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diff --git a/old/35144-h.htm.2021-01-25 b/old/35144-h.htm.2021-01-25 new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f938610 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/35144-h.htm.2021-01-25 @@ -0,0 +1,17894 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Martins of Cro' Martin, 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 The Martins Of Cro' Martin, Vol. II (of II), 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: The Martins Of Cro' Martin, Vol. II (of II) + +Author: Charles James Lever + +Illustrator: Phiz. + +Release Date: February 2, 2011 [EBook #35144] +Last Updated: February 28, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MARTINS OF CRO' MARTIN *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<h1> +THE MARTINS OF CRO' MARTIN +</h1> +<h2> +By Charles James Lever +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +With Illustrations By Phiz. +</h3> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<h4> +In Two Volumes +</h4> +<h3> +Vol. II. +</h3> +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<h4> +Boston: Little, Brown, And Company. +</h4> +<h4> +1906 +</h4> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img alt="frontispiece (178K)" src="images/frontispiece.jpg" width="100%" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img alt="titelpage (24K)" src="images/titelpage.jpg" width="100%" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<blockquote> +<p class="toc"> +<big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> +</p> +<p> +<br /> <b><a href="#link2H_4_0001"> THE MARTINS OF CRO' MARTIN. </a></b><br /> +<br /> <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> MR. HERMAN +MERL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> MR. +MERL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> A +YOUNG DUCHESS AND AN OLD FRIEND <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> +CHAPTER IV. </a> A VERY GREAT FAVOR <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> A LETTER FROM HOME +<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> MR. +MERL'S DEPARTURE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a> THE +CLUB <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> AN +EVENING OF ONE OP THE “THREE DAYS” <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0009"> +CHAPTER IX. </a> SOME CONFESSIONS OF JACK MASSINGBRED <br /><br /> +<a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> HOW ROGUES AGREE! +<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> MR. MERL +“AT FENCE” <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a> MR. +MERL'S MEDITATIONS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. +</a> A NIGHT OF STORM <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0014"> +CHAPTER XIV. </a> THE END OF A BAR MESS <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a> A FIRST BRIEF <br /><br /> +<a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> MR. REPTON LOOKS +IN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a> LADY +DOROTHEA'S LETTER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. +</a> MR. MERL'S EXPERIENCES IN THE WEST <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a> MR. MERL'S “LAST” + IRISH IMPRESSION <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. </a> SOMETHING +NOT EXACTLY FLIRTATION <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. +</a> LADY DOROTHEA <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0022"> +CHAPTER XXII. </a> HOW PRIDE MEETS PRIDE <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. </a> MAURICE SCANLAN +ADVISES WITH “HIS COUNSEL” <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER +XXIV. </a> A CONSULTATION <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0025"> +CHAPTER XXV. </a> A COMPROMISE <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. </a> A LETTER THAT NEVER +REACHES ITS ADDRESS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. +</a> A VERY BRIEF INTERVIEW <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0028"> +CHAPTER XXVIII. </a> THE DARK SIDE OF A CHARACTER <br /><br /> +<a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. </a> THE COTTAGE <br /><br /> +<a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX. </a> "A TEA-PARTY” AT +MRS. CRONAN'S <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI. </a> THE +BRANNOCK ISLANDS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII. </a> LETTER +FROM MASSINGBRED <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0033"> CHAPTER XXXIII. +</a> A DINNER AT “THE LODGE” <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XXXIV. </a> AN HONORED GUEST +<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER XXXV. </a> HOW +DIPLOMACY FAILED <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER XXXVI. </a> A +GREAT DISCOVERY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER XXXVII. </a> A +DARK DAY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0038"> CHAPTER XXXVIII. </a> REPTON'S +LAST CAUSE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0039"> CHAPTER XXXIX. </a> TOWARDS +THE END <br /><br /> +</p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h1> +THE MARTINS OF CRO' MARTIN. +</h1> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /><br /> +</p> +<h2> +CHAPTER I. MR. HERMAN MERL +</h2> +<p> +This much-abused world of ours, railed at by divines, sneered down by +cynics, slighted by philosophers, has still some marvellously pleasant +things about it, amongst which, first and foremost, <i>facile princeps</i>, +is Paris! In every other city of Europe there is a life to be learned and +acquired just like a new language. You have to gain the acquaintance of +certain people, obtain admission to certain houses, submit yourself to +ways, habits, hours, all peculiar to the locality, and conform to usages +in which—at first, at least—you rarely find anything beyond +penalties on your time and your patience. But Paris demands no such +sacrifices. To enjoy it, no apprenticeship is required. You become free of +the guild at the Porte St. Denis. By the time you reach the Boulevards you +have ceased to be a stranger. You enter the “Frères” at dinner hour like +an old habitué. The atmosphere of light, elastic gayety around you, the +tone of charming politeness that meets your commonest inquiry, the +courtesy bestowed upon your character as a foreigner, are all as +exhilarating in their own way as your sparkling glass of Moët, sipped in +the window, from which you look down on plashing fountains, laughing +children, and dark-eyed grisettes! The whole thing, in its bustle and +movement, its splendor, sunlight, gilded furniture, mirrors, and smart +toilettes, is a piece of natural magic, with this difference,—that +its effect is ever new, ever surprising! +</p> +<p> +Sad and sorrowful faces are, of course, to be met with, since grief has +its portion everywhere; but that air of languid indifference, that look of +wearied endurance, which we characterize by the classic term of “boredom,” + is, indeed, a rare spectacle in this capital; and yet now at the window of +a splendid apartment in the Place Vendôme, listlessly looking down into +the square beneath, stood a young man, every line of whose features +conveyed this same expression. He had, although not really above +twenty-four or twenty-five, the appearance of one ten years older. On a +face of singular regularity, and decidedly handsome, dissipation had left +its indelible traces. The eyes were deep sunk, the cheeks colorless, and +around the angles of the mouth were those tell-tale circles which betray +the action of an oft-tried temper, and the spirit that has gone through +many a hard conflict. In figure he was very tall, and seemed more so in +the folds of a long dressing-gown of antique brocade, which reached to his +feet; a small, dark green skull-cap, with a heavy silver tassel, covered +one side of his head, and in his hand he held a handsome meerschaum, +which, half mechanically, he placed from time to time to his lips, +although its bowl was empty. +</p> +<p> +At a breakfast-table covered with all that could provoke appetite, sat a +figure as much unlike him as could be. He was under the middle size, and +slightly inclined to flesh, with a face which, but for some strange +resemblance to what one has seen in pictures by the older artists, would +have been unequivocally vulgar. The eyes were small, keen, and furtive; +the nose, slightly concave in its outline, expanded beneath into nostrils +wide and full; but the mouth, thick-lipped, sensual, and coarse, was more +distinctive than all, and showed that Mr. Herman Merl was a gentleman of +the Jewish persuasion,—a fact well corroborated by the splendor of a +very flashy silk waistcoat, and various studs, gold chain, rings, and +trinkets profusely scattered over his costume. And yet there was little of +what we commonly recognize as the Jew in the character of his face. The +eyes were not dark, the nose not aquiline; the hair, indeed, had the wavy +massiveness of the Hebrew race; but Mr. Merl was a “Red Jew,” and the Red +Jew, like the red partridge, is a species <i>per se</i>. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/018.jpg" width="100%" alt="018 " /> +</div> +<p> +There was an ostentatious pretension in the “get up” of this gentleman. +His moustache, his beard, his wrist-buttons, his shirt-studs, the camellia +in his coat,—all, even to the heels of his boots, had been made +studies, either to correct a natural defect, or show off what he fancied a +natural advantage. He seemed to have studied color like a painter, for his +dark brown frock was in true keeping with the tint of his skin; and yet, +despite these painstaking efforts, the man was indelibly, hopelessly +vulgar. Everything about him was imitation, but it was imitation that only +displayed its own shortcomings. +</p> +<p> +“I wonder how you can resist these oysters, Captain,” said he, as he +daintily adjusted one of these delicacies on his fork; “and the Chablis, I +assure you, is excellent.” + </p> +<p> +“I never eat breakfast,” said the other, turning away from the window, and +pacing the room with slow and measured tread. +</p> +<p> +“Why, you are forgetting all the speculations that used to amuse us on the +voyage,—the delicious little dinners we were to enjoy at the +'Rocher,' the tempting dejeuners at 'Véfour's.' By Jove! how hungry you +used to make me, with your descriptions of the appetizing fare before us; +and here we have it now: Ardennes ham, fried in champagne; Ostend oysters, +salmi of quails with truffles—and such truffles! Won't that tempt +you?” + </p> +<p> +But his friend paid no attention to the appeal, and walking again to the +window, looked out. +</p> +<p> +“Those little drummers yonder have a busy day of it,” said he, lazily; +“that's the fourth time they have had to beat the salute to Generals this +morning.” + </p> +<p> +“Is there anything going on, then?” + </p> +<p> +But he never deigned an answer, and resumed his walk. +</p> +<p> +“I wish you'd send away that hissing teakettle, it reminds me of a +steamboat,” said the Captain, peevishly; “that is, if you have done with +it.” + </p> +<p> +“So it does,” said the other, rising to ring the bell; “there's the same +discordant noise, and the—the—the—” But the rest of the +similitude would n't come, and Mr. Merl covered his retreat with the +process of lighting a cigar,—an invaluable expedient that had served +to aid many a more ready debater in like difficulty. +</p> +<p> +It would be a somewhat tedious, perhaps not a very profitable task, to +inquire how two men, so palpably dissimilar, had thus become what the +world calls friends. Enough if we say that Captain Martin,—the heir +of Cro' Martin,—when returning from India on leave, passed some time +at the Cape, where, in the not very select society of the place, he met +Mr. Merl. Now Mr. Merl had been at Ceylon, where he had something to do +with a coffee plantation; and he had been at Benares, where opium +interested him; and now again, at the Cape, a question of wine had +probably some relation to his sojourn. In fact, he was a man travelling +about the world with abundance of leisure, a well-stocked purse, and what +our friends over the Strait would term an “industrial spirit.” Messes had +occasionally invited him to their tables. Men in society got the habit of +seeing him “about,” and he was in the enjoyment of that kind of tolerance +which made every man feel, “He's not <i>my</i> friend,—<i>I</i> +didn't introduce him; but he seems a good sort of fellow enough!” And so +he was,—very good-tempered, very obliging, most liberal of his +cigars, his lodgings always open to loungers, with pale ale, and even iced +champagne, to be had |for asking. There was play, too; and although Merl +was a considerable winner, he managed never to incur the jealous enmity +that winning so often imposes. He was the most courteous of gamblers; he +never did a sharp thing; never enforced a strict rule upon a novice of the +game; tolerated every imaginable blunder of his partner with bland +equanimity; and, in a word, if this great globe of ours had been a +green-baize cloth, and all the men and women whist-players, Mr. Herman +Merl had been the first gentleman in it, and carried off “all the honors” + in his own hand. +</p> +<p> +If he was highly skilled in every game, it was remarked of him that he +never proposed play himself, nor was he ever known to make a wager: he +always waited to be asked to make up a party, or to take or give the odds, +as the case might be. To a very shrewd observer, this might have savored a +little too much of a system; but shrewd observers are, after all, not the +current coin in the society of young men, and Merl's conduct was eminently +successful. +</p> +<p> +Merl suited Martin admirably. Martin was that species of man which, of all +others, is most assailable by flattery. A man of small accomplishments, he +sang a little, rode a little, played, drew, fenced, fished, shot—all, +a little—that is, somewhat better than others in general, and giving +him that dangerous kind of pre-eminence from which, though the tumble +never kills, it occurs often enough to bruise and humiliate. But, worse +than this, it shrouds its possessor in a triple mail of vanity, that makes +him the easy prey of all who minister to it. +</p> +<p> +We seldom consider how much locality influences our intimacies, and how +impossible it had been for us even to know in some places the people we +have made friends of in another. Harry Martin would as soon have thought +of proposing his valet at “Brookes's,” as walk down Bond Street with Mr. +Merl. Had he met him in London, every characteristic of the man would +there have stood out in all the strong glare of contrast, but at the Cape +it was different. Criticism would have been misplaced where all was +irregular, and the hundred little traits—any one of which would have +shocked him in England—were only smiled at as the eccentricities of +a “good-natured poor fellow, who had no harm in him.” + </p> +<p> +Martin and Merl came to England in the same ship. It was a sudden thought +of Merl's, only conceived the evening before she sailed; but Martin had +lost a considerable sum at piquet to him on that night, and when signing +the acceptances for payment, since he had not the ready money, somewhat +peevishly remarked that it was hard he should not have his revenge. +Whereupon Merl, tossing off a bumper of champagne, and appearing to speak +under the influence of its stimulation, cried out, “Hang me, Captain, if +you shall say that! I 'll go and take my passage in the 'Elphinstone.'” + And he did so, and he gave the Captain his revenge! But of all the +passions, there is not one less profitable to indulge in. They played +morning, noon, and night, through long days of sickening calm, through +dreary nights of storm and hurricane, and they scarcely lifted their heads +at the tidings that the Needles were in sight, nor even questioned the +pilot for news of England, when he boarded them in the Downs. Martin had +grown much older during that same voyage; his temper, too, usually imbued +with the easy indolence of his father's nature, had grown impatient and +fretful. A galling sense of inferiority to Merl poisoned every minute of +his life. He would not admit it; he rejected it, but back it came; and if +it did not enter into his heart, it stood there knocking,—knocking +for admission. Each time they sat down to play was a perfect duel to +Martin. +</p> +<p> +As for Merl, his well-schooled faculties never were ruffled nor excited. +The game had no power to fascinate <i>him</i>, its vicissitudes had +nothing new or surprising to him; intervals of ill-luck, days even of +dubious fortune might occur, but he knew he would win in the end, just as +he knew that though there might intervene periods of bad weather and +adverse winds, the good ship “Elphinstone” would arrive at last, and, a +day sooner or a day later, discharge passengers and freight on the banks +of the Thames. +</p> +<p> +You may forgive the man who has rivalled you in love, the banker whose +“smash” has engulfed all your fortune, the violent political antagonist +who has assailed you personally, and in the House, perhaps, answered the +best speech you ever made by a withering reply. You may extend feelings of +Christian charity to the reviewer who has “slashed” your new novel, the +lawyer whose vindictive eloquence has exposed, the artist in “Punch” who +has immortalized, you; but there is one man you never forgive, of whom you +will never believe one good thing, and to whom you would wish a thousand +evil ones,—he is your natural enemy, brought into the world to be +your bane, born that he may be your tormentor; and this is the man who <i>always</i> +beats you at play! Happily, good reader, you may have no feelings of the +gambler,—you may be of those to whom this fatal vice has never +appealed, or appealed in vain; but if you <i>have</i> “played,” or even +mixed with those who have, you could n't have failed to be struck with the +fact that there is that one certain man from whom you never win! Wherever +he is, there, too, is present your evil destiny! Now, there is no +pardoning this,—the double injury of insult to your skill and damage +to your pocket. Such a man as this becomes at last your master. You may +sneer at his manners, scoff at his abilities, ridicule his dress, laugh at +his vulgarity,—poor reprisals these! In his presence, the sense of +that one superiority he possesses over you makes you quail! In the stern +conflict, where your destiny and your capacity seem alike at issue, he +conquers you,—not to-day or to-morrow, but ever and always! There he +sits, arbiter of your fate,—only doubtful how long he may defer the +day of your sentence! +</p> +<p> +It is something in the vague indistinctness of this power—something +that seems to typify the agency of the Evil One himself—that at once +tortures and subdues you; and you ever hurry into fresh conflict with the +ever-present consciousness of fresh defeat! We might have spared our +reader this discursive essay, but that it pertains to our story. Such was +the precise feeling entertained by Martin towards Merl. He hated him with +all the concentration of his great hatred, and yet he could not +disembarrass himself of his presence. He was ashamed of the man amongst +his friends; he avoided him in all public places; he shrunk from his very +contact as though infected; but he could not throw off his acquaintance, +and he nourished in his heart a small ember of hope that one day or other +the scale of fortune would turn, and he might win back again all he had +ever lost, and stand free and unembarrassed as in the first hour he had +met him! Fifty times had he consulted Fortune, as it were, to ask if this +moment had yet arrived; but hitherto ever unsuccessfully,—Merl won +on as before. Martin, however, invariably ceased playing when he +discovered that his ill-luck continued. It was an experiment,—a mere +pilot balloon to Destiny; and when he saw the direction adverse, he did +not adventure on the grand ascent. It was impossible that a man of Merl's +temperament and training should not have detected this game. There was not +a phase of the gambler's mind with which he was not thoroughly familiar. +</p> +<p> +Close intimacies, popularly called friendships, have always their secret +motive, if we be but skilful enough to detect it. We see people associate +together of widely different habits, and dispositions the most opposite, +with nothing in common of station, rank, object, or pursuit. In such cases +the riddle has always its key, could we only find it. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Martin had been some weeks in Paris with his family, when a brief note +informed him that Merl had arrived there. He despatched an answer still +briefer, asking him to breakfast on the following morning; and it was in +the acceptance of this same invitation we have now seen him. +</p> +<p> +“Who's here just now?” said Merl, throwing down his napkin, and pushing +his chair a little back from the table, while he disposed his short, fat +legs into what he fancied was a most graceful attitude. +</p> +<p> +“Here? Do you mean in Paris?” rejoined Martin, pettishly,—for he +never suffered so painfully under this man's intimacy as when his manners +assumed the pretension of fashion. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,—of course,—I mean, who's in Paris?” + </p> +<p> +“There are, I believe, about forty-odd thousand of our countrymen and +countrywomen,” said the other, half contemptuously. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I've no doubt; but my question took narrower bounds. I meant, who of +<i>our</i> set,—who of us?” + </p> +<p> +Martin turned round, and fixing his eyes on him, scanned him from head to +foot with a gaze of such intense insolence as no words could have +equalled. For a while the Jew bore it admirably; but these efforts, after +all, are only like the brief intervals a man can live under water, and +where the initiated beats the inexperienced only by a matter of seconds. +As Martin continued his stare, Merl's cheek tingled, grew red, and finally +his whole face and forehead became scarlet. +</p> +<p> +With an instinct like that of a surgeon who feels he has gone deep enough +with his knife, Martin resumed his walk along the room without uttering a +word. +</p> +<p> +Merl opened the newspaper, and affected to read; his hand, however, +trembled, and his eyes wandered listlessly over the columns, and then +furtively were turned towards Martin as he paced the chamber in silence. +</p> +<p> +“Do you think you can manage that little matter for me, Captain?” said he +at last, and in a voice attuned to its very humblest key. +</p> +<p> +“What little matter? Those two bills do you mean?” said Martin, suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“Not at all. I 'm not the least pressed for cash. I alluded to the Club; +you promised you 'd put me up, and get one of your popular friends to +second me.” + </p> +<p> +“I remember,” said Martin, evidently relieved from a momentary terror. +“Lord Claude Willoughby or Sir Spencer Cavendish would be the men if we +could find them.” + </p> +<p> +“Lord Claude, I perceive, is here; the paper mentions his name in the +dinner company at the Embassy yesterday.” + </p> +<p> +“Do you know him?” asked Martin, with an air of innocence that Merl well +comprehended as insult. +</p> +<p> +“No. We 've met,—I think we 've played together; I remember once at +Baden—” + </p> +<p> +“Lord Claude Willoughby, sir,” said a servant, entering with a card, +“desires to know if you 're at home?” + </p> +<p> +“And won't be denied if you are not,” said his Lordship, entering at the +same instant, and saluting Martin with great cordiality. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER II. MR. MERL +</h2> +<p> +The French have invented a slang word for a quality that deserves a more +recognized epithet, and by the expression <i>chic</i> have designated a +certain property by which objects assert their undoubted superiority over +all their counterfeits. Thus, your coat from Nugee's, your carriage from +Leader's, your bracelet from Storr's, and your bonnet from Madame Palmyre, +have all their own peculiar <i>chic</i>, or, in other words, possess a +certain invisible, indescribable essence that stamps them as the best of +their kind, with an excellence unattainable by imitation, and a charm all +their own! +</p> +<p> +Of all the products in which this magical property insinuates itself, +there is not one to which it contributes so much as the man of fashion. He +is the very type of <i>chic</i>. To describe him you are driven to a +catalogue of negatives, and you only arrive at anything like a resemblance +by an enumeration of the different things he is not. +</p> +<p> +The gentleman who presented himself to Martin at the close of our last +chapter was in many respects a good specimen of his order. He had entered +the room, believing Martin to be there alone; but no sooner had he +perceived another, and that other one not known to him, than all the +buoyant gayety of his manner was suddenly toned down into a quiet +seriousness; while, taking his friend's arm, he said in a low voice,—“If +you 're busy, my dear Martin, don't hesitate for a moment about sending me +off; I had not the slightest suspicion there was any one with you.” + </p> +<p> +“Nor is there,” said Martin, with a supercilious glance at Merl, who was +endeavoring in a dozen unsuccessful ways to seem unaware of the new +arrival's presence. +</p> +<p> +“I want to introduce him to you,” said Martin. +</p> +<p> +“No, no, my dear friend, on no account.” + </p> +<p> +“I must; there's no help for it,” said Martin, impatiently, while he +whispered something eagerly in the other's ear. +</p> +<p> +“Well, then, some other day; another time—” + </p> +<p> +“Here and now, Claude,” said Martin, peremptorily; while, without waiting +for reply, he said aloud, “Merl, I wish to present you to Lord Claude +Willoughby,—Lord Claude, Mr. Herman Merl.” + </p> +<p> +Merl bowed and smirked and writhed as his Lordship, with a bland smile and +a very slight bow, acknowledged the presentation. +</p> +<p> +“Had the pleasure of meeting your Lordship at Baden two summers ago,” said +the Jew, with an air meant to be the ideal of fashionable ease. +</p> +<p> +“I was at Baden at the time you mention,” said he, coldly. +</p> +<p> +“I used to watch your Lordship's game with great attention; you won +heavily, I think?” + </p> +<p> +“I don't remember, just now,” said he, carelessly; not, indeed, that such +was the fact, or that he desired it should be thought so; he only wished +to mark his sense of what he deemed an impertinence. +</p> +<p> +“The man who can win at rouge-et-noir can do anything, in my opinion,” + said Merl. +</p> +<p> +“What odds are you taking on Rufus?” said Martin to Willoughby, and +without paying the slightest attention to Merl's remark. +</p> +<p> +“Eleven to one; but I'll not take it again. Hecuba is rising hourly, and +some say she 'll be the favorite yet.” + </p> +<p> +“Is Rufus your Lordship's horse?” said the Jew, insinuatingly. +</p> +<p> +Willoughby bowed, and continued to write in his note-book. +</p> +<p> +“And you said the betting was eleven to one on the field, my Lord?” + </p> +<p> +“It ought to be fourteen to one, at least.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll give you fourteen to one, my Lord, just for the sake of a little +interest in the race.” + </p> +<p> +Willoughby ceased writing, and looked at him steadfastly for a second or +two. “I have not said that the odds were fourteen to one.” + </p> +<p> +“I understand you perfectly, my Lord; you merely thought that they would +be, or, at least, ought to be.” + </p> +<p> +“Merl wants a bet with you, in fact,” said Martin, as he applied alight to +his meerschaum; “and if you won't have him, I will.” + </p> +<p> +“What shall it be, sir,” said Lord Claude, pencil in hand; “in ponies—fifties?” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, ponies, my Lord. I only meant it, just as I said, to give me +something to care for in the race.” + </p> +<p> +“Will you put him up at the 'Cercle' after that?” whispered Martin, with a +look of sly malice. +</p> +<p> +“I'll tell you when the match is over,” said Willoughby, laughing; “but if +I won't, here 's one that will. That's a neat phaeton of Cavendish's.” And +at the same instant Martin opened the window, and made a signal with his +handkerchief. +</p> +<p> +“That's the thing for <i>you</i>, Merl,” said Martin, pointing down to a +splendid pair of dark chestnuts harnessed to a handsome phaeton. “It's +worth five hundred pounds to any fellow starting an equipage to chance +upon one of Cavendish's. He has not only such consummate taste in carriage +and harness, but he makes his nags perfection.” + </p> +<p> +“He drives very neatly,” said Willoughby. +</p> +<p> +“What was it he gave for that near-side horse?—a thousand pounds, I +think.” + </p> +<p> +“Twelve hundred and fifty, and refused a hundred for my bargain,” said a +very diminutive, shrewd-looking man of about five-and-thirty, who entered +the room with great affectation of juvenility. “I bought him for a cab, +never expecting to 'see his like again,' as Shakspeare says.” + </p> +<p> +“And you offered the whole concern yesterday to Damre-mont for fifty +thousand francs?” + </p> +<p> +“No, Harry, that's a mistake. I said I 'd play him a match at piquet, +whether he gave seventy thousand for the equipage or nothing. It was he +that proposed fifty thousand. Mine was a handsome offer, I think.” + </p> +<p> +“I call it a most munificent one,” said Martin. “By the way, you don't +know my friend here, Mr. Merl, Sir Spencer Cavendish.” And the baronet +stuck his glass in his eye, and scanned the stranger as unscrupulously as +though he were a hack at Tattersairs. +</p> +<p> +“Where did he dig him up, Claude?” whispered he, after a second. +</p> +<p> +“In India, I fancy; or at the Cape.” + </p> +<p> +“That fellow has something to do with the hell in St. James's Street; I +'ll swear I know his face.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/029.jpg" width="100%" alt="029 " /> +</div> +<p> +“I 've been telling Merl that he 's in rare luck to find such a turn-out +as that in the market; that is, if you still are disposed to sell.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, yes, I'll sell it; give him the tiger, boots, cockade, and all,—everything +except that Skye terrier. You shall have the whole, sir, for two thousand +pounds; or, if you prefer it—” + </p> +<p> +A certain warning look from Lord Claude suddenly arrested his words, and +he added, after a moment,—“But I 'd rather sell it off, and think no +more of it.” + </p> +<p> +“Try the nags; Sir Spencer, I'm sure, will have no objection,” said +Martin. But the baronet's face looked anything but concurrence with the +proposal. +</p> +<p> +“Take them a turn round the Bois de Boulogne, Merl,” said Martin, laughing +at his friend's distress. +</p> +<p> +“And he may have the turn-out at his own price after the trial,” muttered +Lord Claude, with a quiet smile. +</p> +<p> +“Egad! I should think so,” whispered Cavendish; “for, assuredly, I should +never think of being seen in it again.” + </p> +<p> +“If Sir Spencer Cavendish has no objection,—if he would permit his +groom to drive me just down the Boulevards and the Rue Rivoli—” + </p> +<p> +The cool stare of the baronet did not permit him to finish. It was really +a look far more intelligible than common observers might have imagined, +for it conveyed something like recognition,—a faint approach to an +intimation that said, “I 'm persuaded that we have met before.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, that is the best plan. Let the groom have the ribbons,” said Martin, +laughing with an almost schoolboy enjoyment of a trick. “And don't lose +time, Merl, for Sir Spencer would n't miss his drive in the Champs Elysees +for any consideration.” + </p> +<p> +“Gentlemen, I am your very humble and much obliged servant!” said +Cavendish, as soon as Merl had quitted the room. “If that distinguished +friend of yours should not buy my carriage—” + </p> +<p> +“But he will,” broke in Martin; “he must buy it.” + </p> +<p> +“He ought, I think,” said Lord Claude. “If I were in his place, there's +only one condition I 'd stipulate for.” + </p> +<p> +“And that is—” + </p> +<p> +“That you should drive with him one day—one would be enough—from +the Barrière de l'Étoile to the Louvre.” + </p> +<p> +“This is all very amusing, gentlemen, most entertaining,” said Cavendish, +tartly; “but who is he?—I don''t mean that,—but what is he?” + </p> +<p> +“Martin's banker, I fancy,” said Lord Claude. +</p> +<p> +“Does he lend any sum from five hundred to twenty thousand on equitable +terms on approved personal security?” said Cavendish, imitating the terms +of the advertisements. +</p> +<p> +“He 'll allow all he wins from you to remain in your hands at sixty per +cent interest, if he doesn't want cash!” said Martin, angrily. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, then, I 'm right. It is my little Moses of St. James's Street. He was +n't always as flourishing as we see him now. Oh dear, if any man, three +years back, had told me that this fellow would have proposed seating +himself in my phaeton for a drive round Paris, I don't believe—nay, +I 'm sure—my head couldn't have stood it.” + </p> +<p> +“You know him, then?” said Willoughby. +</p> +<p> +“I should think every man about town a dozen years ago must know him. +There was a kind of brood of these fellows; we used to call them Joseph +and his brethren. One sold cigars, another vended maraschino; this +discounted your bills, that took your plate or your horses—ay, or +your wardrobe—on a bill of sale, and handed you over two hundred +pounds to lose at his brother's hell in the evening. Most useful +scoundrels they were,—equally expert on 'Change and in the Coulisses +of the Opera!” + </p> +<p> +“I will say this for him,” said Martin, “he 's not a hard fellow to deal +with; he does not drive a bargain ungenerously.” + </p> +<p> +“Your hangman is the tenderest fellow in the world,” said Cavendish, “till +the final moment. It's only in adjusting the last turn under the ear that +he shows himself 'ungenerous.'” + </p> +<p> +“Are you deep with him, Harry?” said Willoughby, who saw a sudden paleness +come over Martin's face. +</p> +<p> +“Too deep!” said he, with a bitter effort at a laugh,—“a great deal +too deep.” + </p> +<p> +“We 're all too deep with those fellows,” said Cavendish, as, stretching +out his legs, he contemplated the shape and lustre of his admirably +fitting boots. “One begins by some trumpery loan or so; thence you go on +to a play transaction or a betting-book with them, and you end—egad, +you end by having the fellow at dinner!” + </p> +<p> +“Martin wants his friend to be put up for the Club,” said Willoughby. +</p> +<p> +“Eh, what? At the 'Cercle,' do you mean?” + </p> +<p> +“Why not? Is it so very select?” + </p> +<p> +“No, not exactly that; there are the due proportions of odd reputations, +half reputations, and no reputations; but remember, Martin, that however +black they be now, they all began white. When they started, at least, they +were gentlemen.” + </p> +<p> +“I suspect that does not make the case much better.” + </p> +<p> +“No; but it makes <i>ours</i> better, in associating with them. Come, +come, you know as well as any one that this is impossible, and that if you +should do it to-day, I should follow the lead to-morrow, and our Club +become only an asylum for unpayable tailors and unappeasable bootmakers!” + </p> +<p> +“You go too fast, sir,” exclaimed Martin, in a tone of anger. “I never +intended to pay my debts by a white ball in the ballot-box, nor do I think +that Mr. Merl would relinquish his claim on some thousand pounds, even for +the honor of being the club colleague of Sir Spencer Cavendish.” + </p> +<p> +“Then I know him better,” said the other, tapping his-boot with his cane; +“he would, and he 'd think it a right good bargain besides. From seeing +these fellows at racecourses and betting-rooms, always cold, calm, and +impassive, never depressed by ill-luck, as little elated by good, we fall +into the mistake of esteeming them as a kind of philosophers in life, +without any of those detracting influences that make you and Willoughby, +and even myself, sometimes rash and headstrong. It is a mistake, though; +they have a weakness,—and a terrible weakness,—which is, their +passion to be thought in fashionable society. Yes, they can't resist that! +All their shrewd calculations, all their artful schemes, dissolve into +thin air, at the bare prospect of being recognized 'in society.' I have +studied this flaw in them for many a year back. I 'll not say I haven't +derived advantage from it.” + </p> +<p> +“And yet you 'd refuse him admission into a club,” cried Martin. +</p> +<p> +“Certainly. A club is a Democracy, where each man, once elected, is the +equal of his neighbor. Society is, on the other hand, an absolute +monarchy, where your rank flows from the fountain of honor,—the +host. Take him along with you to her Grace's 'tea,' or my Lady's reception +this evening, and see if the manner of the mistress of the house does not +assign him his place, as certainly as if he were marshalled to it by a +lackey. All his mock tranquillity and assumed ease of manner will not be +proof against the icy dignity of a grande dame; but in the Club he's as +good as the best, or he'll think so, which comes to the same thing.” + </p> +<p> +“Cavendish is right,—that is, as much so as he can be in anything,” + said Willoughby, laughing. “Don't put him up, Martin.” + </p> +<p> +“Then what am I to do? I have given a sort of a pledge. He is not easily +put off; he does not lightly relinquish an object.” + </p> +<p> +“Take him off the scent. Introduce him at the Embassy. Take him to the +Courcelles.” + </p> +<p> +“This is intolerable,” broke in Martin, angrily. “I ask for advice, and +you reply by a sneer and a mockery.” + </p> +<p> +“Not at all. I never was more serious. But here he comes! Look only how +the fellow lolls back in the phaeton. Just see how contemptuously he looks +down on the foot-travellers. I'd lay on another hundred for that stare; +for, assuredly, he has already made the purchase in his own mind.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, Merl, what do you say to Sir Spencer's taste in horseflesh?” said +Martin, as he entered. +</p> +<p> +“They 're nice hacks; very smart.” + </p> +<p> +“Nice hacks!” broke in Cavendish, “why, sir, they're both thoroughbred; +the near horse is by Tiger out of a Crescent mare, and the off one won the +Acton steeple-chase. When you said hacks, therefore, you made a cruel +blunder.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, it's what a friend of mine called them just now,” said Merl; “and +remarked, moreover, that the large horse had been slightly fired on the—the—I +forget the name he gave it.” + </p> +<p> +“You probably remember your friend's name better,” said Cavendish, +sneeringly. “Who was he, pray?” + </p> +<p> +“Massingbred,—we call him Jack Massingbred; he's the Member for +somewhere in Ireland.” + </p> +<p> +“Poor Jack!” muttered Cavendish, “how hard up he must be!” + </p> +<p> +“But you like the equipage, Merl?” said Martin, who had a secret suspicion +that it was now Cavendish's turn for a little humiliation. +</p> +<p> +“Well, it's neat. The buggy—” + </p> +<p> +“The buggy! By Jove, sir, you have a precious choice of epithets! Please +to let me inform you that full-blooded horses are not called hacks, nor +one of Leader's park-phaetons is not styled a buggy.” + </p> +<p> +Martin threw himself into a chair, and after a moment's struggle, burst +out into a fit of laughter. +</p> +<p> +“I think we may make a deal after all, Sir Spencer,” said Merl, who +accepted the baronet's correction with admirable self-control. +</p> +<p> +“No, sir; perfectly impossible; take my word for it, any transaction would +be difficult between us. Good-bye, Martin; adieu, Claude.” And with this +brief leave-taking the peppery Sir Spencer left the room, more flushed and +fussy than he had entered it. +</p> +<p> +“If you knew Sir Spencer Cavendish as long as we have known him, Mr. +Merl,” said Lord Claude, in his blandest of voices, “you'd not be +surprised at this little display of warmth. It is the only weakness in a +very excellent fellow.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm hot, too, my Lord,” said Merl, with the very slightest accentuation +of the “initial H,” “and he was right in saying that dealings would be +difficult between us.” + </p> +<p> +“You mentioned Massingbred awhile ago, Merl. Why not ask him to second you +at the Club?” said Martin, rousing himself suddenly from a train of +thought. +</p> +<p> +“Well, somehow, I thought that he and you did n't exactly pull together; +that there was an election contest,—a kind of a squabble.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm sure that <i>he</i> never gave you any reason to suspect a coldness +between us; I know that <i>I</i> never did,” said Martin, calmly. “We are +but slightly acquainted, it is true, but I should be surprised to learn +that there was any ill-feeling between us.” + </p> +<p> +“One's opponent at the hustings is pretty much the same thing as one's +adversary at a game,—he is against you to-day, and may be your +partner to-morrow; so that, putting even better motives aside, it were bad +policy to treat him as an implacable enemy,” said Lord Claude, with his +accustomed suavity. “Besides, Mr. Merl, you know the crafty maxim of the +French moralist, 'Always treat your enemies as though one day they were to +become your friends.'” And with this commonplace, uttered in a tone and +with a manner that gave it all the semblance of a piece of special advice, +his Lordship took his hat, and, squeezing Martin's hand, moved towards the +door. +</p> +<p> +“Come in here for a moment,” said Martin, pushing open the door into an +adjoining dressing-room, and closing it carefully after them. “So much for +wanting to do a good-natured thing,” cried he, peevishly. “I thought to +help Cavendish to get rid of those 'screws,' and the return he makes me is +to outrage this man.” + </p> +<p> +“What are your dealings with him?” asked Willoughby» anxiously. +</p> +<p> +“Play matters, play debts, loans, securities, post-obits, and every other +blessed contrivance you can think of to swamp a man's present fortune and +future prospects. I don't think he is a bad fellow; I mean, I don't +suspect he 'd press heavily upon me, with any fair treatment on my part. +My impression, in short, is that he'd forgive my not meeting his bill, but +he 'd never get over my not inviting him to a dinner!” + </p> +<p> +“Well,” said Willoughby, encouragingly, “we live in admirable times for +such practices. There used to be a vulgar prejudice in favor of men that +one knew, and names that the world was familiar with. It is gone by +entirely; and if you only present your friend—don't wince at the +title—your friend, I say—as the rich Mr. Merl, the man who +owns shares in mines, canals, and collieries, whose speculations count by +tens of thousands, and whose credit rises to millions, you'll never be +called on to apologize for his parts of speech, or make excuse for his +solecisms in good breeding.” + </p> +<p> +“Will you put up his name, then, at the Club?” asked Martin, eagerly. “It +would not do for <i>me</i> to do so.” + </p> +<p> +“To be sure I will, and Massingbred shall be his seconder.” And with this +cheering pledge Lord Claude bade him good-bye, and left him free to return +to Mr. Merl in the drawing-room. That gentleman had, however, already +departed, to the no small astonishment of Martin, who now threw himself +lazily down on a sofa, to ponder over his difficulties and weave all +manner of impracticable schemes to meet them. +</p> +<p> +They were, indeed, very considerable embarrassments. He had raised heavy +sums at most exorbitant rates, and obtained money—for the play-table—by +pledging valuable reversions of various kinds, for Merl somehow was the +easiest of all people to deal with; one might have fancied that he lent +his money only to afford himself an occasion of sympathy with the +borrower, just as he professed that he merely betted “to have a little +interest in the race.” Whatever Martin, then, suggested in the way of +security never came amiss; whether it were a farm, a mill, a quarry, or a +lead mine, he accepted it at once, and, as Martin deemed, without the +slightest knowledge or investigation, little suspecting that there was not +a detail of his estate, nor a resource of his property, with which the +wily Jew was not more familiar than himself. In fact, Mr. Merl was an +astonishing instance of knowledge on every subject by which money was to +be made, and he no more advanced loans upon an encumbered estate than he +backed the wrong horse or bid for a copied picture. There is a species of +practical information excessively difficult to describe, which is not +connoisseurship, but which supplies the place of that quality, enabling +him who possesses it to estimate the value of an object, without any +admixture of those weakening prejudices which beset your mere man of +taste. Now, Mr. Merl had no caprices about the color of the horse he +backed, no more than for the winning seat at cards; he could not be warped +from his true interests by any passing whim, and whether he cheapened a +Correggio or discounted a bill, he was the same calm, dispassionate +calculator of the profit to come of the transaction. +</p> +<p> +Latterly, however, he had thrown out a hint to Martin that he was curious +to see some of that property on which he had made such large advances; and +this wish—which, according to the frame of mind he happened to be in +at the moment, struck Martin as a mere caprice or a direct menace—was +now the object of his gloomy reveries. We have not tracked his steps +through the tortuous windings of his moneyed difficulties; it is a chapter +in life wherein there is wonderfully little new to record; the Jew-lender +and his associates, the renewed bill and the sixty per cent, the +non-restored acceptances flitting about the world, sold and resold as +damaged articles, but always in the end falling into the hands of a “most +respectable party,” and proceeded on as a true debt; then, the compromises +for time, for silence, for secrecy,—since these transactions are +rarely, if ever, devoid of some unhappy incident that would not bear +publicity; and there are invariably little notes beginning “Dear Moses,” + which would argue most ill-chosen intimacies. These are all old stories, +and the “Times” and the “Chronicle” are full of them. There is a terrible +sameness about them, too. The dupe and the villain are stock characters +that never change, and the incidents are precisely alike in every case. +Humble folk, who are too low for fashionable follies, wonder how the +self-same artifices have always the same success, and cannot conceal their +astonishment at the innocence of our young men about town; and yet the +mystery is easily solved. The dupe is, in these cases, just as +unprincipled as his betrayer, and their negotiation is simply a game of +skill, in which Israel is not always the winner. +</p> +<p> +If we have not followed Martin's steps through these dreary labyrinths, it +is because the path is a worn one; for the same reason, too, we decline to +keep him company in his ponderings over them. All that his troubles had +taught him was an humble imitation of the tricky natures of those he dealt +with; so that he plotted and schemed and contrived, till his very head +grew weary with the labor. And so we leave him. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER III. A YOUNG DUCHESS AND AN OLD FRIEND +</h2> +<p> +Like a vast number of people who have passed years in retirement, Lady +Dorothea was marvellously disappointed with “the world” when she went back +to it. It was not at all the kind of thing she remembered, or at least +fancied it to be. There were not the old gradations of class strictly +defined; there was not the old veneration for rank and station; “society” + was invaded by hosts of unknown people, “names one had never heard of.” + The great stars of fashion of her own day had long since set, and the new +celebrities had never as much as heard of her. The great houses of the +Faubourg were there, it is true; but with reduced households and dimly +lighted salons, they were but sorry representatives of the splendor her +memory had invested them with. +</p> +<p> +Now the Martins were installed in one of the finest apartments of the +finest quarter in Paris. They were people of unquestionable station, they +had ample means, lacked for none of the advantages which the world demands +from those who seek its favors; and yet there they were, just as unknown, +unvisited, and unsought after, as if they were the Joneses or the Smiths, +“out” for a month's pleasuring on the Continent. +</p> +<p> +A solitary invitation to the Embassy to dinner was not followed by any +other attention; and so they drove along the Boulevards and through the +Bois de Boulogne, and saw some thousands of gay, bright-costumed people, +all eager for pleasure, all hurrying on to some scheme of amusement or +enjoyment, while they returned moodily to their handsome quarter, as much +excluded from all participation in what went on around them as though they +were natives of Hayti. +</p> +<p> +Martin sauntered down to the reading-room, hoping vainly to fall in with +some one he knew. He lounged listlessly along the bright streets, till +their very glare addled him; he stared at the thousand new inventions of +luxury and ease the world had discovered since he had last seen it, and +then he plodded gloomily homeward, to dine and listen to her Ladyship's +discontented criticism upon the tiresome place and the odious people who +filled it. Paris was, indeed, a deception and a snare to them! So far from +finding it cheap, the expense of living—as they lived—was +considerably greater than at London. It was a city abounding in luxuries, +but all costly. The details which are in England reserved for days of +parade and display, were here daily habits, and these were now to be +indulged in with all the gloom of solitude and isolation. +</p> +<p> +What wonder, then, if her Ladyship's temper was ruffled, and her +equanimity unbalanced by such disappointments? In vain she perused the +list of arrivals to find out some distinguished acquaintance; in vain she +interrogated her son as to what was going on, and who were there. The +Captain only frequented the club, and could best chronicle the names that +were great at whist or illustrious at billiards. +</p> +<p> +“It surely cannot be the season here,” cried she, one morning, peevishly, +“for really there isn't a single person one has ever heard of at Paris.” + </p> +<p> +“And yet this is a strong catalogue,” cried the Captain, with a malicious +twinkle in his eye. “Here are two columns of somebodies, who were present +at Madame de Luygnes' last night.” + </p> +<p> +“You can always fill salons, if that be all,” said she, angrily. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, but not with Tour du Pins, Tavannes, Rochefoucaulds, Howards of +Maiden, and Greys of Allington, besides such folk as Pahlen, Lichtenstein, +Colonna, and so forth.” + </p> +<p> +“How is it then, that one never sees them?” cried she, more eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Say, rather, how is it one doesn't know them,” cried Martin, “for here we +are seven weeks, and, except to that gorgeous fellow in the cocked hat at +the porter's lodge, I have never exchanged a salute with a human being.” + </p> +<p> +“There are just three houses, they say, in all Paris, to one or other of +which one must be presented,” said the Captain—“Madame de Luygnes, +the Duchesse de Cour-celles, and Madame de Mirecourt.” + </p> +<p> +“That Madame de Luygnes was your old mistress, was she not, Miss +Henderson?” asked Lady Dorothea, haughtily. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lady,” was the calm reply. +</p> +<p> +“And who are these other people?” + </p> +<p> +“The Duc de Mirecourt was married to 'Mademoiselle,' the daughter of the +Duchesse de Luygnes.” + </p> +<p> +“Have you heard or seen anything of them since you came here?” asked her +Ladyship. +</p> +<p> +“No, my Lady, except a hurried salute yesterday from a carriage as we +drove in. I just caught sight of the Duchesse as she waved her hand to +me.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, I saw it. I returned the salutation, never suspecting it was meant +for <i>you</i>. And she was your companion—your dear friend—long +ago?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lady,” said Kate, bending down over her work, but showing in the +crimson flush that spread over her neck how the speech had touched her. +</p> +<p> +“And you used to correspond, I think?” continued her Ladyship. +</p> +<p> +“We did so, my Lady.” + </p> +<p> +“And she dropped it, of course, when she married,—she had other +things to think of?” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm afraid, my Lady, the lapse was on <i>my</i> side,” said Kate, +scarcely repressing a smile at her own hardihood. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Your</i> side! Do you mean to say that you so far forgot what was due +to the station of the Duchesse de Mirecourt, that you left her letter +unreplied to?” + </p> +<p> +“Not exactly, my Lady.” + </p> +<p> +“Then, pray, what do you mean?” + </p> +<p> +Kate paused for a second or two, and then, in a very calm and collected +voice, replied,—“I told the Duchesse, in my last letter, that I +should write no more,—that my life was thrown in a wild, +unfrequented region, where no incident broke the monotony, and that were I +to continue our correspondence, my letters must degenerate into a mere +selfish record of my own sentiments, as unprofitable to read as ungraceful +to write; and so I said good-bye—or <i>au revoir</i>, at least—till +other scenes might suggest other thoughts.” + </p> +<p> +“A most complimentary character of our Land of the West, certainly! I +really was not aware before that Cro' Martin was regarded as an +'oubliette.'” + </p> +<p> +Kate made no answer,—a silence which seemed rather to irritate than +appease her Ladyship. +</p> +<p> +“I hope you included the family in your dreary picture. I trust it was not +a mere piece of what artists call still life, Miss Henderson?” + </p> +<p> +“No, my Lady,” said she, with a deep sigh; but the tone and manner of the +rejoinder were anything but apologetic. +</p> +<p> +“Now I call that as well done as anything one sees in Hyde Park,” cried +the Captain, directing attention as he spoke to a very handsome chariot +which had just driven up to the door. “They're inquiring for somebody +here,” continued he, as he watched the Chasseur as he came and went from +the carriage to the house. +</p> +<p> +“There's a Grandee of Spain, or something of that kind, lives on the +fourth floor, I think,” said Martin, dryly. +</p> +<p> +“The Duchesse de Mirecourt, my Lady,” said a servant, entering, “begs to +know if your Ladyship will receive her?” + </p> +<p> +Kate started at the words, and her color rose till her cheeks were +crimsoned. +</p> +<p> +“A visit, I suspect, rather for you than me, Miss Henderson,” said Lady +Dorothea, in a half-whisper; and then turning to her servant, nodded her +acquiescence. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm off,” said Martin, rising suddenly to make his escape. +</p> +<p> +“And I too,” said the Captain, as he made his exit by an opposite door. +</p> +<p> +The folding-doors of the apartment were at the same moment thrown wide, +and the Duchess entered. Very young,—almost girlish, indeed,—she +combined in her appearance the charming freshness of youth with that +perfection of gracefulness which attaches to the higher classes of French +society, and although handsome, more striking from the fascination of +manner than for any traits of beauty. Courtesying slightly, but +deferentially, to Lady Dorothea, she apologized for her intrusion by the +circumstance of having, the day before, caught sight of her “dear +governess and dear friend—” And as she reached thus far, the +deep-drawn breathing of another attracted her. She turned and saw Kate, +who, pale as a statue, stood leaning on a chair. In an instant she was in +her arms, exclaiming, in a rapture of delight, “My dear, dear Kate,—my +more than sister! You would forgive me, madam,” said she, addressing Lady +Dorothea, “if you but knew what we were to each other. Is it not so, +Kate?” + </p> +<p> +A faint tremulous motion of the lips—all colorless as they were—was +the only reply to the speech; but the young Frenchwoman needed none, but +turning to her Ladyship, poured forth with native volubility a story of +their friendship, the graceful language in which she uttered it lending +those choice phrases which never seem exaggerations of sentiment till they +be translated into other tongues. Mingling her praises with half +reproaches, she drew a picture of Kate so flattering that Lady Dorothea +could not help a sense of shrinking terror that one should speak in such +terms of the governess. +</p> +<p> +“And now, dearest,” added she, turning to Kate, “are we to see a great +deal of each other? When can you come to me? Pardon me, madam, this +question should be addressed to you.” + </p> +<p> +“Miss Henderson is my secretary, Madame la Duchesse; she is also my +companion,” said Lady Dorothea, haughtily; “but I can acknowledge claims +which take date before my own. She shall be always at liberty when you +wish for her.” + </p> +<p> +“How kind, how good of you!” cried the Duchess. “I could have been certain +of that. I knew that my dear Kate must be loved by all around her. We have +a little <i>fête</i> on Wednesday at St. Germain. May I bespeak her for +that day?” + </p> +<p> +“Her Ladyship suffers her generosity to trench upon her too far,” said +Kate, in a low voice. “I am in a manner necessary to her,—that is, +my absence would be inconvenient.” + </p> +<p> +“But her Ladyship will doubtless be in the world herself that evening. +There is a ball at the Duchesse de Sargance, and the Austrian Minister has +something,” rattled on the lively Duchess. “Paris is so gay just now, so +full of pleasant people, and all so eager for enjoyment. Don't you find it +so, my Lady?” + </p> +<p> +“I go but little into society!” said Lady Dorothea, stiffly. +</p> +<p> +“How strange! and I—I cannot live without it. Even when we go to our +Château at Roche-Mire I carry away with me all my friends who will consent +to come. We try to imitate that delightful life of your country houses, +and make up that great family party which is the <i>beau idéal</i> of +social enjoyment.” + </p> +<p> +“And you like a country life, then?” asked her Ladyship. +</p> +<p> +“To be sure. I love the excursions on horseback, the forest drives, the +evening walks in the trellised vines, the parties one makes to see a +thousand things one never looks at afterwards; the little dinners on the +grass, with all their disasters, and the moonlight drive homewards, half +joyous, half romantic,—not to speak of that charming frankness by +which every one makes confession of his besetting weakness, and each has +some little secret episode of his own life to tell the others. All but +Kate here,” cried she, laughingly, “who never revealed anything.” + </p> +<p> +“Madame la Duchesse will, I 'm sure, excuse my absence; she has doubtless +many things she would like to say to her friend alone,” said Lady +Dorothea, rising and courtesying formally; and the young Duchess returned +the salutation with equal courtesy and respect. +</p> +<p> +“My dear, dear Kate,” cried she, throwing her arms around her as the door +closed after her Ladyship, “how I have longed for this moment, to tell you +ten thousand things about myself and hear from you as many more! And +first, dearest, are you happy? for you look more serious, more thoughtful +than you used,—and paler, too.” + </p> +<p> +“Am I so?” asked Kate, faintly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes. When you're not speaking, your brows grow stern and your lips +compressed. Your features have not that dear repose, as Giorgevo used to +call it. Poor fellow! how much in love he was, and you 've never asked for +him!” + </p> +<p> +“I never thought of him!” said she, with a smile. +</p> +<p> +“Nor of Florian, Kate!” + </p> +<p> +“Nor even of him.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0003" id="linkimage-0003"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/044.jpg" width="100%" alt="044 " /> +</div> +<p> +“And yet that poor fellow was really in love,—nay, don't laugh, +Kate, I know it. He gave up his career, everything he had in life,—he +was a Secretary of Legation, with good prospects,—all to win your +favor, becoming a 'Carbonaro,' or a 'Montagnard,' or something or other +that swears to annihilate all kings and extirpate monarchy.” + </p> +<p> +“And after that?” asked Kate, with more of interest. +</p> +<p> +“After that, ma chère, they sent him to the galleys; I forget exactly +where, but I think it was in Sicily. And then there was that Hungarian +Count Nemescz, that wanted to kill somebody who picked up your bouquet out +of the Grand Canal at Venice.” + </p> +<p> +“And whom, strangely enough, I met and made acquaintance with in Ireland. +His name is Massingbred.” + </p> +<p> +“Not the celebrity, surely,—the young politician who made such a +sensation by a first speech in Parliament t'other day? He's all the rage +here. Could it be him?” + </p> +<p> +“Possibly enough,” said she, carelessly. “He had very good abilities, and +knew it.” + </p> +<p> +“He comes to us occasionally, but I scarcely have any acquaintance with +him. But this is not telling me of yourself, child. Who and what are these +people you are living with? Do they value my dear Kate as they ought? Are +they worthy of having her amongst them?” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm afraid not,” said Kate, with a smile. “They do not seem at all +impressed with the blessing they enjoy, and only treat me as one of +themselves.” + </p> +<p> +“But, seriously, child, are they as kind as they should be? That old lady +is, to my thinking, as austere as an Archduchess.” + </p> +<p> +“I like her,” said Kate; “that is, I like her cold, reserved manner, +unbending as it is, which only demands the quiet duties of servitude, and +neither asks nor wishes for affection. She admits me to no friendship, but +she exacts no attachment.” + </p> +<p> +“And you like this?” + </p> +<p> +“I did not say I should like it from <i>you!</i> said Kate, pressing the +hand she held fervently to her lips, while her pale cheek grew faintly +red. +</p> +<p> +“And you go into the world with her,—at least <i>her</i> world?” + </p> +<p> +“She has none here. Too haughty for second-rate society, and unknown to +those who form the first class at Paris, she never goes out.” + </p> +<p> +“But she would—she would like to do so?” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm sure she would.” + </p> +<p> +“Then mamma shall visit her. You know she is everything here; her house is +the rendezvous of all the distinguished people, and, once seen in her +salons, my Lady—how do you call her?” + </p> +<p> +“Lady Dorothea Martin.” + </p> +<p> +“I can't repeat it—but no matter—her Ladyship shall not want +for attentions. Perhaps she would condescend to come to me on Wednesday? +Dare I venture to ask her?” + </p> +<p> +Kate hesitated, and the Duchess quickly rejoined,—“No, dearest, you +are quite right; it would be hazardous, too abrupt, too unceremonious. You +will, however, be with us; and I long to present you to all my friends, +and show them one to whom I owe so much, and ought to be indebted to for +far more. I 'll send for you early, that we may have a long morning +together.” And so saying, she arose to take leave. +</p> +<p> +“I feel as though I 'll scarcely believe I had seen you when you have +gone,” said Kate, earnestly. “I'll fancy it all a dream—or rather, +that my life since we met has been one, and that we had never parted.” + </p> +<p> +“Were we not very happy then, Kate?” said the Duchess, with a half-sigh; +“happier, perhaps, than we may ever be again.” + </p> +<p> +“<i>You</i> must not say so, at all events,” said Kate, once more +embracing her. And they parted. +</p> +<p> +Kate arose and watched the splendid equipage as it drove away, and then +slowly returned to her place at the work-table. She did not, however, +resume her embroidery, but sat deep in reflection, with her hands clasped +before her. +</p> +<p> +“Poor fellow!” said she, at length, “a galley-slave, and Massingbred a +celebrity! So much for honesty and truth in this good world of ours! Can +it always go on thus? That is the question I'm curious to hear solved. A +little time may, perhaps, reveal it!” So saying to herself, she leaned her +head upon her hand, deep lost in thought. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER IV. A VERY GREAT FAVOR +</h2> +<p> +Amongst the embarrassments of story-telling there is one which, to be +appreciated, must have been experienced; it is, however, sufficiently +intelligible to claim sympathy even by indicating,—we mean the +difficulty a narrator has in the choice of those incidents by which his +tale is to be marked out, and the characters who fill it adequately +depicted. +</p> +<p> +It is quite clear that a great number of events must occur in the story of +every life of which no record can be made; some seem too trivial, some too +irrelevant for mention, and yet, when we come to reflect upon real life +itself, how many times do we discover that what appeared to be but the +veriest trifles were the mainsprings of an entire existence, and the +incidents which we deemed irrelevant were the hidden links that connected +a whole chain of events? How easy, then, to err in the selection! This +difficulty presents itself strongly to us at present; a vast number of +circumstances rise before us from which we must refrain, lest they should +appear to indicate a road we are not about to travel; and, at the same +time, we feel the want of those very events to reconcile what may well +seem contradictions in our history. +</p> +<p> +It not unfrequently happens that an apology is just as tiresome as the +offence it should excuse; and so, without further explanation, we proceed. +Lady Dorothea soon found herself as much sought after as she had +previously been neglected. The Duchesse de Luygnes was the great leader of +fashion at Paris; and the marked attentions by which she distinguished her +Ladyship at once established her position. Of course her unquestionable +claim to station, and her own high connections rendered the task less +difficult; while it imparted to Lady Dorothea's own manner and bearing +that degree of dignity and calm which never accompany an insecure +elevation. +</p> +<p> +With such refinement of delicacy, such exquisite tact, was every step +managed that her Ladyship was left to suppose every attention she received +sprung out of her own undeniable right to them, and to the grace and charm +of a manner which really had had its share of success some five-and-thirty +years before. The gloomy isolation she had passed through gave a stronger +contrast to the enjoyment of her present life; and for the first time for +years she regained some of that courtly elegance of address which in her +youth had pre-eminently distinguished her. The change had worked favorably +in her temper also; and Martin perceived, with astonishment, that she +neither made injurious comparisons between the present and the past, nor +deemed the age they lived in one of insufferable vulgarity. It would +scarcely have been possible for Lady Dorothea not to connect her altered +position with the friendship between Kate Henderson and her former pupil; +she knew it, and she felt it. All her self-esteem could not get over this +consciousness; but it was a humiliation reserved for her own heart, since +nothing in Kate's manner indicated even a suspicion of the fact. On the +contrary, never had she shown herself more submissive and dependent. The +duties of her office, multiplied as they were tenfold by her Ladyship's +engagements, were all punctually acquitted, and with a degree of tact and +cleverness that obtained from Lady Dorothea the credit of a charming +note-writer. Nor was she indifferent to the effect Kate produced in +society, where her beauty and fascination had already made a deep +impression. +</p> +<p> +Reserving a peculiar deference and respect for all her intercourse with +Lady Dorothea, Kate Henderson assumed to the world at large the ease and +dignity of one whose station was the equal of any. There was nothing in +her air or bearing that denoted the dependant; there was rather a dash of +haughty superiority, which did not scruple to avow itself and bid defiance +to any bold enough to question its claims. Even this was a secret flattery +to Lady Dorothea's heart; and she saw with satisfaction the success of +that imperious tone which to herself was subdued to actual humility. +</p> +<p> +Lady Dorothea Martin and her beautiful companion were now celebrities at +Paris; and, assuredly, no city of the world knows how to shower more +fascinations on those it favors. Life became to them a round of brilliant +festivities. They received invitations from every quarter, and everywhere +were met with that graceful welcome so sure to greet those whose airs and +whose dress are the ornaments of a salon. They “received” at home, too; +and her Ladyship's Saturdays were about the most exclusive of all Parisian +receptions. Tacitly, at least, the whole management and direction of these +“Evenings” was committed to Kate. Martin strictly abstained from a society +in every way distasteful to him. The Captain had come to care for nothing +but play, so that the Club was his only haunt; and it was the rarest of +all events to see him pass even a few minutes in the drawing-room. He had, +besides, that degree of shrinking dislike to Kate Henderson which a weak +man very often experiences towards a clever and accomplished girl. When he +first joined his family at Paris, he was struck by her great beauty and +the elegance of a manner that might have dignified any station, and he +fell partly in love,—that is to say, as much in love as a captain of +hussars could permit himself to feel for a governess. He condescended to +make small advances, show her petty attentions, and even distinguish her +by that flattering stare, with his glass to his eye, which he had known to +be what the poet calls “blush-compelling” in many a fair cheek in +provincial circles. +</p> +<p> +To his marvellous discomfiture, however, these measures were not followed +by any success. She never as much as seemed aware of them, and treated him +with the same polite indifference, as though he had been neither a hussar +nor a lady-killer. Of course he interpreted this as a piece of consummate +cunning; he had no other measure for her capacity than would have been +suited to his own. She was a deep one, evidently bent on drawing him on, +and entangling him in some stupid declaration, and so he grew cautious. +But, somehow, his reserve provoked as little as his boldness. She did not +change in the least; she treated him with a quiet, easy sort of no-notice,—the +most offensive thing possible to one bent upon being impressive, and +firmly persuaded that he need only wish, to be the conqueror. +</p> +<p> +Self-worship was too strong in him to suffer a single doubt as to his own +capacity for success, and therefore the only solution to the mystery of +her manner was its being an artful scheme, which time and a little +watching would surely explain. Time went on, and yet he grew none the +wiser; Kate continued the same impassive creature as at first. She never +sought,—never avoided him. She met him without constraint,—without +pleasure, too. They never became intimate, while there was no distance in +their intercourse; till at last, wounded in his self-esteem, he began to +feel that discomfort in her presence which only waits for the slightest +provocation to become actual dislike. +</p> +<p> +With that peevishness that belongs to small minds, he would have been glad +to have discovered some good ground for hating her; and a dozen times a +day did he fancy that he had “hit the blot,” but somehow he always +detected his mistake erelong; and thus did he live on in that tantalizing +state of uncertainty and indecision which combines about as much suffering +as men of his stamp are capable of feeling. +</p> +<p> +If Lady Dorothea never suspected the degree of influence Kate silently +exercised over her, the Captain saw it palpably, and tried to nourish the +knowledge into a ground for dislike. But somehow she would no more suffer +herself to be hated than to be loved, and invariably baffled all his +attempts to “get up” an indignation against her. By numberless devices—too +slight, too evanescent to be called regular coquetry—she understood +how to conciliate him, even in his roughest moods, while she had only to +make the very least possible display of her attractions to fascinate him +in his happier moments. The gallant hussar was not much given to +self-examination. It was one of the last positions he would have selected; +and yet he had confessed to his own heart that, though he 'd not like to +marry her himself, he 'd be sorely tempted to shoot any man who made her +his wife. +</p> +<p> +Lady Dorothea and Kate Henderson were seated one morning engaged in the +very important task of revising the invitation-book,—weeding out the +names of departed acquaintance, and canvassing the claims of those who +should succeed them. The rigid criticism as to eligibility showed how +great an honor was the card for her Ladyship's “Tea.” While they were thus +occupied, Captain Martin entered the room with an open letter in his hand, +his air and manner indicating flurry, if not actual agitation. +</p> +<p> +“Sorry to interrupt a privy council,” said he, “but I've come to ask a +favor,—don't look frightened; it's not for a woman, my Lady,—but +I want a card for your next Saturday, for a male friend of mine.” + </p> +<p> +“Kate has just been telling me that 'our men' are too numerous.” + </p> +<p> +“Impossible. Miss Henderson knows better than any one that the success of +these things depends on having a host of men,—all ages, all classes, +all sorts of people,” said he, indolently. +</p> +<p> +“I think we have complied with your theory,” said she, pointing to the +book before her. “If our ladies are chosen for their real qualities, the +men have been accepted with a most generous forbearance.” + </p> +<p> +“One more, then, will not damage the mixture.” + </p> +<p> +“Of course, Captain Martin, it is quite sufficient that he is a friend of +yours—that you wish it—” + </p> +<p> +“But it is no such thing, Miss Henderson,” broke in Lady Dorothea. “We +have already given deep umbrage in many quarters—very high quarters, +too—by refusals; and a single mistake would be fatal to us.” + </p> +<p> +“But why need this be a mistake?” cried Captain Martin, peevishly. “The +man is an acquaintance of mine,—a friend, if you like to call him +so.” + </p> +<p> +“And who is he?” asked my Lady, with all the solemnity of a judge. +</p> +<p> +“A person I met at the Cape. We travelled home together—saw a great +deal of each other—in fact—I know him as intimately as I do—any +officer in my regiment,” said the Captain, blundering and faltering at +every second word. +</p> +<p> +“Oh! then he is one of your own corps?” said her Ladyship. +</p> +<p> +“I never said so,” broke he in. “If he had been, I don't fancy I should +need to employ much solicitation in his behalf; the—they are not +usually treated in that fashion!” + </p> +<p> +“I trust we should know how to recognize their merits,” said Kate, with a +look which sorely puzzled him whether it meant conciliation or raillery. +</p> +<p> +“And his name?” asked my Lady. “His name ought to be decisive, without +anything more!” + </p> +<p> +“He's quite a stranger here, knows nobody, so that you incur no risk as to +any impertinent inquiries, and when he leaves this, to-morrow or next day, +you 'll never see him again.” This the Captain said with all the confusion +of an inexpert man in a weak cause. +</p> +<p> +“Shall I address his card, or will you take it yourself, Captain Martin?” + said Kate, in a low voice. +</p> +<p> +“Write Merl,—Mr. Herman Merl,” said he, dropping his own voice to +the same tone. +</p> +<p> +“Merl!” exclaimed Lady Dorothea, whose quick hearing detected the words. +“Why, where on earth could you have made acquaintance with a man called +Merl?” + </p> +<p> +“I have told you already where and how we met; and if it be any +satisfaction to you to know that I am under considerable obligations—heavy +obligations—to this same gentleman, perhaps it might incline you to +show him some mark of attention.” + </p> +<p> +“You could have him to dinner at your Club,—you might even bring him +here, when we're alone, Harry; but really, to receive him at one of our +Evenings! You know how curious people are, what questions they will ask:—'Who +is that queer-looking man?'—I 'm certain he is so.—'Is he +English?'—'Who does he belong to?'—'Does he know any one?'” + </p> +<p> +“Let them ask me, then,” said Martin, “and I may, perhaps, be able to +satisfy them.” At the same moment he took up from the table the card which +Kate had just written, giving her a look of grateful recognition as he did +so. +</p> +<p> +“You 've done this at your own peril, Miss Henderson,” said Lady Dorothea, +half upbraidingly. +</p> +<p> +“At <i>mine</i>, be it rather,” said the Captain, sternly. +</p> +<p> +“I accept my share of it willingly,” said Kate, with a glance which +brought a deep flush over the hussar's cheek, and sent through him a +strange thrill of pleasure. +</p> +<p> +“Then I am to suppose we shall be honored with your own presence on this +occasion,—rare favor that it is,” said her Ladyship. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I 'll look in. I promised Merl to present him.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, you need n't!” said she, peevishly. “Half the men merely make their +bow when they meet me, and neither expect me to remember who they are or +to notice them. I may leave your distinguished friend in the same +category.” + </p> +<p> +A quick glance from Kate—fleeting, but full of meaning—stopped +Martin as he was about to make a hasty reply. And, crumpling up the card +with suppressed passion, he turned and left the room. +</p> +<p> +“Don't put that odious name on our list, Miss Henderson,” said Lady +Dorothea; “we shall never have him again.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm rather curious to see him,” said Kate. “All this discussion has +imparted a kind of interest to him, not to say that there would seem +something like a mystery in Captain Martin's connection with him.” + </p> +<p> +“I confess to no such curiosity,” said my Lady, haughtily. “The taste to +be amused by vulgarity is like the passion some people have to see an +hospital; you may be interested by the sight, but you may catch a malady +for your pains.” And with this observation of mingled truth and fallacy +her Ladyship sailed proudly out of the room in all the conscious +importance of her own cleverness. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER V. A LETTER FROM HOME +</h2> +<p> +While this discussion was going on, Martin was seated in his own room, +examining the contents of his letter-bag, which the post had just +delivered to him. A very casual glance at his features would have +discovered that the tidings which met his eye were very rarely of a +pleasant character. For the most part the letters were importunate appeals +for money, subscriptions, loans, small sums to be repaid when the borrower +had risen above his present difficulties, aids to effect some little +enterprise on whose very face was failure. Then there were the more formal +demands for sums actually due, written in the perfection of coercive +courtesy, subjecting the reader to all the tortures of a moral surgical +operation, a suffering actually increased by the very dexterity of the +manipulator. Then came, in rugged hand and gnarled shape, urgent +entreaties for abatements and allowances, pathetic pictures of failing +crops, sickness and sorrow! Somewhat in contrast to these in matter—most +strikingly unlike them in manner—was a short note from Mr. Maurice +Scanlan. Like a rebutting witness in a cause, he spoke of everything as +going on favorably; prices were fair, the oat crop a reasonable one. There +was distress, to be sure, but who ever saw the West without it? The +potatoes had partially failed; but as there was a great deal of typhus and +a threat of cholera, there would be fewer to eat them. The late storms had +done a good deal of mischief, but as the timber thrown down might be sold +without any regard to the entail, some thousand pounds would thus be +realized; and as the gale had carried away the new pier at Kilkieran, +there would be no need to give a bounty to the fishermen who could not +venture out to sea. The damage done to the house and the conservatories at +Cro' Martin offered an opportunity to congratulate the owner on the +happiness of living in a milder climate; while the local squabbles of the +borough suggested a pleasant contrast with all the enjoyments of a life +abroad. +</p> +<p> +On the whole, Mr. Scanlan's letter was rather agreeable than the reverse, +since he contrived to accompany all the inevitable ills of fortune by some +side-wind consolations, and when pushed hard for these, skilfully +insinuated in what way “things might have been worse.” If the letter did +not reflect very favorably on either the heart or brain that conceived it, +it well suited him to whom it was addressed. To screen himself from +whatever might irritate him, to escape an unpleasant thought or unhappy +reflection, to avoid, above all things, the slightest approach of +self-censure, was Martin's great philosophy; and he esteemed the man who +gave him any aid in this road. Now newspapers might croak their dark +predictions about the coming winter, prophesy famine, fever, and +pestilence; Scanlan's letter, “written from the spot,” by “one who enjoyed +every opportunity for forming a correct opinion,” was there, and <i>he</i> +said matters were pretty much as usual. The West of Ireland had never been +a land of milk and honey, and nobody expected it ever would be,—the +people could live in it, however, and pay rents too; and as Martin felt +that he had no undue severity to reproach himself with, he folded up the +epistle, saying that “when a man left his house and property for a while, +it was a real blessing to have such a fellow as Scanlan to manage for +him;” and truly, if one could have his conscience kept for a few hundreds +a year, the compact might be a pleasant one. But even to the most +self-indulgent this plan is impracticable; and so might it now be seen in +Martin's heightened color and fidgety manner, and that even <i>he</i> was +not as much at ease within as he wished to persuade himself he was. +</p> +<p> +Amid the mass of correspondence, pamphlets and newspapers, one note, very +small and neatly folded, had escaped Martin's notice till the very last; +and it was only as he heaped up a whole bundle to throw into the fire that +he discovered this, in Mary's well-known hand. He held it for some time +ere he broke the seal, and his features assumed a sadder, graver cast than +before. His desertion of her—and he had not blinked the word to +himself—had never ceased to grieve him; and however disposed he +often felt to throw upon others the blame which attached to himself here, +he attempted no casuistry, but stood quietly, without one plea in his +favor, before his own heart. +</p> +<p> +The very consciousness of his culpability had prevented him writing to her +as he ought; his letters were few, short, and constrained. Not all the +generous frankness of hers could restore to him the candid ease of his +former intercourse with her; and every chance expression he used was +conned over and canvassed by him, lest it might convey some sentiment, or +indicate some feeling foreign to his intention. At length so painful had +the task become that he had ceased writing altogether, contenting himself +with a message through Kate Henderson,—some excuse about his health, +fatigue,-and so forth, ever coupled with a promise that he would soon be +himself again, and as active a correspondent as she could desire. +</p> +<p> +To these apologies Mary always replied in a kindly spirit. Whatever sorrow +they might have cost her she kept for herself; they never awakened one +expression of impatience, not a word of reproach. She understood him +thoroughly,—his easy indolence of disposition, his dislike to a +task, his avoidance of whatever was possible to defer; more even than all +these, his own unforgiveness of himself for his part towards her. To +alleviate, so far as she might, the poignancy of the last, was for a while +the great object of all her letters; and so she continued to expatiate on +the happy life she was leading, her contentment with the choice she had +made of remaining there, throwing in little playful sallies of condolence +at her uncle's banishment, and jestingly assuring him how much happier he +would be at home! +</p> +<p> +In whatever mood, however, she wrote, there was a striking absence of +whatever could fret or grieve her uncle throughout all her letters. She +selected every pleasant topic and the favorable side of every theme to +tell of. She never forgot any little locality which he had been partial +to, or any of the people who were his favorites; and, in fact, it might +have seemed that the great object she had in view was to attach him more +and more to the home he had left, and strengthen every tie that bound him +to his own country. And all this was done lightly and playfully, and with +a pleasant promise of the happiness he should feel on the day of his +return. +</p> +<p> +These letters were about the pleasantest incidents in Martin's present +life; and the day which brought him one was sure to pass agreeably, while +he made vigorous resolutions about writing a reply, and sometimes got even +so far as to open a desk and ruminate over an answer. It so chanced that +now a much longer interval had occurred since Mary's last letter, and the +appearance of the present note, so unlike the voluminous epistle she +usually despatched, struck him with a certain dismay. “Poor Molly,” said +he, as he broke the seal, “she is growing weary at last; this continued +neglect is beginning to tell upon her. A little more, and she 'll believe—as +well she may—that we have forgotten her altogether.” + </p> +<p> +The note was even briefer than he had suspected. It was written, too, in +what might seem haste, or agitation, and the signature forgotten. Martin's +hand trembled, and his chest heaved heavily as he read the following +lines:— +</p> +<p> +“Cro' Martin, Wednesday Night +</p> +<p> +“Dearest Uncle,—You will not suffer these few lines to remain +unanswered, since they are written in all the pressure of a great +emergency. Our worst fears for the harvest are more than realized; a total +failure in the potatoes—a great diminution in the oat crop; the +incessant rains have flooded all the low meadows, and the cattle are +almost without forage, while from the same cause no turf can be cut, and +even that already cut and stacked cannot be drawn away from the bogs. But, +worse than all these, typhus is amongst us, and cholera, they say, coming. +I might stretch out this dreary catalogue, but here is enough, more than +enough, to awaken your sympathies and arouse you to action. There is a +blight on the land; the people are starving—dying. If every sense of +duty was dead within us, if we could harden our hearts against every claim +of those from whose labor we derive ease, from whose toil we draw wealth +and leisure, we might still be recalled to better things by the glorious +heroism of these poor people, so nobly courageous, so patient are they in +their trials. It is not now that I can speak of the traits I have +witnessed of their affection, their charity, their self-denial, and their +daring—but now is the moment to show them that we, who have been +dealt with more favorably by fortune, are not devoid of the qualities +which adorn their nature. +</p> +<p> +“I feel all the cruelty of narrating these things to you, too far away +from the scene of sorrow to aid by your counsel and encourage by your +assistance; but it would be worse than cruelty to conceal from you that a +terrible crisis is at hand, which will need all your energy to mitigate. +</p> +<p> +“Some measures are in your power, and must be adopted at once. There must +be a remission of rent almost universally, for the calamity has involved +all; and such as are a little richer than their neighbors should be aided, +that they may be the more able to help them. Some stores of provisions +must be provided to be sold at reduced rates, or even given gratuitously. +Medical aid must be had, and an hospital of some sort established. The +able-bodied must be employed on some permanent work; and for these, we +want power from you and some present moneyed assistance. I will not harrow +your feelings with tales of sufferings. You have seen misery here—enough, +I say—you have witnessed nothing like this, and we are at but the +beginning. +</p> +<p> +“Write to me at once yourself—this is no occasion to employ a deputy—and +forgive me, dearest uncle, for I know not what faults of presumption I may +have here committed. My head is confused; the crash of misfortunes has +addled me, and each succeed so rapidly on each other, that remedies are +scarcely employed than they have to be abandoned. When, however, I can +tell the people that it is their own old friend and master that sends them +help, and bids them to be of good cheer,—when I can show them that, +although separated by distance, your heart never ceases to live amongst +them,—I know well the magic working of such a spell upon them, and +how, with a bravery that the boldest soldier never surpassed, they will +rise up against the stern foes of sickness and famine, and do battle with +hard fortune manfully. +</p> +<p> +“You have often smiled at what you deemed my exaggerated opinion of these +poor people,—my over-confidence in their capacity for good. Oh—take +my word for it—I never gave them credit for one half the excellence +of their natures. They are on their trial now, and nobly do they sustain +it! +</p> +<p> +“I have no heart to answer all your kind questions about myself,—enough +that I am well; as little can I ask you about all your doings in Paris. I +'m afraid I should but lose temper if I heard that they were pleasant +ones; and yet, with my whole soul, I wish you to be happy; and with this, +</p> +<p> +“Believe me your affectionate +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Repton has written me the kindest of letters, full of good advice and +good sense; he has also enclosed me a check for £100, with an offer of +more if wanted. I was low and depressed when his note reached me, but it +gave me fresh energy and hope. He proposed to come down here if I wished; +but how could I ask such a sacrifice,—how entreat him to face the +peril?” + </p> +<p> +“Tell Captain Martin I wish to speak to him,” said Martin, as he finished +the perusal of this letter. And in a few minutes after, that gallant +personage appeared, not a little surprised at the summons. +</p> +<p> +“I have got a letter from Mary here,” said Martin, vainly endeavoring to +conceal his agitation as he spoke, “which I want to show you. Matters are +in a sad plight in the West. She never exaggerates a gloomy story, and her +account is very afflicting. Read it.” + </p> +<p> +The Captain lounged towards the window, and, leaning listlessly against +the wall, opened the epistle. +</p> +<p> +“You have not written to her lately, then?” asked he, as he perused the +opening sentence. +</p> +<p> +“I am ashamed to say I have not; every day I made a resolution; but +somehow—” + </p> +<p> +“Is all this anything strange or new?” broke in the Captain. “I 'm certain +I have forty letters from my mother with exactly the same story. In fact, +before I ever broke the seal, I 'd have wagered an equal fifty that the +potatoes had failed, the bogs were flooded, the roads impassable, and the +people dying in thousands; and yet, when spring came round, by some happy +miracle they were all alive and merry again!” + </p> +<p> +“Read on,” said Martin, impatiently, and barely able to control himself at +this heartless commentary. +</p> +<p> +“Egad! I 'd have sworn I had read all this before, except these same +suggestions about not exacting the rents, building hospitals, and so +forth; that <i>is</i> new. And why does she say, 'Don't write by deputy'? +Who <i>was</i> your deputy?” + </p> +<p> +“Kate Henderson has written for me latterly.” + </p> +<p> +“And I should say she 's quite equal to that sort of thing; she dashes off +my mother's notes at score, and talks away, too, all the time she 's +writing.” + </p> +<p> +“That is not the question before us,” said Martin, sternly. +</p> +<p> +“When I sent for you to read that letter, it was that you might advise and +counsel me what course to take.” + </p> +<p> +“If you can afford to give away a year's income in the shape of rent, and +about as much more in the shape of a donation, of course you 're quite +free to do it. I only wish that your generosity would begin at home, +though; for I own to you I 'm very hard-up at this moment.” This the +Captain spoke with an attempted jocularity which decreased with every +word, till it subsided into downright seriousness ere he finished. +</p> +<p> +“So far from being in a position to do an act of munificence, I am sorely +pressed for money,” said Martin. +</p> +<p> +The Captain started; the half-smile with which he had begun to receive +this speech died away on his lips as he asked, “Is this really the case?” + </p> +<p> +“Most truly so,” said Martin, solemnly. +</p> +<p> +“But how, in the name of everything absurd—how is this possible? By +what stratagem could you have spent five thousand a year at Cro' Martin, +and your estate was worth almost three times as much? Giving a very wide +margin for waste and robbery, I 'd say five thousand could not be made +away with there in a twelvemonth.” + </p> +<p> +“Your question only shows me how carelessly you must have read my letters +to you, in India,” said Martin; “otherwise you could not have failed to +see the vast improvements we have been carrying out on the property,—the +roads, the harbors, the new quarries opened, the extent of ground covered +by plantation,—all the plans, in fact, which Mary had matured—” + </p> +<p> +“Mary! Mary!” exclaimed the Captain. “And do you tell me that all these +things were done at the instigation of a young girl of nineteen or twenty, +without any knowledge, or even advice—” + </p> +<p> +“And who said she was deficient in knowledge?” cried Martin. “Take up the +map of the estate; see the lands she has reclaimed; look at the swamps you +used to shoot snipe over bearing corn crops; see the thriving village, +where once the boatmen were starving, for they dared not venture out to +sea without a harbor against bad weather.” + </p> +<p> +“Tell me the cost of all this. What's the figure?” said the Captain; +“that's the real test of all these matters, for if <i>your</i> income +could only feed this outlay, I pronounce the whole scheme the maddest +thing in Christendom. My mother's taste for carved oak cabinets and +historical pictures is the quintessence of wisdom in comparison.” + </p> +<p> +Martin was overwhelmed and silent, and the other went on,—“Half the +fellows in 'ours' had the same story to tell,—of estates wasted, and +fine fortunes squandered in what are called improvements. If the +possession of a good property entails the necessity to spend it all in +this fashion, one is very little better than a kind of land-steward to +one's own estate; and, for my part, I 'd rather call two thousand a year +my own, to do what I pleased with, than have a nominal twenty, of which I +must disburse nineteen.” + </p> +<p> +“Am I again to remind you that this is not the question before us?” said +Martin, with increased sternness. +</p> +<p> +“That is exactly the very question,” rejoined the Captain. “Mary here +coolly asks you, in the spirit of this same improvement-scheme, to +relinquish a year's income, and make a present of I know not how much +more, simply because things are going badly with them, just as if +everybody has n't their turn of ill-fortune. Egad, I can answer for it, <i>mine</i> +has n't been flourishing latterly, and yet I have heard of no benevolent +plan on foot to aid or release me!” + </p> +<p> +To this heartless speech, uttered, however, in most perfect sincerity, +Martin made no reply whatever, but sat with folded arms, deep in +contemplation. At length, raising his head, he asked, “And have you, then, +no counsel to give,—no suggestion to make me?” + </p> +<p> +“Well,” said he, suddenly, “if Mary has not greatly overcharged all this +story—” + </p> +<p> +“That she has not,” cried Martin, interrupting him. “There 's not a line, +not a word of her letter, I 'd not guarantee with all I 'm worth in the +world.” + </p> +<p> +“In that case,” resumed the Captain, in the same indolent tone, “they must +be in a sorry plight, and <i>I</i> think ought to cut and run as fast as +they can. I know that's what <i>we</i> do in India; when the cholera +comes, we break up the encampment, and move off somewhere else. Tell Mary, +then, to advise them to keep out of 'the jungle,' and make for the hill +country.'” + </p> +<p> +Martin stared at the speaker for some seconds, and it was evident how +difficult he found it to believe that the words he had just listened to +were uttered in deliberate seriousness. +</p> +<p> +“If you have read that letter, you certainly have not understood it,” said +he at last, in a voice full of melancholy meaning. +</p> +<p> +“Egad, it's only too easy of comprehension,” replied the Captain; “of all +things in life, there's no mistaking a demand for money.” + </p> +<p> +“Just take it with you to your own room, Harry,” said Martin, with a +manner of more affection than he had yet employed. “It is my firm +persuasion that when you have re-read and thought over it, your impression +will be a different one. Con it over in solitude, and then come back and +give me your advice.” + </p> +<p> +The Captain was not sorry to adopt a plan which relieved him so speedily +from a very embarrassing situation, and, folding up the note, he turned +and left the room. +</p> +<p> +There are a great number of excellent people in this world who believe +that “Thought,” like “Écarté,” is a game which requires two people to +play. The Captain was one of these; nor was it within his comprehension to +imagine how any one individual could suffice to raise the doubts he was +called on to canvass or decide. “Who should he now have recourse to?” was +his first question; and he had scarcely proposed it to himself when a soft +low voice said, “What is puzzling Captain Martin?