +had a long, wearisome, costly suit, that has well-nigh beggared me; and of +that sum you raised for me I don't expect to have a shilling by this day +week.” +</p> +<p> +“I heard something about that, sir,” said the other, cautiously. +</p> +<p> +“And what was it you heard?” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing, of course, worth repeating; nothing from any one that knew the +matter himself; just the gossip that goes about, and no more.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, let us hear the gossip that goes about, and I'll promise to tell +you if it's true.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, indeed,” said Kinshela, drawing a long breath, “they say that your +claim is against the India Board.” +</p> +<p> +Barring ton nodded. +</p> +<p> +“And that it is a matter little short of a million is in dispute.” +</p> +<p> +He nodded again twice. +</p> +<p> +“And they say, too,—of course, on very insufficient knowledge,—that +if you would have abated your demands once on a time, you might readily +have got a hundred thousand pounds, or even more.” +</p> +<p> +“That's not impossible,” muttered Barrington. +</p> +<p> +“But that, now—” he stammered for an instant, and then stopped. +</p> +<p> +“But now? Go on.” +</p> +<p> +“Sure, sir, they can know nothing about it; it's just idle talk, and no +more.” +</p> +<p> +“Go on, and tell me what they say <i>now</i>,” said Barrington, with a +strong force on the last word. +</p> +<p> +“They say you 'll be beaten, sir,” said he, with an effort. +</p> +<p> +“And do they say why, Kinshela?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir; they say you won't take advice; and no matter what Mr. +Withering counsels, or is settled in consultation, you go your own way and +won't mind them; and that you have been heard to declare you 'll have all, +or nothing.” +</p> +<p> +“They give me more credit than I deserve, Kinshela. It is, perhaps, what I +ought to have said, for I have often <i>thought it</i>. But in return for +all the kind interest my neighbors take about me, let them know that +matters look better for us than they once did. Perhaps,” added he, with a +laugh,—“perhaps I have overcome my obstinacy, or perhaps my +opponents have yielded to it. At all events, Joe, I believe I see land at +last, and it was a long 'lookout' and many a fog-bank I mistook for it.” +</p> +<p> +“And what makes you think now you'll win?” said the other, growing bolder +by the confidence reposed in him. +</p> +<p> +Barrington half started at the presumption of the question; but he +suddenly remembered how it was he himself who had invited the discussion, +so he said calmly,— +</p> +<p> +“My hope is not without a foundation. I expect by the mail to-night a +friend who may be able to tell me that I have won, or as good as won.” +</p> +<p> +Kinshela was dying to ask who the friend was, but even his curiosity had +its prudential limits; so he merely took out his watch, and, looking at +it, remarked that the mail would pass in about twenty minutes or so. +</p> +<p> +“By the way, I must n't forget to send a servant to wait on the roadside;” +and he rang the bell and said, “Let Darby go up to the road and take Major +Stapylton's luggage when he arrives.” +</p> +<p> +“Is that the Major Stapylton is going to be broke for the doings at +Manchester, sir?” asked Kinshela. +</p> +<p> +“He is the same Major Stapylton that a rascally press is now libelling and +calumniating,” said Barrington, hotly. “As to being broke, I don't believe +that we have come yet to that pass in England that the discipline of our +army is administered by every scribbler in a newspaper.” +</p> +<p> +“I humbly crave your pardon, sir, if I have said the slightest thing to +offend; but I only meant to ask, was he the officer they were making such +a fuss about?” “He is an officer of the highest distinction, and a +wellborn gentleman to boot,—two admirable reasons for the assaults +of a contemptible party. Look you, Kinshela; you and I are neither of us +very young or inexperienced men, but I would ask you, have we learned any +wiser lesson from our intercourse with life than to withhold our judgment +on the case of one who rejects the sentence of a mob, and appeals to the +verdict of his equals?” +</p> +<p> +“But if he cut the people down in cold blood,—if it be true that he +laid open that poor black fellow's cheek from the temple to the chin—” +</p> +<p> +“If he did no such thing,” broke in Barrington; “that is to say, if there +is no evidence whatever that he did so, what will your legal mind say +then, Joe Kinshela?” +</p> +<p> +“Just this, sir. I'd say—what all the newspapers are saying—that +he got the man out of the way,—bribed and sent him off.” +</p> +<p> +“Why not hint that he murdered him, and buried him within the precincts of +the jail? I declare I wonder at your moderation.” +</p> +<p> +“I am sure, sir, that if I suspected he was an old friend of yours—” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing of the kind,—a friend of very short standing; but what has +that to say to it? Is he less entitled to fair play whether he knew me or +not?” +</p> +<p> +“All I know of the case is from the newspapers; and as I scarcely see one +word in his favor, I take it there is not much to be said in his defence.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, if my ears don't deceive me, that was the guard's horn I heard +then. The man himself will be here in five minutes or so. You shall +conduct the prosecution, Kinshela, and I 'll be judge between you.” +</p> +<p> +“Heaven forbid, sir; on no account whatever!” said Kinshela, trembling all +over. “I'm sure, Mr. Barrington, you couldn't think of repeating what I +said to you in confidence—” +</p> +<p> +“No, no, Kinshela. You shall do it yourself; and it's only fair to tell +you that he is a right clever fellow, and fully equal to the task of +defending himself.” Peter arose as he spoke, and walked out upon the lawn, +affectedly to meet his coming guest, but in reality to cover a laugh that +was half smothering him, so comical was the misery expressed in the +attorney's face, and so ludicrous was his look of terror. +</p> +<p> +Of course I need not say that it never occurred to Barrington to realize +his threat, which he merely uttered in the spirit of that quizzing habit +that was familiar to him. “Yes, Kinshela,” cried he, “here he comes. I +recognize his voice already;” and Barrington now walked forward to welcome +his friend. +</p> +<p> +It was not till after some minutes of conversation, and when the light +fell strongly on Stapylton's features, that Barrington saw how changed a +few weeks of care had made him. He looked at the least ten years older +than before. His eyes had lost their bold and daring expression, too, and +were deep sunk, and almost furtive in their glance. +</p> +<p> +“You are tired, I fear,” said Barrington, as the other moved his hand +across his forehead, and, with a slight sigh, sank down upon a sofa. +</p> +<p> +“Less tired than worried,—harassed,” said he, faintly. “Just as at a +gaming-table a man may lose more in half an hour's high play than years of +hard labor could acquire, there are times of life when we dissipate more +strength and vigor than we ever regain. I have had rough usage since I saw +you last,” said he, with a very sickly smile. “How are the ladies,—well, +I hope?” +</p> +<p> +“Perfectly well. They have gone to pass the day with a neighbor, and will +be home presently. By the way, I left a friend here a few moments ago. +What can have become of him?” and he rang the bell hastily. “Where's Mr. +Kinshela, Darby?” +</p> +<p> +“Gone to bed, sir. He said he 'd a murthering headache, and hoped your +honor would excuse him.” +</p> +<p> +Though Barrington laughed heartily at this message, Stapylton never asked +the reason, but sat immersed in thought and unmindful of all around him. +</p> +<p> +“I half suspect you ought to follow his good example, Major,” said Peter. +“A mug of mulled claret for a nightcap, and a good sleep, will set you all +right.” +</p> +<p> +“It will take more than that to do it,” said the Major, sadly. Then +suddenly rising, and pacing the room with quick, impatient steps, he said, +“What could have induced you to let them bring your claim before the +House? They are going to do so, ain't they?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes. Tom Withering says that nothing will be so effectual, and I thought +you agreed with him.” +</p> +<p> +“Never. Nothing of the kind. I said, threaten it; insist that if they +continue the opposition, that you will,—that you must do so; but I +never was the fool to imagine that it could really be a wise step. What 's +the fate of all such motions? I ask you. There's a speech—sometimes +an able one—setting forth a long catalogue of unmerited injuries and +long suffering. There's a claim made out that none can find a flaw in, and +a story that, if Parliament was given to softness, might move men almost +to tears, and at the end of it up rises a Minister to say how deeply he +sympathizes with the calamity of the case, but that this house is, after +all, not the fitting locality for a discussion which is essentially a +question of law, and that, even if it were, and if all the allegations +were established,—a point to which he by no means gave adhesion,—there +was really no available fund at the disposal of the Crown to make +reparation for such losses. Have you not seen this, or something like +this, scores of times? Can you tell me of one that succeeded?” +</p> +<p> +“A case of such wrong as this cannot go without reparation,” said Peter, +with emotion. “The whole country will demand it.” +</p> +<p> +“The country will do no such thing. If it were a question of penalty or +punishment,—yes! the country would demand it. Fine, imprison, +transport, hang him! are easy words to utter, and cheap ones; but pay him, +reinstate him, reward him! have a very different sound and significance. +They figure in the budget, and are formidable on the hustings. Depend on +it, Mr. Barrington, the step will be a false one.” +</p> +<p> +“It has been my fate never to have got the same advice for two weeks +together since the day I entered on this weary suit,” said Barrington, +with a peevishness not natural to him. +</p> +<p> +“I may as well tell you the whole truth at once,” said Stapylton. “The +Board have gone back of all their good intentions towards us; some recent +arrivals from India, it is said, have kindled again the old fire of +opposition, and we are to be met by a resistance bold and uncompromising. +They are prepared to deny everything we assert; in fact, they have +resolved to sweep all the pieces off the board and begin the whole game +again, and all because you have taken this unfortunate course of appeal to +Parliament.” +</p> +<p> +“Have you told Withering this?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes; I have talked the matter over for nearly four hours with him. Like a +lawyer, he was most eager to know from what source came the new evidence +so damaging to us. I could only guess at this.” +</p> +<p> +“And your guess was—” +</p> +<p> +“I scarcely like to own to you that I take a less favorable view of +mankind than you do, who know it better; but in this case my suspicion +attaches to a man who was once your son's dearest friend, but grew to be +afterwards his deadliest enemy.” +</p> +<p> +“I will not have this said, Major Stapylton. I know whom you mean, and I +don't believe a word of it.” +</p> +<p> +Stapylton simply shrugged his shoulders, and continued to pace the room +without speaking, while Barrington went on muttering, half aloud: “No, no, +impossible; quite impossible. These things are not in nature. I don't +credit them.” +</p> +<p> +“You like to think very well of the world, sir!” said the Major, with a +faint scorn, so faint as scarcely to color his words. +</p> +<p> +“Think very badly of it, and you 'll soon come down to the level you +assign it,” said Peter, boldly. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm afraid I 'm not in the humor just now to give it my best suffrages. +You 've seen, I doubt not, something of the treatment I have met with from +the Press for the last few weeks; not very generous usage,—not very +just. Well! what will you say when I tell you that I have been refused an +inquiry into my conduct at Manchester; that the Government is of opinion +that such an investigation might at the moment be prejudicial to the +public peace, without any counterbalancing advantage on the score of a +personal vindication; that they do not deem the time favorable for the +calm and unbiassed judgment of the country; in one short word, sir, they +'d rather ruin a Major of Hussars than risk a Cabinet. I am to exchange +into any corps or any service I can; and they are to tide over these +troubles on the assumption of having degraded me.” +</p> +<p> +“I hope you wrong them,—I do hope you wrong them!” cried Barrington, +passionately. +</p> +<p> +“You shall see if I do,” said he, taking several letters from his pocket, +and searching for one in particular. “Yes, here it is. This is from +Aldridge, the private secretary of the Commander-in-chief. It is very +brief, and strictly secret:— +</p> +<p> +“'Dear S.,—The “Chief” does not like your scrape at all. You did +rather too much, or too little,—a fatal mistake dealing with a mob. +You must consent—there's no help for it—to be badly used, and +an injured man. If you don't like the half-pay list,—which would, in +my mind, be the best step,—there 's the Seventeenth ordered to +Baroda, and Maidstone refuses to go. This, or the Second West India, are +the only things open. Above all, don't show fight; don't rally a party +round you, for there is not a man in England whose influence is +sufficiently great to stand between you and the public. A conple of years' +patience and a hot climate will set all right, and reinstate you +everywhere. Come over here at once and I 'll do my best for you. +</p> +<p> +“'Yours ever, +</p> +<p> +“'St. George Aldridge.' +</p> +<p> +“This is a friend's letter,” said Stapylton, with a sneer; “and he has no +better counsel to give me than to plead guilty, and ask for a mitigated +punishment.” +</p> +<p> +Harrington was silenced; he would not by any expression of indignation add +to the great anger of the other, and he said nothing. At last he said, “I +wish from my heart—I wish I could be of any service to you.” +</p> +<p> +“You are the only man living who can,” was the prompt answer. +</p> +<p> +“How so—in what way? Let me hear.” +</p> +<p> +“When I addressed a certain letter to you some time back, I was in a +position both of fortune and prospect to take at least something from the +presumption of my offer. Now, though my fortune remains, my future is more +than clouded, and if I ask you to look favorably on my cause now, it is to +your generosity I must appeal; I am, in fact, asking you to stand by a +fallen man.” +</p> +<p> +This speech, uttered in a voice slightly shaken by agitation, went to +Barrington's heart. There was not a sentiment in his nature so certain to +respond to a call upon it as this one of sympathy with the beaten man; the +weaker side was always certain of his adherence. With a nice tact +Stapylton said no more, but, pushing open the window, walked out upon the +smooth sward, on which a faint moonlight flickered. He had shot his bolt, +and saw it as it quivered in his victim's flesh. Barrington was after him +in an instant, and, drawing an arm within his he said in a low voice, “You +may count upon me.” +</p> +<p> +Stapylton wrung his hand warmly, without speaking. After walking for a few +moments, side by side, he said: “I must be frank with you, Mr. Barrington. +I have little time and no taste for circumlocution; I cannot conceal from +myself that I am no favorite with your sister. I was not as eager as I +ought to have been to cultivate her good opinion; I was a little piqued at +what I thought mere injustices on her part,—small ones, to be sure, +but they wounded me, and with a temper that always revolted against a +wrong, I resented them, and I fear me, in doing so, I jeopardized her +esteem. If she is as generous as her brother, she will not remember these +to me in my day of defeat. Women, however, have their own ideas of mercy, +as they have of everything, and she may not choose to regard me as you +have done.” +</p> +<p> +“I suspect you are wrong about this,” said Harrington, breaking in. +</p> +<p> +“Well, I wish I may be; at all events, I must put the feeling to the test +at once, for I have formed my plan, and mean to begin it immediately.” +</p> +<p> +“And what is it?” +</p> +<p> +“Very few words will tell it. I intend to go on half-pay, or sell out if +that be refused me; set out for India by the next mail, and, with what +energy remains to me, vindicate your son's claim. I have qualifications +that will make me better than a better man. I am well versed in +Hindostanee, and a fair Persian scholar; I have a wide acquaintance with +natives of every rank, and I know how and where to look for information. +It is not my disposition to feel over-sanguine, but I would stake all I +possess on my success, for I see exactly the flaws in the chain, and I +know where to go to repair them. You have witnessed with what ardor I +adopted the suit before; but you cannot estimate the zeal with which I +throw myself into it now—<i>now</i> that, like George Barring-ton +himself, I am a man wronged, outraged, and insulted.” For a few seconds be +seemed overcome by passion and unable to continue; then he went on: “If +your granddaughter will accept me, it is my intention to settle on her all +I possess. Our marriage can be private, and she shall be free to accompany +me or to remain here, as she likes.” +</p> +<p> +“But how can all this be done so hurriedly? You talk of starting at once.” +</p> +<p> +“I must, if I would save your son's cause. The India Board are sending out +their emissaries to Calcutta, and I must anticipate them—if I cannot +do more, by gaining them over to us on the voyage out. It is a case for +energy and activity, and I want to employ both.” +</p> +<p> +“The time is very short for all this,” said Barrington, again. +</p> +<p> +“So it is, sir, and so are the few seconds which may rescue a man from +drowning! It is in the crisis of my fate that I ask you to stand by me.” +</p> +<p> +“But have you any reason to believe that my granddaughter will hear you +favorably? You are almost strangers to each other?” +</p> +<p> +“If she will not give me the legal right to make her my heir, I mean to +usurp the privilege. I have already been with a lawyer for that purpose. +My dear sir,” added he, passionately, “I want to break with the past +forever! When the world sets up its howl against a man, the odds are too +great! To stand and defy it he must succumb or retreat. Now, I mean to +retire, but with the honors of war, mark you.” +</p> +<p> +“My sister will never consent to it,” muttered Barrington. +</p> +<p> +“Will you? Have I the assurance of <i>your</i> support?” +</p> +<p> +“I can scarcely venture to say 'yes,' and yet I can't bear to say 'no' to +you!” +</p> +<p> +“This is less than I looked for from you,” said Stapylton, mournfully. +</p> +<p> +“I know Dinah so well. I know how hopeless it would be to ask her +concurrence to this plan.” +</p> +<p> +“She may not take the generous view of it; but there is a worldly one +worth considering,” said Stapylton, bitterly. +</p> +<p> +“Then, sir, if you count on <i>that</i>, I would not give a copper +half-penny for your chance of success!” cried Barrington, passionately. +</p> +<p> +“You have quite misconceived me; you have wronged me altogether,” broke in +Stapylton, in a tone of apology; for he saw the mistake he had made, and +hastened to repair it. “My meaning was this—” +</p> +<p> +“So much the better. I'm glad I misunderstood you. But here come the +ladies. Let us go and meet them.” +</p> +<p> +“One word,—only one word. Will you befriend me?” +</p> +<p> +“I will do all that I can,—that is, all that I ought,” said +Barrington, as he led him away, and re-entered the cottage. +</p> +<p> +“I will not meet them to-night,” said Stapylton, hurriedly. “I am nervous +and agitated. I will say good-night now.” +</p> +<p> +This was the second time within a few days that Stapylton had shown an +unwillingness to confront Miss Barrington, and Peter thought over it long +and anxiously. “What can he mean by it?” said he, to himself. “Why should +he be so frank and outspoken with me, and so reserved with her? What can +Dinah know of him? What can she suspect, that is not known to me? It is +true they never did like each other,—never 'hit it off' together; +but that is scarcely <i>his</i> fault. My excellent sister throws away +little love on strangers, and opens every fresh acquaintance with a very +fortifying prejudice against the newly presented. However it happens,” +muttered he, with a sigh, “<i>she</i> is not often wrong, and <i>I</i> am +very seldom right;” and, with this reflection, he turned once again to +resume his walk in the garden. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XII. A DOCTOR AND HIS PATIENT +</h2> +<p> +Stapylton did not make his appearance at breakfast; he sent down a message +that he had passed a feverish night, and begged that Dr. Dill might be +sent for. Though Barrington made two attempts to see his guest, the +quietness of the room on each occasion implied that he was asleep, and, +fearing to disturb him, he went downstairs again on tiptoe. +</p> +<p> +“This is what the persecution has done, Dinah,” said he. “They have +brought that stout-hearted fellow so low that he may be the victim of a +fever to-morrow.” +</p> +<p> +“Nonsense, Peter. Men of courage don't fall sick because the newspapers +calumniate them. They have other things on their minds than such puny +attacks.” +</p> +<p> +“So he may, likely enough, too. He is bent heart and soul on what I told +you last night, and I 'm not surprised if he never closed his eyes +thinking of it.” +</p> +<p> +“Neither did I!” said she, curtly, and left the room. +</p> +<p> +The doctor was not long in arriving, and, after a word or two with +Barrington, hastened to the patient's room. +</p> +<p> +“Are we alone?” asked Stapylton, cutting short the bland speech with which +Dill was making his approaches. “Draw that curtain a bit, and take a good +look at me. Are my eyes bloodshot? Are the pupils dilated? I had a bad +sunstroke once; see if there be any signs of congestion about me.” +</p> +<p> +“No, I see none. A little flushed; your pulse, too, is accelerated, and +the heart's action is labored—” +</p> +<p> +“Never mind the heart; if the head be well, it will take care of it. Reach +me that pocket-book; I want to acquit one debt to you before I incur +another. No humbug between us;” and he pressed some notes into the other's +palm as he spoke. “Let us understand each other fully, and at once. I 'm +not very ill; but I want <i>you</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“And I am at your orders.” +</p> +<p> +“Faithfully,—loyally?” +</p> +<p> +“Faithfully,—loyally!” repeated the other after him. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0004" id="linkimage-0004"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/454.jpg" width="100%" alt="454 " /> +</div> +<p> +“You've read the papers lately,—you've seen these attacks on me?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, what do they say and think here—I mean in this house—about +them? How do they discuss them? Remember, I want candor and frankness; no +humbug. I'll not stand humbug.” +</p> +<p> +“The women are against you.” +</p> +<p> +“Both of them?” +</p> +<p> +“Both.” +</p> +<p> +“How comes that?—on what grounds?” +</p> +<p> +“The papers accused you of cruelty; they affirmed that there was no cause +for the measures of severity you adopted; and they argued—” +</p> +<p> +“Don't bore me with all that balderdash. I asked you how was it that these +women assumed I was in the wrong?” +</p> +<p> +“And I was about to tell you, if you had not interrupted me.” +</p> +<p> +“That is, they believed what they read in the newspapers?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> +<p> +“And, of course, swallowed that fine story about the Hindoo fellow that I +first cut down, and afterwards bribed to make his escape from the +hospital?” +</p> +<p> +“I suspect they half believed it.” +</p> +<p> +“Or rather, believed half of it, the cutting down part! Can you tell me +physiologically,—for I think it comes into that category,—why +it is that women not otherwise ill-natured, in nine cases out of ten take +the worst alternative as the credible one? But never mind that. They +condemn me. Is n't it so?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes; and while old Barrington insists—” +</p> +<p> +“Who cares what he insists? Such advocacy as his only provokes attack, and +invites persecution. I 'd rather have no such allies!” +</p> +<p> +“I believe you are right.” +</p> +<p> +“I want fellows like yourself, doctor,—sly, cautious, subtle +fellows,—accustomed to stealing strong medicines into the system in +small doses; putting the patient, as you call it in your slang, 'under the +influence' of this, that, and t'other,—eh?” +</p> +<p> +Dill smiled blandly at the compliment to his art, and Stapylton went on:— +</p> +<p> +“Not that I have time just now for this sort of chronic treatment. I need +a heroic remedy, doctor. I 'm in love.” +</p> +<p> +“Indeed!” said Dill, with an accent nicely balanced between interest and +incredulity. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, and I want to marry! +</p> +<p> +“Miss Barrington?” +</p> +<p> +“The granddaughter. There is no need, I hope, to make the distinction, for +I don't wish to be thought insane. Now you have the case. What 's your +prescription?” +</p> +<p> +“Propose for her!” +</p> +<p> +“So I have, but they hesitate. The old man is not unfavorable; he is, +perhaps, more: he is, in a measure, friendly; but what avails such +advocacy? I want another guess sort of aid,—a clever man; or, what +is better still, a clever woman, to befriend me.” +</p> +<p> +He waited some seconds for a reply, but Dill did not speak; so he went on: +“A clever woman, to take a woman's view of the case, balancing this +against that, never ignoring an obstacle, but inquiring what there may be +to compensate for it Do you know such a one, doctor?” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps I may; but I have my doubts about securing her services.” +</p> +<p> +“Even with a retainer?” +</p> +<p> +“Even with a retainer. You see, Major,”—here Dill dropped his voice +to a most confidential whisper,—“my daughter Polly,—for I know +we both have her in mind,—Polly is a strange sort of girl, and very +hard to understand; for while, if the case were her own, she 'd no more +think of romance than she would of giving ten guineas for a dress, if she +was advising another whose position and prospects were higher than hers, +it's the romantic part of it she'd lay all the stress on.” +</p> +<p> +“From which I gather that my suit will not stand this test!” said +Stapylton, with a peculiar smile. “Eh, is n't that your meaning?” +</p> +<p> +“You are certainly some years older than the lady,” said Dill, blandly. +</p> +<p> +“Not old enough to be, as the world would surely say, 'her father,' but +fully old enough to give license for sarcasm.” +</p> +<p> +“Then, as she will be a great fortune—” +</p> +<p> +“Not a sixpence,—she'll not have sixpence, doctor. That bubble has +burst at last, and can never be blown again. The whole claim has been +rejected, refused, thrown out, and there 's an end of it. It amuses the +old man to sit on the wreck and fancy he can repair the shattered timbers +and make them seaworthy; and, for the time he is likely to last, it is +only kindness to leave him to his delusion; but he is ruined,—ruined +beyond recall, and as I have told you, the girl will have nothing.” +</p> +<p> +“Do they know this,—has Barrington heard it?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I broke it to him last night, but I don't think he fully realized +the tidings; he has certain reserves—certain little conceits of his +own—which are to supply him with a sort of hope; but let us talk of +something more practical. How can we secure Miss Dill's services?” +</p> +<p> +“A few days ago, the easiest way would have been to offer to befriend her +brother, but this morning brings us news that this is not needed,—he +is coming home.” +</p> +<p> +“How so?” +</p> +<p> +“It is a great event in its way; at least, it may be for Tom. It seems +there was a collision at sea, somewhere near the Cape, between the ship +'St. Helen's,' that carried out General Hunter and his staff, and the +'Regulus,' with the Forty-ninth on board. It was at night, and a terrible +sea on at the time. In the shock the 'St. Helen's' took fire; and as the +two ships were inextricably locked together, the danger was common to +each. While the boats were being lowered and manned,—for it was soon +seen the vessel could not be saved,—a cry was raised that the fire +was gaining on the fore-hold, and would soon reach the magazine. The woful +news spread at once, and many jumped overboard in their terror. Just then +Tom heard that there was a means of drowning the powder by opening a +certain sluice, and, without waiting for more, he clambered across into +the sinking vessel, made his way through smoke and fire, gained the spot, +and succeeded, just as the very ladder itself had caught the flames. How +he got back he cannot tell, for the vessel foundered in a few minutes, and +he was so burned—face, cheek, and one shoulder—that he was +unconscious of everything; and even when the account came, was still in +bed, and not able to see.” +</p> +<p> +“He was a wild sort of lad, was he not,—a scamp, in short?” +</p> +<p> +“No, not exactly that; idle—careless—kept bad company at +times.” +</p> +<p> +“These are the fellows who do this kind of thing once in their lives,—mark +you, never twice. They never have more than one shot in their locker, but +it will suffice in this case.” +</p> +<p> +Though the worthy doctor was very far from enthusiastic about his son's +gallantry, there was a degree of coolness in the Major's estimate of it +that almost shocked him; and he sat staring steadily at the stern bronzed +face, and the hard lineaments of the man, and wondering of what strange +stuff such natures were fashioned. +</p> +<p> +“It's quite clear, then, that for Master Tom we can do nothing half so +good as chance has done for him,” said Stapylton, after a short interval. +</p> +<p> +“Chance and himself too,” added the doctor. +</p> +<p> +Stapylton made no answer, but, covering his eyes with his hand, lay deep +in thought. +</p> +<p> +“If you only had the Attorney-General, Mr. Withering, on your side,” said +Dill. “There is no man has the same influence over this family.” +</p> +<p> +“It is not what <i>you</i> call influence I want, my good sir. It is a far +more subtle and more delicate agent. I require the sort of aid, in fact, +which your daughter could supply, if she would. An appointment awaits me +in India, but I must occupy it at once. I have no time for a long +courtship. I 'm just as hurried as that boy of yours was when he swamped +the powder-magazine. It's a skirmish where I can't wait for the heavy +artillery, but must do my best with the light field-guns,—do you +understand me?” +</p> +<p> +Dill nodded, and Stapylton resumed: “The thing can be done just by the +very road that you have pronounced impossible,—that is, by the +romantic side of it,—making it a case of violent love at first +sight, the passion of a man past the heyday of youth, but yet young enough +to feel a most ardent affection. I am, besides,” said he, laughing with a +strange blending of levity and sarcasm, “a sort of Brummagem hero; have +been wounded, led assaults, and that kind of thing, to a degree that +puffery can take the benefit of. And, last of all, doctor, I am rich +enough to satisfy greater ambitions than ought to live under such a roof +as this. Do you see the part your daughter can take in this drama?” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps I do.” +</p> +<p> +“And could you induce her to accept it?” +</p> +<p> +“I'm not very certain,—I'd be slow to pledge myself to it.” +</p> +<p> +“Certainly,” said Stapylton, mockingly; “the passing glimpses we bachelors +obtain of the working of that vaunted institution, The Family, fail to +impress us with all its imputed excellence; you are, it seems to me, just +as powerless within your own doors as I am regarding what goes on in a +neighbor's house. I take it, however, that it can't be helped. Children, +like colonies, are only governable when helpless.” +</p> +<p> +“I suspect you are wrong, sir; at least, I fancy I have as much of the +sort of influence you speak of as others; but still, I think, here, in +this particular case, you would yourself be your best ambassador, if you +were strong enough to come down with me in the boat to-day.” +</p> +<p> +“Of course I am!” cried Stapylton, starting up to a sitting posture; “and +what then?” +</p> +<p> +“You would be better in my house than this,” said Dill, mysteriously. +</p> +<p> +“Speak out, and speak clearly, doctor; I have very little the matter with +me, and am in no want of change of air. What I need is the assistance of +one dexterous enough to advocate my plans with persons and in places to +which I have no access. Your daughter is just such a one,—will she +do it?” +</p> +<p> +“We can ask her.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, how will you explain my absence to these people here? What will you +say for my not appearing at breakfast, and yet being able to take an +airing with you?” +</p> +<p> +“I will put it on hygienic grounds,” said Dill, smiling acutely. “My +profession has a number of sanctuaries the profane vulgar can never enter. +I 'll just step down now and ask Barrington to lend me his boat, and I 'll +throw out a dark hint that I 'd like to manage a consultation on your case +without alarming you, for which purpose I 'd ask Dr. Tobin to be at my +house, when we arrive there, by mere accident, so that a conference would +follow as a matter of course.” +</p> +<p> +“Very wily,—very subtle all this, doctor. Do you know, I 'm half +frightened at the thought of trusting myself to such a master of intrigue +and mystification.” +</p> +<p> +“Have no fears; I reserve all my craft for my clients.” And with this he +left the room, but only for a few minutes; for he met Barrington on the +stairs, and speedily obtained permission to take his boat to Inistioge, +having first pledged himself to come back with Stapylton to dinner. +</p> +<p> +“We shall see, we shall see,” muttered Stapylton to himself. “Your +daughter must decide where I am to dine today.” +</p> +<p> +By the way—that is, as they glided along the bright river—Dill +tried to prepare Stapylton for the task before him, by sundry hints as to +Polly's temper and disposition, with warnings against this, and cautions +about that. “Above all,” said he, “don't try to overreach her.” +</p> +<p> +“Perfect frankness—candor itself—is my device. Won't that do?” +</p> +<p> +“You must first see will she believe it,” said the doctor, slyly; and for +the remainder of the way there was a silence between them. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XIII. CROSS-PURPOSES +</h2> +<h3> +“Where 's Miss Polly?” said Dill, hastily, as he passed his threshold. +</h3> +<p> +“She's making the confusion of roses in the kitchen, sir,” said the maid, +whose chemistry had been a neglected study. +</p> +<p> +“Tell her that I have come back, and that there is a gentleman along with +me,” said he, imperiously, as he led the way into his study. “I have +brought you into this den of mine, Major, because I would just say one +word more by way of caution before you see Polly. You may imagine, from +the small range of her intercourse with the world, and her village life, +that her acuteness will not go very far; don't be too sure of that,—don't +reckon too much on her want of experience.” +</p> +<p> +“I suppose I have encountered as sharp wits as hers before this time o' +day,” replied he, half peevishly; and then, with an air of better temper, +added, “I have no secrets to hide, no mystery to cloak. If I want her +alliance, she shall herself dictate the terms that shall requite it.” +</p> +<p> +The doctor shook his head dubiously, but was silent. +</p> +<p> +“I half suspect, my good doctor,” said Stapylton, laughing, “that your +charming daughter is a little, a very little, of a domestic despot; you +are all afraid of her; never very sure of what she will say or do or think +on any given circumstances, and nervously alive to the risk of her +displeasure.” +</p> +<p> +“There is something in what you say,” remarked Dill, with a sigh; “but it +was always my mistake to bring up my children with too much liberty of +action. From the time they were so high”—and he held his hand out +about a yard above the floor—“they were their own masters.” +</p> +<p> +Just as the words had fallen from him, a little chubby, shock-headed +fellow, about five years old, burst into the room, which he believed +unoccupied, and then, suddenly seeing his papa, set up a howl of terror +that made the house ring. +</p> +<p> +“What is it, Jimmy,—what is it, my poor man?” said Polly, rushing +with tucked-up sleeves to the spot; and, catching him up in her arms, she +kissed him affectionately. +</p> +<p> +“Will you take him away?—will you take him out of that?” hissed out +Dill between his teeth. “Don't you see Major Stapylton here?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Major Stapylton will excuse a toilette that was never intended for +his presence.” +</p> +<p> +“I will certainly say there could not be a more becoming one, nor a more +charming tableau to display it in!” +</p> +<p> +“There, Jimmy,” said she, laughing; “you must have some bread and jam for +getting me such a nice compliment.” +</p> +<p> +And she bore away the still sobbing urchin, who, burying his head in her +bosom, could never summon courage to meet his father's eye. +</p> +<p> +“What a spacious garden you appear to have here!” said Stapylton, who saw +all the importance of a diversion to the conversation. +</p> +<p> +“It is a very much neglected one,” said Dill, pathetically. “My poor dear +boy Tom used to take care of it when he was here; he had a perfect passion +for flowers.” +</p> +<p> +Whether that Tom was associated in the Major's mind with some other very +different tastes or not, Stapylton smiled slightly, and after a moment +said, “If you permit me, I 'll take a stroll through your garden, and +think over what we have been talking of.” +</p> +<p> +“Make yourself at home in every respect,” said Dill. “I have a few +professional calls to make in the village, but we 'll meet at luncheon.” +</p> +<p> +“He's in the garden, Polly,” said Dill, as he passed his daughter on the +stairs; “he came over here this morning to have a talk with you.” +</p> +<p> +“Indeed, sir!” +</p> +<p> +“Yes; he has got it into his head that you can be of service to him.” +</p> +<p> +“It is not impossible, sir; I think I might.” +</p> +<p> +“I'm glad to bear it, Polly; I'm delighted to see you take a good sensible +view of things. I need not tell you he's a knowing one.” +</p> +<p> +“No, sir. But, as I have heard you card-players say, 'he shows his hand.'” +</p> +<p> +“So he does, Polly; but I have known fellows do that just to mislead the +adversary.” +</p> +<p> +“Sorry adversaries that could be taken in so easily.” And with a saucy +toss of her head she passed on, scarcely noticing the warning gesture of +her father's finger as she went. +</p> +<p> +When she had found her work-basket and supplied herself with the means of +occupying her fingers for an hour or so, she repaired to the garden and +took her seat under a large elm, around whose massive trunk a mossy bench +ran, divided by rustic-work into a series of separate places. +</p> +<p> +“What a churlish idea it was to erect these barricades, Miss Dill!” said +Stapylton as he seated himself at her side; “how unpicturesque and how +prudish!” +</p> +<p> +“It was a simple notion of my brother Tom's,” said she, smiling, “who +thought people would not be less agreeable by being reminded that they had +a place of their own, and ought not to invade that of their neighbor.” +</p> +<p> +“What an unsocial thought!” +</p> +<p> +“Poor Tom! A strange reproach to make against <i>you</i>,” said she, +laughing out. +</p> +<p> +“By the way, has n't he turned out a hero,—saved a ship and all she +carried from the flames,—and all at the hazard of his own life?” +</p> +<p> +“He has done a very gallant thing; and, what's more, I 'll venture to say +there is not a man who saw it thinks so little of it as himself.” +</p> +<p> +“I suppose that every brave man has more or less of that feeling.” +</p> +<p> +“I'm glad to learn this fact from such good authority,” said she, with a +slight bend of the head. +</p> +<p> +“A prettily turned compliment, Miss Dill. Are you habitually given to +flattery?” +</p> +<p> +“No? I rather think not. I believe the world is pleased to call me more +candid than courteous.” +</p> +<p> +“Will you let me take you at the world's estimate,—that is, will you +do me the inestimable favor to bestow a little of this same candor upon <i>me?</i>” +</p> +<p> +“Willingly. What is to be the subject of it?” +</p> +<p> +“The subject is a very humble one,—myself!” +</p> +<p> +“How can I possibly adjudicate on such a theme?” +</p> +<p> +“Better than you think for, perhaps!” And for a moment he appeared awkward +and ill at ease. “Miss Dill,” said he, after a pause, “fortune has been +using me roughly of late; and, like all men who deem themselves hardly +treated, I fly at once to any quarter where I fancy I have found a more +kindly disposition towards me. Am I indulging a self-delusion in believing +that such sentiments are yours?” +</p> +<p> +Polly Dill, with her own keen tact, had guessed what was the real object +of Stapylton's visit. She had even read in her father's manner how he +himself was a shareholder in the scheme, and she had made up her mind for +a great frankness on each side; but now, seeing the diplomatic +mys-teriousness with which the Major opened his attack, that love of +mischievous drollery which entered into her nature suggested a very +different line. She determined, in fact, to seem to accept the Major's +speech as the preliminary to an offer of his hand. She therefore merely +turned her head slightly, and in a low voice said, “Continue!” +</p> +<p> +“I have not deceived myself, then,” said he, with more warmth of manner. +“I have secured one kind heart in my interest?” +</p> +<p> +“You must own,” said she, with a half-coquettish look of pique, “that you +scarcely deserve it.” +</p> +<p> +“How,—in what way?” asked he, in astonishment. +</p> +<p> +“What a very short memory you are blessed with! Must I, then, remind you +of a certain evening at Cobham? Must I recall what I thought at the time +very particular, as they certainly were very pleasant, attentions on your +part? Must I, also, bring to mind a certain promised visit from you, the +day and hour all named by yourself,—a visit which never came off? +And after all this, Major, are you not really a bold man to come down and +take up your negotiation where you dropped it? Is there not in this a +strong conviction of the greatness of Major Stapylton and the littleness +of the doctor's daughter?” +</p> +<p> +Stapylton was struck dumb. When a general sees that what he meant as a +feint has been converted into a real attack, the situation is often +imminent; but what comparison in difficulty is there between that mistake +and that of him who assails what he never desired to conquer? How he +inwardly cursed the stupidity with which he had opened his negotiation! +</p> +<p> +“I perceive,” said she, triumphing over his confusion, “that your calmer +judgment does not reassure you. You feel that there is a certain levity in +this conduct not quite excusable! Own it frankly, and at once!” +</p> +<p> +“I will own, if you like, that I was never in a situation of greater +embarrassment!” +</p> +<p> +“Shall I tell you why?” +</p> +<p> +“You couldn't; it would be totally impossible.” +</p> +<p> +“I will try, however, if you permit me. You do! Then here goes. You no +more intended anything to come of your little flirtation at Cobham than +you now do of a more serious blunder. You never came here this morning to +make your court to <i>me</i>, You are much pained at the awkwardness of a +situation so naturally wounding to me, and for the life of you, you cannot +imagine what escape there is out of such a difficulty.” +</p> +<p> +“You are wonderfully clever, Miss Dill,” said he; and there was an honest +admiration in his look that gave the words a full significance. +</p> +<p> +“No,” said she, “but I am wonderfully good-natured. I forgive you what is +the hardest thing in the world to forgive!” +</p> +<p> +“Oh! if you would but be my friend,” cried he, warmly. +</p> +<p> +“What a want of tact there was in that speech, Major Stapylton!” said she, +with a laugh; “but perhaps you wanted to reverse the line of our dear +little poet, who tells of some one 'that came but for Friendship, and took +away Love'!” +</p> +<p> +“How cruel you are in all this mockery of me!” +</p> +<p> +“Does not the charge of cruelty come rather ill from <i>you?—you</i>, +who can afford to sport with the affections of poor village maidens. From +the time of that 'Major bold of Halifax' the song tells of, I never heard +your equal.” +</p> +<p> +“Could you prevail upon yourself to be serious for a few minutes?” said +he, gravely. +</p> +<p> +“I think not,—at least not just now; but why should I make the +attempt?” +</p> +<p> +“Because I would wish your aid in a serious contingency,—a matter in +which I am deeply interested, and which involves probably my future +happiness.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, Major! is it possible that you are going to trifle with my feelings +once more?” +</p> +<p> +“My dear Miss Dill, must I plead once more for a little mercy?” +</p> +<p> +“No, don't do any such thing; it would seem ungenerous to refuse, and yet +I could not accord it.” +</p> +<p> +“Fairly beaten,” said he, with a sigh; “there is no help for it. You are +the victor!” +</p> +<p> +“How did you leave our friends at 'The Home'?” said she, with an easy +indifference in her tone. +</p> +<p> +“All well, perfectly well; that is to say, I believe so, for I only saw my +host himself.” +</p> +<p> +“What a pleasant house; how well they understand receiving their friends!” +</p> +<p> +“It is so peaceful and so quiet!” said he, with an effort to seem at ease. +</p> +<p> +“And the garden is charming!” +</p> +<p> +“And all this is perfectly intolerable,” said he, rising, and speaking in +a voice thick with suppressed anger. “I never came here to play a part in +a vaudeville! Your father led me to believe, Miss Dill, that you might not +be indisposed to lend me your favoring aid in a suit which I am interested +in. He told me I should at least find you frank and outspoken; that if you +felt inclined to assist me, you'd never enhance the service by a seeming +doubt or hesitation—” +</p> +<p> +“And if I should not feel so inclined, what did he then give you to +expect?” +</p> +<p> +“That you'd say so!” +</p> +<p> +“So I do, then, clearly and distinctly tell you, if my counsels offer a +bar to your wishes, they are all enlisted against you.” +</p> +<p> +“This is the acme of candor. You can only equal it by saying how I could +have incurred your disfavor.” +</p> +<p> +“There is nothing of disfavor in the matter. I think you charming. You are +a hero,—very clever, very fascinating, very accomplished; but I +believe it would be a great mistake for Fifine to marry you. Your tempers +have that sort of resemblance that leave no reliefs in their mutual play. +You are each of you hot and hasty, and a little imperious; and if she were +not very much in love, and consequently disposed to think a great deal of +you and very little of herself, these traits that I speak of would work +ill. But if every one of them were otherwise, there would still be one +obstacle worse than all!” +</p> +<p> +“And that is—” +</p> +<p> +“Can you not guess what I mean, Major Stapylton? You do not, surely, want +confidences from me that are more than candor!” +</p> +<p> +“Do I understand you aright?” said he, growing red and pale by turns, as +passion worked within him; “do I apprehend you correctly? These people +here are credulous enough to be influenced by the shadowy slanders of the +newspapers, and they listen to the half-muttered accusations of a hireling +press?” +</p> +<p> +“They do say very awkward things in the daily press, certainly,” said she, +dryly; “and your friends marvel at the silence with which you treat them.” +</p> +<p> +“Then I <i>have</i> divined your meaning,” said he. “It is by these +cowardly assailants I am supposed to be vanquished. I suspect, however, +that Colonel Barrington himself was, once on a time, indulged with the +same sort of flattery. They said that he had usurped a sovereignty, +falsified documents, purloined jewels of immense value. I don't know what +they did not charge him with. And what do they say of me? That I exhibited +great severity—cruelty, if you will—towards a mob in a state +of rebellion; that I reprimanded a very silly subaltern for a misplaced +act of humanity. That I have been cashiered, too, they assert, in face of +the 'Gazette,' which announces my appointment to an unattached majority. +In a word, the enormity of the falsehood has never stayed their hand, and +they write of me whatever their unthinking malevolence can suggest to +them. You have, perhaps, seen some of these paragraphs?” +</p> +<p> +“Like every one else, I have read them occasionally; not very attentively, +indeed. But, in truth, I'm not a reader of newspapers. Here, for instance, +is this morning's as it came from Dublin, still unopened;” and she handed +it as she spoke. +</p> +<p> +“Let us see if I be still honored with their notice,” said he, unfolding +the paper, and running his eyes hastily over it. “Debate on the Sugar Bill—Prison +Reforms—China—Reinforcements for Canada—Mail Service to +the Colonies—Bankruptcy Court. Oh, here we have it—here it +is!” and he crushed the paper while he folded down one part of it. “Shall +I read it for you? The heading is very tempting: 'Late Military Scandal.