—can I be of any +service to him?” He turned and saw Kate Henderson. +</p> +<p> +“Only think how fortunate!” exclaimed he. “Just come in here to this +drawing-room, and give me your advice.” + </p> +<p> +“Willingly,” said she, with a courtesy the more marked because his manner +indicated a seriousness that betokened trouble. +</p> +<p> +“My father has just dismissed me to cogitate over this epistle; as if, +after all, when one has read a letter, that any secret or mystical +interpretation is to come by all the reconsideration and reflection in the +world.” + </p> +<p> +“Am I to read it?” asked Kate, as he placed it in her hand. +</p> +<p> +“Of course you are,” said he. +</p> +<p> +“There is nothing confidential or private in it which I ought not to see?” + </p> +<p> +“Nothing; and if there were,” added he, warmly, “<i>you</i> are one of +ourselves, I trust,—at least <i>I</i> think you so.” + </p> +<p> +Kate's lips closed with almost stern % impressiveness, but her color never +changed at this speech, and she opened the letter in silence. For some +minutes she continued to read with the same impassive expression; but +gradually her cheek became paler, and a haughty, almost scornful, +expression settled on her lips. “So patient are they in their trials,” + said she, reading aloud the expression of Mary's note. “Is it not +possible, Captain Martin, that patience may be pushed a little beyond a +virtue, and become something very like cowardice,—abject cowardice? +And then,” cried she impetuously, and not waiting for his reply, “to say +that now is the time to show these poor people the saving care and +protection that the rich owe them, as if the duty dated from the hour of +their being struck down by famine, laid low by pestilence, or that the +debt could ever be acquitted by the relief accorded to pauperism! Why not +have taught these same famished creatures self-dependence, elevated them +to the rank of civilized beings by the enjoyment of rights that give men +self-esteem as well as liberty? What do you mean to do, sir?—or is +that your difficulty?” cried she, hastily changing her tone to one of less +energy. +</p> +<p> +“Exactly,—that is <i>my difficulty</i>. My father, I suspect, wishes +me to concur in the pleasant project struck out by Mary, and that, by way +of helping <i>them</i>, we should ruin <i>ourselves</i>.” + </p> +<p> +“And <i>you</i> are for—” She stopped, as if to let him finish her +question for her. +</p> +<p> +“Egad, I don't know well what I'm for, except it be self-preservation. I +mean,” said he, correcting himself, as a sudden glance of almost insolent +scorn shot from Kate's eyes towards him,—“I mean that I 'm certain +more than half of this account is sheer exaggeration. Mary is frightened,—as +well she may be,—finding herself all alone, and hearing nothing but +the high-colored stories the people brings her, and listening to +calamities from morning to night.” + </p> +<p> +“But still it <i>may</i> be all true,” said Kate, solemnly. “It may be—as +Miss Martin writes—that 'there is a blight on the land.'” + </p> +<p> +“What's to be done, then?” asked he, in deep embarrassment. +</p> +<p> +“The first step is to ascertain what is fact,—the real extent of the +misfortune.” + </p> +<p> +“And how is that to be accomplished?” asked he. +</p> +<p> +“Can you not think of some means?” said she, with a scarcely perceptible +approach to a smile. +</p> +<p> +“No, by Jove! that I cannot, except by going over there one's self.” + </p> +<p> +“And why not that?” asked she, more boldly, while she fixed her large full +eyes directly upon him. +</p> +<p> +“If <i>you</i> thought that I ought to go,—if you advised it and +would actually say 'Go'—” + </p> +<p> +“Well, if I should?” + </p> +<p> +“Then I'd set off to-night; though, to say truth, neither the journey nor +the business are much to my fancy.” + </p> +<p> +“Were they ten times less so, sir, I'd say, 'Go,'” said she, resolutely. +</p> +<p> +“Then go I will,” cried the Captain; “and I'll start within two hours.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER VI. MR. MERL'S DEPARTURE +</h2> +<p> +Worthy reader, you are neither weak of purpose nor undecided in action; as +little are you easily moved by soft influences, when aided by long +eyelashes. But had you been so, it would have been no difficult effort for +you to comprehend the state of mind in which Captain Martin repaired to +his room to make preparation for his journey. There was a kind of half +chivalry in his present purpose that nerved and supported him. It was like +a knight-errant of old setting out to confront a peril at the behest of +his lady-love; but against this animating conviction there arose that +besetting sin of small minds,—a sense of distrust,—a lurking +suspicion that he might be, all this while, nothing but the dupe of a very +artful woman. +</p> +<p> +“Who can tell,” said he to himself, “what plan she may have in all this, +or what object she may propose to herself in getting <i>me</i> out of the +way? I don't think she really cares one farthing about the distress of +these people, supposing it all to be true; and as to the typhus fever and +cholera, egad! if they be there, one ought to think twice before rushing +into the midst of them. And then, again, what do I know about the country +or its habits? I have no means of judging if it be poorer or sicklier or; +more wretched than usual. To <i>my</i> eyes, it always seemed at the +lowest depth of want and misery; every one went half starved and more than +half naked. I 'm sure there is no necessity for my going some few hundred +and odd miles to refresh my memory on this pleasant fact; and yet this is +precisely what I 'm about to do. Is it by way of trying her power over me? +By Jove, I 've hit it!” cried he, suddenly, as he stopped arranging a mass +of letters which he was reducing to order before his departure. “That's +her game; there's no doubt of it! She has said to herself, 'This will +prove him. If he do this at my bidding, he'll do more.' Ay, but will he, +mademoiselle? that's the question. A young hussar may turn out to be a +very old soldier. What if I were just to tell her so. Girls of her stamp +like a man all the better when he shows himself to be wide-awake. I 'd lay +a fifty on it she 'll care more for me when she sees I 'm her own equal in +shrewdness. And, after all, why should <i>I</i> go? I could send my valet, +Fletcher,—just the kind of fellow for such a mission,—never +knew the secret he could n't worm out; there never was a bit of barrack +scandal he did n't get to the bottom of. He 'd be back here within a +fortnight, with the whole state of the case, and I'll be bound there will +be no humbugging <i>him</i>.” + </p> +<p> +This bright idea was not, however, without its share of detracting +reflections, for what became of all that personal heroism on which he +reposed such hope, if the danger were to be encountered by deputy? This +was a puzzle, not the less that he had not yet made up his mind whether he +'d really be in love with Kate Henderson, or only involve <i>her</i> in an +unfortunate attachment for <i>him</i>. While he thus pondered and +hesitated, strewing his room with the contents of drawers and cabinets, by +way of aiding the labor of preparation, his door was suddenly opened, and +Mr. Merl made his appearance. Although dressed with all his habitual +regard to effect, and more than an ordinary display of chains and +trinkets, that gentleman's aspect betokened trouble and anxiety; at least, +there was a certain restlessness in his eye that Martin well understood as +an evidence of something wrong within. +</p> +<p> +“Are you getting ready for a journey, Captain?” asked he, as he entered. +</p> +<p> +“I was thinking of it; but I believe I shall not go. I 'm undecided.” + </p> +<p> +“Up the Rhine?” + </p> +<p> +“No; not in that direction.” + </p> +<p> +“South,—towards Italy, perhaps?” + </p> +<p> +“Nor there, either. I was meditating a trip to England.” + </p> +<p> +“We should be on the road together,” said Merl. “I'm off by four o'clock.” + </p> +<p> +“How so? What's the reason of this sudden start?” + </p> +<p> +“There's going to be a crash here,” said Merl, speaking in a lower tone. +“The Government have been doing the thing with too high a hand, and +there's mischief brewing.” + </p> +<p> +“Are you sure of this?” asked Martin. +</p> +<p> +“Only too sure, that's all. I bought in, on Tuesday last, at sixty-four +and an eighth, and the same stock is now fifty-one and a quarter, and will +be forty to-morrow. The day after—” Here Mr. Merl made a motion with +his outstretched arm, to indicate utter extinction. +</p> +<p> +“You're a heavy loser, then?” asked Martin, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“I shall be, to the tune of some thirteen thousand pounds. It was just on +that account I came in here. I shall need money within the week, and must +turn those Irish securities of yours into cash,—some of them at +least,—and I want a hint from you as to which I ought to dispose of +and which hold over. You told me one day, I remember, that there was a +portion of the property likely to rise greatly in value—” + </p> +<p> +“<i>You</i> told me, sir,” said Captain Martin, breaking suddenly in, +“when I gave you these same bonds, that they should remain in your own +hands, and never leave them. That was the condition on which I gave them.” + </p> +<p> +“I suppose, Captain, you gave them for something; you did not make a +present of them,” said the Jew, coloring slightly. +</p> +<p> +“If I did not make a present of them,” rejoined Martin, “the transaction +was about as profitable to me.” + </p> +<p> +“You owed me the money, sir; that, at least, is the way I regard the +matter.” + </p> +<p> +“And when I paid it by these securities, you pledged yourself not to +negotiate them. I explained to you how the entail was settled,—that +the property must eventually be mine,—and you accepted the +arrangement on these conditions.” + </p> +<p> +“All true, Captain; but nobody told me, at that time, there was going to +be a revolution in Paris,—which there will be within forty-eight +hours.” + </p> +<p> +“Confounded fool that I was to trust the fellow!” said Martin to himself, +but quite loud enough to be heard; then turning to Merl, he said, “What do +you mean by converting them into cash? Are you about to sell part of our +estate?” + </p> +<p> +“Nothing of the kind, Captain,” said Merl, smiling at the innocence of the +question. “I am simply going to deposit these where I can obtain an +advance upon them. I promise you, besides, it shall not be in any quarter +by which the transaction can reach the ears of your family. This assurance +will, I trust, satisfy <i>you</i>, and entitle <i>me</i> to the +information I ask for.” + </p> +<p> +“What information do you allude to?” asked Martin, who had totally +forgotten what the Jew announced as the reason of his visit. +</p> +<p> +“I asked you, Captain,” said Merl, resuming the mincing softness of his +usual manner, “as to which of these securities might be the more eligible +for immediate negotiation?” + </p> +<p> +“And how should I know, sir?” replied the other, rudely. “I am very little +acquainted with the property itself; I know still less about the kind of +dealings you speak of. It does not concern me in the least what you do, or +how you do it. I believe I may have given you bonds for something very +like double the amount of all you ever advanced to me. I hear of nothing +from my father but the immense resources of this, and the great +capabilities of that; but as these same eventualities are not destined to +better <i>my</i> condition, I have not troubled my head to remember +anything about them. You have a claim of about twenty thousand against +me.” + </p> +<p> +“Thirty-two thousand four hundred and seventy-eight pounds,” said the Jew, +reading from a small note-book which he had just taken from his waistcoat +pocket. +</p> +<p> +“That is some ten thousand more than ever I heard of,” said Martin, with +an hysterical sort of laugh. “Egad, Merl, the fellows were right that +would not have you in the 'Cercle.' You 'd have 'cleared every man of them +out,'—as well let a ferret into a rabbit warren.” + </p> +<p> +“I was n't aware,—I had not heard that I was put up—” + </p> +<p> +“To be sure you were; in all form proposed, seconded, and duly +blackballed. I own to you, I thought it very hard, very illiberal. There +are plenty of fellows there that have no right to be particular; and so +Jack Massingbred as much as told them. The fact is, Merl, you ought to +have waited awhile, and by the time that Harlowe and Spencer Cavendish and +a few more such were as deep in your books as I am, you 'd have had a walk +over. Willoughby says the same. It might have cost you something smart, +but you 'd have made it pay in the end,—eh, Merl?” + </p> +<p> +To this speech, uttered in a strain of jocular impertinence, Merl made no +reply. He had just torn one of his gloves in pieces in the effort to draw +it on, and he was busily exerting himself to get rid of the fragments. +</p> +<p> +“Lady Dorothea had given me a card for you for Saturday,” resumed the +Captain; “but as you 're going away—Besides, after this defeat at +the Club, you could n't well come amongst all these people; so there's +nothing for it but patience, Merl, patience—” + </p> +<p> +“A lesson that may be found profitable to others, perhaps,” said the Jew, +with one of his furtive looks at the Captain, who quailed under it at +once. +</p> +<p> +“I was going to give you a piece of advice, Merl,” said he, in a tone the +very opposite to his late bantering one. “It was, that you should just +take a run over to Ireland yourself, and see the property.” + </p> +<p> +“I mean to do so, Captain Martin,” said the other, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“I can't offer you letters, for they would defeat what you desire to +accomplish; besides, there is no member of the family there at present but +a young lady-cousin of mine.” + </p> +<p> +“Just the kind of introduction I 'd like,” said the Jew, with all the zest +of a man glad to say what he knew would be deemed an impertinence. +</p> +<p> +Martin grew crimson with suppressed anger, but never spoke a word. +</p> +<p> +“Is this the Cousin Mary I have heard you speak of,” said Merl,—“the +great horsewoman, and she that ventures out alone on the Atlantic in a +mere skiff?” + </p> +<p> +Martin nodded. His temper was almost an overmatch for him, and he dared +not trust himself to speak. +</p> +<p> +“I should like to see her amazingly, Captain,” resumed Merl. +</p> +<p> +“Remember, sir, you have no lien upon <i>her</i>,” said Martin, sternly. +</p> +<p> +The Jew smirked and ran his fingers through his hair with the air of one +who deemed such an eventuality by no means so very remote. +</p> +<p> +“Do you know, Master Merl,” said Martin, staring at him from head to foot +with an expression the reverse of complimentary, “I 'm half disposed to +give you a few lines to my cousin; and if you 'll not take the thing as a +<i>mauvais plaisanterie</i> on my part, I will do so.”. “Quite the +contrary, Captain. I 'll deem it a great favor, indeed,” said Merl, with +an admirable affectation of unconsciousness. +</p> +<p> +“Here goes, then,” said Martin, sitting down to a table, and preparing his +writing materials, while in a hurried hand he began:— +</p> +<p> +“'Dear Cousin Mary,—This will introduce to you Mr. Herman Merl, who +visits your remote regions on a tour of——What shall I say?” + </p> +<p> +“Pleasure,—amusement,” interposed Merl. +</p> +<p> +“No, when I <i>am</i> telling a fib, I like a big one,—I 'll say, +philanthropy, Merl; and there's nothing so well adapted to cover those +secret investigations you are bent upon,—a tour of philanthropy. +</p> +<p> +“'You will, I am sure, lend him all possible assistance in his benevolent +object,—the same being to dispose of the family acres,—and at +the same time direct his attention to whatever may be matter of interest,—whether +mines, quarries, or other property easily convertible into cash,—treating +him in all respects as one to whom I owe many obligations—and +several thousand pounds.' +</p> +<p> +“Will that do, think you?” + </p> +<p> +“Perfectly; nothing better.” + </p> +<p> +“In return, I shall ask one favor at your hands,” said Martin, as he +folded and addressed the epistle. “It is that you write me a full account +of what you see in the West,—how the country looks, and the people. +Of course it will all seem terribly poor and destitute, and all that sort +of thing, to your eyes; but just try and find out if it be worse than +usual. Paddy is such a shrewd fellow, Merl, that it will require all your +own sharpness not to be taken in by him. A long letter full of detail—a +dash of figures in it—as to how many sheep have the rot, or how many +people have caught the fever, will improve it,—you know the kind of +thing I mean; and—I don't suppose you care about shooting, yourself, +but you 'll get some one to tell you—are the birds plenty and in +good condition. There's a certain Mr. Scanlan, if you chance upon him; he +'s up to everything, and not a bad performer at dummy whist,—though +I think <i>you</i> could teach him a thing or two.” Merl smiled and tried +to look flattered, while the other went on: “And there 's another, called +Henderson,—the steward,—a very shrewd person,—but <i>you</i> +don't need all these particulars; you may be trusted to your own good +guidance,—eh, Merl?” + </p> +<p> +Merl again smiled in the same fashion as before; in fact, so completely +had he resumed the bland expression habitual to him, that the Captain +almost forgot the unpleasant cause of his visit, and all the disagreeable +incidents of the interview. +</p> +<p> +“You could n't give me a few lines to this Mr. Scanlan?” asked Merl, with +an air of easy indifference. +</p> +<p> +“Nothing easier,” cried the Captain, reseating himself; then suddenly +rising, with the expression of one to whom a sudden thought had just +crossed the mind, “Wait one second for me here, Merl; I'll be back with +you at once.” And as he spoke he dashed out of the room, and hastened to +his father. +</p> +<p> +“By a rare piece of luck,” cried he, as he entered, “I 've just chanced +upon the very fellow we want; an acquaintance I picked up at the Cape,—up +to everything; he goes over to Ireland to-night, and he 'll take a run +down to Cro' Martin, and send us his report of all he sees. Whatever he +tells us may be relied upon; for, depend upon 't, no lady can humbug <i>him</i>. +I 've just given him a note for Mary, and I 'll write a few lines also by +way of introducing him to Scanlan.” + </p> +<p> +Martin could barely follow the Captain, as with rapid utterance he poured +forth this plan. “Do I know him? What's his name?” asked he at last. +</p> +<p> +“You never saw him. His name is Merl,—Herman Merl,—a fellow of +considerable wealth; a great speculator,—one of those Stock Exchange +worthies who never deal in less than tens of thousands. He has a crotchet +in his head about buying up half the West of Ireland,—some scheme +about flax and the deep-sea fishery. I don't understand it, but I suppose +<i>he</i> does. At all events, he has plenty of money, and the head to +make it fructify; and if he only take a liking to it, he 's the very +fellow to buy up Kilkieran, and the islands, and the rest of that waste +district you were telling me of t'other night. But I must n't detain him. +He starts at four o'clock; and I only ran over here to tell you not to +worry yourself any more about Mary's letter. He 'll look to it all.” + </p> +<p> +And with this consolatory assurance the Captain hastened away, leaving +Martin as much relieved in mind as an indolent nature and an easy +conscience were sure to make him. To get anybody “to look to” anything had +been his whole object in life; to know that, whatever happened, there was +always somebody who misstated this, or neglected that, at whose door all +the culpability—where there was such—could be laid and but for +whom he had himself performed miracles of energy and devotedness, and +endured all the tortures and trials of a martyr. He was, indeed, as are a +great many others in this world, an excellent man to his own heart,—kind, +charitable, and affectionate; a well-wisher to his kind, and hopeful of +almost every one; but, all this while, his virtues, like a miser's gold, +had no circulation; they remained locked up within him for his own use +alone, and there he sat, counting them over and gazing at them, +speculating upon all that this affluence could do, and—never doing +it! +</p> +<p> +Life abounds with such men. They win respect while they live, and white +marble records their virtues when they die! Nor are they all useless. +Their outward bearing at least simulates whatever we revere in good men, +and we accept them in the same spirit of compromise as we take stucco for +stone; if they do no more, they show our appreciation of the “real +article.” + </p> +<p> +The Captain was not long in inditing a short note to Scanlan, to whom, +“strictly confidential,” Mr. Merl was introduced as a great capitalist and +speculator, desirous to ascertain all the resources of the land. Scanlan +was enjoined to show him every attention, making his visit in all respects +as agreeable as possible. +</p> +<p> +“This fellow will treat you well, Merl,” said the Captain, as he folded +the letter; “will give you the best salmon you ever tasted, and a glass of +Gordon's Madeira such as few could sport now-a-days. And if you have a +fancy for a day with my Cousin Mary's hounds, he 'll mount you admirably, +and show you the way besides.” And with this speech Martin wished him +good-bye; and closing the door after him, added, “And if he'll kindly +assist you to a broken neck, it's about the greatest service he could +render me!” + </p> +<p> +The laugh, silly and meaningless, that followed his utterance of this +speech, showed that it was spoken in all the listlessness of one who had +not really character enough to be even a “good hater.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER VII. THE CLUB +</h2> +<p> +So little impression had Merl's gloomy forebodings made upon Captain +Martin, that he actually forgot everything that this shrewd gentleman +predicted, and only partially recalled them when the conversation the next +morning at the Club turned on the disturbed state of the capital. People +in “society” find it excessively difficult to believe in anything like an +organized opposition to the authorities of a government. They are so +accustomed to hear of street assemblages being scattered by a few +soldiers, mobs routed by a handful of mounted policemen, that they are +slow to imagine how any formidable movement can take its rise in such a +source. But the maladies of states, like those of the human frame, are +often mere trifles in their origin; chance, and the concurrence of events +swell their importance, till they assume an aspect of perhaps greater +menace than they deserve. This is essentially the case in revolutionary +struggles, where, at the outset, none ever contemplates the extent to +which the mischief may reach. The proclamation of the “Ordinances,” as +they were called, had produced a great excitement in Paris. Groups of men +in every street were gathered around some one reading aloud the violent +commentaries of the public papers; thoughtful and stern faces were met at +every corner; a look of expectancy—an expression that seemed to say, +What next?—was perceptible on all sides. Many of the shops were half +closed, and in some the objects of great value were withdrawn to places of +greater security. It was clear to see that men apprehended some great +crisis; but whence it should come, or by whose instrumentality promoted, +none seemed able to guess. Now and then a mounted orderly would ride by at +a smart trot, or a patrol party of dragoons dash past; and the significant +glance that followed them indicated how full of meaning these signs +appeared. +</p> +<p> +The day passed in this state of anxious uncertainty; and although the +journals discussed the condition of the capital as full of danger and +menace, an ostentatious announcement in the “Moniteur” proclaimed Paris to +be tranquil. In society—at least in the world of fashion and high +life—there were very few who would have disputed the official +despatch. “Who and what were they who could dispute the King's Government? +Who and where were there either leaders or followers? In what way should +they attempt it? The troops in and around Paris numbered something over +forty thousand, commanded by an old Marshal of the Empire, now the +trustiest adherent of royalty. The days of Mirabeaus and Robespierres and +Dantons had passed away; nor were these times in which men would like to +recall the reigns of terror and the guillotine.” So they reasoned—or, +if the phrase be too strong, so they talked—who lounged on +soft-cushioned ottomans, or moved listlessly over luxurious carpets; all +agreeing that it would be treasonable in the Ministers to retreat or abate +one jot of the high prerogative of the Crown. Powdered heads shook +significantly, and gold-embroidered vests heaved indignantly at the bare +thought that the old spirit of '95 should have survived amongst them; but +not one dreamed that the event boded seriously, or that the destinies of a +great nation were then in the balance. +</p> +<p> +It is but five-and-twenty years ago; and how much more have we learned of +the manufacture of revolutions in the interval! Barricades and street +warfare have become a science, and the amount of resistance a half-armed +populace can offer to a regular force is as much a matter of certainty as +a mathematical theorem. At that period, however, men were but in the +infancy of this knowledge; the traditions of the Great Revolution scarcely +were remembered, and, for the most part, they were inapplicable. +</p> +<p> +What wonder, then, if people in society smiled scornfully at the +purposeless masses that occasionally moved past beneath their windows, +shouting with discordant voices some fragments of the “Marseillaise,” or, +as they approached the residence of any in authority, venturing on the +more daring cry of “Down with the Ordinances!” The same tone of haughty +contempt pervaded the “Club.” Young men of fashion, little given to the +cares of political life, and really indifferent to the action of laws +which never invaded the privileges of the play-table, or curtailed one +prerogative of the “Coulisses,” felt an angry impatience at all the +turbulence and riot of the public streets. +</p> +<p> +In a magnificently furnished salon of the Club a number of these young men +were now assembled. Gathered from every nation of Europe,—many of +them bearing names of high historical interest,—they were, so far as +dress, air, and appearance went, no ignoble representatives of the class +they belonged to. The proud and haughty Spaniard, the fierce-eyed, +daring-looking Pole, the pale, intellectual-faced Italian, the courteous +Russian, and the fair-haired, stalwart Saxon were all there; and, however +dissimilar in type, banded together by the magic influence of the “set” + they moved in, to an almost perfect uniformity of sentiment and opinion. +</p> +<p> +“I vote that any man be fined ten Louis that alludes, however remotely, to +this confounded question again,” cried Count Gardoni, rising impatiently +from his chair and approaching a card-table. +</p> +<p> +“And I second you!” exclaimed a Polish prince, with a Russian decoration +at his button-hole. +</p> +<p> +“Carried <i>nem. con.</i>” said Captain Martin, seating himself at the +play-table. “And now for the 'Lansquenet.'” And in a moment every seat was +occupied, and purses of gold and pocket-books of bank-notes were strewed +over the board. They were all men who played high; and the game soon +assumed the grave character that so invariably accompanies large wagers. +Wonderfully little passed, except the terms of the game itself. Gambling +is a jealous passion, and never admits its votaries to wander in their +attention. And now large sums passed from hand to hand, and all the +passions of hope and fear racked heads and hearts around, while a decorous +silence prevailed; or, when broken, some softly toned voice alone +interrupted the stillness. +</p> +<p> +“Are you going, Martin?” whispered the young French Count de Nevers, as +the other moved noiselessly back from the table. +</p> +<p> +“It is high time, I think,” said Martin; “this is my seventeenth night of +losing,—losing heavily, too. I'm sick of it!” + </p> +<p> +“Here 's a chance for you, Martin,” said a Russian prince, who had just +assumed “the bank.” “You shall have your choice of color, and your own +stake.” + </p> +<p> +“Thanks; but I'll not be tempted.” + </p> +<p> +“I say red, and a thousand francs,” cried a Neapolitan. +</p> +<p> +“There 's heavier play outside, I suspect,” said Martin, as a wild, hoarse +shout from the streets re-echoed through the room. +</p> +<p> +“A fine,—a fine,—Martin is fined!” cried several around the +table. +</p> +<p> +“You have n't left me wherewithal to pay it, gentlemen,” said he, +laughing. “I was just about to retire, a bankrupt, into private life.” + </p> +<p> +“That's platoon fire,” exclaimed the Pole, as the loud detonation of small +arms seemed to shake the very room. +</p> +<p> +“Czernavitz also fined,” cried two together. +</p> +<p> +“I bow in submission to the Court,” said the Pole, throwing down the money +on the table. +</p> +<p> +“Lend <i>me</i> as much more,” said Martin; “it may change my luck.” And +with this gambler's philosophy, he again drew nigh the table. +</p> +<p> +This slight interruption over, the game proceeded as before. Martin, +however, was now a winner, every wager succeeding, and every bet he made a +gain. +</p> +<p> +“There's nothing like a dogged persistence,” said the Russian. “Fortune +never turns her back on him who shows constancy. See Martin, now; by that +very resolution he has conquered, and here we are, all cleared out!” + </p> +<p> +“I am, for one,” cried an Italian, flinging his empty purse on the table. +</p> +<p> +“There's my last Louis,” said Nevers. “I reserve it to pay for my supper.” + </p> +<p> +“Martin shall treat us all to supper!” exclaimed another. +</p> +<p> +“Where shall it be, then?” said Martin; “here, or at my own quarters?” + </p> +<p> +“Here, by all means,” cried some. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm for the Place Vendôme,” said the Pole, “for who knows but we shall +catch a glimpse of that beautiful girl, Martin's 'Belle Irlandaise.'” + </p> +<p> +“I saw her to-night,” said the Italian, “and I own she <i>is</i> all you +say. She was speaking to Villemart, and I assure you the old Minister +won't forget it in a hurry. Something or other he said about the noise in +the street drew from him the word <i>canaille</i>. She turned round at +once and attacked him. He replied, and the controversy grew warm; so much +so, that many gathered around them to listen, amongst whom I saw the Duc +de Guiche, Prince du Saulx, and the Austrian Minister. Nothing could be +more perfect than her manner,—calm, without any effrontery; assured, +and yet no sacrifice of delicacy. It was easy to see, too, that the theme +was not one into which she stumbled by an accident; she knew every event +of the Great Revolution, and used the knowledge with consummate skill, +and, but for one slip, with consummate temper also. +</p> +<p> +“What was the slip you allude to?” cried the Russian. +</p> +<p> +“It was when Villemart, after a boastful enumeration of the superior +merits of his order, called them the 'Enlighteners of the People.' +</p> +<p> +“'You played that part on one occasion,' said she; 'but I scarcely thought +you 'd like to refer to it.' +</p> +<p> +“'How so? When do you mean?' asked he. +</p> +<p> +“'When they hung you to the lanterns,' said she, with the energy of a +tigress in her look. Pardié! at that moment I never saw anything so +beautiful or so terrible.” + </p> +<p> +A loud uproar in the street without, in which the sound of troop-horses +passaging to and fro could be distinguished, now interrupted the colloquy. +As the noise increased, a low, deep roar, like the sound of distant +thunder, could be heard, and the Pole cried out,—“Messieurs les +Sans-culottes, I strongly advise you to turn homewards, for, if I be not +much mistaken, here comes the artillery.” + </p> +<p> +“The affair may turn out a serious one, after all,” broke in the Italian. +</p> +<p> +“A serious one!” echoed the Pole, scornfully. “How can it? Forty +battalions of infantry, ten thousand sabres, and eight batteries; are they +not enough, think you, to rout this contemptible herd of street rioters?” + </p> +<p> +“There—listen! It has begun already!” exclaimed Martin, as the sharp +report of fire-arms, quite close to the windows, was followed by a crash, +and then a wild, mad shout, half rage, half defiance. +</p> +<p> +“There's nothing for it, in these things, but speedy action,” said the +Pole; “grape and cavalry charges to clear the streets, and rifle practice +at anything that shows itself at the windows.” + </p> +<p> +“It is so easy, so very easy, to crush a mob,” said the Russian, “if you +only direct your attention to the leader,—think of nothing but <i>him</i>. +Once you show that, whatever may be the fate of others, death must be his, +the whole assemblage becomes a disorganized, unwieldy mass, to be sabred +or shot down at pleasure.” + </p> +<p> +“Soldiers have no fancy for this kind of warfare,” said De Nevers, +haughtily; “victory is never glorious, defeat always humiliation.” + </p> +<p> +“But who talks of defeat?” exclaimed the Pole, passionately. “The officer +who could fail against such an enemy should be shot by a court-martial. We +have, I believe, every man of us here, served; and I asked you, what +disproportion of force could suggest a doubt of success?” + </p> +<p> +As he spoke, the door of the room was suddenly opened, and a young man, +with dress all disordered, and the fragment of a hat in his hand, entered. +</p> +<p> +“What, Massingbred!” cried one, “how came you to be so roughly handled?” + </p> +<p> +“So much for popular politeness!” exclaimed the Russian, as he took up the +tattered remains of a dress-coat, and exhibited it to the others. +</p> +<p> +“Pardon me, Prince,” replied Massingbred, as he filled a glass of water +and drank it off, “this courtesy I received at the hands of the military. +I was turning my cab from the Boulevard to enter this street, when a +hoarse challenge of a sentry, saying I know not what, attracted my +attention. I drew up short to learn, and then suddenly came a rush of the +people from behind, which terrified my horse, and set him off at speed; +the uproar increasing, the affrighted animal dashed madly onward, the +crowd flying on every side, when suddenly a bullet whizzed past my head, +cutting my hat in two; a second, at the same instant, struck my horse, and +killed him on the spot, cab and all rolling over as he fell. How I arose, +gained my legs, and was swept away by the dense torrent of the populace, +are events of which I am very far from clear. I only know that although +the occurrence happened within half an hour ago, it seems to <i>me</i> an +affair of days since.” + </p> +<p> +“You were, doubtless, within some line of outposts when first challenged,” + said the Pole, “and the speed at which you drove was believed to be an +arranged plan of attack, for you say the mob followed you.” + </p> +<p> +“Very possibly your explanation is the correct one,” said Massingbred, +coolly; “but I looked for more steadiness and composure from the troops, +while I certainly did not anticipate so much true courtesy and kindness as +I met with from the people.” + </p> +<p> +“Parbleu! here's Massingbred becoming Democrat,” said one. “The next thing +we shall hear is his defence of a barricade.” + </p> +<p> +“You'll assuredly not hear that I attacked one in such company as +inflicted all this upon me,” rejoined he, with an easy smile. +</p> +<p> +“Here's the man to captivate your 'Belle Irlandaise,' Martin,” cried one. +“Already is he a hero and a martyr to Royal cruelty.” + </p> +<p> +“Ah! you came too late to hear that,” said the Pole, in a whisper to +Massingbred; “but it seems La Henderson became quite a Charlotte Corday +this evening, and talked more violent Republicanism than has been heard in +a salon since the days of old Égalité.” + </p> +<p> +“All lights must be extinguished, gentlemen,” said the waiter, entering +hastily. “The street is occupied by troops, and you must pass out by the +Rue de Grenelle.” + </p> +<p> +“Are the mobs not dispersing, then?” asked the Russian. +</p> +<p> +“No, your Highness. They have beaten back the troops from the Quai +Voltaire, and are already advancing on the Louvre.” + </p> +<p> +“What absurdity!” exclaimed the Pole. “If the troops permit this, there is +treason amongst them.” + </p> +<p> +“I can answer for it there is terror, at least,” said Massingbred. “All +the high daring and spirit is with what you would call the Sans-culottes.” + </p> +<p> +“That a man should talk this way because he has lost a cab-horse!” cried +the Pole, insolently. +</p> +<p> +“There are men who can bear the loss of a country with more equanimity,—I +know that,” whispered Massingbred in his ear, with all the calm sternness +of an insult. +</p> +<p> +“You mean this for <i>me?</i>” said the Pole, in a low voice. +</p> +<p> +“Of course I do,” was the answer. +</p> +<p> +“Where?—when?—how?” muttered the Pole, in suppressed passion. +</p> +<p> +“I leave all at your disposal,” said Massingbred, smiling at the other's +effort to control his rage. +</p> +<p> +“At Versailles,—to-morrow morning,—pistols.” + </p> +<p> +Massingbred bowed, and turned away. At the same instant the waiter entered +to say that the house must be cleared at once, or all within it consent to +remain close prisoners. +</p> +<p> +“Come along, Martin,” said Massingbred, taking his arm. “I shall want you +to do me a favor. Let us make our escape by the Rue de Grenelle, and I 'll +engage to pilot you safely to your own quarters.” + </p> +<p> +“Has anything passed between you and Czernavitz?” asked Martin, as they +gained the street. +</p> +<p> +“A slight exchange of civilities which requires an exchange of shots,” + said Jack, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“By George! I 'm sorry for it. He can hit a franc-piece at thirty paces.” + </p> +<p> +“So can I, Martin; and, what's more, Anatole knows it. He's as brave as a +lion, and it is my confounded skill has pushed him on to this +provocation.” + </p> +<p> +“He 'll shoot you,” muttered Martin, in a half revery. +</p> +<p> +“Not impossible,” said Massingbred. “He's a fellow who cannot conceal his +emotions, and will show at once what he means to do.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, what of that?” + </p> +<p> +“Simply, that if he intends mischief I shall know it, and send a bullet +through his heart.” + </p> +<p> +Little as Martin had seen of Massingbred,—they were but Club +acquaintances of a few weeks back,—he believed that he was one of +those smart, versatile men who, with abundance of social ability, acquire +reputation for higher capacity than they possess; but, above all, he never +gave him credit for anything like a settled purpose or a stern resolution. +It was, then, with considerable astonishment that he now heard him avow +this deadly determination with all the composure that could vouch for its +sincerity. There was, however, little time to think of these things. The +course they were driven to follow, by by-streets and alleys, necessitated +a long and difficult way. The great thoroughfares which they crossed at +intervals were entirely in the possession of the troops, who challenged +them as they approached, and only suffered them to proceed when well +satisfied with their account. The crowds had all dispersed, and to the +late din and tumult there had succeeded the deep silence of a city sunk in +sleep, only broken by the hoarse call of the sentinels, or the distant +tramp of a patrol. +</p> +<p> +“It is all over, I suppose,” said Martin. “The sight of the eight-pounders +and the dark caissons has done the work.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't think so,” said Massingbred, “nor do the troops think so. These +mobs are not like ours in England, who, with plenty of individual courage, +are always poltroons in the mass. These fellows understand fighting as an +art, know how to combine their movements, arrange the modes of attack or +defence, can measure accurately the means of resistance opposed to them, +and, above all, understand how to be led,—something far more +difficult than it seems. In <i>my</i> good borough of Oughterard,—or +yours, rather, Martin, for I have only a loan of it,—a few soldiers—the +army, as they would call them—would sweep the whole population +before them. Our countrymen can get up a row, these fellows can accomplish +a revolt,—there's the difference.” + </p> +<p> +“And have they any real, substantial grievance that demands such an +expiation?” + </p> +<p> +“Who knows?” said he, laughingly. “There never was a Government too bad to +live under,—there never was one exempt from great vices. Half the +political disturbances the world has witnessed have arisen from causes +remote from State Government; a deficient harvest, a dear loaf, the +liberty of the Press invaded,—a tyranny always resented by those who +can't read,—are common causes enough. But here we are now at the +Place Vendôme, and certainly one should say the odds are against the +people.” + </p> +<p> +Massingbred said truly. Two battalions of infantry, with a battery of guns +in position, were flanked by four squadrons of Cuirassiers, the formidable +array filling the entire “Place,” and showing by their air and attitude +their readiness for any eventuality. A chance acquaintance with one of the +staff enabled Massingbred and Martin to pass through their lines and +arrive at their hotel. +</p> +<p> +“Remember,” said the officer who accompanied them, “that you are close +prisoners now. My orders are that nobody is to leave the Place under any +pretext.” + </p> +<p> +“Why, you can scarcely suspect that the Government has enemies in this +aristocratic quarter?” said Massingbred, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“We have them everywhere,” was the brief answer, as he bowed and turned +away. +</p> +<p> +“I scarcely see how I'm to keep my appointment at Versailles to-morrow +morning,” said Massingbred, as he followed Martin up the spacious stairs. +“Happily, Czernavitz knows me, and will not misinterpret my absence.” + </p> +<p> +“Not to say that he may be unable himself to get there,” said Martin. As +he spoke, they had reached the door, opening which with his key, the +Captain motioned to Massingbred to enter. +</p> +<p> +Massingbred stopped suddenly, and in a voice of deep meaning said, “Your +father lives here?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes,—what then?” asked Martin. +</p> +<p> +“Only that I have no right to pass his threshold,” said the other, in a +low voice. “I was his guest once, and I 'm not sure that I repaid the +hospitality as became me. You were away at the time.” + </p> +<p> +“You allude to that stupid election affair,” said Martin. “I can only say +that I never did, never could understand it. My only feeling was one of +gratitude to you for saving me from being member for the borough. Come +along,” said he, taking his arm; “this is no time for your scruples, at +all events.” + </p> +<p> +“No, Martin, I cannot,” said the other. “I 'd rather walk up to one of +those nine-pounders there than present myself to your lady-mother—” + </p> +<p> +“But you needn't. You are <i>my</i> guest; these are <i>my</i> quarters. +You shall see nobody but myself till you leave this. Remember what the +Captain told us; we are prisoners here.” And without waiting for a reply, +Martin pushed him before him into the room. +</p> +<p> +“Two o'clock,” said Massingbred, looking at his watch; “and we are to be +at Versailles by eight.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, leave all the care of that to me,” said Martin; “and do you throw +yourself on the bed there, and take some rest. Without you prefer to sup +first?” + </p> +<p> +“No, an hour's sleep is what I stand most in need of; and so I 'll say +good-night.” + </p> +<p> +Massingbred said this less that he wanted repose than a brief interval to +be alone with his own thoughts. And now, as he closed his eyes to affect +sleep, it was really to commune with his own heart, and reflect over what +had just occurred. +</p> +<p> +Independently that he liked Czernavitz personally, he was sorry for a +quarrel at such a moment. There was a great game about to be played, and a +mere personal altercation seemed something small and contemptible in the +face of such events. “What will be said of us,” thought he, “but that we +were a pair of hot-headed fools, thinking more of a miserable interchange +of weak sarcasms than of the high destinies of a whole nation? And it was +<i>my</i> fault,” added he to himself; “I had no right to reproach him +with a calamity hard enough to bear, even without its being a reproach. +What a strange thing is life, after all!” thought he; “everything of +greatest moment that occurs in it the upshot of an accident,—my +going to Ireland, my visit to the West, my election, my meeting with Kate +Henderson, and now this duel.” And, so ruminating, he dropped off into a +sound sleep, undisturbed by sounds that might well have broken the +heaviest slumber. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER VIII. AN EVENING OF ONE OP THE “THREE DAYS” + </h2> +<p> +On the evening which witnessed these events Lady Dorothea's “reception” + had been more than usually brilliant. Numbers had come to show of how +little moment they deemed this “street disturbance,” as they were pleased +to call it; others, again, were curious to pick up in society the opinions +formed on what was passing, among whom were several high in the favor of +the Court and the confidence of the Government. All, as they arrived, had +some little anecdote or adventure to relate as to the difficulties which +beset them on the way,—the distances which they were obliged to +travel, the obstructions and passwords and explanations which met them at +every turn. These were all narrated in the easy, jocular tone of passing +trifles, the very inconvenience of which suggested its share of amusement. +</p> +<p> +As the evening wore on, even these became less frequent; the streets were +already thinning, and, except in some remote, unimportant parts of the +capital, the troops were in possession of all the thoroughfares. Of +course, the great topic of conversation was the bold stroke of policy then +enacting,—a measure which all pronounced wise and just, and +eminently called for. +</p> +<p> +To have heard the sentiments then uttered, the disparaging opinions +expressed of the middle and humbler classes, the hopelessness of ever +seeing them sufficiently impressed with their own inferiority, the +adulation bestowed on the monarch and all around him, one might really +have fancied himself back again at the Tuileries in the time of Louis the +Fourteenth. All agreed in deeming the occasion an excellent one to give +the people a salutary lesson; and it was really pleasant to see the warm +interest taken by these high and distinguished persons in the fortunes of +their less happy countrymen. +</p> +<p> +To Lady Dorothea's ears no theme could be more grateful; and she moved +from group to group, delighted to mingle her congratulations with those +around, and exchange her hopes and aspirations and wishes with theirs. +Kate Henderson, upon whom habitually devolved the chief part in these +“receptions,” was excited and flurried in manner; a more than ordinary +effort to please being dashed, as it were, by some secret anxiety, and the +expectation of some coming event. Had there been any one to watch her +movements, he might have seen the eagerness with which she listened to +each new account of the state of the capital, and how impatiently she +drank in the last tidings from the streets; nor less marked was the +expression of proud scorn upon her features, as she heard the insulting +estimate of the populace, and the vainglorious confidence in the soldiery. +But more than all these was her haughty indignation as she listened to the +confused, mistaken opinions uttered on every side as to the policy of the +Government and the benevolent intentions of the king. Once, and only once, +did she forget the prudent resolve she wished to impose upon herself; but +temper and caution and reserve gave way, as she heard a very distinguished +person amusing a circle around him by an unfair and unfaithful portraiture +of the great leaders of '92. It was then, when stung by the odious epithet +of <i>canaille</i> applied to those for whose characters she entertained a +deep devotion, that she forgot everything, and in a burst of indignant +eloquence overwhelmed and refuted the speaker. This was the moment, too, +in which she replied to Villemart by a word of terrible ferocity. Had the +red cap of Liberty itself been suddenly hoisted in that brilliant +assemblage, the dread and terror which arose could scarcely have been +greater. +</p> +<p> +“Where are we?” cried the Marquise de Longueville. “I thought we were in +the Place de Vendôme, and I find myself in the Faubourg St. Antoine!” + </p> +<p> +“Does my Lady know that her friend and confidante is a Girondist of the +first water?” said an ex-Minister. +</p> +<p> +“Who could have suspected the spirit of Marat under the mask of Ninon de +l'Enclos?” muttered Villemart. +</p> +<p> +“What is this I hear, dearest Kate?” cried the Duchesse de Mirecourt, as +she drew the young girl's arm within her own. “They tell me you have +terrified every one,—that Madame de Soissons has gone home ill, and +the old Chevalier de Gardonnes has sent for his confessor.” + </p> +<p> +“I have been very rash, very foolish,” said Kate, as a deadly pallor came +over her; “but I could bear it no longer. Besides, what does it matter? +They 'll hear worse, and bear it too, before three days are over.” + </p> +<p> +“Then it is all true?” cried the Duchess, eagerly. “You told Villemart +that when the Government spoke with grape-shot, the people replied with +the guillotine!” + </p> +<p> +“Not exactly,” said Kate, with a faint smile. “But are they all going?” + </p> +<p> +“Of course they are. You have frightened them almost to death; and I know +you only meant it for jest,—one of those little half-cruel jests you +were ever fond of. Come with me and say so,—come, dearest.” And she +drew her, as she spoke, into the crowded salon, now already a scene of +excited leave-taking. The brilliant company, however, fell back as they +came forward, and an expression of mingled dismay and compassion was +turned towards the young Duchess, who with a kind of heroic courage drew +Kate's arm closer within her own. +</p> +<p> +“I am come to make an explanation, messieurs et mesdames,” said the +Duchess, with her most captivating smile; “pray vouchsafe me a hearing. My +friend—my dearest, best friend here—has, in a moment of +sportive pleasantry, suffered herself to jest—” + </p> +<p> +“It was a jest, then?” broke in Madame de Longueville, haughtily. +</p> +<p> +“Just as that is,” replied Kate, lifting her hand and pointing in the +direction whence came a terrible crash of artillery, followed by the +rattle of musketry. +</p> +<p> +“Let us go,—let us away!” was now heard in affrighted accents on +every side; and the splendid assemblage, with less of ceremony than might +be expected, began to depart. Lady Dorothea alone was ignorant of what had +occurred, and witnessed this sudden leave-taking with amazement. “You are +surely not afraid?” said she to one; “there is nothing serious in all +this.” + </p> +<p> +“She has told us the reverse, my Lady,” was the reply. “We should be +compromised to remain longer in her company.” + </p> +<p> +“Adieu, my Lady. I wish we left you in safer companionship.” + </p> +<p> +“Farewell, Madame, and pray be warned of your danger,” whispered another. +</p> +<p> +“Your Ladyship may be called upon to acquit debts contracted by another, +if Mademoiselle continues a member of your family,” said Villemart, as he +bowed his departure. +</p> +<p> +“Believe me, Madame, none of us include <i>you</i> in the terrible +sentiments we have listened to.” + </p> +<p> +These, and a vast number of similar speeches attended the leave-taking of +nearly each of her guests, till Lady Dorothea, confused, almost stunned by +reiterated shocks, sat silently accepting these mysterious announcements, +and almost imagining herself in all the bewilderment of a dream. +</p> +<p> +Twice she made an effort to ask some explanation, but failed; and it was +only as the Duchesse de Mirecourt drew nigh to say farewell, that in a +faint, weak voice she said,—“Can you tell me what all are hinting +at, or am I only confusing myself with the terrible scenes without?” + </p> +<p> +“I 'd have prevented it had I been near. I only heard it when too late, my +Lady,” said the Duchess, sorrowfully. +</p> +<p> +“Prevented what?—heard what?” cried Lady Dorothea. +</p> +<p> +“Besides, she has often said as much amongst ourselves; we only laughed, +as indeed every one would do now, did not events present so formidable an +aspect.” + </p> +<p> +“Who is she you speak of? Tell me, I beseech you. What does this mean?” + </p> +<p> +“I am the culprit, my Lady,” said Kate, approaching with all the quiet +stateliness of her peculiar manner. “I have routed this gorgeous assembly, +shocked your most distinguished guests, and horrified all whose sentiments +breathe loyalty! I am sincerely sorry for my offence; and it is a grave +one.” + </p> +<p> +“<i>You—you</i> have dared to do this?” + </p> +<p> +“Too true, madam,” rejoined Kate. +</p> +<p> +“How and to whom have you had the insolence—” + </p> +<p> +She stopped, overcome by passion; and Kate replied,—“To all who +pleased to listen, my Lady, I have said what doubtless is not often +uttered in such choice company, but what, if I mistake not greatly, their +ears will grow familiar with erelong.” + </p> +<p> +“Nay, nay,” said the Duchess, in a tone of apology, “the matter is not so +serious as all this. Every one now is terrified. This disturbance, the +soldiery, the vast crowds that beset the streets, have all produced so +much excitement that even a few words spoken at random are enough to cause +fear. It is one of Kate's fancies to terrorize thus over weak minds. She +has the cruel triumph of not knowing what fear is. In a word, it is a mere +trifling event, sure to be forgotten in the midst of such scenes as we are +passing through.” + </p> +<p> +This attempt at explanation, poured forth with rapid utterance, did not +produce on Lady Dorothea the conviction it was intended to impose, and her +Ladyship received the last adieus of the Duchess with a cold and stately +formality; and then, as the door closed after her, turned to Kate +Henderson, and said,—“I want <i>your</i> explanation of all this. +Let me have it.” + </p> +<p> +“It is easily given, my Lady,” said Kate, calmly. And then, in a voice +that never trembled nor varied, she narrated briefly the scene which had +just occurred, not extenuating in the slightest her own share in the +transaction, or offering a single syllable of excuse. +</p> +<p> +“And you, being who and what you are, dared thus to outrage the best blood +of France!” exclaimed Lady Dorothea, trembling all over with passion. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps, my Lady, if I sought for an apology, it would be in the fact of +being who and what I am.” + </p> +<p> +“And do you imagine that after conduct such as this, after exposing me to +a partnership in the shame that attaches to yourself, that you are any +longer to enjoy the shelter of my roof?” + </p> +<p> +“It never occurred to me to think of that, madam,” said Kate, with an +ill-repressed scorn. +</p> +<p> +“Then it is for <i>me</i> to remind you of it,” said her Ladyship, +sternly. “You shall, first of all, write me an humble apology for this +vulgar tirade, this outrage upon my company, and then you shall leave the +house. Sit down there, and write as I shall dictate to you.” + </p> +<p> +Kate seated herself with an air of implicit obedience at a writing-table, +and took up a pen. +</p> +<p> +“Write,” cried Lady Dorothea, sternly. “Begin, 'My Lady.' No. 'I approach +your Ladyship for the last time.' No, not that. 'If the sincere sorrow in +which I pen these lines.' No. Do it yourself. You best can express the +shame your heart should feel in such a moment. Let the words be your own!” + </p> +<p> +Kate leaned over the paper and wrote rapidly for a few seconds. Having +finished, she read over the lines, and seemed to reflect on them. +</p> +<p> +“Show me that paper!” cried Lady Dorothea, impatiently. But, without +obeying the command, Kate said,—“Your Ladyship will not be able to +leave Paris for at least forty hours. By that time the Monarchy will have +run its course in France. You will probably desire, however, to escape +from the scenes of turbulence sure to ensue. This will secure you a free +passage, whichever road you take.” + </p> +<p> +“What raving is all this?” said Lady Dorothea, snatching the paper from +her hand, and then reading aloud in French,— “'The authorities are +required to aid and tender all assistance in their power to Lady Dorothea +Martin and all who accompany her, neither giving nor suffering any +opposition to be given to her or them in the prosecution of their +journey.' +</p> +<p> +(Signed) “Jules Lagrange, +</p> +<p> +“'Minister of Police <i>ad interim</i>' +</p> +<p> +“And this in your own hand, too!” exclaimed Lady Dorothea, contemptuously. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, madam; but it will entitle it to the seal of the Prefecture, and +entitle <i>you</i> to all that it professes.” + </p> +<p> +“So that I have the honor to shelter within my walls a chief of this +insurrection,—if it be worthy of such a name; one in the confidence +of this stupid <i>canaille</i>, who fancy that the fall of a Monarchy is +like a row in a <i>guinguette!</i>” + </p> +<p> +“Your Ladyship is no longer in a position to question me or arraign my +actions. Before two days are over, the pageant of a king will have passed +off the stage, and men of a different stamp take the direction of affairs. +One of these will be he whose name I have affixed to that paper,—not +without due warranty to do so. Your Ladyship may or may not choose to +avail yourself of it.” + </p> +<p> +“I spurn the imposition,” said Lady Dorothea, tearing it in fragments. “So +poor a cheat could not deceive <i>me</i>. As for yourself—” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, do not bestow a thought upon <i>me</i>, my Lady. I can suffice for my +own guidance. I only wait for morning to leave this house.” + </p> +<p> +“And it is to a city in such a state as this you would confide yourself. +Truly, mademoiselle, Republicanism has a right to be proud of you. You are +no half-convert to its principles.” + </p> +<p> +“Am I again to say, my Lady, that your control over me has ceased?” + </p> +<p> +“It has not. It shall not cease till I have restored you to the humble +roof from which I took you,” said Lady Dorothea, passionately. “Your +father is our creature; he has no other subsistence than what we +condescend to bestow on him. He shall know, when you re-enter his doors, +why and for what cause you are there. Till that time come, you are, as you +have been, in my service.” + </p> +<p> +“No, my Lady, the tie between us is snapped. Dependence is but a sad part +at the best; but so long as it is coupled with a certain show of respect +it is bearable. Destroy <i>that</i>, and it is mere slavery, abject and +degrading. I cannot go back to your Ladyship's service.” And she gave to +the last word an emphasis of intense scorn. +</p> +<p> +“You must and you shall,” said Lady Dorothea. “If <i>you</i> are forgetful +of what it is your duty to remember, I am not. Here you shall remain; +without,” added she, in an accent of supreme contempt, “your counsel and +direction shall be sought after by the high and mighty individuals who are +so soon to administer the affairs of this nation.” + </p> +<p> +The loud roll of a drum, followed by the louder clank of sabres and +musketry, here startled the speakers; and Kate, hastening to the window, +opened it, and stepped out upon the balcony. Day was just dawning; a gray +half-light covered the sky, but the dark shadows of the tall houses still +stretched over the Place. Here, now, the troops were all in motion; a +sudden summons having roused them to form in rank. The hasty character of +the movement showed that some emergency was imminent,—a fact +confirmed by the frequent arrival and departure of orderlies at full +speed. +</p> +<p> +After a brief interval of preparation the infantry formed in column, and, +followed by the artillery and cavalry, moved out of the Place at a quick +step. The measured tramp of the foot-soldiers, the clattering noise of the +train and the dragoons could be heard long after they had passed out of +sight; and Kate stood listening eagerly as to what would come next, when +suddenly a man in plain clothes rode hastily from one of the side-streets +into the centre of the Place. He looked around him for a moment or two, +and then disappeared. Within a few seconds after, a dull, indistinct sound +seemed to rise from the ground, which swelled gradually louder and louder, +and at last grew into the regular footfall of a great multitude moving in +measured time; and now a vast crowd poured into the Place, silent and +wordless. On they came from the various quarters that opened into the +square,—men, for the most part clad in blouses or in the coarse garb +of laborers. They were armed either with musket or sword, and in many +instances wore the cross-belt of the soldier. They proceeded at once to +barricade the square at its opening into the Rue de la Paix,—a work +which they accomplished with astonishing speed and regularity; for, while +Kate still looked, a formidable rampart was thrown up across the entire +street, along which a line of armed men was stationed, every one of whom, +by his attitude and gesture, betrayed the old discipline of a soldier's +life. Orders were given and obeyed, movements made, and dispositions +effected, with all the regularity and precision of regular troops; and by +the ready obedience of all, and the steady attitude observed, it was easy +to see that these men were trained to arms and to habits of discipline. +Not less evident was it that they who commanded them were not new to such +duties. But, more important than all such signs was the fact that here and +there through the mass might be seen the uniform of a soldier, or the +epaulette of an officer, showing that desertion to the ranks of the people +had already begun. +</p> +<p> +Kate was so occupied in attentive observation of the scene that she had +not noticed the arrival of another person in the apartment, and whose +voice now suddenly attracted her. It was Martin himself, hastily aroused +from his bed by his servant, who in great alarm told him that the capital +was in open revolt, the king's troops beaten back, and the people +victorious everywhere. “There 's not a moment to lose,” cried he; “we must +escape while we can. The road to Versailles is yet in possession of the +troops, and we can take that way.” + </p> +<p> +Lady Dorothea, partly overcome by the late scene, partly stunned by the +repeated shocks she experienced, made no reply whatever; and Martin, +judging from the expression of her features the anxiety she was suffering, +hastily added, “Let me see Kate Henderson,—where is she?” + </p> +<p> +Lady Dorothea merely pointed towards the balcony, but did not utter a +word. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, have I found you?” said Martin, stepping out upon the balcony. “You +see what is doing,—I might say what is done,” added he; “for I +believe the game is well-nigh decided. Nothing but an overwhelming force +will now crush this populace. We must get away, and at once. Will you give +the orders? Send for post-horses; tell them to pack up whatever they can,—direct +everything, in fact. My Lady is too ill,—too much overcome to act, +or think of anything. Our whole reliance is upon you.” While he was yet +uttering these broken, disjointed sentences, he had drawn Kate by the arm +within the room, and now stood beside Lady Dorothea's chair. Her Ladyship +raised her head and fixed her eyes upon Kate, who sustained the gaze +calmly and steadily, nor by the slightest movement displayed one touch of +any emotion. The glance, at first haughty and defiant, seemed at length to +grow weaker under the unmoved stare of the young girl, and finally she +bent down her head and sat as though overcome. +</p> +<p> +“Come, Dora,” said Martin, kindly, “rouse yourself; you are always equal +to an effort when necessity presses. Tell Kate here what you wish, and she +'ll do it.” + </p> +<p> +“I want no aid,—no assistance, sir. Miss Henderson is her own +mistress,—she may do what, or go where she pleases.” + </p> +<p> +Martin made a sign to Kate not to mind what he believed to be the mere +wandering of an over-excited brain; and then bending down over the chair, +said, “Dear Dora, we must be active and stirring; the people will soon be +masters of the capital,—for a while, at least,—and there is no +saying what excesses they will commit.” + </p> +<p> +“Do not offend Miss Henderson, sir,” interposed Lady Dorothea; “she has +equal confidence in their valor and their virtue.” + </p> +<p> +“What does this mean?—when did she fall into this state?” asked he, +eagerly. And although only spoken in a whisper, Lady Dorothea overheard +them, and said,—“Let <i>her</i> tell you. She can give you the very +fullest explanation.” + </p> +<p> +“But, Dora, this is no time for trifling; we are here, in the midst of an +enraged populace and a maddened soldiery. There, listen!—that was +artillery; and now, hear!—the bells of the churches are sounding the +alarm.” + </p> +<p> +“They are ringing the knell of the Monarchy!” said Kate, solemnly. +</p> +<p> +A hoarse, wild shout—aery like that of enraged wild beasts—arose +from the Place beneath, and all rushed to the window to see what had +occurred. It was a charge of heavy cavalry endeavoring to force the +barricade; and now, vigorously repulsed by the defenders, men and horses +were rolling on the ground in terrible confusion, while on the barricade +itself a hand-to-hand conflict was raging. +</p> +<p> +“Sharp work, by George!” said a voice behind Kate's shoulder. She turned +and saw Captain Martin, who had just joined them unobserved. +</p> +<p> +“I thought you many a mile away,” said Kate, in a whisper. +</p> +<p> +“So I should have been,” replied he, in the same tone, “but I was n't +going to lose this. I knew it was to come off to-day, and I thought it +would have been a thousand pities to be absent.” + </p> +<p> +“And are your wishes, then, with these gallant fellows?” said she, +eagerly. “Do I hear you aright, that it was to aid them you remained? +There! see how they bear down on the soldiery; they will not be +restrained; they are crossing the barricade, and charging with the +bayonet. It is only for liberty that men can fight thus. Oh that I were a +man, to be amongst them!” + </p> +<p> +A stray shot from beneath here struck the architrave above their heads, +and sent down a mass of plaster over them. +</p> +<p> +“Come, Dora, this is needless peril,” said Martin, drawing her within the +room. “If you will not leave this, at least do not expose yourself +unnecessarily.” + </p> +<p> +“But it is exactly to get away—to escape while there is time—that +I came for,” said the Captain. “They tell me that the mob are getting the +best of it, and, worse again, that the troops are joining them; so, to +make sure, I 've sent off Fenton to the post for horses, and I 'm +expecting him every moment. But here he is. Well, have you got the +horses?” + </p> +<p> +“No, sir: the horses have all been taken by the people to mount orderlies; +the postmaster, too, has fled, and everything is in confusion. But if we +had horses the streets are impassable; from here to the Boulevard there +are no less than five barricades.” + </p> +<p> +“Then what is to be done?” cried Martin. +</p> +<p> +“They say, sir,” replied Fenton, “that by gaining the outer Boulevard on +foot, carriages and horses are easily found there, to reach Belleville, +St. Germain, or Versailles.” + </p> +<p> +“He is right,” said the Captain; “there is nothing else to be done. What +do <i>you</i> think?” said he, addressing Kate, who stood intently +watching the movements in the Place beneath. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; do you agree with this plan?” asked Martin, approaching her. +</p> +<p> +“Look!” cried she, eagerly, and not heeding the question; “the troops are +rapidly joining the people,—they come in numbers now,—and +yonder is an officer in his uniform.” + </p> +<p> +“Shame on him!” exclaimed Lady Dorothea, indignantly. +</p> +<p> +“So say I too,” said Kate. “He who wears a livery should not assume the +port and bearing of a free man. This struggle is for liberty, and should +only be maintained by the free!” + </p> +<p> +“How are we to pass these barricades?” cried Martin, anxiously. +</p> +<p> +“I will be your guide, sir, if that be all,” said Kate. “You may trust me. +I promise no more than I can perform.” + </p> +<p> +“She speaks truly,” said Lady Dorothea. “Alas that we should see the day +when we cannot reject the aid!” + </p> +<p> +“There is a matter I want to speak to you about,” said Martin, drawing his +father aside, and speaking in a low, confidential tone. “Massingbred—Jack +Massingbred—is now here, in my room. I know all about my mother's +dislike to him, and <i>he</i> knows it; indeed, he has as much as owned to +me that he deserved it all. But what is to be done? We cannot leave him +here.” + </p> +<p> +“How came he to be here?” asked Martin. +</p> +<p> +“He accompanied me from the Club, where, in an altercation of some sort, +he had just involved himself in a serious quarrel. He came here to be +ready to start this morning for Versailles, where the meeting was to take +place; but indeed he had no thought of accepting shelter under our roof; +and when he found where he was, it was with the greatest difficulty I +could persuade him to enter. None of us anticipated such a serious turn of +affairs as this; and now, of course, a meeting will be scarcely possible. +What are we to do with him?” + </p> +<p> +“Ask him frankly to join us if we obtain the horses.” + </p> +<p> +“But my mother?” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll speak to her,—but it were better you did it, Harry. These are +not times to weigh scruples and balance difficulties. I don't myself think +that Massingbred treated us fairly, but it is not now I 'd like to +remember it. There, go; tell her what you have told me, and all will be +well.” + </p> +<p> +The Captain drew nigh Lady Dorothea, and, leaning over her chair, +whispered to her for some minutes. At first, a slight gesture of +impatience burst from her, but afterwards she seemed to hear him calmly +and tranquilly. +</p> +<p> +“It would seem as though the humiliations of this night are never to have +an end,” said she, with a sigh. “But I'll bear my share of them.” + </p> +<p> +“Remember,” said the other, “that it was by no choice of <i>his</i> he +came here. His foot was on the threshold before he suspected it.” + </p> +<p> +“Miss Henderson sent me, my Lady,” said a servant, entering hastily, “to +say that there is not a minute to be lost. They are expecting an attack on +the barricade in the Rue de la Paix, and we ought to pass through at +once.” + </p> +<p> +“By whose orders?” began she, haughtily; then, checking herself suddenly, +and in a voice weak and broken, added: “I am ready. Give me your arm, +Harry, and do not leave me. Where is Mr. Martin?” asked she. +</p> +<p> +“He is waiting for your Ladyship at the foot of the stairs with another +gentleman,” said the servant. +</p> +<p> +“That must be Massingbred, for I told them to call him,” said the Captain. +</p> +<p> +When Lady Dorothea, supported by the arm of her son, had reached the gate, +she found Martin and Massingbred standing to receive them, surrounded by a +numerous escort of servants, each loaded with some portion of the family +baggage. +</p> +<p> +“A hasty summons, sir,” said she, addressing Massingbred, and thus +abruptly avoiding the awkwardness of a more ceremonious meeting. “A few +hours back none of us anticipated anything like this. Will it end +seriously, think you?” + </p> +<p> +“There is every prospect of such, madam,” said he, bowing respectfully to +her salutation. “Every moment brings fresh tidings of defection among the +troops, while the Marshal is paralyzed by contradictory orders.” + </p> +<p> +“Is it always to be the fate of monarchy to be badly served in times of +peril?” said she, bitterly. +</p> +<p> +“It is very difficult to awaken loyalty against one's convictions of +right, madam. I mean,” added he, as a gesture of impatience broke from +her, “that these acts of the king, having no support from his real +friends, are weak stimulants to evoke deeds of daring and courage.” + </p> +<p> +“They are unworthy supporters of a Crown who only defend what they approve +of. This is but Democracy at best, and smacks of the policy which has +little to lose and everything to gain by times of trouble.” + </p> +<p> +“And yet, madam, such cannot be the case here; at least, it is assuredly +not so in the instance of him who is now speaking with Miss Henderson.” + And he pointed to a man who, holding the bridle of his horse on his arm, +walked slowly at Kate's side in the street before the door. +</p> +<p> +“And who is he?” asked she, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“The greatest banker in Paris, madam,—one of the richest capitalists +of Europe,—ready to resign all his fortune in the struggle against a +rule which he foresees intended to bring back the days of a worn-out, +effete monarchy, rather than a system which shall invigorate the nation, +and enrich it by the arts of commerce and trade.” + </p> +<p> +“But his name—who is he?” asked she, more impatiently. +</p> +<p> +“Charles Lagrange, madam.” + </p> +<p> +“I have heard the name before. I have seen it somewhere lately,” said she, +trying to remember where and how. +</p> +<p> +“You could scarcely have paid your respects at Neuilly, madam, without +seeing him. He was, besides, the favored guest at Madame de Mirecourt's.” + </p> +<p> +“You would not imply, sir, that the Duchess condescended to any sympathy +with this party?” + </p> +<p> +“More than half the Court, madam, are against the Crown; I will not say, +however, that they are, on that account, for the people.” + </p> +<p> +“There! she is making a sign to us to follow her,” said Martin, pointing +towards Kate, who, still conversing with her companion, motioned to the +others to come up. +</p> +<p> +“It is from that quarter we receive our orders,” said Lady Dorothea, +sneeringly, as she prepared to follow. +</p> +<p> +“What has she to do with it?” exclaimed the Captain. “To look at her, one +would say she was deep in the whole business.” + </p> +<p> +A second gesture, more urgent than before, now summoned the party to make +haste. +</p> +<p> +Through the Place, crowded as it was by an armed and excited multitude, +way was rapidly made for the little party who now issued from the door of +the hotel. Kate Henderson walked in front, with Massingbred at her side +talking eagerly, and by his gestures seeming as though endeavoring to +extenuate or explain away something in his conduct; next came Lady +Dorothea, supported between her husband and her son, and while walking +slowly and with faltering steps, still carrying her head proudly erect, +and gazing on the stern faces around her with looks of haughty contempt. +After them were a numerous retinue of servants, with such effects as they +had got hurriedly together,—a terror-struck set, scarcely able to +crawl along from fear. +</p> +<p> +As they drew nigh the barricade, some men proceeded to remove a heavy +wagon which adjoined a house, and by the speed and activity of their +movements, urged on as they were by the orders of one in command, it might +be seen that the operation demanded promptitude. +</p> +<p> +“We are scarcely safe in this,” cried the officer. “See! they are making +signs to us from the windows,—the troops are coming. If you pass out +now, you will be between two fires.” + </p> +<p> +“There is yet time,” said Kate, eagerly. “Our presence in the street, too, +will delay them, and give you some minutes to prepare. And as for +ourselves, we shall gain one of the side-streets easily enough.” + </p> +<p> +“Tie your handkerchief to your cane, sir,” said the officer to +Massingbred. +</p> +<p> +“My flag is ready,” said Jack, gayly; “I only hope they may respect it.” + </p> +<p> +“Now—now!” cried Kate, with eagerness, and beckoning to Lady +Dorothea to hasten, “the passage is free, and not a second to be lost!” + </p> +<p> +“Are you not coming with us?” whispered Martin to her, as they passed out. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; I'll follow. But,” added she, in a lower tone, “were the choice +given me, it is here I 'd take my stand.” + </p> +<p> +She looked full at Massingbred as she spoke, and, bending down his head, +he said, “Had it been your place, it were mine also!” + </p> +<p> +“Quick,—quick, my Lady,” said Kate. “They must close up the passage +at once. They are expecting an attack.” And so saying, she motioned +rapidly to Martin to move on. +</p> +<p> +“The woman is a fiend,” said Lady Dorothea; “see how her eyes sparkle, and +mark the wild exultation of her features.” + </p> +<p> +“Adieu, sir,—adieu!” said Kate, waving her hand to one who seemed +the chief of the party. “All my wishes are with you. Were I a man, my hand +should guarantee my heart.” + </p> +<p> +“Come—come back!” cried the officer. “You are too late. There comes +the head of the column.” + </p> +<p> +“No, never—never!” exclamed Lady Dorothea, haughtily; “protection +from such as these is worse than any death.” + </p> +<p> +“Give me the flag, then,” cried Kate, snatching it from Massingbred's +hand, and hastening on before the others. And now the heavy wagon had +fallen back to its place, and a serried file of muskets peeped over it. +</p> +<p> +“Where's Massingbred?” asked the Captain, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Yonder,—where he ought to be!” exclaimed Kate, proudly, pointing to +the barricade, upon which, now, Jack was standing conspicuously, a musket +on his arm. +</p> +<p> +The troops in front were not the head of a column, but the advanced guard +of a force evidently at some distance off, and instead of advancing on the +barricade, they drew up and halted in triple file across the street. Their +attitude of silent, stern defiance—for it was such—evoked a +wild burst of popular fury, and epithets of abuse and insult were heaped +upon them from windows and parapets. +</p> +<p> +“They are the famous Twenty-Second of the Line,” said the Captain, “who +forced the Pont-Neuf yesterday and drove the mob before them.” + </p> +<p> +“It is fortunate for us that we fall into such hands,” said Lady Dorothea, +waving her handkerchief as she advanced. But Kate had already approached +the line, and now halted at a command from the officer. While she +endeavored to explain how and why they were there, the cries and menaces +of the populace grew louder and wilder. The officer, a very young +subaltern, seemed confused and flurried; his eyes turned constantly +towards the street from which they had advanced, and he seemed anxiously +expecting the arrival of the regiment. +</p> +<p> +“I cannot give you a convoy, Mademoiselle,” he said; “I. scarcely know if +I have the right to let you pass. We may be attacked at any moment; for +aught I can tell, <i>you</i> may be in the interests of the insurgents—” + </p> +<p> +“We are cut off, Lieutenant,” cried a sergeant, running up at the moment. +“They have thrown up a barrier behind us, and it is armed already.” + </p> +<p> +“Lay down your arms, then,” said Kate, “and do not sacrifice your brave +fellows in a hopeless straggle.” + </p> +<p> +“Listen not to her, young man, but give heed to your honor and your +loyalty,” cried Lady Dorothea. “Is it against such an enemy as this French +soldiers fear to advance?” + </p> +<p> +“Forward!” cried the officer, waving his sword above his head. “Let us +carry the barricade!” And a wild yell of defiance from the windows +repeated the speech in derision. +</p> +<p> +“You are going to certain death!” cried Kate, throwing herself before him. +“Let <i>me</i> make terms for you, and they shall not bring dishonor on +you.” + </p> +<p> +“Here comes the regiment!” called out the sergeant. “They have forced the +barricade.” And the quick tramp of a column, as they came at a run, now +shook the street. +</p> +<p> +“Remember your cause and your King, sir,” cried Lady Dorothea to the +officer. +</p> +<p> +“Bethink you of your country,—of France,—and of Liberty!” said +Kate, as she grasped his arm. +</p> +<p> +“Stand back!—back to the houses!” said he, waving his sword. +“Voltigeurs, to the front!” + </p> +<p> +The command was scarcely issued, when a hail of balls rattled through the +air. The defenders of the barricade had opened their fire, and with a +deadly precision, too, for several fell at the very first discharge. +</p> +<p> +“Back to the houses!” exclaimed Martin, dragging Lady Dorothea along, who, +in her eagerness, now forgot all personal danger, and only thought of the +contest before her. +</p> +<p> +“Get under cover of the troops,—to the rear!” cried the Captain, as +he endeavored to bear her away. +</p> +<p> +“Back—back—beneath the archway!” cried Kate, as, throwing her +arms around Lady Dorothea, she lifted her fairly from the ground, and +carried her within the deep recess of a <i>porte cochère</i>. Scarcely, +however, had she deposited her in safety, than she fell tottering +backwards and sank to the ground. +</p> +<p> +“Good Heavens! she is struck,” exclaimed Martin, bending over her. +</p> +<p> +“It is nothing,—a spent shot, and no more,” said Kate, as she showed +the bullet which had perforated her dress beneath the arm. +</p> +<p> +“A good soldier, by Jove!” said the Captain, gazing with real admiration +on the beautiful features before him; the faint smile she wore heightening +their loveliness, and contrasting happily with their pallor. +</p> +<p> +“There they go! They are up the barricade already; they are over it,—through +it!” cried the Captain. “Gallantly done!—gloriously done! No, by +Jove! they are falling back; the fire is murderous. See how they bayonet +them. The troops must win. They move together; they are like a wall! In +vain, in vain; they cannot do it! They are beaten,—they are lost!” + </p> +<p> +“Who are lost?” said Kate, in a half-fainting voice. +</p> +<p> +“The soldiers. And there 's Massingbred on the top of the barricade, in +the midst of it all. I see his hat They are driven back—beaten—beaten!” + </p> +<p> +“Come in quickly,” cried a voice from behind; and a small portion of the +door was opened to admit them. “The soldiers are retiring, and will kill +all before them.” + </p> +<p> +“Let <i>me</i> aid you; it is <i>my</i> turn now,” said Lady Dorothea, +assisting Kate to rise. “Good Heavens! her arm is broken,—it is +smashed in two.” And she caught the fainting girl in her arms. +</p> +<p> +Gathering around, they bore her within the gate, and had but time to bar +and bolt it when the hurried tramp without, and the wild yell of popular +triumph, told that the soldiers were retreating, beaten and defeated. +</p> +<p> +“And this to save me!” said Lady Dorothea, as she stooped over her. And +the scalding tears dropped one by one on Kate's cheek. +</p> +<p> +“Tear this handkerchief, and bind it around my arm,” said Kate, calmly; +“the pain is not very great, and there will be no bleeding, the doctors +say, from a gun-shot wound.” + </p> +<p> +“I'll be the surgeon,” said the Captain, addressing himself to the task +with more of skill than might be expected. “I 've seen many a fellow +struck down who did n't bear it as calmly,” muttered he, as he bent over +her. “Am I giving you any pain?” + </p> +<p> +“Not in the least; and if I were in torture, that glorious cheer outside +would rally me. Hear!—listen!—the soldiers are in full +retreat; the people, the noble-hearted people, are the conquerors!” + </p> +<p> +“Be calm, and think of yourself,” said Lady Dorothea, mildly, to her; +“such excitement may peril your very life.” + </p> +<p> +“And it is worth a thousand lives to taste of it,” said she, while her +cheek flushed, and her dark eyes gleamed with added lustre. +</p> +<p> +“The street is clear now,” said one of the servants to Martin, “and we +might reach the Boulevard with ease.” + </p> +<p> +“Let us go, then,” said Lady Dorothea. “Let us look to <i>her</i> and +think of nothing till she be cared for.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER IX. SOME CONFESSIONS OF JACK MASSINGBRED +</h2> +<p> +Upon two several occasions have we committed to Jack Massingbred the task +of conducting this truthful history; for the third time do we now purpose +to make his correspondence the link between the past and what is to +follow. We are not quite sure that the course we thus adopt is free from +its share of inconvenience, but we take it to avoid the evils of +reiteration inseparable from following out the same events from merely +different points of view. There is also another advantage to be gained. +Jack is before our readers; we are not. Jack is an acquaintance; we cannot +aspire to that honor. Jack's opinions, right or wrong as they may be, are +part and parcel of a character already awaiting their verdict. What he +thought and felt, hoped, feared, or wished, are the materials by which he +is to be judged; and so we leave his cause in his own hands. +</p> +<p> +His letter is addressed to the same correspondent to whom he wrote before. +It is written, too, at different intervals, and in different moods of +mind. Like the letters of many men who practise concealment with the world +at large, it is remarkable for great frankness and sincerity. He throws +away his mask with such evident signs of enjoyment that we only wonder if +he can ever resume it; but crafty men like to relax into candor, as +royalty is said to indulge with pleasure in the chance moments of +pretended equality. It is, at all events, a novel sensation; and even that +much, in this routine life of ours, is something! +</p> +<p> +He writes from Spa, and after some replies to matters with which we have +no concern, proceeds thus:— +</p> +<p> +“Of the Revolution, then, and the Three Glorious Days as they are called, +I can tell you next to nothing, and for this simple reason, that I was +there fighting, shouting, throwing up barricades, singing the +'Marseillaise,' smashing furniture, and shooting my 'Swiss,' like the +rest. As to who beat the troops, forced the Tuileries, and drove Marmont +back, you must consult the newspapers. Personal adventures I could give +you to satiety, hairbreadth 'scapes and acts of heroism by the dozen; but +these narratives are never new, and always tiresome. The serious +reflectiveness sounds like humbug, and, if one treats them lightly, the +flippancy is an offence. Jocular heroism is ever an insult to the reader. +</p> +<p> +“You say, '<i>Que diable allait-il faire dans cette galère?</i>' and I +answer, it was all <i>her</i> doing. Yes, Harry, <i>she</i> was there. I +was thinking of nothing less in the world than a great 'blow for freedom,' +as the 'Globe' has it. I had troubled my head wonderfully little about the +whole affair. Any little interest I took was in the notion that if our +'natural enemies,' the French, were to fall to and kill each other, there +would be so much the fewer left to fight against us; but as to who was to +get the upper hand, or what they were to do when they had it, I gave +myself no imaginable concern. I had a vague, shadowy kind of impression +that the government was a bad one, but I had a much stronger conviction +that the people deserved no better. My leanings—my instincts, if you +prefer it—were with the Crown. The mob and its sentiments are always +repulsive. Popular enthusiasm is a great ocean, but it is an ocean of +dirty water, and you cannot come out clean from the contact; and so I +should have wished well to royalty, but for an accident,—a mere +trifle in its way, but one quite sufficient, even on historic grounds, to +account for a man's change of opinions. The troops shot my cab-horse, sent +a bullet through poor 'Beverley,' and seriously damaged a new hat which I +wore at the time, accompanying these acts with expressions the reverse of +compliment or civility. I was pitched out into the gutter, and, most +appropriately you will say, I got up a Radical, a Democrat, a Fourierist,—anything, +in short, that shouts 'Down with Kings, and up with the Sovereign People!' +</p> +<p> +“My principles—don't smile at the word—led me into a stupid +altercation with a very pleasant acquaintance, and we parted to meet the +next morning in hostility,—at least, such was our understanding; but +by the time that our difference should have been settled, <i>I</i> was +carried away on a stretcher to the Hôtel Dieu, wounded, and he was flung, +a corpse, into the Seine. I intended to have been a most accurate narrator +of events, journalizing for you, hour by hour, with all the stirring +excitement of the present tense, but I cannot; the crash and the hubbub +are still in my brain, and the infernal chaos of the streets is yet over +me. Not to speak of my wound,—a very ugly sabre-cut in the neck,—severing +I don't know what amount of nerves, arteries, and such-like 'small deer,' +every one of which, however, has its own peculiar perils in the shape of +aneurisms, tetanus, and so forth, in case I am not a miracle of patience, +calmness, and composure. +</p> +<p> +“The Martins are nursing and comforting and chicken-brothing me to my +heart's content, and La Henderson, herself an invalid, with a terrible +broken arm, comes and reads to me from time to time. What a girl it is! +Wounded in a street encounter, she actually carried Lady Dorothea into a +porte-cochère, and when they had lost their heads in terror, could neither +issue an order to the servants nor know what way to turn, she took the +guidance of the whole party, obtained horses and carriages and an escort, +escaped from Paris, and reached Versailles in the midst of flying +courtiers and dismayed ministers, and actually was the very first to bring +the tidings that the game of monarchy was up,—that the king had +nothing left for it but an inglorious flight. To the Duchesse de +Mire-court she made this communication, which it seems none of the +court-followers had the courage or honesty to do before. The Duchess, in +her terror, actually dragged her into the presence of the king, and made +her repeat what she had said. The scene, as told me, was quite dramatic; +the king took her hand to lead her to a seat, but it was unfortunately of +the wounded arm, and she fainted. The sight of the wounded limb so +affected the nerves of monarchy that he gave immediate orders to depart, +and was off within an hour. +</p> +<p> +“How they found me out a patient in a ward of the Hôtel Dieu, rescued and +carried me away with them, I have heard full half a dozen times, but I 'm +far from being clear enough to repeat the story; and, indeed, when I try +to recall the period, the only images which rise up before me are long +ranges of white coverlids, pale faces, and groans and cries of suffering, +with the dark curly head of a great master of torture peeping at me, and +whom, I am told, is the Baron Dupuytren, the Surgeon-in-Chief. After these +comes a vision of litters and <i>charrettes</i>,—sore joltings and +stoppages to drink water—But I shall rave if I go on. Better I +should tell you of my pleasant little bedroom here, opening on a small +garden, with a tiny fountain trying to sprinkle the wild myrtle and +blush-roses around it, and sportively sending its little plash over me, as +the wind wafts it into my chamber. My luxurious chair and easy-cushioned +sofa, and my table littered with everything, from flowers to French +romances; not to speak of the small rustic seat beside the window, where +she has been sitting the last hour, and has only quitted to give me time +to write this to you. I know it—I see it—all you can say, all +that you are saying at this moment, is fifty times more forcibly echoing +within my own heart, and repeating in fitful sentences: 'A ruined man—a +broken fortune—a mad attachment—a life of struggle, +difficulty, and failure!' But why should it be failure? Such a girl for a +wife ought in itself to be an earnest of success. Are not her qualities +exactly those that do battle with the difficulties of fortune? Self-denial—ambition—courage—an +intense, an intuitive knowledge of the world—and then, a +purpose-like devotion to whatever she undertakes, that throws an air of +heroism over all her actions. +</p> +<p> +“Birth—blood—family connections—what have they done for +me, except it be to entail upon me the necessity of selecting a career +amidst the two or three that are supposed to suit the well-born? I may be +a Life Guardsman, or an unpaid attaché, but I must not be a physician or a +merchant. Nor is it alone that certain careers are closed against us, but +certain opinions too. I must not think ill of the governing class,—I +must never think well of the governed. +</p> +<p> +“Well, Harry, the colonies are the remedy for all this. There, at least, a +man can fashion existence as arbitrarily as he can the shape and size of +his house. None shall dictate his etiquette, no more than his +architecture; and I am well weary of the slavery of this old-world life, +with our worship of old notions and old china, both because they are +cracked, damaged, and useless. I 'll marry her. I have made up my mind on +'t. Spare me all your remonstrances, all your mock compassion. Nor is it +like a fellow who has not seen the world in its best gala suit, affecting +to despise rank, splendor, and high station. <i>I have</i> seen the thing. +I have cantered my thoroughbred along Rotten Row, eaten my truffled +dinners in Belgravia, whispered my nonsense over the white shoulders of +the fairest and best-born of England's daughters. I know to a decimal +fraction the value of all these; and, what 's more, I know what one pays +for them,—the miserable vassalage, the poor slavery of mind, soul, +and body they cost! +</p> +<p> +“It is the terror of exclusion here, the dread of coldness there—the +possibility of offence to 'his Grace' on this side, or misconception by +'her Ladyship' on that—sway and rule a man so that he may neither +eat, drink, nor sleep without a 'Court Guide' in his pocket. I 've done +with it! now and forever,—I tell you frankly,—I return no more +to this bondage. +</p> +<p> +“I have written a farewell address to my worthy constituents of +Oughterard. I have told them that, 'feeling an instinct of independence +within me, I can no longer remain their representative; that, as a man of +honor, I shrink from the jobbery of the little borough politicians, and, +as a gentleman, I beg to decline their intimacy.' They took me for want of +a better—I leave them for the same reason. +</p> +<p> +“To my father I have said: 'Let us make a compromise. As your son I have a +claim on the House. Now, what will you give for my share? I 'll neither +importune you for place, nor embarrass you with solicitations for +employment. Help me to stock my knapsack, and I 'll find my road myself.' +<i>She</i> knows nothing of these steps on my part; nor shall she, till +they have become irrevocable. She is too proud ever to consent to what +would cost me thus heavily; but the expense once incurred,—the +outlay made,—she cannot object to what has become the law of my +future life. +</p> +<p> +“I send off these two documents to-night; this done, I shall write to her +an offer of marriage. What a fever I 'm in! and all because I feel the +necessity of defending myself to <i>you</i>,—to you of all men the +most headstrong, reckless, and self-indulgent,—a fellow who never +curbed a caprice nor restrained a passing fancy; and yet you are just the +man to light your cigar, and while you puff away your blue cloud, mutter +on about rashness, folly, insanity, and the rest of it, as if the state of +your bank account should make that wisdom in <i>you</i>, which with <i>me</i> +is but mere madness! But I tell you, Harry, it is your very thousands per +annum that preclude you from doing what I can. It is your house in town, +your stud at Tattersall's, your yacht at Cowes, your grouse-lodge in the +Highlands, that tie and fetter you to live like some scores of others, +with whom you have n't one solitary sympathy, save in income! You are +bound up in all the recognizances of your wealth to dine stupidly, sup +languidly, and sink down at last into a marriage of convenience,—to +make a wife of her whom 'her Grace' has chosen for you without a single +speculation in the contract save the thought of the earl you will be +allied to, and the four noble families you 'll have the right to go in +mourning for. +</p> +<p> +“And what worse than cant it is to talk of what they call an indiscreet +match! What does—what can the world know as to the reasons that +impel you, or me, or anybody else, to form a certain attachment? Are they +acquainted with our secret and most hidden emotions? Do they understand +the project of life we have planned to ourselves? Have they read our utter +weariness and contempt for forms that <i>they</i> venerate, and social +distinctions that <i>they</i> worship? I am aware that in some cases it +requires courage to do this; and in doing it a man virtually throws down +the glove to the whole world, and says, 'This woman's love is to me more +than all of you'—and so say I at this moment. I must cry halt, I +see, Harry. I have set these nerves at work in my wound, and the pain is +agony. Tomorrow—to-night, if I 'm able—I shall continue. +</p> +<p> +“Midnight.” They have just wished me good-night, after having spent the +evening here reading out the newspapers for me, commenting upon them, and +exerting themselves to amuse me in a hundred good-natured ways. You would +like this same stately old Lady Dorothea. She is really 'Grande Dame' in +every respect,—dress, air, carriage, gesture, even her slow and +measured speech is imposing, and her prejudices, uttered as they are in +such perfect sincerity of heart, have something touching about them, and +her sorrowful pity for the mob sounded more gracefully than Kate's +enthusiastic estimate of their high deservings. It does go terribly +against the grain to fancy an alliance between coarse natures and noble +sentiments, and to believe in the native nobility of those who never touch +soap! I have had a kind of skirmish with La Henderson upon this theme +to-night. She was cross and out of temper, and bore my bantering badly. +The fact is, she is utterly disgusted at the turn things have taken in +France; and not altogether without reason, since, after all their bluster +and bloodshed and barricades, they have gone back to a monarchy again. +They barred out the master to make 'the head usher' top of the school. Let +us see if he won't be as fond of the birch as his predecessor. Like all +mutineers, they found they could n't steer the ship when they had murdered +the captain! How hopeless it makes one of humanity to see such a spectacle +as this, Harry, and how low is one's estimate of the species after such +experience! You meet some half-dozen semi-bald, spectacled old gentlemen +in society, somewhat more reserved than the rest of the company, fond of +talking to each other, and rather distrustful of strangers; you find them +slow conversers at dinner, sorry whist-players in the drawing-room; you +are told, however, that one is a President of the Council, another the +Secretary for Foreign Affairs, and a third something equally important. +You venerate them accordingly, while you mutter the old Swede's apothegm +about the 'small intelligences' that rule mankind. Wait awhile! There is a +row in the streets: a pickpocket has appealed to the public to rescue him +from the ignoble hands of the police; an escaped felon has fired at the +judge who sentenced him, in the name of Liberty and Fraternity. No matter +what the cause, there <i>is</i> a row. The troops are called out; some are +beaten, some join the insurgents. The government grows frightened—temporizes—offers +terms—and sends for more soldiers. The people—I never clearly +knew what the word meant—the people make extravagant demands, and +will not even give time to have them granted,—in a word, the whole +state is subverted, the king, if there be one, in flight, the royal family +missing, the ministers nowhere! No great loss you 'll say, if the four or +five smooth-faced imbecilities we have spoken of are not to the fore! But +there is your error, Harry,—your great error. These men, used to +conduct and carry on the government, cannot be replaced. The new +capacities do nothing but blunder, and maybe issue contradictory orders +and impede each other's actions. To improvise a Secretary of State is +about as wise a proceeding as to take at hazard a third-class passenger +and set him to guide the engine of a train. The only difference is that +the machinery of state is ten thousand times more complex than that of a +steam-engine, and the powers for mischief and misfortune in due +proportion. +</p> +<p> +“But why talk of these things? I have had enough and too much of them +already this evening; women, too, are unpleasant disputants in politics. +They attach their faith to persons, not parties. Miss Henderson is, +besides, a little spoiled by the notice of those maxim-mongers who write +leaders in the 'Débats, and articles for the 'Deux Mondes.' They have, or +affect to have, a kind of pitying estimate for our English constitutional +forms, which is rather offensive. At least, she provoked me, and I am +relapsing into bad temper, just by thinking of it. +</p> +<p> +“You tell me that you once served with Captain Martin, and I see you +understand him; not that it requires much study to do so. You say he was +reckoned a good officer; what a sneer is that on the art military! +</p> +<p> +“There are, however, many suitable qualities about him, and he certainly +possesses the true and distinctive element of a gentleman,—he knows +how to be idle. Ay, Harry, that is a privilege that your retired banker or +enriched cotton-spinner never attains to. They must be up and doing,—where +there is nothing to do. They carry the spirit of the counting-house and +the loom into society with them, and having found a pleasure in business, +they want to make a business of pleasure. Now, Martin understands idling +to perfection. His tea and toast, his mutton cutlet, and his mustachios +are abundant occupation for him. With luncheon about two o'clock, he +saunters through the stables, sucking a lighted cigar, filing his nails, +and admiring his boots, till it 's time to ride out. He comes to me about +nine of an evening, and we play piquet till I get sleepy; after which he +goes to 'the rooms,' and, I believe, plays high; at least, I suspect so; +for he has, at times, the forced calm—that semi-jocular resignation—one +sees in a heavy loser. He has been occasionally, too, probing me about +Merl,—you remember the fellow who had the rooms near Knightsbridge,—so +that I opine he has been dabbling in loans. What a sorry spectacle such a +creature as this in the toils of the Israelite, for he is the 'softest of +the soft.' I see it from the effect La Henderson has produced upon him. He +is in love with her,—actually in love. He even wanted to make me his +confidant—and I narrowly escaped the confession—only yesterday +evening. Of course, he has no suspicion of my attachment in the same +quarter, so that it would be downright treachery in me to listen to his +avowal. Another feeling, too, sways me, Harry,—I don't think I could +hear a man profess admiration for the woman that I mean to marry, without +the self-same sense of resentment I should experience were I already her +husband. I 'm certain I 'd shoot him for it. +</p> +<p> +“La belle Kate and I parted coldly—dryly, I should call it—this +evening. I had fancied she was above coquetry, but she is not. Is any +woman? She certainly gave the Captain what the world would call +encouragement all the night; listened attentively to tiresome +tiger-huntings and stories of the new country; questioned him about his +Mahratta campaigns, and even hinted at how much she would like an Indian +life. Perhaps the torment she was inflicting on Lady Dorothea amused her; +perhaps it was the irritation she witnessed in me gave the zest to this +pastime. It is seldom that she condescends to be either amused or amusing; +and I own it is a part does not suit her. She is a thousand times more +attractive sitting over her embroidery-frame, raising her head at times to +say a few words,—ever apposite and well chosen,—always simple, +too, and to the purpose; or even by a slight gesture bearing agreement +with what is said around her; till, with a sudden impulse, she pours forth +fast, rapidly, and fluently some glowing sentiment of praise or censure, +some glorious eulogy of the good, or some withering depreciation of the +wrong. Then it is that you see how dark those eyes can be, how deep-toned +that voice, and with what delicacy of expression she can mould and fashion +every mood of mind, and give utterance to sentiments that till then none +have ever known how to embody. +</p> +<p> +“It is such a descent to her to play coquette! Cleopatra cannot—should +not be an Abigail. I am low and depressed to-night; I scarcely know why: +indeed, I have less reason than usual for heavy-heartedness. These people +are singularly kind and attentive to me, and seem to have totally +forgotten how ungratefully once before I repaid their civilities. What a +stupid mistake do we commit in not separating our public life from our +social one, so as to show that our opinions upon measures of state are +disconnected with all the sentiments we maintain for our private +friendships. I detect a hundred sympathies, inconceivable points of +contact, between these people and myself. We pass hours praising the same +things, and abusing the same people; and how could it possibly sever our +relations that I would endow Maynooth when they would pull it down, or +that I liked forty-shilling freeholders better than ten-pound +householders? You 'll say that a certain earnestness accompanies strong +convictions, and that when a man is deeply impressed with some supposed +truths, he 'll not measure his reprobation of those who assail them. But a +lawyer does all this, and forfeits nothing of the esteem of 'his learned +brother on the opposite side.' Nay, they exchange very-ugly knocks at +times, and inflict very unseemly marks even with the gloves on; still they +go homeward, arm-in-arm, after, and laugh heartily at both plaintiff and +defendant. By Jove! Harry, it may sound ill, but somehow it seems as +though to secure even a moderate share of enjoyment in this life one must +throne Expediency in the seat of Principle. I 'll add the conclusion +to-morrow, and now say good-night. +</p> +<p> +“Three days have passed over since I wrote the last time to you, and it +would require as many weeks were I to chronicle all that has passed +through my mind in the interval. Events there have been few; but +sensations—emotions, enough for a lifetime. Nor dare I recall them! +Faintly endeavoring to trace a few broken memories, my pains of mind and +body come back again, so that you must bear with me if I be incoherent, +almost unintelligible. +</p> +<p> +“The day after I wrote to you, I never saw her. My Lady, who came as usual +to visit me in the day, said something about Miss Henderson having a +headache. Unpleasant letters from her family—obliged to give up the +day to answering them; but all so confused and with such evident +constraint as to show me that something disagreeable loomed in view. +</p> +<p> +“The Captain dropped in about four o'clock, and as the weather was +unfavorable, we sat down to our party of piquet. By a little address, I +continued to lose nearly every game, and so gradually led him into a +conversation while we played; but I soon saw that he only knew something +had occurred 'upstairs,' but knew not what. +</p> +<p> +“' I suspect, however,' added he, 'it is only the old question as to +Kate's going away.' “'Going away! Going where?' cried I. +</p> +<p> +“'Home to her father; she is resolutely bent upon it,—has been so +ever since we left Paris. My mother, who evidently—but on what score +I know not—had some serious difference with her, is now most eager +to make concessions, and would stoop to—what for her is no trifle—even +solicitation to induce her to stay, has utterly failed; so, too, has my +father. Persuasion and entreaty not succeeding, I suspect—but it is +only suspicion—that they have had recourse to parental authority, +and asked old Henderson to interfere. At least, a letter has come this +morning from the West of Ireland, for Kate, which I surmise to be in his +hand. She gave it, immediately on reading it, to my mother, and I could +detect in her Ladyship's face, while she perused it, unmistakable signs of +satisfaction. When she handed it back, too, she gave a certain +condescending smile, which, in my mother, implies victory, and seems to +say, “Let us be friends now,—I 'm going to signal—cease +firing.”' +</p> +<p> +“'And Kate, did she make any remark—say anything?' “'Not a syllable. +She folded up the document, carefully and steadily, and placed it in her +work-box, and then resumed her embroidery in silence. I watched her +narrowly, while I affected to read the paper, and saw that she had to rip +out half she had done. After a while my mother said,—“'”You 'll not +answer that letter to-day, probably?” + </p> +<p> +“'"I mean to do so, my Lady,” said she; “and, with your permission, will +beg you to read my reply.” + </p> +<p> +“'"Very well,” said my mother, and left the room. I was standing outside +on the balcony at the time, so that Kate believed, after my mother's +departure, she was quite alone. It was then she opened the letter, and +re-read it carefully. I never took my eyes off her; and yet what was +passing in her mind, whether joy, grief, disappointment, or pleasure, I +defy any man to declare; nor when, having laid it down once more, she took +up her work, not a line or a lineament betrayed her. It was plain enough +the letter was no pleasant one, and I expected to have heard her sigh +perhaps, or at least show some sign of depression; but no, she went on +calmly, and at last began to sing, in a low, faint voice, barely audible +where I stood, one of her little barcarole songs she is so fond of; and if +there was no sorrow in her own heart, by Jove! she made mine throb heavily +as I listened! I stood it as long as I was able, and then coughed to show +that I was there, and entered the room. She never lifted her head, or +noticed me, not even when I drew a chair close to her, and sat down at her +side. +</p> +<p> +“'I suppose, Massingbred,' said he, after a pause, 'you 'll laugh at me, +if I tell you I was in love with the Governess! Well, I should have +laughed too, some six months ago, if any man had prophesied it; but the +way I put the matter to myself is this: If I do succeed to a good estate, +I have a right to indulge my own fancy in a wife; if I don't,—that +is, if I be a ruined man,—where 's the harm in marrying beneath me?' +</p> +<p> +“'Quite right, admirably argued,' said I, impatiently; 'go on.' +</p> +<p> +“'I 'm glad you agree with me,' said he, with the stupid satisfaction of +imbecility. 'I thought I had reduced the question to its very narrowest +bounds.' +</p> +<p> +“'So you have; go on,' cried I. +</p> +<p> +“'"Miss Henderson,” said I,—for I determined to show that I was +speaking seriously, and so I did n't call her Kate,— “Miss +Henderson, I want to speak to you. I have been long seeking this +opportunity; and if you will vouchsafe me a few minutes now, and hear me, +on a subject upon which all my happiness in life depends—” + </p> +<p> +“'When I got that far, she put her work down on her knee, and stared at me +with those large, full eyes of hers so steadily—ay, so haughtily, +too—that I half wished myself fifty miles away. +</p> +<p> +“'"Captain Martin,” said she, in a low, distinct voice, “has it ever +occurred to you in life to have, by a mere moment of reflection, a sudden +flash of intelligence, saved yourself from some step, some act, which, if +accomplished, had brought nothing but outrage to your feeling, and insult +to your self-esteem? Let such now rescue you from resuming this theme.” + </p> +<p> +“'"But you# don't understand me,” said I. “What I wish to say—” Just +at that instant my father came into the room in search of her, and I made +my escape to hide the confusion that I felt ready to overwhelm me.' +</p> +<p> +“'And have you not seen her since?' +</p> +<p> +“'No. Indeed, I think it quite as well, too. She 'll have time to think +over what I said, and see what a deuced good offer it is; for though I +know she was going to make objections about inequality of station and all +that at the time, reflection will bring better thoughts.' +</p> +<p> +“'And she 'll consent, you think?' +</p> +<p> +“'I wish I had a bet on it,' said he. +</p> +<p> +“'So you shall, then,' said I, endeavoring to seem thoroughly at my ease. +'It's a very unworthy occasion for a wager, Martin; but I'll lay five +hundred to one she refuses you.' +</p> +<p> +“'Taken, and booked,' cried he, writing it down in his note-book. “I only +regret it is not in thousands.' +</p> +<p> +“'So it should be, if I could honestly stake what I have n't got.' +</p> +<p> +“'You are so sanguine of winning? ' +</p> +<p> +“' So certain, you ought to say.' +</p> +<p> +“' Of course you use no influence against me,—you take no step of +any kind to affect her decision.' +</p> +<p> +“'Certainly not.' +</p> +<p> +“'Nor are you—But,' added he, laughing, 'I need n't make that +proviso. I was going to say, you are not to ask her yourself.' +</p> +<p> +“'I 'll even promise you that, if you like,' said I. +</p> +<p> +“'Then what can you mean?' said he, with a puzzled look. 'But whatever it +be, I can stand the loss. I 've won very close to double as much from you +this evening.' +</p> +<p> +“'And as to the disappointment?' +</p> +<p> +“'Oh, <i>you</i> 'll not mention it, I 'm certain, neither will she, so +none will be the wiser; and, after all, the real bore in all these cases +is the gossip.' And with this consolatory reflection he left me to dress +for dinner. How well bred a fellow seems who has no feeling, but just tact +enough to detect the tone of the world and follow it! That's Martin's +case, and his manners are perfect! After he was gone, I was miserable for +not having quarrelled with him,—said something outrageous, insolent, +and unbearable. That he should have dared to insult the young girl by such +presumption as the offer of <i>his</i> hand is really too much. What +difference of station—wide as the poles asunder—could compare +with their real inequality? The fop, the idler, the incompetent, to aspire +to <i>her!</i> Even his very narrative proclaimed his mean nature, +wandering on, as it did, from a lounge on the balcony to an offer of +marriage! +</p> +<p> +“Now, to conclude this wearisome story—and I fancy, Harry, that +already you half deem me a fitting rival for the tiresome Captain,—but +to finish, Martin came early into my room, and laying a bank-note for £100 +on the bed, merely added, 'You were right; there's your money.' I'd have +given double the sum to hear the details of this affair,—in what +terms the refusal was conveyed,—on what grounds she based it; but he +would not afford me the slightest satisfaction on any of these points. +Indeed, he displayed more vigor of character than I suspected in him, in +the way he arrested my inquiries. He left this for Paris immediately +after, so that the mystery of that interview will doubtless remain +impenetrable to me. +</p> +<p> +“We are all at sixes and sevens to-day. Old Martin, shocked by some +tidings of Ireland that he chanced upon in the public papers, I believe, +has had a stroke of paralysis, or a seizure resembling that malady. Lady +Dorothea is quite helpless from terror, and but for Kate, the whole +household would be in utter chaos and disorganization; but she goes about, +with her arm in a sling, calm and tranquil, but with the energy and +activity of one who feels that all depends upon her guidance and +direction. The servants obey her with a promptitude that proclaims +instinct; and even the doctor lays aside the mysterious jargon of his +craft, and condescends to talk sense to her. I have not seen her; passing +rumors only reach me in my solitude, and I sit here writing and brooding +alternately. +</p> +<p> +“P. S. Martin is a little better; no immediate danger to life, but slight +hopes of ultimate recovery. I was wrong as to the cause. It was a +proclamation of outlawry against his son, the Captain, which he read in +the 'Times.' Some implacable creditor or other had pushed his claim so +far, as I believe is easy enough to do nowadays; and poor Martin, who +connected this stigma with all the disgrace that once accompanied such a +sentence, fell senseless to the ground, and was taken up palsied. He is +perfectly collected and even tranquil now, and they wheeled me in to sit +with him for an hour or so. Lady Dorothea behaves admirably; the first +shock overwhelmed her, but that passed off, and she is now all that could +be imagined of tenderness and zeal. +</p> +<p> +“Kate I saw but for a second. She asked me to write to Captain Martin, and +request him to hasten home. It was no time to trifle with her; so I simply +promised to do so, adding,—“'<i>You,</i> I trust, will not leave +this at such a moment?' +</p> +<p> +“'Assuredly not,' said she, slightly coloring at what implied my knowledge +of her plans. +</p> +<p> +“'Then all will go on well in that case,' said I. +</p> +<p> +“'I never knew that I was reckoned what people call lucky,' said she, +smiling. 'Indeed, most of those with whom I have been associated in life +might say the opposite.' And then, without waiting to hear me, she left +the room. +</p> +<p> +“My brain is throbbing and my cheeks burning; some feverish access is upon +me. So I send off this ere I grow worse. +</p> +<p> +“Your faithful friend, +</p> +<p> +“Jack Massingbred.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER X. HOW ROGUES AGREE! +</h2> +<p> +Leaving the Martins in their quiet retreat at Spa, nor dwelling any longer +on a life whose daily monotony was unbroken by an incident, we once more +turn our glance westward. Were we assured that our kind readers' +sympathies were with us, the change would be a pleasure to us, since it is +there, in that wild mountain tract, that pathless region of fern and wild +furze, that we love to linger, rambling half listlessly through silent +glens and shady gorges, or sitting pensively on the storm-lashed shore, +till sea and sky melt into one, and naught lowers through the gloom save +the tall crags above us. +</p> +<p> +We are once more back again at the little watering-place of Kilkieran, to +which we introduced our readers in an early chapter of this narrative; but +another change has come over that humble locality. The Osprey's Nest, the +ornamented villa, on which her Ladyship had squandered so lavishly good +money and bad taste, was now an inn! A vulgar sign-board, representing a +small boat in a heavy sea, hung over the door, with the words “The +Corragh” written underneath. The spacious saloon, whose bay-windows opened +on the Atlantic, was now a coffee-room, and the small boudoir that +adjoined it—desecration of desecrations—the bar! +</p> +<p> +It needs not to have been the friend or favored guest beneath a roof where +elegance and refinement have prevailed to feel the shock at seeing them +replaced by all that ministers to coarse pleasure and vulgar association. +The merest stranger cannot but experience a sense of disgust at the +contrast. Whichever way you turned, some object met the eye recalling past +splendor and present degradation; indeed, Toby Shea, the landlord, seemed +to feel as one of his brightest prerogatives the right of insulting the +memory of his predecessors, and throwing into stronger antithesis the +“former” and the “now.” + </p> +<p> +“Here ye are now, sir, in my Lady's own parlor; and that's her bedroom, +where I left your trunk,” said he, as he ushered in a newly arrived +traveller, whose wet and road-stained drapery bore traces of an Irish +winter's day. “Mr. Scanlan told me that your honor would be here at four +o'clock, and he ordered dinner for two, at five, and a good dinner you 'll +have.” + </p> +<p> +“There; let them open my traps, and fetch me a pair of slippers and a +dressing-gown,” broke in the traveller; “and be sure to have a good fire +in my bedroom. What an infernal climate! It has rained since the day I +landed at Dublin; and now that I have come down here, it has blown a +hurricane besides. And how cold this room is!” added he, shuddering. +</p> +<p> +“That's all by reason of them windows,” said Toby,—“French windows +they call them; but I'll get real Irish sashes put up next season, if I +live. It was a fancy of that ould woman that built the place to have +nothing that was n't foreign.” + </p> +<p> +“They are not popular, then,—the Martins?” asked the stranger. +</p> +<p> +“Popular!” echoed Toby. “Begorra, they are not. Why would they be? Is it +rack-renting, process sarving, extirminating, would make them popular? +Sure we're all ruined on the estate. There isn't a mother's son of us +might n't be in jail; and it's not Maurice's fault, either,—Mr. +Scanlan's, I mean. Your honor's a friend of his, I believe,” added he, +stealthily. The stranger gave a short nod. “Sure he only does what he's +ordered; and it's breaking his heart it is to do them cruel things they +force him to.” + </p> +<p> +“Was the management of the estate better when they lived at home?” asked +the stranger. +</p> +<p> +“Some say yes, more says no. I never was their tenant myself, for I lived +in Oughterard, and kept the 'Goose and Griddle' in John Street; but I +believe, if the truth was told, it was always pretty much the same. They +were azy and moderate when they did n't want money, but ready to take your +skin off your back when they were hard up.” + </p> +<p> +“And is that their present condition?” + </p> +<p> +“I think it is,” said he, with a confident grin. “They 're spending +thousands for hundreds since they went abroad; and that chap in the +dragoons—the Captain they call him—sells a farm, or a plot of +ground, just the way ye 'd tear a leaf out of a book. There 's Mr. Maurice +now,—and I 'll go and hurry the dinner, for he 'll give us no peace +if we 're a minute late.” + </p> +<p> +The stranger—or, to give him his proper name, Mr. Merl—now +approached the window, and watched, not without admiration, the skilful +management by which Scanlan skimmed along the strand, zigzagging his smart +nag through all the awkward impediments of the way, and wending his tandem +through what appeared a labyrinth of confusion. +</p> +<p> +Men bred and born in great cities are somewhat prone to fancy that certain +accomplishments, such as tandem-driving, steeple-chasing, and such like, +are the exclusive acquirements of rank and station. They have only +witnessed them as the gifts of guardsmen and “young squires of high +degree,” never suspecting that in the country a very inferior class is +often endowed with these skilful arts. Mr. Merl felt, therefore, no +ordinary reverence for Maurice Scanlan, a sentiment fully reciprocated by +the attorney, as he beheld the gorgeous dressing-gown, rich tasselled cap, +and Turkish trousers of the other. +</p> +<p> +“I thought I'd arrive before you, sir,” said Scanlan, with a profound bow, +as he entered the room; “but I'm glad you got in first. What a shower that +was!” + </p> +<p> +“Shower!” said Merl; “a West India hurricane is a zephyr to it. I 'd not +live in this climate if you 'd give me the whole Martin estate!” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm sure of it, sir; one must be bred in the place, and know no better, +to stand it.” And although the speech was uttered in all humility, Merl +gave the speaker a searching glance, as though to say, “Don't lose your +time trying to humbug me; I'm 'York,' too.” Indeed, there was species of +freemasonry in the looks that now passed between the two; each seemed +instinctively to feel that he was in the presence of an equal, and that +artifice and deceit might be laid aside for the nonce. +</p> +<p> +“I hope you agree with me,” said Scanlan, in a lower and more confidential +voice, “that this was the best place to come to. Here you can stay as long +as you like, and nobody the wiser; but in the town of Oughterard they'd be +at you morning, noon, and night, tracking your steps, questioning the +waiter, ay, and maybe taking a peep at your letters. I 've known that same +before now.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, I suppose you 're right; only this place does look a little dull, I +confess.” + </p> +<p> +“It's not the season, to be sure,” said Scanlan, apologetically. +</p> +<p> +“Oh! and there is a season here?” + </p> +<p> +“Isn't there, by George!” said Maurice, smacking his lips. “I 've seen two +heifers killed here of a morning, and not so much as a beefsteak to be got +before twelve o'clock. 'T is the height of fashion comes down here in +July,—the Rams of Kiltimmon, and the Bodkins of Crossmaglin; and +there was talk last year of a lord,—I forget his name; but he ran +away from Newmarket, and the story went that he was making for this.” + </p> +<p> +“Any play?” asked Merl. +</p> +<p> +“Play is it? That there is; whist every night, and backgammon.” + </p> +<p> +Merl threw up his eyebrows with pretty much the same feeling with which +the Great Napoleon repeated the words “Bows and Arrows!” as the weapons of +a force that offered him alliance. +</p> +<p> +“If you'd allow me to dine in this trim, Mr. Scanlan,” said he, “I'd ask +you to order dinner.” + </p> +<p> +“I was only waiting for you to give the word, sir,” said Maurice, +reverting to the habit of respect at any fresh display of the other's +pretensions; and opening the door, he gave a shrill whistle. +</p> +<p> +The landlord himself answered the summons, and whispered a few words in +Scanlan's ear. +</p> +<p> +“That's it, always,” cried Maurice, angrily. “I never came into the house +for the last ten days without hearing the same story. I 'd like to know +who and what he is, that must always have the best that 's going?” Then +turning to Merl, he added: “It's a lodger he has upstairs; an old fellow +that came about a fortnight back; and if there's a fine fish or a fat +turkey or a good saddle of mutton to be got, he 'll have it.” + </p> +<p> +“Faix, he pays well,” said Toby, “whoever he is.” + </p> +<p> +“And he has secured our salmon, I find, and left us to dine on whiting,” + said Maurice. +</p> +<p> +“An eighteen-pound fish!” echoed Toby; “and it would be as much as my life +is worth to cut it in two.” + </p> +<p> +“And he's alone, too?” + </p> +<p> +“No, sir. Mr. Crow, the painter, is to dine with him. He's making drawings +for him of all the wonderful places down the coast.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, give us what we 're to have at once,” said Maurice, angrily. “The +basket of wine was taken out of the gig?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir; all right and ready for you; and barrin' the fish you 'll have +an elegant dinner.” + </p> +<p> +This little annoyance over, the guests relished their fare like hungry +men; nor, time and place considered, was it to be despised. +</p> +<p> +“Digestion is a great leveller.” Mr. Merl and Mr. Scan-Ian felt far more +on an equality when, the dinner over and the door closed, they drew the +table close to the fire, and drank to each other in a glass of racy port. +</p> +<p> +“Well, I believe a man might live here, after all,” said Merl, as he gazed +admiringly on the bright hues of his variegated lower garments. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm proud to hear you say so,” said Scanlan; “for, of course, you've +seen a deal of life; and when I say life, I mean fashion and high style,—nobs +and swells.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; I believe I have,” said Merl, lighting his cigar; “that was always +my 'line.' I fancy there's few fellows going have more experience of the +really great world than Herman Merl.” + </p> +<p> +“And you like it?” asked Maurice, confidentially. +</p> +<p> +“I do, and I do not,” said the Jew, hesitatingly. “To one like myself, who +knows them all, always on terms of close intimacy,—friendship, I may +say,—it 's all very well; but take a new hand just launched into +life, a fellow not of their own set,—why, sir, there 's no name for +the insults and outrage he'll meet with.” + </p> +<p> +“But what could they do?” asked Scanlan, inquiringly. +</p> +<p> +“What?—anything, everything; laugh at him, live on him, win his last +guinea,—and then, blackball him!” + </p> +<p> +“And could n't he get a crack at them?” + </p> +<p> +“A what?” + </p> +<p> +“Couldn't he have a shot at some of them, at least?” asked Maurice. +</p> +<p> +“No, no,” said Mr. Merl, half contemptuously; “they don't do <i>that</i>.” + </p> +<p> +“Faix! and we 'd do it down here,” said Scanlan, “devil may care who or +what he was that tried the game.” + </p> +<p> +“But I 'm speaking of London and Paris; I 'm not alluding to the Sandwich +Islands,” said Merl, on whose brain the port and the strong fire were +already producing their effects. +</p> +<p> +Scanlan's face flushed angrily; but a glance at the other checked the +reply he was about to make, and he merely pushed the decanter across the +table. +</p> +<p> +“You see, sir,” said Merl, in the tone of a man laying down a great +dictum, “there 's worlds and worlds. There's Claude Willoughby's world, +which is young Martin's and Stanhope's and mine. There, we are all young +fellows of fortune, good family, good prospects, you understand,—no, +thank you, no more wine;—I feel that what I 've taken has got into +my head; and this cigar, too, is none of the best. Would it be taking too +great a liberty with you if I were to snatch a ten minutes' doze,—just +ten minutes?” + </p> +<p> +“Treat me like an old friend; make yourself quite at home,” said Maurice. +“There 's enough here”—and he pointed to the bottles on the table—“to +keep me company; and I 'll wake you up when I 've finished them.” + </p> +<p> +Mr. Merl made no reply; but drawing a chair for his legs, and disposing +his drapery gracefully around him, he closed his eyes, and before Maurice +had replenished his glass, gave audible evidence of a sound sleep. +</p> +<p> +Now, worthy reader, we practise no deceptions with you; nor so far as we +are able, do we allow others to do so. It is but fair, therefore, to tell +you that Mr. Merl was not asleep, nor had he any tendency whatever to +slumber about him. That astute gentleman, however, had detected that the +port was, with the addition of a great fire, too much for him; he +recognized in himself certain indications of confusion that implied +wandering and uncertain faculties, and he resolved to arrest the progress +of such symptoms by a little repose. He felt, in short, that if he had +been engaged in play, that he should have at once “cut out,” and so he +resolved to give himself the advantage of the prerogative which attaches +to a tired traveller. There he lay, then, with closed eyes,—breathing +heavily,—to all appearance sound asleep. +</p> +<p> +Maurice Scanlan, meanwhile, scanned the recumbent figure before him with +the eye of a connoisseur. We have once before said that Mr. Scanlan's +jockey experiences had marvellously aided his worldly craft, and that he +scrutinized those with whom he came in contact through life, with all the +shrewd acumen he would have bestowed upon a horse whose purchase he +meditated. It was easy to see that the investigation puzzled him. Mr. Merl +did not belong to any one category he had ever seen before. Maurice was +acquainted with various ranks and conditions of men; but here was a new +order, not referable to any known class. He opened Captain Martin's +letter, which he carried in his pocket-book, and re-read it; but it was +vague and uninstructive. He merely requested that “every attention might +be paid to his friend Mr. Merl, who wanted to see something of the West, +and know all about the condition of the people, and such like. He's up to +everything, Master Maurice,” continued the writer, “and so just the man +for <i>you</i>.” There was little to be gleaned from this source, and so +he felt, as he folded and replaced the epistle in his pocket. +</p> +<p> +“What can he be,” thought Scanlan, “and what brings him down here? Is he a +member of Parliament, that wants to make himself up about Ireland and +Irish grievances? Is he a money-lender, that wants to see the security +before he makes a loan? Are they thinking of him for the agency?”—and +Maurice flushed as the suspicion crossed him,—“or is it after Miss +Mary he is?” And a sudden paleness covered his face at the thought. “I 'd +give a cool hundred, this minute, if I could read you,” said he to +himself, “Ay, and I'd not ask any one's help how to deal with us +afterwards,” added he, as he drained off his glass. While he was thus +ruminating, a gentle tap was heard at the door, and, anxious not to +disturb the sleeper, Scanlan crossed the room with noiseless steps, and +opened it. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0004" id="linkimage-0004"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/124.jpg" width="100%" alt="124 " /> +</div> +<p> +“Oh, it's you, Simmy,” said he, in a low voice. “Come in, and make no +noise; he's asleep.” + </p> +<p> +“And that's him!” said Crow, standing still to gaze on the recumbent +figure before him, which he scrutinized with all an artist's appreciation. +</p> +<p> +“Ay, and what do you think of him?” whispered Scanlan. +</p> +<p> +“That chap is a Jew,” said Sim, in the same cautious tone. “I know the +features well; you see the very image of him in the old Venetian pictures. +Whenever they wanted cunning and cruelty—but more cunning than +cruelty—they always took that type.” + </p> +<p> +“I would n't wonder if you were right, Simmy,” said Scanlan, on whom a new +light was breaking. +</p> +<p> +“I know I am; look at the spread of the nostrils, and the thick, full +lips, and the coarse, projecting under-jaw. Faix!” said he to himself, “I +'ve seen the day I 'd like to have had a study of your face.” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed!” said Scanlan. +</p> +<p> +“Just so; he'd make a great Judas!” said Crow, enthusiastically. “It is +the miser all over. You know,” added he, “if one took him in the +historical way, you 'd get rid of the vulgarity, and make him grander and +finer; for, looking at him now, he might be a dog-stealer.” + </p> +<p> +Scanlan gave a low, cautious laugh as he placed a chair beside his own for +the artist, and filled out for him a bumper of port. +</p> +<p> +“I was just dying for a glass of this,” said Crow. “I dined with Mr. Barry +upstairs; and though he's a fine-hearted old fellow in many respects, he's +too abstemious; a pint of sherry for two at dinner, and a pint of port +after, that's the allowance. Throw out as many hints as you like, suggest +how and what you will, but devil a drop more you'll get.” + </p> +<p> +“And who is he?” asked Scanlan. +</p> +<p> +“I wish you could tell me,” said Crow. +</p> +<p> +“You haven't a notion; nor what he is?” + </p> +<p> +“Not the slightest. I think, indeed, he said he was in the army; but I'm +not clear it wasn't a commissary or a surgeon; maybe he was, but he knows +a little about everything. Take him on naval matters, and he understands +them well; ask him about foreign countries,—egad, he was everywhere. +Ireland seems the only place new to him, and it won't be so long; for he +goes among the people, and talks to them, and hears all they have to say, +with a patience that breaks my heart. Like all strangers, he's astonished +with the acuteness he meets with, and never ceases saying, 'Ain't they a +wonderful people? Who ever saw their equal for intelligence?'” + </p> +<p> +“Bother!” said Scanlan, contemptuously. +</p> +<p> +“But it is not bother! Maurice; he's right. They are just what he says.” + </p> +<p> +“Arrah! don't be humbugging <i>me</i>, Mr. Crow,” said the other. “They +'re a set of scheming, plotting vagabonds, that are unmanageable by any +one, except a fellow that has the key to them as I have.” + </p> +<p> +“<i>You</i> know them, that's true,” said Crow, half apologetically, for +he liked the port, and did not feel he ought to push contradiction too +far. +</p> +<p> +“And that's more than your friend Barry does, or ever will,” said Scanlan. +“I defy an Englishman—I don't care how shrewd he is—to +understand Paddy.” + </p> +<p> +A slight movement on Mr. Merl's part here admonished the speaker to speak +lower. +</p> +<p> +“Ay,” continued Maurice, “that fellow there—whoever he is or +whatever he is—is no fool! he 's deep enough; and yet there 's not a +bare-legged gossoon on the estate I won't back to take him in.” + </p> +<p> +“But Barry's another kind of man entirely. You wouldn't call him cute or +cunning; but he's a sensible, well-judging man, that has seen a deal of +life.” + </p> +<p> +“And what is it, he says, brings him here?” asked Scanlan. +</p> +<p> +“He never said a word about that yet,” replied Crow, “further than his +desire to visit a country he had heard much of, and, if I understand him +aright, where some of his ancestors came from; for, you see, at times he's +not so easy for one to follow, for he has a kind of a foreign twang in his +tongue, and often mumbles to himself in a strange language.” + </p> +<p> +“I mistrust all these fellows that go about the world, pretending they +want to see this and observe that,” said Scanlan, sententiously. +</p> +<p> +“It's mighty hard to mistrust a man that gives you the likes of that,” + said Crow, as he drew a neatly folded banknote from his pocket, and handed +it to Scanlan. “Twenty pounds! And he gave you that?” “This very evening. +'It is a little more than our bargain, Mr. Crow,' said he, 'but not more +than I can afford to give; and so I hope you 'll not refuse it.' These +were his words, as he took my lot of drawings—poor daubs they were—and +placed them in his portfolio.” + </p> +<p> +“So that he is rich?” said Maurice, pensively, “There seems no end of his +money; there's not a day goes over he does n't spend fifteen or sixteen +pounds in meat, potatoes, barley, and the like. Sure, you may say he 's +been feeding the two islands himself for the last fortnight; and what's +more, one must n't as much as allude to it. He gets angry at the slightest +word that can bring the subject forward. It was the other day he said to +myself, 'If you can relieve destitution without too much parade of its +sufferings, you are not only obviating the vulgar display of rich +benevolence, but you are inculcating high sentiments and delicacy of +feeling in those that are relieved. Take care how you pauperize the heart +of a people, for you 'll have to make a workhouse of the nation.'” + </p> +<p> +“Sure, they're paupers already!” exclaimed Scanlan, contemptuously. “When +I hear all these elegant sentiments uttered about Ireland, I know a man is +an ass! This is a poor country,—the people is poor, the gentry is +poor, the climate is n't the best, and bad as it is, you 're never sure of +it. All that anybody can hope to do is to make his living out of it; but +as to improving it,—raising the intellectual standard of the people, +and all that balderdash we hear of,—you might just as well tell me +that there was an Act of Parliament to make everybody in Connaught six +feet high. Nature says one thing, and it signifies mighty little if the +House of Commons says the other.” + </p> +<p> +“And you 're telling me this in the very spot that contradicts every word +you say!” cried Crow, half angrily; for the port had given him courage, +and the decanter waxed low. +</p> +<p> +“How so?” exclaimed Scanlan. +</p> +<p> +“Here, where we sit—on this very estate of Cro' Martin—where a +young girl—a child the other day—has done more to raise the +condition of the people, to educate and civilize, than the last six +generations together.” + </p> +<p> +A long wailing whistle from Scanlan was the insulting reply to the +assertion. +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean by that?” cried Crow, passionately. +</p> +<p> +“I mean that she has done more mischief to the property than +five-and-forty years' good management will ever repair, Now don't be +angry, Simmy; keep your temper, and draw your chair back again to the +table. I 'm not going to say one word against her intentions; but when I +see the waste of thousands of pounds on useless improvements, elegant +roads that lead nowhere, bridges that nobody will ever pass, and harbors +without boats, not to say the habits of dependence the people have got by +finding everything done for them. I tell you again, ten years more of Miss +Mary's rule will finish the estate.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0005" id="linkimage-0005"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/130.jpg" width="100%" alt="" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +alt="130 “> +</p> +<p> +“I don't believe a word of it!” blurted out Simmy, boldly. “I saw her +yesterday coming out of a cabin, where she passed above an hour, nursing +typhus fever and cholera. The cloak she took off the door—for she +left it there to dry—was still soaked with rain; her wet hair hung +down her shoulders, and as she stood bridling her own pony,—for +there was not a living soul to help her—” + </p> +<p> +“She 'd have made an elegant picture,” broke in Scanlan, with a laugh. +“But that's exactly the fault of us in Ireland,—we are all +picturesque; I wish we were prosperous! But come, Simmy, finish your wine; +it's not worth disputing about. If all I hear about matters be true, there +will be very little left of Cro' Martin when the debts are paid.” + </p> +<p> +“What! do you mean to say that they 're in difficulty?” + </p> +<p> +“Far worse; the stories that reach me call it—ruin!” + </p> +<p> +Simmy drew his chair closer to the table, and in a whisper scarcely +breathed, said, “That chap's not asleep, Maurice.” + </p> +<p> +“I know it,” whispered the other; and added, aloud, “Many a fellow that +thinks he has the first charge on the property will soon discover his +mistake; there are mortgages of more than eighty years' standing on the +estate. You've had a great sleep, sir,” said he, addressing Merl, who now +yawned and opened his eyes; “I hope our talking did n't disturb you?” + </p> +<p> +“Not in the least,” said Merl, rising and stretching his legs. “I'm all +right now, and quite fresh for anything.” + </p> +<p> +“Let me introduce Mr. Crow to you, sir,—a native artist that we 're +all proud of.” + </p> +<p> +“That's exactly what you are not then,” said Crow; “nor would you be if I +deserved it. You 'd rather gain a cause at the Quarter Sessions, or take +in a friend about a horse, than be the man that painted the Madonna at +Florence.” + </p> +<p> +“He's cross this evening,—cross and ill-humored,” said Scanlan, +laughing. “Maybe he 'll be better tempered when we have tea.” + </p> +<p> +“I was just going to ask for it,” said Merl, as he arranged his whiskers, +and performed a small impromptu toilet before the glass, while Simmy +issued forth to give the necessary orders. +</p> +<p> +“We 'll have tea, and a rubber of dummy afterwards,” said Scanlan, “if +you've no objection.” + </p> +<p> +“Whatever you like,—I 'm quite at your disposal,” replied Merl, who +now seated himself with an air of bland amiability, ready, according to +the amount of the stake, to win pounds or lose sixpences. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XI. MR. MERL “AT FENCE” + </h2> +<p> +All the projects which Mr. Scanlan had struck out for Merl's occupation on +the following day were marred by the unfavorable weather. It blew fiercely +from the westward, driving upon shore a tremendous sea, and sending white +masses of drift and foam far inland. The rain, too, came down in torrents. +The low-lying clouds, which scarcely reached more than half-way up the +mountain sides, seemed as if rent asunder at times, and from them came a +deluge, filling all the watercourses, and swelling rivulets to the size of +mighty torrents. The unceasing roll of thunder, now near, now rumbling +along in distant volleys, swelled the wild uproar, and helped to make up a +scene of grand but desolate meaning. +</p> +<p> +What could well be drearier than that little line of cabins that formed +the village of Kilkieran, as with strongly barricaded doors, and with +roofs secured by ropes and spars, they stood exposed to the full violence +of the wild Atlantic! Not a man, not a living thing was to be seen. The +fishermen were all within doors, cowering in gloomy indolence over the +scanty turf fires, and brooding darkly on the coming winter. +</p> +<p> +With a thorough conviction of all the dreariness of this scene, Mr. Merl +stood at the window and looked out. He had been all his life too actively +engaged in his pursuits of one kind or other to know much about what is +called “being bored.” Let rain fall ever so heavily, a cab could take him +down to “'Change,”—the worst weather never marred a sale of stock, +and Consols could rise even while the mercury was falling. The +business-life of a great city seems to care little for weather, and +possibly they whose intent faculties are bent on gain, scarcely remember +whether the sun shines upon their labors. +</p> +<p> +Merl felt differently now; the scene before him was wilder and gloomier +than anything he had ever beheld. Beyond and behind the village steep +mountains rose on every side, of barren and rugged surface,—not a +vestige of any culture to be seen; while on the road, which led along a +narrow gorge, nothing moved. All was dreary and deserted. +</p> +<p> +“I suppose you'll keep the roof over you to-day, Mr. Merl?” said Scanlan, +as he entered the room, buttoned up to the chin in a coarse frieze coat, +while his head was protected by a genuine “sou'-wester” of oilskin. +</p> +<p> +“And are <i>you</i> going out in such weather?” asked Merl. +</p> +<p> +“'Needs must,' sir, as the proverb says. I have to be at the assizes at +Oughterard this morning, to prosecute some scoundrels for cutting brambles +in the wood; and I want to serve notices on a townland about eight miles +from this; and then I 'll have to go round by Cro' Martin and see Miss +Mary. That's not the worst of it,” added he, with an impudent leer, “for +she's a fine girl, and has the prettiest eyes in the kingdom.” + </p> +<p> +“I have a letter for her,” said Merl,—“a letter of introduction from +Captain Martin. I suppose I might as well send it by you, and ask if I +might pay my respects to-morrow or next day?” + </p> +<p> +“To be sure; I'll take it with pleasure. You'll like her when you see her. +She's not a bit like the rest: no pride, no stand-off,—that is, when +she takes a fancy; but she is full of life and courage for anything.” + </p> +<p> +“Ah, yes,—the Captain said we should get on very well together,” + drawled out Merl. +</p> +<p> +“Did he, though!” cried Scanlan, eagerly. Then as suddenly checking his +anxiety, he added: “But what does <i>he</i> know about Miss Mary? Surely +they're as good as strangers to each other. And for the matter of that, +even when he was here, they did n't take to each other,—she was +always laughing at the way he rode.” + </p> +<p> +“Wasn't he in the dragoons?” asked Merl, in a half-rebutting tone. +</p> +<p> +“So he was; but what does that signify? Sure it's not a cavalry seat, with +your head down and your elbows squared, will teach you to cross country,—at +least, with Mary Martin beside you. You'll see her one of these day +yourself, Mr. Merl. May I never, if you don't see her now!” cried Scanlan, +suddenly, as he pointed to the road along which a horse was seen coming at +speed, the rider breasting the storm fearlessly, and only crouching to the +saddle as the gusts swept past. “What in the name of all that's wonderful +brings her here?” cried Maurice. “She wasn't down at Kilkieran for four +months.” + </p> +<p> +“She'll stop at this inn here, I suppose?” said Merl who was already +performing an imaginary toilet for her visit. +</p> +<p> +“You may take your oath she'll not!” said Scanlan half roughly; “she 'd +not cross the threshold of it! She 's going to some cabin or other. There +she goes,—is n't that riding?” cried he, in animation. “Did you ever +see a horse held neater? And see how she picks the road for him! Easy as +she's sitting, she 'd take a four-foot wall this minute, without stirring +in her saddle.” + </p> +<p> +“She hasn't got a nice day for pleasuring!” said the Jew, with a vulgar +cackle. +</p> +<p> +“If ye call it pleasure,” rejoined Scanlan, “what she's after; but I +suspect there's somebody sick down at the end of the village. There, I 'm +right; she's pulling up at Mat Landy's,—I wonder if it's old Mat is +bad.” + </p> +<p> +“You know him?” asked Merl. +</p> +<p> +“To be sure I do. He 's known down the coast for forty miles. He saved +more men from shipwreck himself than everybody in the barony put together; +but his heart is all but broke about a granddaughter that ran away. Sure +enough, she's going in there.” + </p> +<p> +“Did you see Miss Mary?” cried Crow, entering suddenly. “She's just gone +down the beach. They say there's a case now down there.” + </p> +<p> +“A case—of what?” said Merl. +</p> +<p> +“Cholera or typhus, as it may be,” said Crow, not a little surprised at +the unmistakable terror of the other's face. +</p> +<p> +“And she's gone to see it!” exclaimed the Jew. +</p> +<p> +“To do more than see it. She 'll nurse the sick man, and bring him +medicine and whatever he wants.” + </p> +<p> +“And not afraid?” + </p> +<p> +“Afraid!” broke in Crow. “I'd like to know what she's afraid of. Ask Mr. +Scanlan what would frighten her.” But Mr. Scanlan had already slipped +noiselessly from the room, and was already on his way down the shore. +</p> +<p> +“Well,” said Merl, lighting his cigar, and drawing an arm-chair close to +the fire, “I don't see the advantage of all that. She could send the +doctor, I suppose, and make her servants take down to these people +whatever she wanted to send them. What especial utility there is in going +herself, I can't perceive.” + </p> +<p> +“I'll tell you, then,” said Crow. “It's more likely the doctor is busy +this minute, ten or fifteen miles away,—for the whole country is +down in sickness; but even if he was n't, if it were not for her courage +in going everywhere, braving danger and death every hour, there would be a +general flight of all that could escape. They'd rush into the towns,—where +already there's more sickness than they know how to deal with. She +encourages some,—she shames more; and not a few are proud to be +brave in such company, for she is an angel,—that's her name,—an +angel.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, I should like to see her,” drawled out Merl, as he smoothed down +his scrubby mustachios. +</p> +<p> +“Nothing easier, then,” rejoined Crow. “Put on your coat and hat, and we +'ll stroll down the beach till she comes out; it can't be very long, for +she has enough on her hands elsewhere.” + </p> +<p> +The proposition of a “stroll” in such weather was very little to Mr. +Merl's taste; but his curiosity was stronger than even his fear of a +drenching, and having muffled and shawled himself as if for an Arctic +winter, they set out together from the inn. +</p> +<p> +“And you tell me,” said he, “that the Martins used to live here,—actually +pass their lives in this atrocious climate?” + </p> +<p> +“That they did,—and the worst mistake they ever made was to leave +it,” said Crow. +</p> +<p> +“I confess you puzzle me,” said Merl. +</p> +<p> +“Very possibly I do, sir,” was the calm reply; “but you'd have understood +me at once had you known this country while they resided at Cro' Martin. +It was n't only that the superfluities of their wealth ran over, and +filled the cup of the poor man, but there was a sense of hope cherished, +by seeing that however hard the times, however adverse the season, there +was always 'his Honor,' as they called Mr. Martin, whom they could appeal +to for aid or for lenient treatment.” + </p> +<p> +“Very strange, very odd, all this,” said Merl, musing. “But all that I +hear of Ireland represents the people as if in a continual struggle for +mere existence, and actually in a daily state of dependence on the will of +somebody above them.” + </p> +<p> +“And if that same condition were never to be exaggerated into downright +want, or pushed to an actual slavery, we could be very happy with it,” + said Crow, “and not thank you, or any other Englishman that came here, to +disturb it.” + </p> +<p> +“I assure you I have no ambition to indulge in any such interference,” + said Merl, with a half-contemptuous laugh. +</p> +<p> +“And so you're not thinking of settling in Ireland?” asked Crow, in some +surprise. +</p> +<p> +“Never dreamed of it!” + </p> +<p> +“Well, the story goes that you wanted to buy an estate, and came down to +have a look at this property here.” + </p> +<p> +“I'd not live on it if Martin were to make me a present of it to-morrow.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't think he will,” said Crow, gravely. “I am afraid he could n't, if +he wished it.” + </p> +<p> +“What, do you mean on account of the entail?” asked Merl. +</p> +<p> +“Not exactly.” He paused, and after some silence said, “If the truth were +told, there's a great deal of debt on this property,—more than any +one suspects.” + </p> +<p> +“The Captain's encumbrances?” asked Merl, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“His grandfather's and his great-grandfather's! As for the present man, +they say that he's tied up some way not to sell, except for the sake of +redeeming some of the mortgages. But who knows what is true and what is +false about all this?” + </p> +<p> +Merl was silent; grave fears were crossing his mind how far his claims +were valid; and terrible misgivings shot across him lest the Captain might +have been paying him with valueless securities. +</p> +<p> +“I gather from what you say,” said he, at last, “that it would be rather +difficult to make out a title for any purchaser of this estate.” + </p> +<p> +“Don't be afraid of that, sir. They'll make you out a fair title.” + </p> +<p> +“I tell you again, I'd not take it as a present,” said Merl, half angrily. +</p> +<p> +“I see,” said Crow, nodding his head sententiously. And then fixing his +eyes steadily on him, he said, “You are a mortgagee.” + </p> +<p> +Merl reddened,—partly anger, partly shame. Indeed, the feeling that +such a capacity as Mr. Crow's should have pushed him hard, was anything +but complimentary to his self-esteem. +</p> +<p> +“I don't want to pry into any man's affairs,” said Crow, easily. “Heaven +knows it's mighty little matter to Simmy Crow who lives in the big house +there. I 'd rather, if I had my choice, be able to walk the wood with my +sketch-book and brushes than be the richest man that ever was heartsore +with the cares of wealth.” + </p> +<p> +“And if a friend—a sincere, well-wishing friend—were to bind +himself that you should enjoy this same happiness you speak of, Mr. Crow, +what would you do in return?” + </p> +<p> +“Anything he asked me,—anything, at least, that a fair man could +ask, and an honest one could do.” + </p> +<p> +“There's my hand on it, then,” said Merl. “It's a bargain.” + </p> +<p> +“Ay, but let us hear the conditions,” said Crow. “What could I possibly +serve you in, that would be worth this price?” + </p> +<p> +“Simply this: that you'll answer all my inquiries, so far as you know +about this estate; and where your knowledge fails, that you'll endeavor to +obtain the information for me.” + </p> +<p> +“Maybe I could tell you nothing at all—or next to nothing,” said +Crow. “Just ask me, now, what's the kind of question you 'd put; for, to +tell truth, I 'm not over bright or clever,—the best of me is when +I've a canvas before me.” + </p> +<p> +Merl peered stealthily at the speaker over the great folds of the shawl +that enveloped his throat; he was not without his misgivings that the +artist was a “deep fellow,” assuming a manner of simplicity to draw him +into a confidence. “And yet,” he thought, “had he really been shrewd and +cunning, he 'd never have blurted out his suspicion as to my being a +mortgagee. Besides,” said he to himself, “there, and with that fact, must +end all his knowledge of me.” “You can dine with me to-day, Mr. Crow, +can't you?” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm engaged to the stranger in No. 4,—the man I'm making the +drawings for.” + </p> +<p> +“But you could get off. You could ask him to excuse you by saying that +something of importance required you elsewhere?” + </p> +<p> +“And dine in the room underneath?” asked Crow, with a comical look of +distress at this suggestion. +</p> +<p> +“Well, let us go somewhere else. Is there no other inn in the +neighborhood?” + </p> +<p> +“There's a small public-house near the gate of Cro' Martin, to be sure.” + </p> +<p> +“Then we'll dine there. I'll order a chaise at four o'clock, and we 'll +drive over together. And now, I 'll just return to the house, for this +wading here is not much to my taste.” + </p> +<p> +Mr. Merl returned gloomily to the house, his mind too deeply occupied with +his own immediate interests to bestow any thought upon Mary Martin. The +weather assuredly offered but little inducement to linger out of doors, +for, as the morning wore on, the rain and wind increased in violence, +while vast masses of mist swept over the sea and were carried on shore, +leaving only, at intervals, little patches of the village to be seen,—dreary, +storm-beaten, and desolate! Merl shuddered, as he cast one last look at +this sad-colored picture, and entered the inn. +</p> +<p> +Has it ever been your ill-fortune, good reader, to find yourself alone in +some dreary, unfrequented spot, the weather-bound denizen of a sorry inn, +without books or newspapers, thrown upon the resources of your own +thoughts, so sure to take their color from the dreary scene around them? +It is a trying ordeal for the best of tempers. Your man of business chafes +and frets against the inactivity; your man of leisure sorrows over +monotony that makes idleness a penalty. He whose thoroughfare in life is +the pursuit of wealth thinks of all those more fortunate than himself then +hurrying on to gain, while he who is the mark of the world's flatteries +and attentions laments over the dismal desolation of an uncompanionable +existence. +</p> +<p> +If Mr. Merl did not exactly occupy any one of these categories, he +fancied, at least, that he oscillated amidst them all. It was, indeed, his +good pleasure to imagine himself a “man upon town,” who played a little, +discounted a little, dealt a little in old pictures, old china, old +cabinets, and old plate, but all for mere pastime,—something, as he +would say, “to give him an interest in it;” and there, certainly, he was +right. Nothing so surely imparted an “interest” in Mr. Merl's eyes as +having an investment. Objects of art, the greatest triumphs of genius, +landscape the richest eye ever ranged over, political events that would +have awakened a sense of patriotism in the dullest and coldest, all came +before him as simple questions of profit and loss. +</p> +<p> +If he was not actually a philosopher, some of his views of life were +characterized by great shrewdness. He had remarked, for instance, that the +changeful fashions of the world are ever alternating; and that not only +dress and costume and social customs undergo mutations, but that objects +of positive sterling value are liable to the same wayward influences. We +are all modern to-day, to-morrow we may be “Louis Quatorze,” the next day +“Cinque Centi” in our tastes. Now we are mad after Italian art, yesterday +the Dutch school was in vogue. Our galleries, our libraries, our houses, +our gardens, all feel the caprices of these passing moods. There was but +one thing that Mr. Merl had perceived never changed, and that was the +estimation men felt for money. Religions might decay, and states crumble, +thrones totter, and kings be exiled, Cuyps might be depreciated and +marquetry be held in mean esteem; but gold was always within a fraction at +least of four pounds eleven shillings the ounce! +</p> +<p> +He remarked, too, that men gradually grow tired of almost everything; the +pursuits of the young are not those of the middle-aged, still less of +advanced life. The books which we once cried over are now thrown down with +languor; the society we imagined perfection we now smile at for its very +absurdities. We see vulgarity where we once beheld vigor; we detect +exaggeration where we used to attribute power. There is only one theme of +which our estimation never varies,—wealth! Mr. Merl had never yet +met the man nor the woman who really despised it; nay, he had seen kings +trafficking on 'Change. He had known great ministers deep speculators on +the Bourse; valiant admirals, distinguished generals, learned judges, and +even divines, had bought and sold with him, all eager in the pursuit of +gain, and all employing, to the best of their ability, the high faculties +of their intelligence to assist them in making crafty bargains. +</p> +<p> +If these experiences taught him the universal veneration men feel for +wealth, they also conveyed another lesson, which was, the extreme +gullibility of mankind. He met every day men who ruled cabinets and +commanded fleets,—the reputed great of the earth,—and saw them +easier victims in his hand than the commonest capacity in “Leadenhall +Street.” They had the earliest information, but could not profit by it; +they never understood the temper on 'Change, knew nothing of the +variations of the money-barometer, and invariably fell into snares that +your city man never incurred. Hence Mr. Merl came to conceive a very low +general opinion of what he himself called “the swells,” and a very high +one of Herman Merl. +</p> +<p> +If we have dwelt upon these traits of this interesting individual in this +place, it is simply to place before our reader's mind the kind of +lucubrations such a man might be disposed to indulge in. In fact, +story-tellers like ourselves have very little pretension to go beyond the +narrow limit; and having given to the reader the traits of a character, +they must leave their secret working more or less to his ingenuity. So +much, however, we are at liberty to declare, that Mr. Merl was terribly +bored, and made no scruple of confessing it. +</p> +<p> +“What the deuce are you staring at? Is there anything really to be seen in +that confounded dreary sea?” cried he, as Crow stood shading his eyes from +the lightning flashes, and intently gazing on the scene without. +</p> +<p> +“That's one of the effects Backhuysen was so fond of!” exclaimed Crow, +eagerly,—“a sullen sea, lead-colored and cold, with a white curl +just crisping the top of the waves, over it a dreary expanse of dark sky, +low-lying and black, till you come near the horizon, where there is a +faint line of grayish white, just enough to show that you are on the wide, +wide ocean, out of sight of land, and nothing living near, except that +solitary sea-gull perched upon the breakers there. There's real poetry in +a bit like that; it sets one a thinking over the desolation of those whose +life is little better than a voyage on such a sea!” + </p> +<p> +“Better be drowned at once,” broke in Merl, impatiently. +</p> +<p> +Crow started and looked at him; and had Merl but seen that glance, so +scornful and contemptuous was it, even his self-esteem might have felt +outraged. But he had not remarked it; and as little did he guess what was +then passing in the poor artist's mind, as Crow muttered to himself, “I +know one that will not be your guest to-day, if he dines on a cold potato, +or does n't dine at all.” + </p> +<p> +“Did I tell you,” cried he, suddenly, “that there's no horses to be had?” + </p> +<p> +“No horses!” exclaimed Merl; “how so?” + </p> +<p> +“There's a great trial going on at the assizes to-day, and Mr. Barry is +gone on to Oughterard to hear it, and he has the only pair of posters in +the place.” + </p> +<p> +“What a confounded hole!” burst out Merl, passionately. “That I ever +should have set my foot in it! How are we to get through the day here? +Have you thought of anything to be done?” + </p> +<p> +“<i>I'll</i> go down and find out how poor Landy is,” said Crow; “for Miss +Mary's horse is still at the door, and he must be very bad, indeed, or she +wouldn't delay so long.” + </p> +<p> +“And what if it should turn out the cholera, or typhus, or something as +bad?” + </p> +<p> +“Well?” said Crow, interrogatively; for he could not guess the drift of +the suggestion. +</p> +<p> +“Simply this, my worthy friend,” resumed Merl,—“that I have no fancy +for the pleasure of your company at dinner after such an excursion as you +speak of.” + </p> +<p> +“I was just going to say that myself,” said Crow. “Good-bye!” And before +Merl could interpose a word, he was gone. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XII. MR. MERL'S MEDITATIONS. +</h2> +<p> +Our last chapter left Mr. Herman Merl in bad company,—he was alone. +Now, very few men's thoughts are companionable in the dreary solitude of a +sorry inn. None of us, it is to be feared, are totally exempt from “this +world's crosses;” and though the sorrows of life do fall very unequally, +the light afflictions are accepted as very heavy burdens by those to whose +lot they fall! +</p> +<p> +Just as it happens, then, on some gloomy day of winter, when we have +“finished our book,” and the newspapers are tiresome, we take the +opportunity to look through our letters and papers,—to arrange our +desk, and put a little order in our scattered and littered memoranda,—somewhat +in the same spirit will Conscience grasp a similar moment to go over the +past, glance at bygone events, and make, as it were, a clearance of +whatever weighs upon our memory. I 'm not quite certain that the best of +us come out of this Bankruptcy Court with a first-class certificate. Even +the most merciful to his own errors will acknowledge that in many things +he should do differently were they to be done over again; and he must, +indeed, have fallen upon a happy lot in life who has not some +self-reproach on the score of kindness unrequited,—slight injuries +either unforgiven or unequally avenged,—friendships jeopardized, +mayhap lost, by some mere indulgence of temper,—and enmities +unreconciled, just for lack of the veriest sacrifice of self-love. +</p> +<p> +Were there any such court in morals as in law, what a sad spectacle would +our schedule show, and how poor even the most solvent amongst us, if +called on for a list of his liabilities! +</p> +<p> +Lest our moralizing should grow uncomfortable, dear reader, let us return +to Mr. Merl, now occupied, as he was, in this same process of +self-examination. He sat with a little note-book before him, recalling +various incidents of the past. And if the lowering expression of his face +might be trusted, his reveries were not rose-colored; and yet, as he +turned over the pages, it might be seen that moments of gratulation +alternated with the intervals of self-reproach. +</p> +<p> +“Wednesday, the 10th,” muttered he to himself, “dined at Philippe's—supped +with Arkright and Bailey—whist at double Nap. points—won four +hundred and ten—might have made it a thousand, but B. flung the +cards out of the window in a passion, and had to cease playing. +</p> +<p> +“Thursday—toothache—stayed at home, and played piquet with +myself—discovered two new combinations, in taking in cards—Irving +came to see me—won from him twenty pounds his mother had just sent +him. +</p> +<p> +“Friday—a good day's work—walked into Martin for two thousand +seven hundred, and took his bill at three months, with promise to renew—dined +with Sitwell, and sold him my Perugino for six hundred—cost myself +not as many francs—am to have the refusal of all Vanderbrett's +cabinets for letting him off his match with Columbine, which, by the way, +he was sure to win, as Mope is dead lame. +</p> +<p> +“Martin again—Saturday—came to have his revenge, but seemed +quarrelsome; so I affected an engagement, and declined play. +</p> +<p> +“Sunday—gave him his revenge, to the tune of twelve hundred in my +own favor—'Lansquenet' in the evening at his rooms—several +swells present—thought it prudent to drop some tin, and so, lost one +hundred and forty Naps.—Sir Giles Bruce the chief winner—rich, +and within two months of being of age. +</p> +<p> +“Monday—the Perugino returned as a bad copy by Fava—took it at +once, and said I was taken in myself—Sitwell so pleased that he sat +down to écarté, and lost two hundred to me. I dine with him to-morrow. +</p> +<p> +“Tuesday—blank—dinner at Sitwell's—met Colonel Cardie, +whom I saw at Hombourg, and so refused to play. It was, I suspect, a plan +of Sitwell's to pit us against each other. +</p> +<p> +“Wednesday—sold out my African at seventy-one and an eighth—realized +well, and bought in Poyais, which will rise for at least ten days to come—took +Canchard's château at Ghent for his old debt at écarté—don't like +it, as it may be talked about. +</p> +<p> +“Gave a dinner to Wilson, Morris, Leader, Whyte, and Martin—Lescour +could n't come—played little whist afterwards—changed for +hazard after supper—won a few Naps., and home to bed. +</p> +<p> +“Took Rigby's curricle and horses for the two hundred he owes me—glad +to have done with him—he evidently wanted a row—and so play +with him no more. +</p> +<p> +“Sent ten Naps, to the fund for the poor injured by the late inundations, +as the police called to ask about my passport, &c. +</p> +<p> +“Saturday—the Curé of St. Rochette, to ask for alms—gave three +hundred francs, and secured his services against the police—the curé +mentions some curious drawings in the sacristy—promised to go and +see them. +</p> +<p> +“Bought Walrond's library for a franc a volume—the Elzevirs alone +worth double the amount paid—Bailey bolted, and so lose his last +bills—Martin quarrelsome—said he never yet won at any sitting +with me—lost seventy to him, and sent him home satisfied. +</p> +<p> +“Gave five hundred francs for the drawings at St. R———, +abominable daubs; but the police grow more troublesome every day—besides, +Crowthorpe is collecting early studies of Rembrandt—these sketches +are marked R. +</p> +<p> +“A great evening—cleared Martin out—suspect that this night's +work makes me an Irish estated gentleman—must obtain legal opinion +as to these same Irish securities and post-obits, involving, as they do, a +heavy sum.” + </p> +<p> +Mr. Merl paused at this <i>entrée</i> in his diary, and began to reflect +in no very gratulatory mood on the little progress he had as yet made in +this same object of inquiry; in fact, he was just discovering what a vast +number of more shrewd observers than himself have long since found out, +that exploring in Ireland is rather tough work. Everything looks so easy +and simple and plain upon the surface, and yet is so puzteling and +complicated beneath; all seems so intelligible, where there is nothing in +reality that is not a contradiction. It is true he was not harassing +himself with problems of labor and wages, the condition of the people, the +effects of emigration, and so forth. He wanted to ascertain some few facts +as to the value of a certain estate, and what incumbrances it might be +charged with; and to the questions he put on this head, every reply was an +insinuated interrogatory to himself. “Why are <i>you</i> here, Mr. Merl?” + “How does it concern <i>you?</i>” “What may be <i>your</i> interest in the +same investigation?” This peculiar dialectic met him as he landed; it +followed him to the West. Scanlan, the landlord, even that poor simpleton +the painter—as he called Crow—had submitted him to its harsh +rule, till Mr. Merl felt that, instead of pursuing an examination, he was +himself everlastingly in the witness-box. +</p> +<p> +Wearied of these speculations, dissatisfied with himself and his fruitless +journey, he summoned the landlord to ask if that “old gent” above stairs +had not a book of some kind, or a newspaper, he could lend him. A ragged +urchin speedily returned with a key in his hand, saying, “That's the key +of No. 4. Joe says you may go up and search for yourself.” + </p> +<p> +One more scrupulous might not exactly have fancied the office thus +suggested to him. He, however, was rather pleased with the investigation, +and having satisfied himself that the mission was safe, set forth to +fulfil it. No. 4, as the stranger's room was called, was a large and lofty +chamber, lighted by a single bay-window, the deep recess of which was +occupied by a writing-table. Books, maps, letters, and drawings littered +every part of the room. Costly weapons, too, such as richly chased daggers +and inlaid pistols, lay carelessly about, with curiously shaped pipes and +gold-embroidered tobacco-bags; a richly lined fur pelisse covered the +sofa, and a skull-cap of the very finest sable lay beside it. All these +were signs of affluence and comfort, and Mr. Merl pondered over them as he +went from place to place, tossing over one thing after another, and losing +himself in wild conjectures about the owner. +</p> +<p> +The writing-table, we have said, was thickly strewn with letters, and to +these he now addressed himself in all form, taking his seat comfortably +for the investigation. Many of the letters were in foreign languages, and +from remote and far-away lands. Some he was enabled to spell out, but they +referred to places and events he had never heard of, and were filled with +allusions he could not fathom. At length, however, he came to documents +which interested him more closely. They were notes, most probably in the +stranger's own hand, of his late tour along the coast. Mournful records +were they all,—sad stories of destitution and want, a whole people +struck down by famine and sickness, and a land perishing in utter misery. +No personal narrative broke the dreary monotony of these gloomy records, +and Merl searched in vain for what might give a clew to the writer's +station or his object. Carefully drawn-up statistics, tables of the +varying results of emigration, notes upon the tenure of land and the price +of labor were all there, interspersed with replies from different quarters +to researches of the writer's making. Numerous appeals to charity, +entreaties for small loans of money, were mingled with grateful +acknowledgments for benefits already received. There was much, had he been +so minded, that Mr. Merl might have learned in this same unauthorized +inquiry. There were abundant traits of the people displayed, strange +insight into customs and ways peculiar to them, accurate knowledge, too, +of the evils of their social condition; and, above all, there were the +evidences of that curious compound of credulity and distrust, hope and +fatalism, energy and inertness, which make up the Irish nature. +</p> +<p> +He threw these aside, however, as themes that had no interest for him. +What had he to do with the people? His care was with the soil, and less +even with it than with its burdens and incumbrances. One conviction +certainly did impress itself strongly upon him,—that he 'd part with +his claims on the estate for almost anything, in preference to himself +assuming the cares and duties of an Irish landlord,—a position which +he summed up by muttering to himself, “is simply to have so many acres of +bad land, with the charge of feeding so many thousands of bad people.” + Here were suggestions, it is true, how to make them better, coupled with +details that showed the writer to be one well acquainted with the +difficulties of his task; here, also, were dark catalogues of crime, +showing how destitution and vice went hand in hand, and that the seasons +of suffering were those of lawlessness and violence. Various hands were +detectable in these documents. Some evinced the easy style and graceful +penmanship of education; others were written in the gnarled hand of the +daily, laborer. Many of these were interlined in what Merl soon detected +to be the stranger's own handwriting; and brief as such remarks were, they +sufficed to show how carefully their contents had been studied by him. +</p> +<p> +“What could be the object of all this research? Was he some emissary of +the Government, sent expressly to obtain this knowledge? Was he employed +by some section of party politicians, or was he one of those literary +philanthropists who trade upon the cheap luxury of pitying the poor and +detailing their sorrows? At all events,” thought Mr. Merl, “this same +information seems to have cost him considerable research, and not a little +money; and as I am under a pledge to give the Captain some account of his +dear country, here is a capital opportunity to do so, not only with ease, +but actually with honor.” And having formed this resolve, he instantly +proceeded to its execution. That wonderful little note-book, with its +strong silver clasps, so full of strange and curious information, was now +produced; but he soon saw that the various facts to be recorded demanded a +wider space, and so he set himself to write down on a loose sheet of paper +notices of the land in tillage or in pasture, the numerical condition of +the people as compared with former years, their state, their prospects; +but when he came to tell of the ravages made and still making by +pestilence amongst them, he actually stopped to reread the records, so +terrible and astounding were the facts narrated. A dreadful malady walked +the land, and its victims lay in every house! The villages were +depopulated, the little clusters of houses at cross roads were stricken, +the lone shealing on the mountain side, the miserable cottage of the +dreary moor, were each the scenes of desolation and death. It was as +though the land were about to be devastated, and the race of man swept +from its surface! As he read on, he came upon some strictures in the +stranger's own hand upon these sad events, and perceived how terribly had +the deserted, neglected state of the people aided the fatal course of the +epidemic. No hospitals had been provided, no stores of any remedial kind, +not a doctor for miles around, save an old physician who had been retained +at Miss Martin's special charge, and who was himself nigh exhausted by the +fatigue of his office. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Merl laid down his pen to think,—not, indeed, in any +compassionate spirit of that suffering people; his sorrows were not for +those who lay on beds of want and sickness; his whole anxiety was for a +certain person very dear to his own heart, who had rashly accepted +securities on a property which, to all seeming, was verging upon ruin; +this conviction being strongly impressed by the lawless state of the +country, and the hopelessness of expecting payment from a tenantry so +circumstanced. +</p> +<p> +“Sympathy, indeed!” cried he; “I should like to hear of a little sympathy +for the unlucky fellow who has accepted a mortgage on this confounded +estate! These wretched creatures have little to lose,—and even death +itself ought to be no unwelcome relief to a life like theirs,—but to +a man such as I am, with abundance of projects for his spare cash, this is +a pretty investment! It is not impossible that this philanthropic +stranger, whoever he be, might buy up my bonds. He should have them a +bargain,—ay, by Jove! I'd take off a jolly percentage to touch the +'ready;' and who knows, what with all his benevolence, his charity, and +his Christian kindliness, if he 'd not come down handsomely to rescue this +unhappy people from the hands of a Jew!” + </p> +<p> +And Mr. Merl laughed pleasantly, for the conceit amused him, and it +sounded gratefully to his imagination that even his faith could be put out +to interest, and the tabernacle be turned to good account. The noise of a +chaise approaching at a sharp trot along the shingly beach startled him +from his musings, and he had barely time to snatch up the paper on which +he had scrawled his notes, and hasten downstairs, when the obsequious +landlord, rushing to the door, ushered in Mr. Barry, and welcomed him back +again. +</p> +<p> +Merl suffered his door to stand ajar, that he might take a look at the +stranger as he passed. He was a very large, powerfully built man, somewhat +stooped by age, but showing even in advanced years signs of a vigorous +frame and stout constitution; his head was massive, and covered with +snow-white hair, which descended on the back of his neck. His countenance +must in youth have been handsome, and even yet bore the expression of a +frank, generous, but somewhat impetuous nature,—so at least it +struck him who now observed it; a character not improbably aided by his +temper as he entered, for he had returned from scenes of misery and +suffering, and was in a mood of indignation at the neglect he had just +witnessed. +</p> +<p> +“You said truly,” said he to the landlord. “You told me I shouldn't see a +gentleman for twenty miles round; that all had fled and left the people to +their fate, and I see now it is a fact.” + </p> +<p> +“Faix, and no wonder,” answered the host. “Wet potatoes and the shaking +ague, not to speak of cholera morbus, is n't great inducements to stay and +keep company with. I 'd be off, too, if I had the means.” + </p> +<p> +“But I spoke of gentlemen, sir,” said the stranger, with a strong emphasis +on the word,—“men who should be the first to prove their birth and +blood when a season of peril was near.” + </p> +<p> +“Thrue for you, sir,” chimed in Joe, who suddenly detected the blunder he +had committed. “The Martins ought not to have run away in the middle of +our distress.” + </p> +<p> +“They left the ship in a storm; they 'll find a sorry wreck when they +return to it,” muttered the stranger, as he ascended the stairs. +</p> +<p> +“By Jacob! just what I suspected,” said Merl to himself, while he closed +the door; “this property won't be worth sixpence, and I am regularly +'done.'” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XIII. A NIGHT OF STORM +</h2> +<p> +The curtains were closely drawn, and a cheerful turf fire blazed in the +room where Mr. Merl sat at dinner. The fare was excellent, and even rustic +cookery sufficed to make fresh salmon and mountain mutton and fat +woodcocks delectable; while the remains of Mr. Scanlan's hamper set forth +some choice Madeira and several bottles of Sneyd's claret. Nor was he for +whose entertainment these good things were provided in any way incapable +of enjoying them. With the peculiar sensuality of his race, he loved his +dinner all to himself and alone. He delighted in the privileged +selfishness that isolation conferred, and he revelled in a sort of +complacent flattery at the thought of all the people who were dining worse +than himself, and the stray thousands besides who were not destined on +that day to dine at all. +</p> +<p> +The self-caressing shudder that came over him as the sound of a horse at +speed on the shore outside was heard, spoke plainly as words themselves +the pleasant comparison that crossed his mind between the condition of the +rider and his own. He drew nearer the fire, he threw on a fresh log of +pine, and, filling up a bumper, seemed to linger as he viewed it, as +though wishing health and innumerable blessings to Mr. Herman Merl. +</p> +<p> +The noise of the clattering hoofs died away in distance and in the greater +uproar of the storm, and Mr. Merl thought no more of them. How often +happens it, dear reader, that some brief interruption flashes through our +seasons of enjoyment; we are startled, perhaps; we even need a word or two +to reassure us that all is well, and then the work of pleasure goes on, +and we forget that it had ever been retarded; and yet, depend upon it, in +that fleeting second of time some sad episode of human life has, like a +spectre, crossed our path, and some deep sorrow gone wearily past us. +</p> +<p> +Let us follow that rider, then, who now, quitting the bleak shore, has +entered a deep gorge between the mountain. The rain swept along in +torrents; the wind in fitful gusts dashes the mountain stream in many a +wayward shape, and snaps the stems of old trees in pieces; landslips and +broken rocks impede the way; and yet that brave horse holds ever onward, +now stretching to a fast gallop, now gathering himself to clear some +foaming torrent, or some fragment of fallen timber. +</p> +<p> +The night is so dark that the rider cannot see the horse's length in +advance; but every feature of the way is well known, and an instinctive +sense of the peril to be apprehended at each particular spot guides that +hand and nerves that heart. Mary Martin—for she it is—had +ridden that same path at all seasons and all hours, but never on a wilder +night, nor through a more terrible hurricane than this. At moments her +speed relaxed, as if to breathe her horse; and twice she pulled up short, +to listen and distinguish between the sound of thunder and the crashing +noise of rocks rolling from the mountain. There was a sublimity in the +scene, lit up at moments by the lightning; and a sense of peril, too, that +exalted the adventurous spirit of the girl, and imparted to her heart a +high heroic feeling. The glorious sentiment of confronting danger animated +and excited her; and her courage rose with each new difficulty of the way, +till her very brain seemed to reel with the wild transport of her +emotions. +</p> +<p> +As she emerged from the gorge, she gained a high tableland, over which the +wind swept unimpeded. Not a cliff, not a rock, not a tree, broke the force +of the gale, which raged with all the violence of a storm at sea. +Crouching low upon the saddle, stooping at times to the mane, she could +barely make way against the hurricane; and more than once her noble +charger was driven backward, and forced to turn his back to the storm. <i>Her</i> +courage never failed. Taking advantage of every passing lull, she dashed +forward, ready to wheel and halt when the wind shot past with violence. +</p> +<p> +Descending at last from this elevated plateau, she again entered a deep +cleft between the mountain, the road littered with fallen earth and +branches of trees, so as almost to defy a passage. After traversing +upwards of a mile of this wearisome way, she arrived at the door of a +small cabin, the first trace of habitation since she had quitted the +village. It was a mere hovel, abutting against a rock, and in its dreary +solitude seemed the last refuge of direst poverty. +</p> +<p> +She bent down from her saddle to look in at the window; but, except some +faint embers on the hearth, all was dark within. She then knocked with her +whip against the door, and called “Morris” two or three times; but no +reply was given. Springing from her horse, Mary fastened the bridle to the +hasp of the door-post, and entered. The heavy breathing of one in deep +sleep at once caught her attention > and, approaching the fireplace, she +lighted a piece of pine-wood to examine about her. On a low settle in one +corner lay the figure of a young woman, whose pale, pinched features +contrasted strongly with the bright ribbons of her cap floating loosely at +either side. Mary tottered as she drew nigher; a terrible sense of fear +was over her,—a terror of she knew not what. She held the flickering +flame closer, and saw that she was dead! Poor Margaret, she had been one +of Mary's chief favorites; the very cap that now decked her cold forehead +was Mary's wedding-gift to her. But a few days before, her little child +had been carried to the churchyard; and it was said that the mother never +held up her head after. Sick almost to fainting, Mary Martin sank into a +chair, and then saw, for the first time, the figure of a man, who, half +kneeling, lay with his head on the foot of the bed, fast asleep! +Weariness, utter exhaustion, were marked in his pale-worn features, while +his attitude bespoke complete prostration. His hand still clasped a little +rosary. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0006" id="linkimage-0006"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/156.jpg" width="100%" alt="156 " /> +</div> +<p> +It seemed but the other day that she had wished them “joy” upon their +wedding, and they had gone home to their little cabin in hopefulness and +high-hearted spirit, and there she lay now a cold corpse, and he, bereaved +and childless. What a deal of sad philosophy do these words reveal! What +dark contrasts do we bring up when we say, “It was but the other day.” It +was but “the other day,” and Cro' Martin was the home of one whose +thriving tenantry reflected back all his efforts for their welfare, when +movement and occupation bespoke a condition of activity and cheerful +industry; when, even in their poverty, the people bore bravely up, and the +cases of suffering but sufficed to call out traits of benevolence and kind +feeling. It was but “the other day,” and Mary herself rode out amidst the +people, like some beloved sovereign in the middle of her subjects; happy +faces beamed brighter when she came, and even misery half forgot itself in +her presence. But “the other day” and the flag waved proudly from the +great tower, to show that Cro' Martin was the residence of its owner, and +Mary the life and soul of all that household! +</p> +<p> +Such-like were her thoughts as she stood still gazing on the sad scene +before her. She could not bring herself to awaken the poor fellow, who +thus, perchance, stole a short respite from his sorrows; but leaving some +money beside him on a chair, and taking one farewell look of poor +Margaret, she stole silently away, and remounted her horse. +</p> +<p> +Again she is away through the storm and the tempest! Her pace is now urged +to speed, for she knows every field and every fence,—where to press +her horse to his gallop, where to spare and husband his strength. At one +moment she steals carefully along amid fragments of fallen rocks and +broken timber; at another, she flies, with racing speed, over the smooth +sward. At length, through the gloom and darkness, the tall towers of Cro' +Martin are seen over the deep woods; but her horse's head is not turned +thitherward. No; she has taken another direction, and, skirting the wall +of the demesne, she is off towards the wild, bleak country beyond. It is +past midnight; not a light gleams from a cabin window as she dashes past; +all is silent save the plashing rain, which, though the wind has abated, +continues to fall in torrents. Crossing the bleak moor, whose yawning pits +even in daylight suggest care and watchfulness, she gains the foot of the +barren mountain on which Barnagheela stands, and descries in the distance +the flickering of a light dimly traceable through the falling rain. +</p> +<p> +For the first time her horse shows signs of fatigue, and Mary caresses him +with her hand, and speaks encouragingly to him as she slackens her pace, +ascending the hill at a slow walk. After about half an hour of this +toilsome progress, for the surface is stony and rock-covered, she reaches +the little “boreen” road which forms the approach to the house. Mary has +never been there before, and advances now slowly and carefully between two +rude walls of dry masonry which lead to the hall-door. As she nears the +house, the gleam of lights from between the ill-closed shutters attracts +her, and suddenly through the swooping rain come the sounds of several +voices in tones of riot and revelry. She listens; and it is now the rude +burst of applause that breaks forth,—a din of voices loudly +proclaiming the hearty approval of some sentiment or opinion. +</p> +<p> +While she halts to determine what course next to follow,—for these +signs of revelry have disconcerted her,—she hears a rough, loud +voice from within call out, “There's another toast you must drink now, and +fill for it to the brim. Come, Peter Hayes, no skulking; the liquor is +good, and the sentiment the same. Gentlemen, you came here to-night to +honor my poor house—my ancestral house, I may call it—on the +victory we 've gained over tyranny and oppression.” Loud cheers here +interrupted him, but he resumed: “They tried—by the aid of the law +that they made themselves—to turn me out of my house and home. They +did all that false swearing and forged writing could do, to drive me—me, +Tom Magennis, the last of an ancient stock—out upon the highways.” + (Groans from the hearers.) “But they failed,—ay, gentlemen, they +failed. Old Repton, with all his skill, and Scanlan, with all his +treachery, could n't do it. Joe Nelligan, like Goliath—no, like +David, I mean—put a stone between their two eyes, and laid them +low.” (Loud cheering, and cries of “Why is n't he here?” “Where is he +to-night?”) “Ay, gentlemen,” resumed the speaker, “ye may well ask where +is he this night? when we are celebrating not only our triumph, but his; +for it was the first brief he ever held,—the first guinea he ever +touched for a fee! I 'll tell you where he is. Skulking—ay, that's +the word for it—skulking in Oughterard,—hiding himself for +shame because he beat the Martins!” ( Loud expressions of anger, and some +of dissent, here broke forth; some inveighing against this cowardice, +others defending him against the charge.) “Say what you like,” roared +Magennis; “I know, and he knows that I know it. What was it he said when +Mahony went to him with my brief? 