—A +very curious report is now going through our West-end Clubs, and +especially such as are the resort of military officers. It is to the +purport that a certain Field-officer of Cavalry—whose conduct has +been the subject of severe strictures from the Press—will speedily +be called to answer for a much graver offence than the transgression of +regimental discipline. The story which has reached us is a very strange +one, and we should call it incredible, if we were not informed, on +author-ity, that one of our most distinguished Indian generals has +declared himself fully satisfied of its truth in every particular.' Can +you fancy anything worse than that, Miss Dill? An unknown somebody is +alleged to be convinced of an unknown something that attaches to me; for, +of course, I am designated as the 'Field-officer of Cavalry,' and the +public is graciously pleased to hold me in abhorrence till I have found +out my calumniator and refuted him!” +</p> +<p> +“It seems very hard. Who do you suspect is the Indian General alluded to?” +</p> +<p> +“Tell me, first of all,—does he exist?” “And this, too, you will not +reply to, nor notice?” “Not, certainly, through such a channel as it +reaches me. If the slanderer will stand forth and avow himself, I may know +how to deal with him. But what has led us into this digression? I am sure +it is as little to your taste as to mine. I have failed in my mission, and +if I were able to justify every act of my life, what would it avail me? +You have pronounced against me; at least, you will not take my brief.” +</p> +<p> +“What if I were retained by the other side?” said she, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“I never suspected that there was another side,” said he, with an air of +extreme indifference. “Who is my formidable rival?” +</p> +<p> +“I might have told you if I saw you were really anxious on the subject.” +</p> +<p> +“It would be but hypocrisy in me to pretend it. If, for example, Major +McCormick—” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, that is too bad!” cried Polly, interrupting. “This would mean an +impertinence to Miss Barrington.” +</p> +<p> +“How pleasant we must have been! Almost five o'clock, and I scarcely +thought it could be three!” said he, with an affected languor. +</p> +<p> +“'Time's foot is not heard when he treads upon flowers,'” said she, +smiling. +</p> +<p> +“Where shall I find your father, Miss Dill? I want to tell him what a +charming creature his daughter is, and how wretched I feel at not being +able to win her favor.” +</p> +<p> +“Pray don't; or he might fall into my own mistake, and imagine that you +wanted a lease of it for life.” +</p> +<p> +“Still cruel, still inexorable!” said he, with a mockery of affliction in +his tone. “Will you say all the proper things—the regrets, and such +like—I feel at not meeting him again; and if he has asked me to +dinner—which I really forget—will you make the fitting +apology?” +</p> +<p> +“And what is it, in the present case?” +</p> +<p> +“I 'm not exactly sure whether I am engaged to dine elsewhere, or too ill +to dine at all.” +</p> +<p> +“Why not say it is the despair at being rejected renders you unequal to +the effort? I mean, of course, by myself, Major Stapylton.” +</p> +<p> +“I have no objection; say so, if you like,” said he, with an insulting +indifference. “Good-day, Miss Dill. This is the way to the road, I +believe;” and, with a low bow, very deferential but very distant, he +turned away to leave the garden. He had not, however, gone many paces, +when he stopped and seemed to ponder. He looked up at the sky, singularly +clear and cloudless as it was, without a breath of wind in the air; he +gazed around him on every side, as if in search of an object he wanted; +and then, taking out his purse, he drew forth a shilling and examined it. +“Yes,” muttered he, “Chance has been my only counsellor for many a year, +and the only one that never takes a bribe! And yet, is it not taking to +the raft before the ship has foundered? True; but shall I be sure of the +raft if I wait for the shipwreck? She is intensely crafty. She has that +sort of head that loves a hard knot to unravel! Here goes! Let Destiny +take all the consequences!” and as he flung up the piece of money in the +air, he cried, “Head!” It was some minutes ere he could discover where it +had fallen, amongst the close leaves of a border of strawberries. He bent +down to look, and exclaimed, “Head! she has won!” Just as he arose from +his stooping attitude he perceived that Polly was engaged in the adjoining +walk, making a bouquet of roses. He sprang across the space, and stood +beside her. +</p> +<p> +“I thought you had been a mile off by this time, at least,” said she, +calmly. +</p> +<p> +“So I meant, and so I intended; but just as I parted from you, a thought +struck me—one of those thoughts which come from no process of +reasoning or reflection, but seem impelled by a force out of our own +natures—that I would come back and tell you something that was +passing in my mind. Can you guess it?” +</p> +<p> +“No; except it be that you are sorry for having trifled so unfeelingly +with my hopes, and have come back to make the best reparation in your +power, asking me to forgive and accept you.” +</p> +<p> +“You have guessed aright; it was for that I returned.” +</p> +<p> +“What a clever guess I made! Confess I am very ready-witted!” +</p> +<p> +“You are; and it is to engage those ready wits in my behalf that I am now +before you.” +</p> +<p> +“'At my feet,' sir, is the appropriate expression. I wonder how a +gentleman so suited to be the hero of a story could forget the language of +the novel.” +</p> +<p> +“I want you to be serious,” said he, almost sternly. +</p> +<p> +“And why should that provoke seriousness from <i>me</i> which only costs +<i>you</i> levity?” +</p> +<p> +“Levity!—where is the levity?” +</p> +<p> +“Is it not this instant that you flung a shilling in the air, and cried +out, as you looked on it, 'She has won'? Is it not that you asked Chance +to decide for you what most men are led to by their affections, or at +least their interests; and if so, is levity not the name for this?” +</p> +<p> +“True in part, but not in whole; for I felt it was <i>I</i> who had won +when 'head' came uppermost.” +</p> +<p> +“And yet you have lost.” +</p> +<p> +“How so! You refuse me?” +</p> +<p> +“I forgive your astonishment. It is really strange, but I do refuse you.” +</p> +<p> +“But why? Are you piqued with me for anything that occurred this morning? +Have I offended you by anything that dropped from me in that conversation? +Tell me frankly, that I may, if in my power, rectify it.” +</p> +<p> +“No; I rather felt flattered at the notion of being consulted. I thought +it a great tribute to my clear-headedness and my tact.” +</p> +<p> +“Then tell me what it was.” +</p> +<p> +“You really wish it?” +</p> +<p> +“I do.” +</p> +<p> +“Insist upon it?” +</p> +<p> +“I insist upon it.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, it was this. Seeing that you were intrusting your future fortune to +chance, I thought that I would do the same, and so I tossed up whether, +opportunity serving, I should accept you or a certain other, and the other +won!” +</p> +<p> +“May I ask for the name of my fortunate rival?” +</p> +<p> +“I don't think it is very fair, perhaps not altogether delicate of you; +and the more since he has not proposed, nor possibly ever may. But no +matter, you shall hear his name. It was Major McCormick.” +</p> +<p> +“McCormick! You mean this for an insult to me, Miss Dill?” +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0005" id="linkimage-0005"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/472.jpg" width="100%" alt="472 " /> +</div> +<p> +“Well, it certainly is open to that objection,” said she, with a very +slight closure of her eyes, and a look of steady, resolute defiance. +</p> +<p> +“And in this way,” continued he, “to throw ridicule over the offer I have +made you?” +</p> +<p> +“Scarcely that; the proposition was in itself too ridiculous to require +any such aid from me.” +</p> +<p> +For a moment Stapylton lost his self-possession, and he turned on her with +a look of savage malignity. +</p> +<p> +“An insult, and an intentional insult!” said he; “a bold thing to avow.” +</p> +<p> +“I don't think so, Major Stapylton. We have been playing a very rough game +with each other, and it is not very wonderful if each of us should have to +complain of hard treatment.” +</p> +<p> +“Could not so very clever a person as Miss Dill perceive that I was only +jesting?” said he, with a cutting insolence in his tone. +</p> +<p> +“I assure you that I did not,” said she, calmly; “had I known or even +suspected it was a jest, I never should have been angry. That the +distinguished Major Stapylton should mock and quiz—or whatever be +the name for it—the doctor's daughter, however questionable the good +taste, was, after all, only a passing slight. The thought of asking her to +marry him was different,—that was an outrage!” +</p> +<p> +“You shall pay for this one day, perhaps,” said he, biting his lip. +</p> +<p> +“No, Major Stapylton,” said she, laughing; “this is not a debt of honor; +you can afford to ignore it.” +</p> +<p> +“I tell you again, you shall pay for it.” +</p> +<p> +“Till then, sir!” said she, with a courtesy; and without giving him time +for another word, she turned and re-entered the house. +</p> +<p> +Scarcely had Stapylton gained the road when he was joined by McCormick. +“Faith, you didn't get the best of that brush, anyhow,” said he, with a +grin. +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean, sir?” replied Stapylton, savagely. +</p> +<p> +“I mean that I heard every word that passed between you, and I would n't +have been standing in your shoes for a fifty-pound note.” +</p> +<p> +“How is your rheumatism this morning?” asked Stapylton, blandly. +</p> +<p> +“Pretty much as it always is,” croaked out the other. +</p> +<p> +“Be thankful to it, then; for if you were not a cripple, I 'd throw you +into that river as sure as I stand here to say it.” +</p> +<p> +Major McCormick did not wait for a less merciful moment, but hobbled away +from the spot with all the speed he could muster. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XIV. STORMS +</h2> +<p> +When Stapylton stepped out of his boat and landed at “The Home,” the first +person he saw was certainly the last in his wishes. It was Miss Dinah who +stood at the jetty, as though awaiting him. Scarcely deigning to notice, +beyond a faint smile of acquiescence, the somewhat bungling explanation he +gave of his absence, she asked if he had met her brother. +</p> +<p> +“No,” said he. “I left the village a couple of hours ago; rather +loitering, as I came along, to enjoy the river scenery.” +</p> +<p> +“He took the road, and in this way missed you,” said she, dryly. +</p> +<p> +“How unfortunate!—for me, I mean, of course. I own to you, Miss +Barrington, wide as the difference between our ages, I never yet met any +one so thoroughly companionable to me as your brother. To meet a man so +consummately acquainted with the world, and yet not soured by his +knowledge; to see the ripe wisdom of age blended with the generous warmth +of youth; to find one whose experiences only make him more patient, more +forgiving, more trustful—” +</p> +<p> +“Too trustful, Major Stapylton, far too trustful.” And her bold gray eyes +were turned upon him as she spoke, with a significance that could not be +mistaken. +</p> +<p> +“It is a noble feeling, madam,” said he, haughtily. +</p> +<p> +“It is a great misfortune to its possessor, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“Can we deem that misfortune, Miss Barrington, which enlarges the charity +of our natures, and teaches us to be slow to think ill?” +</p> +<p> +Not paying the slightest attention to his question, she said,— +</p> +<p> +“My brother went in search of you, sir, to place in your hands some very +urgent letters from the Horse Guards, and which a special messenger +brought here this morning.” +</p> +<p> +“Truly kind of him. They relate, I have no doubt, to my Indian +appointment. They told me I should have news by to-day or to-morrow.” +</p> +<p> +“He received a letter also for himself, sir, which he desired to show +you.” +</p> +<p> +“About his lawsuit, of course? It is alike a pleasure and a duty to me to +serve him in that affair.” +</p> +<p> +“It more nearly concerns yourself, sir,” said she, in the same cold, stern +tone; “though it has certainly its bearing on the case you speak of.” +</p> +<p> +“More nearly concerns myself!” said he, repeating her words slowly. “I am +about the worst guesser of a riddle in the world, Miss Barrington. Would +you kindly relieve my curiosity? Is this letter a continuation of those +cowardly attacks which, in the want of a worthier theme, the Press have +amused themselves by making upon me? Is it possible that some enemy has +had the malice to attack me through my friends?” +</p> +<p> +“The writer of the letter in question is a sufficient guarantee for its +honor, Mr. Withering.” +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Withering!” repeated he, with a start, and then, as suddenly assuming +an easy smile, added: “I am perfectly tranquil to find myself in such +hands as Mr. Withering's. And what, pray, does <i>he</i> say of me?” +</p> +<p> +“Will you excuse me, Major Stapylton, if I do not enter upon a subject on +which I am not merely very imperfectly informed, but on which so humble a +judgment as mine would be valueless? My brother showed me the letter very +hurriedly; I had but time to see to what it referred, and to be aware that +it was his duty to let you see it at once,—if possible, indeed, +before you were again under his roof.” +</p> +<p> +“What a grave significance your words have, Miss Barrington!” said he, +with a cold smile. “They actually set me to think over all my faults and +failings, and wonder for which of them I am now arraigned.” +</p> +<p> +“We do not profess to judge you, sir.” +</p> +<p> +By this time they had sauntered up to the little garden in front of the +cottage, within the paling of which Josephine was busily engaged in +training a japonica. She arose as she heard the voices, and in her +accustomed tone wished Stapylton good-evening. “<i>She</i>, at least, has +heard nothing of all this,” muttered he to himself, as he saluted her. He +then opened the little wicket; and Miss Barrington passed in, +acknowledging his attention by a short nod, as she walked hastily forward +and entered the cottage. Instead of following her, Stapylton closed the +wicket again, remaining on the outside, and leaning his arm on the upper +rail. +</p> +<p> +“Why do you perform sentry? Are you not free to enter the fortress?” said +Fifine. +</p> +<p> +“I half suspect not,” said he, in a low tone, and to hear which she was +obliged to draw nigher to where he stood. +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean? I don't understand you!” +</p> +<p> +“No great wonder, for I don't understand myself. Your aunt has, however, +in her own most mysterious way, given me to believe that somebody has +written something about me to somebody else, and until I clear up what in +all probability I shall never hear, that I had better keep to what the +Scotch call the 'back o' the gate.'” +</p> +<p> +“This is quite unintelligible.” +</p> +<p> +“I hope it is, for it is almost unendurable. I am sorely afraid,” added +he, after a minute, “that I am not so patient as I ought to be under Miss +Barrington's strictures. I am so much more in the habit of command than of +obedience, that I may forget myself now and then. To <i>you</i>, however, +I am ready to submit all my past life and conduct. By you I am willing to +be judged. If these cruel calumnies which are going the round of the +papers on me have lowered me in your estimation, my case is a lost one; +but if, as I love to think, your woman's heart resents an injustice,—if, +taking counsel of your courage and your generosity, you feel it is not the +time to withdraw esteem when the dark hour of adversity looms over a man,—then, +I care no more for these slanders than for the veriest trifles which cross +one's every-day life. In one word,—your verdict is life or death to +me.” +</p> +<p> +“In that case,” said she, with an effort to dispel the seriousness of his +manner, “I must have time to consider my sentence.” +</p> +<p> +“But that is exactly what you cannot have, Josephine,” said he; and there +was a certain earnestness in his voice and look, which made her hear him +call her by her name without any sense of being off ended. “First relieve +the suffering; there will be ample leisure to question the sufferer +afterwards. The Good Samaritan wasted few words, and asked for no time. +The noblest services are those of which the cost is never calculated. Your +own heart can tell you: can you befriend me, and will you?” +</p> +<p> +“I do not know what it is you ask of me,” said she, with a frank boldness +which actually disconcerted him. “Tell me distinctly, what is it?” +</p> +<p> +“I will tell you,” said he, taking her hand, but so gently, so +respectfully withal, that she did not at first withdraw it,—“I will +tell you. It is that you will share that fate on which fortune is now +frowning; that you will add your own high-couraged heart to that of one +who never knew a fear till now; that you will accept my lot in this the +day of my reverse, and enable me to turn upon my pursuers and scatter +them. To-morrow or next day will be too late. It is now, at this hour, +that friends hold back, that one more than friend is needed. Can you be +that, Josephine?” +</p> +<p> +“No!” said she, firmly. “If I read your meaning aright, I cannot.” +</p> +<p> +“You cannot love me, Josephine,” said he, in a voice of intense emotion; +and though he waited some time for her to speak, she was silent. “It is +true, then,” said he, passionately, “the slanderers have done their work!” +</p> +<p> +“I know nothing of these calumnies. When my grandfather told me that they +accused you falsely, and condemned you unfairly, I believed him. I am as +ready as ever to say so. I do not understand your cause; but I believe you +to be a true and gallant gentleman!” +</p> +<p> +“But yet, not one to love!” whispered he, faintly. +</p> +<p> +Again she was silent, and for some time he did not speak. +</p> +<p> +“A true and gallant gentleman!” said he, slowly repeating her own words; +“and if so, is it an unsafe keeping to which to intrust your happiness? It +is no graceful task to have oneself for a theme; but I cannot help it. I +have no witnesses to call to character; a few brief lines in an army list, +and some scars—old reminders of French sabres—are poor +certificates, and yet I have no others.” +</p> +<p> +There was something which touched her in the sadness of his tone as he +said these words, and if she knew how, she would have spoken to him in +kindliness. He mistook the struggle for a change of purpose, and with +greater eagerness continued: “After all I am scarcely more alone in the +world than you are! The dear friends who now surround you cannot be long +spared, and what isolation will be your fate then! Think of this, and +think, too, how, in assuring your own future, you rescue mine.” +</p> +<p> +Very differently from his former speech did the present affect her; and +her cheeks glowed and her eyes flashed as she said, “I have never +intrusted my fate to your keeping, sir; and you may spare yourself all +anxiety about it.” +</p> +<p> +“You mistake me. You wrong me, Josephine—” +</p> +<p> +“You wrong yourself when you call me by my Christian name; and you arm me +with distrust of one who would presume upon an interest he has not +created.” +</p> +<p> +“You refuse me, then?” said he, slowly and calmly. +</p> +<p> +“Once, and forever!” +</p> +<p> +“It may be that you are mistaken, Miss Barrington. It may be that this +other affection, which you prefer to mine, is but the sickly sentiment of +a foolish boy, whose life up to this has not given one single guarantee, +nor shown one single trait of those which make 'true and gallant +gentlemen.' But you have made your choice.” +</p> +<p> +“I have,” said she, with a low but firm voice. +</p> +<p> +“You acknowledge, then, that I was right,” cried he, suddenly; “there is a +prior attachment? Your heart is not your own to give?” +</p> +<p> +“And by what right do you presume to question me? Who are you, that dares +to do this?” +</p> +<p> +“Who am I?” cried he, and for once his voice rose to the discordant ring +of passion. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, that was my question,” repeated she, firmly. +</p> +<p> +“So, then, you have had your lesson, young lady,” said he; and the words +came from him with a hissing sound, that indicated intense anger. “Who am +I? You want my birth, my parentage, my bringing up! Had you no friend who +could have asked this in your stead? Or were all those around you so +bereft of courage that they deputed to a young girl what should have been +the office of a man?” +</p> +<p> +Though the savage earnestness of his manner startled, it did not affright +her; and it was with a cold quietness she said, “If you had known my +father, Major Stapylton, I suspect you would not have accused his daughter +of cowardice!” +</p> +<p> +“Was he so very terrible?” said he, with a smile that was half a sneer. +</p> +<p> +“He would have been, to a man like you.” +</p> +<p> +“To a man like me,—a man like me! Do you know, young lady, that +either your words are very idle words or very offensive ones?” +</p> +<p> +“And yet I have no wish to recall them, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“It would be better you could find some one to sustain them. +Unfortunately, however, you cannot ask that gallant gentleman we were just +talking of; for it is only the other day, and after passing over to Calais +to meet me, his friends pretend that there is some obstacle to our +meeting. I owe my tailor or my bootmaker something; or I have not paid my +subscription to a club; or I have left an unsettled bill ar Baden. I +really forget the precise pretext; but it was one which to them seemed +quite sufficient to balk me of a redress, and at the same time to shelter +their friend.” +</p> +<p> +“I will not believe one word of it, sir!” +</p> +<p> +“Well, we have at least arrived at a perfect frankness in our intercourse. +May I ask you, young lady, which of your relatives has suggested your +present course! Is it to your aunt or to your grandfather I must go for an +explanation?” +</p> +<p> +“I suspect it is to me, Major Stapylton,” said Barrington, as he came from +behind Josephine. “It is to me you must address yourself. Fifine, my dear, +your aunt is looking for you; go and tell her, too, that I am quite ready +for tea, and you will find me here when it is ready. Major Stapylton and I +will take a stroll along the river-side.” Now this last was less an +invitation than a sort of significant hint to Stapylton that his host had +no intention to ask him to cross his threshold, at least for the present; +and, indeed, as Barrington passed out and closed the wicket after him, he +seemed as though closing the entrance forever. +</p> +<p> +With a manner far more assured thau his wont, Barrington said: “I have +been in pursuit of you, Major Stapylton, since four o'clock. I missed you +by having taken the road instead of the river; and am much grieved that +the communication I have to make you should not take place anywhere rather +than near my roof or within my own gates.” +</p> +<p> +“I am to suppose from your words, sir, that what you are about to say can +scarcely be said to a friend; and if so, cannot you hit upon a more +convenient mode of making your communication?” +</p> +<p> +“I think not. I believe that I shall be dealing more fairly with you by +saying what I have to say in person.” +</p> +<p> +“Go on,” said Stapylton, calmly, as the other paused. +</p> +<p> +“You are aware,” continued Barrington, “that the chief obstacle to a +settlement of the claims I have long preferred against the India Company +has been a certain document which they possess, declaring that a large +portion of the territory held by the Rajah of Luckerabad was not amenable +to the laws that regulate succession, being what is called 'Lurkar-teea,'—conquered +country,—over which, under no circumstances, could the Rajah +exercise prospective rights. To this deed, for their better protection, +the Company obtained the signature and seal of the Rajah himself, by means +which, of course, we could never discover; but they held it, and always +declared that no portion of my son's claim could extend to these lands. +Now, as they denied that he could succeed to what are called the 'Turban +lands,' meaning the right of sovereignty—being a British subject—on +the one hand, and rejected his claim to these conquered countries on the +other,—they excluded him altogether.” +</p> +<p> +“My dear sir,” said Stapylton, mildly, “I'm shocked to interrupt you, but +I am forced to ask, what is the intimate bearing of all this upon me, or +on your position towards me?” +</p> +<p> +“Have a little patience, sir, and suffer me to proceed. If it should turn +out that this document—I mean that which bears the signature and +seal of the Rajah—should be a forgery; if, I say, it could be shown +that what the India Board have long relied on to sustain their case and +corroborate their own view could be proved false, a great point would be +gained towards the establishment of our claim.” +</p> +<p> +“Doubtless,” said Stapylton, with the half-peevish indifference of one +listening against his will. +</p> +<p> +“Well, there is a good prospect of this,” said Barring-ton, boldly. “Nay, +more, it is a certainty.” +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Barrington,” said Stapylton, drawing himself haughtily up, “a few +hours ago this history would have had a very great interest for me. My +hopes pointed to a very close relationship with your family; the last hour +has sufficed to dispel those hopes. Your granddaughter has rejected me so +decidedly that I cannot presume to suppose a change in her opinion +possible. Let me not then, obtain any share in your confidence to which I +have no right whatever.” +</p> +<p> +“What I am about to say will have more interest for you, sir,” continued +Barrington. “I am about to mention a name that you will recognize,—the +Moonshee, Ali Gohur.” +</p> +<p> +Stapylton started, and dropped the cigar he was smoking. To take out +another and light it, however, sufficed to employ him, as he murmured +between his teeth, “Go on.” +</p> +<p> +“This man says—” continued Barrington. +</p> +<p> +“Said, perhaps, if you like,” broke in Stapylton, “for he died some months +ago.” +</p> +<p> +“No; he is alive at this hour. He was on board the Indiaman that was run +down by the transport. He was saved and carried on board the 'Regulus' by +the intrepidity of young Dill. He is now recovering rapidly from the +injuries he received, and at the date of the letter which I hold here, was +able to be in daily communication with Colonel Hunter, who is the writer +of this.” +</p> +<p> +“I wish the gallant Colonel honester company. Are you aware, Mr. +Barrington, that you are speaking of one of the greatest rascals of a +country not famed for its integrity?” +</p> +<p> +“He lays no claim to such for the past; but he would seem desirous to make +some reparation for a long course of iniquity.” +</p> +<p> +“Charmed for his sake, and that of his well-wishers, if he have any. But, +once again, sir, and at all the risk of appearing very impatient, what +concern has all this for me?” +</p> +<p> +“A great deal, sir. The Moonshee declares that he has been for years back +in close correspondence with a man we long since believed dead, and that +this man was known to have communicated constantly with the law advisers +of the India Board in a manner adverse to us, he being none other than the +son of the notorious Sam Edwardes, whom he always addressed under cover to +Captain Horace Stapylton, Prince's Hussars.” +</p> +<p> +“This is—strange enough, when one thinks of the quarter it comes +from—perfectly true. I came to know Edwardes when on my voyage home, +invalided. He took immense trouble about me, nursed and tended me, and, in +return, asked as a favor to have some letters he was expecting addressed +to my care. I neither knew who he was, nor cared. He got his letters, and +I suppose read them; but of their contents, I, it is needless to say, know +nothing. I am speaking of a dozen years ago, or, at least, eight or ten, +for since that time I have never heard of either Edwardes or his friend.” +</p> +<p> +“He tells a different story. He asserts that to his letters, forwarded to +the same address up to the period of last March, he regularly received +replies; but at last finding that the writer was disposed to get rid of +him, he obtained means to circulate a report of his death, and sailed for +Europe to prefer his claims, whatever they be, in person.” +</p> +<p> +“And if every word of this were true, Mr. Barrington, which I don't +suspect it is, how, in the name of common sense, does it concern me? I +don't suppose I ever took my own letters at a post-office twice in my +life. My servant, who has lived with me fourteen years, may, for aught I +know, have been bribed to abstract these letters on their arrival; they +would be easily recognized by the very superscription. This is one way the +thing might have been done. There may have been fifty more, for aught I +know or care.” +</p> +<p> +“But you don't deny that you knew Edwardes, and had a close intimacy with +him?