'I'll not refuse to undertake the case,' +said he, 'but I 'll not lend myself to any scurrilous attack upon the +family at Cro' Martin!'” (Groans.) “Ay, but listen,” continued he: “'And +if I find,' said he—'if I find that in the course of the case such +an attempt should be made, I 'll throw down my brief though I never should +hold another.' There's Joe Nelligan for you! There's the stuff you thought +you 'd make a Patriot out of!” + </p> +<p> +“Say what you like, Tom Magennis, he's a credit to the town,” said old +Hayes, “and he won your cause this day against one of the 'cutest of the +Dublin counsellors.” + </p> +<p> +“He did so, sir,” resumed Magennis, “and he got his pay, and there's +nothing between us; and I told him so, and more besides; for I said, 'You +may flatter them and crawl to them; you may be as servile as a serpent or +a boa-constrictor to them; but take <i>my</i> word for it, Mister Joe,—or +Counsellor Nelligan, if you like it better,—they'll never forget who +and what you are,—the son of old Dan there, of the High Street,—and +you 've a better chance to be the Chief Justice than the husband of Mary +Martin!'” + </p> +<p> +“You told him that!” cried several together. “I did, sir; and I believe +for a minute he meant to strike me; he got pale with passion, and then he +got red—blood red; and, in that thick way he has when he 's angry, +he said, 'Whatever may be my hopes of the Bench, I'll not win my way to it +by ever again undertaking the cause of a ruffian!' 'Do you mean <i>me?</i>' +said I,—'do you mean <i>me?</i>' But he turned away into the house, +and I never saw him since. If it had n't been for Father Neal there, I 'd +have had him out for it, sir!” + </p> +<p> +“We've other work before us than quarrelling amongst ourselves,” said the +bland voice of Father Rafferty; “and now for your toast, Tom, for I 'm dry +waiting for it.” + </p> +<p> +“Here it is, then,” cried Magennis. “A speedy downfall to the Martins!” + </p> +<p> +“A speedy downfall to the Martins!” was repeated solemnly in chorus; while +old Hayes interposed, “Barring the niece,—barring Miss Mary.” + </p> +<p> +“I won't except one,” cried Magennis. “My august leader remarked, 'It was +false pity for individuals destroyed the great revolution of France.' It +was—” Mary did not wait for more, but, turning her horse's head, +moved slowly around towards the back of the house. +</p> +<p> +Through a wide space, of which the rickety broken gate hung by a single +hinge, Mary entered a large yard, a court littered with disabled carts, +harrows, and other field implements, all equally unserviceable. Beneath a +low shed along one of the walls stood three or four horses, with harness +on them, evidently belonging to the guests assembled within. All these +details were plainly visible by the glare of an immense fire which blazed +on the kitchen hearth, and threw its light more than half-way across the +yard. Having disposed of her horse at one end of the shed, Mary stealthily +drew nigh the kitchen window, and looked in. An old, very old woman, in +the meanest attire, sat crouching beside the fire; and although she held a +huge wooden ladle in her hand, seemed, by her drooped head and bent-down +attitude, either moping or asleep. Various cooking utensils were on the +fire, and two or three joints of meat hung roasting before it, while the +hearth was strewn with dishes, awaiting the savory fare that was to fill +them. +</p> +<p> +These, and many other indications of the festivity then going on within, +Mary rapidly noticed; but it was evident, from the increasing eagerness of +her gaze, that the object which she sought had not yet met her eye. +Suddenly, however, the door of the kitchen opened and a figure entered, on +which the young girl bent all her attention. It was Joan Landy, but how +different from the half-timid, half-reckless peasant girl that last we saw +her! Dressed in a heavy gown of white satin, looped up on either side with +wreaths of flowers, and wearing a rich lace cap on her head, she rushed +hurriedly in, her face deeply flushed, and her eyes sparkling with +excitement. Hastily snatching up a check apron that lay on a chair, she +fastened it about her, and drew near the fire. It was plain from her +gesture, as she took the ladle from the old woman's hand, that she was +angry, and by her manner seemed as if rebuking her. The old crone, +however, only crouched lower, and spreading out her wasted fingers towards +the blaze, appeared insensible to everything addressed to her. Meanwhile +Joan busied herself about the fire with all the zealous activity of one +accustomed to the task. Mary watched her intently; she scrutinized with +piercing keenness every lineament of that face, now moved by its passing +emotions, and she muttered to herself, “Alas, I have come in vain!” Nor +was this depressing sentiment less felt as Joan, turning from the fire, +approached a fragment of a broken looking-glass that stood against the +wall. Drawing herself up to her full height, she stood gazing proudly, +delightedly, at her own figure. The humble apron, too, was speedily +discarded, and as she trampled it beneath her feet she seemed to spurn the +mean condition of which it was the symbol. Mary Martin sighed deeply as +she looked, and muttered once more, “In vain!” + </p> +<p> +Then suddenly starting, with one of those bursts of energy which so often +had steeled her heart against peril, she walked to the kitchen-door, +raised the latch, and entered. She had made but one step within the door +when Joan turned and beheld her; and there they both stood, silently, each +surveying the other. Mary felt too intensely the difficulty of the task +before her to utter a word without well weighing the consequences. She +knew how the merest accident might frustrate all she had in view, and +stood hesitating and uncertain, when Joan, who now recognized her, +vacillated between her instinctive sense of respect and a feeling of +defiance in the consciousness of where she was. Happily for Mary the +former sentiment prevailed, and in a tone of kindly anxiety Joan drew near +her and said,—“Has anything happened? I trust in God no accident has +befell you.” + </p> +<p> +“Thank God, nothing worse than a wetting,” said Mary,—“some little +fatigue; and I'll think but little of either if they have brought me here +to a good end. May I speak with you alone,—quite alone?” + </p> +<p> +“Come in here,” said Joan, pushing open the door of a small room off the +kitchen which served for a species of larder,—“come in here.” + </p> +<p> +“I have come on a sad errand,” said Mary, taking her hand between both her +own, “and I would that it had fallen to any other than myself. It is for +you to decide that! have not come in vain.” + </p> +<p> +“What is it? tell me what it is?” cried Joan, as a sudden paleness spread +over her features. +</p> +<p> +“These are days of sorrow and mourning everywhere,” said Mary, gloomily. +“Can you not guess what my tidings may be? No, no,” cried she, as a sudden +gesture of Joan interrupted her,—“no, not yet; he is still alive, +and entreats to see you.” + </p> +<p> +“To curse me again, is it?” cried the other, wildly; “to turn me from the +door, and pray down curses on me,—is it for that he wants to see +me?” + </p> +<p> +“Not for that, indeed,” said Mary; “it is to see you—to give you his +last kiss—his last blessing—to forgive you and be forgiven. +Remember that he is alone, deserted by all that once were his. Your father +and mother and sisters are all gone to America, and poor old Mat lingers +on,—nay, the journey is nigh ended. Oh, do not delay, lest it be too +late. Come now—now.” + </p> +<p> +“And if I see him once, can I ever come back to this?” cried Joan, in +bitter agony. “Will I ever be able to hear his words and live as I do +now?” + </p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0007" id="linkimage-0007"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/162.jpg" width="100%" alt="162 " /> +</div> +<p> +“Let your own good heart guide you for that,” cried Mary; “all I ask is +that you should see him and be with him. I have pledged myself for your +coming, and you will not dishonor my words to one on his death-bed.” + </p> +<p> +“And I 'll be an outcast for it. Tom will drive me from the door and never +see me again. I know it,—I know <i>him</i>!” + </p> +<p> +“You are wrong, Joan Landy.” + </p> +<p> +“Joan!—who dares to call me Joan Landy when I'm Mrs. Magennis of +Barnagheela? and if <i>I'm</i> not <i>your</i> equal, I 'm as good as any +other in the barony. Was it to insult me you came here to-night, to bring +up to me who I am and where I came from? That 's the errand that brought +you through the storm! Ay,” cried she, lashed to a wilder passion by her +own words,—“ay! ay! and if you and yours had their will we 'd not +have the roof to shelter us this night. It 's only to-day that we won the +trial against you.” + </p> +<p> +“Whatever my errand here this night,” said Mary, with a calm dignity, “it +was meant to serve and not insult you. I know, as well as your bitterest +words can tell me, that this is not my place; but I know, too, if from +yielding to my selfish pride I had refused your old grandfather this last +request, it had been many a year of bitter reproach to me.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, you 'll break my heart, you will, you will!” cried Joan, bitterly. +“You 'll turn the only one that's left against me, and I 'll be alone in +the world.” + </p> +<p> +“Come with me this night, and whatever happen I 'll befriend you,” said +Mary. +</p> +<p> +“And not desert me because I 'm what I am?” + </p> +<p> +“Never, Joan, never!” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, my blessings on you,—if the blessing of one like me is any +good,” cried she, kissing Mary's hand fervently. “Oh, they that praised +you said the truth; you have goodness enough in your heart to make up for +us all! I 'll go with you to the world's end.” + </p> +<p> +“We'll pass Cro' Martin, and you shall have my horse—” + </p> +<p> +“No, no, Miss Mary, I 'll go on my feet; it best becomes me. I 'll go by +Burnane—by the Gap—I know it well—too well!” added she, +as the tears rushed to her eyes. As she was speaking, she took off the cap +she wore and threw it from her; and then removing her dress, put on the +coarse woollen gown of her daily wear. “Oh, God forgive me!” cried she, +“if I curse the day that I ever wore better than this.” + </p> +<p> +Mary assisted her with her dress, fastening the hood of her cloak over her +head, and preparing her, as best she might, for the severe storm she was +to encounter; and it was plain to see that Joan accepted these little +services without a thought of by whom they were rendered, so intensely +occupied was her mind by the enterprise before her. A feverish haste to be +away marked all she did. It was partly terror lest her escape might be +prevented; partly a sense of distrust in herself, and that she might +abandon her own resolution. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, tell me,” she cried, as the tears streamed from her eyes, and her +lips quivered with agony,—“oh, tell me I'm doing right; tell me that +God's blessing is going with me this night, or I can't do it.” + </p> +<p> +“And so it is, dear Joan,” said Mary; “be of good heart, and Heaven will +support you. I 'm sure the trial is a sore one.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, is it not to leave this—to leave him—maybe forever? To be +sure, it's forever,” cried she, bitterly. “He 'll never forgive me!” + </p> +<p> +A wild burst of revelry now resounded from the parlor, and the discordant +sounds of half-drunken voices burst upon their ears. +</p> +<p> +Joan started, and gazed wildly around her. The agonized look of her +features bespoke her dread of detection; and then with a bound she sprung +madly from the spot, and was away. Mary followed quickly; but before she +had secured her horse and mounted, the other was already half-way down the +mountain. Now catching, now losing sight of her again, Mary at last came +up with her. +</p> +<p> +“Remember, dear Joan,” said Mary, “there are nine weary miles of mountain +before you.” + </p> +<p> +“I know it well,” was the brief reply. +</p> +<p> +“And if you go by Burnane the rocks are slippy with the rain, and the path +to the shore is full of danger.” + </p> +<p> +“If I was afeard of danger, would I be here?” cried she. “Oh, Miss Mary,” + added she, stopping and grasping her hand in both her own, “leave me to +myself; don't come with me,—it's not one like you ought to keep me +company.” + </p> +<p> +“But Joan,—dear Joan,—I have promised to be your friend, and I +am not one who forgets a pledge.” + </p> +<p> +“My heart will break; it will break in two if you talk to me. Leave me, +for the love of Heaven, and let me go my road all alone. There, at the two +trees there, is the way to Cro' Martin; take it, and may the Saints guide +you safe home!” + </p> +<p> +“And if I do, Joan, will you promise me to come straight back to Cro' +Martin after you 've seen him? Will you do this?” + </p> +<p> +“I will,—I will,” cried she, bathing Mary's hand with her tears as +she kissed it. +</p> +<p> +“Then God bless and protect you, poor girl!” said Mary. “It is not for me +to dictate to your own full heart. Goodbye,—good-bye.” + </p> +<p> +Before Mary had dried the warm tears that rose to her eyes, Joan was gone. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XIV. THE END OF A BAR MESS +</h2> +<p> +There are few things more puzzling to the uninitiated than the total +separation lawyers are able to exercise between their private sentiments +and the emotions they display in the wear and tear of their profession. So +widely apart are these two characters, that it is actually difficult to +understand how they ever can unite in one man. But so it is. He can pass +his morning in the most virulent assaults upon his learned brother, +ridiculing his law, laughing at his logic, arraigning his motives,—nay, +sometimes ascribing to him some actually base and wicked. Altercations, +heightened by all that passion stimulated by wit can produce, ensue. +Nothing that can taunt, provoke, or irritate, is omitted. Personalities +even are introduced to swell the acrimony of the contest; and yet, when +the jury have given in their verdict and the court breaks up, the +gladiators, who seemed only thirsting for each other's blood, are seen +laughingly going homeward arm-in-arm, mayhap discoursing over the very +cause which, but an hour back, seemed to have stamped them enemies for the +rest of life. +</p> +<p> +Doubtless there is a great deal to be pleased at in all this, and, we +ought to rejoice in the admirable temper by which men can discriminate +between the faithful performance of a duty and the natural course of their +affections. Still, small-minded folk—of which wide category we own +ourselves to be a part—may have their misgivings that the excellence +of this system is not without its alloy, and that even the least ingenious +of men will ultimately discover how much principle is sapped, and how much +truthfulness of character is sacrificed in this continual struggle between +fiction and reality. +</p> +<p> +The Bar is the nursery of the Senate, and it would not be a very fanciful +speculation were we to ascribe the laxity of purpose, the deficient +earnestness, and the insincerity of principle we often deplore in our +public men, to this same legal training. +</p> +<p> +The old lawyer, however, finds no difficulty in the double character. With +his wig and gown he puts on his sarcasm, his insolence, and his +incredulity. His brief bag opens to him a Pandora's box of noxious +influences; and as he passes the precincts of the court, he leaves behind +him all the amenities of life and all the charities of his nature. The +young barrister does not find the transmutation so easy. He gives himself +unreservedly to his client, and does not measure his ardor by the +instructions in his brief. Let us ask pardon of our reader for what may +seem <i>a mal à propos</i> digression; but we have been led to these +remarks by the interests of our story. +</p> +<p> +It was in the large dining-room of the “Martin Arms” at Oughterard, that a +party of lawyers spent the evening, some of whose events, elsewhere, our +last chapter has recorded. It was the Bar mess of the Western Circuit, and +the chair was filled by no less a person than “Father Repton.” This able +“leader” had determined not to visit the West of Ireland so long as his +friend Martin remained abroad; but a very urgent entreaty from Scanlan, +and a pressing request for his presence, had induced him to waive that +resolve, and come down special to Oughterard for the Magennis case. +</p> +<p> +A simple case of ejectment could scarcely have called for that imposing +array of learned counsel who had repaired to this unfrequented spot; so +small a skirmish could never have called for the horse, foot, and dragoons +of law,—the wily conveyancer, the clap-trap orator, the browbeater +of witnesses, and the light sharpshooter at technicalities; and yet there +they were all met, and—with all reverence be it spoken—very +jolly companions they were. +</p> +<p> +An admirable rule precluded the introduction of, or even an allusion to, +professional subjects, save when the burden of a joke, whose success might +excuse the transgression; and thus these crafty, keen intelligences +argued, disputed, jested, and disported together, in a vein which less +practised talkers would find it hard to rival. To the practice of these +social amenities is doubtless ascribable the absence of any rancor from +the rough contests and collisions of public life, and thus men of every +shade of politics and party, differing even in class and condition, formed +admirable social elements, and cohered together to perfection. +</p> +<p> +As the evening wore on, the company insensibly thinned off. Some of the +hard-workers retired early; a few, whose affectation it was to pretend +engagements, followed. The “juniors” repaired in different groups to the +chambers of their friends, where loo and brandy-and-water awaited them; +and at last Repton was left, with only two others, sole occupants of that +spacious apartment. His companions were, like himself, soldiers of the +“Vieille Garde” veterans who remembered Curran and Lawrence Parsons, John +Toler and Saurin, and a host of others, who only needed that the sphere +should have been greater to be themselves among the great of the nation. +</p> +<p> +Rawlins was Repton's schoolfellow, and had been his rival at the Bar for +nigh fifty years. Niel, a few years younger than either, was the greatest +orator of his time. Both had been opposed to Repton in the present suit, +and had held heavy retainers for their services. +</p> +<p> +“Well, Repton,” said Rawlins, as soon as they were left thus to +themselves, “are you pondering over it still? I see that you can't get it +out of your head.” + </p> +<p> +“It is quite true, I cannot,” said Repton. “To summon us all down here,—to +bring us some fifty miles away from our accustomed beat, for a trumpery +affair like this, is totally beyond me. Had it been an election time, I +should probably have understood it.” + </p> +<p> +“How so?” cried Niel, in the shrill piercing voice peculiar to him, and +which imparted to him, even in society, an air of querulous irritability. +</p> +<p> +“On the principle that Bob Mahon always puts a thoroughbred horse in his +gig when he drives over to a country race. He's always ready for a match +with what he jocularly calls 'the old screw I 'm driving this minute;' so, +Niel, I thought that the retainer for the ejectment might have turned out +to be a special fee for the election.” + </p> +<p> +“And he 'd have given them a speech, and a rare good one, too, I promise +you,” said Rawlins; “and even if he had not time to speak it, the county +paper would have had it all printed and corrected from his own hand, with +all the appropriate interruption of 'vociferous cheering,' and the places +where the orator was obliged to pause, from the wild tumult of acclamation +that surrounded him.” + </p> +<p> +“Which all resolves itself into this,” screamed Niel,—“that some +men's after-grass is better than other men's meadows.” + </p> +<p> +“Mine has fallen to the scythe many a day ago,” said Rawlins, plaintively; +“but I remember glorious times and glorious fellows. It was, indeed, worth +something to say, '<i>Vixissi cum illis</i>.'” + </p> +<p> +“There 's another still better, Rawlins,” cried Repton, joyously, “which +is to have survived them!” + </p> +<p> +“Very true,” cried Niel. “I 'd always plead a demurrer to any notice to +quit; for, take it all in all, this life has many enjoyments.” + </p> +<p> +“Such as Attorney-Generalships, Masters of the Rolls, and such like,” said +Repton. +</p> +<p> +“By the way,” said Rawlins, “who put that squib in the papers about your +having refused the rolls,—eh, Niel?” + </p> +<p> +“Who but Niel himself?” chimed in Repton. “It was filing a bill of +discovery. He wanted to know the intentions of the Government.” + </p> +<p> +“I could have had but little doubt of them,” broke in Niel. “It was my +advice, man, cancelled your appointment as Crown Counsel, Repton. I told +Massingbred, 'If you do keep a watch-dog, let it be, at least, one who 'll +bite some one beside the family.'” + </p> +<p> +“He has muzzled you there, Repton,” said Rawlins, laughing. “Eh, that was +a bitter draught!” + </p> +<p> +“So it was,” said Repton. “It was Curran wine run to the lees! and very +unlike the racy flavor of the true liquor. And to speak in all +seriousness, what has come over us all to be thus degenerate and fallen? +It is not alone that we have not the equals of the first-rate men, but we +really have nothing to compare with O'Grady, and Parsons, and a score of +others.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll tell you why,” cried Niel,—“the commodity is n't marketable. +The stupid men, who will always be the majority everywhere, have got up +the cry, that to be agreeable is to be vulgar. We know how large cravats +came into fashion; tiresome people came in with high neckcloths.” + </p> +<p> +“I wish they 'd go out with hempen ones, then,” muttered Repton. +</p> +<p> +“I 'd not refuse them the benefit of the clergy,” said Niel, with a +malicious twinkle of the eye, that showed how gladly, when occasion +offered, he flung a pebble at the Church. +</p> +<p> +“They were very brilliant,—they were very splendid, I own,” said +Rawlins; “but I have certain misgivings that they gave themselves too much +to society.” + </p> +<p> +“Expended too much of their powder in fireworks,” cried Niel, sharply,—“so +they did; but their rockets showed how high they could rise to.” + </p> +<p> +“Ay, Niel, and we only burn our fingers with ours,” said Repton, +sarcastically. +</p> +<p> +“Depend upon it,” resumed Rawlins, “as the world grows more practical, you +will have less of great convivial display. Agreeability will cease to be +the prerogative of first-rate men, but be left to the smart people of +society, who earn their soup by their sayings.” + </p> +<p> +“He's right,” cried Niel, in his shrillest tone. “The age of alchemists is +gone; the sleight-of-hand man and the juggler have succeeded him.” + </p> +<p> +“And were they not alchemists?” exclaimed old Repton, enthusiastically. +“Did they not transmute the veriest dross of the earth, and pour it forth +from the crucible of their minds a stream of liquid gold?—glorious +fellows, who, in the rich abundance of their minds, brought the learning +of their early days to illustrate the wisdom of their age, and gave the +fresh-heartedness of the schoolboy to the ripe intelligence of manhood.” + </p> +<p> +“And yet how little have they bequeathed to us!” said Niel. +</p> +<p> +“Would it were even less,” broke in Repton. “We read the witticism of +brilliant conversera in some diary or journal, often ill recorded, +imperfectly given, always unaccompanied by the accessories of the scene +wherein they occurred. We have not the crash, the tumult, the headlong +flow of social intercourse, where the impromptu fell like a thunderbolt, +and the bon mots rattled like a fire of musketry. To attempt to convey an +impression of these great talkers by a memoir, is like to picture a battle +by reading out a list of the killed and wounded.” + </p> +<p> +“Repton is right!” exclaimed Niel. “The recorded bon mot is the words of a +song without the music.” + </p> +<p> +“And often where it was the melody that inspired the verses,” added +Repton, always glad to follow up an illustration. +</p> +<p> +“After all,” said Rawlins, “the fashion of the day is changed in other +respects as well as in conversational excellence. Nothing is like what we +remember it!—literature, dress, social habits, oratory. There, for +instance, was that young fellow to-day; his speech to the jury,—a +very good and sensible one, no doubt,—but how unlike what it would +have been some five-and-thirty or forty years ago.” + </p> +<p> +“It was first-rate,” said Repton, with enthusiasm. “I say it frankly, and +'fas est ab hoste,' for he tripped me up in a point of law, and I have, +therefore, a right to applaud him. To tell you the truth,” he added slyly, +“I knew I was making a revoke, but I thought none of the players were +shrewd enough to detect me.” + </p> +<p> +“Niel and I are doubtless much complimented by the remark,” said Rawlins. +</p> +<p> +“Pooh, pooh!” cried Repton, “what did great guns like you and Niel care +for such 'small deer.' You were only brought down here as a great <i>corps +de réserve</i>. It was young Nelligan who fought the battle, and admirably +he did it. While I was listening to him to-day, I could not help saying to +myself, 'It's well for us that there were no fellows of this stamp in our +day.' Ay, Rawlins, you know it well. We were speech-makers; these fellows +are lawyers.” + </p> +<p> +“Why didn't he dine with us to-day?” asked Niel, sharply. +</p> +<p> +“Heaven knows. I believe his father lives in the town here; perhaps, too, +he had no fancy for a dress-parade before such drill-sergeants as you and +Rawlins there.” + </p> +<p> +“You are acquainted with him, I think?” asked Rawlins. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, slightly; we met strangely enough, at Cro' Martin last year. He was +then on a visit there, a quiet, timid youth, who actually seemed to feel +as though his college successes were embarrassing recollections in a +society who knew nothing of deans or proctors. There was another young +fellow also there at the time,—young Massingbred,—with about a +tenth of this man's knowledge, and a fiftieth of his capacity, who took +the lead of him on every subject, and by the bare force of an admirable +manner and a most unabashed impudence, threw poor Nelligan completely into +the background. It was the same kind of thing I 've often seen Niel there +perform at the Four Courts, where he has actually picked up his law from a +worsted opponent, as a highwayman arms himself with the pistols of the man +he has robbed.” + </p> +<p> +“I never pillaged <i>you</i>, Repton,” said Niel, with a sarcastic smile. +“<i>You</i> had always the privilege the poet ascribes to him who laughs +'before a robber.'” + </p> +<p> +“Vacuus sed non Inanis,” replied Repton, laughing good-humoredly. +</p> +<p> +“But tell us more of this man, Nelligan,” said Rawlins. “I 'm curious to +hear about him.” + </p> +<p> +“And so you are sure to do some of these days, Rawlins. That fellow is the +man to attain high eminence.” + </p> +<p> +“His religion will stop him!” cried Niel, sharply; for, being himself a +Romanist, he was not sorry to have an opportunity of alluding to the +disqualifying element. +</p> +<p> +“Say, rather, it will promote him,” chimed in Repton. “Take my word for +it, Niel, there is a spirit of mawkish reparation abroad which affects to +feel that all your coreligionists have a long arrear due to them, and that +all the places and emoluments so long withheld from their ancestors should +be showered down upon the present generation;—pretty much upon the +same principle that you 'd pension a man now because his grandfather had +been hanged for rebellion!” + </p> +<p> +“And very justly, too, if you discovered that what you once called +rebellion had been very good loyalty!” cried Niel. +</p> +<p> +“We have not, however, made the discovery you speak of,” said Rep ton; “we +have only commuted a sentence, in the sincere hope that you are wiser than +your forefathers. But to come back. You may trust me when I say that a day +is coming when you 'll not only bless yourself because you're a Papist, +but that you <i>are</i> one! Ay, sir, it is in 'Liffey Street Chapel' we +'ll seek for an attorney-general, and out of the Church of the Conception, +if that be the name of it, we 'll cull our law advisers of the Crown. For +the next five-and-twenty years, at least,” said he, solemnly, “the +fourth-rate Catholic will be preferred to the first-rate Protestant.” + </p> +<p> +“I only hope you may be better at Prophecy than you are in Logic,” cried +Niel, as he tossed off his glass; “and so, I 'm sure, does Nelligan!” + </p> +<p> +“And Nelligan is exactly the man who will never need the preference, sir. +His abilities will raise him, even if there were obstacles to be +surmounted. It is men of a different stamp that the system will favor,—fellows +without industry for the toils of a laborious profession, or talents for +the subtleties of a difficult career; men who cherish ambition and are yet +devoid of capacity, and will plead the old disabilities of their faith,—pretty +much as a man might claim his right to be thought a good dancer because +his father had a club foot.” + </p> +<p> +“A most lame conclusion!” cried Niel. “Ah, Rawlins,” added he, with much +compassion, “our poor friend here is breaking terribly. Sad signs there +are of decay about him. Even his utterance begins to fail him.” + </p> +<p> +“No, no,” said Repton, gayly. “I know what you allude to. It is an old +imperfection of mine not to be able to enunciate the letter <i>r</i> +correctly, and that was the reason today in court that I called you my +ingenious Bother; but I meant Brother, I assure you.” + </p> +<p> +They all laughed good-humoredly at the old man's sally; in good truth, so +trained were they to these sort of combats, that they cared little for the +wounds such warfare inflicted. And although the tilt was ever understood +as with “reversed lances,” none ever cherished an evil memory if an +unlucky stroke smote too heavily. +</p> +<p> +“I have asked young Nelligan to breakfast with me tomorrow,” said Repton; +“will you both come and meet him?” + </p> +<p> +“We 're off at cock-crow!” cried Kiel. “Tell him, however, from me that I +am delighted with his <i>débuts</i> and that all the best wishes of my +friends and myself are with him.” + </p> +<p> +And so they parted. +</p> +<p> +Repton, however, did not retire to bed at once; his mind was still intent +upon the subject which had engaged him during the day, and as he walked to +and fro in his room, he still dwelt upon it. Scanlan's instructions had +led him to believe that the Martins were in this case to have been “put +upon their title;” and the formidable array of counsel employed by +Magennis seemed to favor the impression. Now it was true that a trifling +informality in the service of the writ had quashed the proceedings for the +present; but the question remained, “Was the great struggle only reserved +for a future day?” + </p> +<p> +It was clear that a man embarrassed as was Magennis could never have +retained that strong bar of eminent lawyers. From what fund, then, came +these resources? Was there a combination at work? And if so, to what end, +and with what object? +</p> +<p> +The crafty old lawyer pondered long and patiently over these things. His +feelings might not inaptly be compared to those of a commandant of a +garrison, who sees his stronghold menaced by an enemy he had never +suspected. Confident as he is in the resources of his position, he yet +cannot resist the impression that the very threat of attack has been +prompted by some weakness of which he is unaware. +</p> +<p> +“To put us on our title,” said he, “implies a great war. Let us try and +find out who and what are they who presume to declare it!” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XV. A FIRST BRIEF +</h2> +<p> +The reader has been already told that Joe Nelligan had achieved a great +success in his first case. A disputed point of law had been raised, in +itself insignificant, but involving in its train a vast variety of +momentous interests. Repton, with an ingenuity all his own, had contrived +to draw the discussion beyond its original limits, that he might entangle +and embarrass the ambitious junior who had dared to confute him. Nelligan +accepted the challenge at once, and after a stormy discussion of some +hours came out the victor. For a while his timid manner, and an +overpowering sense of the great odds against him, seemed to weigh +oppressively on him. The very successes he had won elsewhere were really +so many disparagements to him now, giving promise, as it were, of his +ability. But, despite all these disadvantages, he entered the lists +manfully and courageously. +</p> +<p> +What a many-sided virtue is this same courage, and how prone is the world +to award its praises unequally for it! We are enthusiastic for the gallant +soldier the earliest in the breach, or the glorious sailor who first jumps +upon the enemy's quarter-deck, and yet we never dream of investing with +heroism him who dares to combat with the most powerful intellects of +debate, or enters the field of argument against minds stored with vast +resources of knowledge, and practised in all the subtleties of +disputation. +</p> +<p> +It is time, existence is not in the issue; but are there not things a +thousand times dearer than life at peril? Think of him who has gone on +from success to success; whose school triumphs have but heralded the riper +glories of college life; who, rising with each new victory, is hailed by +that dearest and best of all testimonies,—the prideful enthusiasm of +his own age. Fancy him, the victor in every struggle, who has carried all +before him,—the vaunted chief of his contemporaries,—fancy him +beaten and worsted on his first real field of action. Imagine such a man, +with all the prestige of his college fame, rudely encountered and overcome +in the contest of public life, and say if any death ever equalled the +suffering! +</p> +<p> +Happily, our task has not to record any such failure in the present case. +Young Nelligan sat down amidst the buzzing sound of approving voices, and +received a warm eulogy from the Court on the promise of so conspicuous an +opening. And a proud man was Dan Nelligan on that day! At any other time +how deeply honored had he felt by the distinguished notice of the great +dignitaries who now congratulated him on his son's success! With what +pride had he accepted the polite recognition of Chief Barons and +silk-gowned “leaders”! Now, however, his heart had but room for one +thought,—Joe himself,—his own boy,—the little child as +it were of yesterday, now a man of mark and note, already stamped with the +impress of success in what, to every Irishman's heart at least, is the +first of all professions. The High Sheriff shook old Nelligan's hand in +open court, and said, “It is an honor to our county, Nelligan, to claim +him.” The Judge sent a message that he wished to see him in his +robing-room, and spoke his warm praises of the “admirable speech, as +remarkable for its legal soundness as for its eloquence;” and Repton +overtook him in the street, and, catching his hand, said, “Be proud of +him, sir, for we are all proud of him.” + </p> +<p> +Mayhap the hope is not a too ambitious one, that some one of those who may +glance over these humble lines may himself have once stood in the position +of Joe Nelligan, in so far as regards the hour of his triumph, and have +felt in his heart the ecstasy of covering with his fame the “dear head” of +a father. +</p> +<p> +If so, I ask him boldly,—whatever may have been the high rewards of +his later fire, whatever honors may have been showered upon him, however +great his career, and however brilliant its recognitions,—has he +ever, in his proudest moments, tasted such a glorious thrill of delight as +when he has fallen into his father's arms overcome by the happiness that +he has made that father proud of him? Oh, ye who have experienced this +thrill of joy within you, cherish and preserve it. The most glowing +eulogies of eloquence, the most ornate paragraphs of a flattering press, +are sorry things in comparison to it. For ourselves, we had rather have +been Joe Nelligan when, with his father's warm tears dimming his eyes, he +said, “God bless you, my boy!” than have gained all the honors that even +talents like his can command! +</p> +<p> +He could not bear to absent himself from home that day; and although his +father would gladly have celebrated his triumph by gathering his friends +about him, Joe entreated that they might be alone. And they were so. The +great excitement of the day over, a sense of weariness, almost sadness, +stole over the young man; and while his father continued to relate for his +mother's hearing various little incidents of the trial, he listened with a +half-apathetic dreaminess, as though the theme oppressed him. The old man +dwelt with delight on the flattering attention bestowed by the Court on +Joseph's address, the signs of concurrence vouchsafed from time to time by +the Bench, the approving murmur of the Bar while he spoke, and then the +honest outburst of enthusiasm that shook the very walls as he concluded. +“I tried,” continued Dan Nelligan,—“I tried to force my way through +the crowd, and come and tell you that he had gained the day, but I +couldn't; they were all around me, shaking my hands, patting me on the +shoulders, and saying, as if I did n't know it in my own heart, 'He 'll +make you a proud man yet, Mr. Nelligan.'” + </p> +<p> +“I heard it all, five minutes after it was over,” said Mrs. Nelligan; “and +you 'd never guess who told me.” + </p> +<p> +“Counsellor Walsh,” cried Nelligan. +</p> +<p> +“No, indeed; I never seen him.” + </p> +<p> +“It was Hosey Lynch, then, for I saw him running like mad through the +town, spreading the news everywhere.” + </p> +<p> +“It was not Hosey,” said she, half contemptuously. “I wish, Joe, you'd +give a guess yourself who told me.” + </p> +<p> +“Guess, mother,—guess who told you what?” said he, suddenly starting +from some deep meditation. +</p> +<p> +“Who told me that you won the cause, and beat all the great counsellors +from Dublin.” + </p> +<p> +“I'm sure, mother, it would be hard for me to say,” said Joseph, smiling +faintly; “some of our kind townsfolk, perhaps. Father Neal, old Peter +Hayes, or—” + </p> +<p> +“I'll just tell you at once,” broke she in, half irritated at the +suggested source of her information. “It was Miss Mary herself, and no +other.” + </p> +<p> +“Miss Martin!” exclaimed old Nelligan. +</p> +<p> +“Miss Mary Martin!” echoed Joe; while a sickly paleness crept over his +features, and his lips trembled as he spoke. +</p> +<p> +“How came you to see her? Where was she?” asked Nelligan, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“I 'll tell you,” replied she, with all the methodical preparation by +which she heralded in the least important communications,—“I 'll +tell you. I was sitting here, working at the window, and wondering when +the trial would be over, for the goose that was for dinner was too near +the fire, and I said to myself—” + </p> +<p> +“Never mind what you said to yourself,—confound the goose,” broke in +old Dan, fiercely. +</p> +<p> +“Faith, then, I 'd like to know if you 'd be pleased to eat your dinner on +the cold loin of veal—” + </p> +<p> +“But Miss Martin, mother,—Miss Martin,” urged Joe, impatiently. +</p> +<p> +“I'm coming to her, if you'll let me; but when you flurry me and frighten +me, I 'm ready to faint. It was last Candlemas you gave me a start, Dan, +about—what was it, now? Lucky Mason's dog, I believe. No, it was the +chimney took fire—” + </p> +<p> +“Will you just go back to Miss Martin, if you please,” said old Nelligan, +sternly. +</p> +<p> +“I wish I knew where I was,—what I was saying last,” said she, in a +tone of deep sorrow and contrition. +</p> +<p> +“You were going to say how Miss Mary told you all about the trial, +mother,” said Joe, taking her hand kindly within his own. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, darling; now I remember it all. I was sitting here at the window +hemming them handkerchiefs of yours, and I heard a sharp sound of a horse +coming along quick, and, by the way he cantered, I said to myself, 'I know +<i>you</i>,' and, sure enough, when I opened the window, there she was, +Miss Mary herself, all dripping with wet, and her hat flattened on her +face, at the door. +</p> +<p> +“'Don't ask me to get down, Mrs. Nelligan,' said she, 'for I'm in a great +hurry. I have to ride out to Kilkieran with this'—and she showed me +a bottle she had in the pocket of her saddle. 'I only called to tell you +that your son has gained another—' What was it she called it?—a +victory, or a battle,—no, it was something else—” + </p> +<p> +“Never mind—go on,” cried Joe; “and then?” + </p> +<p> +“'But, my dear Miss Mary,' says I, 'you 're wet through and through. It's +more than your life's worth to go off now another ten miles. I'll send our +gossoon, Mickey Slater, with the medicine, if you 'll just come in and +stay with us.' I did n't say to dinner, for I was ashamed to ask her to +that. +</p> +<p> +“'I should be delighted, Mrs. Nelligan,' said she, 'but it is impossible +to-day. I 'd have stayed and asked you for my dinner,'—her very +words,—'asked you for my dinner, but I have promised poor Mat Landy +to go back to him. But perhaps it is as well as it is; and my aunt Dorothy +might say, if she heard of it, that it was a strange choice I had made of +a festive occasion,—the day on which we were beaten, and the society +of him that worsted us.' +</p> +<p> +“'Oh, but, Miss Mary,' says I, 'sure you don't think the worse of poor Joe—' +</p> +<p> +“'I never thought more highly of him, my dear Mrs. Nelligan,' said she, +'than at this moment; and, whatever others may say or think, I'll maintain +my opinion, that he is a credit to us all. Good-bye! good-bye!' and then +she turned short round, and said, 'I can't answer for how my uncle may +feel about what has occurred to-day, but you know <i>my</i> sentiments. +Farewell!' And with that she was off; indeed, before I had time to shut +down the window, she was out of sight and away.” + </p> +<p> +“She ought to know, and she will know, that Joe never said one hard thing +of her family. And though he had in his brief enough to tempt him to bring +the Martins up for judgment, not a word, not a syllable did he utter.” + This old Nelligan spoke with a proud consciousness of his son's honorable +conduct. +</p> +<p> +“Good heavens!” exclaimed Joe, “is it not enough that a man sells his +intellect, pawns his capacity, and makes traffic of his brains, without +being called on to market his very nature, and set up his very emotions +for sale? If my calling demands this at my hands, I have done with it,—I +renounce it.” + </p> +<p> +“But I said you refrained, Joe. I remarked that you would not suffer the +heat of discussion to draw you into an angry attack—” + </p> +<p> +“And you praise me for it!” broke in Joe, passionately. “You deem it an +occasion to compliment me, that, in defending the cause of a worthless +debauchee, I did not seize with avidity the happy moment to assail an +honorable gentleman; and not alone you, but a dozen others, congratulated +me on this reserve,—this constraint,—as though the lawyer were +but a bravo, and, his stiletto once paid for, he must produce the body of +his victim. I regard my profession in another and a higher light; but if +even its practice were the noblest that could engage human faculties, and +its rewards the highest that could crown them, I'd quit it tomorrow, were +its price to be the sacrifice of an honorable self-esteem and the regard +of—of those we care for.” And in the difficult utterance of the last +words his cheek became crimson, and his lip trembled. +</p> +<p> +“I 'll tell you what you 'll do, Joe,” said his mother, whose kindness was +not invariably distinguished by tact,—“just come over with <i>me</i> +to-morrow to Cro' Martin. I 'm going to get slips of the oak-leaf geranium +and the dwarf rose, and we 'll just go together in a friendly way, and +when we 're there you 'll have some opportunity or other to tell Miss Mary +that it wasn't your fault for being against them.” + </p> +<p> +“He 'll do no such thing,” broke in Nelligan, fiercely. “Miss Mary Martin +wants no apologies,—her family have no right to any. Joe is a member +of a high and powerful profession. If he does n't fill as great a place +now, who knows where he 'll not be this day fifteen years, eh, my boy? +Maybe I 'll not be here to see,—indeed, it's more than likely I 'll +not,—but I know it now. I feel as sure of it as I do that my name 's +Dan.” + </p> +<p> +“And if you are not to see it, father,” said Joe, as he pressed his +father's hand between both his own,—“you and my dearest mother,—the +prize will be nigh valueless. If I cannot, when my reward is won, come +home,—to such a home as this,—the victory will be too late.” + And so saying he rose abruptly, and hurried from the room. The moment +after he had locked his door, and, flinging himself upon his bed, buried +his face between his hands. +</p> +<p> +With all the proud sensations of having achieved a great success, his +heart was heavily oppressed. It seemed to him as though Destiny had +decreed that his duty should ever place him in antagonism to his +affections. Up to a short period before this trial came on he had +frequently been in Miss Martin's company. Now, it was some trifling +message for his mother; now, some book he had himself promised to fetch +her; then visits to the sick—and Joe, latterly, had taken a most +benevolent turn—had constantly brought them together; and often, +when Mary was on foot, Joe had accompanied her to the gates of the +demesne. In these meetings one subject usually occupied them,—the +sad condition of the country, the destitution of the poor,—and on +this theme their sympathies and hopes and fears all agreed. It was not +only that they concurred in their views of the national character, but +that they attributed its traits of good or evil to the very same causes; +and while Nelligan was amazed at finding the daughter of a proud house +deeply conversant with the daily life of the humblest peasant, she, too, +was astonished how sincere in his respect for rank, how loyal in his +devotion to the claims of blood, was one whose birth might have proclaimed +him a democrat and a destroyer. +</p> +<p> +These daily discussions led them closer and closer to each other, till at +length confidences grew up between them, and Mary owned to many of the +difficulties that her lone and solitary station exposed her to. Many +things were done on the property without—some in direct opposition +to—her concurrence. As she once said herself, “We are so ready to +satisfy our consciences by assuming that whatever we may do legally we +have a right to do morally, and at the same time, in the actual condition +of Ireland, what is just may be practically the very heaviest of all +hardships.” This observation was made with reference to some law +proceedings of Scanlan's instituting, and the day after she chanced to +make it Joe started for Dublin. It was there that Magennis's attorney had +sent him the brief in that cause,—a charge which the etiquette of +his profession precluded his declining. +</p> +<p> +In what way he discharged the trust we have seen,—what sorrow it +cost him is more than we can describe. “Miss Martin,” thought he, “would +know nothing of the rules which prescribe our practice, and will look upon +my conduct here as a treason. For weeks long she has conversed with me in +candor over the state of the county and its people; we separate for a few +days, and she finds me arrayed with others against the interests of her +family, and actually paid to employ against her the very knowledge she has +imparted to me! What a career have I chosen,” cried he, in his agony, “if +every success is to be purchased at such a price!” With such men as +Magennis he had nothing in common; their society, their habits, their +opinions were all distasteful to him, and yet it was for him and his he +was to sacrifice the dearest hope of his heart,—to lose the good +esteem of one whose praise he had accounted more costly than the highest +distinction a sovereign could bestow on him. “And what a false position +mine!” cried he again. “Associated by the very closest ties with a party +not one of whose objects have my sympathies, I see myself separated by +blood, birth, and station from all that I venerate and respect. I must +either be a traitor to my own or to myself; declare my enmity to all I +think most highly of, or suffer my motives to be impugned and my fame +tarnished.” + </p> +<p> +There was, indeed, one circumstance in this transaction which displeased +him greatly, and of which he was only aware when too late. The Magennis +defence had been “got up” by a subscription,—a fund to which +Joseph's own father had contributed. Amongst the machinery of attack upon +the landed gentry, Father Neal Rafferty had suggested the expediency of +“putting them on their titles” in cases the most trivial and +insignificant. Forfeiture and confiscation had followed each other so +frequently in Irish history,—grants and revocations were so mixed up +together,—some attested in all formality, others irregular and +imperfect,—that it was currently believed there was scarcely one +single estate of the whole province could establish a clear and +indisputable title. The project was, therefore, a bold one which, while +disturbing the rights of property, should also bring under discussion so +many vexed questions of English rule and tyranny over the Irish. Libraries +and cabinets were ransacked for ancient maps of the counties; and old +records were consulted to ascertain how far the original conditions of +service, and so forth, had been complied with on which these estates were +held. +</p> +<p> +Joseph had frequently carried home books from the library of Cro' Martin, +rare and curious volumes, which bore upon the ancient history of the +country. And now there crossed him the horrible suspicion that the whole +scheme of this attack might be laid to his charge, the information to +substantiate which he had thus surreptitiously-obtained. It was clear +enough, from what his mother had said, that such was not Miss Martin's +present impression; but who could say what representations might be made +to her, and what change effected in her sentiments? “And this,” cried he, +in indignation—“and this is the great career I used to long for!—this +the broad highway I once fancied was to lead me to honor and distinction! +Or is it, after all, my own fault, for endeavoring to reconcile two-things +which never can have any agreement,—an humble origin and high +aspirings? Were I an Englishman, the difficulty would not be impassable; +but here, in Ireland, the brand of a lowly fortune and a despised race is +upon me. Can I—dare I resist it?” + </p> +<p> +A long and arduous conflict was that in which he passed the night,—now +inclining to abandon his profession forever, now to leave Ireland and join +the English or some Colonial Bar; and at length, as day was breaking, and +as though the fresh morning air which now blew upon him from his open +window had given fresh energy to his nature, he determined he would +persist in his career in his own country. “<i>My</i> fate shall be an +example or a warning!” cried he. “They who come after me shall know +whether there be rewards within reach of honest toil and steady industry +without the contamination of a mock patriotism! If I <i>do</i> rise, it +shall be from no aid derived from a party or a faction; and if I fail, I +bring no discredit upon 'my order.'” + </p> +<p> +There are men who can so discipline their minds that they have but to +establish a law to their actions to make their whole lives “a system.” + Such individuals the Germans not inaptly call “self-contained men,” and of +these was Joe Nelligan one. +</p> +<p> +A certain concentration of his faculties, and the fatigues of a whole +night passed thus in thought, gave a careworn, exhausted look to his +features as he entered the room where Repton sat awaiting him for +breakfast. +</p> +<p> +“I see what's the matter with you,” said the old lawyer, as he entered. +“You have passed the night after a 'first brief.' This day ten years +you'll speak five hours before the Lords 'in error,' and never lose a wink +of sleep after it's over!” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XVI. MR. REPTON LOOKS IN +</h2> +<p> +On the day after that some of whose events we have just recorded, and +towards nightfall, Mary Martin slowly drove along the darkly wooded avenue +of Cro' Martin. An unusual sadness overweighed her. She was just returning +from the funeral of poor old Mat Landy, one of her oldest favorites as a +child. He it was who first taught her to hold an oar; and, seated beside +him, she first learned to steer a “corragh” through the wild waves of the +Atlantic. His honest, simple nature, his fine manly contentedness with a +very humble lot, and a cheerful gayety of heart that seemed never to +desert him, were all traits likely to impress such a child as she had been +and make his companionship a pleasure. With a heavy heart was it, +therefore, now that she thought over these things, muttering to herself as +she went along snatches of the old songs he used to sing, and repeating +mournfully the little simple proverbs he would utter about the weather. +</p> +<p> +The last scene itself had been singularly mournful. Two fishermen of the +coast alone accompanied the car which bore the coffin; death or sickness +was in every house; few could be spared to minister to the dead, and even +of those, the pale shrunk features and tottering limbs bespoke how dearly +the duty cost them. Old Mat had chosen for his last resting-place a little +churchyard that crowned a cliff over the sea,—a wild, solitary spot,—an +old gable, a ruined wall, a few low gravestones, and no more. The cliff +itself, rising abruptly from the sea to some four hundred feet, was +perforated with the nests of sea-fowl, whose melancholy cries, as they +circled overhead, seemed to ring out a last requiem. There it was they now +laid him. Many a time from that bleak summit had he lighted a beacon fire +to ships in distress. +</p> +<p> +Often and often, from that same spot, had he gazed out over the sea, to +catch signs of those who needed succor, and now that bold heart was still +and that strong arm stiffened, and the rough, deep voice that used to +sound above the tempest, silent forever. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0008" id="linkimage-0008"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/188.jpg" width="100%" alt="" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +alt="188 “> +</p> +<p> +“Never mind, Patsey,” said Mary, to one of the fishermen, who was +endeavoring with some stray fragments of a wreck to raise a little +monument over the spot, “I'll look to that hereafter.” And so saying, she +turned mournfully away to descend the cliff. A stranger, wrapped in a +large boat-cloak, had been standing for some time near the place; and as +Mary left it, he drew nigh and asked who she was. +</p> +<p> +“Who would she be?” said the fisherman, gruffly, and evidently in no humor +to converse. +</p> +<p> +“A wife, or a daughter, perhaps?” asked the other again. +</p> +<p> +“Neither one nor the other,” replied the fisherman. +</p> +<p> +“It is Miss Mary, sir,—Miss Martin,—God bless her!” broke in +the other; “one that never deserts the poor, living or dead. Musha! but +she's what keeps despair out of many a heart!” + </p> +<p> +“And has she come all this way alone?” asked he. +</p> +<p> +“What other way could she come, I wonder?” said the man he had first +addressed. “Did n't they leave her there by herself, just as if she was +n't belonging to them? They were kinder to old Henderson's daughter than +to their own flesh and blood.” + </p> +<p> +“Hush, Jerry, hush!—she 'll hear you,” cried the other. And saluting +the stranger respectfully, he began to follow down the cliff. +</p> +<p> +“Are there strangers stopping at the inn?” asked Mary, as she saw lights +gleaming from some of the windows as she passed. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, miss, there's him that was up there at the churchyard—ye +didn't remark him, maybe—and one or two more.” + </p> +<p> +“I did not notice him,” said Mary; and, wishing the men good-night, set +out homeward. So frequent were the halts she made at different cabins as +she drove along, so many times was she stopped to give a word of advice or +counsel, that it was already duskish as she reached Cro' Martin, and found +herself once more near home. “You're late with the post this evening, +Billy,” said she, overtaking the little fellow who carried the mail from +Oughterard. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, miss, there was great work sortin' the letters that came in this +morning, for I believe there's going to be another election; at least I +heard Hosey Lynch say it was all about that made the bag so full.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm sorry for it, Billy,” said she. “We have enough to think of, ay, and +troubles enough, too, not to need the strife and bitterness of another +contest amongst us.” + </p> +<p> +“Thrue for ye, miss, indeed,” rejoined Billy. '“Tis wishing them far +enough I am, them same elections; the bag does be a stone heavier every +day till it's over.” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed!” said Mary, half smiling at the remark. +</p> +<p> +“Thrue as I 'm here, miss. I would n't wonder if it was the goold for +bribin' the chaps makes it weigh so much.” + </p> +<p> +“And is there any other news stirring in the town, Billy?” + </p> +<p> +“Next to none, miss. They were talkin' of putting up ould Nelligan's son +for the mimber; and more says the Magennis of Barnagheela will stand.” + </p> +<p> +“A most excellent choice that would be, certainly,” said Mary, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“Faix! I heerd of another that wasn't much better, miss.” + </p> +<p> +“And who could that be?” asked Mary, in astonishment. +</p> +<p> +“But sure you'd know better than me, if it was thrue, more by token it +would be the master's own orders.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't understand you, Billy.” + </p> +<p> +“I mean, miss, that it's only his Honer, Mr. Martin, could have the power +to make Maurice Scanlan a Parlimint man.” + </p> +<p> +“And has any one hinted at such a possibility?” said she, in astonishment. +</p> +<p> +“Indeed, then, it was the talk of the market this mornin', and many a one +said he's the very fellow would get in.” + </p> +<p> +“Is he such a general favorite in Oughterard?” + </p> +<p> +“I'm not sure it's that, miss,” said Billy, thoughtfully. +</p> +<p> +“Maybe some likes him, and more is afraid of him; but he himself knows +everybody and everybody's business. He can raise the rent upon this man, +take it off that; 'tis his word can make a barony-constable or one of the +watch. They say he has the taxes, too, in his power, and can cess you just +as he likes. Be my conscience, he 's all as one as the Prime Minister.” + </p> +<p> +Just as Billy had delivered this sage reflection they had reached the hall +door, where, having consigned the letter-bag to the hands of a servant, he +turned his steps to the kitchen, to take an “air of the fire” before he +set out homeward. Mary Martin had not advanced many steps within the hall +when both her hands were cordially grasped, and a kind voice, which she at +once recognized as Mr. Repton's, said, “Here I am, my dear Miss Martin; +arrived in time, too, to welcome you home again. You paid me a visit +yesterday—” + </p> +<p> +“Yes,” broke she in; “but you were shaking your ambrosial curls at the +time, browbeating the bench, or cajoling the jury, or something of that +sort.” + </p> +<p> +“That I was; but I must own with scant success. You 've heard how that +young David of Oughterard slew the old Goliath of Dublin? Well, shall I +confess it? I'm glad of it. I feel proud to think that the crop of clever +fellows in Ireland is flourishing, and that when I, and a dozen like me, +pass away, our places will be filled by others that will keep the repute +of our great profession high in the public estimation.” + </p> +<p> +“This is worthy of you, sir,” cried Mary, pressing the arm ahe leaned on +more closely. +</p> +<p> +“And now, my dear Miss Mary,” said he, as they entered the drawing-room,—“now +that I have light to look at you, let me make my compliments on your +appearance. Handsomer than ever, I positively declare. They told me in the +town that you half killed yourself with fatigue; that you frequently were +days long on horseback, and nights watching by sick-beds; but if this be +the result, benevolence is indeed its own reward.” + </p> +<p> +“Ah, my dear Mr. Repton, I see you do not keep all your flatteries for the +jury-box.” + </p> +<p> +“My moments are too limited here to allow me time for an untruth. I must +be off; to-night I have a special retainer for a great record at +Roscommon, and at this very instant I should be poring over deeds and +parchments, instead of gazing at 'orbs divinely blue;' not but, I believe, +now that I look closer, yours are hazel.” + </p> +<p> +“Let me order dinner, then, at once,” said she, approaching the bell. +</p> +<p> +“I have done that already, my dear,” said he, gayly; “and what is more, I +have dictated the bill of fare. I guessed what a young lady's simple meal +might be, and I have been down to the cook, and you shall see the result.” + </p> +<p> +“Then it only remains for me to think of the cellar. What shall it be, +sir? The Burgundy that you praised so highly last winter, or the Port that +my uncle preferred to it?” + </p> +<p> +“I declare that I half suspect your uncle was right. Let us move for a new +trial, and try both over again,” said he, laughing, as she left the room. +</p> +<p> +“Just to think of such a girl in such a spot,” cried he to himself, as he +walked alone, up and down the room; “beauty, grace, fascination,—all +that can charm and attract; and then, such a nature, childlike in gayety, +and chivalrous,—ay, chivalrous as a chevalier!” + </p> +<p> +“I see, sir, you are rehearsing for Roscommon,” said Mary, who entered the +room while he was yet declaiming alone; “but I must interrupt you, for the +soup is waiting.” + </p> +<p> +“I obey the summons,” said he tendering his arm. And they both entered the +dinner-room. +</p> +<p> +So long as the meal lasted, Repton's conversation was entirely devoted to +such topics as he might have discussed at a formal dinner-party. He talked +of the world of society, its deaths, births, and marriages; its changes of +place and amusement. He narrated the latest smart things that were going +the round of the clubs, and hinted at the political events that were +passing. But the servants gone, and the chairs drawn closer to the blazing +hearth, his tone changed at once, and in a voice of tremulous kindness he +said,—“I can't bear to think of the solitude of this life of yours!—nay, +hear me out. I say this, not for <i>you</i>, since in the high devotion of +a noble purpose you are above all its penalties; but I cannot endure to +think that <i>we</i> should permit it.” + </p> +<p> +“First of all,” said Mary, rapidly, “what you deem solitude is scarcely +such; each day is so filled with its duties, that when I come back here of +an evening, it often happens that my greatest enjoyment is the very sense +of isolation that awaits me. Do you know,” added she, “that very often the +letter-bag lies unopened by me till morning? And as to newspapers, there +they lie in heaps, their covers unbroken to this hour. Such is actually +the case to-day. I haven't read my letters yet.” + </p> +<p> +“I read mine in my bed,” cried Repton. “I have them brought to me by +candlelight in winter, and I reflect over all the answers while I am +dressing. Some of the sharpest things I have ever said have occurred to me +while I was shaving; not,” added he, hastily, “but one's really best +things are always impromptu. Just as I said t' other day to the Viceroy,—a +somewhat felicitous one. He was wishing that some historian would choose +for his subject the lives of Irish Lord-Lieutenants; not, he remarked, in +a mere spirit of party, or with the levity of partisanship, but in a +spirit becoming the dignity of history,—such as Hume himself might +have done. 'Yes, my Lord,' I replied, 'your observation is most just; it +should be a continuation of Rapine.' Eh! it was a home-thrust, wasn't it?—'a +continuation of Rapine.'” And the old man laughed till his eyes ran over. +</p> +<p> +“Do these great folk ever thoroughly forgive such things?” asked Mary. +</p> +<p> +“My dear child, their self-esteem is so powerful they never feel them; and +even when they do, the chances are that they store them up in their +memories, to retail afterwards as their own. I have detected my own stolen +property more than once; but always so damaged by wear, and disfigured by +ill-usage, that I never thought of reclaiming it.” + </p> +<p> +“The affluent need never fret for a little robbery,” said Mary, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“Ay, but they may like to be the dispensers of their own riches,” rejoined +Repton, who never was happier than when able to carry out another's +illustration. +</p> +<p> +“Is Lord Reckington agreeable?” asked Mary, trying to lead him on to any +other theme than that of herself. +</p> +<p> +“He is eminently so. Like all men of his class, he makes more of a small +stock in trade than we with our heads full can ever pretend to. Such men +talk well, for they think fluently. Their tact teaches them the popular +tone on every subject, and they have the good sense never to rise above +it.” + </p> +<p> +“And Massingbred, the secretary, what of him?” + </p> +<p> +“A very well-bred gentleman, strongly cased in the triple armor of +official dulness. Such men converse as stupid whist-players play cards; +they are always asking to 'let them see the last trick;' and the +consequence is they are ever half an hour behind the rest of the world. +Ay, Miss Mary, and this is an age where one must never be half a second in +arrear. This is really delicious Port; and now that the Burgundy is +finished, I think I prefer it. Tell Martin I said so when you write to +him. I hope the cellar is well stocked with it.” + </p> +<p> +“It was so when my uncle went away, but I fear I have made great inroads +upon it. It was my chief remedy with the poor.” + </p> +<p> +“With the poor! such wine as this,—the richest grape that ever +purpled over the Douro! Do you tell me that you gave this to these—Heaven +forgive me, what am I saying? Of course you gave it; you gave them what +was fifty times more precious,—the kind ministerings of your own +angelic nature, the soft words and soft looks and smiles that a prince +might have knelt for. I 'm not worthy to drink another glass of it,” added +he, as he pushed the decanter from him towards the centre of the table. +</p> +<p> +“But you shall, though,” said Mary, filling his glass, “and it shall be a +bumper to my health.” + </p> +<p> +“A toast I'd stake my life for,” said he, reverently, as he lifted her +hand to his lips and kissed it with all the deference of a courtier. “And +now,” added he, refilling his glass, “I drink this to the worthy fellow +whose portrait is before me; and may he soon come back again.” He arose as +he spoke, and giving his hand to Mary, led her into the drawing-room. “Ay, +my dear Miss Mary,” said he, following up the theme in his own thoughts, +“it is here your uncle ought to be. When the army is in rout and dismay, +the general's presence is the talisman that restores discipline. +Everything around us at this moment is full of threatening danger. The +catalogue of the assizes is a dark record; I never saw its equal, no more +have I ever witnessed anything to compare with the dogged indifference of +the men arraigned. The Irishman is half a fatalist by nature; it will be +an evil hour that makes him wholly one!” + </p> +<p> +“But still,” said Mary, “you 'd scarcely counsel his return here at this +time. The changes that have taken place would fret him deeply, not to +speak of even worse!” + </p> +<p> +She delivered the last few words in a voice broken and trembling; and +Repton, turning quickly towards her, said,—“I know what you point +at: the irritated feeling of the people, and that insolent menace they +dared to affix to his own door.” + </p> +<p> +“You heard of that, then?” cried she, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“To be sure, I heard of it; and I heard how your own hands tore it down, +and riding with it into the midst of them at Kiltimmon market, you said, +'I 'll give five hundred pounds to him who shows me who did this, and I +'ll forfeit five hundred more if I do not horsewhip the coward from the +county.'” + </p> +<p> +Mary hid her face within her hands; but closely as she pressed them there, +the warm tears would force their way through, and fall, dropping on her +bosom. +</p> +<p> +“You are a noble girl,” cried he, in ecstasy; “and in all your great +trials there is nothing finer than this, that the work of your benevolence +has never been stayed by the sense of ill-requital, and you have never +involved the character of a people in the foul crime of a miscreant.” + </p> +<p> +“How could I so wrong them, sir?” broke she out. “Who better than myself +can speak of their glorious courage, their patient resignation, their +noble self-devotion? Has not the man, sinking under fever, crawled from +his bed to lead me to the house of another deeper in misery than himself? +Have I not seen the very poorest sharing the little alms bestowed upon +their wretchedness? Have I not heard the most touching words of gratitude +from lips growing cold in death? You may easily show me lands of greater +comfort, where the blessings of wealth and civilization are more widely +spread; but I defy you to point to any where the trials of a whole people +have been so great and so splendidly sustained.” + </p> +<p> +“I'll not ask the privilege of reply,” said Repton; “perhaps I 'd rather +be convinced by you than attempt to gainsay one word of your argument.” + </p> +<p> +“At your peril, sir,” said she, menacing him with her finger, while a +bright smile lit up her features. +</p> +<p> +“The chaise is at the door, sir,” said a servant, entering and addressing +Repton. +</p> +<p> +“Already!” exclaimed he. “Why, my dear Miss Mary, it can't surely be eight +o'clock. No; but,” added he, looking at his watch, “it only wants a +quarter of ten, and I have not said one half of what I had to say, nor +heard a fourth of what you had to tell me.” + </p> +<p> +“Let the postboy put up his horses, William,” said Miss Martin, “and bring +tea.” + </p> +<p> +“A most excellent suggestion,” chimed in Repton. “Do you know, my dear, +that we old bachelors never thoroughly appreciate all that we have missed +in domesticity till we approach a tea-table. We surround ourselves with +fifty mockeries of home-life; we can manage soft carpets, warm curtains, +snug dinners, but somehow our cup of tea is a rude imitation that only +depicts the inaccuracy of the copy. Without the priestess the tea-urn +sings forth no incantation.” + </p> +<p> +“How came it that Mr. Repton remained a Benedict?” asked she, gayly. +</p> +<p> +“By the old accident, that he would n't take what he might have, and could +n't get what he wished. Add to that,” continued he, after a pause, “when a +man comes to a certain time of life without marrying, the world has given +to him a certain place, assigned to him, as it were, a certain part which +would be utterly marred by a wife. The familiarity of one's female +acquaintance—the pleasantest spot in old bachelorhood—could +n't stand such an ordeal; and the hundred-and-one eccentricities +pardonable and pardoned in the single man would be condemned in the +married one. You shake your head. Well, now, I 'll put it to the test. +Would you, or could you, make me your confidant so unreservedly if there +were such a person as Mrs. Repton in the world? Not a bit of it, my dear +child. We old bachelors are the lay priests of society, and many come to +us with confessions they 'd scruple about making to the regular +authorities.” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps you are right,” said she, thoughtfully; “at all events, <i>I</i> +should have no objection to you as my confessor.” + </p> +<p> +“I may have to claim that promise one of these day yet,” said he, +significantly. “Eh, here comes William again. Well, the postboy won't +wait, or something has gone wrong. Eh, William, what is it?” + </p> +<p> +“The boy's afraid, sir, if you don't go soon, that there will be no +passing the river at Barnagheela,—the flood is rising every minute.” + </p> +<p> +“And already the water is too deep,” cried Mary. “Give the lad his supper, +William. Let him make up his cattle, and say that Mr. Repton remains here +for the night.” + </p> +<p> +“And Mr. Repton obeys,” said he, bowing; “though what is to become of +'Kelly <i>versus</i> Lenaham and another,' is more than I can say.” + </p> +<p> +“They 'll have so many great guns, sir,” said Mary, laughing; “won't they +be able to spare a twenty-four pounder?” + </p> +<p> +“But I ought, at least, to appear in the battery, my dear. They 'll say +that I stayed away on account of that young fellow Nelligan; he has a +brief in that cause, and I know he 'd like another tussle with me. By the +way, Miss Mary, that reminds me that I promised him to make his—no, +not his excuses, he was too manly for that; but his—his explanations +to you about yesterday's business. He was sorely grieved at the part +assigned him; he spoke feelingly of all the attentions he once met at your +uncle's hands, but far more so of certain kindnesses shown to his mother +by yourself; and surmising that you might be unaware of the exacting +nature of our bar etiquette, that leaves no man at liberty to decline a +cause, he tortured himself inventing means to set himself right with you.” + </p> +<p> +“But I know your etiquette, sir, and I respect it; and Mr. Nelligan never +stood higher in my estimation than by his conduct of yesterday. You can +tell him, therefore, that you saw there was no necessity to touch on the +topic; it will leave less unpleasantness if we should meet again.” + </p> +<p> +“What a diplomatist it is!” said Repton, smiling affectionately at her. +“How successful must all this tact be when engaged with the people! Nay, +no denial; you know in your heart what subtle devices it supplies you +with.” + </p> +<p> +“And yet, I 'm not so certain that what you call my diplomacy may not have +involved me in some trouble,—at least, there is the chance of it.” + </p> +<p> +“As how, my dear child?” + </p> +<p> +“You shall hear, sir. You know the story of that poor girl at Barnagheela, +whom they call Mrs. Magennis? Well, her old grandfather—as noble a +heart as ever beat—had never ceased to pine after her fall. She had +been the very light of his life, and he loved her on, through her sorrow, +if not her shame, till, as death drew nigh him, unable to restrain his +craving desire, he asked me to go and fetch her, to give her his last kiss +and receive his last blessing. It was a task I had fain have declined, +were such an escape open to me, but I could not. In a word, I went and did +his bidding. She stayed with him till he breathed his last breath, and +then—in virtue of some pledge I hear that she made him—she +fled, no one knows whither. All trace of her is lost; and though I have +sent messengers on every side, none have yet discovered her.” + </p> +<p> +“Suicide is not the vice of our people,” said Repton, gravely. +</p> +<p> +“I know that well, and the knowledge makes me hopeful. But what sufferings +are yet before her, what fearful trials has she to meet!” + </p> +<p> +“By Jove!” cried Repton, rising and pacing the room, “you have courage, +young lady, that would do honor to a man. You brave the greatest perils +with a stout-heartedness that the best of us could scarcely summon.” + </p> +<p> +“But, in this case, the peril is not mine, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“I am not so sure of that, Miss Mary,” said Repton, doubtingly,—“I +'m not so sure of that.” And, with crossed arms and bent-down head, he +paced the room slowly back and forwards. “Ay,” muttered he to himself, +“Thursday night—Friday, at all events—will close the record. I +can speak to evidence on the morning, and be back here again some time in +the night. Of course it is a duty,—it is more than a duty.” Then he +added, aloud, “There 's the moon breaking out, and a fine breezy sky. I +'ll take the road, Miss Mary, and, with your good leave, I 'll drink tea +with you on Friday evening. Nay, my dear, the rule is made absolute.” + </p> +<p> +“I agree,” said she, “if it secures me a longer visit on your return.” + </p> +<p> +A few moments afterwards saw Repton seated in the corner of his chaise, +and hurrying onward at speed. His eyes soon closed in slumber, and as he +sank off to rest, his lips murmured gently, “My Lord, in rising to address +the Court, under circumstances of no ordinary difficulty, and in a case +where vast interest, considerable influence, and, I may add—may add—” + The words died away, and he was asleep. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XVII. LADY DOROTHEA'S LETTER +</h2> +<p> +Though it was late when Repton took his departure, Mary Martin felt no +inclination for sleep, but addressed herself at once to examine the letter +bag, whose contents seemed more than usually bulky. Amid a mass of +correspondence about the estate, she came at length upon the foreign +letters, of which there were several from the servants to their friends or +relations at Cro' Martin,—all, as usual, under cover to Miss Martin; +and at last she found one in Lady Dorothea's own hand, for herself,—a +very rare occurrence; nay, indeed, it was the first epistle her Ladyship +had favored her with since her departure. +</p> +<p> +It was not, then, without curiosity as to the cause that Mary broke the +large seal and read as follows:— +</p> +<p> +“Carlsruhe, Saturday Evening, Cour de Bade. +</p> +<p> +“My dear Niece,—It was only yesterday, when looking over your +uncle's papers, I chanced upon a letter of yours, dated some five or six +weeks back, and which, to my great astonishment, I discovered had never +been communicated to me,—though this mark of deficient confidence +will doubtless seem less surprising to <i>you</i>. +</p> +<p> +“To bring your letter to your mind, <i>I</i> may observe it is one in +which you describe the condition of the people on the estate, and the +fatal inroads then making upon them by famine and pestilence. It is not my +intention here to advert to what may possibly be a very natural error in +your account,—the exaggerated picture you draw of their sufferings; +your sympathy with them, and your presence to witness much of what they +are enduring, will explain and excuse the highly colored statement of +their sorrows. It were to be wished that an equally valid apology could be +made for what I am forced to call the importunity of your demands in their +favor. Five of your six last letters now before me are filled with appeals +for abatements of rent, loans to carry out improvements, stipends for +schoolmasters, doctors, scripture-readers, and a tribe of other +hangers-on, that really seem to augment in number as the pauperism of the +people increases. However ungracious the task of disparaging the accuracy +of your view, I have no other alternative but to accept it, and hence I am +forced to pen these lines myself in preference to committing the office to +another. +</p> +<p> +“It really seems to me that you regard our position as landed proprietors +in the light of a mere stewardship, and that it is our bounden duty to +expend upon the tenantry the proceeds of the estate, reserving a scanty +percentage, perhaps, for ourselves to live upon. How you came to this +opinion, and whence you acquired it, I have no means of knowing. If, +however, it has been the suggestion of your own genius, it is right you +should know that you hold doctrines in common with the most distinguished +communists of modern times, and are quite worthy of a seat of honor beside +those who are now convulsing society throughout Europe. +</p> +<p> +“I am unwilling to utter anything like severity towards errors, many of +which take their rise in a mistaken and ill-directed benevolence, because +the original fault of committing the management of this property to your +hands was the work of another. Let me hope that sincere sorrow for so +fatal a mistake may not be the primary cause of his present attack—” + </p> +<p> +When Mary read so far, she started with a sudden fear; and turning over +the pages of the long letter, she sought for some allusion to her uncle. +At length she found the following lines:—“Your cousin would have +left this for Ireland, but for the sudden seizure your poor uncle has +suffered from, and which came upon him after breakfast, in apparently his +ordinary health. The entire of the left side is attacked,—the face +particularly,—and his utterance quite inarticulate.” + </p> +<p> +For some minutes she could read no more; the warm tears rolled down her +cheeks and dropped heavily on the paper, and she could only mutter to +herself, “My poor, dear uncle,—my last, my only friend in the +world!” Drying her eyes, with a great effort she read on:— +</p> +<p> +“The remedies have been so far successful as to arrest the progress of the +malady, and his appetite is good, and his spirits, everything considered, +are excellent. Of course, all details of business are strictly excluded +from his presence; and your cousin has assumed whatever authority is +necessary to the management of the property. We thought at one time your +presence here might have been desirable, but, considering the distance, +the difficulty of travelling without suitable companionship, and other +circumstances, it would, on the whole, be a step we should not recommend; +and, indeed, your uncle himself has not expressed any wishes on the +subject.” + </p> +<p> +She dropped the letter at these words, and, covering her face with her +hands, sobbed bitterly and long; at length, and with an effort which taxed +her strength to the utmost, she read on:— +</p> +<p> +“Although, however, you are to remain at Cro' Martin, it will be more than +ever imperative you should reduce the establishment there within the very +strictest possible limits; and to begin this-reform, I 'm fully assured it +is necessary you should depose old Mrs. Broon, who is really incapable of +her duties, while her long-acquired habits of expense render her +incompatible with any new regulations to enforce economy. A moderate +pension—something, however, in accordance with her real wants and +requirements, rather than what might be called her expectations—should +be settled upon her, and there are several farmers on the estate, any one +of whom would gladly take charge of her. The gardens still figure largely +in the account, and considering the very little probability of our makings +the place a residence again, might be turned to more profitable use. You +will confer with Henderson on the subject, and inquire how far it might be +advisable to cultivate vegetables for market, or convert them into +paddocks for calves, or, in short, anything which, if less remunerative, +should still save the enormous outlay we now hear of I scarcely like to +allude to the stable, knowing how much you lean to the enjoyment of riding +and driving; but really these are times when retrenchment is called for at +every hand; and I am persuaded that for purposes of health walking is +infinitely better than carriage exercise. I know myself, that since I have +taken to the habit of getting out of the carriage at the wells, and +walking twice round the parterre, I feel myself braced and better for the +day. +</p> +<p> +“It is not improbable but when the changes I thus suggest, and others +similar to them, are enacted, that you will see to what little purpose a +large house is maintained for the mere accommodation of a single +individual, without suitable means, or indeed any reason whatever, to +dispense them. If then, I say, you should come to this conviction,—at +which I have already arrived,—a very great saving might be effected +by obtaining a tenant for Cro' Martin, while you, if still desirous of +remaining in the county, might be most comfortably accommodated at the +Hendersons'.” + </p> +<p> +Three times did Mary Martin read over this passage before she could bring +herself to believe in its meaning; and hot tears of sorrow coursed down +her cheeks as she became assured of its import. +</p> +<p> +“It is not,” went on the epistle—“it is not in your uncle's present +most critical state that I could confer with him on this project, nor +strengthen my advice by what most probably would be <i>his</i> also. I +therefore make the appeal simply to your own sense of what you may think +in accordance with our greatly increased outlay and your own requirements. +Should you receive this suggestion in the spirit in which it is offered, I +think that both for your uncle's satisfaction and your own dignity, the +proposal ought to come from yourself. You could make it to me in a letter, +stating all the reasons in its favor, and of course not omitting to lay +suitable stress upon the isolation of your present life, and the comfort +and security you would derive from the protection of a family. Mrs. H. is +really a very nice person, and her tastes and habits would render her most +companionable; and she would, of course, make you an object of especial +attention and respect. It is, besides, not impossible that the daughter +may soon return—though this is a point I have not leisure to enter +upon at present. A hundred a year would he a very handsome allowance for +Henderson, and indeed for that sum he ought to keep your pony, if you +still continue your taste for equipage. You would thus be more +comfortable, and really richer,—that is, have more disposable means—than +you have hitherto had. I forbear to insist further upon what—till it +has your own approval—may be a vain advocacy on my part. I can only +say, in conclusion, that in adopting this plan you would equally consult +what is due to your own dignity, as what is required by your uncle's +interests. Your cousin, I am forced to avow it, has been very silly, very +inconsiderate, not alone in contracting heavy debts, but in raising large +sums to meet them at fabulous rates of interest. The involvements +threaten, from what I can gather, to imperil a considerable part of the +estate, and we are obliged to send for Scanlan to come out here, and +confer with him as to the means of extrication. I feel there is much to be +said in palliation of errors which have their origin in high and generous +qualities. Plantagenet was thrown at a very early age into the society of +a most expensive regiment, and naturally contracted the tastes and habits +around him. Poor fellow, he is suffering severely from the memory of these +early indiscretions, and I see that nothing but a speedy settlement of his +difficulties will ever restore him to his wonted spirits. You will thus +perceive, that if my suggested change of life to you should not conform +entirely to your wishes, that you are in reality only accepting your share +of the sacrifices called for from each of us. +</p> +<p> +“There are a great number of other matters on which I wished to touch,—some, +indeed, are not exactly within your province, such as the political +fortunes of the borough, whose seat Mr. Massingbred has determined to +vacate. Although not admitting the reason for his conduct, I am strongly +convinced that the step is a mere acknowledgment of an error on his part, +and an effort, however late, at the <i>amende honorable</i>. The +restitution, for so I am forced to regard it, comes most inopportunely, +since it would be a most ill-chosen moment in which to incur the expense +of a contested election; besides that, really your cousin has no desire +whatever for Parliamentary honors. Plantagenet, however, would seem to +have some especial intentions on the subject which he keeps secret, and +has asked of Massingbred not to send off his farewell address to the +constituency for some days. But I will not continue a theme so little +attractive to you. +</p> +<p> +“Dr. Schubart has just called to see your uncle. He is not altogether so +satisfied with his state as I could have hoped; he advises change of +scene, and a little more intercourse with the world, and we have some +thought of Nice, if we cannot get on to Naples. Dr. S., to whom I spoke on +the subject of your Irish miseries, tells me that cholera is now the most +manageable of all maladies, if only taken early; that you must enjoin the +persons attacked to a more liberal diet, no vegetables, and a sparing use +of French wines, excepting, he says, the generous 'Vins du Midi.' There is +also a mixture to be taken—of which he promised me the prescription—and +a pill every night of arnica or aconite—I 'm not quite certain which—but +it is a perfect specific. He also adds, what must be felt as most +reassuring, that the disease never attacks but the very poorest of the +population. As to typhus, he smiled when I spoke of it. It is, he says, a +mere 'Gastrite,' a malady which modern science actually despises. In fact, +my dear niece, these would seem, like all other Irish misfortunes, the +mere offshoots of her own dark ignorance and barbarism. If it were not for +the great expense—and of course that consideration decides the +question—I should have requested you to send over your doctor here +to confer with Dr. Schubart. Indeed, I think it might be a very reasonable +demand to make of the Government, but unhappily my present 'relations' +with my relative Lord Reckington preclude any advances of mine in that +quarter. +</p> +<p> +“I was forgetting to add that, with respect to cholera, and indeed fever +generally, that Dr. S. lays great stress upon what he calls the moral +treatment of the people, amusing their minds by easily learned games and +simple pleasures. I fear me, however, that the coarser natures of our +population may not derive adequate amusement from the resources which +would have such eminent success with the enlightened peasant of the Rhine +land. Dr. S., I may remark, is a very distinguished writer on politics, +and daily amazes us with the astounding speculations he is forming as to +the future condition of Europe. His conviction is that our great peril is +Turkey, and that Mohammedanism will be the religion of Europe before the +end of the present century. Those new baths established at Brighton by a +certain Hamet are a mere political agency, a secret propaganda, which his +acuteness has alone penetrated. Miss Henderson has ventured to oppose +these views with something not very far from impertinent ridicule, and for +some time back, Dr. S. only discusses them with myself alone. +</p> +<p> +“I had left the remainder of the sheet for any intelligence that might +occur before post hour, but I am suddenly called away, and shall close it +at once. When I was sitting with your uncle awhile ago, I <i>half</i> +broached the project I was suggesting to you, and he seemed highly to +approve of so much as I ventured to tell him. Nothing then is wanting but +your own concurrence to make it as practicable as it is deemed advisable +by your affectionate aunt, +</p> +<p> +“Dorothea Martin.” + </p> +<p> +The eccentricities of her aunt's character had always served as +extenuating circumstances with Mary Martin. She knew the violence of her +prejudices, the enormous amount of her self-esteem, and the facility with +which she was ever able to persuade herself that whatever she wished to do +assumed at once all the importance and gravity of a duty! This thorough +appreciation of her peculiarities enabled Mary to bear up patiently under +many sore trials and some actual wrongs. Where the occasion was a light +one, she could afford to smile at such trials, and, even in serious cases, +they palliated the injustice; but here was an instance wherein all her +forgiveness was in vain. To take the moment of her poor uncle's illness—that +terrible seizure, which left him without self-guidance, if even a will—to +dictate these hard and humiliating terms, was a downright cruelty. Nor did +it diminish the suffering which that letter cost her that its harsh +conditions seemed dictated by a spirit of contempt for Ireland and its +people. As Mary re-read the letter, she felt that every line breathed this +tone of depreciation. It was to her Ladyship a matter of less than +indifference what became of the demesne, who inhabited the house,—the +home of “the Martins” for centuries! She was as little concerned for the +prestige of “the old family,” as she was interested for the sorrows of the +people. If Mary endeavored to treat these things dispassionately to her +own heart, by dwelling upon all the points which affected others, still, +her own individual wrong would work to the surface, and the bitter and +insulting suggestion made to her rose up before her in all its enormity. +</p> +<p> +She did her very best to turn her thoughts into some other channel,—to +fix them upon her poor uncle, on his sick-bed, and sorrowing as he was +sure to be; to think of her cousin Harry, struggling against the +embarrassments of his own imprudence; of the old housekeeper, Catty Broon, +to whom she could not summon courage to speak the cruel tidings of her +changed lot,—but all, all in vain; back she would come to the +humiliation that foreshadowed her own fortune, and threatened to depose +her from her station forever. +</p> +<p> +An indignant appeal to her uncle—her own father's brother—was +her first resolve. “Let me learn,” said she to herself, “from his own +lips, that such is the destiny he assigns me; that in return for my tried +affection, my devotion, he has no other recompense than to lower me in +self-esteem and condition together. Time enough, when assured of this, to +decide upon what I shall do. But to whom shall I address this demand?” + thought she again. “That dear, kind uncle is now struck down by illness. +It were worse than cruelty to add to his own sorrows any thought of <i>mine</i>. +If he have concurred in Lady Dorothea's suggestion, who knows in what +light it may have been presented to him, by what arguments strengthened, +with what perils contrasted? Is it impossible, too, that the sacrifice may +be imperative? The sale of part of the property, the pressure of heavy +claims,—all show that it may be necessary to dispose of Cro' Martin. +Oh,” exclaimed she, in agony, “it is but a year ago, that when Mr. Repton +hinted vaguely at such a casualty, how stoutly and indignantly did I +reject it! +</p> +<p> +“'Your uncle may choose to live abroad,' said he; 'to sell the estate, +perhaps.' And I heard him with almost scornful defiance; and now the hour +is come! and even yet I cannot bring myself to believe it. When Repton +drew the picture of the tenantry, forsaken and neglected, the poor +unnoticed, and the sick uncared for, he still forgot to assign me my place +in the sad 'tableau,' and show that in destitution my lot was equal to +their own; the very poorest and meanest had yet some spot, poor and mean +though it were, they called a home, that Mary Martin was the only one an +outcast!” + </p> +<p> +These gloomy thoughts were darkened as she bethought her that of her +little fortune—on which, by Scanlan's aid, she had raised a loan—a +mere fragment remained,—a few hundred pounds at most. The outlay on +hospitals and medical assistance for the sick had more than quadrupled +what she had estimated. The expense once begun, she had persevered with +almost reckless determination. She had despatched to Dublin, one by one, +the few articles of jewelry and value she possessed for sale; she had +limited her own expenditure to the very narrowest bounds, nor was it till +driven by the utmost urgency that she wrote the appeal to her uncle of +which the reader already knows. +</p> +<p> +“How I once envied Kate Henderson,” cried she, aloud, “the brilliant +accomplishments she possessed, the graceful charm that her cultivation +threw over society, and the fascination she wielded, by acquirements of +which I knew nothing; but how much more now do I envy her, that in those +same gifts her independence was secured,—that, high above the +chances of the world, she could build upon her own efforts, and never +descend to a condition of dependence!” + </p> +<p> +Her diminished power amongst the people had been fully compensated by the +sincere love and affection she had won from them by acts of charity and +devotion. Even these, however, owed much of their efficacy to the prestige +of her station. No peasant in Europe puts so high a value on the +intercourse with a rank above his own as does the Irish. The most pleasant +flattery to his nature is the notice of “the gentleman,” and it was more +than half the boon Mary bestowed upon the poor, that she who sat down +beside the bed, who heated the little drink, who raised the head to +swallow it, was the daughter of the Great House! Would not her altered +fortune destroy this charm? was now her bitter reflection. Up to this +hour, greatly reduced as were the means she dispensed, and the influence +she wielded, she still lived in the proud home of her family, and all +regarded her as the representative of her honored name. But now—No, +she could not endure the thought! “If I must descend to further +privations,” said she to herself, “let me seek out some new scene,—some +spot where I am unknown, have never been heard of; there, at least, I +shall be spared the contrast of the past with the present, nor see in +every incident the cruel mockery of my former life. +</p> +<p> +“And yet,” thought she, “how narrow-minded and selfish is all this, how +mean-spirited, to limit the question to my own feelings! Is there no duty +involved in this sacrifice? Shall I not still—reduced though I be in +fortune—shall I not still be a source of comfort to many here? Will +not the very fact of my presence assure them that they are not deserted? +They have seen me under some trials, and the lesson has not been +fruitless. Let them then behold me, under heavier ones, not dismayed nor +cast down. What I lose in the prestige of station I shall more than gain +in sympathy; and so I remain!” No sooner was the resolve formed than all +her wonted courage came back. Rallying with the stimulus of action before +her, she began to plan out a new life, in which her relation to the people +should be closer and nearer than ever. There was a small ornamental +cottage on the demesne, known as the Chalet, built by Lady Dorothea after +one she had seen in the Oberland; this Mary now determined on for her +home, and there, with Catty Broon alone, she resolved to live. +</p> +<p> +“My aunt,” thought she, “can scarcely be so wedded to the Henderson scheme +but that this will equally satisfy her wishes; and while it secures a home +and a resting-place for-poor Catty, it rescues <i>me</i> from what I +should feel as a humiliation.” + </p> +<p> +The day was already beginning to dawn as Mary sat down to answer Lady +Dorothea's letter. Most of her reply referred to her uncle, to whose +affection she clung all the more as her fortunes darkened. She saw all the +embarrassment of proffering her services to nurse and tend him, living, as +he was, amidst his own; but still, she said that of the journey or its +difficulties she should never waste a thought, if her presence at his +sick-bed could afford him the slightest satisfaction. “He knows me as a +nurse already,” said she. “But tell him that I have grown, if not wiser, +calmer and quieter than he knew me formerly; that I should not disturb him +by foolish stories, but sit patiently save when he would have me to talk. +Tell him, too, that if changed in many things, in my love to<i> him</i> I +am unaltered.” She tried to add more, but could not. The thought that +these lines were to be read to her uncle by Lady Dorothea chilled her, and +the very tones of that supercilious voice seemed to ring in her ears, and +she imagined some haughty or insolent comment to follow them as they were +uttered. +</p> +<p> +With regard to her own future, she, in a few words, remarked upon the +unnecessary expense of maintaining a large house for the accommodation of +a single person, and said that, if her Ladyship concurred in the plan, she +would prefer taking up her home at the Chalet with old Catty for companion +and housekeeper. +</p> +<p> +She pointed out the advantages of a change which, while securing a +comfortable home to them, would equally suggest to their dependants +lessons of thrift and self-sacrifice, and added, half sportively, “As for +me, when I find myself <i>en Suisse</i>, I 'm sure I shall less regret +horses and dogs, and such-like vanities, and take to the delights of a +dairy and cream cheeses with a good grace. Indeed, I 'm not quite certain +but that Fortune, instead of displacing, will in reality be only +installing me in the position best suited to me. Do not, then, be +surprised, if at your return you find me in sabots and an embroidered +bodice, deep in the mystery of all cottage economics, and well content to +be so. +</p> +<p> +“You are quite right, my dear aunt,” she continued, “not to entertain me +with politics. The theme is as much above as it is distasteful to me; and +so grovelling are my sentiments, that I 'd rather hear of the arrival of a +cargo of oatmeal at Kilkieran than learn that the profoundest statesman of +Great Britain had condescended to stand for our dear borough of +Oughterard. At the same time, if Cousin Harry should change his mind, and +turn his ambition towards the Senate, tell him I 'm quite ready to turn +out and canvass for him to-morrow, and that the hospitalities of the +Chalet shall do honor to the cause. As you speak of sending for Mr. +Scanlan, I leave to him to tell you all the events of our late assizes +here,—a task I escape from the more willingly, since I have no +successes to record. Mr. Repton, however,—he paid me a visit +yesterday, and stopped here to dinner,—says that he has no fears for +the result at the next trial, and honestly confesses that our present +defeat was entirely owing to the skill and ability of the counsel opposed +to us. By some delay or mistake, I don't exactly know which, Scanlan +omitted to send a retainer to young Mr. Nelligan, and who, being employed +for the other side, was the chief cause of our failure. My uncle will be +pleased to learn that Mr. N.'s address to the jury was scrupulously free +from any of that invective or attack so frequently levelled at landlords +when defending the rights of property. Repton called it 'a model of legal +argument, delivered with the eloquence of a first-rate speaker, and the +taste and temper of a gentleman.' Indeed, I understand that the tone of +the speech has rendered all the ribaldry usual on such occasions in local +journals impossible, and that the young barrister has acquired anything +but popularity in consequence. Even in this much, is there a dawn of +better things; and under such circumstances a defeat may be more +profitable than a victory.” + </p> +<p> +With a few kind messages to her uncle, and an earnest entreaty for early +tidings of his state, Mary concluded a letter in which her great +difficulty lay in saying far less than her thoughts dictated, and +conveying as much as she dare trust to Lady Dorothea's interpretation. The +letter concluded and sealed, she lay down, dressed as she was, on her bed, +and fell a-thinking over the future. +</p> +<p> +There are natures to whom the opening of any new vista in life suggests +fully as much of pleasure as anxiety. The prospect of the unknown and the +untried has something of the adventurous about it which more than +counterbalances the casualties of a future. Such a temperament was hers; +and the first sense of sorrowful indignation over, she really began to +speculate upon her cottage life with a certain vague and dreamy enjoyment. +She foresaw, that when Cro' Martin Castle fell into other hands, that her +own career ceased, her occupation was gone, and that she should at once +fashion out some new road, and conform herself to new habits. The cares of +her little household would probably not suffice to engage one whose active +mind had hitherto embraced so wide a field of action, and Mary then +bethought her how this leisure might be devoted to study and improvement. +It was only in the eager enthusiasm of her many pursuits that she buried +her sorrows over her neglected and imperfect education; and now a time was +approaching when that reflection could no longer be resisted. She pondered +long and deeply over these thoughts, when suddenly they were interrupted; +but in what way, deserves a chapter of its own,—albeit a very brief +one. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XVIII. MR. MERL'S EXPERIENCES IN THE WEST +</h2> +<p> +“What card is this?—who left it?” said Mary, as she took up one from +her breakfast-table. +</p> +<p> +“It is a gentleman that came to the inn late last night, miss, and sent a +boy over to ask when he could pay his respects at the castle.” + </p> +<p> +“'Mr. Herman Merl,'—a name I never heard of,” muttered Mary to +herself. “Doubtless some stranger wishing to see the house. Say, whenever +he pleases, George; and order Sorrel to be ready, saddled and at the door, +within an hour. This must be a busy day,” said she, still speaking to +herself, as the servant left the room. “At Oughterard before one; a +meeting of the Loan Fund—I shall need some aid for my hospital; the +Government order for the meal to be countersigned by a justice—Mr. +Nelligan will do it. Then there 's Taite's little boy to be balloted for +in the Orphan House; and Cassidy's son to be sent up to Dublin. Poor +fellow, he has a terrible operation to go through. And I shall need Priest +Rafferty's name to this memorial from the widows; the castle authorities +seem to require it. After that, a visit to Kyle-a-Noe, to see all my poor +sick folk: that will be a long business. I hope I may be able to get down +to the shore and learn some tidings of poor Joan. She never leaves my +thoughts, and yet I feel that no ill has befallen her.” + </p> +<p> +“The gentleman that sent the card, miss, is below stairs. He is with Mr. +Crow, at the hall-door,” said George. +</p> +<p> +“Show him into the drawing-room, George, and tell Mr. Crow to come here, I +wish to speak to him.” And before Mary had put away the papers and letters +which littered the table, the artist entered. +</p> +<p> +“Good morning, Mr. Crow,” said Mary, in return for a number of most +courteous salutations, which he was performing in a small semicircle in +front of her. “Who is your friend Mr.—'Mr. Herman Merl '?” read she, +taking up the card. +</p> +<p> +“A friend of your cousin's, Miss Mary,—of the Captain's. He brought +a letter from him; but he gave it to Scanlan, and somehow Mr. Maurice, I +believe, forgot to deliver it.” + </p> +<p> +“I have no recollection of it,” said she, still assorting the papers +before her. “What is this visit meant for,—curiosity, pleasure, +business? Does he wish to see the house?” + </p> +<p> +“I think it's Miss Martin herself he'd like to see,” said Crow, half +slyly. +</p> +<p> +“But why so? It's quite clear that I cannot show him any attentions. A +young girl, living as I do here, cannot be expected to receive guests. +Besides, I have other things to attend to. You must do the honors of Cro' +Martin, Mr. Crow. You must entertain this gentleman for me. I 'll order +luncheon before I go out, and I 'm sure you 'll not refuse me this +service.” + </p> +<p> +“I wish I knew a real service to render you, Miss Mary,” said he, with +unfeigned devotedness in his look as he spoke. +</p> +<p> +“I think I could promise myself as much,” said Mary, smiling kindly on +him. “Do you happen to know anything of this stranger, Mr. Crow?” + </p> +<p> +“Nothing, miss, beyond seeing him this week back at Kilkieran.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, I have heard of him, then,” broke in Mary. “It is of him the people +tell me such stories of benevolence and goodness. It was he that sent the +yawl out to Murran Island with oatmeal and potatoes for the poor. But I +thought they called him Mr. Barry?” + </p> +<p> +“To be sure they do; and he's another guess man from him below stairs. +This one here”—Mr. Crow now spoke in a whisper—“this one here +is a Jew, I 'd take the Testament on it, and I 'd not be surprised if he +was one of them thieving villains that they say robbed the Captain! All +the questions he does be asking about the property, and the rents, if they +'re well paid, and what arrears there are, shows me that he isn't here for +nothing.” + </p> +<p> +“I know nothing of what you allude to, Mr. Crow,” said she, half proudly; +“it would ill become <i>me</i> to pry into my cousin's affairs. At the +same time, if the gentleman has no actual business with me, I shall +decline to receive him.” + </p> +<p> +“He says he has, miss,” replied Crow. “He says that he wants to speak to +you about a letter he got by yesterday's post from the Captain.” + </p> +<p> +Mary heard this announcement with evident impatience; her head was, +indeed, too full of other cares to wish to occupy her attention with a +ceremonial visit. She was in no mood to accept the unmeaning compliments +of a new acquaintance. Shall we dare to insinuate, what after all is a +mere suspicion on our part, that a casual glance at her pale cheeks, +sunken eyes, and careworn features had some share in the obstinacy of her +refusal? She was not, indeed, “in looks,” and she knew it. “Must I repeat +it, Mr. Crow,” said she, peevishly, “that you can do all this for me, and +save me a world of trouble and inconvenience besides? If there should be—a +very unlikely circumstance—anything confidential to communicate, +this gentleman may write it.” And with this she left the room, leaving +poor Mr. Crow in a state of considerable embarrassment. Resolving to make +the best of his difficulty, he returned to the drawing-room, and +apologizing to Merl for Miss Martin's absence on matters of great +necessity, he conveyed her request that he would stop for luncheon. +</p> +<p> +“She ain't afraid of me, I hope?” said Merl. +</p> +<p> +“I trust not. I rather suspect she is little subject to fear upon any +score,” replied Crow. +</p> +<p> +“Well, I must say it's not exactly what I expected. The letter I hold here +from the Captain gives me to understand that his cousin will not only +receive me, but confer with and counsel me, too, in a somewhat important +affair.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, I forgot,” broke in Crow; “you are to write to her, she said,—that +is, if there really were anything of consequence, which you deemed +confidential, you know,—you were to write to her.” + </p> +<p> +“I never put my hand to paper, Mr. Crow, without well knowing why. When +Herman Merl signs anything, he takes time to consider what's in it,” said +the Jew, knowingly. +</p> +<p> +“Well, shall I show you the house,—there are some clever specimens +of the Dutch masters here?” asked Crow, anxious to change the topic. +</p> +<p> +“Ay, with all my heart. I suppose I must accept this privilege as my +experience of the much-boasted Irish hospitality,” said he with a sneer, +which required all Crow's self-control to resist answering. To master the +temptation, and give himself a few moments' repose, he went about opening +windows and drawing back curtains, so as to admit a fuller and stronger +light upon the pictures along the walls. +</p> +<p> +“There now,” said he, pointing to a large landscape, “there's a Both, and +a fine one too; as mellow in color and as soft in distance as ever he +painted.” + </p> +<p> +“That's a copy,” said the other. “That picture was painted by Woeffel, and +I 'll show you his initials, too, A. W., before we leave it.” + </p> +<p> +“It came from the Dordrecht gallery, and is an undoubted Both!” exclaimed +Crow, angrily. +</p> +<p> +“I saw it there myself, and in very suitable company, too, with a Snyders +on one side and a Rubens on t' other, the Snyders being a Faltk, and the +Rubens a Metziger; the whole three being positively dear at twenty pounds. +Ay, here it is,” continued he, pointing to the hollow trunk of a decayed +tree: “there's the initials. So much for your original by Both.” + </p> +<p> +“I hope you'll allow that to be a Mieris?” said Crow, passing on to +another. +</p> +<p> +“If you hadn't opened the shutters, perhaps I might,” said Merl; “but with +a good dash of light I see it is by Jansens,—and a clever copy, +too.” + </p> +<p> +“A copy!” exclaimed the other. +</p> +<p> +“A good copy,” I said. “The King of Bavaria has the original. It is in the +small collection at Hohen Schwangau.” + </p> +<p> +“There, that's good!” cried he, turning to a small unfinished sketch in +oils. +</p> +<p> +“I often wondered who did it,” cried Crow. +</p> +<p> +“That! Why, can you doubt, sir? That's a bit of Vandyke's own. It was one +of the hundred and fifty rough things he threw off as studies for his +great picture of St. Martin parting his cloak.” + </p> +<p> +“I'm glad to hear you say so,” said Crow, in delight. “I felt, when I +looked at it, that it was a great hand threw in them colors.” + </p> +<p> +“You call this a Salvator Rosa, don't you?” said Merl, as he stood before +a large piece representing a bandit's bivouac in a forest, with a pale +moonlight stealing through the trees. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, that we do,” said Crow, stoutly. +</p> +<p> +“Of course, it's quite sufficient to have blended lights, rugged +foregrounds, and plenty of action to make a Salvator; but let me tell you, +sir, that it's not even a copy of him. It is a bad—ay, and a very +bad—Haemlens,—an Antwerp fellow that lived by poor +facsimiles.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh dear, oh dear!” cried Crow, despairingly. “Did I ever hear the like of +this!” + </p> +<p> +“Are these your best things, Mr. Crow?” said Merl, surveying the room with +an air of consummate depreciation. +</p> +<p> +“There are others. There are some portraits and a number of small cabinet +pictures.” + </p> +<p> +“Gerard Dows, and Jansens, and such like?” resumed Merl; “I understand: a +mellow brown tint makes them, just as a glossy white satin petticoat makes +a Terburg. Mr. Crow, you 've caught a Tartar,” said he, with a grin. +“There's not a man in Europe can detect a copy from the original sooner +than him before you. Now seven out of every eight of these here are +veritable 'croûtes,'—what we call 'croûtes,' sir,—things sold +at Christie's, and sent off to the Continent to be hung up in old châteaux +in Flanders, or dilapidated villas in Italy, where your exploring +Englishman discovers them by rare good luck, and brings them home with him +as Cuyps or Claudes or Vandykes. I'll undertake,” said he, looking around +him,—“I'll undertake to furnish you with a gallery, in every respect +the duplicate of this, for—let me see—say three hundred +pounds. Now, Mr. Crow,” said Merl, taking a chair, and spreading out his +legs before the fire, “will you candidly answer me one question?” + </p> +<p> +“Tell me what it is,” said Crow, cautiously. +</p> +<p> +“I suppose by this time,” said Merl, “you are tolerably well satisfied +that Herman Merl is not very easily duped? I mean to say that at least +there are <i>softer</i> fellows to be found than the humble individual who +addresses you.” + </p> +<p> +“I trust there are, indeed,” said the other, sighing, “or it would be a +mighty poor world for Simmy Crow and the likes of him.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, I think so too,” said Merl, chuckling to himself. “The wide-awake +ones have rather the best of it. But, to come back to my question, I was +simply going to ask you if the whole of the Martin estate—house, +demesne, woods, gardens, quarries, farms, and fisheries—was not +pretty much of the same sort of thing as this here gallery?” + </p> +<p> +“How? What do you mean?” asked Crow, whose temper was barely, and with +some difficulty, restrainable. +</p> +<p> +“I mean, in plain words, a regular humbug,—that's all! and no more +the representative of real value than these daubs here are the works of +the great masters whose names they counterfeit.” + </p> +<p> +“Look here, sir,” said Crow, rising, and approaching the other with a face +of angry indignation, “for aught I know, you may be right about these +pictures. The chances are you are a dealer in such wares,—at least +you talk like one,—but of the family that lived under this roof, and +whose bread I have eaten for many a day, if you utter one word that even +borders on disrespect,—if you as much as hint at—” + </p> +<p> +What was to be the conclusion of Mr. Crow's menace we have no means of +recording, for a servant, rushing in at the instant, summoned the artist +with all speed to Miss Martin's presence. He found her, as he entered, +with flushed cheeks and eyes flashing angrily, in one of the deep recesses +of a window that looked out upon the lawn. +</p> +<p> +“Come here, sir,” cried she, hurriedly,—“come here, and behold a +sight such as you scarcely ever thought to look upon from these windows. +Look here!” And she pointed to an assemblage of about a hundred people, +many of whom were rudely armed with stakes, gathered around the chief +entrance of the castle. In the midst was a tall man, mounted upon a +wretched horse, who seemed from his gestures to be haranguing the mob, and +whom Crow speedily recognized to be Magennis of Barnagheela. +</p> +<p> +“What does all this mean?” asked he, in astonishment. +</p> +<p> +“It means this, sir,” said she, grasping his arm and speaking in a voice +thick from passionate eagerness. “That these people whom you see there +have demanded the right to enter the house and search it from basement to +roof. They are in quest of one that is missing; and although I have given +my word of honor that none such is concealed here, they have dared to +disbelieve me, and declare they will see for themselves. They might know +me better,” added she, with a bitter smile,—“they might know me +better, and that I no more utter a falsehood than I yield to a menace. +See!” exclaimed she, “they are passing through the flower-garden,—they +are approaching the lower windows. Take a horse, Mr. Crow, and ride for +Kiltimmon; there is a police-station there,—bring up the force with +you,—lose no time, I entreat you.” + </p> +<p> +“But how—leave you here all alone?” + </p> +<p> +“Have no fears on that score, sir,” said she, proudly; “they may insult +the roof that shelters me, to myself they will offer no outrage. But be +quick; away at once, and with speed!” + </p> +<p> +Had Mr. Crow been, what it must be owned had been difficult, a worse +horseman than he was, he would never have hesitated to obey this behest. +Ere many minutes, therefore, he was in the saddle and flying across +country at a pace such as he never imagined any energy could have exacted +from him. +</p> +<p> +“They have got a ladder up to the windows of the large drawing-room, Miss +Mary,” said a servant; “they'll be in before many minutes.” + </p> +<p> +Taking down two splendidly ornamented pistols from above the +chimney-piece, Mary examined the priming, and ordering the servant away, +she descended by a small private stair to the drawing-room beneath. +Scarcely, however, had she crossed the threshold than she was met by a man +eagerly hurrying away. Stepping back in astonishment, and with a face pale +as death, he exclaimed, “Is it Miss Martin?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir,” replied she, firmly; “and your name?” + </p> +<p> +“Mr. Merl—Herman Merl,” said he, with a stealthy glance towards the +windows, on the outside of which two fellows were now seated, +communicating with those below. +</p> +<p> +“This is not a moment for much ceremony, sir,” said she, promptly; “but +you are here opportunely. These people will have it that I am harboring +here one that they are in pursuit of. I have assured them of their error, +I have pledged my word of honor upon it, but they are not satisfied. They +declare that they will search the house, and <i>I</i> as firmly declare +they-shall not.” + </p> +<p> +“But the person is really not here?” broke in Merl. +</p> +<p> +“I have said so, sir,” rejoined she, haughtily. +</p> +<p> +“Then why not let them search? Egad, I'd say, look away to your heart's +content, pry into every hole and corner you please, only don't do any +mischief to the furniture—don't let any—” + </p> +<p> +“I was about to ask your assistance, sir, but your counsel saves me from +the false step. To one who proffers such wise advice, arguments like +these”—and she pointed to the pistols—“arguments like these +would be most distasteful; and yet let us see if others may not be of your +mind too.” And steadily aiming her weapon for a second or two, she sent a +ball through the window, about a foot above the head of one of the fellows +without. Scarcely had the report rung out and the splintering glass +fallen, than the two men leaped to the ground, while a wild cheer, half +derision, half anger, burst from the mob beneath. “Now, sir,” continued +she, with a smile of a very peculiar meaning, as she turned towards Merl,—“now, +sir, you will perceive that you have got into very indiscreet company, +such as I 'm sure Captain Martin's letter never prepared you for; and +although it is not exactly in accordance with the usual notions of Irish +hospitality to point to the door, perhaps you will be grateful to me when +I say that you can escape by that corridor. It leads to a stair which will +conduct you to the stable-yard. I'll order a saddle-horse for you. I +suppose you ride?” And really the glance which accompanied these words was +not a flattery. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0009" id="linkimage-0009"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/222.jpg" width="100%" alt="222 " /> +</div> +<p> +However the proposition might have met Mr.' Merl's wishes there is no +means of knowing, for a tremendous crash now interrupted the colloquy, and +the same instant the door of the drawing-room was burst open, and +Magennis, followed by a number of country people, entered. +</p> +<p> +“I told you,” cried he, rudely, “that I'd not be denied. It's your own +fault if you would drive me to enter here by force.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, sir, force has done it,” said she, taking a seat as she spoke. “I +am here alone, and you may be proud of the achievement!” The glance she +directed towards Merl made that gentleman shrink back, and eventually +slide noiselessly from the room, and escape from the scene altogether. +</p> +<p> +“If you'll send any one with me through the house, Miss Martin,” began +Magennis, in a tone of much subdued meaning—“No, sir,” broke she in—“no, +sir, I'll give no such order. You have already had my solemn word of +honor, assuring you that there was not any one concealed here. The same +incredulous disrespect you have shown to my word would accompany whatever +direction I gave to my servants. Go wherever you please; for the time you +are the master here. Mark me, sir,” said she, as, half crestfallen and in +evident shame, he was about to move from the room—“mark me, sir, if +I feel sorry that one who calls himself a gentleman should dishonor his +station by discrediting the word, the plighted word, of a lady, yet I can +forgive much to him whose feelings are under the impulse of passion. But +how shall I speak my contempt for <i>you</i>,”—and she turned a +withering look of scorn on the men who followed him,—“for you, who +have dared to come here to insult me,—I, that if you had the least +spark of honest manhood in your natures, you had died rather than have +offended? Is this your requital for the part I have borne amongst you? Is +it thus that you repay the devotion by which I have squandered all that I +possessed, and would have given my life, too, for you and yours? Is it +thus, think you, that your mothers and wives and sisters would requite me? +Or will they welcome you back from your day's work, and say, Bravely done? +You have insulted a lone girl in her home, outraged the roof whence she +never issued save to serve you, and taught her to believe that the taunts +your enemies cast upon you, and which she once took as personal affronts +to herself, that they are just and true, and as less than you merited. Go +back, men,” added she, in a voice trembling with emotion,—“go back, +while it is time. Go back in shame, and let me never know who has dared to +offer me this insult!” And she hid her face between her hands, and bent +down her head upon her lap. For several minutes she remained thus, +overwhelmed and absorbed by intensely painful emotion, and when she lifted +up her head, and looked around, they were gone! A solemn silence reigned +on every side; not a word, nor a footfall, could be heard. She rushed to +the window just in time to see a number of men slowly entering the wood, +amidst whom she recognized Magennis, leading his horse by the bridle, and +following the others, with bent-down head and sorrowful mien. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, thank Heaven for this!” cried she, passionately, as the tears gushed +out and coursed down her face. “Thank Heaven that they are not as others +call them—cold-hearted and treacherous, craven in their hour of +trial, and cruel in the day of their vengeance! I knew them better!” It +was long before she could sufficiently subdue her emotion to think calmly +of what had occurred. At last she bethought her of Mr. Merl, and +despatched a servant in his pursuit, with a polite request that he would +return. The man came up with Merl as he had reached the small gate of the +park, but no persuasions, no entreaties, could prevail on that gentleman +to retrace his steps; nay, he was frank enough to say, “He had seen quite +enough of the West,” and to invoke something very unlike benediction on +his head if he ever passed another day in Galway. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XIX. MR. MERL'S “LAST” IRISH IMPRESSION +</h2> +<p> +Never once turning his head towards Cro' Martin, Mr. Merl set out for +Oughterard, where, weary and footsore, he arrived that same evening. His +first care was to take some refreshment; his next to order horses for +Dublin early for the following morning. This done, he sat down to write to +Captain Martin, to convey to him what Merl designated as a “piece of his +mind,” a phrase which, in popular currency, is always understood to imply +the very reverse of any flattery. The truth was, Mr. Merl began to suspect +that his Irish liens were a very bad investment, that property in that +country was held under something like a double title, the one conferred by +law, the other maintained by a resolute spirit and a stout heart; that +parchments required to be seconded by pistols, and that he who owned an +estate must always hold himself in readiness to fight for it. +</p> +<p> +Now, these were all very unpalatable considerations. They rendered +possession perilous, they made sale almost impossible. In the cant phrase +of Ceylon, the Captain had sold him a wild elephant; or, to speak less +figuratively, disposed of what he well knew the purchaser could never +avail himself of. If Mr. Merl was an emblem of blandness and good temper +at the play-table, courteous and conceding at every incident of the game, +it was upon the very wise calculation that the politeness was profitable. +The little irregularities that he pardoned all gave him an insight into +the character of his antagonists; and where he appeared to have lost a +battle, he had gained more than a victory in knowledge of the enemy. +</p> +<p> +These blandishments were, however, no real part of the man's natural +temperament, which was eminently distrustful and suspicious, wary to +detect a blot, prompt and sharp to hit it. A vague, undefined impression +had now come over him that the Captain had overreached him; that even if +unincumbered,—which was far from the case,—this same estate +was like a forfeited territory, which to own a man must assert his mastery +with the strong hand of force. “I should like to see myself settling down +amongst those savages,” thought he, “collecting my rents with dragoons, or +levying a fine with artillery. Property, indeed! You might as well convey +to me by bill of sale the right over a drove of wild buffaloes in South +America, or give me a title to a given number of tigers in Bengal. He'd be +a bold man that would even venture to come and have a look at 'his own.'” + </p> +<p> +It was in this spirit, therefore, that he composed his epistle, which +assuredly lacked nothing on the score of frankness and candor. All his +“Irish impressions” had been unfavorable. He had eaten badly, he had slept +worse; the travelling was rude, the climate detestable; and lastly, where +he had expected to have been charmed with the ready wit, and amused with +the racy humor of the people, he had only been terrified—terrified +almost to death—by their wild demeanor, and a ferocity that made his +heart quake. “Your cousin,” said he,—“your cousin, whom, by the way, +I only saw for a few minutes, seemed admirably adapted to the exigencies +of the social state around her; and although ball practice has not been +included amongst the ordinary items of young ladies' acquirements, I am +satisfied that it might advantageously form part of an Irish education. +</p> +<p> +“As to your offer of a seat in Parliament, I can only say,” continued he, +“that as the Member of Oughterard I should always feel as though I were +seated over a barrel of gunpowder; while the very idea of meeting my +constituency makes me shudder. I am, however, quite sensible of the honor +intended me, both upon that score and in your proposal of my taking up my +residence at Cro' Martin. The social elevation, and so forth, to ensue +from such a course of proceeding would have this disadvantage,—it +would not pay! No, Captain Martin, the settlement between us must stand +upon another basis,—the very simple and matter-of-fact one called £ +s. d. I shall leave this to-morrow, and be in town, I hope, by Wednesday; +you can, therefore, give your man of business, Mr. Saunders, his +instructions to meet me at Wimpole's, and state what terms of liquidation +he is prepared to offer. Suffice it for the present to say that I decline +any arrangement which should transfer to me any portion of the estate. I +declare to you, frankly, I'd not accept the whole of it on the condition +of retaining the proprietorship.” + </p> +<p> +When Mr. Merl had just penned the last sentence, the door slowly and +cautiously was opened behind him, and a very much carbuncled face +protruded into the room. “Yes, that's himself,” muttered a voice; and ere +Merl had been able to detect the speaker, the door was closed. These +casual interruptions to his privacy had so frequently occurred since the +commencement of his tour, that he only included them amongst his other +Irish “disagreeables;” and so he was preparing to enter on another +paragraph, when a very decisive knock at the door startled him, and before +he could say “Come in,” a tall, red-faced, vulgar-looking man, somewhat +stooped in the shoulders, and with that blear-eyed watery expression so +distinctive in hard drinkers, slowly entered, and shutting the door behind +him, advanced to the fire. +</p> +<p> +“My name, sir, is Brierley,” said he, with a full, rich brogue. +</p> +<p> +“Brierley—Brierley—never heard of Brierley before,” said Mr. +Merl, affecting a flippant ease that was very remote from his heart. +</p> +<p> +“Better late than never, sir,” rejoined the other, coolly seating himself, +and crossing his arms on his breast. “I have come here on the part of my +friend Tom,—Mr. Magennis, I mean,—of Barnagheela, who told me +to track you out.” + </p> +<p> +“Much obliged, I'm sure, for the attention,” said Merl, with an assumed +smartness. +</p> +<p> +“That 's all right; so you should,” continued Brierley. “Tom told me that +you were present at Cro' Martin when he was outraged and insulted,—by +a female of course, or he wouldn't be making a complaint of it now,—and +as he is not the man that ever lay under a thing of the kind, or ever +will, he sent me here to you, to arrange where you 'd like to have it, and +when.” + </p> +<p> +“To have what?” asked Merl, with a look of unfeigned terror. +</p> +<p> +“Baythershin! how dull we are!” said Mr. Brierley, with a finger to his +very red nose. “Sure it's not thinking of the King's Bench you are, that +you want me to speak clearer.” + </p> +<p> +“I want to know your meaning, sir,—if you have a meaning.” + </p> +<p> +“Be cool, honey; keep yourself cool. Without you happen to find that +warmth raises your heart, I 'd say again, be cool. I've one simple +question to ask you,”—here he dropped his voice to a low, cautious +whisper,—“Will ye blaze?” + </p> +<p> +“Will I what?” cried Merl. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Brierley arose, and drawing himself up to his full height, extended +his arm in the attitude of one taking aim with a pistol. “Eh!” cried he, +“you comprehend me now, don't you?” + </p> +<p> +“Fight—fight a duel!” exclaimed Merl, aloud. +</p> +<p> +“Whisht! whisht! speak lower,” said Brierley; “there's maybe a chap +listening at the door this minute!” + </p> +<p> +Accepting the intimation in a very different spirit from that in which it +was offered, Merl rushed to the door, and threw it wide open. “Waiter!—landlord!—house!—waiter!” + screamed he, at the top of his voice. And in an instant three or four +slovenly-looking fellows, with dirty napkins in dirtier hands, surrounded +him. +</p> +<p> +“What is it, your honer?—what is it?” asked they, in a breath. +</p> +<p> +“Don't you hear what the gentleman's asking for?” said Brierley, with a +half-serious face. “He wants a chaise-to the door as quick as lightning. +He 's off this minute.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, by Jupiter! that I am,” said Merl, wiping the perspiration from his +forehead. +</p> +<p> +“Take your last look at the West, dear, as you pass the Shannon, for I +don't think you 'll ever come so far again,” said Brierley, with a grin, +as he moved by him to descend the stairs. +</p> +<p> +“If I do, may—” But the slam of his room-door, and the rattle of the +key as he locked it, cut short Mr. Merl's denunciation. +</p> +<p> +In less than half an hour afterwards a yellow post-chaise left the “Martin +Arms” at full speed, a wild yell of insult and derision greeting it as it +swept by, showing how the Oughterard public appreciated its inmate! +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XX. SOMETHING NOT EXACTLY FLIRTATION. +</h2> +<p> +Most travelled reader, have you ever stood upon the plateau at the foot of +the Alten-Schloss in Baden, just before sunset, and seen the golden glory +spread out like a sheen over the vast plain beneath you, with waving +forests, the meandering Rhine, and the blue Vosges mountains beyond all? +It is a noble landscape, where every feature is bold, and throughout which +light and shade alternate in broad, effective masses, showing that you are +gazing on a scene of great extent, and taking in miles of country with +your eye. It is essentially German, too, in its characteristics. The +swelling undulations of the soil, the deep, dark forests, the picturesque +homesteads, with shadowy eaves and carved quaint balconies, the great +gigantic wagons slowly toiling through the narrow lanes, over which the +“Lindens” spread a leafy canopy,—all are of the Vaterland. +</p> +<p> +Some fancied resemblance—it was in reality no more—to a view +from a window at Cro' Martin had especially endeared this spot to Martin, +who regularly was carried up each evening to pass an hour or so, dreaming +away in that half-unconsciousness to which his malady had reduced him. +There he sat, scarcely a remnant of his former self, a leaden dulness in +his eye, and a massive immobility in the features which once were plastic +with every passing mood that stirred him. The clasped hands and slightly +bent-down head gave a character of patient, unresisting meaning to his +figure, which the few words he dropped from time to time seemed to +confirm. +</p> +<p> +At a little distance off, and on the very verge of the cliff, Kate +Henderson was seated sketching; and behind her, occasionally turning to +walk up and down the terraced space, was Massingbred, once more in full +health, and bearing in appearance the signs of his old, impatient humor. +Throwing away his half-smoked cigar, and with a face whose expression +betokened the very opposite of all calm and ease of mind, he drew nigh to +where she sat, and watched her over her shoulder. For a while she worked +away without noticing his presence. At last she turned slightly about, and +looking up at him, said, “You see, it's very nearly finished.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0010" id="linkimage-0010"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/232.jpg" width="100%" alt="" /><br /> +</div> +<p> +alt="232 “> +</p> +<p> +“Well, and what then?” asked he, bluntly. +</p> +<p> +“Do you forget that I gave you until that time to change your opinion? +that when I was shadowing in this foreground I said, 'Wait 'till I have +done this sketch, and see if you be of the same mind,' and you agreed?” + </p> +<p> +“This might be very pleasant trifling if nothing were at stake, Miss +Henderson,” said he; “but remember that I cannot hold all my worldly +chances as cheaply as <i>you</i> seem to do them.” + </p> +<p> +“Light another cigar, and sit down here beside me,—I don't dislike +smoke, and it may, perchance, be a peace calumet between us; and let us +talk, if possible, reasonably and calmly.” + </p> +<p> +He obeyed like one who seemed to feel that her word was a command, and sat +down on the cliff at her side. +</p> +<p> +“There, now,” said she, “be useful; hold that color-case for me, and give +me your most critical counsel. Do you like my sketch?” + </p> +<p> +“Very much indeed.” + </p> +<p> +“Where do you find fault with it? There must be a fault, or your criticism +is worth nothing.” + </p> +<p> +“Its greatest blemish in my eyes is the time it has occupied you. Since +you began it you have very rarely condescended to speak of anything else.” + </p> +<p> +“A most unjust speech, and an ungrateful one. It was when throwing in +those trees yonder, I persuaded you to recall your farewell address to +your borough friends; it was the same day that I sketched that figure +there, that I showed you the great mistake of your present life. There is +no greater error, believe me, than supposing that a Parliamentary success, +like a social one, can be achieved by mere brilliancy. Party is an army, +and you must serve in the ranks before you can wear your epaulets.” + </p> +<p> +“I have told you already,—I tell you again,—I 'm tired of the +theme that has myself alone for its object.” + </p> +<p> +“Of whom would you speak, then?” said she, still intently busied with her +drawing. +</p> +<p> +“You ask me when you know well of whom,” said he, hurriedly. “Nay, no +menaces; I could not if I would be silent. It is impossible for me any +longer to continue this struggle with myself. Here now, before I leave +this spot, you shall answer me—” He stopped suddenly, as though he +had said more than he intended, or more than he well knew how to continue. +</p> +<p> +“Go on,” said she, calmly. And her fingers never trembled as they held the +brush. +</p> +<p> +“I confess I do envy that tranquil spirit of yours,” said he, bitterly. +“It is such a triumph to be calm, cold, and impassive at a moment when +others feel their reason tottering and their brain a chaos.” + </p> +<p> +“There is nothing so easy, sir,” said she, proudly. “All that I can boast +of is not to have indulged in illusions which seem to have a charm for <i>you</i>. +You say you want explicit-ness. You shall have it. There was one condition +on which I offered you my friendship and my advice. You accepted the +bargain, and we were friends. After a while you came and said that you +rued your compact; that you discovered your feelings for me went further; +that mere friendship, as you phrased it, would not suffice—” + </p> +<p> +“I told you, rather,” broke he in, “that I wished to put that feeling to +the last test, by linking your fortune with my own forever.” + </p> +<p> +“Very well, I accept that version. You offered to make me your wife, and +in return, I asked you to retract your words,—to suffer our +relations to continue on their old footing, nor subject me to the +necessity of an explanation painful to both of us. For a while you +consented; now you seem impatient at your concession, and ask me to resume +the subject. Be it so, but for the last time.” + </p> +<p> +Massingbred's cheeks grew deadly pale, but he never uttered a word. +</p> +<p> +After a second's pause, she resumed: “Your affections are less engaged in +this case than you think. You would make me your wife just as you would do +anything else that gave a bold defiance to the world, to show a +consciousness of your own power, to break down any obstacle, and make the +prejudices or opinions of society give way before you. You have energy and +self-esteem enough to make this succeed. Your wife—albeit the +steward's daughter—the governess! would be received, invited, +visited, and the rest of it; and so far as <i>you</i> were concerned the +triumph would be complete. Now, however, turn a little attention to the +other side of the medal. What is to requite <i>me</i> for all this +courtesy on sufferance, all this mockery of consideration? Where am I to +find my friendships, where even discover my duties? You only know of one +kind of pride, that of station and social eminence. I can tell you there +is another, loftier far,—the consciousness that no inequality of +position can obliterate, what I feel and know in myself of superiority to +those fine ladies whose favorable notice you would entreat for me. Smile +at the vanity of this declaration if you like, sir, but, at least, own +that I am consistent; for I am prouder in the independence of my present +dependence than I should be in all the state of Mr. Massingbred's wife. +You can see, therefore, that I could not accept this change as the great +elevation you would deem it. You would be stooping to raise one who could +never persuade herself that she was exalted. I am well aware that +inequality of one sort or another is the condition of most marriages. The +rank of one compensates for the wealth of the other. Here it is affluence +and age, there it is beauty and poverty. People treat the question in a +good commercial spirit, and balance the profit and loss like tradesfolk; +but even in this sense our compact would be impossible, since <i>you</i> +would endow me with what has no value in my eyes, and <i>I</i>, worse off +still, have absolutely nothing to give in return.” + </p> +<p> +“Give me your love, dearest Kate,” cried he, “and, supported by that, you +shall see that I deserve it. Believe me, it is your own proud spirit that +exaggerates the difficulties that would await us in society.” + </p> +<p> +“I should scorn myself if I thought of them,” broke she in, haughtily; +“and remember, sir, these are not the words of one who speaks in +ignorance. I, too, have seen that great world, on which your affections +are so fixed. I have mixed with it, and know it. Notwithstanding all the +cant of moralists, I do not believe it to be more hollow or more heartless +than other classes. Its great besetting sin is not of self-growth, for it +comes of the slavish adulation offered by those beneath it,—the +grovelling worship of the would-be fine folk, who would leave friends and +home and hearth to be admitted even to the antechambers of the great. They +who offer up this incense are in my eyes far more despicable than they who +accept the sacrifice; but I would not cast my lot with either. Do not +smile, sir, as if these were high-flown sentiments; they are the veriest +commonplaces of one who loves commonplace, who neither seeks affections +with coronets nor friendships in gold coaches, but who would still less be +of that herd—mute, astonished, and awe-struck—who worship +them!” + </p> +<p> +“You deem me, then, deficient in this same independence of spirit?” cried +Massingbred, half indignantly. +</p> +<p> +“I certainly do not accept your intention of marrying beneath you as a +proof of it. Must I again tell you, sir, that in such cases it is the +poor, weak, patient, forgotten woman pays all the penalty, and that, in +the very conflict with the world the man has his reward?” + </p> +<p> +“If you loved me, Kate,” said he, in a tone of deep sorrow, “it is not +thus you would discuss this question.” + </p> +<p> +She made no reply, but bending down lower over her drawing, worked away +with increased rapidity. +</p> +<p> +“Still,” cried he, passionately, “I am not to be deterred by a defeat. +Tell me, at least, how I can win that love, which is to me the great prize +of life. You read my faults, you see my shortcomings clearly enough; be +equally just, then, to anything there is of good or hopeful about me. Do +this, Kate, and I will put my fate upon the issue.” + </p> +<p> +“In plain words,” said she, calmly, “you ask me what manner of man I would +consent to marry. I 'll tell you. One who with ability enough to attain +any station, and talents to gain any eminence, has lived satisfied with +that in which he was born; one who has made the independence of his +character so felt by the world that his actions have been regarded as +standards, a man of honor and of his word; employing his knowledge of +life, not for the purposes of overreaching, but for self-correction and +improvement; well bred enough to be a peer, simple as a peasant; such a +man, in fact, as could afford to marry a governess, and, while elevating +her to his station, never compromise his own with his equals. I don't +flatter myself,” said she, smiling, “that I 'm likely to draw this prize; +but I console myself by thinking that I could not accept aught beneath it +as great fortune. I see, sir, the humility of my pretensions amuses you, +and it is all the better for both of us if we can treat these things +jestingly.” + </p> +<p> +“Nay, Kate, you are unfair—unjust,” broke in Mas-singbred. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Martin begins to feel it chilly, Miss Henderson,” said a servant at +this moment. “Shall we return to the hotel?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, by all means,” said she, rising hastily. The next instant she was +busily engaged shawling and muffling the sick man, who accepted her +attentions with the submissive-ness of a child. +</p> +<p> +“That will do, Molly, thank you, darling,” said he, in a feeble voice; +“you are so kind, so good to me.” + </p> +<p> +“The evening is fresh, sir, almost cold,” said she. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, dear, the climate is not what it used to be. We have cut down too +many of those trees, Molly, yonder.” And he pointed with his thin fingers +towards the Rhine. “We have thinned the wood overmuch, but they'll grow +again, dear, though I shall not be here to see them.” + </p> +<p> +“He thinks I am his niece,” whispered Kate, “and fancies himself at Cro' +Martin.” + </p> +<p> +“I suppose they'll advise my trying a warm country, Molly, a milder air,” + muttered he, as they slowly carried him along. “But home, after all, is +home; one likes to see the old faces and the old objects around them,—all +the more when about to leave them forever!” And as the last words came, +two heavy tears stole slowly along his cheeks, and his pale lips quivered +with emotion. Now speaking in a low, weak voice to himself, now sighing +heavily, as though in deep depression, he was borne along towards the +hotel. Nor did the gay and noisy groups which thronged the thoroughfares +arouse him. He saw them, but seemed not to heed them. His dreary gaze +wandered over the brilliant panorama without interest or speculation. Some +painful and difficult thoughts, perhaps, did all these unaccustomed sights +and sounds bring across his mind, embarrassing him to reconcile their +presence with the scene he fancied himself beholding; but even these +impressions were faint and fleeting. +</p> +<p> +As they turned to cross the little rustic bridge in front of the hotel, a +knot of persons moved off the path to make way for them, one of whom fixed +his eyes steadily on the sick man, gazing with the keen scrutiny of +intense interest; then suddenly recalling himself to recollection, he +hastily retreated within the group. +</p> +<p> +“You are right,” muttered he to one near him, “he <i>is</i> 'booked;' my +bond will come due before the month ends.” + </p> +<p> +“And you'll be an estated gent, Herman, eh?” said a very dark-eyed, +hook-nosed man at his side. +</p> +<p> +“Well, I hope I shall act the part as well as my neighbors,” said Mr. +Merl, with that mingled assurance and humility that made up his manner. +</p> +<p> +“Was n't that Massingbred that followed them,—he that made the +famous speech the other day in Parliament?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes,” said Merl. “I 've got a bit of 'stiff' with his endorsement in my +pocket this minute for one hundred and fifty.” + </p> +<p> +“What's it worth, Merl?” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps ten shillings; but I 'd not part with it quite so cheaply. He'll +not always be an M.P., and we shall see if he can afford to swagger by an +old acquaintance without so much as a 'How d' ye do?'” + </p> +<p> +“There, he is coming back again,” said the other. And at the same moment +Massingbred walked slowly up to the spot, his easy smile upon his face, +and his whole expression that of a careless, unburdened nature. +</p> +<p> +“I just caught a glimpse of you as I passed, Merl,” said he, with a +familiar nod; “and you were exactly the man I wanted to see.” + </p> +<p> +“Too much honor, sir,” said Merl, affecting a degree of haughty distance +at the familiarity of this address. +</p> +<p> +Massingbred smiled at the mock dignity, and went on; “I have something to +say to you. Will you give me a call this evening at the Cour de Bade, say +about nine or half-past?” + </p> +<p> +“I have an engagement this evening.” + </p> +<p> +“Put it off, then, that's all, Master Merl, for mine is an important +matter, and very nearly concerns yourself.” + </p> +<p> +Merl was silent. He would have liked much to display before his friends a +little of the easy dash and swagger that he had just been exhibiting, to +have shown them how cavalierly he could treat a rising statesman and a +young Parliamentary star of the first order; but the question crossed him, +Was it safe? what might the luxury cost him? “Am I to bring that little +acceptance of yours along with me?” said he, in a half whisper, while a +malicious sparkle twinkled in his eye. +</p> +<p> +“Why not, man? Certainly, if it gives you the least pleasure in life; only +don't be later than half-past nine.” And with one of his sauciest laughs +Massingbred moved away, leaving the Jew very far from content with “the +situation.” + </p> +<p> +Merl, however, soon rallied. He had been amusing his friends, just before +this interruption, with a narrative of his Irish journey: he now resumed +the theme. All that he found faulty, all even that he deemed new or +strange or unintelligible in that unhappy country, he had dressed up in +the charming colors of his cockney vocabulary, and his hearers were worthy +of him! There is but little temptation, however, to linger in their +company, and so we leave them. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXI. LADY DOROTHEA +</h2> +<p> +The Cour de Bade, at which excellent hotel the Martins were installed, +received on the day we have just chronicled a new arrival. He had come by +the diligence, one of that undistinguishable ten thousand England sends +off every week from her shores to represent her virtues or her vices, her +oddities, vulgarities, and pretensions, to the critical eyes of +continental Europe. +</p> +<p> +Perfectly innocent of any foreign language, and with a delightful +ambiguity as to the precise geography of where he stood, he succeeded, +after some few failures, in finding out where the Martins stopped, and had +now sent up his name to Lady Dorothea, that name being “Mr. Maurice +Scanlan.” + </p> +<p> +Lady Dorothea Martin had given positive orders that except in the +particular case of this individual she was not to be interrupted by any +visitor. She glanced her eye at the card, and then handed it across the +table to her son, who coolly read it, and threw it from him with the air +of one saying to himself, “Here's more of it! more complication, more +investigation, deeper research into my miserable difficulties, and +consequently more unhappiness.” The table at which they were seated was +thickly covered with parchments, papers, documents, and letters of every +shape and size. There were deeds, and bonds, and leases, rent-rolls, and +valuations, and powers of attorney, and all the other imposing accessories +of estated property. There were also voluminous bills of costs, formidable +long columns of figures, “carried over” and “carried over” till the very +eye of the reader wearied of the dread numerals and turned recklessly to +meet the awful total at the bottom! Terrified by the menacing applications +addressed to Mr. Martin on his son's account, and which arrived by every +post, Lady Dorothea had resolved upon herself entering upon the whole +state of the Captain's liabilities, as well as the complicated questions +of the property generally. +</p> +<p> +Distrust of her own powers was not in the number of her Ladyship's +defects. Sufficiently affluent to be always able to surround herself with +competent subordinates, she fancied—a not very uncommon error, by +the way—that she individually accomplished all that she had obtained +through another. Her taste in the fine arts, her skill in music, her +excellence as a letter-writer, were all accomplishments in this wise; and +it is not improbable that, had she been satisfied to accept her success in +finance through a similar channel, the result might have proved just as +fortunate. A shrinking dislike, however, to expose the moneyed +circumstances of the family, and a feeling of dread as to the possible +disclosures which should come out, prevented her from accepting such +co-operation. She had, therefore, addressed herself to the task with no +other aid than that of her son,—a partnership, it must be owned, +which relieved her very little of her burden. +</p> +<p> +Had the Captain been called away from the pleasures and amusements of life +to investigate the dry records of some far-away cousin's embarrassments,—to +dive into the wearisome narrative of money-borrowing, bill-renewing, and +the rest of it, by one whom he had scarcely known or seen,—his +manner and bearing could not possibly have betrayed stronger signs of +utter weariness and apathy than he now exhibited. Smoking his cigar, and +trimming his nails with a very magnificent penknife, he gave short and +listless replies to her Ladyship's queries, and did but glance at the +papers which from time to time she handed to him for explanation or +inquiry. +</p> +<p> +“So he is come at last!” exclaimed she, as the Captain threw down the +visiting-card. “Shall we see him at once?” + </p> +<p> +“By Jove! I think we've had enough of 'business,' as they call it, for one +morning,” cried he. “Here have we been since a little after eleven, and it +is now four, and I am as sick of accounts and figures as though I were a +Treasury clerk.” + </p> +<p> +“We have done next to nothing, after all!” said she, peevishly. +</p> +<p> +“And I told you as much when you began,” said he, lighting a fresh cigar. +“There's no seeing one's way through these kind of things after the lapse +of a year or two. Fordyce gets hold of the bills you gave Mossop, and +Rawkins buys up some of the things you had given renewals for, and then +all that trash you took in part payment of your acceptances turns up, some +day or other, to be paid for; and what between the bills that never were +to be negotiated—but somehow do get abroad—and the sums sent +to meet others applied in quite a different direction, I'll lay eighty to +fifty in tens or ponies there's no gentleman living ever mastered one of +these embarrassments. One must be bred to it, my Lady, take my word for +it. It's like being a crack rider or a poet,—it's born with a man. +'The Henderson,'” added he, after a pause, “she can do it, and I should +like to see what she couldn't!” + </p> +<p> +“I am curious to learn how you became acquainted with these financial +abilities of Miss Henderson?” said Lady Dorothea, haughtily. +</p> +<p> +“Simply enough. I was poring over these confounded accounts one day at +Manheim, and I chanced to ask her a question,—something about +compound interest, I think it was,—and so she came and looked over +what I was doing, or rather endeavoring to do. It was that affair with +Throgmorton, where I was to meet one third of the bills, and Merl and he +were to look to the remainder; but there was a reservation that if Comus +won the Oaks, I was to stand free—no, that's not it—if Comus +won the double event—” + </p> +<p> +“Never mind your stupid contract. What of Miss Henderson?” broke in Lady +Dorothea. +</p> +<p> +“Well, she came over, as I told you, and took up a pencil and began +working away with all sorts of signs and crosses,—regular algebra, +by Jove!—and in about five minutes out came the whole thing, all +square, showing that I stood to win on either event, and came off +splendidly if the double should turn up. 'I wish,' said I to her, 'you 'd +just run your eye over my book and see how I stand.' She took it over to +the fire, and before I could well believe she had glanced at it, she said: +'This is all full of blunders. You have left yourself open to three +casualties, any one of which will sweep away all your winnings. Take the +odds on Roehampton, and lay on Slingsby a couple of hundred more,—three, +if you can get it,—and you 'll be safe enough. And when you 've done +that,' said she, 'I have another piece of counsel to give; but first say +will you take it?' 'I give you my word upon it,' said I. 'Then it is +this,' said she: 'make no more wagers on the turf. You haven't skill to +make what is called a “good book,” and you 'll always be a sufferer.'” + </p> +<p> +“Did n't she vouchsafe to offer you her admirable assistance?” asked her +Ladyship, with a sneer. +</p> +<p> +“No, by Jove!” said he, not noticing the tone of sarcasm; “and when I +asked her, 'Would not she afford me a little aid?' she quickly said, 'Not +on any account. You are now in a difficulty, and I willingly come forward +to extricate you. Far different were the case should I conspire with you +to place others in a similar predicament. Besides, I have your pledge that +you have now done with these transactions, and forever.'” + </p> +<p> +“What an admirable monitor! One only wonders how so much morality coexists +with such very intimate knowledge of ignoble pursuits.” + </p> +<p> +“By Jove! she knows everything,” broke in the Captain. “Such a canter as +she gave me t' other morning about idleness and the rest of it, saying how +I ought to study Hindostanee, and get a staff appointment, and so on,—that +every one ought to place himself above the accidents of fortune; and when +I said something about having no opportunity at hand, she replied, 'Never +complain of that; begin with <i>me</i>. I know quite enough to initiate +you; and as to Sanscrit, I 'm rather “up” in it.'” + </p> +<p> +“I trust you accepted the offer?” said her Ladyship, with an ambiguous +smile. +</p> +<p> +“Well, I can't say I did. I hate work,—at least that kind of work. +Besides, one doesn't like to come out 'stupid' in these kind of things, +and so I merely said, 'I 'd think of it—very kind of her,' and so +on.” + </p> +<p> +“Did it never occur to you all this while,” began her Ladyship; and then +suddenly correcting herself, she stopped short, and said, “By the way, Mr. +Scanlan is waiting for his answer. Ring the bell, and let him come in.” + </p> +<p> +Perhaps it was the imperfect recollection of that eminent individual,—perhaps +the altered circumstances in which she now saw him, and possibly some +actual changes in the man himself,—but really Lady Dorothea almost +started with surprise as he entered the room, dressed in a dark pelisse, +richly braided and frogged, an embroidered travelling-cap in his hand, and +an incipient moustache on his upper lip,—all evidencing how rapidly +he had turned his foreign experiences to advantage. There was, too, in his +address a certain confident assurance that told how quickly the habits of +the “Table d'hôte” had impressed him, and how instantaneously his nature +had imbibed the vulgar ease of the “Continent.” + </p> +<p> +“You have just arrived, Mr. Scanlan?” said her Ladyship, haughtily, and +not a little provoked at the shake-hand salutation her son had accorded +him. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lady, this instant, and such a journey as we 've had! No water on +the Rhine for the steamers; and then, when we took to the land, a perfect +deluge of rain, that nearly swept us away. At Eisleben, or some such name, +we had an upset.” + </p> +<p> +“What day did you leave Ireland?” asked she, in utter indifference as to +the casualty. +</p> +<p> +“Tuesday fortnight last, my Lady. I was detained two days in Dublin making +searches—” + </p> +<p> +“Have you brought us any letters, sir?” + </p> +<p> +“One from Miss Mary, my Lady, and another from Mr. Repton—very +pressing he said it was. I hope Mr. Martin is better? Your Ladyship's last—” + </p> +<p> +“Not much improvement,” said she, stiffly, while her thin lips were +compressed with an expression that might mean pride or sorrow, or both. +</p> +<p> +“And the country, sir? How did you leave it looking?” + </p> +<p> +“Pretty well, my Lady. More frightened than hurt, as a body might say. +They 've had a severe winter, and a great deal of sickness; the rains, +too, have done a deal of mischief; but on the whole matters are looking up +again.” + </p> +<p> +“Will the rents be paid, sir?” asked she, sharply. +</p> +<p> +“Indeed, I hope so, my Lady. Some, of course, will be backward, and beg +for time, and a few more will take advantage of Magennis's success, and +strive to fight us off.” + </p> +<p> +“There must have been some gross mismanagement in that business, sir,” + broke in her Ladyship. “Had I been at home, I promise you the matter would +have ended differently.” + </p> +<p> +“Mr. Repton directed all the proceedings himself, my Lady. He conferred +with Miss Mary.” + </p> +<p> +“What could a young lady know about such matters?” said she, angrily. “Any +prospect of a tenant for the house, sir?” + </p> +<p> +“If your Ladyship really decides on not going back—” + </p> +<p> +“Not the slightest intention of doing so, sir. If it depended upon me, I'd +rather pull it down and sell the materials than return to live there. You +know yourself, sir, the utter barbarism we were obliged to submit to. No +intercourse with the world—no society—very frequently no +communication by post. Surrounded by a set of ragged creatures, all +importunity and idleness, at one moment all defiance and insolence, at the +next crawling and abject. But it is really a theme I cannot dwell upon. +Give me your letters, sir, and let me see you this evening.” And taking +the papers from his hand, she swept out of the room in a haughty state. +</p> +<p> +The Captain and Mr. Scanlan exchanged looks, and were silent, but their +glances were far more intelligible than aught either of them would have +ventured to say aloud; and when the attorney's eyes, having followed her +Ladyship to the door, turned and rested on the Captain, the other gave a +brief short nod of assent, as though to say, “Yes, you are right; she's +just the same as ever.” + </p> +<p> +“And <i>you</i>, Captain,” said Scanlan, in his tone of natural +familiarity,—“how is the world treating <i>you?</i>” + </p> +<p> +“Devilish badly, Master Scanlan.” + </p> +<p> +“Why, what is it doing, then?” + </p> +<p> +“I'll tell you what it's doing! It's charging me fifty—ay, sixty per +cent; it's protesting my bills, stimulating my blessed creditors to +proceed against me, worrying my very life out of me with letters. Letters +to the governor, letters to the Horse Guards, and, last of all, it has +just lamed Bonesetter, the horse 'I stood to win' on for the Chester Cup, +I would n't have taken four thousand for my book yesterday morning!” + </p> +<p> +“Bad news all this.” + </p> +<p> +“I believe you,” said he, lighting a cigar, and throwing another across +the table to Scanlan. “It's just bad news, and I have nothing else for +many a long day past. A fellow of your sort, Master Maurice, punting away +at county races and small sweepstakes, has a precious deal better time of +it than a captain of the King's Hussars with his head and shoulders in the +Fleet.” + </p> +<p> +“Come, come, who knows but luck will turn, Captain? Make a book on the +Oaks.” + </p> +<p> +“I've done it; and I'm in for it, too,” said the other, savagely. +</p> +<p> +“Raise a few thousands, you can always sell a reversion.” + </p> +<p> +“I have done that also,” said he, still more angrily. +</p> +<p> +“With your position and advantages you could always marry well. If you'd +just beat up the manufacturing districts, you'd get your eighty thousand +as sure as I'm here! And then matrimony admits of a man's changing all his +habits. He can sell off hunters, get rid of a racing stable, and twenty +other little embarrassments, and only gain character by the economy.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't care a brass farthing for that part of the matter, Scanlan. No +man shall dictate to me how I 'm to spend my money. Do you just find me +the tin, and I 'll find the talent to scatter it.” + </p> +<p> +“If it can't be done by a post-obit—” + </p> +<p> +“I tell you, sir,” cried Martin, peevishly, “as I have told you before, +that has been done. There is such a thing as pumping a well dry, is n't +there?” + </p> +<p> +Scanlan made a sudden exclamation of horror; and after a pause, said, +“Already!” + </p> +<p> +“Ay, sir, already!” + </p> +<p> +“I had my suspicions about it,” muttered Scanlan, gloomily. +</p> +<p> +“You had? And how so, may I beg to ask?” said Martin, angrily. +</p> +<p> +“I saw him down there, myself.” + </p> +<p> +“Saw whom? Whom are you talking of?” + </p> +<p> +“Of that Jew, of course. Mr. Merl, he calls himself.” + </p> +<p> +A faint groan was all Martin's reply, as he turned away to hide his face. +</p> +<p> +Scanlan watched him for a minute or so, and then resumed: “I guessed at +once what he was at; <i>he</i> never deceived me, talking about snipe and +woodcocks, and pretending to care about hare-hunting. I saw my man at a +glance. 'It's not sporting ever brought you down to these parts,' said I. +'<i>Your</i> game is young fellows, hard up for cash, willing to give up +their birthright for a few thousands down, and never giving a second +thought whether they paid twenty per cent, or a hundred and twenty.' Well, +well, Captain, you ought to have told me all about it. There wasn't a man +in Ireland could have putted you through like myself.” + </p> +<p> +“How do you mean?” cried Martin, hurriedly. +</p> +<p> +“Sure, when he was down in the West, what was easier? Faix, if I had only +had the wind of a word that matters were so bad, I 'd have had the papers +out of him long ago. You shake your head as if you did n't believe me; but +take my word for it, I 'm right, sir. I 'd put a quarrel on him.” + </p> +<p> +“<i>He'd</i> not fight you!” said Martin, turning away in disappointment. +</p> +<p> +“Maybe he wouldn't; but mightn't he be robbed? Couldn't he be waylaid, and +carried off to the Islands? There was no need to kill him. Intimidation +would do it all! I'd lay my head upon a block this minute if I would n't +send him back to London without the back of a letter in his company; and +what's more, a pledge that he 'd never tell what's happened to him!” + </p> +<p> +“These cockney gents are more 'wide awake' than you suspect, Master +Maurice, and the chances are that he never carried a single paper or +parchment along with him.” + </p> +<p> +“Worse for him, then,” said Scanlan. “He'd have to pass the rest of his +days in the Arran Islands. But I'm not so sure he's as 'cute as you think +him,” added Maurice, after a pause. “He left a little note-book once +behind him that told some strange stories, by all accounts.” + </p> +<p> +“What was that you speak of?” cried Martin, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“I did n't see it myself, but Simmy Crow told me of it; and that it was +full of all the fellows he ruined,—how much he won from this man, +what he carried off from that; and, moreover, there was your own name, and +the date of the very evening that he finished you off! It was something in +this wise: 'This night's work makes me an estated gentleman, <i>vice</i> +Harry Martin, Esquire, retired upon less than half-pay!'” + </p> +<p> +A terrible oath, uttered in all the vehemence of a malediction, burst from +Martin, and seizing Scanlan's wrist, he shook his arm in an agony of +passion. +</p> +<p> +“I wish I had given you a hint about him, Master Scanlan,” said he, +savagely. +</p> +<p> +“It's too late to think of it now, Captain,” said the other; “the fellow +is in Baden.” + </p> +<p> +“Here?” asked Martin. +</p> +<p> +“Ay. He came up the Rhine along with me; but he never recognized me,—on +account of my moustaches perhaps,—he took me for a Frenchman or a +German, I think. We parted at Mayence, and I saw no more of him.” + </p> +<p> +“I would that I was to see no more of him!” said Martin, gloomily, as he +walked into another room, banging the door heavily behind him. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXII. HOW PRIDE MEETS PRIDE +</h2> +<p> +Kate Henderson sat alone in her room reading a letter from her father, her +thoughtful brow a shade more serious perhaps than its wont, and at times a +faint, half-sickly smile moving her dimpled cheek. The interests of our +story have no concern with that letter, save passingly, nor do we regret +it. Enough, if we say it was in reply to one of her own, requesting +permission to return home, until, as she phrased it, she could “obtain +another service.” That the request had met scant favor was easy to see, +as, folding up the letter, she laid it down beside her with a sigh and a +muttered “I thought as much!—'So long as her Ladyship is pleased to +accept of your services,'” said she, repeating aloud an expression of the +writer. “Well, I suppose he's right; such is the true reading of the +compact, as it is of every compact where there is wealth on one side, +dependence on the other! Nor should I complain,” said she, still more +resolutely, “if these same services could be rendered toilfully, but +costing nothing of self-sacrifice in honorable feeling. I could be a +drudge—a slave—to-morrow; I could stoop to any labor; but I +cannot—no, I cannot—descend to companionship! They who hire +us,” cried she, rising, and pacing the room in slow and measured tread, +“have a right to our capacity. We are here to do their bidding; but they +can lay no claim to that over which we ourselves have no control—our +sympathies, our affections—we cannot sell these; we cannot always +give them, even as a gift.” She paused, and opening the letter, read it +for some seconds, and then flinging it down with a haughty gesture, said, +“'Nothing menial—nothing to complain of in my station!' Can he not +see that there is no such servitude as that which drags out existence, by +subjecting, not head and hands, but heart and soul, to the dictates of +another? The menial—the menial has the best of it. Some stipulate +that they are not to wear a livery; but what livery exacts such +degradation as this?” And she shook the rich folds of her heavy silk dress +as she spoke. The tears rose up and dimmed her eyes, but they were tears +of offended pride, and as they stole slowly along her cheeks, her features +acquired an expression of intense haughtiness. “They who train their +children to this career are but sorry calculators!—educating them +but to feel the bitter smart of their station, to see more clearly the +wide gulf that separates them from what they live amongst!” said she, in a +voice of deep emotion. +</p> +<p> +“Her Ladyship, Miss Henderson,” said a servant, throwing wide the door, +and closing it after the entrance of Lady Dorothea, who swept into the +room in her haughtiest of moods, and seated herself with all that +preparation that betokened a visit of importance. +</p> +<p> +“Take a seat, Miss Henderson,” said she. And Kate obeyed in silence. “If +in the course of what I shall have to say to you,” resumed her Ladyship,—“if +in what I shall feel it my <i>duty</i> to say to you, I may be betrayed +into any expression stronger than in a calmer moment would occur to me,—stronger +in fact, than strict justice might warrant—” + </p> +<p> +“I beg your Ladyship's pardon if I interrupt, but I would beg to remark—” + </p> +<p> +“What?” said Lady Dorothea, proudly. +</p> +<p> +“That simply your Ladyship's present caution is the best security for +future propriety. I ask no other.” + </p> +<p> +“You presume too far, young lady. I cannot answer that <i>my</i> temper +may not reveal sentiments that my judgment or my breeding might prefer to +keep in abeyance.” + </p> +<p> +“If the sentiments be there, my Lady, I should certainly say, better to +avow them,” said Kate, with an air of most impassive coldness. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm not aware that I have asked your advice on that head, Miss +Henderson,” said she, almost insolently. “At the same time, your habits of +late in this family may have suggested the delusion.” + </p> +<p> +“Will your Ladyship pardon me if I confess I do not understand you?” + </p> +<p> +“You shall have little to complain of on that score, Miss Henderson; I +shall not speak in riddles, depend upon it. Nor should that be an obstacle +if your intelligence were only the equal of your ambition.” + </p> +<p> +“Now, indeed, is your Ladyship completely beyond me.” + </p> +<p> +“Had you felt that I was as much 'above' you, Miss Henderson, it were more +to the purpose.” + </p> +<p> +“I sincerely hope that I have never forgotten all the deference I owe your +Ladyship,” said Kate. Nor could humble words have taken a more humble +accent; and yet they availed little to conciliate her to whom they were +addressed; nay, this very humility seemed to irritate and provoke her to a +greater show of temper, as with an insolent laugh she said,—“This +mockery of respect never imposed on we, young lady. I have been bred and +born in a rank where real deference is so invariable that the fictitious +article is soon detected, had there been any hardy enough to attempt it.” + </p> +<p> +Kate made no other answer to this speech than a deep inclination of her +head. It might mean assent, submission, anything. +</p> +<p> +“You may remember, Miss Henderson,” said her Ladyship, with all the +formality of a charge in her manner,—“you may remember that on the +day I engaged your services you were obliging enough to furnish me with a +brief summary of your acquirements.” She paused, as if expecting some +intimation of assent, and after an interval of a few seconds, Kate smiled, +and said,—“It must have been a very meagre catalogue, my Lady.” + </p> +<p> +“Quite the reverse. It was a perfect marvel to me how you ever found time +to store your mind with such varied information; and yet, notwithstanding +that imposing array of accomplishments, I now find that your modesty—perhaps +out of deference to my ignorance—withheld fully as many more.” + </p> +<p> +Kate's look of bewilderment at this speech was the only reply she made. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, of course you do not understand me,” said Lady Dorothea, sneeringly; +“but I mean to be most explicit. Have you any recollection of the +circumstance I allude to?” + </p> +<p> +“I remember perfectly the day, madam, I waited on you for the first time.” + </p> +<p> +“That's exactly what I mean. Now, pray, has any portion of our discourse +dwelt upon your mind?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lady; a remark of your Ladyship's made a considerable impression +upon me at the moment, and has continued frequently to rise to my +recollection since that.” + </p> +<p> +“May I ask what it was?” + </p> +<p> +“It was with reference to the treatment I had been so long accustomed to +in the family of the Duchesse de Luygnes, and which your Ladyship +characterized by an epithet I have never forgotten. At the time I thought +it severe; I have learned to see it just. You called it an 'irreparable +mischief.' Your Ladyship said most truly.” + </p> +<p> +“I was never more convinced of the fact than at this very moment,” said +Lady Dorothea, as a flush of anger covered her cheek. “The ill-judging +condescension of your first protectors has left a very troublesome legacy +for their successors. Your youth and inexperience—I do not desire to +attribute it to anything more reprehensible—led you, probably, into +an error regarding the privileges you thus enjoyed, and you fancied that +you owed to your own claims what you were entirely indebted to from the +favor of others.” + </p> +<p> +“I have no doubt that the observation of your Ladyship is quite correct,” + said Kate, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“I sincerely wish that the conviction had impressed itself upon your +conduct then,” said Lady Dorothea, whose temper was never so outraged as +by the other's self-possession. “Had such been the case, I might have +spared myself the unpleasantness of my present task.” Her passion was now +fully roused, and with redoubled energy she continued: “Your ambition has +taken a high flight, young lady, and, from the condescension by which I +accorded you a certain degree of influence in this family, you have +aspired to become its head. Do not affect any misconception of my meaning. +My son has told me everything—everything—from your invaluable +aid to him in his pecuniary difficulties, to your sage counsels on his +betting-book; from the admirable advice you gave him as to his studies, to +the disinterested offer of your own tuition. Be assured if <i>he</i> has +not understood all the advantages so generously presented to him, I, at +least, appreciate them fully. I must acknowledge you have played your game +cleverly, and you have made the mock independence of your character the +mask of your designs. With another than myself you might have succeeded, +too,” said her Ladyship, with a smile of bitter irony; “but <i>I</i> have +few self-delusions, Miss Henderson, nor is there amongst the number that +of believing that any one serves me, in any capacity, from any devotion to +my own person. I natter myself, at least, that I have so much of +humility.” + </p> +<p> +“If I understand your Ladyship aright, I am charged with some designs on +Captain Martin?” said Kate, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; precisely so,” said Lady Dorothea, haughtily. +</p> +<p> +“I can only protest that I am innocent of all such, my Lady,” said she, +with an expression of great deference. “It is a charge that does not admit +of any other refutation, since, if I appeal to my conduct, your Ladyship's +suspicions would not exculpate me.” + </p> +<p> +“Certainly not.” + </p> +<p> +“I thought so. What, then, can I adduce? I'm sure your Ladyship's own +delicacy will see that this is not a case where testimony can be invoked. +I cannot—you would not ask me to—require an acquittal from the +lips of Captain Martin himself; humble as I stand here, my Lady, you never +could mean to expose me to this humiliation.” For the first time did her +voice falter, and a sickly paleness came over her as she uttered the last +words. +</p> +<p> +“The humiliation which you had intended for this family, Miss Henderson, +is alone what demands consideration from <i>me</i>. If what you call your +exculpation requires Captain Martin's presence, I confess I see no +objection to it.” + </p> +<p> +“It is only, then, because your Ladyship is angry with me that you could +bring yourself to think so, especially since another and much easier +solution of the difficulty offers itself.” + </p> +<p> +“How so? What do you mean?” + </p> +<p> +“To send me home, madam.” + </p> +<p> +“I understand you, young lady. I am to send you back to your father's +house as one whose presence here was too dangerous, whose attractions +could only be resisted by means of absence and distance. A very +interesting martyrdom might have been made of it, I 've no doubt, and even +some speculation as to the conduct of a young gentleman so suddenly +bereaved of the object of his affections. But all this is much too +dignified for me. <i>My</i> son shall be taught to respect himself without +the intervention of any contrivance.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0011" id="linkimage-0011"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/256.jpg" width="100%" alt="256 " /> +</div> +<p> +As she uttered the last words, she arose and approached the bell. +</p> +<p> +“Your Ladyship surely is not going—” + </p> +<p> +“I am going to send for Captain Martin, Miss Henderson.” + </p> +<p> +“Do not, I entreat of you,—I implore your Ladyship,” cried Kate, +with her clasped hands trembling as she spoke. +</p> +<p> +“This agitation is not without a cause, and would alone decide me to call +for my son.” + </p> +<p> +“If I have ever deserved well at your hands, my Lady,—if I have +served you faithfully in anything,—if my devotion has lightened you +of one care, or aided you through one difficulty,—spare me, oh, +spare me, I beseech you, this—degradation!” + </p> +<p> +“I have a higher consideration to consult here, Miss Henderson, than any +which can have reference to you.” She pulled the bell violently, and while +her hand still held the cord, the servant entered. “Tell Captain Martin to +come here,” said she, and sat down. +</p> +<p> +Kate leaned her arm upon the chimney-piece, and, resting her head on it, +never uttered a word. +</p> +<p> +For several minutes the silence was unbroken on either side. At last Lady +Dorothea started suddenly, and said,—“We cannot receive Captain +Martin here.” + </p> +<p> +“Your Ladyship is full of consideration,” said Kate, bitterly. “For a +moment I had thought it was only an additional humiliation to which you +had destined me.” + </p> +<p> +“Follow me into the drawing-room, Miss Henderson,” said Lady Dorothea, +proudly, as she left the room. And with slow, submissive mien Kate quitted +the chamber, and walked after her. +</p> +<p> +Scarcely had the door of the drawing-room been closed upon them than it +was re-opened to admit Captain Martin. He was booted and spurred for his +afternoon canter, and seemed in no wise pleased at the sudden interruption +to his project. +</p> +<p> +“They said you wanted me,” cried he; “and here have I been searching for +you in your dressing-room, and all over the house.” + </p> +<p> +“I desire to speak with you,” said she, proudly; and she motioned to a +chair. +</p> +<p> +“I trust the <i>séance</i> is to be a brief one, otherwise I 'll beg a +postponement,” said he, half laughingly. Then turning his glance towards +Kate, he remarked for the first time the deathlike color of her face, and +an expression of repressed suffering that all her self-control could not +conceal. “Has anything happened? What is it?” said he, in a half-whisper. +</p> +<p> +But she never replied, nor even seemed to heed his question. +</p> +<p> +“Tell me, I beseech you,” cried he, turning to Lady Dorothea,—“tell +me, has anything gone wrong?” + </p> +<p> +“It is precisely on that account I have sent for you, Captain Martin,” + said her Ladyship, as she assigned to him a seat with a motion of her +hand. “It is because a great deal has gone wrong here—and were it +not for my vigilance, much more still likely to follow it—I have +sent for you, sir, that you should hear from this young lady's lips a +denial which, I own, has not satisfied <i>me</i>; nor shall it, till it be +made in your presence and meet with your corroboration. Your looks, Miss +Henderson,” said she, addressing her, “would imply that all the suffering +of the present moment falls to <i>your</i> share; but I would beg you to +bear in mind what a person in <i>my</i> sphere must endure at the bare +possibility of the event which now demands investigation.” + </p> +<p> +“Good heavens! will not you tell me what it is?” exclaimed Martin, in the +last extremity of impatience. +</p> +<p> +“I have sent for you, sir,” resumed she, “that you should hear Miss +Henderson declare that no attentions on your part—no assiduities, I +should perhaps call them—have ever been addressed to her; that, in +fact”—here her Ladyship became embarrassed in her explanation,—“that, +in fact, those counsels—those very admirable aids to your conduct +which she on so many occasions has vouchsafed to afford you—have had +no object—no ulterior object, I should perhaps call it—and +that your—your intercourse has ever been such as beseems the heir of +Cro' Martin, and the daughter of the steward on that property!” + </p> +<p> +“By Jove, I can make nothing of all this!” cried the Captain, whose +bewildered looks fully corroborated the assertion. +</p> +<p> +“Lady Dorothea, sir, requires you to assure her that I have never made +love to you,” said Kate Henderson, with a look of scorn that her Ladyship +did not dare to reply to. “<i>I</i>,” added she, “have already given my +pledge on this subject. I trust that your testimony will not gainsay me.” + </p> +<p> +“Confound me if I can fathom it at all!” said he, more distracted than +ever. “If you are alluding to the offer I made you—” + </p> +<p> +“The offer you made,” cried Lady Dorothea. “When?—how?—in what +wise?” + </p> +<p> +“No, no, I will speak out,” said he, addressing Kate. “I am certain <i>you</i> +never divulged it; but I cannot accept that all the honorable dealing +should be on one side only. Yes, my Lady, however you learned it, I cannot +guess, but it is perfectly true; I asked Miss Henderson to be my wife, and +she refused me.” + </p> +<p> +A low, faint sigh broke from Lady Dorothea, and she fell back into her +chair. +</p> +<p> +“She would have it,—it's not my fault,—you are witness it's +not,” muttered he to Kate. But she motioned him in silence to the door, +and then opening the window, that the fresh air might enter, stood +silently beside the chair. +</p> +<p> +A slight shivering shook her; and Lady Dorothea—her cheeks almost +lividly pale—raised her eyes and fixed them on Kate Henderson. +</p> +<p> +“You have had your triumph!” said she, in a low but firm voice. +</p> +<p> +“I do not feel it such, madam,” said Kate, calmly. “Nor is it in a moment +of humiliation like this that a thought of triumph can enter.” + </p> +<p> +“Hear me,—stoop down lower. You can leave this—tomorrow, if +you wish it.” + </p> +<p> +Kate bowed slowly in acquiescence. +</p> +<p> +“I have no need to ask you that what has occurred here should never be +mentioned.” + </p> +<p> +“You may trust me, madam.” + </p> +<p> +“I feel that I may. There—I am better—quite well, now! You may +leave me.” Kate courtesied deeply, and moved towards the door. “One word +before you go. Will you answer me one question? I'll ask but one; but your +answer must be full, or not at all.” + </p> +<p> +“So it shall be, madam. What is it?” + </p> +<p> +“I want to know the reason—on what grounds—you declined the +proposal of my son?” + </p> +<p> +“For the same good reason, madam, that should have prevented his ever +making it.” + </p> +<p> +“Disparity—inequality of station, you mean?” + </p> +<p> +“Something like it, madam. Our union would have been both a blunder and a +paradox. Each would have married beneath him!” And once more courtesying, +and with an air of haughty dignity, Kate withdrew, and left her Ladyship +to her own thoughts. +</p> +<p> +Strange and conflicting were the same thoughts; at one moment stimulating +her to projects of passionate vengeance, at the next suggesting the +warmest measures of reconciliation and affection. These indeed +predominated, for in her heart pride seemed the emblem of all that was +great, noble, or exalted; and when she saw that sentiment, not fostered by +the accidents of fortune, not associated with birth, lineage, and high +station, but actually rising superior to the absence of all these, she +almost felt a species of worship for one so gloriously endowed. +</p> +<p> +“She might be a duchess!” was the only speech she uttered, and the words +revealed a whole volume of her meditations. It was curious enough how +completely all recollection of her son was merged and lost in the greater +interest Kate's character supplied. But so is it frequently in life. The +traits which most resemble our own are those we alone attach importance +to, and what we fancy admiration of another is very often nothing more +than the gratified contemplation of ourselves. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXIII. MAURICE SCANLAN ADVISES WITH “HIS COUNSEL” + </h2> +<p> +Jack Massingbred sat in expectation of Mr. Merl's arrival till nigh ten +o'clock; and if not manifesting any great degree of impatience at the +delay, still showing unmistakable signs of uneasiness, as though the event +were not destitute of some cause for anxiety. At last a note arrived to +say that a sudden and imperative necessity to start at once for England +would prevent Mr. Merl from keeping his appointment. “I shall be in town +by Tuesday,” continued the writer, “and if Captain Martin has any +communication to make to me respecting his affairs, let it be addressed to +Messrs. Twining and Scape's, solicitors, Furnival's Inn. I hope that with +regard to your own matter, you will make suitable provision for the +acceptance due on the ninth of next month. Any further renewal would prove +a great inconvenience to yours +</p> +<p> +“Very sincerely and to command, +</p> +<p> +“Herman Merl.” + </p> +<p> +“Negotiations have ended ere they were opened, and war is proclaimed at +once,” said Massingbred, as he read over this brief epistle. “You may come +forth, Master Scanlan,” added he, opening the door of his bedroom, and +admitting that gentleman. “Our Hebrew is an overmatch for us. He declines +to appear.” + </p> +<p> +“Why so? How is that?” asked Scanlan. +</p> +<p> +“There 's his note,” said the other; “read and digest it.” + </p> +<p> +“This smacks of suspicion,” said Scanlan. “He evidently suspects that we +have concerted some scheme to entangle him, and he is resolved not to be +caught.” + </p> +<p> +“Precisely; he 'll do nothing without advice. Well, well, if he but knew +how unprepared we are, how utterly deficient not only in resources, but +actually in the commonest information of our subject, he might have +ventured here in all safety.” + </p> +<p> +“Has Captain Martin not put you in possession of the whole case, then?” + </p> +<p> +“Why, my good Scanlan, the Captain knows nothing, actually nothing, of his +difficulties. He has, it is true, a perfect conviction that he is out of +his depth; but whether he be in five fathom water or fifty, he doesn't +know; and, what 's stranger, he does n't care!” + </p> +<p> +“After all, if it be over his head, I suppose it's pretty much the same +thing,” said Scanlan, with a bitter laugh. +</p> +<p> +“I beg to offer my dissent to that doctrine,” said Mas-singbred, gently. +“Where the water is only just out of a man's depth, the shore is usually +not very distant. Now, if we were quite certain such were the case here, +we might hope to save him. If, on the contrary, he has gone down out of +all sight of land—” He stopped, gazed steadily at Scanlan for a few +seconds, and then in a lower tone, not devoid of a touch of anxiety, said, +“Eh, do you really know this to be so?” + </p> +<p> +“I'll tell you all I know, Mr. Massingbred,” said he, as having turned the +key in the door, he took his seat at the table. “And I 'll tell you, +besides, how I came by the knowledge, and I 'll leave it to your own +judgment to say what his chance is worth. When Merl was stopping at +Kilkieran, he left there a little pocket-book, with memorandums of all his +secret transactions. Mighty nice doings they were,—and profitable, +too,—as you 'll perceive when you look over it.” + </p> +<p> +“You have it, then,” cried Jack, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Here it is,” said he, producing the precious volume, and laying his hand +firmly on it. “Here it is now. I got it under a pledge to hand it to +himself, which I need n't tell you I never had the slightest intention of +performing. It's not every day in the week one has the good luck to get a +peep into the enemy's brief, and this is exactly what you 'll find here.” + </p> +<p> +Massingbred stretched out his hand to take the book, but Scanlan quietly +replaced it in his pocket, and, with a dry and very peculiar smile, said,—“Have +a little patience, sir. We must go regularly to work here. You shall see +this book—you shall examine it—and even retain it—but it +must be on conditions.” “Oh, you may confide in me, Scanlan. Even if Mr. +Merl were my friend,—which I assure you he is not,—I could not +venture to betray <i>you</i>.” + </p> +<p> +“That's not exactly what I 'm thinking of, Mr. Massingbred. I 'm certain +you 'd say nothing to Merl of what you saw here. My mind is easy enough +upon that score.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, then, in what direction do your suspicions point?” + </p> +<p> +“They 're not suspicions, sir,” was the dry response. +</p> +<p> +“Fears,—hesitations,—whatever you like to call them.” + </p> +<p> +“Are we on honor here, Mr. Massingbred?” said Scanlan, after a pause. +</p> +<p> +“For myself, I say decidedly so,” was the firm reply. +</p> +<p> +“That will do, sir. I ask only one pledge, and I 'm sure you 'll not +refuse it: if you should think, on reflection, that what I propose to you +this evening is neither practicable nor advisable,—that, in fact, +you could neither concur in it nor aid it,—that you'll never, so +long as you live, divulge it to any one,—man, woman, or child. Have +I that promise?” + </p> +<p> +“I think I may safely say that.” + </p> +<p> +“Ay, but do you say it?” + </p> +<p> +“I do; here is my promise.” + </p> +<p> +“That will do. I don't ask a word more. Now, Mr. Massingbred,” said he, +replacing the book on the table, “I 'll tell you in the fewest words I can +how the case stands,—and brevity is essential, for we have not an +hour to lose. Merl is gone to London about this business, and we 'll have +to follow him. <i>He 'd</i> be very glad to be rid of the affair +to-morrow, and he 'll not waste many days till he is so. Read that bit +there, sir,” said he, pointing to a few closely written lines in the +note-book. +</p> +<p> +“Good heavens!” cried Jack, “this is downright impossible. This is a vile +falsehood, devised for some infernal scheme of roguery. Who 'd believe +such a trumpery piece of imposition? Ah, Scanlan, you are not the wily +fellow I took you for. This same precious note-book was dropped as a +decoy, as I once knew a certain noble lord to have left his betting-book +behind him. An artful device, that can only succeed once, however. And you +really believed all this?” + </p> +<p> +“I did, and I do believe it,” said Scanlan, firmly. +</p> +<p> +“If you really say so, we must put the matter to the test. Captain Martin +is here,—we 'll send for him, and ask him the question; but I must +say I don't think your position will be a pleasant one after that reply is +given.” + </p> +<p> +“I must remind you of your promise already, it seems,” said Scanlan. “You +are pledged to say nothing of this, if you cannot persuade yourself to act +along with me in it.” + </p> +<p> +“Very true,” said Massingbred, slowly; “but I never pledged myself to +credit an impossibility.” + </p> +<p> +“I ask nothing of the kind. I only claim that you should adhere to what +you have said already. If this statement be untrue, all my speculations +about it fall to the ground at once. I am the dupe of a stale trick, and +there's an end of it.” + </p> +<p> +“Ay, so far all well, Master Scanlan; but <i>I</i> have no fancy to be +associated in the deception. Can't you see that?” + </p> +<p> +“I can, sir, and I do. But perhaps there may be a readier way of +satisfying your doubts than calling for the Captain's evidence. There is a +little page in this same volume devoted to one Mr. Massingbred. <i>You</i> +surely may have some knowledge about <i>his</i> affairs. Throw your eye +over that, sir, and say what you think of it.” + </p> +<p> +Massingbred took the book in his hand and perused the place pointed out to +him. +</p> +<p> +“By Jove! this <i>is</i> very strange,” said he, after a pause. “Here is +my betting-book on the St. Hubert all transcribed in full,—however +the Jew boy got hold of it; and here 's mention of a blessed hundred-pound +note, which, in less than five years, has grown to upwards of a thousand!” + </p> +<p> +“And all true? All fact?” + </p> +<p> +“Perfectly true,—most lamentable fact, Master Scanlan! How precise +the scoundrel is in recording this loan as 'after supper at Dubos'!' Ay, +and here again is my unlucky wager about Martingale for the 'Chester,' and +the handicap with Armytage. Scanlan, I recant my rash impression. This is +a real work of its great author! <i>Aut Merl—aut Diabolus</i>.” + </p> +<p> +“I could have sworn it,” said Scanlan. +</p> +<p> +“To be sure you could, man, and have done, ere this time o' day, fifty +other things on fainter evidence. But let me tell you it requires strong +testimony to make one believe that there should live such a consummate +fool in the world as would sell his whole reversionary right to a splendid +state of some twelve thousand—” + </p> +<p> +“Fifteen at the lowest,” broke in Scanlan. +</p> +<p> +“Worse again. Fifteen thousand a year for twenty-two thousand seven +hundred and sixty-four pounds sterling.” + </p> +<p> +“And he has done it.” + </p> +<p> +“No, no; the thing is utterly incredible, man. Any one must see that if he +did want to make away with his inheritance, that he could have obtained +ten, twenty times that sum amongst the tribe of Merl.” + </p> +<p> +“No doubt, if he were free to negotiate the transaction. But you 'll see, +on looking over these pages, in what a network of debt he was involved,—how, +as early as four years ago, at the Cape, he owed Merl large sums, lost at +play, and borrowed at heavy interest. So that, at length, this same +twenty-two thousand, assumed as paid for the reversion, was in reality but +the balance of an immense demand for money lost, bills renewed, sums lent, +debts discharged, and so on. But to avoid the legal difficulty of an +'immoral obligation,' the bale of the reversion is limited to this simple +payment of twenty-two thousand—” + </p> +<p> +“Seven hundred and sixty-four pounds, sir. Don't let us diminish the price +by a fraction,” said Massingbred. “Wonderful people ye are, to be sure; +and whether in your talent for savings, or dislike for sausages, alike +admirable and praiseworthy! What a strange circle do events observe, and +how irrevocable is the law of the material, the stern rule of the moral +world, decay, decomposition, and regeneration following on each other; and +as great men's ashes beget grubs, so do illustrious houses generate in +their rottenness the race of Herman Merls.” + </p> +<p> +Scanlan tried to smile at the rhapsodical conceit, but for some private +reason of his own he did not relish nor enjoy it. +</p> +<p> +“So, then, according to the record,” said Massingbred, holding up the +book, “there is an end of the 'Martins of Cro' Martin'?” + </p> +<p> +“That's it, sir, in one word.” + </p> +<p> +“It is too shocking—too horrible to believe,” said Mas-singbred, +with more of sincerity than his manner usually displayed. “Eh, Scanlan,—is +it not so?” added he, as waiting in vain for some show of concurrence. +</p> +<p> +“I believe, however,” said the other, “it's the history of every great +family's downfall: small liabilities growing in secrecy to become heavy +charges, severe pressure exerted by those out of whose pockets came +eventually the loans to meet the difficulties,—shrewdness and +rapacity on one side, folly and wastefulness on the other.” + </p> +<p> +“Ay, ay; but who ever heard of a whole estate disposed of for less than +two years of its rental?” + </p> +<p> +“That's exactly the case, sir,” said he, in the same calm tone as before; +“and what makes matters worse, we have little time to look out for +expedients. Magennis will put us on our title at the new trial next +assizes. Merl will take fright at the insecurity of his claim, and dispose +of it,—Heaven knows to whom,—perhaps to that very league now +formed to raise litigation against all the old tenures.” + </p> +<p> +“Stop, stop, Scanlan! There is quite enough difficulty before us, without +conjuring up new complications,” cried Massingbred. “Have you anything to +suggest? What ought to be done here?” + </p> +<p> +Scanlan was silent, and leaning his head on his hand seemed lost in +thought. +</p> +<p> +“Come, Scanlan, you 've thought over all this ere now. Tell me, man, what +do you advise?” + </p> +<p> +Scanlan was silent. +</p> +<p> +“Out with it, Scanlan. I know, I feel that you have a resource in store +against all these perils! Out with it, man.” + </p> +<p> +“Have I any need to remind you of your promise, Mr. Massingbred?” asked +the other, stealthily. +</p> +<p> +“Not the slightest, Scanlan. I never forget a pledge.” + </p> +<p> +“Very well, sir; that's enough,” said Scanlan, speaking rapidly, and like +one anxious to overcome his confusion by an effort. “We have just one +thing to do. We must buy out Merl. Of course as reasonably as we can, but +buy him out we must. What between his own short experiences of Ireland, +and the exposure that any litigation is sure to bring with it, he's not +likely to be hard to deal with, particularly when we are in possession, as +I suppose we may be, through <i>your</i> intimacy with the Captain, of all +the secret history of these transactions. I take it for granted that he +'ll be as glad of a settlement that keeps all 'snug,' as ourselves. Less +than the twenty-two thousand we can't expect he'll take.” + </p> +<p> +“And how are we to raise that sum without Mr. Martin's concurrence?” + </p> +<p> +“I wish that was the only difficulty,” said Scanlan. +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean?” + </p> +<p> +“Just this: that in his present state no act of his would stand. Sure his +mind is gone. There isn't a servant about him could n't swear to his +fancies and imaginations. No, sir, the whole thing must be done amongst +ourselves. I have eight thousand some hundred pounds of my own available +at a moment; old Nelligan would readily—for an assignment of the +Brewery and the Market Square—advance us ten thousand more;—the +money, in short, could be had—more if we wanted it—the +question—” + </p> +<p> +“As to the dealing with Merl?” broke in Jack. +</p> +<p> +“No, sir, not that, though of course it is a most important +consideration.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, what then?” + </p> +<p> +“As to the dealing with Maurice Scanlan, sir,” said he, making a great +effort. “There's the whole question in one word.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't see that there can be any grave obstacle against that. You know +the property.” + </p> +<p> +“Every acre of it.” + </p> +<p> +“You know how you'd like your advance to be secured to you—on what +part of the estate. The conditions, I am certain, might be fairly left in +your own hands; I feel assured you'd not ask nor expect anything beyond +what was equitable and just.” + </p> +<p> +“Mr. Massingbred, we might talk this way a twelvemonth, and never be a bit +nearer our object than when we began,” said Scanlan, resolutely. “I want +two things, and I won't take less than the two together. One is to be +secured in the agency of the estate, under nobody's control whatever but +the Martins themselves. No Mister Repton to say 'Do this, sign that, seal +the other.' I 'll have nobody over me but him that owns the property.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, and the other condition?” + </p> +<p> +“The other—the other—” said Scanlan, growing very red—“the +other, I suppose, will be made the great difficulty—at least, on my +Lady's side. She 'll be bristling up about her uncle the Marquis, and her +half-cousin the Duke, and she'll be throwing in my teeth who I am, and +what I was, and all the rest of it, forgetting all the while where they +'ll be if they reject my terms, and how much the most noble Viceroy will +do for her when she has n't a roof over her head, and how many letters his +Grace will write when she has n't a place to address them to,—not to +say that the way they're treating the girl at this very moment shows how +much they think of her as one of themselves, living with old Catty Broon, +and cantering over the country without as much as a boy after her. Sure, +if they were n't Pride itself, it's glad they might be that a—a—a +respectable man, that is sure to be devoted to their own interests +forever, and one that knows the estate well, and, moreover than that, that +doesn't want to be going over to London,—no, nor even to Dublin,—that +doesn't care a brass farthing for the castle and the lodge in the park,—that, +in short, Mr. Massingbred, asks nothing for anybody, but is willing to +trust to his industry and what he knows of life—There it is now,—there's +my whole case,” said he, stammering, and growing more and more +embarrassed. “I haven't a word to add to it, except this: that if they'd +rather be ruined entirely, left without stick or stone, roof or rafter in +the world, than take my offer, they 've nothing to blame but themselves +and their own infernal pride!” And with this peroration, to deliver which +cost him an effort like a small apoplexy, Maurice Scanlan sat down at the +table, and crossed his arms on his breast like one prepared to await his +verdict with a stout heart. +</p> +<p> +At last, and with the start of one who “suddenly bethought him of a +precaution that ought not to be neglected,” he said,—“Of course, +this is so far all between ourselves, for if I was to go up straight to my +Lady, and say, 'I want to marry your niece,' I think I know what the +answer would be.” + </p> +<p> +Although Massingbred had followed this rambling and incoherent effort at +explanation with considerable attention, it was only by the very +concluding words that he was quite certain of having comprehended its +meaning. If we acknowledge that he felt almost astounded by the +pretension, it is but fair to add that nothing in his manner or air +betokened this feeling. Nay, he even by a slight gesture of the head +invited the other to continue; and when the very abrupt conclusion did +ensue, he sat patiently, as it were revolving the question in his own +mind. +</p> +<p> +Had Scanlan been waiting for the few words which from a jury-box determine +a man's fate forever, he could not have suffered more acute anxiety than +he felt while contemplating the other's calm and unmoved countenance. A +bold, open rejection of his plan, a defiant repudiation of his +presumption, would not probably have pained him more, if as much as the +impassive quietness of Jack's demeanor. +</p> +<p> +“If you think that this is a piece of impudence on my part, Mr. +Massingbred,—if it's your opinion that in aspiring to be connected +with the Martins I'm forgetting my place and my station, just say so at +once. Tell it to me frankly, and I'll know how to bear it,” said he, at +last, when all further endurance had become impossible. +</p> +<p> +“Nothing of the kind, my dear Scanlan,” said Jack, smiling blandly. +“Whatever snobbery once used to prevail on these subjects, we have come to +live in a more generous age. The man of character, the man who unites an +untarnished reputation to very considerable abilities, with talent to win +any station, and virtues to adorn it, such a man wants no blazonry to +illustrate his name, and it is mainly by such accessions that our English +aristocracy, refreshed and invigorated as it is, preserves its great +acknowledged superiority.” + </p> +<p> +It would have required a more acute critic than Maurice Scanlan to have +detected the spirit in which this rhapsody was uttered. The apparent +earnestness of the manner did not exactly consort with a certain pomposity +of enunciation and an over-exactness in the tone of the declamation. On +the whole Maurice did not like it. It smacked to his ears very like what +he had often listened to in the Four Courts at the close of a “junior's” + address; and there was a Nisi Prius jingle in it that sounded marvellously +unlike conviction. +</p> +<p> +“If, then,” resumed Massingbred, “they who by the accidents of fortune, or +the meritorious services of their forefathers, represent rather in their +elevation the gratitude of their country than—” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm sorry to interrupt you, sir,—indeed, I'm ashamed of myself for +doing it,—for your remarks are beautiful, downright eloquent; but +the truth is, this is a case touches me too closely to make me care for a +grand speech about it. I 'd rather have just a few words—to the +evidence, as one might say,—or a simple answer to a plain question, +Can this thing be done?” + </p> +<p> +“There's where you beat us, Scanlan. There's where we cannot approach you. +You are practical. You reduce a matter at once to the simple dimension of +efficacy first, then possibility, and with these two conditions before you +you reject the fifty extraneous considerations, outlying contingencies, +that distract and embarrass such fellows as me. +</p> +<p> +“I have no pretension to abilities like yours, Mr. Massingbred,” said +Scanlan, with unassumed modesty. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, Scanlan, yours are the true gifts, take my word for it!—the +recognized currency by which a man obtains what he seeks for; and there +never was an era in which such qualities bore a higher value. Our +statesmen, our diplomatists, our essay-writers,—nay, our very poets, +addressing themselves as they do to the correction of social wrongs and +class inequalities,—they are all 'practical'! That is the type of +our time, and future historians will talk of this as the 'Age of Fact'!” + </p> +<p> +If one were to judge from Maurice Scanlan's face during the delivery of +this peroration, it might be possibly inferred that he scarcely accepted +the speech as an illustration in point, since anything less practical he +had never listened to. +</p> +<p> +“When I think,” resumed he, “what a different effect I should have +produced in the 'House' had I possessed this requisite! You, possibly, may +be under the impression that I achieved a great success?” + </p> +<p> +“Well, I did hear as much,” said Scanlan, half doggedly. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps it was so. A first speech, you are aware, is always listened to +indulgently; not so a second, especially if a man rises soon after his +first effort. They begin to suspect they have got a talkative fellow, +eager and ready to speak on every question; they dread that, and even if +he be clever, they 'll vote him a bore!” + </p> +<p> +“Faith! I don't wonder at it!” said Maurice, with a hearty sincerity in +the tone. +</p> +<p> +“Yet, after all, Scanlan, let us be just! How in Heaven's name, are men to +become debaters, except by this same training? You require men not alone +to be strong upon the mass of questions that come up in debate, but you +expect them to be prompt with their explanations, always prepared with +their replies. Not ransacking history, or searching through 'Hansard,' you +want a man who, at the spur of the moment, can rise to defend, to explain, +to simplify, or mayhap to assail, to denounce, to annihilate. Is n't that +true?” + </p> +<p> +“I don't want any such thing, sir!” said Scanlan, with a sulky +determination that there was no misunderstanding. +</p> +<p> +“You don't. Well, what <i>do</i> you ask for?” + </p> +<p> +“I'll tell you, sir, and in very few words, too, what I do <i>not</i> ask +for! I don't ask to be humbugged, listening to this, that, and the other, +that I have nothing to say to; to hear how you failed or why you +succeeded; what you did or what you could n't do. I put a plain case to +you, and I wanted as plain an answer. And as to your flattering me about +being practical, or whatever you call it, it's a clean waste of time, +neither less nor more!” + </p> +<p> +“The agency and the niece!” said Massingbred, with a calm solemnity that +this speech had never disconcerted. +</p> +<p> +“Them 's the conditions!” said Scanlan, reddening over face and forehead. +</p> +<p> +“You 're a plucky fellow, Scanlan, and by Jove I like you for it!” said +Massingbred. And for once there was a hearty sincerity in the way he +spoke. “If a man <i>is</i> to have a fall, let it be at least over a +'rasper,' not be thrown over a furrow in a ploughed field! You fly at high +game, but I'm far from saying you'll not succeed.” And with a jocular +laugh he turned away and left him. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXIV. A CONSULTATION +</h2> +<p> +Jack Massingbred was one of those who, in questions of difficulty, resort +to the pen in preference to personal interference. It was a fancy of his +that he wrote better than he talked. Very probably he thought so because +the contrary was the fact. On the present occasion another motive had also +its influence. It was Lady Dorothea that he addressed, and he had no +especial desire to commit himself to a direct interview. +</p> +<p> +His object was to convey Mr. Scanlan's propositions,—to place them +fully and intelligibly before her Ladyship without a syllable of comment +on his own part, or one word which could be construed into advocacy or +reprobation of them. In truth, had he been called upon for an opinion, it +would have sorely puzzled him what to say. To rescue a large estate from +ruin was, to be sure, a very considerable service, but to accept Maurice +Scanlan as a near member of one's family seemed a very heavy price even +for that. Still, if the young lady liked him, singular as the choice might +appear, other objections need not be insurmountable. The Martins were very +unlikely ever to make Ireland their residence again, they would see little +or nothing of this same Scanlan connection, “and, after all,” thought +Jack, “if we can only keep the disagreeables of this life away from daily +intercourse, only knowing them through the post-office and at rare +intervals, the compact is not a bad one.” + </p> +<p> +Massingbred would have liked much to consult Miss Henderson upon the +question itself, and also upon his manner of treating it; but to touch +upon the point of a marriage of inequality with her, would have been +dangerous ground. It was scarcely possible he could introduce the topic +without dropping a word, or letting fall a remark she could not seize hold +of. It was the theme, of all others, in which her sensitiveness was +extreme; nor could he exactly say whether she sneered at a <i>mésalliance,</i> +or at the insolent tone of society regarding it. +</p> +<p> +Again he bethought him of the ungraciousness of the task he had assumed, +if, as was most probable, Lady Dorothea should feel Mr. Scanlan's +pretensions an actual outrage. “She'll never forgive me for stating them, +that's certain,” said he; “but will she do so if I decline to declare +them, or worse still, leave them to the vulgar interpretation Scanlan +himself is sure to impart to them?” While he thus hesitated and debated +with himself, now altering a phrase here, now changing a word there, +Captain Martin entered the room, and threw himself into a chair with a +more than ordinary amount of weariness and exhaustion. +</p> +<p> +“The governor's worse to-day, Massingbred,” said he, with a sigh. +</p> +<p> +“No serious change, I hope?” said Jack. +</p> +<p> +“I suspect there is, though,” replied the other. “They sent for me from +Lescour's last night, where I was winning smartly. Just like <i>my</i> +luck always, to be called away when I was 'in vein,' and when I got here, +I found Schubart, and a French fellow whom I don't know, had just bled +him. It must have been touch and go, for when I saw him he was very ill—very +ill indeed—and they call him better.” + </p> +<p> +“It was a distinct attack, then,—a seizure of some sort?” asked +Massingbred. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I think they said so,” said he, lighting his cigar. +</p> +<p> +“But he has rallied, has n't he?” + </p> +<p> +“Well, I don't fancy he has. He lifts his eyes at times, and seems to look +about for some one, and moves his lips a little, but you could scarcely +say that he was conscious, though my mother insists he is.” + </p> +<p> +“What does Schubart think?” + </p> +<p> +“Who minds these fellows?” said he, impatiently. “They're only speculating +on what will be said of themselves, and so they go on: 'If this does not +occur, and the other does not happen, we shall see him better this +evening.'” + </p> +<p> +“This is all very bad,” said Massingbred, gloomily—“It's a deuced +deal worse than you know of, old fellow,” said Martin, bitterly. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps not worse than I suspect,” said Massingbred. +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean by that?” + </p> +<p> +Massingbred did not reply, but sat deep in thought for some time. “Come, +Martin,” said he, at last, “let us be frank; in a few hours it may be, +perhaps, too late for frankness. Is this true?” And he handed to him +Merl's pocket-book, open at a particular page. +</p> +<p> +Martin took it, and as his eyes traced the lines a sickly paleness covered +his features, and in a voice scarcely stronger than an infant's, he said, +“It is so.” + </p> +<p> +“The whole reversionary right?” + </p> +<p> +“Every acre—every stick and stone of it—except,” added he, +with a sickly attempt at a smile, “a beggarly tract, near Kiltimmon, Mary +has a charge upon.” + </p> +<p> +“Read that, now,” said Jack, handing him his recently written letter. “I +was about to send it without showing it to you; but it is as well you saw +it.” + </p> +<p> +While Martin was reading, Massingbred never took his eyes from him. He +watched with all his own practised keenness the varying emotions the +letter cost; but he saw that, as he finished, selfishness had triumphed, +and that the prospect of safety had blunted every sentiment as to the +price. +</p> +<p> +“Well,” said Jack, “what say you to that?” + </p> +<p> +“I say it's a right good offer, and on no account to be refused. There is +some hitch or other—I can't say what, but it exists, I know—which +ties us up against selling. Old Repton and the governor, and I think my +mother, too, are in the secret; but I never was, so that Scanlan's +proposal is exactly what meets the difficulty.” + </p> +<p> +“But do you like his conditions?” asked Jack. +</p> +<p> +“I can't say I do. But what 's that to the purpose? One must play the hand +that is dealt to them; there 's no choice! I know that, as agent over the +property, he 'll make a deuced good thing of it for himself. It will not +be five nor ten per cent will satisfy Master Maurice.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; but there is another condition, also,” said Jack, quietly. +</p> +<p> +“About Mary? Well, of course it's not the kind of thing one likes. The +fellow is the lowest of the low; but even that's better, in some respects, +than a species of half gentility, for he actually has n't one in the world +belonging to him. No one ever heard of his father or mother, and he's not +the fellow to go in search of them.” + </p> +<p> +“I confess that <i>is</i> a consideration,” said Massingbred, with a tone +that might mean equally raillery or the reverse, “so that you see no great +objection on that score?” + </p> +<p> +“I won't say I 'd choose the connection; but 'with a bad book it's at +least a hedge,'—eh, Massy, is n't it?” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps so,” said the other, dryly. +</p> +<p> +“It does n't strike me,” said Martin, as he glanced his eye again over the +letter, “that you have advocated Scanlan's plan. You have left it without, +apparently, one word of comment. Does that mean that you don't approve of +it?” + </p> +<p> +“I never promised him I would advocate it,” said Jack. +</p> +<p> +“I have no doubt, Massingbred, you think me a deuced selfish fellow for +treating the question in this fashion; but just reflect a little, and see +how innocently, as I may say, I was led into all these embarrassments. I +never suspected how deep I was getting. Merl used to laugh at me if I +asked him how we stood; he always induced me to regard our dealings as +trifles, to be arranged to-day, to-morrow, or ten years hence.” + </p> +<p> +“I am not unversed in that sort of thing, unluckily,” said Massingbred, +interrupting him. “There is another consideration, however, in the present +case, to which I do not think you have given sufficient weight.” + </p> +<p> +“As to Mary, my dear fellow, the matter is simple enough. Our consent is a +mere form. If she liked Scanlan, she 'd marry him against all the Martins +that ever were born; and if she did n't, she 'd not swerve an inch if the +whole family were to go to the stake for it. She 's not one for half +measures, I promise you; and then, remember, that though she is one 'of +us,' and well born, she has never mingled with the society of her equals; +she has always lived that kind of life you saw yourself,—taking a +cast with the hounds one day, nursing some old hag with the rheumatism the +next. I 've seen her hearing a class in the village school, and half an +hour after, breaking in a young horse to harness. And what between her +habits and her tastes, she is really not fit for what you and I would call +the world.” As Massingbred made no reply, Martin ascribed his silence to a +part conviction, and went on: “Mind, I 'm not going to say that she is not +a deuced deal too good for Maurice Scanlan, who is as vulgar a hound as +walks on two legs; but, as I said before, Massy, we haven't much choice.” + </p> +<p> +“Will Lady Dorothea be likely to view the matter in this light?” asked +Jack, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“That is a mere matter of chance. She 's equally likely to embrace the +proposal with ardor, or tell a footman to kick Scanlan out of the house +for his impertinence; and I own the latter is the more probable of the +two,—not, mark you, from any exaggerated regard for Mary, but out of +consideration to the insult offered to herself.” + </p> +<p> +“Will she not weigh well all the perils that menace the estate?” + </p> +<p> +“She'll take a short method with them,—she'll not believe them.” + </p> +<p> +“Egad! I must say the whole negotiation is in a very promising state!” + exclaimed Jack, as he arose and walked the room. “There is only one +amongst us has much head for a case of difficulty.” + </p> +<p> +“You mean Kate Henderson?” broke in Martin. +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, we 've lost <i>her</i> just when we most needed her.” + </p> +<p> +“Lost her! How—what do you mean?” + </p> +<p> +“Why, that she is gone—gone home. She started this morning before +daybreak. She had a tiff with my mother last night. I will say the girl +was shamefully treated,—shamefully! My Lady completely forgot +herself. She was in one of those blessed paroxysms in which, had she been +born a Pasha, heads would have been rolling about like shot in a dockyard, +and she consequently said all manner of atrocities; and instead of giving +her time to make the <i>amende</i>, Kate beat a retreat at once, and by +this time she is some twenty miles on her journey.” + </p> +<p> +Massingbred walked to the window to hide the emotion these tidings +produced; for, with all his self-command, the suddenness of the +intelligence had unmanned him, and a cold and sickly feeling came over +him. There was far more of outraged and insulted pride than love in the +emotions which then moved him. The bitter thought of the moment was, how +indifferent she felt about <i>him</i>,—how little <i>he</i> weighed +in any resolve she determined to follow. She had gone without a word of +farewell,—perhaps without a thought of him. “Be it so,” said he to +himself; “there has been more than enough of humiliation to me in our +intercourse. It is time to end it! The whole was a dream, from which the +awaking was sure to be painful. Better meet it at once, and have done with +it.” There was that much of passion in this resolve that proved how far +more it came from wounded pride than calm conviction; and so deeply was +his mind engrossed with this feeling, that Martin had twice spoken to him +ere he noticed his question. +</p> +<p> +“Do you mean, then, to show that letter to my mother?” + </p> +<p> +“Ay; I have written it with that object Scanlan asked me to be his +interpreter, and I have kept my pledge.—And did she go alone,—unaccompanied?” + </p> +<p> +“I fancy so; but, in truth, I never asked. The doctors were here, and all +that fuss and confusion going on, so that I had really little head for +anything. After all, I suspect she's a girl might be able to take care of +herself,—should n't you say so?” + </p> +<p> +Massingbred was silent for a while, and then said: “You 'll have to be on +the alert about this business of yours, Martin; and if I can be of service +to you, command me. I mean to start for London immediately.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll see my mother at once, then,” said he, taking up Massingbred's +letter. +</p> +<p> +“Shall I meet you in about an hour, in the Lichtenthal Avenue?” + </p> +<p> +“Agreed,” said he; and they parted. +</p> +<p> +We have no need, nor have we any right, to follow Massingbred as he +strolled out to walk alone in an alley of the wood. Irresolution is an +intense suffering to men of action; and such was the present condition of +his mind. Week after week, month after month, had he lingered on in +companionship with the Martins, till such had become the intimacy between +them that they scrupled not to discuss before him the most confidential +circumstances, and ask his counsel on the most private concerns. He +fancied that he was “of them;” he grew to think that he was, somehow, part +and parcel of the family, little suspecting the while that Kate Henderson +was the link that bound him to them, and that without her presence they +resolved themselves into three individuals for whom he felt wonderfully +little of interest or affection. “She is gone, and what have I to stay +for?” was the question he put to himself; and for answer he could only +repeat it. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXV. A COMPROMISE +</h2> +<p> +There are many who think that our law of primogeniture is a sad hardener +of the heart,—estranging the father from the son, widening petty +misunderstandings to the breadth of grievances, engendering suspicions +where there should be trustfulness, and opening two roads in life to those +who should rightfully have trod one path together. If one half of this be +the price we pay for our “great houses,” the bargain is a bad one! But +even taking a wide margin for exaggeration,—allowing much for the +prejudices of those who assail this institution,—there is that which +revolts against one's better nature, in the ever-present question of +money, between the father and his heir. The very fact that separate rights +suggest separate interests is a source of discord; while the inevitable +law of succession is a stern defiance to that sense of protection on one +side, and dependence on the other, that should mark their relations to +each other. +</p> +<p> +Captain Martin was not devoid of affection for his family. He had, it is +true, been very little at home, but he did not dislike it, beyond the +“boredom” of a rather monotonous kind of life. He was naturally of a +plastic temperament, however, and he lived amongst a set whose good +pleasure it is to criticise all who belong to them with the very frankest +of candor. One told how his governor, though rolling in wealth, kept him +on a most beggarly allowance, illustrating, with many an amusing story, +traits of avarice that set the table in a roar. Another exhibited his as +such a reckless spendthrift that the family estate would never cover the +debts. There was a species of rivalry on seeing who should lay most open +to public view details and incidents purely belonging to a family. It was +even a principle of this new school to discuss, and suffer others to +discuss before them, the class and condition of life of their parents in a +tone of mockery and derision, whenever the occasion might admit it; and +the son of the manufacturer or the trader listened to allusions to his +birth and parentage, and even jested upon them himself, in a spirit more +flattering to his philosophy than to his pride. +</p> +<p> +Martin had lived amidst all this for years. He had been often complimented +upon the “jolly good thing he was to have one of these days;” he had been +bantered out of many a wise and prudent economy, by being reminded of that +“deuced fine property nobody could keep him out of.” “What can it signify +to <i>you</i> old fellow, a few hundreds more or less. You must have +fifteen thousand a year yet. The governor can't live forever, I take it.” + Others, too, as self-invited guests, speculated on all the pleasures of a +visit to Cro' Martin; and if at first the young man heard such projects +with shame and repugnance, he learned at last to listen to them with +indifference, perhaps with something less! +</p> +<p> +Was it some self-accusing on this score that now overwhelmed him as he sat +alone in his room, trying to think, endeavoring to arouse himself to +action, but so overcome that he sat there only half conscious, and but +dimly discerning the course of events about him? At such moments external +objects mingle their influences with our thoughts, and the sound of +voices, the tread of footsteps, the mere shutting of a door, seem to blend +themselves with our reveries, and give somewhat of reality to our dreamy +fancies. A large clock upon the mantelpiece had thus fixed his attention, +and he watched the minute-hand as though its course was meting out the +last moments of existence. “Ere it reach that hour,” thought he, fixing +his gaze upon the dial, “what a change may have come over all my +fortunes!” Years—long years—seemed to pass over as he waited +thus; scenes of childhood, of infancy itself, mingled with the gay +dissipations of his after-life; school days and nights at mess, wild +orgies of the play-table and sad wakings on the morrow, all moved through +his distracted brain, till at length it was only by an effort that he +could shake off these flitting fancies and remember where he was. +</p> +<p> +He at once bethought him that there was much to be done. He had given +Massingbred's letter to his mother, entreating a prompt answer, but two +hours had now elapsed and she had not sent her reply. There was a struggle +between his better nature and his selfishness whether to seek her. The +thought of that sick-room, dark and silent, appalled him. “Is it at such a +time I dare ask her to address her mind to this? and yet hours are now +stealing over which may decide my whole fate in life.” While he thus +hesitated, Lady Dorothea entered the room. Nights of anxiety and watching, +the workings of a spirit that fought inch by inch with fortune, were +deeply marked upon her features. Weariness and fatigue had not brought +depression on her, but rather imparted a feverish lustre to her eyes, and +an expression of haughty energy to her face. +</p> +<p> +“Am I to take this for true,” said she, as, seating herself in front of +him, she held out Massingbred's letter,—“I mean, of course, what +relates to yourself?” + </p> +<p> +He nodded sorrowfully, but did not speak. +</p> +<p> +“All literally the fact?” said she, speaking slowly, and dwelling on every +word. “You have actually sold the reversion of the estate?” + </p> +<p> +“And am beggared!” said he, sternly. +</p> +<p> +Lady Dorothea tried to speak. She coughed, cleared her throat, made +another effort, but without succeeding; and then, in a slightly broken +voice, said, “Fetch me a glass of water. No, sit down; I don't want it.” + The blood again mounted to her pale cheeks, and she was herself again. +</p> +<p> +“These are hard terms of Scanlan's,” said she, in a dry, stern tone. “He +has waited, too, till we have little choice remaining. Your father is +worse.” + </p> +<p> +“Worse than when I saw him this morning?” + </p> +<p> +“Weaker, and less able to bear treatment. He is irritable, too, at that +girl's absence. He asks for her constantly, and confuses her in his mind +with Mary.” + </p> +<p> +“And what does Schubart think?” + </p> +<p> +“I'll tell you what he <i>says</i>,” replied she, with a marked emphasis +on the last word. “He says the case is hopeless; he has seen such linger +for weeks, but even a day—a day—” She tried to go on; but her +voice faltered, her lip trembled, and she was silent. +</p> +<p> +“I had begun to believe it so,” muttered Martin, gloomily. “He scarcely +recognized me yesterday.” + </p> +<p> +“He is perfectly collected and sensible now,” said Lady Dorothea, in her +former calm tone. “He spoke of business matters clearly and well, and +wished to see Scanlan.” + </p> +<p> +“Which I trust you did not permit?” asked Martin, hurriedly. +</p> +<p> +“I told him he should see him this evening, but there is no necessity for +it. Scanlan may have left this before evening.” + </p> +<p> +“You suspect that Scanlan would say something,—would mention to him +something of this affair?” + </p> +<p> +“Discretion is not the quality of the low-born and the vulgar,” said she, +haughtily; “self-importance alone would render him unsafe. Besides,”—and +this she said rapidly,—“there is nothing to detain the man here, +when he knows that we accept his conditions.” + </p> +<p> +“And are we to accept them?” said Martin, anxiously. +</p> +<p> +“Dare we refuse them? What is the alternative? I suppose what you have +done with your Jew friend has been executed legally—formally?” + </p> +<p> +“Trust <i>him</i> for that; he has left no flaw there!” said Martin, +bitterly. +</p> +<p> +“I was certain of it,” said she, with a scarcely perceptible sneer. +“Everything, therefore, has been effected according to law?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, I believe so,” replied he, doggedly. +</p> +<p> +“Then really there is nothing left to us but Scanlan. He objects to +Repton; so do I. I always deemed him obtrusive and familiar. In the +management of an Irish estate such qualities may be reckoned essential. I +know what we should think of them in England, and I know where we should +place their possessor.” + </p> +<p> +“I believe the main question that presses now is, are we to have an estate +at all?” said the Captain, bitterly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir, you have really brought it to that,” rejoined she, with equal +asperity. +</p> +<p> +“Do you consent to his having the agency?” asked Martin, with an immense +effort to suppress passion. +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” + </p> +<p> +“And you agree, also, to his proposal for Mary?” + </p> +<p> +“It is matter of complete indifference to me who Miss Martin marries, if +she only continue to reside where she does at present. I 'm certain she 'd +not consult <i>me</i> on the subject; I'm sure I'd never control <i>her</i>. +It is a <i>mésalliance</i>, to be sure; but it would be equally so, if +she, with her rustic habits and uneducated mind, were to marry what would +be called her equal. In the present case, she 'll be a little better than +her station; in the other, she 'd be vastly beneath it!” + </p> +<p> +“Poor Molly!” said he, half aloud; and, for the first time, there was a +touch of his father's tone and manner in the words. +</p> +<p> +Lady Dorothea looked at him, and with a slight shrug of the shoulders +seemed to sneer at his low-priced compassion. +</p> +<p> +“Scoff away!” said he, sternly; “but if I thought that any consent we gave +to this scheme could take the shape of a coercion, I 'd send the estate to +the—” + </p> +<p> +“You have, sir; you have done all that already,” broke in Lady Dorothea. +“When the troubled breathing that we hear from yonder room ceases, there +is no longer a Martin of Cro' Martin!” + </p> +<p> +“Then what are we losing time for?” cried he, eagerly. “Are moments so +precious to be spent in attack and recrimination? There's Scanlan sitting +on a bench before the door. Call him up—tell him you accept his +terms—let him start for London, post haste. With every speed he can +master he 'll not be a minute too soon. Shall I call him? Shall I beckon +to him?” + </p> +<p> +“Send a servant for him,” said Lady Dorothea, calmly, while she folded up +the letter, and laid it on the table at her side. +</p> +<p> +Martin rang the bell and gave the order, and then, assuming an air of +composure he was very far from feeling, sat silently awaiting Scanlan's +entrance. That gentleman did not long detain them. He had been sitting, +watch in hand, for above an hour, looking occasionally up at the windows, +and wondering why he had not been summoned. It was, then, with an almost +abrupt haste that he at last presented himself. +</p> +<p> +“Read over that letter, sir,” said Lady Dorothea, “and please to inform me +if it rightly conveys your propositions.” + </p> +<p> +Scanlan perused Massingbred's letter carefully, and folding it up, +returned it. “Yes, my Lady,” said he, “I think it embraces the chief +points. Of course there is nothing specified as to the mode of carrying +them out,—I mean, as to the security I should naturally look for. I +believe your Ladyship does not comprehend me?” + </p> +<p> +“Not in the least, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, if I must speak plainer, I want to be sure that your concurrence is +no mere barren concession, my Lady; that, in admitting my pretensions, +your Ladyship favors them. This is, of course,” said he, in a tone of +deference, “if your Ladyship condescends to accept the terms at all; for, +as yet, you have not said so.” + </p> +<p> +“If I had not been so minded, sir, this interview would not have taken +place.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, indeed, I thought as much myself,” said he; “and so I at once +entered upon what one might call the working details of the measure.” + </p> +<p> +“How long will it take you to reach London, sir?” asked she, coldly. +</p> +<p> +“Four days, my Lady, travelling night and day.” + </p> +<p> +“How soon after your arrival there can you make such arrangements as will +put this affair out of all danger, using every endeavor in your power?” + </p> +<p> +“I hope I could answer for that within a week,—maybe, less.” + </p> +<p> +“You'll have to effect it in half that time, sir,” said she, solemnly. +</p> +<p> +“Well, I don't despair of that same, if I have only your Ladyship's +promise to all that is set down there. I 'll neither eat nor sleep till +the matter is in good train.” + </p> +<p> +“I repeat, sir, that if this settlement be not accomplished in less than a +week from the present moment, it may prove utterly valueless.” + </p> +<p> +“I can only say I'll do my best, my Lady. I'd be on the road this minute, +if your Ladyship would dismiss me.” + </p> +<p> +“Very well, sir,—you are free. I pledge myself to the full +conditions of this letter. Captain Martin binds himself equally to observe +them.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'd like it in writing under your Ladyship's hand,” said Scanlan, in a +half whisper, as though afraid to speak such doubts aloud. “It is not that +I have the least suspicion or misgiving in life about your Ladyship's +word,—I'd take it for a million of money,—but when I come to +make my proposals in person to Miss Mary—” + </p> +<p> +“There, sir, that will do!” said she, with a disdainful look, as if to +repress an explanation so disagreeable. “You need not enter further upon +the question. If you address me by letter, I will reply to it.” + </p> +<p> +“There it is, my Lady,” said he, producing a sealed epistle, and placing +it on the table before her. “I had it ready, just not to be losing time. +My London address is inside; and if you'll write to me by to-morrow's +post,—or the day after,” added he, remarking a movement of +impatience in her face—“You shall have your bond, sir,—you +shall have your bond,” broke she in, haughtily. +</p> +<p> +“That ought to be enough, I think,” said the Captain, with a degree of +irritation that bespoke a long internal conflict. +</p> +<p> +“I want nothing beyond what I shall earn, Captain Martin,” said Scanlan, +as a flash of angry meaning covered his features. +</p> +<p> +“And we have agreed to the terms, Mr. Scanlan,” said her Ladyship, with a +great effort to conciliate. “It only remains for us to say, a good +journey, and every success attend you.” + </p> +<p> +“Thank you, my Lady; I'm your most obedient. Captain, I wish you good-bye, +and hope soon to send you happy tidings. I trust, if Mr. Martin asks after +me, that you 'll give him my respectful duty; and if—” + </p> +<p> +“We'll forget nothing, sir,” said Lady Dorothea, rising; and Scanlan, +after a moment's hesitation as to whether he should venture to offer his +hand,—a measure for which, happily, he could not muster the courage,—bowed +himself out of the room, and closed the door. +</p> +<p> +“Not a very cordial leave-taking for one that's to be her nephew,” + muttered he, with a bitter laugh, as he descended the stairs. “And, +indeed, my first cousin, the Captain, is n't the model of family +affection. Never mind, Maurice, your day is coming!” And with this +assuring reflection he issued forth to give orders for his journey. +</p> +<p> +A weary sigh—the outpouring of an oppressed and jaded spirit—broke +from Lady Dorothea as the door closed after him. “Insufferable creature!” + muttered she to herself? and then, turning to the Captain, said aloud, “Is +that man capable of playing us false?—or, rather, has he the power +of doing so?” + </p> +<p> +“It is just what I have been turning over in my own mind,” replied he. “I +don't quite trust him; and, in fact, I'd follow him over to London, if I +were free at this moment.” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps you ought to do so; it might be the wisest course,” said she, +hesitatingly. +</p> +<p> +“Do you think I could leave this with safety?” asked he. But she did not +seem to have heard the question. He repeated it, and she was still silent. +“If the doctors could be relied on, they should be able to tell us.” + </p> +<p> +“To tell us what?” asked she, abruptly, almost sternly. +</p> +<p> +“I meant that they'd know—that they'd perhaps be in a position to +judge—that they at least could warn us—” Here he stopped, +confused and embarrassed, and quite unable to continue. That sense of +embarrassment, however, came less of his own reflections than of the cold, +steady, and searching look which his mother never ceased to bend on him. +It was a gaze that seemed to imply, “Say on, and let me hear how destitute +of all feeling you will avow yourself.” It was, indeed, the meaning of her +stare, and so he felt it, as the color came and went in his cheek, and a +sense of faintish sickness crept over him. +</p> +<p> +“The post has arrived, my Lady, and I have left your Ladyship's letters on +the dressing-table,” said a servant. And Lady Dorothea, who had been +impatiently awaiting the mall, hastened at once to her room. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXVI. A LETTER THAT NEVER REACHES ITS ADDRESS +</h2> +<p> +It was not without a very painful emotion that Lady Dorothea turned over a +mass of letters addressed to her husband. They came from various quarters, +written in all the moods of many minds. Some were the mere gossip of clubs +and dinnerparties,—some were kindly and affectionate inquiries, +gentle reproachings on his silence, and banterings about his pretended low +spirits. A somewhat favorite tone is that same raillery towards those +whose lot in life seems elevated above the casualties of fortune, +forgetting the while that the sunniest path has its shadows, and they whom +we deem exempt from the sore trials of the world have their share of its +sorrows. These read strangely now, as he to whom they were addressed lay +breathing the heavy and labored breath, and muttering the low broken +murmurs that prelude the one still deeper sleep! +</p> +<p> +With a tremulous hand, and a gesture of fretful impatience, she threw them +from her one after the other. The topics and the tone alike jarred upon +her nerves. They seemed so unfeeling, too, and so heartless at such a +moment. Oh, if we wanted to moralize over the uncertainty of life, what a +theme might we have in the simple fact that, quicker than the lines we are +writing fall from our pen, are oftentimes changing the whole fate and +fortune of him for whom we destine them! We are telling of hope where +despair has already entered,—we are speaking joy to a house of +mourning! But one letter alone remained unopened. It was in Repton's hand, +and she broke the seal, wondering how he, who of all men hated writing, +should have turned a correspondent. +</p> +<p> +The “strictly confidential” of the cover was repeated within; but the hour +had come when she could violate the caution, and she read on. The first +few lines were a half-jesting allusion to Martin's croakings about his +health; but even these had a forced, constrained air, and none of the +jocular ease of the old man's manner. “And yet,” continued he, “it is +exactly about your health I am most anxious. I want you to be strong and +stout, body and mind, ready for action, and resolute. I know the tone and +style that an absentee loves and even requires to be addressed in. He +wants to be told that, however he may be personally regretted, matters go +on wonderfully well in his absence, that rent is paid, farms improved, +good markets abound, and the county a pattern of quietness. I could tell +you all this, Martin, and not a syllable of it be true. The rents are not +paid, partly from a season of great pressure, but, more still, from an +expectancy on the side of the people that something—they know not +what—is coming. The Relief Bill only relieved those who wanted to +job in politics and make market of their opinions; the masses it has +scarcely touched. They are told they are emancipated, but I am at a loss +to know in what way they realize to their minds the new privilege. Their +leaders have seen this. Shrewd fellows as they are, they have guessed what +disappointment must inevitably ensue when the long-promised boon can show +nothing as its results but certain noisy mob-orators made Parliament men; +and so they have slyly hinted,—as yet it is only a hint,—'this +is but the first step—an instalment they call it—of a large +debt, every fraction of which must yet be paid!' +</p> +<p> +“Now there is not in all Europe a more cunning or a deeper fellow than +Paddy. He has an Italian's subtlety and a Celt's suspicion; but enlist his +self-love, his vanity, and his acquisitiveness in any scheme, and all his +shrewdness deserts him. The old hackney coach-horses never followed the +hay on the end of the pole more hopefully than will he travel after some +promised future of 'fine times,' with plenty to eat and drink, and nothing +to do for it! They have booked themselves now for this journey, and the +delusion must run its course. Meanwhile rents will not be paid, farms not +improved, bad prices and poverty will abound, and the usual crop of +discontent and its consequent crime. I 'm not going to inflict you with my +own opinions on this theme. You know well enough already that I never +regarded these 'Agrarian disturbances,' as they are called, in the light +of passing infractions of the peace, but traced in them the continuous +working of a long preconcerted plan,—the scheme of very different +heads from those who worked it,—by which the law should ever be +assailed and the right of property everlastingly put in dispute. In plain +words, the system was a standing protest against the sway of the Saxons in +Ireland! 'The agitators' understood thoroughly how to profit by this, and +they worked these alternate moods of outrage and peace pretty much as the +priests of old guided their auguries. They brought the game to that +perfection that a murder could shake a ministry, or a blank calendar +become the triumph of an Administration! +</p> +<p> +“Such is, at the moment I am writing, the actual condition of Ireland! +Come home, then, at once,—but come alone. Come back resolved to see +and act for yourself. There is a lingering spark of the old feudalism yet +left in the people. Try and kindle it up once more into the old healthful +glow of love to the landlord. Some would say it is too late for all this; +but I will not think so. Magennis has given us an open defiance; we are to +be put on our title. Now, you are well aware there is a complication here, +and I shall want to consult you personally; besides, we must have a search +through those registries that are locked up in the strong-room. Mary tells +me you carried away the key of it. I tell you frankly, I wish we could hit +upon some means of stopping Magennis. The suit is a small war, that +demands grand preparation,—always a considerable evil! The fellow, I +am told, is also concocting another attack,—an action against your +niece and others for the forcible abduction of his wife. It would read +fabulously enough, such a charge, but as old Casey said, 'There never yet +was anything you could n't impute at law, if you only employed the word +“conspiracy;”' and I believe it! The woman certainly has deserted him, and +her whereabouts cannot be ascertained. The scandal of such a cause would +of course be very great; but if you were here we might chance upon some +mode of averting it,—at all events, your niece shouldn't be deserted +at such a moment. What a noble girl it is, Martin, and how gloriously she +comprehends her station! Give me a dozen like her, and I 'll bid defiance +to all the machinations of all the agitators; and they know it! +</p> +<p> +“If your estate has resisted longer than those of your neighbors the +demoralizing influences that are now at work here, you owe it to Mary. If +crime has not left its track of blood along your avenue or on your +door-sill, it is she who has saved you. If the midnight hour has not been +scared by the flame of your burning house or haggard, thank <i>her</i> for +it,—ay, Martin, <i>her</i> courage, <i>her</i> devotion, <i>her</i> +watchful charity, <i>her</i> unceasing benevolence, the glorious guarantee +her daily life gives, that <i>she</i>, at least, is with the people in all +their sufferings and their trials! You or I had abandoned with impatience +the cause that she had succored against every disappointment. Her woman's +nature has endowed her with a higher and a nobler energy than ever a man +possessed. She <i>will not</i> be defeated. +</p> +<p> +“Henderson may bewail, and Maurice Scanlan deride, the shortcomings of the +people. But through evil and good report she is there to hear from their +own lips, to see with her own eyes, the story of their sorrows. Is this +nothing? Is there no lesson in the fact that she, nurtured in every +luxury, braves the wildest day of winter in her mission of charity?—that +the most squalid misery, the most pestilent disease never deterred her? I +saw her a few days back coming home at daybreak; she had passed the night +in a hovel where neither you nor I would have taken shelter in a storm. +The hectic flush of fatigue and anxiety was on her cheek; her eyes, deep +sunk, showed weariness; and her very voice, as she spoke to me, was +tremulous and weak; and of what, think you, was her mind full? Of the +noble calm, the glorious, patient endurance of those she had just quitted. +'What lessons might we not learn,' said she, 'beneath the wet thatch of +poverty! There are three struck down with fever in that cabin; she who +remains to nurse them is a little girl of scarcely thirteen. There is all +that can render sickness wretched around them. They are in pain and in +want; cold winds and rain sweep across their beds, if we could call them +such. If they cherish the love of life, it must be through some instinct +above all reason; and there they lie, uncomplaining. The little remnant of +their strength exhausts itself in a look of thankfulness,—a faint +effort to say their gratitude. Oh, if querulous hypochondriacism could but +see them, what teaching it might learn! Sufferings that call forth from us +not alone peevishness and impatience, but actually traits of rude and +ungenerous meaning, develop in them an almost refined courtesy, and a +trustfulness that supplies all that is most choice in words of gratitude.' +</p> +<p> +“And this is the girl whose life every day, every hour is imperilling,—who +encounters all the hazards of our treacherous climate, and all the more +fatal dangers of a season of pestilence, without friends, without a home! +Now, Martin, apart from all higher and better considerations on the +subject, this was not your compact,—such was not the text of your +bargain with poor Barry. The pledge you gave him at your last parting was +that she should be your daughter. That you made her feel all the affection +of one, none can tell more surely than myself. That your own heart +responds to her love I am as fully convinced of. But this is not enough, +my dear Martin. She has rights—actual rights—that no special +pleading on the score of intentions or good wishes can satisfy. I should +but unworthily discharge my office, as your oldest friend in the world, if +I did not place this before you broadly and plainly. The country is dull +and wearisome, devoid of society, and without resources, and you leave it; +but you leave behind you, to endure all its monotony, all its weariness, +one who possesses every charm and every attention that are valued in the +great world! There is fever and plague abroad, insurrection threatens, and +midnight disturbances are rife, and she who is to confront these perils is +a girl of twenty. The spirit of an invading party threatens to break down +all the prestige of old family name and property,—a cunningly +devised scheme menaces the existence of an influence that has endured for +centuries; and to oppose its working, or fall victim to its onslaught, you +leave a young lady, whose very impulses of generous meaning may be made +snares to entrap her. In a word, you neglect duty, desert danger, shun the +path of honorable exertion, and retreat before the menace of an encounter, +to place, where you should stand yourself, the frail figure and gentle +nature of one who was a child, as it were, but yesterday. Neither your +health nor your happiness can be purchased at such a price,—your +conscience is too sound for that,—nor can your ease! No, Martin, +your thoughts will stray over here, and linger amongst these lonely glens +that she is treading. Your fancy will follow her through the dark nights +of winter, as alone she goes forth on her mission of mercy. You will think +of her, stooping to teach the young—bending over the sick-bed of +age. And then, tracing her footsteps homeward, you will see her sit down +by a solitary hearth,—none of her own around her,—not one to +advise, to counsel, to encourage her! I will say no more on this theme; +your own true heart has already anticipated all that <i>I</i> could <i>speak</i>,—all +that <i>you</i> should <i>do</i>. +</p> +<p> +“Now for one more question, and I shall have finished the most painful +letter I ever wrote in my life. There are rumors—I cannot trace +them, nor fully understand them, but they imply that Captain Martin has +been raising very considerable sums by reversionary bonds and post-obits. +Without being able to give even a guess, as to the truth of this, I draw +your attention to the bare possibility, as of a case full of very serious +complications. Speak to your son at once on the subject, and learn the +truth,—the whole truth. My own fears upon the matter have been +considerably strengthened by hearing of a person who has been for several +weeks back making inquiries on the estate. He has resided usually at +Kilkieran, and spends his time traversing the property in all directions, +investigating questions of rent, wages, and tenure of land. They tell +marvellous stories of his charity and so forth,—blinds, doubtless, +to cover his own immediate objects. Mary, however, I ought to say, takes a +very different view of his character, and is so anxious to know him +personally that I promised her to visit him, and bring him to visit her at +the cottage. And, by the way, Martin, why should she be at the cottage,—why +not at Cro' Martin? What miserable economy has dictated a change that must +reflect upon her influence, not to speak of what is justly due to her own +station? I could swear that you never gave a willing consent to this +arrangement. No, no, Martin, the plan was never yours. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm not going to bore you with borough politics. To tell truth, I can't +comprehend them. They want to get rid of Massingbred, but they don't see +who is to succeed him. Young Nelligan ought to be the man, but he will +not. He despises his party,—or at least what would call itself his +party,—and is resolved never to concern himself with public affairs. +Meanwhile he is carrying all before him at the Bar, and is as sure of the +Bench as though he were on it. +</p> +<p> +“When he heard of Magennis's intention of bringing this action against +Mary, he came up to town to ask me to engage him on our side, 'since,' +said he, 'if they send me a brief I cannot refuse it, and if I accept it, +I promise you it shall be my last cause, for I have resolved to abandon +the Bar the day after.' This, of course, was in strictest secrecy, and so +you must regard it. He is a cold, calm fellow, and yet on this occasion he +seemed full of impulsive action. +</p> +<p> +“I had something to tell you about Henderson, but I actually forget what +it was. I can only remember it was disagreeable; and as this epistle has +its due share of bitters, my want of memory is perhaps a benefit; and so +to release you at once, I 'll write myself, as I have never ceased to be +for forty years, +</p> +<p> +“Your attached friend, +</p> +<p> +“Val. Repton.” + </p> +<p> +“I believe I was wrong about Henderson; at least the disagreeable went no +further than that he is supposed to be the channel through which Lady +Dorothea occasionally issues directions, not always in agreement with +Mary's notions. And as your niece never liked the man, the measures are +not more palatable when they come through his intervention.” + </p> +<p> +Lady Dorothea was still pondering over this letter, in which there were so +many things to consider, when a hurried message called her to the +sick-room. As she approached the room, she could hear Martin's voice +calling imperiously and angrily to the servants, and ordering them to +dress him. The difficulty of utterance seemed to increase his irritation, +and gave to his words a harsh, discordant tone, very unlike his natural +voice. +</p> +<p> +“So,” cried he, as she entered, “you have come at last. I am nigh +exhausted with telling them what I want. I must get up, Dora. They must +help me to dress.” + </p> +<p> +As he was thus speaking, the servants, at a gesture from her Ladyship, +quietly stole from the chamber, leaving her alone at his bedside. +</p> +<p> +“You are too weak for this exertion, Godfrey,” said she, calmly. “Any +effort like this is certain to injure you.” + </p> +<p> +“You think so?” asked he, with the tone of deference that he generally +used towards her. “Perhaps you are right, Dora; but how can it be helped?—there +is so much to do, such a long way to travel. What a strange confusion is +over me! Do you know, Dolly,”—here his voice fell to a mere whisper,—“you'll +scarcely credit it; but all the time I have been fancying myself at Cro' +Martin, and here we are in—in—what do you call the place?” + </p> +<p> +“Baden.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes—yes—but the country?” + </p> +<p> +“Germany.” + </p> +<p> +“Ay, to be sure, Germany; hundreds of miles away from home!” Here he +raised himself on one arm, and cast a look of searching eagerness through +the room. “Is he gone?” whispered he, timidly. +</p> +<p> +“Of whom are you speaking?” said she. +</p> +<p> +“Hush, Dolly, hush!” whispered he, still lower. “I promised I 'd not tell +any one, even you, of his being here. But I must speak of it—I must—or +my brain will turn. He was here—he sat in that very chair—he +held my hand within both his own. Poor, poor fellow! how his eyes filled +when he saw me! He little knew how changed he himself was!—his hair +white as snow, and his eyes so dimmed!” + </p> +<p> +“This was a dream, Godfrey,—only a dream!” + </p> +<p> +“I thought you 'd say so,—I knew it,” said he, sorrowfully; “but <i>I</i> +know better. The dear old voice rang in my heart as I used to hear it when +a child, as he said, 'Do you remember me?' To be sure I remembered him, +and told him to go and fetch Molly; and his brow darkened when I said +this, and he drew back his hand and said, 'You have deserted her,—she +is not here!'” + </p> +<p> +“All this is mere fancy, Godfrey; you have been dreaming of home.” + </p> +<p> +“Ay,” muttered he, gloomily, “it was but too true; we did desert her, and +that was not our bargain, Dolly. It was all the poor fellow asked at our +hands,—his last, his only condition. What's that letter you have +there?” cried he, impatiently, as Lady Dorothea, in the agitation of the +moment, continued to crumple Repton's letter between her fingers. +</p> +<p> +“A letter I have been reading,” said she, sternly. +</p> +<p> +“From whom—from whom?” asked he, still more eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“A letter from Mr. Repton. You shall read it when you are better. You are +too weak for all this exertion, God-frey; you must submit—” + </p> +<p> +“Submit!” broke he in; “the very word he said. You submit yourself to +anything, if it only purchase your selfish ease. No, Dolly, no, I am +wrong. It was I that said so. I owned to him how unworthily I had acted. +Give me that letter, madam. Let me see it,” said he, imperiously. +</p> +<p> +“When you are more tranquil, Godfrey,—in a fitting state.” + </p> +<p> +“I tell you, madam,” cried he, fiercely, “this, is no time for trifling or +deception. Repton knows all our affairs. If he has written now, it is +because matters are imminent. My head is clear now. I can think—I +can speak. It is full time Harry should hear the truth. Let him come +here.” + </p> +<p> +“Take a little rest, Godfrey, be it only half an hour, and you shall have +everything as you wish it.” + </p> +<p> +“Half an hour! you speak of half an hour to one whose years are minutes +now!” said he, in a broken voice. “This poor brain, Dora, is already +wandering. The strange things I have seen so lately—that poor fellow +come back after so many years—so changed, so sadly changed—but +I knew him through all the mist and vapor of this feverish state; I saw +him clearly, my own dear Barry!” The word, as it were the last barrier to +his emotion, brought forth a gush of tears; and burying his face within +the bedclothes, he sobbed himself to sleep. As he slept, however, he +continued to mutter about home and long passed years,—of boyish +sports with his brother; childish joys and sorrows were all mingled there, +with now and then some gloomier reveries of later days. +</p> +<p> +“He has been wandering in his mind!” whispered Lady Dorothea to her son, +as he joined her in the darkened room. “He woke up, believing that he had +seen his brother, and the effect was very painful.” + </p> +<p> +“Has he asked for <i>me?</i>” inquired the other. +</p> +<p> +“No; he rambled on about Mary, and having deserted her, and all that; and +just as ill-luck would have it, here is a letter from Repton, exactly +filled with the very same theme. He insists on seeing it; but of course he +will have forgotten it when he awakes.” + </p> +<p> +“You have written to Scanlan?” asked he. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; my letter has been sent off.” + </p> +<p> +“Minutes are precious now. If anything should occur here,”—his eyes +turned towards the sick-bed as he spoke,—“Merl will refuse to treat. +His people—I know they are his—are hovering about the hotel +all the morning. I heard the waiter whispering as I passed, and caught the +words, 'No better; worse, if anything.' The tidings would be in London +before the post.” + </p> +<p> +Lady Dorothea made no reply, and all was now silent, save the unequal but +heavy breathings of the sick man, and the faint, low mutterings of his +dream. “In the arras—between the window and the wall—there it +is, Barry,” cried he, in a clear, distinct voice. “Repton has a copy of +it, too, with Catty's signature,—old Catty Broon.” + </p> +<p> +“What is he dreaming of?” asked the young man. +</p> +<p> +But, instead of replying to the question, Lady Dorothea bent down her head +to catch the now muttered words of the sleeper. +</p> +<p> +“He says something of a key. What key does he mean?” asked he. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0012" id="linkimage-0012"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/297.jpg" width="100%" alt="297 " /> +</div> +<p> +“Fetch me that writing-desk,” said Lady Dorothea, as she took several keys +from her pockets; and noiselessly unlocking the box, she began to search +amidst its contents. As she continued, her gestures grew more and more +hurried; she threw papers recklessly here and there, and at last emptied +the entire contents upon the table before her. “See, search if there be a +key here,” cried she, in a broken voice; “I saw it here three days ago.” + </p> +<p> +“There is none here,” said he, wondering at her eagerness. +</p> +<p> +“Look carefully,—look well for it,” said she, her voice trembling at +every word. +</p> +<p> +“Is it of such consequence—” + </p> +<p> +“It is of such consequence,” broke she in, “that he into whose hands it +falls can leave you and me beggars on the world!” An effort at awaking by +the sick man here made her hastily restore the papers to the desk, which +she locked, and replaced upon the table. +</p> +<p> +“Was it the Henderson did this?” said she aloud, as if asking the question +of herself. “Could she have known this secret?” + </p> +<p> +“Did what? What secret?” asked he, anxiously. +</p> +<p> +A low, long sigh announced that the sick man was awaking; and in a faint +voice he said, “I feel better, Dora. I have had a sleep, and been dreaming +of home and long ago. To-morrow, or next day, perhaps, I may be strong +enough to leave this. I want to be back there again. Nay, don't refuse +me,” said he, timidly. +</p> +<p> +“When you are equal to the journey—” + </p> +<p> +“I have a still longer one before me, Dora, and even less preparation for +it. Harry, I have something to say to you, if I were strong enough to say +it,—this evening, perhaps.” Wearied by the efforts he had made, he +lay back again with a heavy sigh, and was silent. +</p> +<p> +“Is he worse—is he weaker?” asked his son. +</p> +<p> +A mournful nod of the head was her reply. +</p> +<p> +Young Martin arose and stole noiselessly from the room, he scarcely knew +whither; he indeed cared not which way he turned. The future threw its +darkest shadows before him. He had little to hope for, as little to love. +His servant gave him a letter which Massingbred had left on his departure, +but he never opened it; and in a listless vacuity he wandered out into the +wood. +</p> +<p> +It was evening as he turned homeward. His first glance was towards the +windows of his father's room. They were wont to be closely shuttered and +fastened; now one of them lay partly open, and a slight breeze stirred the +curtain within. A faint, sickly fear of he knew not what crept over him. +He walked on quicker; but as he drew nigh the door, his servant met him. +“Well!” cried he, as though expecting a message. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir, it is all over; he went off about an hour since.” The man added +something; but Martin heard no more, but hurried to his room, and locked +the door. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXVII. A VERY BRIEF INTERVIEW. +</h2> +<p> +When Jack Massingbred found himself once more “in town,” and saw that the +tide of the mighty world there rolled on the same full, boiling flood he +had remembered it of yore, he began to wonder where and how he had +latterly been spending his life. There were questions of politics—mighty +interests of which every one was talking—of which he knew nothing; +party changes and new social combinations had arisen of which he was +utterly ignorant. But what he still more acutely deplored was that he +himself had, so to say, dropped out of the memory of his friends, who +accosted him with that half-embarrassed air that says, “Have you been ill?—or +in India?—or how is it that we have n't met you about?” It was last +session he had made a flash speech,—an effort that his own party +extolled to the skies, and even the Opposition could only criticise the +hardihood and presumption of so very young a member of the House,—and +now already people had ceased to bear him in mind. +</p> +<p> +The least egotistical of men—and Massingbred did not enter into this +category—find it occasionally very hard to bear the cool “go-by” the +world gives them whenever a chance interval has withdrawn them from public +view. The stern truth of how little each atom of the social scheme affects +the working of the whole machinery is far from palatable in its personal +application. Massingbred was probably sensitive enough on this score, but +too consummate a tactician to let any one guess his feelings; and so he +lounged down to the “House,” and lolled at his Club, and took his airings +in the Park with all the seeming routine of one who had never abdicated +these enjoyments for a day. +</p> +<p> +He had promised, and really meant, to have looked after Martin's affairs +on his reaching London; but it was almost a week after his return that he +bethought him of his pledge, his attention being then called to the +subject by finding on his table the visiting-card of Mr. Maurice Scanlan. +Perhaps he was not sorry to have something to do; perhaps he had some +compunctions of conscience for his forgetfulness; at all events, he sent +his servant at once to Scanlan's hotel, with a request that he would call +upon him as early as might be. An answer was speedily returned that Mr. +Scanlan was about to start for Ireland that same afternoon, but would wait +upon him immediately. The message was scarcely delivered when Scanlan +himself appeared. +</p> +<p> +Dressed in deep mourning, but with an easy complacency of manner that +indicated very little of real grief, he threw himself into a chair, +saying, “I pledge you my word of honor, it is only to yourself I 'd have +come this morning, Mr. Massingbred, for I 'm actually killed with +business. No man would believe the letters I've had to read and answer, +the documents to examine, the deeds to compare, the papers to investigate—” + </p> +<p> +“Is the business settled, then—or in train of settlement?” broke in +Jack. +</p> +<p> +“I suppose it <i>is</i> settled,” replied Scanlan, with a slight laugh. +“Of course you know Mr. Martin is dead?” + </p> +<p> +“Dead! Good heavens! When did this occur?” + </p> +<p> +“We got the news—that is, Merl did—the day before yesterday. A +friend of his who had remained at Baden to watch events started the moment +he breathed his last, and reached town thirty hours before the mail; not, +indeed, that the Captain has yet written a line on the subject to any +one.” + </p> +<p> +“And what of the arrangement? Had you come to terms previously with Merl?” + </p> +<p> +“No; he kept negotiating and fencing with us from day to day, now asking +for this, now insisting on that, till the evening of his friend's arrival, +when, by special appointment, I had called to confer with him. Then, +indeed, he showed no disposition for further delay, but frankly told me +the news, and said, 'The Conferences are over, Scanlan. I 'm the Lord of +Cro' Martin.'” + </p> +<p> +“And is this actually the case,—has he really established his claim +in such a manner as will stand the test of law and the courts?” + </p> +<p> +“He owns every acre of it; there's not a flaw in his title; he has managed +to make all Martin's debts assume the shape of advances in hard cash. +There is no trace of play transactions throughout the whole. I must be +off, Mr. Massing-bred; there 's the chaise now at the door.” + </p> +<p> +“Wait one moment, I entreat of you. Can nothing be done? Is it too late to +attempt any compromise?” + </p> +<p> +“To be sure it is. He has sent off instructions already to serve the +notice for ejectment. I 've got orders myself to warn the tenants not to +pay the last half-year, except into court.” + </p> +<p> +“Why, are <i>you</i> in Mr. Merl's service, then?” asked Jack, with one of +his quiet laughs. +</p> +<p> +“I am, and I am not,” said Scanlan, reddening. “You know the compact I +made with Lady Dorothea at Baden. Well, of course there is no longer any +question about that. Still, if Miss Mary agrees to accept me, I 'll stand +by the old family! There 's no end of trouble and annoyance we could n't +give Merl before he got possession. I know the estate well, and where the +worst fellows on it are to be found! It's one thing to have the parchments +of a property, and it is another to be able to go live on it, and draw the +rents. But I can't stay another minute. Good-bye, air. Any chance of +seeing you in the West soon?” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm not sure I 'll not go over to-morrow,” said Jack, musing. +</p> +<p> +“I suppose you are going to blarney the constituency?” said Maurice, +laughing heartily at his coarse conceit. Then suddenly seeing that +Massingbred did not seem to relish the freedom, he hurriedly repeated his +leave-takings, and departed. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXVIII. THE DARK SIDE OF A CHARACTER. +</h2> +<p> +“Ye might ken the style of these epistles by this time, Dinah,” said Mr. +Henderson, as he walked leisurely up and down a long low-ceilinged room, +and addressed himself to a piece of very faded gentility, who sat at a +writing-table. “She wants to hear naething but what she likes, and, as +near as may be, in her ain words too.” + </p> +<p> +“I always feel as if I was copying out the same letter every time I +write,” whined out a weak, sickly voice. +</p> +<p> +“The safest thing ye could do,” replied he, gravely. “She never tires o' +reading that everybody on the estate is a fule or a scoundrel, and ye +canna be far wrang when ye say the worst o' them all. Hae ye told her +aboot the burnin' at Kyle-a-Noe?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, I have said that you have little doubt it was malicious.” + </p> +<p> +“And hae ye said that there's not a sixpence to be had out of the whole +townland of Kiltimmon?” + </p> +<p> +“I have. I have told her that, except Miss Mary herself, nobody would +venture into the barony.” + </p> +<p> +“The greater fule yerself, then,” said he, angrily. “Couldna ye see that +she'll score this as a praise o' the young leddy's courage? Ye maun just +strike it out, ma'am, and say that the place is in open rebellion—” + </p> +<p> +“I thought you bade me say that Miss Mary had gone down there and spoken +to the people—” + </p> +<p> +“I bade ye say,” broke he angrily in, “that Miss Mary declared no rent +should be demanded o' them in their present distress; that she threw the +warrants into the fire, and vowed that if we called a sale o' their +chattels, she 'd do the same at the castle, and give the people the +proceeds.” + </p> +<p> +“You only said that she was in such a passion that she declared she 'd be +right in doing so.” + </p> +<p> +“I hae nae time for hair-splitting, ma'am. I suppose if she had a right +she 'd exercise it! Put down the words as I gie them to ye! Ye hae no +forgotten the conspeeracy?” + </p> +<p> +“I gave it exactly as you told me, and I copied out the two paragraphs in +the papers about it, beginning, 'Great scandal,' and 'If our landed gentry +expect—'” + </p> +<p> +“That's right; and ye hae added the private history of Joan? They 'll make +a fine thing o' that on the trial, showing the chosen associate o' a young +leddy to hae been naething better than—Ech! what are ye blubberin' +aboot,—is it yer feelin's agen? Ech! ma'am, ye are too sentimental +for a plain man like me!” + </p> +<p> +This rude speech was called up by a smothering effort to conceal emotion, +which would not be repressed, but burst forth in a violent fit of sobbing. +</p> +<p> +“I know you didn't mean it. I know you were not thinking—” + </p> +<p> +“If ye canna keep your ain counsel, ye must just pay the cost o' it,” said +he, savagely. “Finish the letter there, and let me send it to the post. I +wanted ye to say a' about the Nelligans comin' up to visit Miss Mary, and +she goin' ower the grounds wi' them, and sendin' them pineapples and +grapes, and how that the doctor's girls are a'ways wi' her, and that she +takes old Catty out to drive along wi' herself in the pony phaeton, which +is condescendin' in a way her Leddyship will no approve o'. There was mony +a thing beside I had in my head, but ye hae driven them a' clean awa' wi' +your feelin's!” And he gave the last word with an almost savage severity. +</p> +<p> +“Bide a wee!” cried he, as she was folding up the letter. “Ye may add that +Mister Scanlan has taken to shootin' over the preserves we were keepin' +for the Captain, and if her Leddyship does not wish to banish the +woodcocks a'the-gither, she 'd better gie an order to stop him. Young +Nelli-gan had a special permission from Miss Mary hersel' and if it was na +that he canna hit a haystack at twenty yards, there 'd no be a cock +pheasant in the demesne! I think I 'm looking at her as she reads this,” + said he, with a malicious grin. “Ech, sirs, won't her great black eyebrows +meet on her forehead, and her mouth be drawn in till never a bit of a red +lip be seen! Is na that a chaise I see comin' up the road?” cried he, +suddenly. “Look yonder!” + </p> +<p> +“I thought I saw something pass,” said she, trying to strain her eyes +through the tears that now rose to them. +</p> +<p> +“It's a post-chaise wi' twa trunks on the top. I wonder who's comin' in +it?” said Henderson, as he opened the sash-door, and stood awaiting the +arrival. The chaise swept rapidly round the beech copse, and drew up +before the door; the postilion, dismounting, lowered the steps, and +assisted a lady to alight. She threw back her veil as she stood on the +ground, and Kate Henderson, somewhat jaded-looking and pale from her +journey, was before her father. A slight flush—very slight—rose +to his face as he beheld her, and without uttering a word he turned and +re-entered the house. +</p> +<p> +“Ye are aboot to see a visitor, ma'am,” said he to his wife; and, taking +his hat, passed out of the room. Meanwhile Kate watched the postboy as he +untied the luggage and deposited it at her side. +</p> +<p> +“Did n't I rowl you along well, my Lady?—ten miles in little more +than an hour,” said he, pointing to his smoking cattle. +</p> +<p> +“More speed than we needed,” said she, with a melancholy smile, while she +placed some silver in his hand. +</p> +<p> +“What's this here, my Lady? It's like one of the owld tenpenny bits,” said +he, turning over and over a coin as he spoke. +</p> +<p> +“It's French money,” said she, “and unfortunately I have got none other +left me.” + </p> +<p> +“Sure they'll give you what you want inside,” said he, pointing towards +the house. +</p> +<p> +“No, no; take this. It is a crown piece, and they'll surely change it for +you in the town.” And so saying, she turned towards the door. When she +made one step towards it, however, she stopped. A painful irresolution +seemed to possess her; but, recovering it, she turned the handle and +entered. +</p> +<p> +“We did not know you were coming; at least, he never told me,” said her +stepmother, in a weak, broken voice, as she arose from her seat. +</p> +<p> +“There was no time to apprise you,” said Kate, as she walked towards the +fire and leaned her arm on the chimney-piece. +</p> +<p> +“You came away suddenly, then? Had anything unpleasant—was there any +reason—” + </p> +<p> +“I had been desirous of leaving for some time back. Lady Dorothea only +gave her consent on Tuesday last,—I think it was Tuesday; but my +head is not very clear, for I am somewhat tired.” There was an +indescribable sadness in the way these simple words were uttered and in +the sigh which followed them. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm afraid he 'll not be pleased at it!” said the other, timidly. +</p> +<p> +Another sigh, but still weaker than the former, was Kate's only reply. +</p> +<p> +“And how did you leave Mr. Martin? They tell us here that his case is +hopeless,” said Mrs. Henderson. +</p> +<p> +“He is very ill, indeed; the doctors give no hope of saving him. Is Miss +Martin fully aware of his state?” + </p> +<p> +“Who can tell? We scarcely ever see her. You know that she never was very +partial to your father, and latterly there has been a greater distance +than ever between them. They differ about everything; and with that +independent way he has—” + </p> +<p> +A wide stare from Kate's full dark eyes, an expression of astonishment, +mingled with raillery, in her features, here arrested the speaker, who +blushed deeply in her embarrassment. +</p> +<p> +“Go on,” said Kate, gently. “Pray continue, and let me hear what it is +that his independence accomplishes.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, dear!” sighed the other. “I see well you are not changed, Kate. You +have come back with your old haughty spirit, and sure you know well, dear, +that he 'll not bear it.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll not impose any burden on his forbearance. A few days' shelter—a +week or two at furthest—will not be, perhaps, too much to ask.” + </p> +<p> +“So, then, you have a situation in view, Kate?” asked she, more eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“The world is a tolerably wide one, and I 'm sure there is room for me +somewhere, even without displacing another. But let us talk of anything +else. How are the Nelligans? and Joe, what is he doing?” + </p> +<p> +“The old people are just as you left them; but Mr. Joseph is a great man +now,—dines with the Lord-Lieutenant, and goes into all the grand +society of Dublin.” + </p> +<p> +“Is he spoiled by his elevation?” + </p> +<p> +“Your father thinks him haughtier than he used to be; but many say that he +is exactly what he always was. Mrs. Nelligan comes up frequently to the +cottage now, and dines with Miss Martin. I 'm sure I don't know how my +Lady would like to see her there.” + </p> +<p> +“She is not very likely,” said Kate, dryly. +</p> +<p> +“Why not?” + </p> +<p> +“I mean, that nothing is less probable than Lady Dorothea's return here.” + </p> +<p> +“I suppose not!” half sighed Mrs. Henderson, for hers was one of those +sorrowful temperaments that extract only the bitter from the cup of life. +In reality, she had little reason to wish for Lady Dorothea's presence, +but still she could make a “very good grievance” out of her absence, and +find it a fitting theme for regret. “What reason do you mean to give for +your coming home, Kate, if he should ask you?” inquired she, after a +pause. +</p> +<p> +“That I felt dissatisfied with my place,” replied Kate, coldly. +</p> +<p> +“And we were always saying what a piece of good luck it was for you to be +there! Miss Mary told Mrs. Nelligan—it was only the other day—that +her uncle could n't live without you,—that you nursed him, and read +to him, and what not; and as to her Ladyship, that she never took a drive +in the carriage, or answered a note, without asking your advice first.” + </p> +<p> +“What a profound impression Miss Martin must have received of my talents +for intrigue!” said Kate, sneeringly. +</p> +<p> +“I believe not. I think she said something very kind and good-natured, +just as if it was only people who had really very great gifts that could +condescend to make themselves subservient without humiliation. I know she +said 'without humiliation,' because your father laughed when he heard of +it, and remarked, 'If it's Kate's humility they like, they are assuredly +thankful for small mercies!” + </p> +<p> +“I should like to go over and see Miss Martin. What distance is it from +this to the cottage?” + </p> +<p> +“It's full three miles; but it's all through the demesne.” + </p> +<p> +“I'm a good walker, and I'll go,” said she, rising. “But first, might I +ask for a little refreshment,—a cup of tea? Oh, I forgot,” added +she, smiling, “tea is one of the forbidden luxuries here.” + </p> +<p> +“No; but your father doesn't like to see it in the daytime. If you'd take +it in your own room—” + </p> +<p> +“Of course, and be most thankful. Am I to have the little room with the +green paper, where I used to be, long ago?” + </p> +<p> +“Well, indeed, I can scarcely tell. The bed was taken down last autumn; +and as we never thought of your coming home—” + </p> +<p> +“Home!” sighed Kate, involuntarily. +</p> +<p> +“But come into my room, and I 'll fetch you a cup of tea directly.” + </p> +<p> +“No, no; it is better not to risk offending him,” said Kate, calmly. “I +remember, now, that this was one of his antipathies. Give me anything +else, for I have not eaten to-day.” + </p> +<p> +While her stepmother went in search of something to offer her, Kate sat +down beside the fire, deep in thought. She had removed her bonnet, and her +long silky hair fell in rich masses over her neck and shoulders, giving a +more fixed expression to her features, which were of deathlike paleness. +And so she sat, gazing intently on the fire, as though she were reading +her very destiny in the red embers before her. Her preoccupation of mind +was such that she never noticed the opening of the door, nor remarked that +her father had entered. The noise of a chair being moved suddenly startled +her. She looked up, and there he stood, his hat on his head and his arms +closely folded on his breast, at the opposite side of the fire. +</p> +<p> +“Well, lassie,” said he, after a long and steady stare at her, “ye hae +left your place, or been turned oot o' it,—whilk is the case?” + </p> +<p> +“I came away of my own accord,” said she, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“And against my Leddy's wish?” + </p> +<p> +“No, with her full consent.” + </p> +<p> +“And how did ye do it? for in her last letter to my sel', she says, 'I +desire ye, therefore, to bear in mind that any step she takes on this +head'—meaning about going away—'shall have been adopted in +direct opposition to my wishes.' What has ye done since that?” + </p> +<p> +“I have succeeded in convincing her Ladyship that I was right in leaving +her!” said Kate. +</p> +<p> +“Was it the force of your poleetical convictions that impelled ye to this +course?” said he, with a bitter grin, “for they tell me ye are a rare +champion o' the rights o' the people, and scruple not to denounce the +upper classes, while ye eat their bread.” + </p> +<p> +“I denounce no one; nor, so far as I know myself, is ingratitude amongst +my faults.” + </p> +<p> +“Maybe, if one were to tak' your ain narrative for it, ye hae nae faults +worse than mere failings! But this is na telling me why ye left my Leddy.” + </p> +<p> +Kate made no answer, but sat steadily watching the fire. +</p> +<p> +“Ye wad rayther, mayhap, that I asked hersel' aboot it! Well, be it so. +And noo comes anither point. Do ye think that if your conduct has in any +way given displeasure to your mistress, or offended those in whose service +ye were,—do ye think, I say, that ye hae the right to involve <i>me</i> +in your shame and disgrace?” + </p> +<p> +“Do you mean,” said she, calmly, “that I had no right to come here?” + </p> +<p> +“It 's just exactly what I mean; that if ye canna mak' friends for +yoursel', ye ought not to turn away those whilk befriend your family.” + </p> +<p> +“But what was I to have done, then?” said she, gently. “There were +circumstances that required—imperatively required me—to leave +Lady Dorothea—” + </p> +<p> +“Let me hear them,” said he, breaking in, “It would lead me to speak of +others than myself,—of events which are purely family matters,—were +I to enter upon this theme. Besides,” said she, rising, “I am not, so far +as I know, on my trial. There is not anything laid to my charge. I have no +apologies to render.” + </p> +<p> +At this moment her stepmother appeared with a tray at the door, and seeing +Henderson, endeavored to retire unobserved, but his quick eye had already +detected her, and he cried out, “Come here,—ye canna do too much +honor to a young leddy who has such a vara profound esteem for hersel'! +Cake and wine! my faith! No but ye 'll deem it vara vulgar fare, after the +dainties ye hae been used to! And yet, lassie, these are nae the habits +here!” + </p> +<p> +“She has eaten nothing to-day!” meekly observed her stepmother. +</p> +<p> +“My fayther wad hae askit her hoo much has she earned the day?” said +Henderson, severely. +</p> +<p> +“You are quite right, sir,” broke in Kate,—“I have earned nothing. +Not just yet,” added she, as her stepmother pressed a glass of wine on her +acceptance; “a little later, perhaps. I have no appetite now.” + </p> +<p> +“Are ye sae stupid, ma'am, that ye canna see ye are dealin' wi' a fine +leddy, wha is no obleeged to hae the same mind twa minutes thegither? Ye +'ll hae to train wee Janet to be a' ready for whate'er caprice is +uppermost. But mine me, lassie,”—here he turned a look of stern +meaning towards her,—“ye hae tried for mony a lang day to subdue <i>me</i> +to your whims and fancies, as they tell me ye hae done wi' sae mony +others, and ye are just as far fra it noo as the first time ye tried it. +Ye canna cheat nor cajole <i>me! I</i> know ye!” And with these words, +uttered in a tone of intense passion, he slowly walked out of the room. +</p> +<p> +“Had he been angry with you?