—a circumstance which you never revealed to Withering or +myself.” +</p> +<p> +“It is not at all improbable I may have known half a dozen of that name. +It is by no means an uncommon one, not to say that I have a singularly +infelicitous memory for people's names. But for the last time, sir, I must +protest against this conversation going any further. You have taken upon +you, I would hope without intending it, the tone of a French <i>Juge +d'Instruction</i> in the interrogation of a prisoner. You have questioned +and cross-questioned me, asking how I can account for this, or explain +that. Now, I am ready to concede a great deal to your position as my host, +and to your years, but really I must entreat of you not to push my +deference for these beyond the limits of the respect I owe myself. You +very properly warned me at the opening of this conversation that it ought +not to have the sanction of your roof-tree. I have only to beg that if it +is to go any further, that it be conducted in such a shape as is usual +between gentlemen who have an explanation to ask, or a satisfaction to +demand.” +</p> +<p> +There was consummate craft in giving the discussion this turn. Stapylton +well knew the nature of the man he was addressing, and that after the +passing allusion to his character as a host, he only needed to hint at the +possibility of a meeting to recall him to a degree of respect only short +of deference for his opponent. +</p> +<p> +“I defer to you at once, Major Stapylton,” said the old man, with a bland +courtesy, as he uncovered and bowed. “There was a time when I should +scarcely have required the admonition you have given me.” +</p> +<p> +“I am glad to perceive that you understand me so readily,” said Stapylton, +who could scarcely repress the joy he felt at the success of his +diversion; “and that nothing may mar our future understanding, this is my +address in London, where I shall wait your orders for a week.” +</p> +<p> +Though the stroke was shrewdly intended, and meant to throw upon +Barrington all the onus of the provocation, the Major little suspected +that it was the one solitary subject of which his opponent was a master. +On the “duello” Barrington was an authority beyond appeal, and no +subtlety, however well contrived, could embarrass or involve him. +</p> +<p> +“I have no satisfaction to claim at your hands, Major Stapylton,” said he, +calmly. “My friend, Mr. Withering, when he sent me these letters, knew you +were my guest, and he said, 'Read them to Major Stapylton. Let him know +what is said of him, and who says it.'” +</p> +<p> +“And, perhaps, you ought to add, sir, who gives it the sanction of his +belief,” broke in Stapylton, angrily. “You never took the trouble to +recite these charges till they obtained your credence.” +</p> +<p> +“You have said nothing to disprove them,” said the old man, quickly. +</p> +<p> +“That is enough,—quite enough, sir; we understand each other +perfectly. You allege certain things against me as injuries done you, and +you wait for <i>me</i> to resent the imputation. I 'll not balk you, be +assured of it. The address I have given you in London will enable you to +communicate with me when you arrive there; for I presume this matter had +better be settled in France or Holland.” +</p> +<p> +“I think so,” said Barrington, with the air of a man thoroughly at his +ease. +</p> +<p> +“I need not say, Mr. Barrington, the regret it gives me that it was not +one of my detractors himself, and not their dupe, that should occupy this +place.” +</p> +<p> +“The dupe, sir, is very much at your service.” +</p> +<p> +“Till we meet again,” said Stapylton, raising his hat as he turned away. +In his haste and the confusion of the moment, he took the path that led +towards the cottage; nor did he discover his mistake till he heard +Barrington's voice calling out to Darby,— +</p> +<p> +“Get the boat ready to take Major Stapylton to Inistioge.” +</p> +<p> +“You forget none of the precepts of hospitality,” said Stapylton, wheeling +hastily around, and directing his steps towards the river. +</p> +<p> +Barrington looked after him as he went, and probably in his long and +varied life, crossed with many a care and many troubles, he had never felt +the pain of such severe self-reproach as in that moment. To see his guest, +the man who had sat at his board and eaten his salt, going out into the +dreary night without one hospitable effort to detain him, without a pledge +to his health, without a warm shake of his hand, or one hearty wish for +his return. +</p> +<p> +“Dear, dear!” muttered he, to himself, “what is the world come to! I +thought I had no more experiences to learn of suffering; but here is a new +one. Who would have thought to see the day that Peter Barrington would +treat his guest this fashion?” +</p> +<p> +“Are you coming in to tea, grandpapa?” cried Josephine, from the garden. +</p> +<p> +“Here I am, my dear!” +</p> +<p> +“And your guest, Peter, what has become of him?” said Dinah. +</p> +<p> +“He had some very urgent business at Kilkenny; something that could not +admit of delay, I opine.” +</p> +<p> +“But you have not let him go without his letters, surely. Here are all +these formidable-looking despatches, on his Majesty's service, on the +chimney-piece.” +</p> +<p> +“How forgetful of me!” cried he, as, snatching them up, he hastened down +to the river-side. The boat, however, had just gone; and although he +shouted and called at the top of his voice, no answer came, and he turned +back at last, vexed and disappointed. +</p> +<p> +“I shall have to start for Dublin to-morrow, Dinah,” said he, as he walked +thoughtfully up and down the room. “I must have Withering's advice on +these letters. There are very pressing matters to be thought of here, and +I can take Major Stapylton's despatches with me. I am certain to hear of +him somewhere.” +</p> +<p> +Miss Barrington turned her eyes full upon him, and watched him narrowly. +She was a keen detector of motives, and she scanned her brother's face +with no common keenness, and yet she could see nothing beyond the +preoccupation she had often seen. There was no impatience, no anxiety. A +shade more thoughtful, perhaps, and even that passed off, as he sat down +to his tea, and asked Fifine what commissions she had for the capital. +</p> +<p> +“You will leave by the evening mail, I suppose?” said Miss Barrington. +</p> +<p> +“No, Dinah, night travelling wearies me. I will take the coach as it +passes the gate to-morrow at five; this will bring me in time to catch +Withering at his late dinner, and a pleasanter way to finish a day's +travel no man need ask for.” +</p> +<p> +Nothing could be more easily spoken than these words, and Miss Dinah felt +reassured by them, and left the room to give some orders about his +journey. +</p> +<p> +“Fifine, darling,” said Barrington, after a pause, “do you like your life +here?” +</p> +<p> +“Of course I do, grandpapa. How could I wish for one more happy?” +</p> +<p> +“But it is somewhat dull for one so young,—somewhat solitary for a +fair, bright creature, who might reasonably enough care for pleasure and +the world.” +</p> +<p> +“To me it is a round of gayety, grandpapa; so that I almost felt inclined +yesterday to wish for some quiet davs with aunt and yourself,—some +of those dreamy days like what we had in Germany.” +</p> +<p> +“I fear me much, darling, that I contribute but little to the pleasure. My +head is so full of one care or another, I am but sorry company, Fifine.” +</p> +<p> +“If you only knew how dull we are without you! How heavily the day drags +on even with the occupations you take no share in; how we miss your steps +on the stairs and your voice in the garden, and that merry laugh that sets +ourselves a-laughing just by its own ring.” +</p> +<p> +“And you would miss me, then?” said he, as he pushed the hair from her +temples, and stared steadfastly at her face,—“you would miss me?” +</p> +<p> +“It would only be half life without you,” cried she, passionately. +</p> +<p> +“So much the worse,—so much the worse!” muttered he; and he turned +away, and drew his hand across his eyes. “This life of ours, Fifine, is a +huge battle-field; and though the comrades fall fast around him, the brave +soldier will fight on to the last.” +</p> +<p> +“You don't want a dress-coat, brother Peter, to dine with Withering, so I +have just put up what will serve you for three days, or four, at +furthest,” said Dinah, entering. “What will be the extent of your stay?” +</p> +<p> +“Let me have a black coat, Dinah; there 's no saying what great man may +not ask for my company; and it might be a week before I get back again.” +</p> +<p> +“There's no necessity it should be anything of the kind, Peter; and with +your habits an hotel life is scarcely an economy. Come, Fifine, get to +bed, child. You'll have to be up at daybreak. Your grandpapa won't think +his coffee drinkable, if it is not made by your hands.” +</p> +<p> +And with this remark, beautifully balanced between a reproof and a +flattery, she proceeded to blow out the candles, which was her accustomed +mode of sending her company to their rooms. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XV. THE OLD LEAVEN +</h2> +<p> +Withering arrived at his own door just as Barrington drove up to it. “I +knew my letter would bring you up to town, Barrington,” said he; “and I +was so sure of it that I ordered a saddle of mutton for your dinner, and +refused an invitation to the Chancellor's.” +</p> +<p> +“And quite right too. Iam far better company, Tom. Are we to be all +alone?” +</p> +<p> +“All alone.” +</p> +<p> +“That was exactly what I wanted. Now, as I need a long evening with you, +the sooner they serve the soup the better; and be sure you give your +orders that nobody be admitted.” +</p> +<p> +If Mr. Withering's venerable butler, an official long versed in the +mysteries of his office, were to have been questioned on the subject, it +is not improbable he would have declared that he never assisted at a +pleasanter tête-â tête than that day's dinner. They enjoyed their good +dinner and their good wine like men who bring to the enjoyment a ripe +experience of such pleasures, and they talked with the rare zest of good +talkers and old friends. +</p> +<p> +“We are in favor with Nicholas,” said Withering, as the butler withdrew, +and left them alone, “or he would never have given us that bottle of port. +Do you mark, Barrington, it's the green seal that John Bushe begged so +hard for one night, and all unsuccessfully.” +</p> +<p> +“It is rare stuff!” said Barrington, looking at it between him and the +light. +</p> +<p> +“And it was that story of yours of the Kerry election that won it. The old +fellow had to rush out of the room to have his laugh out.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you know, Tom,” said Barrington, as he sipped his wine, “I believe, in +another generation, nobody will laugh at all. Since you and I were boys, +the world has taken a very serious turn. Not that it is much wiser, or +better, or more moral, or more cultivated, but it is graver. The old +jollity would be now set down simply for vulgarity, and with many people a +joke is only short of an insult.” +</p> +<p> +“Shall I tell you why, Peter? We got our reputation for wit, just as we +made our name for manufacture, and there sprung up a mass of impostors in +consequence,—fellows who made poor jokes and rotten calicoes, that +so disgusted the world that people have gone to France for their fun, and +to Germany for their furniture. That is, to my taking, the reason of all +this social reaction.” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps you are right, Tom. Old Joe Millers are not unlike cloth made out +of devil's dust. One can't expect much wear out of either.” +</p> +<p> +“We must secure another bottle from that bin before Nicholas changes his +mind,” said Withering, rising to ring the bell. +</p> +<p> +“No, Tom, not for me. I want all the calm and all the judgment I can +muster, and don't ask me to take more wine. I have much to say to you.” +</p> +<p> +“Of course you have. I knew well that packet of letters would bring you up +to town; but you have had scarcely time to read them.” +</p> +<p> +“Very hurriedly, I confess. They reached me yesterday afternoon; and when +I had run my eyes hastily over them, I said, 'Stapylton must see this at +once.' The man was my guest,—he was under my roof,—there could +not be a question about how to deal with him. He was out, however, when +the packet reached my hands; and while the pony was being harnessed, I +took another look over that letter from Colonel Hunter. It shocked me, +Tom, I confess; because there flashed upon me quite suddenly the +recollection of the promptitude with which the India Board at home here +were provided with an answer to each demand we made. It was not merely +that when we advanced a step they met us; but we could scarcely meditate a +move that they were not in activity to repel it.” +</p> +<p> +“I saw that, too, and was struck by it,” said Withering. +</p> +<p> +“True enough, Tom. I remember a remark of yours one day. 'These people,' +said you, 'have our range so accurately, one would suspect they had +stepped the ground.'” The lawyer smiled at the compliment to his +acuteness, and the other went on: “As I read further, I thought Stapylton +had been betrayed,—his correspondent in India had shown his letters. +'Our enemies,' said I, 'have seen our despatches, and are playing with our +cards on the table.' No thought of distrust,—not a suspicion against +his loyalty had ever crossed me till I met him. I came unexpectedly upon +him, however, before the door, and there was a ring and resonance in his +voice as I came up that startled me! Passion forgets to shut the door +sometimes, and one can see in an angry mind what you never suspected in +the calm one. I took him up at once, without suffering him to recover his +composure, and read him a part of Hunter's letter. He was ready enough +with his reply; he knew the Moonshee by reputation as a man of the worst +character, but had suffered him to address certain letters under cover to +him, as a convenience to the person they were meant for, and who was no +other than the son of the notorious Sam Edwardes. 'Whom you have known all +this while,' said I, 'without ever acknowledging to us?' +</p> +<p> +“'Whom I did know some years back,' replied he, 'but never thought of +connecting with the name of Colonel Barrington's enemy.' All this was +possible enough, Tom; besides, his manner was frank and open in the +extreme. It was only at last, as I dwelt, what he deemed too +pertinaciously, on this point, that he suddenly lost control of himself, +and said, 'I will have no more of this'—or, 'This must go no +further'—or some words to that effect.” +</p> +<p> +“Ha! the probe had touched the sore spot, eh?” cried Withering. “Go on!” +</p> +<p> +“'And if you desire further explanations from me, you must ask for them at +the price men pay for inflicting unmerited insult.'” +</p> +<p> +“Cleverly turned, cleverly done,” said Withering; “but you were not to be +deceived and drawn off by that feint, eh?” +</p> +<p> +“Feint or not, it succeeded, Tom. He made me feel that I had injured him; +and as he would not accept of my excuses,—as, in fact, he did not +give me time to make them—” +</p> +<p> +“He got you into a quarrel, is n't that the truth?” asked Withering, +hotly. +</p> +<p> +“Come, come, Tom, be reasonable; he had perfect right on his side. There +was what he felt as a very grave imputation upon him; that is, I had made +a charge, and his explanation had not satisfied me,—or, at all +events, I had not said I was satisfied,—and we each of us, I take +it, were somewhat warmer than we need have been.” +</p> +<p> +“And you are going to meet him,—going to fight a duel?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, if I am, it will not be the first time.” +</p> +<p> +“And can you tell for what? Will you be able to make any man of common +intelligence understand for what you are going out?” +</p> +<p> +“I hope so. I have the man in my eye. No, no, don't make a wry face, Tom. +It's another old friend I was thinking of to help me through this affair, +and I sincerely trust he will not be so hard to instruct as you imagine.” +</p> +<p> +“How old are you, Barrington?” +</p> +<p> +“Dinah says eighty-one; but I suspect she cheats me. I think I am +eighty-three.” +</p> +<p> +“And is it at eighty-three that men fight duels?” +</p> +<p> +“' Not if they can help it, Tom, certainly. I have never been out since I +shot Tom Connelly in the knee, which was a matter of forty years ago, and +I had good hopes it was to be my last exploit of this kind. But what is to +be done if a man tells you that your age is your protection; that if it +had not been for your white hairs and your shaking ankles, that he 'd have +resented your conduct or your words to him? Faith, I think it puts a +fellow on his mettle to show that his heart is all right, though his hand +may tremble.” +</p> +<p> +“I 'll not take any share in such a folly. I tell you, Barrington, the +world for whom you are doing this will be the very first to scout its +absurdity. Just remember for a moment we are not living in the old days +before the Union, and we have not the right, if we had the power, to throw +our age back into the barbarism it has escaped from.” +</p> +<p> +“Barbarism! The days of poor Yelverton, and Ponsonby, and Harry Grattan, +and Parsons, and Ned Lysaght, barbarism! Ah! my dear Tom, I wish we had a +few of such barbarians here now, and I 'd ask for another bottle or two of +that port.” +</p> +<p> +“I'll not give it a milder word; and what's more, I'll not suffer you to +tarnish a time-honored name by a folly which even a boy would be blamed +for. My dear old friend, just grant me a little patience.” +</p> +<p> +“This is cool, certainly,” said Barrington, laughing. “You have said all +manner of outrageous things to me for half an hour unopposed, and now you +cry have patience.” +</p> +<p> +“Give me your honor now that this shall not go further.” +</p> +<p> +“I cannot, Tom,—I assure you, I cannot.” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean by 'you cannot'?” cried Withering, angrily. +</p> +<p> +“I mean just what I said. If you had accepted a man's brief, Tom +Withering, there is a professional etiquette which would prevent your +giving it up and abandoning him; and so there are situations between men +of the world which claim exactly as rigid an observance. I told Stapylton +I would be at his orders, and I mean to keep my word.” +</p> +<p> +“Not if you had no right to pledge it; not if I can prove to you that this +quarrel was a mere got-up altercation to turn you from an inquiry which +this man dare not face.” +</p> +<p> +“This is too subtle for me, Withering,—far too subtle.” +</p> +<p> +“No such thing, Barrington; but I will make it plainer. How if the man you +are going to meet had no right to the name he bears?” +</p> +<p> +“What do I care for his name?” +</p> +<p> +“Don't you care for the falsehood by which he has assumed one that is not +his own?” +</p> +<p> +“I may be sorry that he is not more clean-handed; but I tell you again, +Tom, they never indulged such punctilios in our young days, and I 'm too +old to go to school again!” +</p> +<p> +“I declare, Barrington, you provoke me,” said the lawyer, rising, and +pacing the room with hasty strides. “After years and years of weary toil, +almost disheartened by defeat and failure, we at last see the outline of +land; a few more days—or it may be hours—of perseverance may +accomplish our task. Since I arose this morning I have learned more of our +case, seen my way more clearly through matters which have long puzzled me, +than the cost of years has taught me. I have passed four hours with one +who would give his life to serve you, but whose name I was not at liberty +to divulge, save in the last necessity, and the reasons for which reserve +I heartily concur in; and now, by a rash and foolish altercation, you +would jeopardy everything. Do you wonder if I lose temper?” +</p> +<p> +“You have got me into such a state of bewilderment, Tom, that I don't know +what I am asked to agree to. But who is your friend,—is n't it a +woman?” +</p> +<p> +“It is not a woman.” +</p> +<p> +“I'd have bet five pounds it was! When as sharp a fellow as you takes the +wrong line of country, it's generally a woman is leading the way over the +fences.” +</p> +<p> +“This time your clever theory is at fault.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, who is it? Out with him, Tom. I have not so many stanch friends in +the world that I can afford to ignore them.” +</p> +<p> +“I will tell you his name on one condition.” +</p> +<p> +“I agree. What is the condition?” +</p> +<p> +“It is this: that when you hear it you will dismiss from your mind—though +it be only for a brief space—all the prejudices that years may have +heaped against him, and suffer me to show you that <i>you</i>, with all +your belief in your own fairness, are not just; and with a firm conviction +in your own generosity, might be more generous. There 's my condition!” +</p> +<p> +“Well, it must be owned I am going to pay pretty smartly for my +information,” said Barrington, laughing. “And if you are about to preach +to me, it will not be a 'charity' sermon; but, as I said before, I agree +to everything.” +</p> +<p> +Withering stopped his walk and resumed it again. It was evident he had not +satisfied himself how he should proceed, and he looked agitated and +undecided. “Barrington,” said he, at last, “you have had about as many +reverses in life as most men, and must have met with fully your share of +ingratitude and its treatment. Do you feel, now, in looking back, that +there are certain fellows you cannot forgive?” +</p> +<p> +“One or two, perhaps, push me harder than the rest; but if I have no gout +flying about me, I don't think I bear them any malice.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, you have no gouty symptoms now, I take it?” +</p> +<p> +“Never felt better for the last twenty years.” +</p> +<p> +“That is as it should be; for I want to talk to you of a man who, in all +our friendship, you have never mentioned to me, but whose name I know will +open an old wound,—Ormsby Conyers.” +</p> +<p> +Barrington laid down the glass he was lifting to his lips, and covered his +face with both his hands, nor for some moments did he speak a word. +“Withering,” said he, and his voice trembled as he spoke, “even your +friendship has scarcely the right to go this far. The injury the man you +speak of did me meets me every morning as I open my eyes, and my first +prayer each day is that I may forgive him, for every now and then, as my +lone lot in life comes strongly before me, I have need to pray for this; +but I have succeeded at last,—I have forgiven him from my heart; +but, dear friend, let us not talk of what tears open wounds that bleed +afresh at a touch. I beseech you, let all that be a bygone.” +</p> +<p> +“That is more than I can do, Barrington; for it is not to me you must +acknowledge you have forgiven this man,—you must tell it to +himself.” +</p> +<p> +“That is not needed, Tom. Thousands of long miles separate us, and will in +all likelihood separate us to the last. What does he want with my +forgiveness, which is less a question between him and me than between me +and my own heart?” +</p> +<p> +“And yet it is what he most desires on earth; he told me so within an +hour!” +</p> +<p> +“Told you so,—and within an hour?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Barrington, he is here. Not in the house,” added he, hastily, for +the suddenness of the announcement had startled the old man, and agitated +him greatly. “Be calm, my dear friend,” said Withering, laying a hand on +the other's shoulder. “He who is now come to claim your forgiveness has +never injured you to the extent you believe. He asks it as the last +tribute to one he loved only less than you loved him. He has told me +everything; never sparing himself, nor seeking by any subtlety to excuse a +particle of his conduct. Let me tell you that story as I heard it. It will +be some solace to you to know that your noble-hearted son inspired a +friendship which, after the long lapse of years, extracts such an +atonement as one act of disloyalty to it could demand. This was Ormsby +Conyers's one and only treason to the love that bound them. Listen to it!” +</p> +<p> +Barrington tried to speak, but could not; so he nodded an assent, and +Withering continued. His story was that which the reader has already heard +from the lips of Conyers himself, and the old lawyer told it well. If he +did not attempt to extenuate the offence and wrong of Conyers, he showed +the power and strength of an affection which could make one of the +haughtiest of men come forward to accuse himself, and at every cost of +humiliation vindicate the noble nature of his friend. +</p> +<p> +“And why not have avowed all this before?—why not have spared +himself years of self-accusing, and me years of aggravated misery?” cried +Barrington. +</p> +<p> +“He did make the attempt. He came to England about eighteen years ago, and +his first care was to write to you. He asked to be allowed to see you, and +sent you at the same time an admission that he had injured you, and was +come to seek your forgiveness.” +</p> +<p> +“That's true, Tom; all strictly true. I remember all about it. His letter +was such a one as an enemy might have used to crush him. My own temper at +the time was not to be trusted too far; sorrow was making me cruel, and +might make me vindictive; so I sent it back to him, and hinted it was +safer in <i>his</i> hands than <i>mine</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“And he has never forgotten your generosity. He said, 'It was what well +became the father of George Barrington. '” +</p> +<p> +“If he is here in this city, now, let me see him. Remember, Withering, +when a man comes to my age his time is short. Cannot we go to him at +once?” +</p> +<p> +“Not feeling certain of your coming up to town to-day, I had arranged with +Conyers to start for 'The Home' tomorrow; we were to await the post hour, +and, if no letter came from you, to leave at ten o'clock. I was to take +him up at Elvidge's Hotel. What say you if I drive him down to Reynolds's? +You stop there, I know.” +</p> +<p> +“With all my heart, Tom. I am fully as impatient as he can be to sign and +seal our reconciliation. Indeed, I feel myself already less sinned against +than sinning; and an act of forgiveness is only an exchange of prisoners +between us. If you knew how young I feel again at all this, Withering,” +said he, grasping his friend's hand. “What a happiness to know that poor +George's memory is so revered that one who has failed towards him in +fidelity should come to expiate the wrong thus openly! My fine +noble-hearted boy deserved this tribute! And he told you how they loved +each other; in what a brotherhood they lived; and what a glorious fellow +George was? Did he tell you of his gentleness?—womanly softness it +was, Tom. A careless observer might have said there was no stuff in him to +make a soldier, and yet where was there his equal? You heard what he did +at Naghapoor and Meerutan, where he held a mountain-pass with three +squadrons against a whole army corps, and never owned to being wounded +till he fell fainting from his horse on the retreat. Oh, let me not speak +of these things, or my heart will burst I must leave you, old friend; this +agitation will unfit me for much that is before me; let me go, I beseech +you, and when you see me to-morrow, you 'll find I am all myself again.” +</p> +<p> +It was in silence they grasped each other's hand, and parted. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XVI. A HAPPY MEETING +</h2> +<p> +Barrington scarcely closed his eyes that night after he had parted with +Withering, so full was he of thinking over all he had heard. “It was,” as +he repeated to himself over and over again, “'such glorious news' to hear +that it was no long-laid plot, no dark treachery, had brought poor George +to his grave, and that the trusted friend had not turned out a secret +enemy. How prone we are,” thought he, “to suffer our suspicions to grow +into convictions, just by the mere force of time. Conyers was neither +better nor worse than scores of young fellows entering on life, +undisciplined in self-restraint, and untutored by converse with the world; +and in his sorrow and repentance he is far and away above most men. It was +fine of him to come thus, and become his own accuser, rather than suffer a +shade of reproach to rest upon the fame of his friend. And this reparation +he would have made years ago, but for my impatience. It was I that would +not listen,—would not admit it. +</p> +<p> +“I believe in my heart, then, this confession has a higher value for me +than would the gain of our great suit. It is such a testimony to my brave +boy as but one man living could offer. It is a declaration to the world +that says, 'Here am I, high in station, covered with dignities and rich in +rewards; yet there was a man whose fate has never interested you, over +whose fall you never sorrowed; hundreds of times my superior.' What a +reward is this for all my life of toil and struggle,—what a glorious +victory, when the battle looked so doubtful! People will see at last it is +not an old man's phantasy; it is not the headlong affection of a father +for his son has made me pursue this reparation for him here. There is a +witness 'come to judgment,' who will tell them what George Barrington was; +how noble as a man, how glorious as a soldier.” +</p> +<p> +While the old man revelled in the happiness of these thoughts, so absorbed +was he by them that he utterly forgot the immediate object which had +occasioned his journey,—forgot Stapylton and the meeting, and all +that had led to it. Thus passed the hours of the night; and as the day +broke, he arose, impatient to actual feverishness for the coming +interview. He tried by some occupation to fill up the time. He sat down to +write to his sister an account of all Withering had told him, leaving the +rest to be added after the meeting; but he found, as he read it over, that +after the mention of George's name, nothing dropped from his pen but +praises of him. It was all about his generosity, his open-heartedness, and +his bravery. “This would seem downright extravagant,” said he, as he +crushed the paper in his hand, “till she hears it from the lips of Conyers +himself.” He began another letter, but somehow again he glided into the +self-same channel. +</p> +<p> +“This will never do,” said he; “there's nothing for it but a brisk walk.” +So saying he sallied out into the deserted streets, for few were about at +that early hour. Barrington turned his steps towards the country, and soon +gained one of those shady alleys which lead towards Finglas. It was a +neighborhood he had once known well, and a favorite resort of those +pleasant fellows who thought they compensated for a hard night at Daly's +by sipping syllabub of a morning on a dewy meadow. He once had rented a +little cottage there; a fancy of poor George's it was, that there were +some trout in the stream beside it; and Barrington strolled along till he +came to a little mound, from which he could see the place, sadly changed +and dilapidated since he knew it. Instead of the rustic bridge that +crossed the river, a single plank now spanned the stream, and in the +disorder and neglect of all around, it was easy to see it had fallen to +the lot of a peasant to live in it. As Barrington was about to turn away, +he saw an old man—unmistakably a gentleman—ascending the hill, +with a short telescope in his hand. As the path was a narrow one, he +waited, therefore, for the other's arrival, before he began to descend +himself. With a politeness which in his younger days Irish gentlemen +derived from intercourse with France, Barring-ton touched his hat as he +passed the stranger, and the other, as if encouraged by the show of +courtesy, smiled as he returned the salute, and said,— +</p> +<p> +“Might I take the liberty to ask you if you are acquainted with this +locality?” +</p> +<p> +“Few know it better, or, at least, knew it once,” said Barrington. +</p> +<p> +“It was the classic ground of Ireland in days past,” said the stranger. “I +have heard that Swift lived here.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes; but you cannot see his house from this. It was nearer to Santry, +where you see that wood yonder. There was, however, a celebrity once +inhabited that small cottage before us. It was the home of Parnell.” +</p> +<p> +“Is that Parnell's cottage?” asked the stranger, with eagerness; “that +ruined spot, yonder?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes. It was there he wrote some of his best poems. I knew the room well +he lived in.” +</p> +<p> +“How I would like to see it!” cried the other. +</p> +<p> +“You are an admirer of Parnell, then?” said Barrington, with a smile of +courteous meaning. +</p> +<p> +“I will own to you, sir, it was less of Parnell I was thinking than of a +dear friend who once talked to me of that cottage. He had lived there, and +cherished the memory of that life when far away from it; and so well had +he described every walk and path around it, each winding of the river, and +every shady nook, that I had hoped to recognize it without a guide.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, it is sadly changed of late. Your friend had not probably seen it for +some years?” +</p> +<p> +“Let me see. It was in a memorable year he told me he lived there,—when +some great demonstration was made by the Irish volunteers, with the Bishop +of Down at their head. The Bishop dined there on that day.” +</p> +<p> +“The Earl of Bristol dined that day with me, there,” said Barrington, +pointing to the cottage. +</p> +<p> +“May I ask with whom I have the honor to speak, sir?” said the stranger, +bowing. +</p> +<p> +“Was it George Barrington told you this?” said the old man, trembling with +eagerness: “was it he who lived here? I may ask, sir, for I am his +father!” +</p> +<p> +“And I am Ormsby Conyers,” said the other; and his face became pale, and +his knees trembled as he said it. +</p> +<p> +“Give me your hand, Conyers,” cried Barrington,—“the hand that my +dear boy has so often pressed in friendship. I know all that you were to +each other, all that you would be to his memory.” +</p> +<p> +“Can you forgive me?” said Conyers. +</p> +<p> +“I have, for many a year. I forgave you when I thought you had been his +enemy. I now know you had only been your own to sacrifice such love, such +affection as he bore you.” +</p> +<p> +“I never loved him more than I have hated myself for my conduct towards +him.” +</p> +<p> +“Let us talk of George,—he loved us both,” said Barrington, who +still held Conyers by the hand. “It is a theme none but yourself can rival +me in interest for.” +</p> +<p> +It was not easy for Conyers to attain that calm which could enable him to +answer the other's questions; but by degrees he grew to talk freely, +assisted a good deal by the likeness of the old man to his son,—a +resemblance in manner even as much as look,—and thus, before they +reached town again, they had become like familiar friends. +</p> +<p> +Barrington could never hear enough of George; even of the incidents he had +heard of by letter, he liked to listen to the details again, and to mark +how all the traits of that dear boy had been appreciated by others. +</p> +<p> +“I must keep you my prisoner,” said Barrington, as they gained the door of +his hotel. “The thirst I have is not easily slaked; remember that for more +than thirty years I have had none to talk to me of my boy! I know all +about your appointment with Withering; he was to have brought you here +this morning to see me, and my old friend will rejoice when he comes and +finds us here together.” +</p> +<p> +“He was certain you would come up to town,” said Conyers, “when you got +his letters. You would see at once that there were matters which should be +promptly dealt with; and he said, 'Barrington will be my guest at dinner +to-morrow.'” +</p> +<p> +“Eh?—how?—what was it all about? George has driven all else +out of my head, and I declare to you that I have not the very vaguest +recollection of what Wither-ing's letters contained. Wait a moment; a +light is breaking on me. I do remember something of it all now. To be +sure! What a head I have! It was all about Stapylton. By the way, General, +how you would have laughed had you heard the dressing Withering gave me +last night, when I told him I was going to give Stapylton a meeting.” +</p> +<p> +“A hostile meeting?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, if you like to give it that new-fangled name, General, which I +assure you was not in vogue when I was a young man. Withering rated me +soundly for the notion, reminded me of my white hairs and such other +disqualifications, and asked me indignantly, 'What the world would say +when they came to hear of it?' 'What would the world say if they heard I +declined it, Tom?' was my answer. Would they not exclaim, 'Here is one of +that fire-eating school who are always rebuking us for our laxity in +matters of honor; look at him and say, are these the principles of his +sect?'” +</p> +<p> +Conyers shook his head dissentingly, and smiled. +</p> +<p> +“No, no!” said Barrington, replying to the other's look, “you are just of +my own mind! A man who believes you to have injured him claims reparation +as a matter of right. I could not say to Stapylton, 'I will not meet +you!'” +</p> +<p> +“I <i>did</i> say so, and that within a fortnight.” +</p> +<p> +“You said so, and under what provocation?” +</p> +<p> +“He grossly insulted my son, who was his subaltern; he outraged him by +offensive language, and he dared even to impugn his personal courage. It +was in one of those late riots where the military were called out; and my +boy, intrusted with the duty of dispersing an assemblage, stopped to +remonstrate where he might have charged, and actually relieved the misery +he had his orders to have trampled under the feet of his squadron. Major +Stapylton could have reprimanded, he might have court-martialled him; he +had no right to attempt to dishonor him. My son left the service,—I +made him leave on the spot,—and we went over to France to meet this +man. I sent for Proctor to be my boy's friend, and my letter found him at +Sir Gilbert Stapylton's, at Hollowcliffe. To explain his hurried +departure, Proctor told what called him away. 'And will you suffer your +friend to meet that adventurer,' said Sir Gilbert, 'who stole my nephew's +name if he did not steal more?' To be brief, he told that this fellow had +lived with Colonel Howard Stapylton, British Resident at Ghurtnapore, as a +sort of humble private secretary. 'In the cholera that swept the district +Howard died, and although his will, deposited at Calcutta, contained +several legacies, the effects to redeem them were not to be discovered. +Meanwhile this young fellow assumed the name of Stapylton, gave himself +out for his heir, and even threatened to litigate some landed property in +England with Howard's brother. An intimation that if he dared to put his +menace in action a full inquiry into his conduct should be made, stopped +him, and we heard no more of him,—at least, for a great many years. +When an old Madras friend of Howard's who came down to spend his +Christmas, said, “Who do you think I saw in town last week, but that young +scamp Howard used to call his Kitmagar, and who goes by the name of +Stapylton?” we were so indignant at first that we resolved on all manner +of exposures; but learning that he had the reputation of a good officer, +and had actually distinguished himself at Waterloo, we relented. Since +that, other things have come to our knowledge to make us repent our +lenity. In fact, he is an adventurer in its very worst sense, and has +traded upon a certain amount of personal courage to cover a character of +downright ignominy.' Proctor, on hearing all this, recalled me to England; +and declared that he had traced enough to this man's charge to show he was +one whom no gentleman could meet. It would appear that some recent +discoveries had been made about him at the Horse Guards also; for when +Proctor asked for a certain piece of information from one of his friends +in office there, he heard, for answer, 'We hope to know that, and more, in +a day or two.'” +</p> +<p> +“Do you know that I 'm sorry for it,—heartily sorry?” said +Barrington. “The fellow had that stamp of manliness about him that would +seem the pledge of a bold, straightforward nature.” +</p> +<p> +“I have a high value for courage, but it won't do everything.” +</p> +<p> +“More 's the pity, for it renders all that it aids of tenfold more worth.” +</p> +<p> +“And on the back of all this discovery comes Hunter's letter, which +Withering has sent you, to show that this Stapylton has for years back +been supplying the Indian Directors with materials to oppose your claims.” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing ever puzzled us so much as the way every weak point of our case +was at once seized upon, and every doubt we ourselves entertained +exaggerated into an impassable barrier. Withering long suspected that some +secret enemy was at work within our own lines, and repeatedly said that we +were sold. The difficulty is, why this man should once have been our +enemy, and now should strive so eagerly to be not alone our friend, but +one of us. You have heard he proposed for my granddaughter?” +</p> +<p> +“Fred suspected his intentions in that quarter, but we were not certain of +them.” +</p> +<p> +“And it is time I should ask after your noble-hearted boy. How is he, and +where?” +</p> +<p> +“He is here, at my hotel, impatiently waiting your permission to go down +to 'The Home.' He has a question to ask there, whose answer will be his +destiny.” +</p> +<p> +“Has Josephine turned another head then?” said Barring-ton, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“She has won a very honest heart; as true and as honorable a nature as +ever lived,” said Conyers, with emotion. “Your granddaughter does not +know, nor needs ever to know, the wrong I have done her father; and if you +have forgiven me, you will not remember it against my boy.” +</p> +<p> +“But what do you yourself say to all this? You have never seen the girl?” +</p> +<p> +“Fred has.” +</p> +<p> +“You know nothing about her tastes, her temper, her bringing up.” +</p> +<p> +“Fred does.” +</p> +<p> +“Nor are you aware that the claim we have so long relied on is almost +certain to be disallowed. I have scarcely a hope now remaining with regard +to it.” +</p> +<p> +“I have more than I need; and if Fred will let me have a bungalow in his +garden, I'll make it all over to him tomorrow.” +</p> +<p> +“It is then with your entire consent he would make this offer?” +</p> +<p> +“With my whole heart in it! I shall never feel I have repaired the injury +I have done George Barrington till I have called his daughter my own.” +</p> +<p> +Old Barrington arose, and walked up and down with slow and measured steps. +At last he halted directly in front of General Conyers, and said,— +</p> +<p> +“If you will do me one kindness, I will agree to everything. What am I +saying? I agree already; and I would not make a bargain of my consent; but +you will not refuse me a favor?” +</p> +<p> +“Ask me anything, and I promise it on the faith of a gentleman.” +</p> +<p> +“It is this, then; that you will stand by me in this affair of +Stapylton's. I have gone too far for subtleties or niceties. It is no +question of who was his father, or what was his own bringing up. I have +told him I should be at his orders, and don't let me break my word.” +</p> +<p> +“If you choose me for your friend, Barrington, you must not dictate how I +am to act for you.” +</p> +<p> +“That is quite true; you are perfectly correct there,” said the other, in +some confusion. +</p> +<p> +“On that condition, then, that I am free to do for you what I would agree +to in my own case, I accept the charge.” +</p> +<p> +“And there is to be no humbug of consideration for my age and my white +hairs; none of that nonsense about a fellow with one leg in the grave. +Mark you, Conyers, I will stand none of these; I have never taken a writ +of ease not to serve on a jury, nor will I hear of one that exempts me +from the rights of a gentleman.” +</p> +<p> +“I have got your full powers to treat, and you must trust me. Where are we +to find Stapylton's friend?” +</p> +<p> +“He gave me an address which I never looked at. Here it is!” and he drew a +card from his pocket. +</p> +<p> +“Captain Duff Brown, late Fifth Fusiliers, Holt's Hotel, Charing Cross.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you know him?” asked Barrington, as the other stood silently +re-reading the address. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, thoroughly,” said he, with a dry significance. “The man who selects +Duff Brown to act for him in an affair of honor must be in a sore strait. +It is a sorry indorsement to character. He had to leave the service from +the imputation of foul play in a duel himself; and I took an active part +against him.” +</p> +<p> +“Will this make your position unpleasant to you,—would you rather +not act for me?” +</p> +<p> +“Quite the reverse. It is more than ever necessary you should have some +one who not only knows the men he is to deal with, but is known himself to +them. It is a preliminary will save a world of trouble.” +</p> +<p> +“When can we set out?” +</p> +<p> +“To-night by the eight-o'clock packet, we can sail for Liverpool; but let +us first of all despatch Fred to 'The Home.' The poor boy will be half +dead with anxiety till he knows I have your permission.” +</p> +<p> +“I 'll accredit him with a letter to my sister; not that he needs it, for +he is one of her prime favorites. And now for another point. Withering +must be made believe that we are all off together for the country this +evening. He is so opposed to this affair with Stapylton, that he is in a +mood to do anything to prevent it.” +</p> +<p> +“Well thought of; and here comes the man himself in search of us.” +</p> +<p> +“I have been half over the town after you this morning, General,” said +Withering, as he entered; “and your son, too, could make nothing of your +absence. He is in the carriage at the door now, not knowing whether he +ought to come up.” +</p> +<p> +“I 'll soon reassure him on that score,” said Barrington, as he left the +room, and hastened downstairs with the step of one that defied the march +of time. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XVII. MEET COMPANIONSHIP +</h2> +<p> +In a very modest chamber of a house in one of the streets which lead from +the Strand to the Thames, two persons sat at supper. It is no time for +lengthened introductions, and I must present Captain Duff Brown very +hurriedly to my reader, as he confronted his friend Stapylton at table. +The Captain was a jovial-looking, full-whiskered, somewhat corpulent man, +with a ready reply, a ready laugh, and a hand readier than either, whether +the weapon wielded was a billiard-cue or a pistol. +</p> +<p> +The board before them was covered with oysters and oyster-shells, porter +in its pewter, a square-shaped decanter of gin, and a bundle of cigars. +The cloth was dirty, the knives unclean, and the candles ill-matched and +of tallow; but the guests did not seem to have bestowed much attention to +these demerits, but ate and drank like men who enjoyed their fare. +</p> +<p> +“The best country in Europe,—the best in the world,—I call +England for a fellow who knows life,” cried the Captain. “There is nothing +you cannot do; nothing you cannot have in it.” +</p> +<p> +“With eight thousand a year, perhaps,” said Stapylton, sarcastically. +</p> +<p> +“No need of anything like it. Does any man want a better supper than we +have had to-night? What better could he have? And the whole cost not over +five, or at most six shillings for the pair of us.” +</p> +<p> +“You may talk till you are hoarse, Duff, but I'll not stay in it When once +I have settled these two or three matters I have told you of, I'll start +for—I don't much care whither. I'll go to Persia, or perhaps to the +Yankees.” +</p> +<p> +“<i>I</i> always keep America for the finish!” said the other. “It is to +the rest of the world what the copper hell is to Crockford's,—the +last refuge when one walks in broken boots and in low company. But tell +me, what have you done to-day; where did you go after we parted?” +</p> +<p> +“I went to the Horse Guards, and saw Blanchard,—pompous old humbug +that he is. I told him that I had made up my mind to sell out; that I +intended to take service in a foreign army,—he hates foreigners,—and +begged he would expedite my affairs with his Royal Highness, as my +arrangements could not admit of delay.” +</p> +<p> +“And he told you that there was an official routine, out of which no +officer need presume to expect his business could travel?” +</p> +<p> +“He told me no such thing. He flatly said, 'Your case is already before +the Commander-in-Chief, Major Stapylton, and you may rely on it there will +be no needless delay in dealing with it.” +</p> +<p> +“That was a threat, I take it.” +</p> +<p> +“Of course it was a threat; and I only said, 'It will be the first +instance of the kind, then, in the department,' and left him.” +</p> +<p> +“Where to, after that?” +</p> +<p> +“I next went to Gregory's, the magistrate of police. I wanted to see the +informations the black fellow swore to; and as I knew a son of Gregory's +in the Carbiniers, I thought I could manage it; but bad luck would have it +that the old fellow should have in his hands some unsettled bills with my +indorsements on them,—fact; Gregory and I used to do a little that +way once,—and he almost got a fit when he heard my name.” +</p> +<p> +“Tried back after that, eh?” +</p> +<p> +“Went on to Renshaw's and won fifty pounds at hazard, took Blake's odds on +Diadem, and booked myself for a berth in the Boulogne steamer, which +leaves at two this morning.” +</p> +<p> +“You secured a passport for me, did n't you?” +</p> +<p> +“No. You'll have to come as my servant. The Embassy fellows were all +strangers to me, and said they would not give a separate passport without +seeing the bearer.” +</p> +<p> +“All right. I don't dislike the second cabin, nor the ladies'-maids. What +about the pistols?” +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0006" id="linkimage-0006"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/508.jpg" width="100%" alt="508 " /> +</div> +<p> +“They are yonder under the great-coat. Renshaw lent them. They are not +very good, he says, and one of them hangs a little in the fire.” +</p> +<p> +“They 'll be better than the old Irishman's, that's certain. You may swear +that his tools were in use early in the last century.” +</p> +<p> +“And himself, too; that's the worst of it all. I wish it was not a fellow +that might be my grandfather.” +</p> +<p> +“I don't know. I rather suspect, if I was given to compunctions, I'd have +less of them for shaking down the rotten ripe fruit than the blossom.” +</p> +<p> +“And he 's a fine old fellow, too,” said Stapylton, half sadly. +</p> +<p> +“Why didn't you tell him to drop in this evening and have a little <i>écarté?