—had anything occurred before I came +in?” asked her stepmother. +</p> +<p> +“Very little,” sighed Kate, wearily. “He was asking me why I came here, I +believe. I could scarcely tell him; perhaps I don't very well know, +myself.” + </p> +<p> +“He can't get it out of his head,” said the other, in a low, stealthy +whisper, “that, if you should leave Lady Dorothea, he will be turned away +out of the stewardship. He is always saying it,—he repeats it even +in his dreams. But for that, he 'd not have met you so—so—unkindly.” + </p> +<p> +Kate pressed her hand affectionately, and smiled a thankful acknowledgment +of this speech. “And the cottage,” said she, rallying suddenly, “is about +three miles off?” + </p> +<p> +“Not more. But you could scarcely walk there and back again. Besides, it +is already growing late, and you have no chance of seeing Miss Mary if you +'re not there by breakfast-time, since, when she comes home of an evening, +she admits no one. She reads or studies, I believe, all the evening.” + </p> +<p> +“I think she'd see me,” said Kate; “I should have so much to tell her +about her friends. I 'm sure she 'd see <i>me</i>,—at least, I'll +try.” + </p> +<p> +“But you'll eat something,—you 'll at least drink a glass of wine +before you set out?” + </p> +<p> +“I do not like to refuse you,” said Kate, smiling good-naturedly, “but I +could n't swallow now. I have a choking feeling here in my throat, like a +heavy cold, that seems as though it would suffocate me. Good-bye, for a +while. I shall be quite well, once I 'm in the open air. Good-bye!” And, +so saying, she wrapped her shawl around her, and motioning a farewell with +her hand, set out on her errand. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXIX. THE COTTAGE. +</h2> +<p> +It was one of those fresh and breezy days where brilliant flashes of +sunlight alternate with deep shadow, making of every landscape a +succession of pictures, that Kate Henderson set out on her way to the +cottage. Her path led through the demesne, but it was as wild as any +forest scene in Germany, now wending through dark woods, now issuing forth +over swelling lawns, from which the view extended many a mile away,—at +one moment displaying the great rugged mountains of Connemara, and at +another, the broad blue sea, heaving heavily, and thundering in sullen +roar against the rocks. +</p> +<p> +The fast-flitting clouds, the breezy grass, the wind-shaken foliage, and +the white-crested waves, all were emblems of life; there was motion and +sound and conflict! and yet to her heart, as she walked along, these +influences imparted no sense of pleasure or relief. For a few seconds, +perhaps, would she suddenly awake to the consciousness of the fair scene +before her, and murmur to herself, perchance, the lines of some favorite +poet; but in another moment her gloomy thoughtfulness was back again, and +with bent-down head was she again moving onward. At times she walked +rapidly forward, and then, relaxing her pace, she would stroll listlessly +along, as though no object engaged her. And so was it in reality,—her +main desire being to be free, in the open air; to be from beneath that +roof whose shadow seemed to darken her very heart! Could that haughty +spirit have humbled itself in sorrow, she might have found relief; but her +proud nature had no such resource, and in her full heart injury and wrong +had alone their place. +</p> +<p> +“And this,” burst she forth at length,—“and this is Home! this the +dreamland of those far away over the seas,—the cherished spot of all +affections,—the quiet nook wherein we breathe an atmosphere of love, +blending our lives with all dearest to us. Is it, then, that all is +hollow, false, and untrue; or is it that I alone have no part in the +happiness that is diffused around me? I know not which would be the +sadder!” + </p> +<p> +Thus, reasoning sadly, she went along, when suddenly, on the slope of a +gentle hill in front of her, gracefully encircled with a young wood of +larch and copper-beech, she caught sight of the cottage. It was a tasteful +imitation of those seen in the Oberland, and with its wild background of +lofty mountain, an appropriate ornament to the landscape. +</p> +<p> +A small stream running over a rocky, broken bed formed the boundary of the +little grounds, and over this a bridge of a single plank conducted the way +to the cottage. The whole was simple and unpretending; there was none of +that smart trimness which gives to such scenes the air of an imitation. +The lawn, it is true, was neatly shaven, and the flower-plots, which broke +its uniformity, clean from weeds; but the flowers were of the simplest +kind,—the crocus and the daffodil had to stand no dangerous rivalry, +and the hyacinth had nothing to vie with. +</p> +<p> +Kate loitered for some time here, now gazing at the wild, stern landscape, +now listening to the brawling rivulet, whose sounds were the only ones in +the stillness. As she drew nigh the cottage, she found the windows of a +little drawing-room open. She looked in: all was comfortable and +neat-looking, but of the strictest simplicity. She next turned to the +little porch, and pulled the bell; in a few seconds the sounds of feet +were heard approaching, and a very old woman, whose appearance and dress +were the perfection of neatness, appeared. +</p> +<p> +“Don't you know me, Mrs. Broon?” said Kate, gently. +</p> +<p> +“I do not, then, my Lady,” said she, respectfully, “for my eyes is gettin' +dimmer every day.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm Kate Henderson, Mrs. Broon. Do you forget me?” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed I do not,” said Catty, gravely. “You were here with the master and +my Lady?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes. I went away with them to Germany; but I have come home for a while, +and wish to pay my respects to Miss Mary.” + </p> +<p> +“She isn't at home to-day,” was the dry response. +</p> +<p> +“But she will return soon, I conclude. She'll be back some time in the +evening, won't she?” + </p> +<p> +“If she plazes it, she will. There's nobody to control or make her do but +what she likes herself,” said Catty. +</p> +<p> +“I ask,” said Kate, “because I'm a little tired. I've come off a long +journey, and if you'd allow me to rest myself, and wait awhile in the hope +of seeing Miss Martin, I'd be very thankful.” + </p> +<p> +“Come in, then,” said Catty; but the faint sigh with which the words were +uttered, gave but a scant significance of welcome. +</p> +<p> +Kate followed her into the little drawing-room, and at a sign from the old +woman, took a seat. +</p> +<p> +“Miss Mary is quite well, I'm glad to hear,” said Kate, endeavoring to +introduce some conversation. +</p> +<p> +“Will they ever come back?” asked the old woman, in a stern, harsh voice, +while she paid no attention whatever to Kate's remark. +</p> +<p> +“It is very unlikely,” said Kate. “Your poor master had not long to live +when I came away. He was sinking rapidly.” + </p> +<p> +“So I heard,” muttered the other, dryly; “the last letter from Mr. Repton +said 'he was n't expected.'” + </p> +<p> +“I fear it will be a great shock to Miss Mary,” said Kate. +</p> +<p> +The old woman nodded her head slowly several times without speaking. +</p> +<p> +“And, perhaps, cause great changes here?” continued Kate. +</p> +<p> +“There's changes enough, and too many already,” muttered Catty. “I +remember the place upwards of eighty years. I was born in the little house +to the right of the road as you come up from Kelly's mills. There was no +mill there then, nor a school-house, no, nor a dispensary either! Musha, +but the people was better off, and happier, when they had none of them.” + </p> +<p> +Kate smiled at the energy with which these words were uttered, surmising, +rightfully, that Catty's condemnation of progress had a direct application +to herself. +</p> +<p> +“Now it's all readin' and writin', teachin' honest people to be rogues, +and givin' them new contrivances to cheat their masters. When I knew Cro' +Martin first,” added she, almost fiercely, “there was n't a Scotch steward +on the estate; but there was nobody turned out of his houldin', and there +was n't a cabin unroofed to make the people seek shelter under a ditch.” + </p> +<p> +“The world would then seem growing worse every day,” remarked Kate, +quietly. +</p> +<p> +“To be sure it is. Why would n't it? Money is in every one's heart. Nobody +cares for his own flesh and blood. 'T is all money! What will I get if I +take that farm over another man's head, or marry that girl that likes +somebody better than me? 'Tis to be rich they're all strivin', and the +devil never made people his own children so completely as by teachin' them +to love goold!” + </p> +<p> +“Your young mistress has but little of this spirit in her heart?” said +Kate. +</p> +<p> +“Signs on it! look at the life she leads: up before daybreak, and away +many times before I 'm awake. She makes a cup of coffee herself, and +saddles the pony, too, if Patsey is n't there to do it; and she 's off to +Glentocher, or Knock-mullen, twelve, fourteen miles down the coast, with +barley for one, and a bottle of wine for the other. Sometimes she has a +basket with her, just a load to carry, with tay and shugar; ay, and—for +she forgets nothing—toys for the children, too, and clothes, and +even books. And then to see herself, she 's not as well dressed as her own +maid used to be. There 's not a night she does n't sit up patchin' and +piecin' her clothes. 'T is Billy at the cross-roads made her shoes last +time for her, just because he was starvin' with nothing' to do. She +ordered them, and she wears them, too; it makes him so proud, she says, to +see them. And this is the niece of the Martins of Cro' Martin! without one +of her kith or kin to welcome her home at nightfall,—without father +or mother, brother or sister,—without a kind voice to say 'God bless +her,' as she falls off to sleep many a time in that big chair there; and I +take off her shoes without her knowin' it, she does be so weary and tired; +and in her dhrames it 's always talking to the people, givin' them +courage, and cheerin' them up, tellin' them there 's good times for every +one; and once, the other evenin', she sang a bit of a song, thinkin' she +was in Mat Leahy's cabin amusin' the children, and she woke up laughin', +and said, 'Catty, I 've had such a pleasant dhrame. I thought I had little +Nora, my godchild, on my knee, and was teachin' her “Why are the daisies +in the grass?” I can't tell you how happy I felt!' There it was: the only +thing like company to her poor heart was a dhrame!” + </p> +<p> +“I do not wonder that you love her, Catty,” said Kate; and the words fell +tremulously from her lips. +</p> +<p> +“Love her! what's the use of such as me lovin' her?” cried the old woman, +querulously. “Sure, it's not one of my kind knows how good she is! If you +only seen her comin' in here, after dark, maybe, wet and weary and +footsore, half famished with cold and hunger,—out the whole livelong +day, over the mountains, where there was fever and shakin' ague, and +starvin' people, ravin' mad between disease and destitution; and the first +word out of her mouth will be, 'Oh, Catty, how grateful you and I ought to +be with our warm roof over us, and our snug fire to sit at,' never +thinkin' of who she is and what she has the right to, but just makin' +herself the same as <i>me</i>. And then she 'd tell me where she was, and +what she seen, and how well the people was bearin' up under their trials,—all +the things they said to her, for they 'd tell her things they would n't +tell the priest. 'Catty,' said she, t' other night, 'it looks like +heartlessness in me to be in such high spirits in the midst of all this +misery here; but I feel as if my courage was a well that others were +drinking out of; and when I go into a cabin, the sick man, as he turns his +head round, looks happier, and I feel as if it was my spirit that was +warmin' and cheerin' him; and when a poor sick sufferin' child looks up at +me and smiles, I 'm ready to drop on my knees and thank God in +gratitude.'” + </p> +<p> +Kate covered her face with her hands, and never spoke; and now the old +woman, warming with the theme she loved best, went on to tell various +incidents and events of Mary's life,—the perilous accidents which +befell her, the dangers she braved, the fatigues she encountered. Even +recounted by <i>her</i>, there was a strange adventurous character that +ran through these recitals, showing that Mary Martin, in all she thought +and said and acted, was buoyed and sustained by a sort of native chivalry +that made her actually court the incidents where she incurred the greatest +hazard. It was plain to see what charm such traits possessed for her who +recorded them, and how in her old Celtic blood ran the strong current of +delight in all that pertained to the adventurous and the wild. +</p> +<p> +“'Tis her own father's nature is strong in her,” said Catty, with +enthusiasm. “Show him the horse that nobody could back, tell him of a +storm where no fisherman would launch his boat, point out a cliff that no +man could climb, and let me see who 'd hould him! She 's so like him, that +when there 's anything daring to be done you would n't know her voice from +his own. There, now, I hear her without,” cried the old woman, as, rising +suddenly, she approached the window. “Don't you hear something?” + </p> +<p> +“Nothing but the wind through the trees,” said Kate. +</p> +<p> +“Ay, but <i>I</i> did, and my ears are older than yours. She's riding +through the river now; I hear the water splashin'.” + </p> +<p> +Kate tried to catch the sounds, but could not; she walked out upon the +lawn to listen, but except the brawling of the stream among the rocks, +there was nothing to be heard. +</p> +<p> +“D' ye see her comin'?” asked Catty, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“No. Your ears must have deceived you. There is no one coming.” + </p> +<p> +“I heard her voice, as I hear yours now. I heard her spake to the mare, as +she always does when she 's plungin' into the river. There, now, don't you +hear that?” + </p> +<p> +“I hear nothing, I assure you, my dear Mrs. Broon. It is your own anxiety +that is misleading you; but if you like, I 'll go down towards the river +and see.” And without waiting for a reply Kate hastened down the slope. As +she went, she could not help reflecting over the superstition which +attaches so much importance to these delusions, giving them the character +of actual warnings. It was doubtless from the mind dwelling so forcibly on +Miss Martin's perilous life that the old woman's apprehensions had assumed +this palpable form, and thus invented the very images which should react +upon her with terror. +</p> +<p> +“Just as I thought,” cried Kate, as she stood on the bank of the stream; +“all silent and deserted, no one within sight.” And slowly she retraced +her steps towards the cottage. The old woman stood at the door, pale and +trembling; an attempt to smile was on her features, but her heart denied +the courage of the effort. +</p> +<p> +“Where is she now?” cried Catty, wildly. “She rang the bell this minute, +and I heerd the mare trottin' round to the stable by herself, as she +always does. But where 's Miss Mary?” + </p> +<p> +“My dear Mrs. Broon,” said Kate, in her kindest accents, “it is just as I +told you. Your mind is anxious and uneasy about Miss Martin; you are +unhappy at her absence, and you think at every stir you hear her coming; +but I have been to the river-side, and there is no one there. I 'll go +round to the stables, if you wish it.” + </p> +<p> +“There 's no tracks of a hoof on the gravel,” muttered the old woman, in a +broken voice; “there was nobody here!” + </p> +<p> +“So I said,” replied Kate. “It was a mere delusion,—a fancy.” + </p> +<p> +“A delusion,—a fancy!” cried Catty, scornfully; “that's the way they +always spake of whatever they don't understand. It's easier to say that +than confess you don't see how to explain a thing; but I heerd the same +sounds before you came to-day; ay, and I went down to see why she was n't +comin', and at the pool there was bubbles and froth on the water, just as +if a baste had passed through, but no livin' thing to be seen. Was n't +that a delusion, too?” + </p> +<p> +“An accident, perchance. Only think, what lives of misery we should lead +were we ever tracing our own fears, and connecting them with all the +changes that go on around us!” + </p> +<p> +“It's two days she's away, now,” muttered the old woman, who only heeded +her own thoughts; “she was to be back last night, or early this mornin'.” + </p> +<p> +“Where had she gone to?” asked Kate, who now saw that the other had lapsed +into confidence. +</p> +<p> +“She's gone to the islands!—to Innishmore, and maybe, on to +Brannock!” + </p> +<p> +“That's a long way out to sea,” said Kate, thoughtfully; “but still, the +weather is fine, and the day favorable. Had she any other object than +pleasure in this excursion?” + </p> +<p> +“Pleasure is it?” croaked Catty. “'Tis much pleasure she does be given +herself! Her pleasure is to be where there 's fever and want,—in the +lonely cabin, where the sick is lyin'! It 's to find a poor crayture that +run away from home she 's gone now,—one Joan Landy. She's missin' +this two months, and nobody knows where she 's gone to! and Miss Mary got +so uneasy at last that she could n't sleep by night nor rest by day,—always +talkin' about her, and say in' as much as it was all her fault; as if <i>she</i> +could know why she went, or where?” + </p> +<p> +“Did she go alone on this errand, then?” + </p> +<p> +“To be sure she did. Who could she have with her? She towld Loony she 'd +want the boat with four men in it, and maybe to stay out three days, for +she 'd go to all the islands before she came back.” + </p> +<p> +“Loony 's the best sailor on the coast, I 've heard; and with such weather +as this there is no cause for alarm.” + </p> +<p> +Catty did not seem to heed the remark; she felt that within her against +which the words of consolation availed but little, and she sat brooding +sorrowfully and in silence. +</p> +<p> +“The night will soon be fallin' now,” said she, at last. “I hope she's not +at sea!” + </p> +<p> +In spite of herself, Kate Henderson caught the contagion of the old +woman's terrors, and felt a dreamy, undefined dread of coming evil. As she +looked out, however, at the calm and fair landscape, which, as day +declined, grew each moment more still, she rallied from the gloomy +thoughts, and said,—“I wish I knew how to be of any service to you, +Mrs. Broon. If you could think of anything I could do—anywhere I +could go—” She stopped suddenly at a gesture from the old woman, +who, lifting her hand to impress silence, stood a perfect picture of eager +anxiety to hear. Bending down her head, old Catty stood for several +seconds motionless. +</p> +<p> +“Don't ye hear it now?” broke she in. “Listen! I thought I heerd something +like a wailin' sound far off, but it is the wind. See how the tree-tops +are bendin'!—That's three times I heerd it now,” said Catty. “If ye +live to be as old as me, you 'll not think light of a warnin'. You think +your hearin' better because you're younger; but I tell you that there 's +sounds that only reach ears that are goin' to where the voices came from. +When eyes grow dim to sights of this world, they are strainin' to catch a +glimpse of them that's beyond it.” Although no tears rose to her eyes, the +withered face trembled in her agony, and her clasped hands shook in the +suffering of her sorrow. +</p> +<p> +Against impressions of this sort, Kate knew well enough how little +reasoning availed, and she forbore to press arguments which she was aware +would be unsuccessful. She tried, however, to turn the current of the old +woman's thoughts, by leading her to speak of the condition of the country +and the state of the people. Catty gave short, abrupt, and unwilling +answers to all she asked, and Kate at length arose to take her leave. +</p> +<p> +“You're goin' away, are ye?” said Catty, half angrily. +</p> +<p> +“I have only just remembered that I have a long way to walk, and it is +already growing late.” + </p> +<p> +“Ay, and ye 're impatient to be back again, at home, beside your own fire, +with your own people. But <i>she</i> has no home, and her own has deserted +her!” + </p> +<p> +“Mine has not many charms for me!” muttered Kate to herself. +</p> +<p> +“It's happy for you that has father and mother,” went on the old woman. +“Them 's the only ones, after all!—the only ones that never loves +the less, the less we desarve it! I don't wonder ye came back again!” And +in a sort of envious bitterness Catty wished her a good-night. +</p> +<p> +If the distance she had to walk was not shortened by the tenor of her +thoughts, as little did she feel impatient to press onward. Dreary and sad +enough were her reveries. Of the wild visionary ambitions which once had +stirred her heart, there remained nothing but disappointments. She had but +passed the threshold of life to find all dreary and desolate; but perhaps +the most painful feeling of the moment was the fact that now pressed +conviction on her, and told that in the humble career of such a one as +Mary Martin there lay a nobler heroism and a higher devotion than in the +most soaring path of political ambition, and that all the theorizing as to +popular rights made but a sorry figure beside the actual benefits +conferred by one true-hearted lover of her kind. “She is right, and I am +wrong!” muttered she to herself. “In declining to entertain questions of +statecraft she showed herself above, and not beneath, the proud position +she had taken. The very lowliness of this task is its glory. Oh, if I +could but win her confidence and be associated in such a labor! and yet my +very birth denies me the prestige that hers confers.” And then she thought +of home, and all the coldness of that cheerless greeting smote upon her +heart. +</p> +<p> +The moon was up ere Kate arrived at her father's door. She tapped at it +gently, almost timidly. Her stepmother, as if expecting her, came quickly, +and in a low, cautious whisper told her that she would find her supper +ready in her bedroom. +</p> +<p> +“To-morrow, perhaps, he may be in better humor or better spirits. +Good-night.” And so Kate silently stole along to her room, her proud heart +swelling painfully, and her tearless eye burning with all the heat of a +burning brain. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXX. “A TEA-PARTY” AT MRS. CRONAN'S +</h2> +<p> +Once more, but for the last time, we are at Kilkieran. To a dreary day of +incessant rain succeeded an evening still drearier. Wild gusts swept along +the little shore, and shook the frail windows and ill-fitting doors of the +cottages, while foam and sea-drift were wafted over the roofs, settling +like snow-flakes on the tall cliffs above them. And yet it was midsummer! +By the almanac the time was vouched to be the opening of the season; a +fact amply corroborated by the fashionable assemblage then enjoying the +hospitalities of Mrs. Cronan's tea-table. There they were, with a single +exception, the same goodly company already presented to the reader in an +early chapter of our story. We have already mentioned the great changes +which time had worked in the appearance of the little watering-place. The +fostering care of proprietorship withdrawn, the ornamental villa of the +Martins converted into a miserable village inn, the works of the pier and +harbor suspended, and presenting in their unfinished aspect the dreary +semblance of ruin and decay,—all conspired with the falling fortunes +of the people to make the scene a sad one. Little evidence of this +decline, however, could be traced in the aspect of that pleasant +gathering, animated with all its ancient taste for whist, scandal, and +shrimps; their appetite for such luxuries seeming rather to have increased +than diminished by years. Not that we presume to say they could claim any +immunity against the irrevocable decrees of age. Unhappily, the confession +may be deemed not exactly in accordance with gallantry; but it is strictly +true, time had no more forgotten the living than the inanimate accessories +of the picture. Miss Busk, of the Emporium, had grown more sour and more +stately. The vinegar of her temperament was verging upon verjuice, and the +ill opinion of mankind experience enforced had written itself very legibly +on her features. The world had not improved upon her by acquaintance. Not +so Captain Bodkin; fatter and more wheezy than ever, he seemed to relish +life rather more than when younger. He had given up, too, that long +struggle with himself about bathing, and making up his mind to suffer no +“sea-change;” he was, therefore, more cheerful than before. +</p> +<p> +As for Mrs. Cronan, “the little comforts she was used to” had sorely +diminished by the pressure of the times, and, in consequence, she drew +unlimited drafts upon the past to fill up the deficiencies of the present. +Strange enough is it, that the faults and follies of society are just as +adhesive ingredients as its higher qualities! These people had grown so +used to each other in all their eccentric ways and oddities, that they had +become fond of them; like a pilot long accustomed to rocks and sandbanks, +they could only steer their course where there was something to avoid! +</p> +<p> +The remainder of the goodly company had grown stouter or thinner, jollier +or more peevish, as temperament inclined; for it is with human nature as +with wine: if the liquor does not get racier with years, it degenerates +sadly. +</p> +<p> +The first act of the whist and backgammon playing was over, and the party +now sat, stood, crouched, lounged, or lay, as chance and the state of the +furniture permitted, at supper. At the grand table, of course, were the +higher dignitaries, such as Father Maher, the Captain, Miss Busk, and Mrs. +Clinch; but cockles were eaten, and punch discussed in various very odd +quarters; bursts of joyous laughter, too, came from dark pantries, and +sounds of merriment mingled with the jangling crash of kitchen utensils. +Reputations were roasted and pancakes fried, characters and chickens alike +mangled, and all the hubbub of a festival prevailed in a scene where the +efforts of the fair hostess were directed to produce an air of unblemished +elegance and gentility. +</p> +<p> +Poor Clinch, the revenue officer, who invariably eat what he called “his +bit” in some obscure quarter, alone and companionless, was twice “had up” + before the authorities for the row and uproar that prevailed, and +underwent a severe cross-examination, “as to where he was when Miss +Cullenane was making the salad,” and, indeed, cut a very sorry figure at +the conclusion of the inquiry. All the gayeties and gravities of the +scene, however, gradually toned down as the serious debate of the evening +came on; which was no other than the lamentable condition of the prospects +of Kilkieran, and the unanimous opinion of the ruinous consequences that +must ensue from the absence of the proprietor. +</p> +<p> +“We 've little chance of getting up the news-room now,” said the Captain. +“The Martins won't give a sixpence for anything.” + </p> +<p> +“It is something to give trade an impulse we want, sir,” broke in Miss +Busk,—“balls and assemblies; evening reunions of the <i>élite</i> of +society, where the elegance of the toilet should rival the <i>distingué</i> +air of the company.” + </p> +<p> +“That's word for word out of the 'Intelligence,'” cried the Captain. “It's +unparliamentary to quote the newspapers.” + </p> +<p> +“I detest the newspapers,” broke in Miss Busk, angrily; “after advertising +the Emporium for two seasons in the 'Galway Celt,' they gave me a leading +article beginning, 'As the hot weather is now commencing, and the season +for fashion approaches, we cannot better serve the interests of our +readers than by directing attention to the elegant “Symposium!”' +'Symposium!'—I give you my word of honor that's what they put it.” + </p> +<p> +“On my conscience! it might have been worse,” chuckled out the Captain. +</p> +<p> +“It was young Nelligan explained to me what it was,” resumed Miss Busk; +“and Scanlan said, 'I'd have an action against them for damages.'” + </p> +<p> +“Keep out of law, my dear!—keep out of law!” sighed Mrs. Cronan. +“See to what it has reduced me! I, that used to go out in my own coach, +with two men in green and gold; that had my house in town, and my house in +the country; that had gems and ornaments such as a queen might wear! And +there's all that's left me now!” And she pointed to a brooch about the +size of a cheese-plate, where a melancholy gentleman in uniform was +represented, with a border of mock pearls around him. “The last pledge of +affection!” sobbed she. +</p> +<p> +“Of course you wouldn't pledge it, my dear,” muttered the deaf old Mrs. +Few; “and they'd give you next to nothing on it, besides.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0013" id="linkimage-0013"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/324.jpg" width="100%" alt="324 " /> +</div> +<p> +“We 'll have law enough here soon, it seems,” said Mrs. Cronan, angrily; +for the laugh this blunder excited was by no means flattering and +pleasant. “There 's Magennis's action first for trial at the Assizes.” + </p> +<p> +“That will be worth hearing,” said Mrs. Clinch. “They 'll have the first +lawyers from Dublin on each side.” + </p> +<p> +“Did you hear the trick they played off on Joe Nelligan about it?” asked +the Captain. “It was cleverly done. Magennis found out, some way or other, +that Joe wanted to be engaged against him; and so what does he do but gets +a servant dressed up in the Martin livery, and sends him to Joe's house on +the box of a coach, inside of which was a gentleman that begged a word +with the Counsellor. 'You 're not engaged, I hope, Counsellor Nelligan,' +says he, 'in Magennis against Martin?' 'No,' says Joe, for he caught a +glimpse of the livery. 'You're quite free?' says the other. 'Quite free,' +says he. 'That's all I want, then,' says he; 'here's your brief, and +here's your retainer;' and he put both down on the table, and when Joe +looked down he saw he was booked for Magennis. You may imagine how he +felt; but he never uttered a word, for there was no help for it.” + </p> +<p> +“And do you mean to tell me,” cried Mrs. Clinch, “that the lawyers can't +help themselves, but must just talk and rant and swear for any one that +asks them first?” + </p> +<p> +“It's exactly what I mean, ma'am,” responded the Captain. “They 've no +more choice in the matter than the hangman has as to who be 'll hang.” + </p> +<p> +“Then I'd as soon be a gauger!” exclaimed the lady, with a contemptuous +glance at poor Clinch, who winced under the observation. +</p> +<p> +“But I don't see what they wanted young Nelligan for,” said Miss Busk; +“what experience or knowledge has <i>he?</i>” + </p> +<p> +“He's just the first man of the day,” said Bodkin. “They tell me that +whether it be to crook out a flaw in the enemy's case, to pick a hole in a +statement, to crush a witness, or cajole the jury, old Repton himself is +n't his equal.” + </p> +<p> +“I suppose, from the airs he gives himself, he must be something +wonderful,” said Mrs. Cronan. +</p> +<p> +“Well, now, I differ from you there, ma'am,” replied Bodkin. “I think Joe +is just what he always was. He was cold, silent, and distant as a boy, and +he 's the same as a man. Look at him when he comes down here at the +Assizes, down to the town where his father is selling glue and hides and +tenpenny-nails, and he 's just as easy and unconstrained as if the old man +was Lord of Cro' Martin Castle.” + </p> +<p> +“That's the height of impertinence,” broke in Miss Busk; “it's only real +blood has any right to rise above the depreciating accidents of condition. +I know it by myself.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, I wonder what he 'll make of this case, anyhow,” said feodkin, to +escape a controversy he had no fancy for. “They tell me that no action can +lie on it. It's not abduction—” + </p> +<p> +“For shame, Captain; you forget there are ladies here,” said Mrs. Clinch. +</p> +<p> +“Indeed I don't,” sighed he, with a half-comic melancholy in his look. +</p> +<p> +“I'll tell you how they do it, sir,” chimed in Father Maher. “Whenever +there 's anything in law that never was foreseen or provided for, against +which there is neither act nor statute, they 've one grand and unfailing +resource,—they charge it as a conspiracy. I 've a brother an +attorney, and he tells me that there is n't a man, woman, or child in the +kingdom but could be indicted for doing something by a conspiracy.” + </p> +<p> +“It's a great comfort to know that,” said Bodkin, gravely. +</p> +<p> +“And what can they do to her if she's found guilty?” asked Mrs. Cronan. +</p> +<p> +“Make her smart for the damages, ma'am; leave her something less to expend +on perversion and interference with the people,” said the priest. “The +parish isn't the same since she began visiting this one and reading to +that. Instead of respect and confidence in their spiritual guides, the +people are running after a young girl with a head full of wild schemes and +contrivances. We all know by this time how these things end, and the best +receipt to make a Protestant begins, 'First starve your Papist.'” + </p> +<p> +“I rise to order,” called out Bodkin. “We agreed we'd have no polemics nor +party discussions.” + </p> +<p> +“Why am I appealed to, then, for explanations that involve them?” cried +the priest, angrily. “I'm supported, too, in my observations by a witness +none will dispute,—that Scotchman, Henderson—” + </p> +<p> +“By the way, isn't his daughter come home to him?” asked Bodkin, eager for +a diversion. +</p> +<p> +“Indeed she is, sir; and a pretty story there is about it, too. Miss Busk +knows it all,” said Mrs. Cronan. +</p> +<p> +“I have it in confidence, ma'am, from Jemima Davis,—Lady Dorothea's +second maid; but I don't think it a fit subject for public conversation.” + </p> +<p> +“And ain't we in committee here?” chimed in Bodkin; “have we any secrets +from each other?” The racy laugh of the old fellow, as he threw a knowing +glance around the table, rather disconcerted the company. “Let's hear +about Henderson's daughter.” + </p> +<p> +“The story is soon told, sir. Lady Dorothea detected her endeavoring to +draw young Martin into a private marriage. The artful creature, by some +means or other, had obtained such an insight into the young man's +difficulties that she actually terrorized over his weak mind. She +discovered, too, it is suspected, something rather more than indiscretions +on his part.” + </p> +<p> +A long low whistle from the priest seemed to impart a kind of gratified +surprise at this announcement. +</p> +<p> +“He had got into a habit of signing his name, they say; and whether he +signed it to something he had no right to, or signed another name by +mistake—” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, for shame,” broke in Bodkin; “that wouldn't be one bit like a +Martin.” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps you are acquainted with all the circumstances better than myself, +sir?” said Miss Busk, bristling up with anger. “Maybe you 've heard how +the Henderson girl was turned away out of the French duke's family,—how +she was found in correspondence with the leaders of the mob in Paris? +Maybe, sir, you are aware that she has some mysterious hold over her +father, and he dares not gainsay one word she says?” + </p> +<p> +“I don't know one word of it; and if it wasn't thought rude, I'd say I +don't believe it, either,” said Bodkin, stoutly. +</p> +<p> +“I believe the worst that could be said of her,” said Mrs. Clinch. +</p> +<p> +“Well, well, make her as bad as you like; but how does that prove anything +against young Martin? and if you can find nothing heavier to say of him +than that he wanted to marry a very handsome girl—” + </p> +<p> +“A low creature!” broke in Miss Busk. +</p> +<p> +“The lowest of the low!” chimed in Mrs. Cronan. +</p> +<p> +“An impudent, upsetting minx!” added Mrs. Clinch. “Nothing would serve her +but a post-chaise the morning she arrived by the mail for Dublin; and, +signs on it, when she got home she had n't money to pay for it.” + </p> +<p> +“It was n't that she left her place empty-handed, then,” said Miss Busk. +“Jemima tells me that she managed the whole house,—paid for +everything; and we all know what comes of that.” + </p> +<p> +Miss Busk, in delivering this sentiment, was seated with her back to the +door, towards which suddenly every eye was now turned in mingled +astonishment and confusion; she moved round to see the cause, and there +beheld the very object of her commentary standing close behind her chair. +Closely wrapped in a large cloak, the hood of which she wore over her +head, her tall figure looked taller and more imposing in its motionless +attitude. +</p> +<p> +“I have to ask pardon for this intrusion, ladies,” said she, calmly; “but +you will forgive me when I tell the reason of it. I have just received +very sad tidings, which ought to be conveyed to Miss Martin; she is at the +islands, and I have no means of following her, unless Mr. Clinch will +kindly lend me the revenue boat—” + </p> +<p> +“And accompany you, I hope,” broke in Mrs. Clinch, with a sneer. +</p> +<p> +Kate did not notice the taunting remark, but went on, “You will be grieved +to hear that Mr. Martin is no more.” + </p> +<p> +“Martin dead!” muttered the Captain. +</p> +<p> +“Dead! When did he die?” “Where did it happen?” “How?” “Of what malady?” + “Are his remains coming home?” were asked in quick succession by several +voices. +</p> +<p> +“This letter will tell you all that I know myself,” said she, laying it on +the table. “May I venture to hope Mr. Clinch will so far oblige me? The +fishermen say the sea is too rough for their craft.” + </p> +<p> +“It's not exactly on the King's service, I opine, ma'am,” broke in Mrs. +Clinch; “but of course he is too gallant to oppose your wishes.” + </p> +<p> +“Faith! if you wanted any one with you, and would accept of myself,” broke +in Bodkin, “I'm ready this minute; not that exactly salt water is my +element.” + </p> +<p> +“The young lady is accustomed to travel alone, or she is much belied,” + said Miss Busk, with a sneer. +</p> +<p> +“I suppose you'd better let her have the boat, Clinch,” said his wife, in +a whisper. “There's no knowing what might come of it if you refused.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll go down and muster the crew for you, Miss Henderson,” said Clinch, +not sorry to escape, although the exchange was from a warm cabin to the +beating rain without. +</p> +<p> +“Poor Martin!” sighed Bodkin; “he was the first of the family for many a +long year that did n't breathe his last under his own roof. I 'm sure it +weighed heavily on him.” + </p> +<p> +“I trust his son will follow his example, nevertheless,” said the priest. +“I don't want to see one of the name amongst us.” + </p> +<p> +“You might have worse, Father Maher,” said Bodkin, angrily. +</p> +<p> +And now a lively discussion ensued as to the merits of him they had lost, +for the most part with more of charity than many of their dissertations; +from this they branched off into speculations about the future. Would the +“present man” reside at home? would her Ladyship come back? what would be +Mary's position? how would Scanlan fare? what of Henderson, too? In fact, +casualties of every kind were debated, and difficulties started, that they +might be as readily reconciled. Meanwhile Kate was hastening down to the +shore, followed, rather than escorted, by little Clinch, who even in the +darkness felt that the conjugal eye was upon him. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXI. THE BRANNOCK ISLANDS +</h2> +<p> +A little to the northwest of the island of Innishmore are scattered a +number of small islets, some scarcely more than barren rocks, called the +Brannocks. One of these alone was inhabited, and that by a single family. +No isolation could be more complete than that of these poor people, who +thus dwelt amid the wide waste of waters, never seeing the face of a +stranger, and only at long intervals visiting the mainland. Indeed the +only intercourse they could be said to maintain with their fellow-men was +when by chance they fell in with some homeward-bound ship at sea, and sold +the little produce of their nets; for they lived by fishing, and had no +other subsistence. +</p> +<p> +The largest of these islands was called “Brannock-buoy,” or the Yellow +Brannock, from the flower of a kind of crocus which grew profusely over +it. It was a wild, desolate spot, scarcely rising above the waves around +it, save in one quarter, where a massive column of rock rose to the height +of several hundred feet, and formed the only shelter against the swooping +wind, which came without break or hindrance from the far-away shores of +Labrador. At the foot of this strong barrier—so small and +insignificant as to escape notice from the sea—stood the little +cabin of Owen Joyce. Built in a circular form, the chimney in the middle, +the rude structure resembled some wigwam of the prairies rather than the +home of civilized beings. +</p> +<p> +Certain low partitions within subdivided the space into different +chambers, making the centre the common apartment of the family, where they +cooked and ate and chatted; for, with all their poverty and privation, +theirs was a life not devoid of its own happiness, nor did they believe +that their lot was one to repine at. +</p> +<p> +Seasons of unprofitable labor, years of more or less pressure, they had +indeed experienced, but actual want had never visited them; sickness, too, +was almost as rare. Owen Joyce was, at the time we speak of, upwards of +eighty; and although his hair was white as snow, his cheek was ruddy, his +white teeth were perfect, and his eye—like that of Moses—“was +not dim.” Surrounded by his children and grandchildren, the old man lived +happy and contented, his daily teaching being to impress upon them the +blessings they derived from a life so sheltered from all the accidents of +fortune; to have, as he called the island, “the little craft all their +own.” + </p> +<p> +The traits of race and family, the limited range of their intercourse with +the world, served to make them all wonderfully alike, not only in feature +but expression; so that even the youngest child had something of the calm, +steadfast look which characterized the old man. The jet-black hair and +eyes and the swarthy skin seemed to indicate a Spanish origin, and gave +them a type perfectly distinctive and peculiar. +</p> +<p> +In the midst of them moved one who, though dressed in the light-blue +woollen kirtle, the favorite costume of the islands, bore in her fresh +bright features the traces of a different blood; her deep blue eye, soft +and almost sleepy, her full, well-curved lips, were strong contrasts to +the traits around her. The most passing glance would have detected that +she was not “one of them,” nor had she been long an inmate of this +dwelling. +</p> +<p> +It chanced that some short time before, one of Joyce's sons, in boarding +an outward-bound American ship, had heard of a young countrywoman who, +having taken her passage for New York, no sooner found herself at sea—parted, +as she deemed it, forever from home and country—than she gave way to +the most violent grief; so poignant, indeed, was her sorrow that the +captain compassionately offered to relinquish her passage-money if Joyce +would take charge of her, and re-land her on the shores of Ireland. The +offer was accepted, and the same evening saw her safely deposited on the +rocky island of Brannock. Partly in gratitude to her deliverer, partly in +the indulgence of a secret wish, she asked leave to remain with them and +be their servant; the compact was agreed to, and thus was she there. +</p> +<p> +Theirs was not a life to engender the suspicions and distrusts which are +current in the busier walks of men. None asked her a reason for her +self-banishment, none inquired whether the cause of her exile was crime or +misfortune. They had grown to feel attachment to her for the qualities of +her gentle, quiet nature, a mild submissive temper, and a disposition to +oblige, that forgot nothing save herself. Her habits had taught her +resources and ways which their isolated existence had denied them, and she +made herself useful by various arts, which, simple as they were, seemed +marvellous to the apprehension of her hosts; and thus, day by day, gaining +on their love and esteem, they came at length to regard her with an +affection mingled with a sort of homage. +</p> +<p> +Poor Joan Landy—for we have not to explain that it was she—was +happy,—happier than ever she had been before. The one great sorrow +of her life was, it is true, treasured in her heart; her lost home, her +blighted hope, her severed affection—for she actually loved Magennis—were +griefs over which she wept many an hour in secret; but there was a sense +of duty, a conscious feeling of rectitude, that supported her in her +sacrifice, and as she thought of her old grandfather's death-bed, she +could say to her heart, “I have been true to my word with him.” + </p> +<p> +The unbroken quiet, the unchanging character of the life she led,—its +very duties following a routine that nothing ever disturbed,—gave +her ample time for thought; and thought, though tinged with melancholy, +has its own store of consolation; and if poor Joan sorrowed, she sorrowed +like one who rather deplored the past than desired to re-live it! As time +wore on, a dreamy indistinctness seemed to spread itself over the memory +of her former life: it appeared little other than a mind-drawn picture. +Nothing actual or tangible remained to convince her of its reality. It was +only at rare intervals, and in the very clearest weather, the outline of +the mountains of the mainland could be seen; and when she did behold them, +they brought only some vague recollection to her; and so, too, the +memories of her once home came through the haze of distance, dim and +indistinct. +</p> +<p> +It was at the close of a day in June that the Joyces sat in front of the +little cabin, repairing their nets, and getting their tackle in readiness +for the sea. For some time previous the weather had been broken and +unfavorable. Strong west winds and heavy seas—far from infrequent in +these regions, even in midsummer—had rendered fishing impracticable; +but now the aspect of a new moon, rising full an hour before sunset, gave +promise of better, and old Joyce had got the launch drawn up on shore to +refit, and sails were spread out upon the rocks to dry, and coils of rope, +and anchors, and loose spars littered the little space before the door. +The scene was a busy and not an unpicturesque one. There was every age, +from the oldest to very infancy, all active, all employed. Some were +calking the seams of the boat, others overhauled sails and cordage; some +were preparing the nets, attaching cork floats or sinkers; and two chubby +urchins, mere infants, laughing, fed the fire that blazed beneath a large +pitch-pot, the light blue smoke rising calmly into the air, and telling +those far away that the lone rock was not without inhabitants. To all +seeming, these signs of life and habitation bad attracted notice; for a +small boat which had quitted Innishmore for the mainland some time before, +now altered her course, and was seen slowly bearing up towards the +Brannocks. Though the sea was calm and waveless, the wind was only +sufficient to waft her along at the slowest rate; a twinkling flash of the +sea at intervals showed, however, that her crew were rowing, and at length +the measured beat of the oars could be distinctly heard. +</p> +<p> +Many were the speculations of those who watched her course. They knew she +was not a fishing-craft; her light spars and white sails were sufficient +to refute that opinion. Neither was she one of the revenue-boats. What +could she be, then, since no large ship was in sight to which she could +have belonged? It is only to those who have at some one period or other of +life sojourned in some lone spot of earth, away from human intercourse, +that the anxiety of these poor people could be intelligible. If, good +reader,—for to you we now appeal,—it has not been your lot to +have once on a time lived remote from the world and its ways, you cannot +imagine how intensely interesting can become the commonest of those +incidents which mark ordinary existence. They assume, indeed, very +different proportions from the real, and come charged with innumerable +imaginings about that wondrous life, far, far away, where there are +thoughts and passions and deeds and events which never enter into the +dreamland of exile! It was a little after sunset that the boat glided into +the small creek which formed the only harbor of the island; and the moment +after, a young girl sprang on the shore, and hastened towards them. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0014" id="linkimage-0014"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/334.jpg" width="100%" alt="334 " /> +</div> +<p> +Before the Joyces had recovered from their first surprise, they saw Joan +burst from the spot, and, rushing down the slope, throw herself at the +stranger's feet. +</p> +<p> +“And have I found you at last, dear Joan?” cried a soft, low voice, while +the speaker raised her tenderly from the ground, and took her hand kindly +within both her own. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Miss Mary, to think you 'd come after me this far! over the say!” + burst out Joan, sobbing through her joy; for joy it was that now lit up +her features, and made her eyes sparkle even through the fresh tears that +filled them. +</p> +<p> +“They told me you had sailed from Galway,” resumed Mary, “and I wrote to +the ship-agent and found it was correct: your name was in the list of +passengers, and the date of the day you sailed; but, I know not how it +was, Joan, I still clung to the notion that you had contrived this plan to +escape being discovered, and that you were concealed somewhere along the +coast or in the islands. I believe I used to dream of this at first, but +at last I thought of it all day long.” + </p> +<p> +“Thought of <i>me</i> all day long?” broke in Joan, sobbing. +</p> +<p> +“And why not, poor child? Was I not the cause of your leaving your home? +Was it not my persuasion that induced you to leave the roof that sheltered +you? I have often wondered whether I had right and reason on my side. I +know at the time I believed I had such. At all events, but for me you had +never quitted that home; but see, Joan, how what we are led to do with an +honest purpose, if it fail to effect what we had in view, often leads to +better and happier ends than we ever dreamed of. I only thought of +conveying to you the last message of your poor grandfather. I little +imagined how so simple an act could influence all your future fortune in +life; and such it has done. Mr. Magennis, suspecting or discovering what +share I had in your flight, has begun a law proceeding against me, and to +give him a rightful claim for redress, has declared you to be—all +that you wish, dear Joan—his lawful, wedded wife.” + </p> +<p> +It was some time before the poor girl could stifle the sobbing which burst +from her very heart. She kissed Mary's hands over and over with rapture, +and cried out at length, in broken, faltering accents, “Did n't they say +well that called you a saint from heaven? Didn't they tell truth that +said, God gave you as a blessing to us?” + </p> +<p> +“My poor Joan, you are grateful to me for what I have no share in. I am +nothing but the bearer of good tidings. But tell me, how have you fared +since we parted? Let me hear all that has happened to you.” + </p> +<p> +Joan told her simple story in a few words, never deviating from the +narrative, save to speak her heartfelt gratitude to the poor people who +had sheltered and befriended her. +</p> +<p> +“There they are!” cried she, pointing to the group, who, with a delicacy +of sentiment that might have graced the most refined class, sat apart, +never venturing by a look to obtrude upon the confidence of the others,—“there +they are; and if the world was like them, life would n't have many +crosses!” + </p> +<p> +Mary rose, and drew nigh the old man, who stood up respectfully to receive +her. +</p> +<p> +“He does n't know much English, Miss Mary,” whispered Joan in her ear. +</p> +<p> +“Nor am I well skilled in Irish,” said Mary, smiling; “but I 'll do my +best to thank him.” + </p> +<p> +However imperfectly she spoke the native tongue, the words seemed to act +like a charm on those who heard them; and as, young and old, they gathered +around her, their eager looks and delighted faces beamed with a triumphant +joy. They had learned from the boatmen that it was the young princess—as +in the language of the people she was called—was before them, and +their pride and happiness knew no bounds. +</p> +<p> +Oh, if courtiers could feel one tithe of the personal devotion to the +sovereign that did these poor peasants to her they regarded as their +chief, what an atmosphere of chivalry would breathe within the palace of +royalty! There was nothing they would not have done or dared at her +bidding; and as she crossed their threshold, and sat down beside their +hearth, the tears of joy that rose to every eye showed that this was an +event to be treasured till memory could retain no more! +</p> +<p> +If Mary did not speak the native dialect fluently, there was a grace and a +charm about the turn of the expressions she used that never failed to +delight those who heard her. That imaginative thread that runs through the +woof of Irish nature in every rank and condition of life—more +conspicuous, probably, in the very humblest—imparted an intense +pleasure to hearing and listening to her; and she, on her side, roused and +stimulated by the adventurous character of the incident, the strange wild +spot, the simple people, their isolation and their innocence, spoke with a +warmth and an enthusiasm that were perfectly captivating. +</p> +<p> +She had seen much of the peasantry,—known them in the most +unfrequented tracts, remote from all their fellow-men,—in far-away +glens, by dreary mountains, where no footpaths led; but anything so purely +simple and unsophisticated as these poor people she had never met with. +The sons had been—and that rarely, too—on the mainland, but +the children and their mothers had never left the Brannocks; they had +never beheld a tree, nor even a flower, save the wild crocus on their +native rock. With what eager delight, then, did they hear Mary describe +the gardens of the castle,—pictures that glowed with all the +gorgeous colors of a fairy tale. “You shall all come and see me, some of +these days. I'll send you a messenger, to say the time,” said Mary; “and +I'll promise that what you 'll witness will be far above my description of +it!” + </p> +<p> +It was a sad moment when Mary arose to say good-bye. Joan, too, was to +accompany her, and the grief at parting with her was extreme. Again and +again the children clung round her, entreating her not to leave them; and +she herself half faltered in her resolution. That lonely rock, that rude +cabin, had been her refuge in the darkest hour of her life, and she felt +the superstitious terror of her class at now deserting them. +</p> +<p> +“Come, come, dear Joan, remember that you have a home now that you can +rightfully return to,” whispered Mary. “It is not in shame, but in honor, +that you go back to it.” + </p> +<p> +It was already dark ere they left the Brannocks: a long, heavy swell, too, +the signs of a storm, coming from the westward, made the boatmen eager to +hasten their departure. As yet, however, the air was calm and still, but +it was with that oppressive stillness that forebodes change. They hoisted +their sail, but soon saw that they must, for a while at least, trust to +their oars. The unbroken stillness, save by the measured stroke of the +rowers, the dense dark atmosphere, and the reaction, after a day of toil +and an event of a most moving kind, so overcame Mary that, leaning on +Joan's shoulder, she fell off fast asleep. For a while Joan, proud of the +burden she supported, devoted all her care to watch and protect her from +the night air; but at last weariness stole over herself, and she dropped +off to slumber. +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile the sea was rising; heavy waves struck the boat, and washed over +her in sheets of spray, although no wind was stirring. +</p> +<p> +“We 'll have rain, or a gale of wind before long,” said one of the men. +</p> +<p> +“There 's some heavy drops falling now,” muttered another. +</p> +<p> +“Throw that sail over Miss Mary, for it will soon come down heavily.” + </p> +<p> +A loud clap of thunder burst forth, and as suddenly, like a torrent, the +rain poured down, hissing over the dark sea, and filling the air with a +dull, discordant noise. Still they slept on, nor heard nor felt aught of +that gathering storm. +</p> +<p> +“There now, sure enough, it 's coming,” cried a boatman, as the sail shook +tremulously; and two great waves, in quick succession, broke over the bow. +</p> +<p> +“We'll have to run for Innishmore,” said another, “and lucky if we get +there before it comes on worse.” + </p> +<p> +“You ought to wake her up, Loony, and ask her what we are to do.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll make straight for the harbor of Kilkieran,” replied the helmsman. +“The wind is with us, and she's a good sea-boat. Take in the jib, Maurice, +and we'll shorten all sail on her, and—” + </p> +<p> +The rest of his speech was drowned in the uproar of a tremendous sea, +which struck the boat on her quarter and nearly overset her. Not another +word was now uttered, as, with the instinct of their calling, they set +about to prepare for the coming conflict. The mainsail was quickly lowered +and reefed, the oars and loose spars secured, and then, seating themselves +in the bottom of the boat, they waited in silence. By this time the rain +had passed over, and a strong wind swept over the sea. +</p> +<p> +“She's going fast through the water, anyway!” said one of the men. But +though the speech was meant to cheer, none felt or acknowledged the +encouragement. +</p> +<p> +“I 'd rather than own Cro' Martin Castle Miss Mary was safe at home!” said +Loony, as he drew the rough sleeve of his coat across his eyes, “for it's +thicker it's getting over yonder!” + </p> +<p> +“It would be a black day that anything happened her!” muttered another. +</p> +<p> +“Musha! we've wives and childer,” said a third, “but she's worth a +thousand of us!” + </p> +<p> +And thus, in broken whispers, they spoke; not a thought save of her, not a +care save for her safety. They prayed, too, fervently, and her name was in +all their supplications. +</p> +<p> +“She's singing to herself in her sleep,” whispered Loony. And the rough +sailors hushed to hear her. +</p> +<p> +Louder and louder, however, grew the storm, sheets of spray and drift +falling over the boat in showers, and all her timbers quivering as she +labored in the stormy sea. A sailor whispered something in Loony's ear, +and he grumbled out in reply,—“Why would I wake her up?” + </p> +<p> +“But I <i>am</i> awake, Loony,” said Mary, in a low, calm voice, “and I +see all our danger; but I see, too, that you are meeting it like brave +men, and, better still, like good ones.” + </p> +<p> +“The men was thinking we ought to bear up for Innish-more, Miss Mary,” + said Loony, as though ashamed of offering on his own part such counsel. +</p> +<p> +“You'll do what you think best and safest for us all, Loony.” + </p> +<p> +“But you were always the captain, miss, when you were aboord!” replied he, +with an effort to smile. +</p> +<p> +“And so I should be now, Loony, but that my heart is too full to be as +calm and resolute as I ought to be. This poor thing had not been here now, +but for <i>me</i>.” And she wrapped her shawl around Joan as she spoke. +“Maybe it's anxiety, perhaps fatigue, but I have not my old courage +to-night!” + </p> +<p> +“Faix! it will never be fear that will distress you!” said he. +</p> +<p> +“If you mean for myself and my own safety, Loony, you are right. It is not +for me to repine at the hour that calls me away, but I cannot bear to +think how you and others, with so many dear to you, should be perilled +just to serve <i>me!</i> And poor Joan, too, at the moment when life was +about to brighten for her!” She held down her head for a minute or two, +and then suddenly, as it were, rallying, she cried out, “The boat is +laboring too much for'ard, Loony; set the jib on her!” + </p> +<p> +“To be sure, if you ordher it, Miss Mary; but she has more sail now than +she can carry.” + </p> +<p> +“Set the jib, Loony. I know the craft well; she 'll ride the waves all the +lighter for it. If it were but daylight, I almost think I 'd enjoy this. +We 've been out in as bad before.” + </p> +<p> +Loony shook his head as he went forward to bend the additional sail. +</p> +<p> +“You see she won't bear it, miss,” cried he, as the boat plunged fearfully +into the trough of the sea. +</p> +<p> +“Let us try,” said she, calmly. “Stand by, ready to slack off, if I give +the word.” And so saying, she took the tiller from the sailor, and seated +herself on the weather-gunwale. “There, see how she does it now! Ah, +Loony, confess, I am the true pilot. I knew my nerve would come back when +I took my old post here. I was always a coward in a carriage, if I was n't +on the box and the reins in my hands; and the same at sea. Sit up to +windward, men, and don't move; never mind baling, only keep quiet.” + </p> +<p> +“Miss Mary was right,” muttered one of the men; “the head-sail is drawing +her high out of the water!” + </p> +<p> +“Is that dark mass before us cloud, or the land?” cried she. +</p> +<p> +“It's the mountains, miss. There to the left, where you see the dip in the +ridge, that's Kilkieran. I think I see the lights on shore now.” + </p> +<p> +“I see them now myself,” cried Mary. “Oh, how the sight of land gives love +of life! They called earth truly who named her mother!” said she to +herself. “What was that which swept past us, Loony?” + </p> +<p> +“A boat, miss; and they're hailing us now,” cried he, peeping over the +gunwale. “They've put her about, and are following our course. They came +out after us.” + </p> +<p> +“It was gallantly done, on such a night as this! I was just thinking to +myself that poor old Mat Landy would have been out, were he living. You +must take the tiller now, Loony, for I don't understand the lights on +shore.” + </p> +<p> +“Because they're shifting every minute, miss. It's torches they have, and +they 're moving from place to place; but we 'll soon be safe now.” + </p> +<p> +“Let us not forget this night, men,” said Mary, in a fervent voice. And +then, burying her face within her hands, she spoke no more. +</p> +<p> +It was already daybreak when they gained the little harbor, well-nigh +exhausted, and worn out with fatigue and anxiety. As for Mary, wet through +and cold, she could not rise from her seat without assistance, and almost +fainted as she put her foot on shore. She turned one glance seaward to +where the other boat was seen following them, and then, holding Joan's +hand, she slowly toiled up the rocky ascent to the village. To the crowd +of every age that surrounded her she could only give a faint, sickly smile +of recognition, and they, in deep reverence, stood without speaking, +gazing on her wan features and the dripping garments which clung to her. +</p> +<p> +“No, not to the inn, Loony,” said she, to a question from him. “The first +cabin we meet will shelter us, and then—home!” There was something +of intense sorrow in the thought that passed then through her mind, for +her eyes suddenly filled up, and heavy tears rolled along her cheeks. +“Have they got in yet?” said she, looking towards the sea. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, miss; they're close alongside now. It's the revenue boat that went +after us.” + </p> +<p> +“Wirra, wirra! but that's bad news for her now,” muttered a boatman, in +conversation with an old woman at his side. +</p> +<p> +“What's the bad news, Patsey?” said Mary, overhearing him. +</p> +<p> +But the man did not dare to answer; and though he looked around on every +side, none would speak for him. +</p> +<p> +“You used to be more frank with me,” said Mary, calmly. “Tell me what has +happened.” + </p> +<p> +Still not a word was uttered, a mournful silence brooded over the crowd, +and each seemed to shun the task of breaking it. +</p> +<p> +“You will make me fear worse than the reality, perhaps,” said she, +tremulously. “Is the calamity near home? No. Is it then my uncle?” A low +faint cry burst from her, and she dropped down on her knees; but scarcely +had she joined her hands to pray, than she fell back, fainting, to the +ground. +</p> +<p> +They carried her, still insensible as she was, into a fisherman's cabin, +till they went in search of a conveyance to take her to the cottage. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXII. LETTER FROM MASSINGBRED. +</h2> +<h3> +“Martin Arms, Oughterard. +</h3> +<p> +“In spite of all your reasonings, all your cautions, and all your +warnings, here I am once more, Harry, denizen of the little dreary parlor +whence I first looked out at Dan Nelligan's shop something more than a +year since. What changes of fortune has that brief space accomplished I +what changes has it effected even in my own nature! I feel this in nothing +more than in my altered relations with others. If the first evidence of +amendment in a man be shame and sorrow for the past, I may probably be on +the right road now, since I heartily grieve over the worthless, +purposeless life I have led hitherto. +</p> +<p> +“I am well aware that you would not accept the reason I gave you for +coming here. You said that, as to taking leave of my constituents, a +letter was the ordinary and the sufficient course. You also hinted that +our intercourse had not been of that close and friendly nature which +requires a personal farewell, and then you suggested that other and less +defensible motives had probably their share in this step. Well, you are +right, perfectly right; I wanted to see the spot which has so far exerted +an immense influence over me; I wanted—if you will have the +confession—to see <i>her</i> too,—to see her in the humble +station she belongs to, in the lowly garb of the steward's daughter. I was +curious to ascertain what change her bearing would undergo in the change +of position; would she conform to the lowlier condition at once and +without struggle, or would her haughty nature chafe and fret against the +obstacles of a small and mean existence? If you were right in guessing +this, you are equally wrong in the motive you ascribe to me. Not, indeed, +that you palpably express, but only hint at it; still I cannot endure even +the shadow of such a surmise without a flat and full denial. Perhaps, +after all, I have mistaken your meaning,—would it were so! I do +indeed wish that you should not ascribe to me motives so unworthy and so +mean. A revenge for her refusal of me! a reprisal for the proud rejection +of my hand and fortune! No, my dear Harry, I feel, as I write the words, +that they never were yours. You say, however, that I am curious to know if +I should think her as lovable and attractive in the humble dress and +humble station that pertain to her, as when I saw her moving more than +equal amongst the proudest and haughtiest of Europe. To have any doubt on +this score would be to distrust her sincerity of character. She must be +what I have ever seen her, or she is an actress. Difference of condition, +different associates, different duties will exact different discipline, +but she herself must be the same, or she is a falsehood,—a +deception. +</p> +<p> +“And then you add, it is perhaps as well that I should 'submit to the rude +test of a disenchantment.' Well, I accept the challenge, and I am here. +</p> +<p> +“These thoughts of self would obtrude in the very beginning of a letter I +had destined for other objects. You ask me for a narrative of my journey +and its accidents, and you shall have it. On my way over here in the +packet, I made acquaintance with an elderly man, who seemed thoroughly +acquainted with all the circumstances of the Martins and their +misfortunes. From him I ascertained that all Scanlan had told me was +perfectly correct. The reversion of the estate has been sold for a sum +incredibly small in proportion to its value, and in great part the +proceeds of gambling transactions. Martin is, therefore, utterly, +irretrievably ruined. Merl has taken every step with all the security of +the best advice, and in a few months, weeks perhaps, will be declared +owner of Cro' Martin. Even in the 'fast times' we live in, such rapid ruin +as this stands alone! You tell me that of your own college and mess +associates not more than one in five or six have survived the wreck of +fortune the first few years of extravagance accomplish, and that Manheim, +Brussels, and Munich can show the white-seamed, mock-smartened-up +gentilities which once were the glories of Bond Street and the Park; but +for poor Martin, I suspect, even these last sanctuaries do not remain,—as +I hear it, he is totally gone. +</p> +<p> +“From the very inn where I am staying Merls agents are issuing notices of +all kinds to the tenants and 'others' to desist and refrain from cutting +timber, quarrying marbles, and what not, on certain unspeakable +localities, with threats in case of non-compliance. Great placards cover +the walls of the town, headed 'Caution to all Tenants on the Estate of +Cro' Martin.' The excitement in the neighborhood is intense, overwhelming. +Whatever differences of political opinion existed between the Martins and +the people of the borough, whatever jealousies grew out of disparity of +station, seemed suddenly merged in sympathy for this great misfortune. +They are, of course, ignorant of the cause of this sudden calamity, and +ask each other how, when, and where such a fortune because engulfed. +</p> +<p> +“But to proceed regularly. On my reaching Dublin, after a hurried visit to +my father, I drove off to Mr. Repton's house. You may remember his name as +that of the old lawyer, some of whose bar stories amused you so highly. I +found him in a spacious mansion of an old neglected street,—Henrietta +Street,—once the great aristocratic quarter of Ancient Dublin, and +even to this day showing traces of real splendor. The old man received me +in a room of immense proportions, furnished as it was when Flood was the +proprietor. He was at luncheon when I entered; and for company had the +very same stranger with whom I made acquaintance in the packet. +</p> +<p> +“Repton started as we recognized each other, but at a sign or a word, I'm +not certain which, from the other, merely said, 'My friend was just +speaking of his having met you, Mr. Massingbred.' This somewhat informal +presentation over, I joined them, and we fell a chatting over the story of +Cro' Martin. +</p> +<p> +“They were both eager to hear something about Merl, his character, +pursuits, and position; and you would have been amazed to see how +surprised they were at my account of a man whose type we are all so +familiar with. +</p> +<p> +“You would scarcely credit the unfeigned astonishment manifested by these +two shrewd and crafty men at the sketch I gave them of our Hebrew friend. +One thing is quite clear,—it was not the habit, some forty or fifty +years ago, to admit the Merls of the world to terms of intimacy, far less +of friendship. +</p> +<p> +“'As I said, Repton,' broke in the stranger, sternly, 'it all comes of +that degenerate tone which has crept in of late, making society like a +tavern, where he who can pay his bill cannot be denied entrance. Such +fellows as this Merl had no footing in our day. The man who associated +with such would have forfeited his own place in the world.' +</p> +<p> +“'Very true,' said Repton, 'though we borrowed their money we never bowed +to them.' +</p> +<p> +“'And we did wisely, sir,' retorted the other. 'The corruption of their +manners was fifty times worse than all their usury! The gallant Hussar +Captain, as we see here, never scrupled about admitting to his closest +intimacy a fellow not fit company for his valet. Can't you perceive that +when a man will descend to such baseness to obtain money, there is no +measuring the depth he will go to when pressed to pay it?' +</p> +<p> +“'I am intimate with Martin,' said I, interrupting, 'and I can honestly +assure you that it was rather to an easy, careless, uncalculating +disposition he owes his misfortunes, than to anything like a spendthrift +habit.' +</p> +<p> +“'Mere hair-splitting this, sir,' replied he, almost rudely. 'He who +spends what is not his own, I have but one name for. It matters little in +my estimation whether he extorts the supply by a bill or a bullet.' +</p> +<p> +“I own to you, Harry, I burned to retort to a speech the tone and manner +of which were both more offensive than the words; but the stranger's age, +his venerable appearance, and something like deep and recent sorrow about +him, restrained me, and I caught, by a look from Repton, that he was +grateful for my forbearance. +</p> +<p> +“'Come, sir,' said he, addressing me, 'you say you know Captain Martin; +now let me ask you one question: Is there any one trait or feature of his +character to which, if his present misfortunes were to pass away, you +could attach a hope of amendment? Has not this life of bill-renewing, +these eternal straits for cash—with all the humiliations that +accompany them,—made him a mere creature of schemes and plots,—a +usurer in spirit, though a pauper in fact?' +</p> +<p> +“'When I say, sir, that you are addressing this demand to one whom Captain +Martin deems his friend, you will see the impropriety you have fallen +into.' +</p> +<p> +“'My young friend is right,' broke in Repton. 'The Court rules against the +question; nor would it be evidence even if answered.' +</p> +<p> +“I was angry at this interference of Repton's. I wanted to reply to this +man myself; but still, as I looked at his sorrow-struck features, and saw +what I fancied the marks of a proud suffering spirit, I was well satisfied +at not having given way to temper; still more so did I feel as he turned +towards me, and, with a manner of ineffable gentleness, said, 'I entreat +you to pardon me, sir, for an outburst of which I am already ashamed. A +rude life and some bitter experiences have made me hard of heart and +coarse in speech; still, it is only in moments of forgetfulness that I +cease to remember what indulgence he owes to others who has such need of +forgiveness himself.' +</p> +<p> +“I grasped his hand at once, and felt that his pressed mine like a +friend's. +</p> +<p> +“'You spoke of going down to the West,' said he, after a brief pause. 'I +start for that country to-night; you would do me a great favor should you +accompany me.' +</p> +<p> +“I acceded at once, and he went on. 'Repton was to have been of the party, +but business delays him a few days in town.' +</p> +<p> +“'I 'll join you before the end of the week,' said Repton; 'by that time +Mr. Massingbred will have expended all his borough blandishments and be +free to give us his society.' +</p> +<p> +“Though the old lawyer now tried, and tried cleverly, to lead us away to +lighter, pleasanter themes, the attempt was a failure; each felt, I +suspect, some oppressive weight on his spirits that indisposed him to less +serious talk; and again we came back to the Martins, the stranger +evidently seeking to learn all he could of the disposition and temper of +the young man. +</p> +<p> +“'It is as I thought,' said he, at last. 'It is the weak, sickly tone of +the day has brought all this corruption upon us! Once upon a time the +vices and follies of young men took their rise in their several natures,—this +one gambled, the other drank, and so on,—the mass, however, was +wonderfully sound and healthy; the present school, however, is to ape a +uniformity, so that each may show himself in the livery of his fellows, +thus imbibing wickedness he has no taste for, and none be less depraved +and heartless than those around him. Let the women but follow the fashion, +and there 's an end of us, as the great people we boasted to be!' +</p> +<p> +“I give you, so well as I can trust my memory, his words, Harry, but I +cannot give you a certain sardonic bitterness,—a tone of mingled +scorn and sorrow, such as I never before witnessed. He gave me the +impression of being one who, originally frank, generous, and trustful, +had, by intercourse with the world and commerce with mankind, grown to +suspect every one and disbelieve in honesty, and yet could not bring his +heart to acknowledge what his head had determined. In this wise, at least, +I read his character from the opportunities I had of conversing with him +on our journey. It was easy to see that he was a gentleman,—taking +the word in the widest of its acceptations,—but from things that +dropped from him, I could gather that his life had been that of an +adventurer. He had been in the sea and land services of many of those new +states of Southern America, had even risen to political importance in some +of them; had possessed mines and vast tracts of territory one day, and the +next saw himself 'without a piastre.' He had conducted operations against +the Indians, and made treaties with them, and latterly had lived as the +elected chief of a tribe in the west of the Rocky Mountains. But he knew +civilized as well as savage life, had visited Spain in the rank of an +envoy, and was familiar with all the great society of Rome, and the +intrigues of its prince-bishops. The only theme, however, on which he +really warmed was sport. The prairies brought out all his enthusiasm, and +then he spoke like one carried away by glorious recollections of a time +when, as he said himself, 'heart and hand and eye never failed him.' +</p> +<p> +“When he spoke of family ties or home affections, it was in a spirit of +almost mockery, which puzzled me. His reasoning was that the attachments +we form are only emanations of our own selfishness. We love, simply to be +loved again. Whereas, were we single-hearted, we should be satisfied to +know that those dear to us were well and happy, and only seek to serve +them without demonstration or display. +</p> +<p> +“Am I wearying you, Harry, by dwelling on the traits of a man who, for the +brief space I have known him, has made the most profound impression upon +me? Even where I dissent—as is often the case—from his views, +I have to own to myself that were I <i>he</i>, I should think and reason +precisely as he does. I fancied at first that, like many men who had +quitted civilized life for the rude ways of the 'bush,' he would have +contrasted the man of refinement unfavorably with the savage, but he was +too keen and acute for such a sweeping fallacy; he saw the good and evil +in both, and sensibly remarked how independent of all education were the +really strong characteristics of human nature. 'There is not a great +quality of our first men,' said he, 'that I have not found to exist among +the wild tribes of the Far West, nor is there an excellence of savage +nature I have not witnessed amidst the polished and the pampered.' +</p> +<p> +“From what I can collect, he is only here passingly; some family matter +has brought him over to this country; but he is already impatient to be +back to his old haunts and associates, and his home beside the Orinoco. He +has even asked me to come and visit him there; and from all I can see I +should be as likely to attain distinction among the Chaymas as in the +House of Commons, and should find the soft turf of the Savannahs as +pleasant as the Opposition benches. In fact, Harry, I have half promised +to accept his invitation; and if he renew it with anything like +earnestness, I am resolved to go. +</p> +<p> +“I am just setting out for the Hendersons', and while the horses are being +harnessed I have re-read your letter. Of course I have 'counted the cost,'—I +have weighed the question to a pennyweight! I could already write down the +list of those who will not know me at all, those who will know me a +little, and the still fewer who will know my wife! Can you not see, my +dear friend, that where one drags the anchor so easily, the mooring-ground +was never good? The society to which you belong by such slender +attachments gives no wound by separation from it. +</p> +<p> +“My anxiety now is on a very different score: it is that she will still +refuse me. The hope I cling to is that she will see in my persistence a +proof of sincerity. I would not, if I could, bring any family influence to +my aid, and yet, short of this, there is nothing I would not do to insure +success. +</p> +<p> +“I wish I had never re-opened your letter; that vein of sarcastic coolness +which runs through it will never turn me from my purpose. You seem to +forget, besides, that you are talking to a man of the world, just as +hackneyed, just as 'used up' as yourself. I should like to see you assume +this indolent dalliance before La Henderson! Take my word for it, Harry, +you 'd be safer with the impertinence amongst some of your duchesses in +Pall Mall. You say that great beauty in a woman, like genius in a man, is +a kind of brevet nobility, and yet you add that the envy of the world will +never weary of putting the possessor 'on his title.' How gladly would I +accept this challenge! Ay, Harry, I tell you, in all defiance, that your +proudest could not vie with her! +</p> +<p> +“If I wanted a proof of the vassalage of the social state we live in, I +have it before me in the fact that a man like yourself, wellborn, young, +rich, and high-hearted, should place the judgments and prejudices of half +a dozen old tabbies of either sex above all the promptings of a noble +ambition—all the sentiments of a generous devotion. Your starling +cry of 'the Steward's daughter,' then, does not deter, it only determines +the purpose +</p> +<p> +“Of yours faithfully, +</p> +<p> +“Jack Massingbred.” + </p> +<p> +“You 'll see by the papers that I have accepted the Chiltern Hundreds. +This is the first step.—now for the second!” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXIII. A DINNER AT “THE LODGE” + </h2> +<p> +While the “Morning Post” of a certain day, some twenty years ago, was +chronicling the illustrious guests who partook of his Majesty's +hospitalities at Windsor, the “Dublin Evening Mail,” under the less +pretentious heading of “Viceregal Court,” gave a list of those who had +dined with his Excellency at the Lodge. +</p> +<p> +There was not anything very striking or very new in the announcement. Our +<i>dramatis personæ,</i> in this wise, are limited; and after the +accustomed names of the Lord Chancellor and Mrs. Dobbs, the Master of the +Rolls and Mrs. Wiggins, Colonel Somebody of the 105th, Sir Felix and Miss +Slasher, you invariably find the catalogue close with an un-der-secretary, +a king-at-arms, and the inevitable Captain Lawrence Belcour, the +aide-de-camp in waiting!—these latter recorded somewhat in the same +spirit that the manager of a provincial theatre swells the roll of his +company, by the names of the machinist, the scene-painter, and the leader +of the band! We have no peculiar concern, however, with this fact, save +that on the day in question our old friend Joseph Nelligan figured as a +vice-regal guest. It was the first time he had been so honored, and, +although not of a stamp to attach any great prize to the distinction, he +was well aware that the recognition was intended as an honor; the more, +when an aide-de-camp signified to him that his place at table was on one +side of his Excellency. +</p> +<p> +When this veracious history first displayed young Nelligan at a +dinner-party, his manner was shy and constrained; his secluded, +student-like habits had given him none of that hardihood so essential in +society. If he knew little of passing topics, he knew less of the tone men +used in discussing them; and now, although more conversant with the world +and its ways, daily brought into contact with the business of life, his +social manner remained pretty nearly the same cold, awkward, and diffident +thing it had been at first. Enlist him in a great subject, or call upon +him on a great occasion, and he could rise above it; place him in a +position to escape notice, and you never heard more of him. +</p> +<p> +The dinner company on this day contained nothing very formidable, either +on the score of station or ability,—a few bar celebrities with their +wives, an eccentric dean with a daughter, a garrison colonel or two, three +country squires, and a doctor from Merrion Square. It was that interregnal +period between the time when the castle parties included the first gentry +of the land, and that later era when the priest and the agitator became +the favored guests of vice-royalty. It is scarce necessary to say it was, +as regards agreeability, inferior to either. There was not the courtly +urbanity and polished pleasantry of a very accomplished class; nor was +there the shrewd and coarse but racy intelligence of Mr. O'Connell's +followers. +</p> +<p> +The Marquis of Reckington had come over to Ireland to “inaugurate,” as the +newspapers called it, a new policy; that is, he was to give to the working +of the relief bill an extension and a significance which few either of its +supporters or opposers in Parliament ever contemplated. The inequality of +the Romanist before the law he might have borne; social depreciation was a +heavier evil, and one quite intolerable. Now, as the change to the new +system required considerable tact and address, they intrusted the task to +a most accomplished and well-bred gentleman; and were Ireland only to be +won by dinner-parties, Lord Reckington must have been its victor. +</p> +<p> +To very high rank and great personal advantages he united a manner of the +most perfect kind. Dignified enough always to mark his station and his own +consciousness of it, it was cordial without effort, frank and easy without +display. If he could speak with all the weight of authority, he knew how +to listen with actual deference; and there was that amount of change and +“play” in his demeanor that made his companion, whoever for the moment he +might be, believe that his views and arguments had made a deep impression +on the Viceroy. To those unacquainted with such men, and the school to +which they belong, there might have appeared something unreal, almost +dramatic, in the elegant gracefulness of his bow, the gentle affability of +his smile, the undeviating courtesy which he bestowed on all around him; +but they were all of the man himself,—his very instincts,—his +nature. +</p> +<p> +It had apparently been amongst his Excellency's instructions from his +government to seek out such rising men of the Roman Catholic party as +might be elevated and promoted on the just claims of their individual +merits,—men, in fact, whose conduct and bearing would be certain to +justify their selection for high office. It could not be supposed that a +party long proscribed, long estranged from all participation in power, +could be rich in such qualifications. At the bar, the ablest men usually +threw themselves into the career of politics, and of course by strong +partisanship more or less prejudiced their claims to office. It was rare +indeed to find one who, with the highest order of abilities, was satisfied +to follow a profession whose best rewards were denied him. Such was Joseph +Nelligan when he was first “called,” and such he continued to the very +hour we now see him. Great as had been his college successes, his triumphs +at the bar overtopped them all. They who remembered his shy and reserved +manner wondered whence he came by his dignity; they who knew his youth +could not imagine how he came by his “law.” + </p> +<p> +Mr. M'Casky, the castle law-adviser, an old recruiting-serjeant of +capacities, who had “tipped the shilling” to men of every party, had +whispered his name to the Under-Secretary, who had again repeated it to +the Viceroy. He was, as M'Casky said, “the man they wanted, with talent +enough to confront the best of the opposite party, and wealthy enough to +want nothing that can figure in a budget.” Hence was he, then, there a +favored guest, and seated on his Excellency's left hand. +</p> +<p> +For the magic influence of that manner which we have mentioned as +pertaining to the Viceroy, we ask for no better evidence than the sense of +perfect ease which Joe Nelligan now enjoyed. The <i>suave</i> dignity of +the Marquis was blended with a something like personal regard, a +mysterious intimation that seemed to say, “This is the sort of man I have +long been looking for; how gratifying that I should have found him at +last!” They concurred in so many points, too, not merely in opinions, but +actually in the very expressions by which they characterized them; and +when at last his Excellency, having occasion to quote something he had +said, called him “Nelligan,” the spell was complete. +</p> +<p> +Oh dear! when we torture our brains to legislate for apothecaries, +endeavoring in some way or other to restrict the sale of those subtle +ingredients on every grain or drop of which a human life may hang, why do +we never think of those far more subtle elements of which great people are +the dispensers,—flatteries more soothing than chloroform, smiles +more lulling than poppy-juice! Imagine poor Nelligan under a course of +this treatment, dear reader; fancy the delicious poison as it insinuates +itself through his veins, and if you have ever been so drugged yourself, +picture to your mind all the enjoyment he experienced. +</p> +<p> +By one of those adroit turns your social magician is master of, the +Viceroy had drawn the conversation towards Nelligan's county and his +native town. +</p> +<p> +“I was to have paid a visit to poor Martin there,” said he, “and I +certainly should have looked in upon <i>you</i>.” + </p> +<p> +Nelligan's cheek was in a flame; pride and shame were both there, warring +for the mastery. +</p> +<p> +“Poor fellow!” said his Excellency, who saw the necessity of a diversion, +“I fear that he has left that immense estate greatly embarrassed. Some one +mentioned to me, the other day, that the heir will not succeed to even a +fourth of the old property.” + </p> +<p> +“I have heard even worse, my Lord,” said Nelligan. “There is a rumor that +he is left without a shilling.” + </p> +<p> +“How very shocking! They are connections of my own!” said the Viceroy; as +though what he said made the misery attain its climax. +</p> +<p> +“I am aware, my Lord, that Lady Dorothea is related to your Excellency, +and I am surprised you have not heard the stories I allude to.” + </p> +<p> +“But perhaps I am incorrect,” said the Marquis. “It may be that I <i>have</i> +heard them; so many things pass through one's ears every day. But here is +Colonel Mas-singbred; he 's sure to know it. Massingbred, we want some +news of the Martins—the Martins of—what is it called?” + </p> +<p> +“Cro' Martin, my Lord,” said Nelligan, reddening. +</p> +<p> +“I hold the very latest news of that county in my hand, my Lord,” replied +the Secretary. “It is an express from my son, who writes from Oughterard.” + </p> +<p> +Nelligan stood, scarcely breathing, with impatience to hear the tidings. +</p> +<p> +Colonel Massingbred ran his eyes over the first page of the letter, +murmuring to himself the words; then turning over, he said: “Yes, here it +is,—'While I write this, the whole town is in a state of intense +excitement; the magistrates have sent in for an increased force of police, +and even soldiery, to repress some very serious disturbances on the Martin +property. It would appear that Merl—the man who assumes to claim the +property, as having purchased the reversion from young Martin—was +set upon by a large mob, and pursued, himself and his friends, for several +miles across the country. They escaped with their lives, but have arrived +here in a lamentable plight. There is really no understanding these +people. It was but the other day, and there was no surer road to their +favor than to abuse and vilify these same Martins, and now they are quite +ready to murder any one who aspires to take their place. If one was to +credit the stories afloat, they have already wreaked a fatal vengeance on +some fellows employed by Merl to serve notices on the tenantry; but I +believe that the outrages have really gone no further than such +maltreatment as Irishmen like to give, and are accustomed to take.'” + </p> +<p> +Here his Excellency laughed heartily, and Joe Nelligan looked grave. +</p> +<p> +Massingbred read on: “'Without being myself a witness to it, I never could +have credited the almost feudal attachment of these people to an “Old +House.” The Radical party in the borough are, for the moment, proscribed, +and dare not show themselves in the streets; and even Magennis, who so +lately figured as an enemy to the Martins, passed through the town this +morning with his wife, with a great banner flying over his jaunting-car, +inscribed “The Martins for Ever!” This burst of sentiment on his part, I +ought to mention, was owing to a most devoted piece of heroism performed +by Miss Martin, who sought out the lost one and brought her safely back, +through a night of such storm and hurricane as few ever remember. Such an +act, amidst such a people, is sure of its reward. The peasantry would, to +a man, lay down their lives for her; and coming critically, as the +incident did, just when a new proprietor was about to enforce his claim, +you can fancy the added bitterness it imparted to their spirit of +resistance. I sincerely trust that the magistrates will not accede to the +demand for an increased force. A terrible collision is sure to be the +result, and I know enough of these people to be aware of what can be done +by a little diplomacy, particularly when the right negotiator is employed. +I mean, therefore, to go over and speak to Mr. Nelligan, who is the only +man of brains amongst the magistrates here.'” + </p> +<p> +“A relative, I presume,” said his Excellency. +</p> +<p> +“My father, my Lord,” replied Joe, blushing. +</p> +<p> +“Oh! here is the result of his interview,” said Massing-bred, turning to +the foot of the page. “'Nelligan quite agreed in the view I had taken, and +said the people would assuredly disarm and perhaps destroy any force we +could send against them. He is greatly puzzled what course to adopt; and +when I suggested the propriety of invoking Miss Martin's aid, told me that +this is out of the question, since she is on a sick-bed. While we were +speaking, a Dublin physician passed through on his way to visit her. This +really does add to the complication, for she is, perhaps, the only one who +could exert a great influence over the excited populace. In any other +country it might read strangely, that it was to a young lady men should +have recourse in a moment of such peril; but this is like no other +country, the people like no other people, the young lady herself, perhaps, +like no other young lady!'” + </p> +<p> +By a scarcely perceptible movement of his head, and a very slight change +of voice, Colonel Massingbred intimated to the Viceroy that there was +something for his private ear, and Lord Reckington stepped back to hear +it. Nelligan, too deeply occupied in his own thoughts to remark the +circumstance, stood in the same place, silent and motionless. +</p> +<p> +“It is to this passage,” whispered the Secretary, “I want to direct your +Excellency's attention: 'All that I see here,' my son writes,—'all +that I see here is a type of what is going on, at large, over the island. +Old families uprooted, old ties severed; the people, with no other +instinct than lawlessness, hesitating which side to take. Their old +leaders, only bent upon the political, have forgotten the social struggle, +and thus the masses are left without guidance or direction. It is my firm +conviction that the Church of Rome will seize the happy moment to usurp an +authority thus unclaimed, and the priest step in between the landlord and +the demagogue; and it is equally my belief that you can only retard, not +prevent, this consummation. If you should be of <i>my</i> opinion, and be +able to induce his Excellency to think with us, act promptly and +decisively. Enlist the Roman Catholic laity in your cause before you be +driven to the harder compact of having to deal with the clergy. And first +of all, make—for fortunately you have the vacancy,—make young +Nelligan your solicitor-general.'” + </p> +<p> +The Viceroy gave a slight start, and smiled. He had not, as yet, +accustomed his mind to such bold exercise of his patronage. He lived, +however, to get over this sensation. +</p> +<p> +“My son,” resumed Massingbred, “argues this at some length. If you permit, +I 'll leave the letter in your Excellency's hands. In fact, I read it very +hurriedly, and came over here the moment I glanced my eyes over this +passage.” + </p> +<p> +His Excellency took the letter, and turned to address a word to Joe +Nelligan, but he had left the spot. +</p> +<p> +“Belcour,” said the Viceroy, “tell Mr. Nelligan I wish to speak to him. I +shall be in the small drawing-room. I 'll talk with him alone. +Massingbred, be ready to come when I shall send for you.” + </p> +<p> +The Viceroy sat alone by the fire, pondering over all he had heard. There +was, indeed, that to ponder over, even in the brief, vague description of +the writer. “The difficulties of Ireland,” as it was the fashion of the +day to call them, were not such as government commissions discover, or +blue books describe; they lay deeper than the legislative lead-line ever +reaches,—many a fathom down below statutes and Acts of Parliament. +They were in the instincts, the natures, the blood of a people who had +never acknowledged themselves a conquered nation. Perhaps his Excellency +lost himself in speculations, mazy and confused enough to addle deeper +heads. Perhaps he was puzzled to think how he could bring the Cabinet to +see these things, or the importance that pertained to them; who knows? At +all events, time glided on, and still he was alone. At length the +aide-de-camp appeared, and with an air of some confusion, said,—“It +would appear, my Lord, that Mr. Nelligan has gone away.” + </p> +<p> +“Why, he never said good-night; he did n't take leave of me!” said the +Viceroy, smiling. +</p> +<p> +The aide-de-camp slightly elevated his brows, as though to imply his sense +of what it might not have become him to characterize in words. +</p> +<p> +“Very strange, indeed!” repeated his Excellency; “is n't it, Belcour?” + </p> +<p> +“Very strange, indeed, your Excellency,” said the other, bowing. +</p> +<p> +“There could have been no disrespect in it,” said his Lordship, +good-humoredly; “of <i>that</i> I'm quite certain. Send Colonel +Massingbred here.” + </p> +<p> +“He's gone off, Massingbred,” said the Viceroy, as the other appeared. +</p> +<p> +“So I have just learned, my Lord. I conclude he was not aware—that +he was unacquainted with—” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, of course, Massingbred,” broke in the Viceroy, laughing, “the fault +is all with my predecessors in office; they never invited these men as +they ought to have done. Have you sounded M'Casky as to the appointment?