</i>” +</p> +<p> +For a while Stapylton leaned his head on his hand moodily, and said +nothing. +</p> +<p> +“Cheer up, man! Taste that Hollands. I never mixed better,” said Brown. +</p> +<p> +“I begin to regret now, Duff, that I did n't take your advice.” +</p> +<p> +“And run away with her?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, it would have been the right course, after all!” +</p> +<p> +“I knew it. I always said it. I told you over and over again what would +happen if you went to work in orderly fashion. They 'd at once say, 'Who +are your people,—where are they,—what have they?' Now, let a +man be as inventive as Daniel Defoe himself, there will always slip out +some flaw or other about a name, or a date,—dates are the very +devil! But when you have once carried her off, what can they do but +compromise?” +</p> +<p> +“She would never have consented.” +</p> +<p> +“I 'd not have asked her. I 'd have given her the benefit of the customs +of the land she lived in, and made it a regular abduction. Paddy somebody +and Terence something else are always ready to risk their necks for a pint +of whiskey and a breach of the laws.” +</p> +<p> +“I don't think I could have brought myself to it.” +</p> +<p> +“<i>I</i> could, I promise you.” +</p> +<p> +“And there 's an end of a man after such a thing.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, if he fails. If he's overtaken and thrashed, I grant you he not only +loses the game, but gets the cards in his face, besides. But why fail? +Nobody fails when he wants to win,—when he determines to win. When I +shot De Courcy at Asterabad—” +</p> +<p> +“Don't bring up that affair, at least, as one of precedent, Duff. I +neither desire to be tried for a capital felony, nor to have committed +one.” +</p> +<p> +“Capital fiddlesticks! As if men did not fight duels every day of the +week; the difference between guilt and innocence being that one fellow's +hand shook, and the other's was steady. De Courcy would have 'dropped' me, +if I'd have Jet him.” +</p> +<p> +“And so <i>you</i> would have carried her off, Master Duff?” said +Stapylton, slowly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; if she had the pot of money you speak of, and no Lord Chancellor for +a guardian. I 'd have made the thing sure at once.” +</p> +<p> +“The money she will and must have; so much is certain.” +</p> +<p> +“Then I 'd have made the remainder just as certain.” +</p> +<p> +“It is a vulgar crime, Duff; it would be very hard to stoop to it.” +</p> +<p> +“Fifty things are harder,—no cash, no credit are harder. The Fleet +is harder. But what is that noise? Don't you hear a knock at the door? +Yes, there's some one without who hasn't much patience.” So saying, he +arose and walked to the door. As he opened it, he started back a little +with surprise, for it was a police constable stood before him. +</p> +<p> +“Not you, Captain, not <i>you</i>, sir! it's another gentleman I want. I +see him at the table there,—Major Stapylton.” By this time the man +had entered the room and stood in front of the fire. “I have a warrant +against you, Major,” said he, quietly. “Informations have been sworn +before Mr. Colt that you intend to fight a duel, and you must appear at +the office to-morrow, to enter into your bond, and to give securities to +keep the peace.” +</p> +<p> +“Who swore the informations?” cried Brown. +</p> +<p> +“What have we to do with that?” said Stapylton, impatiently. “Isn't the +world full of meddling old women? Who wants to know the names?” +</p> +<p> +“I 'll lay the odds it was old Conyers; the greatest humbug in that land +of humbugs,—Bengal. It was he that insisted on my leaving the Fifth. +Come, Sergeant, out with it. This was General Conyers's doing?” +</p> +<p> +“I'm sorry to be obliged to declare you in custody, Major,” said the +policeman; “but if you like to come over to Mr. Colt's private residence, +I 'm sure he 'd settle the matter this evening.” +</p> +<p> +“He'll do no such thing, by George!” cried Brown. “The sneaking dogs who +have taken this shabby course shall be exposed in open court. We 'll have +the names in full, and in every newspaper in England. Don't compromise the +case, Stapylton; make them eat the mess they have cooked, to the last +mouthful. We 'll show the world what the fighting Irishman and his gallant +friend are made of. Major Stapylton is your prisoner, Sergeant?” +</p> +<p> +The man smiled slightly at the passionate energy of the speaker, and +turned to Stapylton. “There 's no objection to your going to your +lodgings, Major. You 'll be at the chief office by ten to-morrow.” +</p> +<p> +Stapylton nodded assent, and the other retired and closed the door. +</p> +<p> +“What do you say now?” cried Brown, triumphantly. “Did n't I tell you +this? Did n't I say that when old Con-yers heard my name, he 'd say, 'Oh, +there 'll be no squaring this business'?” +</p> +<p> +“It's just as likely that he said, 'I 'll not confer with that man; he had +to leave the service.'” +</p> +<p> +“More fool you, then, not to have had a more respectable friend. Had you +there, Stapylton,—eh?” +</p> +<p> +“I acknowledge that. All I can say in extenuation is, that I hoped old +Barrington, living so long out of the world, would have selected another +old mummy like himself, who had never heard of Captain Duff Brown, nor his +famous trial at Calcutta.” +</p> +<p> +“There's not a man in the kingdom has not heard of me. I 'm as well known +as the first Duke in the land.” +</p> +<p> +“Don't boast of it, Duff; even notoriety is not always a cheap luxury.” +</p> +<p> +“Who knows but you may divide it with me to-morrow or next day?” +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean, sir?—what do you mean?” cried Stapylton, slapping +the table with his clenched hand. +</p> +<p> +“Only what I said,—that Major Stapylton may furnish the town with a +nine-days wonder, <i>vice</i> Captain Duff Brown, forgotten.” +</p> +<p> +Evidently ashamed of his wrath, Stapylton tried to laugh off the occasion +of it, and said, “I suppose neither of us would take the matter much to +heart.” +</p> +<p> +“I 'll not go to the office with you to-morrow, Stapylton,” added he, +after a pause; “that old Sepoy General would certainly seize the +opportunity to open some old scores that I'd as soon leave undisturbed.” +</p> +<p> +“All right, I think you are prudent there.” +</p> +<p> +“But I 'll be of use in another way. I 'll lay in wait for that fellow who +reports for the 'Chronicle,' the only paper that cares for these things, +and I 'll have him deep in the discussion of some devilled kidneys when +your case is called on.” +</p> +<p> +“I fancy it does not matter what publicity it obtains.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, I don't know that. Old Braddell, our major, used to say, 'Reputation, +after forty, is like an old wall. If you begin to break a hole in it, you +never know how much will come away.'” +</p> +<p> +“I tell you again, Duff, I'm past scandalizing; but have your way, if you +will 'muzzle the ox,' and let us get away from this as soon as may be. I +want a little rest after this excitement.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I 'm pretty much in the same boot myself, though I don't exactly +know where to go. France is dangerous. In Prussia there are two sentences +recorded against me. I 'm condemned to eight years' hard labor in +Wurtemberg, and pronounced dead in Austria for my share in that Venetian +disturbance.” +</p> +<p> +“Don't tell me of these rascalities. Bad enough when a man is driven to +them, but downright infamy to be proud of.” +</p> +<p> +“Have you never thought of going into the Church? I 've a notion you 'd be +a stunning preacher.” +</p> +<p> +“Give up this bantering, Duff, and tell me how I shall get hold of young +Conyers. I 'd rather put a ball in that fellow than be a +Lieutenant-General. He has ever been my rock ahead. That silly coxcomb has +done more to mar my destiny than scores of real enemies. To shoot him +would be to throw a shell in the very midst of them.” +</p> +<p> +“I 'd rather loot him, if I had the choice; the old General has lots of +money. Stapylton, scuttle the ship, if you like, but first let <i>me</i> +land the cargo. Of all the vengeances a man can wreak on another the +weakest is to kill him. For my part, I 'd cherish the fellow that injured +me. I 'd set myself to study his tastes and learn his ambitions. I 'd +watch over him and follow him, being, as it were, his dearest of all +friends,—read backwards!” +</p> +<p> +“This is tiresome scoundrelism. I'll to bed,” said Stapylton, taking a +candle from the table. +</p> +<p> +“Well, if you must shoot this fellow, wait till he's married; wait for the +honeymoon.” +</p> +<p> +“There's some sense in that. I 'll go and sleep over it.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XVIII. AUNT DOROTHEA. +</h2> +<p> +“You must come down with me for one day, Tom, to see an old aunt of mine +at Bournemouth,” said Hunter to young Dill. “I never omitted going to see +her the first thing whenever I landed in England, and she 'll not forgive +me if I were to do so now.” +</p> +<p> +“But why should I go, sir? My presence would only trouble the comfort of a +family meeting.” +</p> +<p> +“Quite the reverse. She 'll be delighted to see you. It will be such a +triumph to her, amongst all her neighbors, to have had a visit from the +hero of the day,—the fellow that all the print-shops are full of. +Why, man, you are worth five hundred pounds to me. I 'm not sure I might +not say double as much.” +</p> +<p> +“In that case, sir, I 'm perfectly at your orders.” +</p> +<p> +And down they went, and arrived late on the day after this conversation at +an old-fashioned manor-house, where Miss Dorothy Hunter had passed some +sixty-odd years of her life. Though to Tom she seemed to bear a great +resemblance to old Miss Barrington, there was really little likeness +between them, beyond an inordinate pride of birth, and an intense +estimation for the claims of family. Miss Hunter's essential +characteristic was a passion for celebrities; a taste somewhat difficult +to cultivate in a very remote and little visited locality. The result was +that she consoled herself by portraits, or private letters, or autographs +of her heroes, who ranged over every imaginable career in life, and of +whom, by mere dint of iteration, she had grown to believe herself the +intimate friend or correspondent. +</p> +<p> +No sooner had she learned that her nephew was to be accompanied by the +gallant young soldier whose name was in every newspaper than she made what +she deemed the most suitable preparations for his reception. Her bedroom +was hung round with portraits of naval heroes, or pictures of sea-fights. +Grim old admirals, telescope in hand, or with streaming hair, shouting out +orders to board the enemy, were on every side; while, in the place of +honor, over the fireplace, hung a vacant frame, destined one day to +contain the hero of the hour, Tom Dill himself. +</p> +<p> +Never was a poor fellow in this world less suited to adulation of this +sort. He was either overwhelmed with the flattery, or oppressed by a +terror of what some sensible spectator—if such there were—would +think of the absurd position in which he was forced to stand. And when he +found himself obliged to inscribe his name in a long column of illustrious +autographs, the sight of his own scarce legible characters filled up the +measure of his shame. +</p> +<p> +“He writes like the great Turenne,” said Miss Dorothy; “he always wrote +from above downwards, so that no other name than his own could figure on +the page.” +</p> +<p> +“I got many a thrashing for it at school, ma'am,” said Tom, apologizing, +“and so I gave up writing altogether.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, yes! the men of action soon learn to despise the pen; they prefer to +make history rather than record it.” +</p> +<p> +It was not easy for Hunter to steer his bashful friend through all the +shoals and quicksands of such flattery; but, on the plea of his broken +health and strength, he hurried him early to his bed, and returned to the +fireside, where his aunt awaited him. +</p> +<p> +“He's charming, if he were only not so diffident. Why will he not be more +confiding, more at his ease with me,—like Mungo Park, or Sir Sidney +Smith?” +</p> +<p> +“After a while, so he will, aunt. You 'll see what a change there will be +in him at our next visit All these flatteries he meets with are too much +for him; but when we come down again, you 'll see him without these +distracting influences. Then bear in mind his anxieties,—he has not +yet seen his family; he is eager to be at home again. I carried him off +here positively in spite of himself, and on the strict pledge of only for +one day.” +</p> +<p> +“One day! And do you mean that you are to go tomorrow?” +</p> +<p> +“No help for it, aunt. Tom is to be at Windsor on Saturday. But for that, +he would already have been on his way to Ireland.” +</p> +<p> +“Then there's no time to be lost. What can we do for him? He'snot rich?” +</p> +<p> +“Hasn't a shilling; but would reject the very shadow of such assistance.” +</p> +<p> +“Not if a step were purchased for him; without his knowledge, I mean.” +</p> +<p> +“It would be impossible that he should not know it.” +</p> +<p> +“But surely there is some way of doing it A handsome sum to commemorate +his achievement might be subscribed. I would begin it with a thousand +pounds.” +</p> +<p> +“He'd not accept it. I know him thoroughly. There's only one road to him +through which he would not deem a favor a burden.” +</p> +<p> +“And what of that?” +</p> +<p> +“A kindness to his sister. I wish you saw her, aunt!” +</p> +<p> +“Is she like him?” +</p> +<p> +“Like him? Yes; but very much better-looking. She's singularly handsome, +and such a girl! so straightforward and so downright It is a positive +luxury to meet her after all the tiresome conventionalities of the +every-day young lady.” +</p> +<p> +“Shall I ask her here?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, if you would, aunt!—if you only would!” +</p> +<p> +“That you may fall in love with her, I suppose?” +</p> +<p> +“No, aunt, that is done already.” +</p> +<p> +“I think, sir, I might have been apprised of this attachment!” said she, +bridling. +</p> +<p> +“I didn't know it myself, aunt, till I was close to the Cape. I thought it +a mere fancy as we dropped down Channel; grew more thoughtful over it in +the Bay of Biscay; began to believe it as we discovered St. Helena; and +came back to England resolved to tell you the whole truth, and ask you, at +least, to see her and know her.” +</p> +<p> +“So I will, then. I 'll write and invite her here.” +</p> +<p> +“You 're the best and kindest aunt in Christendom!” said he, rushing over +and kissing her. +</p> +<p> +“I'm not going to let you read it, sir,” said she, with a smile. “If she +show it to you, she may. Otherwise it is a matter between ourselves.” +</p> +<p> +“Be it entirely as you wish, aunt.” +</p> +<p> +“And if all this goes hopefully on,” said she, after a pause, “is Aunt +Dorothea to be utterly forgotten? No more visits here,—no happy +summer evenings,—no more merry Christmases?” +</p> +<p> +“Nay, aunt, I mean to be your neighbor. That cottage you have often +offered me, near the rocks, I 'll not refuse it again,—that is, if +you tempt me once more.” +</p> +<p> +“It is yours, and the farm along with it. Go to bed now, and leave me to +write my note, which will require-some thought and reflection.” +</p> +<p> +“I know you 'll do it well. I know none who could equal you in such a +task.” +</p> +<p> +“I 'll try and acquit myself with credit,” said she, as she sat down to +the writing-desk. +</p> +<p> +“And what is all this about,—a letter from Miss Dorothea to Polly,” +said Tom, as they drove along the road back to town. “Surely they never +met?” +</p> +<p> +“Never; but my aunt intends that they shall. She writes to ask your sister +to come on a visit here.” +</p> +<p> +“But why not have told her the thing was impossible? You know us. You have +seen the humble way we live,—how many a care it costs to keep up +that little show of respectability that gets us sufferance in the world, +and how one little attempt beyond this is quite out of our reach. Why not +have told her frankly, sir, 'These people are not in our station'?” +</p> +<p> +“Just because I acknowledge no such distinction as you want to draw, my +good fellow. If my aunt has asked your sister to come three hundred miles +to see her, she has thought over her request with more foresight than you +or I could have given it, take my word for it. When she means kindly, she +plans thoughtfully. And now I will tell you what I never meant to have +spoken of, that it was only last night she asked me how could she be of +use to you?” +</p> +<p> +“To <i>me!</i>” said he, blushing, “and why to <i>me?</i>” +</p> +<p> +“Can you never be brought to see that you are a hero, Tom,—that all +the world is talking of you just now, and people feel a pride in being +even passingly mixed up with your name?” +</p> +<p> +“If they only knew how much I have to be ashamed of before I can begin to +feel vain, they 'd not be so ready with their praise or their flattery.” +</p> +<p> +“I 'll talk over all that with your sister Polly,” said Hunter, gayly; for +he saw the serious spirit that was gaining over the poor fellow. +</p> +<p> +“Do so, sir; and you'll soon see, if there's anything good or hopeful +about me, where it comes from and who gave it.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XIX. FROM GENERAL CONYERS TO HIS SON +</h2> +<h3> +Beddwys, N. Wales. +</h3> +<p> +My dear Fred,—How happy I am that you are enjoying yourself; short +of being with you, nothing could have given me greater pleasure than your +letter. I like your portrait of the old lady, whose eccentricities are +never inconsistent with some charming traits of disposition, and a nature +eminently high-minded and honorable; but why not more about Josephine? She +is surely oftener in your thoughts than your one brief paragraph would +bespeak, and has her due share in making the cottage the delightful home +you describe it to be. I entreat you to be more open and more explicit on +this theme, for it may yet be many days before I can explore the matter +for myself; since, instead of the brief absence I calculated on, we may, +for aught I know, be detained here for some weeks. +</p> +<p> +It is clear to me, from your last, a note of mine from Liverpool to you +must have miscarried. You ask me where you are to address me next, and +what is the nature of the business which has called me away so suddenly? I +gave you in that letter all the information that I was myself possessed +of, and which, in three words, amounted to this: Old Barrington, having +involved himself in a serious personal quarrel with Stapylton, felt, or +believed, that he ought to give him a meeting. Seeing how useless all +attempt at dissuasion proved, and greatly fearing what hands he might fall +into, I agreed to be his friend on the occasion; trusting, besides, that +by a little exercise of tact and temper, extreme measures might be +avoided, and the affair arranged. You may well believe, without my +insisting further upon it, that I felt very painfully how we should both +figure before the world,—a man of eighty-three or four, accompanied +to the ground by another of sixty-odd! I know well how, in the changed +temper of the age, such acts are criticised, and acquiesce, besides, in +the wiser spirit that now prevails. However, as I said before, if +Barrington must go on, it were better he should do so under the guidance +of a sincere friend than of one casually elevated to act as such, in a +moment of emergency. +</p> +<p> +We left Dublin, by the mail-packet, on Wednesday; and after a rough +passage of twenty-three hours, reached Liverpool too late to catch the +evening coach. Thus detained, we only arrived here on Sunday night late. +At my club I found a note from Stapylton, stating that he had daily called +there to learn if we had come, but the boisterous state of the weather +sufficiently explained our delay, and giving an address where he might be +found, as well as that of “his friend.” Now, it so chanced that this +friend was a very notorious person well known to me in India, where he had +been tried for an unfair duel, and narrowly escaped—I should say +unjustly escaped—being hanged. Though I had fully made up my mind +not to be placed in any relations with such a man, I thought it would be +as well that Barrington should know the character of his antagonist's +friend from other sources, and so I invited an old Bengal companion of +mine to dine with us the day after we arrived. Stamer was a judge of the +criminal court, and tried Duff Brown, the man I speak of. As we sat over +our wine together, we got upon this case, and Stamer declared that it was +the only criminal cause in his whole life wherein he regretted the escape +of the guilty party. “The fellow,” said he, “defended himself in a three +hours' speech, ably and powerfully; but enunciated at times—as it +were unconsciously—sentiments so abominable and so atrocious as to +destroy the sympathy a part of his discourse excited. But somehow boldness +has its fascination, and he was acquitted.” +</p> +<p> +Barrington's old-fashioned notions were not, however, to be shocked even +by this narrative, and he whispered to me, “Unpleasant for <i>you</i>, +Conyers. Wish it might have been otherwise, but it can't be helped.” We +next turned to discuss Duff Brown's friend, and Stamer exclaimed, “Why, +that's the man they have been making all this fuss about in India. He was, +or he said he was, the adopted son of Howard Stapylton; but the family +never believed the adoption, nor consented to receive him, and at this +moment a Moonshee, who acted as Persian secretary to old Stapylton, has +turned up with some curious disclosures, which, if true, would show that +this young fellow held a very humble position in Stapylton's household, +and never was in his confidence. This Moonshee was at Malta a few weeks +ago, and may be, for aught I know, in England now.” +</p> +<p> +I asked and obtained Barrington's permission to tell how we were ourselves +involved with this Major Stapylton, and he quickly declared that, while +the man stood thus accused, there could be no thought of according him a +satisfaction. The opinion was not the less stringent that Stamer was +himself an Irishman and of a fighting family. +</p> +<p> +I am not very sure that we made Barrington a convert to our opinions, but +we at least, as we separated for the night, left him doubtful and +hesitating. I had not been in bed above an hour, when Mr. Withering awoke +me. He had followed us from Dublin as soon as he learned our departure, +and, going straight to a magistrate, swore informations against both +Barrington and Stapylton. “My old friend will never forgive me, I know,” +said he; “but if I had not done this, I should never have forgiven +myself.” It was arranged between us that I was to mention the fact of such +informations having been sworn, without stating by whom, to Barrington, +and then persuade him to get privately away from town before a warrant +could be served. I leave you to imagine that my task was not without its +difficulties, but, before the day broke, I succeeded in inducing him to +leave, and travelling by post without halt, we arrived at this quiet spot +yesterday evening. Barrington, with all his good temper, is marvellously +put out and irritable, saying, “This is not the way such things were done +once;” and peevishly muttered, “I wonder what poor Harry Beamish or Guy +Hutchinson would say to it all?” One thing is quite clear, we had got into +a wasps' nest; Stapylton and his friend were both fellows that no +honorable man would like to deal with, and we must wait with a little +patience to find some safe road out of this troublesome affair. +</p> +<p> +A letter came to B. from the India House the evening before we left town, +but he handed it to me before he finished reading it, merely remarking, +“The old story, 'Yours of the ninth or nineteenth has duly been received,' +&c.” But I found that it contained a distinct admission that his claim +was not ill-founded, and that some arrangement ought to be come to. +</p> +<p> +I now close my very lengthy epistle, promising, however, that as soon as I +hear from town, either from Withering or Stamer, you shall have my news. +We are, of course, close prisoners here for the present, for though the +warrant would not extend to Ireland, Barrington's apprehensions of being +“served” with such a writ at all would induce him to hide for six months +to come. +</p> +<p> +I scarcely ask you to write to me here, not knowing our probable stay; but +to-morrow may, perhaps, tell us something on this head. Till when, believe +me, +</p> +<p> +Yours affectionately, +</p> +<p> +Ormsby Conters. +</p> +<p> +My most cordial greeting to Miss Barrington, and my love to her niece. +</p> +<p> +FROM PETER BARRINGTON TO HIS SISTER MISS DINAH BARRINGTON. +</p> +<p> +Long's Hotel, Bond Street. +</p> +<p> +My dear Dinah,—I hardly know how to tell you what has happened, or +what is happening around me. I came over here to meet Major Stapylton, but +find that there is no such person,—the man who calls himself so +being a mere adventurer, who had taken the name, and, I believe, no small +share of the goods, of its owner, got into the Bengal army, thence into +our own service, and though not undistinguished for gallantry, seems to +have led a life of ceaseless roguery and intrigue. He knew all about poor +George's business, and was in correspondence with those we believe to be +our friends in India, but who now turn out to be our inveterate enemies. +This we have got at by the confession of one of those Oriental fellows +they call Moonshees, who has revealed all their intercourse for years +back, and even shown a document setting forth the number of rupees he was +to receive when Stapylton had been married to Josephine. The Moonshee is +very ill, and his examination can only be conducted at intervals; but he +insists on a point of much importance to us, which is, that Stapylton +induced him to tear out of the Rajah's Koran the page on which the +adoption of George was written, and signed by the Meer himself. He +received a large sum for this service, which, however, he evaded by a +fraud, sending over to England not the real document itself, but a copy +made by himself, and admirably counterfeited. It was the possession of +this by Stapylton which enabled him to exercise a great control over our +suit,—now averring that it was lost; now, under pledge of secrecy, +submitting it to the inspection of some of the Indian authorities. +Stapylton, in a word, saw himself in a position to establish our claim, +whenever the time came that by making Josephine his wife, he could secure +the fortune. This is all that we know up to this, but it is a great deal, +and shows in what a maze of duplicity and treachery we have been involved +for more than twenty years. The chief point, however, is that the real +deed, written in the Meer's Koran, and torn out of it by the Moonshee, in +his first impulse to forward it to Stapylton, is now extant, and the Koran +itself is there to show the jagged margin of the torn-out leaf, and the +corresponding page on the opposite side of the volume. Stapylton refuses +to utter one word since the accusation against him has been made; and as +the charges stand to falsifying documents, abstraction of funds, and other +derelictions in India, he is now under a heavy bail to appear when called +on. +</p> +<p> +The whole business has made me so nervous and excitable that I cannot +close my eyes at night, and I feel feverish and restless all day. It is +very shocking to think of a man one has never injured, never heard of, +animated with a spirit so inimical as to pass years of life in working ill +to us. He would appear to have devoted himself to the task of blackening +poor George's character and defaming him. It would seem that Mr. Howard +Stapylton was one of those who took an active part against George. Whether +this young fellow caught the contagion of this antipathy, or helped to +feed it, I cannot tell; but it is certain that all the stories of cruelty +and oppression the India Board used to trump up to us came from this one +source; and at the end of all he seeks to be one of a family he has +striven for years to ruin and to crush! I am lost in my efforts to +understand this, though Stamer and Withering assure me they can read the +man like print. Indeed, they see inferences and motives in fifty things +which convey nothing to me; and whenever I feel myself stopped by some +impassable barrier, to <i>them</i> it is only a bridge that conducts to a +fresh discovery. +</p> +<p> +The Stapyltons are all in arms now that another sportsman has winged the +bird for them; and each day increases the number of accusations against +this unfortunate fellow. It is true, dear Dinah, that our own prospects +brighten through all this. I am constantly receiving civil messages and +hopeful assurances; and even some of the directors have called to express +sympathy and good wishes. But how chilled is the happiness that comes +dashed with the misfortune of another! What a terrible deal it detracts +from our joy to know that every throb of pleasure to ourselves has cost a +pang of misery elsewhere! I wish this fellow could have gone his way, +never minding us; or, if that could n't be, that he 'd have grown tired of +persecuting those who had never harmed him, and given us up! +</p> +<p> +They are now assailing him on all sides. One has found that he forged a +will; another that he falsified a signature; and a miserable creature—a +native Indian, who happened to be in that Manchester riot the other day—has +now been ferreted out to swear that Stapylton followed him through a +suburb, down a lane, and into a brick-field, where he cut him down and +left him for dead. There seems a great deal of venom and acrimony in all +this; and though the man is unquestionably not my friend, and I see that +this persecution continues, I find it very hard not to stand by him. +</p> +<p> +As for Withering, it has made the veteran ten years younger. He is up +every morning at five, and I hear that he never goes to his room till long +past midnight. These are the pastimes that to such men replace the sports +of the field and the accidents of the chase. They have their vacillations +of hope and fear, their moments of depression and of triumph in them; and +they run a fellow-creature to earth with all the zest of a hard rider +after a fox. +</p> +<p> +Tell my darling Fifine that I am longing to be at home again,—longing +for the quiet roof, and the roses at the window, and the murmur of the +river, and her own sweet voice better than them all. And what a deal of +happiness is in our power if we would only consent to enjoy it, without +running after some imaginary good, some fancied blessing, which is to +crown our wishes! If I could but only have guessed at the life of anxiety, +doubt, and vacillation the pursuit of this claim would have cost me,—the +twenty years of fever,— +</p> +<p> +I give you my word, Dinah, I 'd rather have earned my daily bread with a +spade, or, when too old for that, taken to fishing for a livelihood. +</p> +<p> +But why do I complain of anything at this moment? When have I been so +truly happy for many a long year? Conyers never leaves me,—he talks +of George from morning to night. And I now see that with all my affection +for that dear boy, I only half knew his noble nature, his fine and +generous character. If you only heard of the benevolent things he has +done; the poor fellows he has sent home to their families at his own cost; +the sums he has transmitted to wives and widows of soldiers in England; +the children whose care and support he has provided for! These were the +real drains on that fortune that the world thought wasted and squandered +in extravagance. And do you know, Dinah, there is a vein of intense +egotism in my heart that I never so much as suspected! I found it out by +chance,—it was in marking how far less I was touched by the highest +and best traits of my poor boy than by the signs of love to myself! and +when Conyers said, “He was always talking about you; he never did anything +important without the question, 'How would “Dad” like this, I wonder? +would “Dad” say “God speed” in this case?' And his first glass of wine +every day was to the health of that dear old father over the seas.” +</p> +<p> +To you who loved him only a little less than myself, I have no shame in +the confession of this weakness. I suppose Conyers, however, has hit upon +it, for he harps on this theme continually, and, in sheer pride of heart, +I feel ten years younger for it. +</p> +<p> +Here comes Withering to say, “Some more wonderful news;” but I have begged +him to keep it till I have sealed this letter, which if it grows any +longer, I 'll never have courage to send to you. A dozen kisses to Fifine +I can, however, transmit without any increase to the postage. Give my love +to young Conyers; tell him I am charmed with his father,—I never met +any one so companionable to me, and I only long for the day when the same +roof shall cover all of us. +</p> +<p> +Yours, my dearest sister, ever affectionately, +</p> +<p> +Peter Barrington. +</p> +<p> +FROM T. WITHERING, ESQ., TO MISS DINAH BARRINGTON, “THE HOME.” +</p> +<p> +Long's Hotel, Bond Street. +</p> +<p> +My dear Miss Barrington,—If your brother has deputed me to write to +you, it is not that he is ill, but simply that the excitement caused by +some late events here has so completely mastered him that he can neither +sit quiet a moment, nor address him steadily to any task. Nor am I +surprised it should be so. Old, weather-beaten sailor on the ocean of life +as I am, I feel an amount of feverishness and anxiety I am half ashamed +of. Truth is, my dear Miss Dinah, we lawyers get so much habituated to +certain routine rogueries that we are almost shocked when we hear of a +wickedness not designated by a statute. But I must not occupy your time +with such speculations, the more since I have only a brief space to give +to that report of proceedings to which I want your attention. And, first +of all, I will entreat you to forgive me for all want of sequence or +connection in what I may say, since events have grown so jumbled together +in my mind, that it is perfectly impossible for me to be certain whether +what I relate should come before or after some other recorded fact In a +word, I mean to give you an outline of our discoveries, without showing +the track of our voyage on the map, or even saying how we came by our +knowledge. +</p> +<p> +You are aware, Barrington tells me, how Stapylton came by the name he +bears. Aware that he was for some of his earlier years domesticated with +old Howard Stapylton at Ghurtnapore, in some capacity between confidential +valet and secretary,—a position that was at once one of +subordination and trust,—it would now appear that a Moonshee, who +had long served Colonel Barrington as Persian correspondent, came into +Howard Stapylton's service in the same capacity: how introduced, or by +whom, we know not. With this Moonshee, the young fellow I speak of became +an intimate and close friend, and it is supposed obtained from him all +that knowledge of your nephew's affairs which enabled him to see to what +his claim pretended, and what were its prospects of success. It is now +clear enough that he only regarded this knowledge at first as a means of +obtaining favor from the Indian Government. It was, in fact, by ceding to +them in detail certain documents, that he got his first commission in the +Madras Fusiliers, and afterwards his promotion in the same regiment; and +when, grown more ambitious, he determined to enter the King's service, the +money for purchase came from the same source. Being, however, a fellow of +extravagant habits, his demands grew at last to be deemed excessive and +importunate; and though his debts had been paid three several times, he +was again found involving himself as before, and again requiring +assistance. This application was, however, resisted; and it was apparently +on the strength of that refusal that he suddenly changed his tactics, +turned his attention towards us, and bethought him that by forwarding your +grandniece's claim,—if he could but win her affections in the mean +while,—he would secure as a wife one of the richest heiresses in +Europe. An examination of dates proves this, by showing that his last +application to the Indian Board was only a few weeks before he exchanged +into the regiment of Hussars he lately served with, and just then ordered +to occupy Kilkenny. In one word, when it was no longer profitable to +oppose Josephine's claim, he determined to support it and make it his own. +The “Company,” however, fully assured that by the papers in their +possession they could prove their own cause against Colonel Barrington, +resisted all his menaces,—when, what does he do? It was what only a +very daring and reckless fellow would ever have thought of,—one of +those insolent feats of boldness that succeed by the very shock they +create. He goes to the Secret Committee at the India House and says: “Of +the eighteen documents I have given you, seven are false. I will not tell +you which they are, but if you do not speedily compromise this claim and +make a satisfactory settlement on Colonel Barrington's daughter, I'll +denounce you, at all the peril it may be to myself.” At first they agree, +then they hesitate, then they treat again, and so does the affair proceed, +till suddenly—no one can guess why—they assume a tone of open +defiance, and flatly declare they will hold no further intercourse with +him, and even threaten with exposure any demand on his part. +</p> +<p> +This rejection of him came at a critical moment. It was just when the +press had begun to comment on the cruelty of his conduct at Peterloo, and +when a sort of cry was got up through the country to have him dismissed +from the service. We all saw, but never suspected, why he was so terribly +cut up at this time. It was hard to believe that he could have taken mere +newspaper censure so much to heart. We never guessed the real cause, never +saw that he was driven to his last expedient, and obliged to prejudice all +his hope of success by precipitancy. If he could not make Josephine his +wife at once, on the very moment, all was lost. He made a bold effort at +this. Who knows if he might not have succeeded but for you, as Josephine +was very young, my old friend himself utterly unfit to cope with anything +but open hostility? I say again, I 'd not have answered for the result if +you had not been in command of the fortress. At all events, he failed; and +in the failure lost his temper so far as to force a quarrel upon your +brother. He failed, however; and no sooner was he down, than the world was +atop of him: creditors, Jews, bill-discounters, and, last of all, the +Stapyltons, who, so long as he bore their family name thousands of miles +off, or associated it with deeds of gallantry, said nothing; now, that +they saw it held up to attack and insult, came forward to declare that he +never belonged to them, and at length appealed formally to the Horse +Guards, to learn under what designation he had entered the service, and at +what period taken the name he went by. +</p> +<p> +Stapylton's application for leave to sell out had just been sent in; and +once more the newspapers set up the cry that this man should not be +permitted to carry away to Aix and Baden the proceeds of a sale which +belonged to his “creditors.” You know the world, and I need not tell you +all the pleasant things it told this fellow, for men are pretty nigh as +pitiless as crows to their wounded. I thought the complication had reached +its limit, when I learned yesterday evening that Stapylton had been +summoned before a police magistrate for a case of assault committed by him +when in command of his regiment at Manchester. The case had evidently been +got up by a political party, who, seeing the casual unpopularity of the +man, determined to profit by it. The celebrated radical barrister, +Hesketh, was engaged for the plaintiff. +</p> +<p> +When I arrived at the court, it was so full that it was with difficulty I +got a passage to a seat behind the bench. There were crowds of +fashionables present, the well-known men about town, and the idlers of the +clubs, and a large sprinkling of military men, for the news of the case +had got wind already. +</p> +<p> +Stapylton, dressed in black, and looking pale and worn, but still +dignified and like a gentleman, had not a single friend with him. I own to +you, I felt ashamed to be there, and was right glad when he did not +recognize me. +</p> +<p> +Though the case opened by a declaration that this was no common assault +case, wherein in a moment of passion a man had been betrayed into an +excess, I knew the cant of my craft too well to lay any stress on such +assertion, and received it as the ordinary exordium. As I listened, +however, I was struck by hearing that the injured man was asserted to be +one well known to Stapylton, with whom he had been for years in intimacy, +and that the assault was in reality a deliberate attempt to kill, and not, +as had been represented, a mere passing act of savage severity committed +in hot blood. “My client,” said he, “will be brought before you; he is a +Hindoo, but so long a resident of this country that he speaks our language +fluently. You shall hear his story yourselves, and yourselves decide on +its truthfulness. His wounds are, however, of so serious a nature that it +will be advisable his statement should be a brief one.” As he said this, a +dark-complexioned fellow, with a look half-frightened, half defiant, was +carried forwards in a chair, and deposited, as he sat, on the table. He +gave his name as Lai Adeen, his age as forty-eight, his birthplace +Majamarha, near Agra. He came to this country twelve years ago, as servant +to an officer who had died on the passage, and after many hardships in his +endeavor to earn a livelihood, obtained employment at Manchester in the +mill of Brandling and Bennett, where he was employed to sweep the +corridors and the stairs; his wages were nine shillings a week. All this, +and much more of the same kind, he told simply and collectedly. I tried to +see Stapylton while this was going on, but a pillar of the gallery, +against which he leaned, concealed him from my view. +</p> +<p> +I omit a great deal, not without its interest, but reserving it for +another time, and come to his account of the night on which he was +wounded. He said that as the cavalry marched on that morning into +Manchester, he was struck by seeing at the head of the regiment one he had +never set his eyes on for years, but whose features he knew too well to be +deceived in. +</p> +<p> +“I tried to get near him, that he might recognize me,” said he; “but the +crowd kept me back, and I could not. I thought, indeed, at one moment he +had seen me, and knew me; but as he turned his head away, I supposed I was +mistaken. +</p> +<p> +“It was on the following evening, when the riot broke out in Mill Street, +that I saw him next. I was standing at the door of a chemist's shop when +the cavalry rode by at a walk. There was a small body of them in front, at +about forty or fifty paces, and who, finding a sort of barricade across +the street, returned to the main body, where they seemed to be reporting +this. A cry arose that the troops had been blocked up at the rear, and at +the same instant a shower of stones came from the side-streets and the +house-tops. Thinking to do him a service, I made my way towards him I +knew, in order to tell him by what way he could make his escape; and +jostled and pushed, and half ridden down, I laid my hand on his horse's +shoulder to keep myself from falling. 'Stand back, you scoundrel!' said +he, striking me with the hilt of his sword in the face. 'Don't you know +me, master?' cried I, in terror. He bent down in his saddle till his face +was almost close to mine, and then, reining his horse back to give him +room for a blow, he aimed a desperate cut at me. I saw it coming, and +threw myself down; but I rose the next instant and ran. The street was +already so clear by this time, I got into Cleever's Alley, down Grange +Street, up the lane that leads to the brick-fields, and at last into the +fields themselves. I was just thinking I was safe, when I saw a horseman +behind me. He saw me, and dashed at me. I fell upon my knees to ask mercy, +and he gave me this;” and he pointed to the bandages which covered his +forehead, stained as they were with clotted blood. “I fell on my face, and +he tried to make his horse trample on me; but the beast would not, and he +only touched me with his hoof as he sprang across me. He at last +dismounted to see, perhaps, if I were dead; but a shout from some of the +rioters warned him to mount again; and he rode away, and I lay there till +morning. It is not true that I was in prison and escaped,—that I was +taken to the hospital, and ran away from it. I was sheltered in one of the +clay-huts of the brickmakers for several weeks, afraid to come abroad, for +I knew that the Sahib was a great man and could take my life. It was only +by the persuasions of others that I left my hiding-place and have come +here to tell my story.” +</p> +<p> +On being questioned why this officer could possibly desire to injure him, +what grudge one in such a station could bear him, he owned he could not +say; they had never been enemies, and, indeed, it was in the hope of a +friendly recognition and assistance that he approached him in Mill Street. +</p> +<p> +Stapylton's defence was very brief, given in an off-hand, frank manner, +which disposed many in his favor. He believed the fellow meant to attack +him; he certainly caught hold of his bridle. It was not his intention to +give him more than a passing blow; but the utterance of a Hindoo curse—an +expression of gross outrage in the East—recalled prejudices long +dormant, and he gave the rascal chase, and cut him over the head,—not +a severe cut, and totally unaccompanied by the other details narrated. +</p> +<p> +“As for our former acquaintance I deny it altogether. I have seen +thousands of his countrymen, and may have seen him; but, I repeat, I never +knew him, nor can he presume to say he knew me!” +</p> +<p> +The Hindoo smiled a faint, sickly smile, made a gesture of deep humility, +and asked if he might put a few questions to the “Sahib.” +</p> +<p> +“Were you in Naghapoor in the year of the floods?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said Stapylton, firmly, but evidently with an effort to appear +calm. +</p> +<p> +“In the service of the great Sahib, Howard Stapylton?” +</p> +<p> +“In his service? Certainly not. I lived with him as his friend, and became +his adopted heir.'' +</p> +<p> +“What office did you fill when you first came to the 'Residence'?” +</p> +<p> +“I assisted my friend in the duties of his government; I was a good +Oriental scholar, and could write and speak a dialect he knew nothing of. +But I submit to the court that this examination, prompted and suborned by +others, has no other object than to insult me, by leading to disclosures +of matters essentially private in their nature.” +</p> +<p> +“Let me ask but one question,” said the barrister. “What name did you bear +before you took that of Stapylton?” +</p> +<p> +“I refuse to submit to this insolence,” said Stapylton, rising, angrily. +“If the laws of the country only can lend themselves to assist the +persecutions of a rascally Press, the sooner a man of honor seeks another +land the better. Adjudicate on this case, sirs; I will not stoop to bandy +words with these men.” +</p> +<p> +“I now, sir,” said Hesketh, opening his bag and taking out a roll of +papers, “am here to demand a committal for forgery against the person +before you, passing under the name of Horace Stapylton, but whose real +designation is Samuel Scott Edwardes, son of Samuel Edwardes, a name +notorious enough once.” +</p> +<p> +I cannot go on, my dear friend; the emotions that overpowered me at the +time, and compelled me to leave the court, are again threatening me, and +my brain reels at the recollection of a scene which, even to my +fast-fading senses, was the most trying of my life. +</p> +<p> +To General Conyers I must refer you for what ensued after I left. I cannot +even say who came home with me to the hotel, though I am aware I owed that +kindness to some one. The face of that unhappy man is yet before me, and +all the calm in which I have written up to this leaves me, as I think over +one of the most terrible incidents of my life. +</p> +<p> +Your brother, shocked of course, bears up bravely, and hopes to write to +you to-morrow. +</p> +<p> +One word of good cheer before I close this miserable record. The Indian +directors have written to offer excellent terms—splendidly liberal +terms, Conyers calls them, and I agree with him. We have had a very busy +week of it here, but it will be well requited if all that I now anticipate +be confirmed to us. Barrington begs you will tell your neighbors, the +Dills, that Tom—I think that is the name—has just arrived at +Southampton with General Hunter, and will be here to-morrow evening. +</p> +<p> +I have cut out a short passage from the newspaper to finish my narrative. +I will send the full report, as published, to-morrow. +</p> +<p> +Your attached friend, +</p> +<p> +T. Withering. +</p> +<p> +“The chief police-office in Marlborough Street was yesterday the scene of +a very shocking incident. The officer whose conduct at the head of his +regiment in Manchester has of late called for the almost unanimous +reprobation of the Press, was, while answering to a charge of aggravated +assault, directly charged with forgery. Scarcely was the allegation made, +than he drew a pistol from his pocket, and, placing the muzzle to his +mouth, pulled the trigger. The direction of the weapon, however, was +accidentally turned, and the ball, instead of proceeding upwards, passed +through the lower jaw, fracturing the bone, and created a terrible wound. +It is supposed that the large vessels are not injured, and that he may yet +recover. All who witnessed the scene describe it as one of intense horror. +</p> +<p> +“The unhappy man was at once removed to the Middlesex Hospital. He has not +uttered a word since the event; and when asked if there were any relatives +or friends whom he wished might be sent for, merely shook his head +negatively. It is said that when the result of the consultation held on +him was announced to him as favorable, he seemed rather grieved than +otherwise at the tidings.” +</p> +<p> +FROM PETER BARRINGTON TO DINAH, HIS SISTER. +</p> +<p> +My dear Dinah,—How glad am I to tell you that we leave this +to-morrow, and a large party of us, too, all for “The Home.” Put young +Conyers in my dressing-room, so that the large green bedroom can be free +for the General, at least for one of the generals—for we have +another here, Hunter, who will also be our guest. Then there will be +Withering. As for myself, I can be stowed away anywhere. What happiness +would there be to us all at such a meeting, if it were not for that poor +wretch who lies in all his agony a few streets off, and who is never out +of my thoughts. I went twice to the hospital to see him. The first time I +lost courage, and came away. The second, I sent up my name, and asked if +he would wish to see me. The only answer I got was my visiting-card torn +in two! How hard it is for an injurer to forgive him he has injured! I +have arranged with the Stapyltons, however, who instigated the charge of +forgery, not to press it; at least, they are to take bail, and the bail +will be forfeited, so I understand it; but Withering will explain all more +clearly. +</p> +<p> +Our own affairs are all as bright and prosperous as our best wishes could +desire. The Council have had all the evidence before them, and the +Moonshee has produced his copy of the Koran, with the torn leaf fitting +into the jagged margin, and George is vindicated at last in everything. +His loyalty, his disinterestedness, his honesty, all established. The +ceremony of his marriage has been fully recognized; and General Conyers +tells me that the lowest estimate of our claim is a little short of a +quarter of a million sterling. He counsels me not to be exigent in my +terms; if he knew me better, perhaps, he would not have deemed the advice +so necessary. +</p> +<p> +What will Fifine say to all this wealth? Will she want to go back to +India, and be a princess, and ride about on an elephant; or will she +reconcile herself to such humble ways as ours? I am most eager to hear how +she will take the tidings. Withering says it will not spoil her; that +knowing nothing of life in its moneyed relations, she runs no risk of +being carried away by any vulgar notions of her own importance through +riches. +</p> +<p> +Conyers has never once hinted at his son's pretensions since Fifine has +become an heiress; and I fancy—it may be only fancy—is a shade +or so cool towards me, so that I have not referred to them. But what can I +do? I cannot offer him my granddaughter, nor—if what you tell me be +true, that they are always quarrelling—would the proposal be a great +kindness to either. +</p> +<p> +Here is Tom Dill, too, and what a change! He is the image of Polly; and a +fine, well-grown, straight-figured fellow, that looks you manfully in the +face,—not the slouching, loutish, shamefaced creature you remember +him. Hunter has had him gazetted to an Ensigncy in the 10th Foot, and he +will, or I much mistake him, do honest credit to the recommendation. +Hunter takes him about with him wherever he goes, telling all about the +shipwreck and Tom's gallantry,—enough to turn the lad's head with +vanity, but that he is a fine, simple-hearted creature, who thinks very +little of himself or his achievement. He seems to have no other thought +than what Polly, his sister, will say and think of him. +</p> +<p> +He also will be one of our party; that is if I can persuade him to make +“The Home” his headquarters while our friends are with us. What a strong +muster we shall be; and how we 'll astonish that old bin of Madeira, +Dinah! By the way, I have been rather boastful about it to Conyers, and +let some bottles have the sun on them for a couple of hours every day. +</p> +<p> +I should like to try my chance once more of seeing that poor fellow at the +hospital, but Withering will not hear of it; he got positively +ill-tempered at the bare mention of such a wish. Even Conyers says, +“Better not,” with an air that may mean for the sick man's sake as much as +my own. +</p> +<p> +A little more of this life of noise, confusion, and excitement would +finish me. This city existence, with its incessant events and its never +ending anxieties, is like walking in a high wind with the chimney-pots +falling and crashing on every side of one,—while I am pitying the +fellow whose skull is just cracked, I am forced to remember that my own is +in danger. And yet there are people who like it; who tell you that out of +London there is no living; that the country is a grave, aggravated by the +consciousness that one is dead and buried there! +</p> +<p> +On Tuesday,—Wednesday, at farthest,—Dinah, look out for us. I +do not believe there is that prize in the wheel that would tempt me again +away from home! and till I reach it, believe, my dear Dinah, +</p> +<p> +Your loving brother, +</p> +<p> +Peter Barrington. +</p> +<p> +I have just seen Conyers. He met Sir Harvey Hethrington, the Home +Secretary, this morning, and they got into a talk over our business, and +H. said how cruelly I had been treated all this time back, and how +unfairly poor George's memory was dealt with. “We want,” said he, “to show +your friend our respect and our sympathy, and we have thought of +submitting his name to the King for a Baronetcy. How do you think Mr. +Barrington himself would take our project?” “I 'll find out,” said +Conyers, as he told me of the conversation. “If they don't let me off, +Conyers,” said I, “ask them to commute it to Knighthood, for the heralds' +fees will be smaller; but I'll try, meanwhile, if I can't escape either.” +So that now, Dinah, you may expect me on Saturday. I told you what a place +this was; you are never sure what may befall you from one moment to +another! +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XX. THE END +</h2> +<h3> +Fortune had apparently ceased to persecute Peter Barrington. +</h3> +<p> +The Minister did not press honors upon him, and he was free to wait for +his companions, and in their company he returned to Ireland. +</p> +<p> +The news of his success—great as it was, magnified still more—had +preceded him to his own country; and he was met, as all lucky men are met, +and will be met to the end of time, by those who know the world and +feelingly estimate that the truly profitable are the fortunate! +</p> +<p> +Not that he remarked how many had suddenly grown so cordial; what troops +of passing acquaintances had become in a moment warm friends, well-wishing +and affectionate. He never so much as suspected that “Luck” is a deity +worshipped by thousands, who even in the remotest way are not to be +benefited by it. He had always regarded the world as a far better thing +than many moralists would allow it to be,—unsteady, wilful, +capricious, if you like—but a well-intentioned, kindly minded world, +that would at all times, where passion or prejudice stood aloof, +infinitely rather do the generous thing than the cruel one. +</p> +<p> +Little wonder, then, if he journeyed in a sort of ovation! At every change +of horses in each village they passed, there was sure to be some one who +wanted to shake his hand. People hobbled out on crutches and quitted +sick-beds to say how “glad they were;” mere acquaintances most of them, +who felt a strange mysterious sort of self-consequence in fancying +themselves for the moment the friends of Peter Barrington, the +millionnaire! This is all very curious, but it is a fact,—a fact +which I make no pretence to explain, however. +</p> +<p> +“And here comes the heartiest well-wisher of them all!” cried Barrington, +as he saw his sister standing on the roadside, near the gate. With +thoughtful delicacy, his companions lingered behind, while he went to meet +and embraced her. “Was I not a true prophet, Dinah dear? Did I not often +foretell this day to you?” said he, as he drew her arm, and led her along, +forgetting all about his friends and companions. +</p> +<p> +“Have they paid the money, Peter?” said she, sharply. +</p> +<p> +“Of course they have not; such things are not settled like the fare of a +hackney-coach. But our claim is acknowledged, and, fifty thousand times +better, George Barrington's name absolved from every shadow of an +imputation.” +</p> +<p> +“What is the amount they agree to give?” +</p> +<p> +“Upon my life, I don't know,—that is, I don't recollect, there were +so many interviews and such discussions; but Withering can tell you +everything. Withering knows it all. Without <i>him</i> and Conyers I don't +know how I could have got on. If you had heard how he spoke of George at +the Council! 'You talk of <i>my</i> services,' said he; 'they are no more +fit to be compared with those of Colonel Barrington, than are <i>my</i> +petty grievances with the gross wrongs that lie on <i>his</i> memory.' +Withering was there; he heard the words, and described the effect of them +as actually overwhelming.” +</p> +<p> +“And Withering believes the whole thing to be settled?” +</p> +<p> +“To be sure, he does! Why should he oppose his belief to that of the whole +world? Why, my dear Dinah, it is not one, nor two, but some hundreds of +people have come to wish me joy. They had a triumphal arch at Naas, with +'Welcome to Barrington' over it. At Carlow, Fishbourne came out with the +corporation to offer me congratulations.” +</p> +<p> +She gave a hasty, impatient shake of the head, but repressed the sharp +reply that almost trembled on her lips. +</p> +<p> +“By George!” cried he, “it does one's heart good to witness such a burst +of generous sentiment. You 'd have thought some great national benefit had +befallen, or that some one—his country's idol—had just reaped +the recompense of his great services. They came flocking out of the towns +as we whirled past, cheering lustily, and shouting, 'Barrington forever!'” +</p> +<p> +“I detest a mob!” said she, pursing up her lips. +</p> +<p> +“These were no mobs, Dinah; these were groups of honest fellows, with kind +hearts and generous wishes.” +</p> +<p> +Another, but more decisive, toss of the head warned Peter that the +discussion had gone far enough; indeed she almost said so, by asking +abruptly, “What is to be done about the boy Conyers? He is madly in love +with Josephine.” +</p> +<p> +“Marry her, I should say!” +</p> +<p> +“As a cure for the complaint, I suppose. But what if she will not have +him? What if she declares that she 'd like to go back to the convent +again,—that she hates the world, and is sorry she ever came out into +it,—that she was happier with the sisters—” +</p> +<p> +“Has she said all this to you, sister?” +</p> +<p> +“Certainly not, Peter,” said Dinah, bridling up. “These were confidences +imparted to the young man himself. It was he told me of them: he came to +me last night in a state bordering on distraction. He was hesitating +whether he would not throw himself into the river or go into a marching +regiment.” +</p> +<p> +“This is only a laughing matter, then, Dinah?” said Peter, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“Nothing of the kind, brother! He did not put the alternatives so much in +juxtaposition as I have; but they lay certainly in that manner on his +thoughts. But when do your friends arrive? I thought they were to have +come with you?” +</p> +<p> +“What a head I have, Dinah! They are all here; two carriages of them. I +left them on the road when I rushed on to meet you. Oh, here they come! +here they are!” +</p> +<p> +“My brother's good fortune, gentlemen, has made him seem to forget what +adversity never did; but I believe you all know how welcome you are here? +Your son, General Conyers, thought to meet you earlier, by taking boat +down to the village, and the girls went with him. Your friend, Polly Dill, +is one of them, General Hunter.” +</p> +<p> +Having thus, with one sweep of the scythe, cut down a little of all around +her, she led the way towards the cottage, accepting the arm of General +Conyers with an antiquated grace that sorely tried Hunter's good manners +not to smile at. +</p> +<p> +“I know what you are looking at, what you are thinking of, Barrington,” +said Withering, as he saw the other stand a moment gazing at the landscape +on the opposite side of the river. +</p> +<p> +“I don't think you do, Tom,” said he, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“You were thinking of buying that mountain yonder. You were saying to +yourself, 'I 'll be the owner of that beech wood before I'm a month +older!'” +</p> +<p> +“Upon my life, you 're right! though I have n't the remotest notion of how +you guessed it. The old fellow that owns it shall name his own terms +to-morrow morning. Here come the girls, and they 've got Tom Dill with +them. How the fellow rows! and Fifine is laughing away at Conyers's +attempt to keep the boat straight. Look at Hunter, too; he 's off to meet +them. Is he 'going in' for the great heiress prize, eh, Tom?” said he, +with a knowing smile. +</p> +<p> +Though Hunter assisted the ladies to land with becoming gallantry, he did +not offer his arm to Josephine, but dropped behind, where Tom Dill brought +up the rear with his sister. +</p> +<p> +“We have no confidences that you may not listen to,” said Polly, as she +saw that he hesitated as to joining them. “Tom, indeed, has been telling +of yourself, and you may not care to hear your own praises.” +</p> +<p> +“If they come from <i>you</i>, I 'm all ears for them.” +</p> +<p> +“Isn't that pretty, Tom? Did you ever hear any one ask more candidly for—no, +not flattery—what is it to be called?” +</p> +<p> +Tom, however, could not answer, for he had stopped to shake hands with +Darby, whose “May I never!” had just arrested him. +</p> +<p> +“What an honest, fine-hearted fellow it is!” said Hunter, as they moved +on, leaving Tom behind. +</p> +<p> +“But if <i>you</i> had n't found it out, who would have known, or who +acknowledged it? <i>I</i> know—for he has told me—all you have +been to him.” +</p> +<p> +“Pooh, pooh! nothing; less than nothing. He owes all that he is to +himself. He is one of those fellows who, once they get into the right +groove in life, are sure to go ahead. Not even <i>you</i> could make a +doctor of him. Nature made him a soldier.” +</p> +<p> +Polly blushed slightly at the compliment to those teachings she believed a +secret, and he went on,— +</p> +<p> +“What has the world been doing here since I left?” +</p> +<p> +“Pretty much what it did while you were here. It looked after its turnips +and asparagus, took care of its young calves, fattened its chickens, +grumbled at the dear-ness of everything, and wondered when Dr. Buck would +preach a new sermon.” +</p> +<p> +“No deaths,—no marriages?” +</p> +<p> +“None. There was only one candidate for both, and he has done neither,—Major +M'Cormick.” +</p> +<p> +“Confound that old fellow! I had forgotten him. Do you remember the last +day I saw you here? We were in the garden, talking, as we believed, +without witnesses. Well, <i>he</i> overheard us. He heard every word we +said, and a good deal more that we did not say.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes; so he informed me, a few days after.” +</p> +<p> +“You don't mean to say that he had the impertinence—” +</p> +<p> +“The frankness, General,—the charming candor,—to tell me that +I was a very clever girl, and not to be discouraged by one failure or two; +that with time and perseverance—I think he said perseverance—some +one was sure to take a fancy to me: he might not, perhaps, be handsome, +possibly not very young; his temper, too, might chance to be more tart +than was pleasant; in a word, he drew such a picture that I had to stop +him short, and ask was he making me a proposal? He has never spoken to me +since!” +</p> +<p> +“I feel as if I could break his neck,” muttered Hunter, below his breath; +then added, “Do you remember that I asked leave to write to you once,—only +once?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I remember it.” +</p> +<p> +“And you would not answer me. You shook your head, as though to say the +permission would be of no service to me; that I might write, but, you +understand, that it would only be to indulge in a delusion—” +</p> +<p> +“What an expressive shake of the head that meant all that!” +</p> +<p> +“Ah! there it is again; never serious, never grave! And now I want you to +be both. Since I landed in England, I ran down for a day to Devonshire. I +saw an old aunt of mine, who, besides being very rich, has retained no +small share of the romance of her life. She always had a dash of +hero-worship about her, and so I took down Tom with me to show her the +gallant fellow whose name was in all the newspapers, and of whom all the +world was talking. She was charmed with him,—with his honest, manly +simplicity, his utter want of all affectation. She asked me ten times a +day, 'Can I not be of service to him? Is there no step he wishes to +purchase? Is there nothing we can do for him?' 'Nothing,' said I; 'he is +quite equal to his own fortune.' 'He may have brothers,' said she. 'He has +a sister,' said I,—'a sister who has made him all that he is, and it +was to repay her love and affection that he has shown himself to be the +gallant fellow we have seen him.' 'Tell her to come and see me.—that +is,' said she, correcting herself, 'give her a letter I shall write, and +persuade her, if you can, to oblige me by doing what I ask.' Here is the +letter; don't say no till you have read it. Nay, don't shake your head so +deploringly; things may be hard without being impossible. At all events, +read her note carefully. It's a droll old hand, but clear as print.” +</p> +<p> +“I'll read it,” said she, looking at the letter; but the sorrowful tone +revealed how hopelessly she regarded the task. +</p> +<p> +“Ask Tom about her; and make Tom tell you what she is like. By Jove! he +has such an admiration for the old damsel, I was half afraid he meant to +be my uncle.” +</p> +<p> +They reached the cottage laughing pleasantly over this conceit, and Polly +hurried up to her room to read the letter. To her surprise, Josephine was +there already, her eyes very red with crying, and her cheeks flushed and +feverish-looking. +</p> +<p> +“My dearest Fifine, what is all this for, on the happiest day of your +life?” said she, drawing her arm around her. +</p> +<p> +“It's all <i>your</i> fault,—all <i>your</i> doing,” said the other, +averting her head, as she tried to disengage herself from the embrace. +</p> +<p> +“My fault,—my doing? What do you mean, dearest, what can I have done +to deserve this?” +</p> +<p> +“You know very well what you have done. You knew all the time how it would +turn out.” +</p> +<p> +Polly protested firmly that she could not imagine what was attributed to +her, and only after a considerable time obtained the explanation of the +charge. Indeed it was not at first easy to comprehend it, given, as it +was, in the midst of tears, and broken at every word by sobs. The +substance was this: that Fifine, in an attempted imitation of Polly's +manner,—an effort to copy the coquetting which she fancied to be so +captivating,—had ventured to trifle so far with young Conyers, that, +after submitting to every alternative of hope and fear for weeks long, he +at last gave way, and determined to leave the house, quit the country, and +never meet her more. “It was to be like you I did it,” cried she, sobbing +bitterly, “and see what it has led me to.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, dearest, be really like me for half an hour; that is, be very +patient and very quiet. Sit down here, and don't leave this till I come +back to you.” +</p> +<p> +Polly kissed her hot cheek as she spoke; and the other sat down where she +was bade, with the half-obedient sulkiness of a naughty child. +</p> +<p> +“Tell young Mr. Conyers to come and speak to me. I shall be in the +garden,” said she to his servant; and before she had gone many paces he +was beside her. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Polly dearest! have you any hope for me?” cried he, in agony. “If you +knew the misery I am enduring.” +</p> +<p> +“Come and take a walk with me,” said she, passing her arm within his. “I +think you will like to hear what I have to tell you.” +</p> +<p> +The revelation was not a very long one; and as they passed beneath the +room where Josephine sat, Polly called out, “Come down here, Fifine, we +are making a bouquet; try if you can find 'heart's-ease.'” +</p> +<p> +What a happy party met that day at dinner! All were in their best spirits, +each contented with the other. “Have you read my aunt's note?” whispered +Hunter to Polly, as they passed into the drawing-room. +</p> +<p> +“Yes. I showed it also to Miss Dinah. I asked her advice.” +</p> +<p> +“And what did she say,—what did she advise?” +</p> +<p> +“She said she 'd think over it and tell me to-morrow.” +</p> +<p> +“To-morrow! Why not now,—why not at once?” cried he, impatiently. “I +'ll speak to her myself;” and he hurried to the little room where Miss +Dinah was making tea. +</p> +<p> +It was not a very long interview; and Hunter returned, fond, radiant, and +triumphant. “She's the cleverest old woman I ever met in my life,” said +he; “and the best, besides, after my Aunt Dorothy. She said that such an +invitation as that was too cordial to be coldly declined; that it meant +more—far more—than a politeness; that you ought to go, yes, by +all means; and if there was any difficulty about the journey, or any +awkwardness in travelling so far, why, there was an easy remedy for it, as +well as for meeting my aunt a perfect stranger.” +</p> +<p> +“And what was that?” +</p> +<p> +“To go as her niece, dearest Polly,—to be the wife of a man who +loves you.” +</p> +<p> +“Is it possible that you have so much to say to each other that you won't +take tea?” cried Aunt Dinah; while she whispered to Withering, “I declare +we shall never have a sociable moment till they're all married off, and +learn to conduct themselves like reasonable creatures.” +</p> +<p> +Is it not the best testimony we can give to happiness, that it is a thing +to feel and not describe,—to be enjoyed, but not pictured? It is +like a debt that I owe to my reader, to show him “The Home” as it was when +blissful hearts were gathered under its roof; and yet, for the life of me, +I cannot acquit myself of it. To say that there were old people with their +memories of the past, and young ones with their hopes of the future; that +there were bygones to sigh over, and vistas to gaze at, conveys but little +of the kindliness by which heart opened to heart, and sorrow grew lighter +by mutual endurance, and joys became brighter as they were imparted to +another. +</p> +<p> +“So I find,” said Barrington, as they sat at breakfast together, “that +Josephine insists on going back to the convent, and Fred is resolved on an +exchange into the Infantry, and is off for Canada immediately.” +</p> +<p> +“Not a bit of it!” broke in Hunter, who remarked nothing of the roguish +drollery of old Peter's eye, nor even suspected that the speech was made +in mockery. “Master Fred is coming with me into Kilkenny this morning, for +a visit to the Dean, or whatever he is, who dispenses those social +handcuffs they call licenses.” +</p> +<p> +“Why, they were quarrelling all the morning,” repeated Harrington. +</p> +<p> +“So we were, sir, and so we mean to do for many a year,” said Josephine; +“and to keep us in countenance, I hear that General Hunter and Polly have +determined to follow our example.” +</p> +<p> +“What do I hear, Miss Dill?” said Miss Barrington, with an affected +severity. +</p> +<p> +“I'm afraid, madam, it is true; there has been what my father calls 'a +contagious endemic' here lately, and we have both caught it; but ours are +mild cases, and we hope soon to recover.” +</p> +<p> +“What's this I see here?” cried Fred, who, to conceal his shame, had taken +up the newspaper. “Listen to this: 'The notorious Stapylton, <i>alias</i> +Edwardes, whose case up to yesterday was reported all but hopeless, made +his escape from the hospital, and has not since been heard of. It would +appear that some of the officials had been bribed to assist his evasion, +and a strict inquiry will be immediately set on foot into the affair.'” +</p> +<p> +“Do you think he has got over to France?” whispered Peter to Withering. +</p> +<p> +“Of course he has; the way was all open, and everything ready for him!” +</p> +<p> +“Then I am thoroughly happy!” cried Barrington, “and there's not even the +shadow of a cloud over our present sunshine.” +</p> +<p> +THE END. <br /><br /> +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Barrington, by Charles James Lever + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BARRINGTON *** + +***** This file should be named 34883-h.htm or 34883-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/8/8/34883/ + +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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