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lord; he thinks 'we might do worse.'” + </p> +<p> +“A qualified approval, certainly. Perhaps he meant we might select +himself!” + </p> +<p> +“I rather opine, my Lord, that he regards Nelligan's promotion as likely +to give offence to Mr. O'Connell, unless that he be himself consulted upon +it.” + </p> +<p> +“Then comes the question, Who is it governs this country, Colonel +Massingbred?” said the Marquis; and for the first time a flash of angry +meaning darkened his cheeks. “If I be here,”—he stopped and +hesitated,—“if you and I be here only to ratify appointments made by +irresponsible individuals,—if we hold the reins of power only to be +told where we 're to drive to,—I must own the office is not very +dignified, nor am I patient enough to think it endurable.” + </p> +<p> +“M'Casky only suggested that it might be advisable to see O'Connell on the +subject, not, as it were, to pass him over in conferring the appointment.” + </p> +<p> +“I cannot at all concur in this view, Massingbred,” said the Marquis, +proudly; “there could be no such humiliation in the world as a patronage +administered in this wise. Write to Nelligan; write to him to-night. Say +that his abrupt departure alone prevented my making to him personally the +offer of the solicitorship; add that you have my directions to place the +office in his hands, and express a strong wish, on your own part, that he +may not decline it.” + </p> +<p> +Massingbred bowed in acquiescence, and after a pause his Excellency went +on:— +</p> +<p> +“There would be no objection to your adding something to the effect that +my selection of him was prompted by motives in which party has no share; +that his acknowledged eminence at the bar,—a character to which even +political opponents bear honorable testimony,—in fact, Massingbred,” + added he, impatiently, “if the appointment should come to be questioned in +the House, let us have it on record that we made it solely on motives +directed to the public service. You understand me?” + </p> +<p> +“I think so, my Lord,” said Massingbred, and withdrew. +</p> +<p> +If it were not that other cares and other interests call us away, we would +gladly linger a little longer to speculate on the Viceroy's thoughts as he +reseated himself by the fire. His brow was overcast and his features +clouded. Was it that he felt he had entered the lists, and thrown down the +glove to a strong and resolute opponent? Had he before him a vista of the +terrible conflict between expediency and honor that was soon to be his +fate? Had he his doubts as to the support his own Cabinet would afford +him? Was his pride the ruling sentiment of the moment, or did there enter +into his calculations the subtle hope of all the eager expectancy this +appointment would create, all the disposable venality it would lay at his +discretion? Who can answer these questions? who solve these doubts? Is it +not very possible that his mind wandered amidst them all? Is it not more +than likely that they passed in review before him? for when he rejoined +his company his manner was more absent, his courtesy less easy than usual. +</p> +<p> +At length Mr. M'Casky came forward to say goodnight. +</p> +<p> +“Colonel Massingbred has told you of those disturbances in the West, has +he not?” asked the Viceroy. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lord,” replied the other. +</p> +<p> +“And what opinion—what advice did you give?” + </p> +<p> +“To let matters alone, my Lord; to be always a little behind time, +particularly in sending a force. 'Never despatch the police to quell a +riot,' said John Toler, 'unless one of the factions be completely beaten, +otherwise you 'll have them both on your back;' and I assure your +Excellency, Ireland has been very successfully governed under that maxim +for years past.” + </p> +<p> +“Thank you, M'Casky; thank you for the advice,” said his Excellency, +laughing, and wished him good-night. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXIV. AN HONORED GUEST +</h2> +<p> +It was a time of unusual stir and bustle at the Martin Arms; the house was +crammed with company. Messengers—some mounted, others on foot—came +and went at every moment; horses stood ready saddled and harnessed in the +stables, in waiting for any emergency; in fact, there was a degree of +movement and animation only second to that of a contested election. In the +midst of this confusion a chaise with four smoking posters drew up at the +door, and a sharp, clear voice called out,—“Morrissy, are my rooms +ready?” + </p> +<p> +“No, indeed, Mr. Repton,” stammered out the abashed landlord; “the house +is full; there's not a spot in it to put a child in.” + </p> +<p> +“You got my letter, I suppose?” said Repton, angrily. +</p> +<p> +“I did, sir, but it was too late; the whole house was engaged by Mr. +Scanlan, and the same evening the company arrived in two +coaches-and-four.” + </p> +<p> +“And who is the precious company you speak of?” + </p> +<p> +“Mr. Merl, sir,” said the other, dropping his voice to a whisper, “the new +owner of Cro' Martin; he's here, with two or three great lawyers and one +or two of his friends. They came down to serve the notices and give +warning—” + </p> +<p> +“Well, what is to be done? where can I be accommodated?” broke in Repton, +hastily. “Isn't Mr. Massing-bred in the house?” + </p> +<p> +“No, sir, he had to move out, too; but, sure enough, he left a bit of a +note for you in the bar.” And he hastened off at once to fetch it. +</p> +<p> +Repton broke open the seal impatiently, and read:— +</p> +<p> +“My dear Mr. Repton,—I regret that you 'll find the inn full on your +arrival; they turned me out yesterday to make room for Mr. Merl and his +followers. Happily, Mr. Nelligan heard of my destitution, and offered me a +quarter at his house. He also desires me to say that he will deem it a +very great favor if you will accept the shelter of his roof, and in +hopeful anticipation of your consenting, he will wait dinner for your +arrival. From my own knowledge, I can safely assure you that the offer is +made in a spirit of true hospitality, and I sincerely wish that you may +accept it. +</p> +<p> +“Yours very faithfully, +</p> +<p> +“J. Massingbred.” + </p> +<p> +“Where does Mr. Nelligan live?” asked Repton, as he refolded the letter. +</p> +<p> +“Just across the street, sir. There it is.” + </p> +<p> +“Set me down there, then,” said Repton. And the next moment he was at +Nelligan's door. +</p> +<p> +“This is a very great honor, sir,” said old Dan, as he appeared in a suit +of decorous black. “It is, indeed, a proud day that gives me the pleasure +of seeing you here.” + </p> +<p> +“My dear sir, if you had no other distinction than being the father of +Joseph Nelligan, the honor and the pride lie all in the opposite scale. I +am sincerely glad to be your guest, and to know you where every true +Irishman is seen to the greatest advantage,—at the head of his own +board.” + </p> +<p> +While Nelligan conducted his guest to his room, he mentioned that +Massingbred had ridden over to Cro' Martin early in the morning, but would +be certainly back for dinner. +</p> +<p> +“And what 's the news of Miss Martin? Is she better?” + </p> +<p> +“They say not, sir. The last accounts are far from favorable.” + </p> +<p> +“Sir Henry Laurie saw her, did n't he?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir; he passed all Sunday here, and only returned to town yesterday. +He spoke doubtfully,—I might even say, gloomily. He said, however, +that we cannot know anything for certain before Friday or, perhaps, +Saturday.” + </p> +<p> +“It is fever, then?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, he told my wife, the worst character of typhus.” + </p> +<p> +“Brought on, as I've been told, by exposure to wet and cold on that night +at sea. Is n't that the case?” + </p> +<p> +“I believe so. Mrs. Nelligan went over the next morning to the cottage. +She had heard of poor Mr. Martin's death, and thought she might be of some +use to Miss Mary; but when she arrived, it was to find her in fever, +talking wildly, and insisting that she must be up and away to Kyle-a-Noe +to look after a poor sick family there.” + </p> +<p> +“Has Mrs. Nelligan seen her since that?” + </p> +<p> +“She never left her,—never quitted her. She relieves Henderson's +daughter in watching beside her bed; for the old housekeeper is quite too +infirm to bear the fatigue.” + </p> +<p> +“What a sad change has come over this little spot, and in so brief a space +too! It seems just like yesterday that I was a guest at Cro' Martin,—poor +Martin himself so happy and light-hearted; his dear girl, as he called +her, full of life and spirits. Your son was there the night I speak of. I +remember it well, for the madcap girls would make a fool of me, and +insisted on my singing them a song; and I shall not readily forget the +shame my compliance inflicted on my learned brother's face.” + </p> +<p> +“Joe told me of it afterwards.” + </p> +<p> +“Ah, he told you, did he? He doubtless remarked with asperity on the +little sense of my own dignity I possessed?” + </p> +<p> +“On the contrary, sir, he said, 'Great as are Mr. Rep-ton's gifts, and +brilliant as are his acquirements, I envy him more the happy buoyancy of +his nature than all his other qualities.'” + </p> +<p> +“He's a fine fellow, and it was a generous speech; not but I will be vain +enough to say he was right,—ay, sir, perfectly right. Of all the +blessings that pertain to temperament, there is not one to compare with +the spirit that renews in an old man the racy enjoyment of youth, keeps +his heart fresh and his mind hopeful. With these, age brings no terrors. I +shall be seventy-five, sir, if I live to the second of next month, and I +have not lived long enough to dull the enjoyment life affords me, nor +diminish the pleasure my heart derives upon hearing of a noble action or a +generous sentiment.” + </p> +<p> +Nelligan gazed at the speaker in mingled astonishment and admiration. +Somehow, it was not altogether the man he had expected; but he was far +from being disappointed at the difference. The Valentine Repton of his +imagination was a crafty pleader, a subtle cross-examiner, an ingenious +flatterer of juries; but he was not a man whose nature was assailable by +anything “not found in the books.” + </p> +<p> +Now, though Nelligan was himself essentially a worldly man, he was touched +by these traits of one whom he had regarded as a hardened old lawyer, +distrustful and suspicious. +</p> +<p> +“Ay, sir,” said Repton, as, leaning on the other's arm, he entered the +drawing-room, “a wiser man than either of us has left it on record, that +after a long life and much experience of the world, he met far more of +good and noble qualities in mankind than of their opposite. Take my word +for it, whenever we are inclined to the contrary opinion, the fault lies +with ourselves.” + </p> +<p> +While they sat awaiting Massingbred's return, a servant entered with a +note, which Nelligan, having read, handed over to Repton. It was very +brief, and ran thus:— +</p> +<p> +“My dear Mr. Nelligan,—Forgive my not appearing at dinner, and make +my excuses to Mr. Repton, if he be with you, for I have just fallen in +with Magennis, who insists on carrying me off to Barnagheela. You can +understand, I 'm sure, that there are reasons why I could not well decline +this invitation. Meanwhile, till to-morrow, at breakfast, +</p> +<p> +“I am yours, +</p> +<p> +“Jack Massingbred.” + </p> +<p> +If there was a little constraint on Nelligan's part at finding himself +alone to do the honors to his distinguished guest, the feeling soon wore +away, and a frank, hearty confidence was soon established between these +two men, who up to the present moment had been following very different +roads in life. Apart from a lurking soreness, the remnants of long-past +bitterness, Nelligan's political opinions were fair and moderate, and +agreed with Repton's now to a great extent. His views as to the people, +their habits and their natures, were also strikingly just and true. He was +not over-hopeful, nor was he despondent; too acute an observer to refer +their faults to any single source, he regarded their complex, intricate +characters as the consequence of many causes, the issue of many struggles. +There was about all he said the calm judgment of a man desirous of truth; +and yet, when he came to speak of the higher classes, the great country +gentry, he displayed prejudices and mistakes quite incredible in one of +his discernment. The old grudge of social disqualification had eaten deep +into his heart, and, as Repton saw, it would take at least two generations +of men, well-to-do and successful, to eradicate the sentiment. +</p> +<p> +Nelligan was quick enough to see that these opinions of his were not +shared by his guest, and said, “I cannot expect, Mr. Repton, that you will +join me in these views; you have seen these people always as an equal, if +not their superior; they met <i>you</i> with their best faces and sweetest +flatteries. Not so with us. They draw a line, as though to say, go on: +make your fortunes; purchase estates; educate your children; send them to +the universities with our own; teach them our ways, our instincts, our +manners, and yet, at the end of all, you shall remain exactly where you +began. You shall never be 'of us.'” + </p> +<p> +“I am happy to say that I disagree with you,” said Repton; “I am a much +older man than you, and I can draw, therefore, on a longer experience. Now +the change that I myself have seen come over the tone and temper of the +world since I was a boy is far more marvellous to me than all the +new-fangled discoveries around us in steam and electricity. Why, sir, the +man who now addresses you, born of an ancient stock, as good blood as any +untitled gentleman of the land, was treated once as Jack Cade might be in +a London drawing-room. The repute of liberal notions or politics at that +day stamped you as a democrat and atheist If you sided with a popular +measure, you were deemed capable of all the crimes of a 'Danton.' +</p> +<p> +“Do I not remember it!—Ay, as a student, young, ardent, and +high-hearted, when I was summoned before the visitors of the university, +and sternly asked by the dark-browed Lord Chancellor if I belonged to a +society called the 'Friends of Ireland,' and on my acknowledging the fact, +without inquiry, without examination, deprived of my scholarship, and sent +back to my chambers, admonished to be more cautious, and menaced with +expulsion. I had very little to live on in those days; my family had +suffered great losses in fortune, and I disliked to be a burden to them. I +took pupils, therefore, to assist me in my support. The Vice-Provost +stepped in, however, and interdicted this. 'Young men,' he said, 'ran a +greater chance of coming out of my hands followers of Paine than disciples +of Newton.' I starved on till I was called to the bar. There fresh insults +and mortifications met me. My name on a brief seemed a signal for a +field-day against Jacobinism and infidelity. The very bench forgot its +dignity in its zeal. I remember well one day, when, stung and maddened by +these outrages, I so far forgot myself as to reply, and the Court of +King's Bench was closed against me for twelve long years,—ay, till I +came back to it as the first man in my profession. It was a trumpery +cause,—I forget what; a suit about some petty bill of exchange. I +disputed the evidence, and sought to show its invalidity. The Chief +Justice stopped me, and said, 'The Court is aware of the point on which +you rely; we have known evidence of this nature admitted in cases of trial +for treason,—cases with which Mr. Repton, we know, is very familiar. +I stopped; my blood boiled with indignation, my temples throbbed to +bursting, to be thus singled out amongst my brethren—before the +public—as a mark of scorn and reprobation. 'It is true, my Lord,' +said I, with a slow, measured utterance, 'I am familiar with such cases. +Who is there in this unhappy land that is not? I am aware, too, that if I +stood in that dock arraigned on such a charge, your Lordship would rule +that this evidence was admissible; you would charge against me, sentence, +and hang me; but the present is an action for eleven pounds ten, and, +therefore, I trust to your Lordship's lenity and mercy to reject it.' +</p> +<p> +“That reply, sir, cost me twelve years of exile from the court wherein I +uttered it. Those were times when the brow-beating judge could crush the +bar; nor were the jury always safe in the sanctuary of the jury-box. Now, +such abuses are no longer in existence; and if we have made no other +stride in progress, even that is considerable.” + </p> +<p> +“In all that regards the law and its administration, I am sure you are +correct, sir,” said Nelligan, submissively. +</p> +<p> +“At the period I speak of,” resumed Repton, who now was only following out +his own thoughts and reminiscences, “the judges were little else than +prefects, administering the country through the channel of the penal code, +and the jury a set of vulgar partisans, who wielded the power of a verdict +with all the caprice of a faction; and as to their ignorance, why, sir, +Crookshank, who afterwards sat on the bench, used to tell of a trial for +murder at Kells, where the 'murdered man' was two hours under +cross-examination on the table! Yes, but that is not all; the jury retired +to deliberate, and came out at length with a verdict of 'manslaughter,' as +the prisoner was 'a bad fellow, and had once stolen a saddle from the +foreman.' You talk of law and civilization; why, I tell you, sir, that the +barbaric code of the red man is a higher agent of enlightenment than the +boasted institutions of England, when thus perverted and degraded. No, no, +Mr. Nelligan, it may be a fine theme for declamation, there may be grand +descriptive capabilities about the Ireland of sixty or seventy years ago, +but be assured, it was a social chaos of the worst kind; and as a maxim, +sir, remember, that the inhabitants of a country are never so much to be +pitied as when the aspect of their social condition is picturesque!” + </p> +<p> +Repton fell into a musing fit when he had finished these observations, and +Nelligan felt too much deference for his guest to disturb him, and they +sat thus silent for some time, when the old lawyer suddenly arousing +himself, said,—“What's all this I hear about disturbances, and +attacks on the police, down here?” + </p> +<p> +“There's nothing political in it,” rejoined Nelligan. “It was resistance +offered by the people to the service of certain notices on the part of +this London Jew—Merl, I think they call him.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, that's the name,” quickly responded Repton. “You are aware of the +circumstances under which he claims the estate?” + </p> +<p> +“I had it from Brierley, who was told by Scanlan, that he purchased, or +rather won at play, the entire and sole reversion.” + </p> +<p> +Repton nodded. +</p> +<p> +“And such is a legal compact, I presume?” said Nelligan. +</p> +<p> +“If the immoral obligation be well concealed in the negotiation, I don't +see how it is to be broken. The law, sir,” added he, solemnly, “never +undertakes the charge of fools till a commission be taken out in their +behalf! This young fellow's pleasure it was to squander his succession to +a princely estate, and he chanced to meet with one who could appreciate +his intentions.” + </p> +<p> +“Massingbred told me, however, that some arrangement, some compromise was +in contemplation; that Merl, knowing that to enforce his claim would +subject him to a trial and all its disclosures, had shown a disposition to +treat; in fact, Massingbred has already had an interview with him, and but +for Scanlan, who desires to push matters to extremity, the affair might +possibly be accommodated.” + </p> +<p> +“The Jew possibly sees, too, that an Irish succession is not a bloodless +triumph. He has been frightened, I have no doubt.” + </p> +<p> +“I believe so; they say he took to his bed the day he got back here, and +has never quitted it since. The people hunted them for four miles across +the country, and as Merl couldn't leap his horse over the walls, they were +several times nearly caught by the delay in making gaps for him.” + </p> +<p> +“I'd have given fifty pounds to be in at it,” broke out Repton. Then +suddenly remembering that the aspiration did not sound as very dignified, +he hemmed and corrected himself, saying, “It must, indeed, have been a +strange spectacle!” + </p> +<p> +“They started at Kyle's Wood, and ran them over the low grounds beside +Kelly's Mills, and then doubling, brought them along the foot of +Barnagheela Mountain, where, it seems, Magennis joined the chase; he was +fast closing with them when his gun burst, and rather damaged his hand.” + </p> +<p> +“He fired, then?” + </p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0015" id="linkimage-0015"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/368.jpg" width="100%" alt="368 " /> +</div> +<p> +“Yes, he put a heavy charge of slugs into Merl's horse as he was getting +through the mill-race, and the beast flung up and threw his rider into the +stream. Scanlan dismounted and gathered him up, discharging his pistol at +some country fellow who was rushing forward; they say the man has lost an +eye. They got off, however, and, gaining the shelter of the Cro' Martin +wood, they managed to escape at last, and reached this about six o'clock, +their clothes in tatters, their horses lamed, and themselves lamentable +objects of fatigue and exhaustion. Since that, no one but the doctor has +seen Merl, and Scanlan only goes out with an escort of police.” + </p> +<p> +“All this sounds very like 'sixty years ago,'” said Repton, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“I'm afraid it does, and I half dread what the English newspapers may say +under the heading of 'Galway Barbarities.'” + </p> +<p> +“By Jove! I must say I like it; that is,” said Repton, hesitating and +confused, “I can see some palliation for the people in such an outburst of +generous but misdirected feeling. The old name has still its spell for +their hearts; and even superstitions, sir, are better than incredulity!” + </p> +<p> +“But of what avail is all this? The law must and will be vindicated. It +may cost some lives, on the road, but Mr. Merl must reach his journey's +end, at last.” + </p> +<p> +“He may deem the sport, as I have known some men do tiger-hunting, not +worth the danger,” said Repton. “You and I, Mr. Nelligan, acclimated, as I +may say, to such incidents, would probably not decline the title to an +estate, whose first step in possession should be enforced by the +blunderbuss; but make the scene Africa, and say what extent of territory +would you accept of, on the compact of enforcing your claim against the +natives? Now, for all the purposes of argument, to this cockney's +appreciation, these countrymen of ours are Africans.” + </p> +<p> +“I can well understand his terror,” said Nelligan, thoughtfully. “I 'm +sure the yell that followed him through the gap of Kyle-a-Noe will ring in +his heart for many a day. It was there the pursuit was hottest. As they +came out, a stranger, who had been here during the winter,—a Mr. +Barry—” + </p> +<p> +“What of <i>him?</i> What did <i>he</i> do?” broke in Repton, with great +eagerness. +</p> +<p> +“He stood upon an old wall, and hurrahed the people on, calling out, 'Five +gold guineas to the man who will hurl that fellow into the lake.'” + </p> +<p> +“He said that?” cried Repton. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, and waved his hat in encouragement to the mob! This was deposed in +evidence before the bench; and Scanlan's affidavit went on to say, that +when the temper of the people seemed to relent, and the ardor of their +pursuit to relax, this man's presence invariably rallied all the energies +of mischief, and excited the wildest passions of the populace.” + </p> +<p> +“Who or what is he supposed to be?” asked the lawyer. +</p> +<p> +“Some say, a returned convict,—a banker that was transported thirty +years ago for forgery; others, that he is Con O'Hara, that killed Major +Stackpoole in the famous duel at Bunratty Castle. Magennis swears that he +remembers the face well; at all events, there is a mystery about him, and +when he came into the shop below stairs—” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, then, you have seen him yourself?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; he came in on Monday last, and asked for some glazed gunpowder, and +if we had bullets of a large mould to fit his pistols. They were +curiosities in their way; they were made in America, and had a bore large +as your thumb.” + </p> +<p> +“You had some conversation with him?” + </p> +<p> +“A few words about the country and the crops. He said he thought we had +good prospects for the wheat, and, if we should have a fine harvest, a +good winter was like to follow. Meaning that, with enough to eat, we +should have fewer outrages in the dark nights, and by that I knew he was +one acquainted with the country. I said as much, and then he turned +fiercely on me, and remarked, 'I never questioned you, sir, about your +hides and tallow and ten-penny nails, for they were <i>your</i> affairs; +please, then, to pay the same deference to <i>me</i> and <i>mine</i>.' And +before I could reply he was gone.” + </p> +<p> +“It was a rude speech,” said Repton, thoughtfully; “but many men are +morose from circumstances whose natures are full of kindliness and +gentleness.” + </p> +<p> +“It was precisely the impression this stranger made upon me. There was +that in his manner which implied a hard lot in life,—no small share +of the shadiest side of fortune; and even when his somewhat coarse rebuke +was uttered, I was more disposed to be angry with myself for being the +cause than with him who made it.” + </p> +<p> +“Where is he stopping just now?” + </p> +<p> +“At Kilkieran, I have heard; but he has been repeatedly back and forward +in the town here during the week, though for the last few days I have not +seen him. Perhaps he has heard of Scanlan's intention to summons him for +aiding and abetting an assault, and has kept out of the way in +consequence.” + </p> +<p> +“<i>He</i> keep out of the way!” cried Repton; “you never mistook a man +more in your life!” + </p> +<p> +“You are acquainted with him, then?” said Nelligan, in amazement. +</p> +<p> +“That am I, sir. No one knows him better, and on my knowledge of the man +it was that I apologized for his incivility to yourself. If I cannot say +more, Mr. Nelligan, it is not because I have any mistrust in your +confidence, but that my friend's secret is, in his own charge, and only to +be revealed at his own pleasure.” + </p> +<p> +“I wish you would tell him that I never meant to play the spy upon him,—that +my remark was a merely chance observation—” + </p> +<p> +“I promise you to do so,” broke in Repton. “I promise you still more, that +before he leaves this you shall have an apology from his own lips for his +accidental rudeness; nay, two men that would know how to respect each +other should never part under even a passing misunderstanding. It is an +old theory of mine, Mr. Nelligan, that good men's good opinions of us form +the pleasantest store of our reminiscences, and I 'd willingly go a +hundred miles to remove a misconception that might bring me back to the +esteem of an honorable heart, though I never were to set eyes again on him +who possessed it.” + </p> +<p> +“I like your theory well, sir,” said Nelligan, cordially. +</p> +<p> +“You 'll find the practice will reward you,” said Repton. +</p> +<p> +“I confess this stranger has inspired me with great curiosity.” + </p> +<p> +“I can well understand the feeling,” said Repton, musing. “It is with men +as with certain spots in landscape, there are chance glimpses which +suggest to us the fair scenes that lie beyond our view! Poor fellow! poor +fellow!” muttered he once or twice to himself; and then starting abruptly, +said, “You have made me so cordially welcome here that I am going to +profit by every privilege of a guest. I 'm going to say good-night, for I +have much before me on the morrow.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXV. HOW DIPLOMACY FAILED +</h2> +<p> +Repton was up at daybreak, and at his desk. Immense folios littered the +table, and even the floor around him, and the old lawyer sat amidst a +chaos that it was difficult to believe was only the growth of an hour or +two. All the intentness of his occupation, however, did not prevent him +hearing a well-known voice in the little stable-yard beneath his window, +and opening the sash he called out, “Mas-singbred, is that you?” + </p> +<p> +“Ah, Mr. Repton, are you stirring so early? I had not expected to see you +for at least two hours to come. May I join you?” + </p> +<p> +“By all means; at once,” was the answer. And the next moment they were +together. “Where's Barry? When did you see him last?” was Repton's first +question. +</p> +<p> +“For a moment, on Tuesday last; he came up here to learn if you had +arrived, or when you might be expected. He seemed disappointed when I said +not before the latter end of the week, and muttered something about being +too late. He seemed flurried and excited. I heard afterwards that he had +been somehow mixed up with that tumultuous assemblage that resisted the +police, and I offered to go back with him to Kilkieran, but he stopped me +short, saying, 'I am not at Kilkieran;' and so abruptly as to show that my +proposal was not acceptable. He then sat down and wrote a short letter, +which he desired me to give you on arriving; but to deliver it with my own +hand, as, if any reply were necessary, I should be ready to carry it to +him. This is the letter.” + </p> +<p> +Repton read it rapidly, and then, walking to the window, stood pondering +over the contents. +</p> +<p> +“You know this man Merl, don't you, Massingbred?” asked Repton. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, thoroughly.” + </p> +<p> +“The object of this letter is to try one last chance for an arrangement. +Barry suspects that the Jew's ambition for Irish proprietorship may have +been somewhat dashed by the experience of the last few days; that he will +be likely enough to weigh the advantages and disadvantages with a juster +appreciation than if he had never come here, and, if such be the case, we +are ready to meet with a fair and equitable offer. We'll repay him all +that he advanced in cash to young Martin, and all that he won from him at +play, if he surrender his reversionary claim. We'll ask no questions as to +how this loan was made, or how that debt incurred. It shall be the +briefest of all transactions,—a sum in simple addition, and a check +for the total.” + </p> +<p> +“He'll refuse,—flatly refuse it,” said Massingbred. “The very offer +will restore any confidence the last few days may have shaken; he'll judge +the matter like the shares of a stock that are quoted higher in the +market.” + </p> +<p> +“You think so?” + </p> +<p> +“I'm sure of it. I'm ashamed to say, Mr. Repton, that my knowledge of the +Herman Merl class may be greater than yours. It is the one solitary point +in the realm of information wherein I am probably your superior.” + </p> +<p> +“There are others, and of a very different order, in which I would own you +the master,” said Repton. “But to our case. Suppose,—a mere +supposition, if you like,—but suppose that it could be demonstrated +to Mr. Merl that his claim will be not only resisted, but defeated; that +the right on which he relies is valueless,—the deed not worth the +stamps it bears; that this offer is made to avoid a publicity and exposure +far more injurious to him than to those who now shrink from it. What think +you then?” + </p> +<p> +“Simply that he'd not believe it! He'd say, and many others would say, 'If +the right lay so incontestably with these others, they 'd not give some +twenty thousand pounds to compromise what they could enforce for the mere +cost of a trial.'” + </p> +<p> +“Mr. Massingbred, too, would perhaps take the same view of the +transaction,” said Repton, half tartly. +</p> +<p> +“Not if Mr. Repton assured me that he backed the opposite opinion,” said +Jack, politely. +</p> +<p> +“I thank you heartily for that speech,” said the old man, as he grasped +the other's hand cordially; “you deserve, and shall have my fullest +confidence.” + </p> +<p> +“May I ask,” said Jack, “if this offer to buy off Merl be made in the +interest of the Martins, for otherwise I really see no great object, so +far as they are concerned, in the change of mastery?” + </p> +<p> +“You'll have to take <i>my</i> word for that,” said Repton, “or rather, to +take the part I assume in this transaction as the evidence of it; and now, +as I see that you are satisfied, will you accept of the duty of this +negotiation? Will you see and speak with Merl? Urge upon him all the +arguments your own ingenuity will furnish, and when you come, if you +should be so driven, to the coercive category, and that you want the siege +artillery, then send for <i>me</i>. Depend upon it, it will be no <i>brutum +fulmen</i> that I 'll bring up; nor will I, as Pelham said, fire with +'government powder.' My cannon shall be inscribed, like those of the old +volunteers, independence or—” + </p> +<p> +At any other moment Jack might have smiled at the haughty air and martial +stride of the old man, as, stimulated by his words, he paced the room; but +there was a sincerity and a resolution about him that offered no scope for +ridicule. His very features wore a look of intrepidity that bespoke the +courage that animated him. +</p> +<p> +“Now, Massingbred,” said he, laying his hand on the young man's arm, “it +is only because I am not free to tell another man's secret that I do not +at once place you fully in possession of all I myself know of this +transaction; but rely on it, you shall be informed on every point, and +immediately after the issue of this negotiation with Merl, whatever be the +result, you shall stand on the same footing with myself.” + </p> +<p> +“You cannot suppose that I exact this confidence?” began Jack. +</p> +<p> +“I only know it is your due, sir,” said Repton. “Go now,—it is not +too early; see this man, and let the meeting be of the briefest, for if I +were to tell you my own mind, I'd say I'd rather he should reject our +offer.” + </p> +<p> +“You are, I own, a little incomprehensible this morning,” said +Massingbred, “but I am determined to yield you a blind obedience; and so +I'm off.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll wait breakfast for you,” said Repton, as he reseated himself to his +work. +</p> +<p> +Repton requested Mr. Nelligan's permission to have his breakfast served in +his own room, and sat for a long time impatiently awaiting Massingbred's +return. He was at one time aroused by a noise below stairs, but it was not +the announcement of him he looked for; and he walked anxiously to and fro +in his chamber, each moment adding to the uneasiness that he felt. +</p> +<p> +“Who was it that arrived half an hour ago?” asked he of the servant. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Joe, sir, the counsellor, has just come from Dublin, and is at +breakfast with the master.” + </p> +<p> +“Ah! he 's come, is he? So much the better,” muttered Repton, “we may want +his calm, clear head to assist us here; not that we shall have to fear a +contest,—there is no enemy in the field,—and if there were, +Val Repton is ready to meet him!” And the old man crossed his arms, and +stood erect in all the consciousness of his undiminished vigor. “Here he +comes at last,—I know his step on the stair.” And he flung open the +door for Massingbred. +</p> +<p> +“I read failure in your flushed cheek, Massingbred; failure and anger +both, eh?” + </p> +<p> +Massingbred tried to smile. If there was any quality on which he +especially prided himself, it was the bland semblance of equanimity he +could assume in circumstances of difficulty and irritation. It was his +boast to be able to hide his most intense emotions at moments of passion, +and there was a period in which, indeed, he wielded this acquirement. Of +later times, however, he had grown more natural and impulsive; he had not +yet lost the sense of pain this yielding occasioned, and it was with +evident irritation that he found Repton had read his thoughts. +</p> +<p> +“You perceive, then, that I am unsuccessful?” said he, with a faint smile. +“So much the better if my face betrays me; it will save a world of +explanation!” + </p> +<p> +“Make your report, sir, and I'll make the tea,” said Repton, as he +proceeded to that office. +</p> +<p> +“The fellow was in bed,—he refused to see me, and it was only by +some insistence that I succeeded in gaining admittance. He has had leeches +to his temples. He was bruised, it seems, when he fell, but far more +frightened than hurt. He looks the very picture of terror, and lies with a +perfect armory of pistols beside his bed. Scanlan was there, and thought +to remain during our interview; but I insisted on his withdrawing, and he +went. The amiable attorney, somehow, has a kind of respect for me that is +rather amusing. As for Merl, he broke out into a vulgar tirade of passion, +abused the country and the people, cursed the hour he came amongst them, +and said, if he only knew the nature of the property before he made his +investment, he 'd rather have purchased Guatemala bonds, or Santa Fé +securities. +</p> +<p> +“'Then I have come fortunately,' said I, 'for I bring you an offer to +reimburse all your outlay, and to rid you of a charge so little to your +inclination.' +</p> +<p> +“'Oh! you do, do you?' said he, with one of his cunningest leers. 'You may +not be able, perhaps, to effect that bargain, though. It's one thing to +pay down a smart sum of money and wait your time for recovering it, and +it's another to surrender your compact when the hour of acquisition has +arrived. I bought this reversion—at least, I paid the first +instalment of the price—four years ago, when the late man's life was +worth twenty years' purchase. Well, he 's gone now, and do you think that +I 'm going to give up my claim for what it cost me?' +</p> +<p> +“I gently insinuated that the investigation of the claim might lead to +unpleasant revelations. There were various incidents of the play-table, +feasible and successful enough after a supper with champagne, and in the +short hours before day, which came off with an ill-grace on the table of a +court of justice, with three barons of the exchequer to witness them. That +I myself might prove an awkward evidence, if unhappily cited to appear; +that of my own knowledge I could mention three young fellows of good +fortune who had been drained to their last shilling in his company. In +fact, we were both remarkably candid with each other, and while <i>I</i> +reminded <i>him</i> of some dark passages at <i>écarté, he</i> brought to +<i>my</i> memory certain protested bills and dishonored notes that 'non +jucundum esset meminisse.' I must say, for both of us, we did the thing +well, and in good breeding; we told and listened to our several +shortcomings with a temper that might have graced a better cause, and I +defy the world to produce two men who could have exchanged the epithets of +swindler and scamp with more thorough calm and good manners. Unhappily, +however, high as one rises in his own esteem by such contests, he scarcely +makes the same ascent in that of his neighbor, and so we came, in our +overflowing frankness, to admit to each other more of our respective +opinions than amounts to flattery. I believe, and, indeed, I hope, I +should have maintained my temper to the end, had not the fellow pretty +broadly insinuated that some motive of personal advantage had prompted my +interference, and actually pushed his insolence so far as to insinuate +that 'I should make a better thing' by adhering to his fortunes.” + </p> +<p> +Repton started at these words, and Massingbred resumed: “True, upon my +honor; I exaggerate nothing. It was a gross outrage, and very difficult to +put up with; so I just expressed my sincere regret that instead of being +in bed he was not up and stirring, inasmuch as I should have tried what +change of air might have done for him, by pitching him out of the window. +He tugged violently at the bell-rope, as though I were about to execute my +menace, and so I left him. My diplomacy has, therefore, been a sad +failure. I only hope that I may not have increased the difficulty of the +case by my treatment of it.” + </p> +<p> +“You never thought of <i>me</i> at all, then?” asked Repton. +</p> +<p> +“Never, till I was once more in the street; then I remembered something of +what you said about coercive means, but of what avail a mere menace? This +fellow is not new to such transactions,—he has gone through all the +phases of 'bulleydom.' Besides, there is a dash of Shylock in every Jew +that ever breathed. They will 'have their bond,' unless it can be +distinctly proved to them that the thing is impossible.” + </p> +<p> +“Now then for our breaching battery,” said Repton, rising and pacing the +room. “This attempt at a compromise never had any favor in my eyes; Barry +wished it, and I yielded. Now for a very different course. Can you find a +saddle-horse here? Well, then, be ready to set out in half an hour, and +search out Barry for me. He'll be found at Kilkieran, or the neighborhood; +say we must meet at once; arrange time and place for the conference, and +come back to me.” + </p> +<p> +Repton issued his directions with an air of command, and Massingbred +prepared as implicitly to obey them. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Nelligan has lent me his own pad,” said Massingbred, entering soon +after, “and his son will accompany me, so that I am at your orders at +once.” + </p> +<p> +“There are your despatches,” said Repton, giving him a sealed packet. “Let +me see you here as soon as may be.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXVI. A GREAT DISCOVERY +</h2> +<p> +About an hour after Massingbred's departure for Kilkieran, Mr. Repton set +out for Cro' Martin Castle. The inn had furnished him its best chaise and +four of its primest horses; and had the old lawyer been disposed to enjoy +the pleasure which a great moralist has rated so highly, of rapid motion +through the air, he might have been gratified on that occasion. Unhappily, +however, he was not so minded. Many and very serious cares pressed upon +him. He was travelling a road, too, which he had so often journeyed in +high spirits, fancying to himself the pleasant welcome before him, and +even rehearsing to his own mind the stores of agreeability he was to +display,—and now it was to a deserted mansion, lonely and desolate, +he was turning! Death and ruin both had done their work on that ancient +family, whose very name in the land seemed already hastening to oblivion! +</p> +<p> +Few men could resist the influence of depression better than Repton. It +was not alone that his temperament was still buoyant and energetic, but +the habits of his profession had taught him the necessity of being +prepared for emergencies, and he would have felt it a dereliction of duty +were his sentiments to overmaster his power of action. +</p> +<p> +Still, as he went along, the well-known features of the spot would recall +memories of the past. There lay a dense wood, of which he remembered the +very day, the very hour, poor Martin had commenced the planting. There was +the little trout-stream, where, under pretence of fishing, he had lounged +along the summer day, with Horace for his companion; that, the +school-house Mary had sketched, and built out of her own pocket-money. And +now the great massive gates slowly opened, and they were within the +demesne,—all silent and noiseless. As they came in sight of the +castle, Repton covered his face with his hands, and sat for some minutes +thus. Then, as if mastering his emotion, he raised his head and folded his +arms on his chest. +</p> +<p> +“You are true to time, I perceive, Dr. Leslie,” said he, as the chaise +stopped at the door and the venerable clergyman came forward to greet him. +</p> +<p> +“I got your note last night, sir, but I determined not to keep you +waiting, for I perceive you say that time is precious now.” + </p> +<p> +“I thank you heartily,” said Repton, as he shook the other's hand. “I am +grateful to you also for being here to meet me, for I begin to feel my +courage fail me as to crossing that threshold again!” + </p> +<p> +“Age has its penalties as well as its blessings, sir,” said Leslie, “and +amongst these is to outlive those dear to us!” There was a painful +significance to his own desolate condition that made these words doubly +impressive. +</p> +<p> +Repton made no reply, but pulled the bell strongly; and the loud, deep +sounds rung out clearly through the silent house. After a brief interval a +small window above the door was opened, and a man with a blunderbuss in +his hand sternly demanded their business. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I ax pardon, sir,” said he, as suddenly correcting himself. “I +thought it was that man that 's come to take the place,—'the Jew,' +they call him,—and Mr. Magennis said I was n't to let him in, or one +belonging to him.” + </p> +<p> +“No, Barney, we are not his friends,” said Dr. Leslie; “this is Mr. +Repton.” + </p> +<p> +“Sure I know the Counsellor well, sir,” said Barney. “I 'll be down in a +minute and open the door.” + </p> +<p> +“I must go to work at once,” said Repton, in a low and somewhat broken +voice, “or this place will be too much for me. Every step I go is calling +up old times and old scenes. I had thought my heart was of sterner stuff. +Isn't this the way to the library? No, not that way,—that was poor +Martin's own breakfast-room!” He spoke hurriedly, like one who wished to +suppress emotion by very activity of thought. +</p> +<p> +While the man who conducted them opened the window-shutters and the +windows, Repton and his companion sat down without speaking. At last he +withdrew, and Repton, rising, said,—“Some of the happiest hours of +my life were passed in this same room. I used to come up here after the +fatigues of circuit, and, throwing myself into one of those easy-chairs, +dream away for a day or two, gazing out on that bold mountain yonder, +above the trees, and wondering how those fellows who never relaxed, in +this wise, could sustain the wear and tear of life; for that junketing to +Harrow-gate, that rattling, noisy steamboating up the Rhine, that Cockney +heroism of Swiss travel, is my aversion. The calm forenoon for thought, +the pleasant dinner-table for genial enjoyment afterwards,—these are +true recreations. And what evenings we have had here! But I must not dwell +on these.” And now he threw upon the table a mass of papers and letters, +amongst which he sought out one, from which he took a small key. “Dr. +Leslie,” said he, “you might have been assured that I have not called upon +you to meet me to-day without a sufficient reason. I know that, from +certain causes, of which I am not well informed, you were not on terms of +much intimacy with my poor friend here. This is not a time to think of +these things; <i>you</i>, I am well assured, will never remember them.” + </p> +<p> +Leslie made a motion of assent; and the other went on, his voice gradually +gaining in strength and fulness, and his whole manner by degrees assuming +the characteristic of the lawyer. +</p> +<p> +“To the few questions to which I will ask your answers, now, I have to +request all your attention. They are of great importance; they may, very +probably, be re-asked of you under more solemn circumstances; and I have +to bespeak, not alone all your accuracy for the replies, but that you may +be able, if asked, to state the manner and even the words in which I now +address you.—You have been the incumbent of this parish for a length +of time,—what number of years?” + </p> +<p> +“Sixty-three. I was appointed to the vicarage on my ordination, and never +held any other charge.” + </p> +<p> +“You knew the late Darcy Martin, father of the last proprietor of this +estate?” + </p> +<p> +“Intimately.” + </p> +<p> +“You baptized his two children, born at the same birth. State what you +remember of the circumstance.” + </p> +<p> +“I was sent for to the castle to give a private baptism to the two +infants, and requested that I would bring the vestry-book along with me +for the registration. I did so. The children were accordingly christened, +and their births duly registered and witnessed.” + </p> +<p> +“Can you remember the names by which they were called?” + </p> +<p> +“Not from the incident in question, though I know the names from +subsequent knowledge of them, as they grew up to manhood.” + </p> +<p> +“What means, if any, were adopted at the time to distinguish the priority +of birth?” + </p> +<p> +“The eldest was first baptized, and his birth specially entered in the +vestry-book as such; all the witnesses who signed the entry corroborating +the fact by special mention of it under their signature. We also heard +that the child wore a gold bracelet on one arm; but I did not remark it.” + </p> +<p> +“You have this vestry-book in your keeping?” + </p> +<p> +“No; Mr. Martin retained it, with some object of more formal registration. +I repeatedly asked for it, but never could obtain it. At length some +coolness grew up between us, and I could not, or did not wish to press my +demand; and at last it lapsed entirely from my memory, so that from that +day I never saw it.” + </p> +<p> +“You could, however, recognize it, and be able to verify your signature?” + </p> +<p> +“Certainly.” + </p> +<p> +“Was there, so far as you could see, any marked distinction made between +the children while yet young?” + </p> +<p> +“I can remember that at the age of three or four the eldest boy wore a +piece of red or blue ribbon on his sleeve; but any other mark I never +observed. They were treated, so far as I could perceive, precisely alike; +and their resemblance to each other was then so striking, it would have +been a matter of great nicety to distinguish them. Even at school, I am +told, mistakes constantly occurred, and one boy once received the +punishment incurred by the other.” + </p> +<p> +“As they grew up, you came to recognize the eldest by his name?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes. Old Mr. Darcy Martin used to take the elder boy more about with him. +He was then a child of ten or eleven years old. He was particular in +calling attention to him, saying, 'This fellow is to be my heir; he 'll be +the Martin of Cro' Martin yet'” + </p> +<p> +“And what name did the boy bear?” + </p> +<p> +“Godfrey,—Godfrey Martin. The second boy's name was Barry.” + </p> +<p> +“You are sure of this?” + </p> +<p> +“Quite sure. I have dined a number of times at the castle, when Godfrey +was called in after dinner, and the other boy was generally in disgrace; +and I could remark that his father spoke of him in a tone of irritation +and bitterness, which he did not employ towards the other.” + </p> +<p> +“Mr. Martin died before his sons came of age?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; they were only nineteen at his death.” + </p> +<p> +“He made a will, I believe, to which you were a witness?” + </p> +<p> +“I was; but somehow the will was lost or mislaid, and it was only by a +letter to the Honorable Colonel Forbes, of Lisvally, that Martin's +intentions about appointing him guardian to his elder boy were +ascertained. I myself was named guardian to the second son, an office of +which he soon relieved me by going abroad, and never returned for a number +of years.” + </p> +<p> +“Godfrey Martin then succeeded to the estate in due course?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, and we were very intimate for a time, till after his marriage, when +estrangement grew up between us, and at last we ceased to visit at all.” + </p> +<p> +“Were the brothers supposed to be on good terms with each other?” + </p> +<p> +“I have heard two opposite versions on that subject. My own impression was +that Lady Dorothea disliked Barry Martin, who had made a marriage that was +considered beneath him; and then his brother was, from easiness of +disposition, gradually weaned of his old affection for him. Many thought +Barry, with all his faults, the better-hearted of the two.” + </p> +<p> +“Can you tell what ultimately became of this Barry Martin?” + </p> +<p> +“I only know, from common report, that after the death of his wife, having +given his infant child, a girl, in charge to his brother, he engaged in +the service of some of the Southern American Republics, and is supposed +yet to be living there,—some say in great affluence; others, that he +is utterly ruined by a failure in a mining speculation. The last time I +ever heard Godfrey speak of him was in terms of sincere affection, adding +the words, 'Poor Barry will befriend every one but himself.'” + </p> +<p> +“So that he never returned?” + </p> +<p> +“I believe not; at least I never heard of it.” + </p> +<p> +“I have written down these questions and your answers to them,” said +Repton; “will you read them over, and if you find them correct, append +your signature. I am expecting Mr. Nelligan here, and I 'll go and see if +there be any sign of his arrival.” + </p> +<p> +Repton just reached the door as Mr. Nelligan drove up to it. +</p> +<p> +“All goes on well and promptly to-day,” said the old lawyer. “I have got +through a good deal of business already, and I expect to do as much more +ere evening sets in. I have asked you to be present, as a magistrate, +while I examine the contents of a certain closet in this house. I am led +to believe that very important documents are deposited there, and it is in +your presence, and that of Mr. Leslie, I purpose to make the inquiry. +Before I do so, however, I will entreat your attention to a number of +questions, and the answers to them, which will be read out to you. You +will then be in a better position to judge of any discovery which the +present investigation may reveal. All this sounds enigmatically enough, +Mr. Nelligan; but you will extend your patience to me for a short while, +and I hope to repay it.” + </p> +<p> +Nelligan bowed in silence, and followed him into the house. +</p> +<p> +“There,” said Mr. Leslie, “I have written my name to that paper; it is, so +far as I can see, perfectly correct.” + </p> +<p> +“Now, let me read it for Mr. Nelligan,” said Repton; and, without further +preface, recited aloud the contents of the document. “I conclude, sir,” + said he, as he finished, “that there is nothing in what you have just +heard very new or very strange to your ears. You knew before that Darcy +Martin had two sons; that they were twins; and that one of them, Godfrey, +inherited the estate. You may also have heard something of the brother's +history; more, perhaps, than is here alluded to.” + </p> +<p> +“I have always heard him spoken of as a wild, reckless fellow, and that it +was a piece of special good fortune he was not born to the property, or he +had squandered every shilling of it,” said Nelligan. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said Leslie, “such was the character he bore.” + </p> +<p> +“That will do,” said Repton, rising. “Now, gentlemen, I'm about to unlock +this cabinet, and, if I be correctly informed, we shall find the +vestry-book with the entries spoken of by Mr. Leslie, and the long missing +will of Darcy Martin. Such, I repeat, are the objects I expect to +discover; and it is in your presence I proceed to this examination.” + </p> +<p> +In some astonishment at his words, the others followed him to the corner +of the room, where, half concealed in the wainscot, a small door was at +length discovered, unlocking which, Repton and the others entered a little +chamber, lighted by a narrow, loopholed window. Not stopping to examine +the shelves loaded with old documents and account-books, Repton walked +straight to a small ebony cabinet, on a bracket, opening which, he drew +forth a square vellum-bound book, with massive clasps. +</p> +<p> +“The old vestry-book. I know it well,” said Leslie. +</p> +<p> +“Here are the documents in parchment,” continued Repton, “and a sealed +paper. What are the lines in the corner, Mr. Nelligan,—your eyes are +better than mine?” + </p> +<p> +“'Agreement between Godfrey and Barry Martin. To be opened by whichever +shall survive the other.' The initials of each are underneath.” + </p> +<p> +“With this we have no concern,” said Repton; “our business lies with +these.” And he pointed to the vestry-book. “Let us look for the entry you +spoke of.” + </p> +<p> +“It is easily found,” said Leslie. “It was the last ever made in that +book. Here it is.” And he read aloud: “'February 8th, 1772. Privately +baptized, at Cro' Martin Castle, by me, Henry Leslie, Incumbent and Vicar +of the said parish, Barry and Godfrey, sons of Darcy Martin and Eleanor +his wife, both born on the fourth day of the aforesaid month; and, for the +better discrimination of their priority in age, it is hereby added that +Barry Martin is the elder, and Godfrey the second son, to which fact the +following are attesting witnesses: Michael Keirn, house-steward; George +Dorcas, butler; and Catharine Broon, maid of still-room.'” + </p> +<p> +“Is that in your handwriting, sir?” asked Repton. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, every word of it, except the superscription of the witnesses.” + </p> +<p> +“Why, then it would appear that the eldest son never enjoyed his rights,” + cried Nelligan. “Is that possible?” + </p> +<p> +“It is the strict truth, sir,” said Repton. “The whole history of the case +adds one to the thousand instances of the miserable failures men make who +seek by the indulgence of their own caprices to obstruct the decrees of +Providence. Darcy Martin died in the belief that he had so succeeded; and +here, now, after more than half a century, are the evidences which reverse +his whole policy, and subvert all his plans.” + </p> +<p> +“But what could have been the object here?” asked Nelligan. +</p> +<p> +“Simply his preference for the younger-born. No sooner had the children +arrived at that time of life when dispositions display themselves, than he +singled out Godfrey as his favorite. He distinguished him in every way, +and as markedly showed that he felt little affection for the other. +Whether this favoritism, so openly expressed, had its influence on the +rest of the household, or that really they grew to believe that the boy +thus selected for peculiar honor was the heir, it would be very difficult +now to say. Each cause may have contributed its share; all we know is, +that when sent to Dr. Harley's school, at Oughterard, Godfrey was called +the elder, and distinguished as such by a bit of red ribbon in his +button-hole. And thus they grew up to youth and manhood,—the one +flattered, indulged, and caressed; the other equally depreciated and +undervalued. Men are, in a great measure, what others make them. Godfrey +became proud, indolent, and overbearing; Barry, reckless and a spendthrift +Darcy Martin died, and Godfrey succeeded him as matter of course; while +Barry, disposing of the small property bequeathed to him, set out to seek +adventures in the Spanish Main. +</p> +<p> +“I am not able to tell, had you even the patience to hear, of what befell +him there; the very strangest, wildest incidents are recorded of his life, +but they have no bearing on what we are now engaged in. He came back, +however, with a wife, to find his brother also married. This is a period +of his life of which little is known. The brothers did not live well +together. There were serious differences between them; and Lady Dorothea's +conduct towards her sister-in-law, needlessly cruel and offensive, as I +have heard, imbittered the relations between them. At last Barry's wife +died, it was said, of a broken heart, and Barry arrived at Cro' Martin to +deposit his infant child with his brother, and take leave of home and +country forever. +</p> +<p> +“Some incident of more than usual importance, and with circumstances of no +common pain, must now have occurred; for one night Barry left the castle, +vowing nevermore to enter it. Godfrey followed, and tried to detain him. A +scene ensued of entreaty on one side, and passionate vehemence on the +other, which brought some of the servants to the spot. Godfrey imperiously +ordered them away; they all obeyed but Catty. Catty Broon followed Barry, +and never quitted him that night, which he spent walking up and down the +long avenue of the demesne, watching and waiting for daybreak. We can only +conjecture what, in the violence of her grief and indignation, this old +attached follower of the house might have revealed. Barry had always been +her favorite of the two boys; she knew his rights; she had never forgotten +them. She could not tell by what subtleties of law they had been +transferred to another, but she felt in her heart assured that in the +sight of God they were sacred. How far, then, she revealed this to him, or +only hinted it, we have no means of knowing. We can only say that, armed +with a certain fact, Barry demanded the next day a formal meeting with his +brother and his sister-in-law. Of what passed then and there, no record +remains, save, possibly, in that sealed packet; for it bears the date of +that eventful morning. I, however, am in a position to prove that Barry +declared he would not disturb the possession Godfrey was then enjoying. +'Make that poor child,' said he, alluding to his little girl, your own +daughter, and it matters little what becomes of <i>me</i>.' Godfrey has +more than once adverted to this distressing scene to me. He told me how +Lady Dorothea's passion was such that she alternately inveighed against +himself for having betrayed her into a marriage beneath her, and abjectly +implored Barry not to expose them to the shame and disgrace of the whole +world by the assertion of his claim. From this she would burst out into +fits of open defiance of him, daring him as an impostor; in fact, Martin +said, 'That morning has darkened my life forever; the shadow of it will be +over me to the last hour I live!' And so it was! Self-reproach never left +him: at one time, for his usurpation of what never was his; at another, +for the neglect of poor Mary, who was suffered to grow up without any care +of her education, or, indeed, of any attention whatever bestowed upon her. +</p> +<p> +“I believe that, in spite of herself, Lady Dorothea visited the dislike +she bore Barry on his daughter. It was a sense of hate from the +consciousness of a wrong,—one of the bitterest sources of enmity! At +all events, she showed her little affection,—no tenderness. Poor +Godfrey did all that his weak and yielding nature would permit to repair +this injustice; his consciousness that to that girl's father he owed +position, fortune, station, everything, was ever rising up in his mind, +and urging him to some generous effort in her behalf. But you knew him; +you knew how a fatal indolence, a shrinking horror of whatever demanded +action or energy overcame all his better nature, and made him as useless +to all the exigencies of life as one whose heart was eaten up by +selfishness. +</p> +<p> +“The remainder of this sad story is told in very few words. Barry Martin, +from whom for several years before no tidings had been received, came +suddenly back to England. At first it had not been his intention to +revisit Ireland. There was something of magnanimity in the resolve to stay +away. He would not come back to impose upon his brother a renewal of that +lease of gratitude he derived from him; he would rather spare him the +inevitable conflict of feeling which the contrast of his own affluence +with the humble condition of an exile would evoke. Besides, he was one of +those men whom, whatever Nature may have disposed them to be, the world +has so crushed and hardened that they live rather to indulge strong +resentments and stern duties than to gratify warm affections. Something he +had accidentally heard in a coffee-room—the chance mention by a +traveller recently returned from Ireland—about a young lady of rank +and fortune whom he had met hunting her own harriers alone in the wildest +glen of Connemara, decided him to go over there, and, under the name of +Mr. Barry, to visit the scenes of his youth. +</p> +<p> +“I have but to tell you that it was in that dreary month of November, when +plague and famine came together upon us, that he saw this country; the +people dying on every side, the land until led, the very crops in some +places uncut, terror and dismay on every side, and they who alone could +have inspired confidence, or afforded aid, gone! Even Cro' Martin was +deserted,—worse than deserted; for one was left to struggle alone +against difficulties that the boldest and the bravest might have shrunk +from. Had Barry Martin been like any other man, he would at once have +placed himself at her side. It was a glorious occasion to have shown her +that she was not the lone and friendless orphan, but the loved and +cherished child of a doting father. But the hard, stern nature of the man +had other and very different impulses; and though he tracked her from +cottage to cottage, followed her in her lonely rambles, and watched her in +her daily duties, no impulse of affection ever moved him to call her his +daughter and bring her home to his heart. I know not whether it was to +afford him these occasions of meeting her, or really in a spirit of +benevolence, but he dispensed large sums in acts of charity among the +people, and Mary herself recounted to me, with tears of delight in her +eyes, the splendid generosity of this unknown stranger. I must hasten on. +An accident, the mere circumstance of a note-book dropped by some strange +chance in Barry's room, revealed to him the whole story of Captain +Martin's spendthrift life; he saw that this young man had squandered away +not only immense sums obtained by loans, but actually bartered his own +reversionary right to the entire estate for money already lost at the +gaming-table. +</p> +<p> +“Barry at once set out for Dublin to call upon me and declare himself; but +I was, unfortunately, absent at the assizes. He endeavored next to see +Scanlan. Scanlan was in London; he followed him there. To Scanlan he +represented himself as a money-lender, who, having come to the knowledge +of Merl's dealings with young Martin, and the perilous condition of the +property in consequence, offered his aid to re-purchase the reversion +while it was yet time. To effect this bargain, Scanlan hastened over to +Baden, accompanied by Barry, who, however, for secrecy' sake, remained at +a town in the neighborhood. Scanlan, it seems, resolved to profit by an +emergency so full of moment, and exacted from Lady Dorothea—for +Martin was then too ill to be consulted—the most advantageous terms +for himself. I need not mention one of the conditions,—a formal +consent to his marriage with Miss Martin! and this, remember, when that +young lady had not the slightest, vaguest suspicion that such an indignity +could be offered her, far less concurred in by her nearest relatives! In +the exuberance of his triumph, Scanlan showed the formal letter of assent +from Lady Dorothea to Barry. It was from this latter I had the account, +and I can give you no details, for all he said was, 'As I crushed it in my +hand, I clenched my fist to fell him to the ground! but I refrained. I +muttered a word or two, and got out into the street. I know very little +more.' +</p> +<p> +“That night he set out for Baden; but of his journey I know nothing. The +only hint of it he ever dropped was when, giving me this key, he said, 'I +saw Godfrey.' +</p> +<p> +“He is now back here once more; come to insist upon his long unasserted +rights, and by a title so indisputable that it will leave no doubt of the +result. +</p> +<p> +“He is silent and uncommunicative; but he has said enough to show me that +he is possessed of evidence of the compact between Godfrey and himself; +nor is he the man to fail for lack of energy. +</p> +<p> +“I have now come to the end of this strange history, in which it is not +impossible you yourselves may be called to play a part, in confirmation of +what you have seen this day.” + </p> +<p> +“Then this was the same Mr. Barry of whom we spoke last night?” said +Nelligan, thoughtfully. “When about to describe him to you, I was really +going to say, something like what Mr. Martin might look, if ten years +older and white-haired.” + </p> +<p> +“There is a strong resemblance still!” said Repton, as he busied himself +sealing up the vestry-book and the other documents. “These I mean to +deposit in your keeping, Mr. Nelligan, till they be called for. I have +sent over Massingbred to Barry to learn what his wishes may be as to the +next legal steps; and now I am ready to return with you to Oughterard.” + </p> +<p> +Talking over this singular story, they reached the town, where Massingbred +had just arrived a short time before. +</p> +<p> +“I have had a long chase,” said Jack, “and only found him late in the +afternoon at the cottage.” + </p> +<p> +“You gave him the packet, then, and asked when we should meet?” asked +Repton, hurriedly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; he was walking up and down before the door with the doctor, when we +rode up. He scarcely noticed us; and taking your letter in his hand he +placed it, without breaking the seal, on a seat in the porch. I then gave +him your message, and he seemed so lost in thought that I fancied he had +not attended to me. I was about to repeat it, when he interrupted me, +saying, 'I have heard you, sir; there is no answer.' As I stood for a +moment or two, uncertain what to do or say, I perceived that Joe Nelligan, +who had been speaking to the doctor, had just staggered towards a bench, +ill and fainting. 'Yes,' said Barry, turning his eyes towards him, 'she is +very—very ill; tell Repton so, and he 'll feel for me!'” + </p> +<p> +Repton pressed his handkerchief to his face and turned away. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm afraid,” said Massingbred, “that her state is highly dangerous. The +few words the doctor dropped were full of serious meaning.” + </p> +<p> +“Let us hope, and pray,” said Repton, fervently, “that, amidst all the +calamities of this sorrow-struck land, it may be spared the loss of one +who never opened a cabin door without a blessing, nor closed it but to +shut a hope within.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXVII. A DARK DAY +</h2> +<p> +A mild, soft day, with low-lying clouds, and rich odors of wild-flowers +rising from the ground, a certain dreamy quiet pervading earth and sky and +sea, over which faint shadows lingered lazily; some drops of the night dew +still glittered on the feathery larches, and bluebells hung down their +heads, heavy with moisture; so still the scene that the plash of the +leaping trout could be heard as he rose in the dark stream. And yet there +was a vast multitude of people there. The whole surface of the lawn that +sloped from the cottage to the river was densely crowded, with every age, +from the oldest to very infancy; with all conditions, from the well-clad +peasant to the humblest “tramper” of the high-roads. Weariness, +exhaustion, and even hunger were depicted on many of their faces. Some had +passed the night there; others had come long distances, faint and +footsore; but as they sat, stood, or lay in groups around, not a murmur, +not a whisper escaped them; with aching eyes they looked towards an open +window, where the muslin curtain was gently stirred in the faint air. +</p> +<p> +The tidings of Mary Martin's illness had spread rapidly: far-away glens +down the coast, lonely cabins on the bleak mountains, wild remote spots +out of human intercourse had heard the news, and their dwellers had +travelled many a mile to satisfy their aching hearts. +</p> +<p> +From a late hour of the evening before they had learnt nothing of her +state; then a few words whispered by old Catty to those nearest the door +told “that she was no better,—if anything, weaker!” These sad +tidings were soon passed from lip to lip; and thus they spent the night, +praying or watching wearily, their steadfast gaze directed towards that +spot where the object of all their fears and hopes lay suffering. +</p> +<p> +Of those there, there was scarcely one to whom she was not endeared by +some personal benefit. She had aided this one in distress, the other she +had nursed in fever; here were the old she had comforted and cheered, +there the children she had taught and trained beside her chair. Her gentle +voice yet vibrated in every heart, her ways of kindness were in every +memory. Sickness and sorrow were familiar enough to themselves. Life was, +at least to most of them, one long struggle; but they could not bring +themselves to think of <i>her</i> thus stricken down! She! that seemed an +angel, as much above the casualties of such fortune as theirs as she was +their superior in station,—that <i>she</i> should be sick and +suffering was too terrible to think of. +</p> +<p> +There was a stir and movement in the multitude, a wavy, surging motion, +for the doctor was seen to issue from the stable-yard, and lead his pony +towards the bridge. He stopped to say a word or two as he went. They were +sad words; and many a sobbing voice and many a tearful eye told what his +tidings had been. “Sinking,—sinking rapidly!” + </p> +<p> +A faint low cry burst from one in the crowd at this moment, and the rumor +ran that a woman had fainted. It was poor Joan, who had come that night +over the mountain, and, overcome by grief and exhaustion together, had at +last given way. +</p> +<p> +“Get a glass of wine for her, or even a cup of water,” cried out three or +four voices; and one nigh the door entered the cottage in search of aid. +The moment after a tall and handsome girl forced her way through the +crowd, and gave directions that Joan might be carried into the house. +</p> +<p> +“Why did ye call her my Lady?” muttered an old hag to one of the men near +her; “sure, she's Henderson's daughter!” + </p> +<p> +“Is she, faith? By my conscience, then, she might be a better man's! She's +as fine a crayture as ever I seen!” + </p> +<p> +“If she has a purty face, she has a proud heart!” muttered another. +</p> +<p> +“Ayeh! she'll never be like <i>her</i> that's going to leave us!” sighed a +young woman with a black ribbon in her cap. +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile Kate had Joan assisted into the cottage, and was busily occupied +in restoring her. Slowly, and with difficulty, the poor creature came to +herself, and gazing wildly around, asked where she was; then suddenly +bursting out in tears, she said,—“Sure, I know well where I am; +sure, it's my own self, brought grief and sorrow under this roof. But for +<i>me</i> she 'd be well and hearty this day!” + </p> +<p> +“Let us still hope,” said Kate, softly. “Let us hope that one so dear to +us all may be left here. You are better now. I 'll join you again +presently.” And with noiseless footsteps she stole up the stairs. As she +came to the door, she halted and pressed her hands to her heart, as if in +pain. There was a low murmuring sound, as if of voices, from within, and +Kate turned away and sat down on the stairs. +</p> +<p> +Within the sick-room a subdued light came, and a soft air, mild and balmy, +for the rose-trees and the jessamine clustered over the window, and +mingled their blossoms across it. Mary had just awoke from a short sleep, +and lay with her hand clasped within that of a large and white-haired man +at the bedside. +</p> +<p> +“What a good, kind doctor!” said she, faintly; “I'm sure to find you ever +beside me when I awake.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, darlin', dear,” broke in old Catty, “sure you ought to know who he +is. Sure it 's your own—” + </p> +<p> +“Hush! be silent!” muttered the old man, in a low, stern voice. +</p> +<p> +“Is it Tuesday to-day?” asked Mary, softly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, dear, Tuesday,” said the old man. +</p> +<p> +“It was on Thursday my poor uncle died. Could I live till Thursday, +doctor?” + </p> +<p> +The old man tried to speak, but could not. +</p> +<p> +“You are afraid to shock me,” said she, with a faint attempt to smile, +“but if you knew how happy I am,—happy even to leave a life I loved +so well. It never could have been the same again, though—the spell +was breaking, hardship and hunger were maddening them—who knows to +what counsels they 'd have listened soon! Tell Harry to be kind to them, +won't you? Tell him not to trust to others, but to know them himself; to +go, as I have done, amongst them. They 'll love him <i>so</i> for doing +it. He is a man, young, rich, and high-hearted,—how they 'll dote +upon him! Catty used to say it was my father they 'd have worshipped; but +that was in flattery to me, Catty, you always said we were so like—” + </p> +<p> +“Oh dear! oh dear! why won't you tell her?” broke in Catty. But a severe +gesture from the old man again checked her words. +</p> +<p> +“How that wild night at sea dwells in my thoughts! I never sleep but to +dream of it. Cousin Harry must not forget those brave fellows. I have +nothing to requite them with. I make no will, doctor,” said she, smiling, +“for my only legacy is that nosegay there. Will you keep it for my sake?” + </p> +<p> +The old man hid his face, but his strong frame shook and quivered in the +agony of the moment. +</p> +<p> +“Hush!” said she, softly; “I hear voices without. Who are they?” + </p> +<p> +“They're the country-people, darlin', come from Kiltimmon and beyond +Kyle-a-Noe, to ax after you. They passed the night there, most of them.” + </p> +<p> +“Catty, dear, take care that you look after them; they will be hungry and +famished, poor creatures! Oh, how unspeakably grateful to one's heart is +this proof of feeling! Doctor, you will tell Harry how <i>I</i> loved <i>them</i> +and how <i>they</i> loved <i>me</i>. Tell him, too, that this bond of +affection is the safest and best of all ties. Tell him that their old love +for a Martin still survives in their hearts, and it will be his own fault +if he does not transmit it to his children. There's some one sobbing there +without. Oh, bid them be of good heart, Catty; there is none who could go +with less of loss to those behind. There—there come the great waves +again before me! How my courage must have failed me to make this +impression so deep! And poor Joan, and that dear fond girl who has been as +a sister to me,—so full of gentleness and love,—Kate, where is +she? No, do not call her; say that I asked for her—that I blessed +her—and sent her this kiss!” She pressed a rose to her hot, parched +lips as she spoke, and then closing her eyes seemed to fall off to sleep. +Her breathing, at first strong and frequent, grew fainter and fainter, and +her color came and went, while her lips slightly moved, and a low, soft +murmur came from them. +</p> +<p> +“She's asleep,” muttered Catty, as she crouched down beside the bed. +</p> +<p> +The old man bent over the bed, and watched the calm features. He sat thus +long, for hours, but no change was there; he put his lips to hers, and +then a sickly shuddering came over him, and a low, deep groan, that seemed +to rend his very heart! +</p> +<p> +Three days after, the great gateway of Cro' Martin Castle opened to admit +a stately hearse drawn by six horses, all mournfully caparisoned, shaking +with plumes and black-fringed drapery. Two mourning-coaches followed, and +then the massive gates were closed, and the sad pageant wound its slow +course through the demesne. At the same moment another funeral was +approaching the churchyard by a different road. It was a coffin borne by +men bareheaded and sorrow-struck. An immense multitude followed, of every +rank and age; sobs and sighs broke from them as they went. Not an eye was +tearless, not a lip that did not tremble. At the head of this procession +walked a small group whose dress and bearing bespoke their class. These +were Barry Martin, leaning on Repton; Massingbred and the two Nelligans +came behind. +</p> +<p> +The two coffins entered the churchyard at the same instant The uncle and +the niece were laid side by side in the turf! The same sacred words +consigned them both to their last bed; the same second of time heard the +dank reverberation that pronounced “earth” had returned “to earth.” A kind +of reverential awe pervaded the immense crowd during the ceremony, and if +here and there a sob would burst from some overburdened heart, all the +rest were silent; respecting, with a deference of true refinement, a +sorrow deeper and greater than their own, they never uttered a word, but +with bent-down heads stole quietly away. And now by each grave the +mourners stood, silently gazing on the little mounds which typify so much +of human sorrow! +</p> +<p> +Barry Martin's bronzed and weather-beaten features were a thought paler, +perhaps. There was a dark shade of color round the eyes, but on the whole +the expression conveyed far more of sternness than sorrow. Such, indeed, +is no uncommon form for grief to take in certain natures. There are men +who regard calamity like a foe, and go out to meet it in a spirit of +haughty defiance. A poor philosophy! He who accepts it as chastisement is +both a braver and a better man! +</p> +<p> +Repton stood for a while beside him, not daring to interrupt his thoughts. +At length he whispered a few words in his ear. Barry started suddenly, and +his dark brow grew sterner and more resolute. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Martin, you must,” said Repton, eagerly, “I insist upon it. Good +heavens! is it at such a time, in such a place as this, you can harbor a +thought that is not forgiveness? Remember he is poor Godfrey's son, the +last of the race now.” As he spoke, passing his arm within the other's, he +drew him gently along, and led him to where a solitary mourner was +standing beside the other grave. +</p> +<p> +Barry Martin stood erect and motionless, while Repton spoke to the young +man. At first the words seemed to confuse and puzzle him, for he looked +vaguely around, and passed his hand across his brow in evident difficulty. +</p> +<p> +“Did you say here, in this country? Do I understand you aright?” + </p> +<p> +“Here, in this very spot; there, standing now before you!” said Repton, as +he pushed young Martin towards his uncle. +</p> +<p> +Barry held out his hand, which the young man grasped eagerly; and then, as +if unable to resist his emotions longer, fell, sobbing violently, into the +other's arms. +</p> +<p> +“Let us leave them for a while,” said Repton, hurrying over to where +Massingbred and the Nelligans were yet standing in silent sorrow. +</p> +<p> +They left the spot together without a word. Grief had its own part for +each. It is not for us to say where sorrow eat deepest, or in which heart +the desolation was most complete. +</p> +<p> +“I'd not have known young Martin,” whispered Nelligan in Repton's ear; “he +looks full twelve years older than when last I saw him.” + </p> +<p> +“The fast men of this age, sir, live their youth rapidly,” replied the +other. “It is rarely their fortune to survive to be like me, or heaven +knows what hearts they would be left with!” + </p> +<p> +While they thus talked, Massingbred and Joe Nelligan had strolled away +into the wood. Neither spoke. Massingbred felt the violent trembling of +the other's arm as it rested on his own, and saw a gulping effort by which +more than once he suppressed his rising emotion. For hours they thus +loitered along, and at length, as they issued from the demesne, they found +Repton and Mr. Nelligan awaiting them. +</p> +<p> +“Barry Martin has taken his nephew back with him to the cottage,” said +Repton, “and we 'll not intrude upon them for the rest of the evening.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXVIII. REPTON'S LAST CAUSE +</h2> +<p> +We have no right, as little have we the inclination, to inflict our reader +with the details by which Barry Martin asserted and obtained his own. A +suit in which young Martin assumed to be the defendant developed the whole +history to the world, and proclaimed his title to the estate. It was a +memorable case in many ways; it was the last brief Val Repton ever held. +Never was his clear and searching intellect more conspicuous; never did he +display more logical acuteness, nor trace out a difficult narrative with +more easy perspicuity. +</p> +<p> +“My Lords,” said he, as he drew nigh the conclusion of his speech, “it +would have been no ordinary satisfaction to me to close a long life of +labor in these courts by an effort which restores to an ancient name the +noble heritage it had held for centuries. I should have deemed such an +occasion no unfitting close to a career not altogether void of its +successes; but the event has still stronger claims upon my gratitude. It +enables me in all the unembellished sternness of legal proof to display to +an age little credulous of much affection the force of a brother's love,—the +high-hearted devotion by which a man encountered a long life of poverty +and privation, rather than disturb the peaceful possession of a brother. +</p> +<p> +“Romance has its own way of treating such themes; but I do not believe +romance can add one feature to the simple fact of this man's self-denial. +</p> +<p> +“We should probably be lost in our speculations as to the noble motives of +this sacrifice, if our attention was not called away to something +infinitely finer and more exalted than even this. I mean the glorious life +and martyr's death of her who has made a part of this case less like a +legal investigation than the page of an affecting story. Story, do I say! +Shame on the word! It is in truth and reality alone are such virtues +inscribed. Fiction cannot deal with the humble materials that make up such +an existence,—the long hours of watching by sickness; the weary care +of teaching the young; the trying disappointments to hope bravely met by +fresh efforts; the cheery encouragement drawn from a heart exhausting +itself to supply others. Think of a young girl—a very child in the +world's wisdom, more than a man in heroism and daring, with a heart made +for every high ambition, and a station that might command the highest—calmly +consenting to be the friend of destitution, the companion of misery, the +daily associate of every wretchedness; devoting grace that might have +adorned a court to shed happiness in a cabin, and making of beauty that +would have shed lustre around a palace the sunshine that pierced the gloom +of a peasant's misery! Picture to yourself the hand a prince might have +knelt to kiss, holding the cup to the lips of fever; fancy the form whose +elegance would have fascinated, crouched down beside the embers as she +spoke words of consolation or hope to some bereaved mother or some +desolate orphan! +</p> +<p> +“These are not the scenes we are wont to look on here. Our cares are, +unhappily, more with the wiles and snares of crafty men than with the +sorrows and sufferings of the good! It is not often human nature wears its +best colors in this place; the spirit of litigious contest little favors +the virtues that are the best adornments of our kind. Thrice happy am I, +then, that I end my day where a glorious sunset gilds its last hours; that +I close my labors not in reprobating crime or stigmatizing baseness, but +with a full heart, thanking God that my last words are an elegy over the +grave of the best of The Martins of Cro' Martin.'” + </p> +<p> +The inaccurate record from which we take these passages—for the only +report of the trial is in a newspaper of the time—adds that the +emotion of the speaker had so far pervaded the court that the conclusion +was drowned in mingled expressions of applause and sorrow; and when Repton +retired, he was followed by the whole bar, eagerly pressing to take their +last farewell of its honored father. +</p> +<p> +The same column of the paper mentions that Mr. Joseph Nelligan was to have +made his first motion that day as Solicitor-General, but had left the +court from a sudden indisposition, and the cause was consequently +deferred. +</p> +<p> +If Val Repton never again took his place in court, he did not entirely +abdicate his functions. Barry Martin had determined on making a conveyance +of the estate to his nephew, and the old lawyer was for several weeks +busily employed in that duty. Although Merl's claim became extinguished +when young Martin's right to the property was annulled, Barry Martin +insisted on arrangements being made to repay him all that he had advanced,—a +course which Repton, with some little hesitation, at last concurred in. He +urged Barry to reserve a life-interest to himself in the property, +representing the various duties which more properly would fall to his lot +than to that of a young and inexperienced proprietor. But he would not +hear of it. +</p> +<p> +“He cannot abide the place,” said Repton, when talking the matter over +with Massingbred. “He is one of those men who never can forgive the +locality where they have been miserable, nor the individual who has had a +share in their sorrow. When he settles his account with Henderson, then he +'ll leave the West forever.” + </p> +<p> +“And will he still leave Henderson in his charge?” asked Jack. +</p> +<p> +“That is as it may be,” said Repton, cautiously. “There is, as I +understand, some very serious reckoning between them. It is the only +subject on which Martin has kept mystery with me, and I do not like even +to advert to it.” + </p> +<p> +Massingbred pondered long over these words, without being able to make +anything of them. +</p> +<p> +It might be that Henderson's conduct had involved him in some grave +charge; and if so, Jack's own intentions with regard to the daughter would +be burdened with fresh complications. “The steward” was bad enough; but if +he turned out to be the “unjust steward”—“I 'll start for Galway +to-night,” thought he. “I 'll anticipate the discovery, whatever it be. +She can no longer refuse to see me on the pretext of recent sorrow. It is +now two months and more since this bereavement befell her. I can no longer +combat this life of anxiety and doubt.—What can I do for you in the +West, sir?” asked he of Repton, suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“Many things, my young friend,” said Repton, “if you will delay your +departure two days, since they are matters on which I must instruct you +personally.” + </p> +<p> +Massingbred gave a kind of half-consent, and the other went on to speak of +the necessity for some nice diplomacy between the uncle and his nephew. +“They know each other but little; they are on the verge of +misunderstandings a dozen times a day. Benefits are, after all, but sorry +ties between man and man. They may ratify the treaty of affection; they +rarely inscribe the contract!” + </p> +<p> +“Still Martin cannot but feel that to the noblest act of his uncle's +generosity he is indebted for all he possesses.” + </p> +<p> +“Of course he knows, and he feels it; but who is to say whether that same +consciousness is not a load too oppressive to bear. I know already Barry +Martin's suggestions as to certain changes have not been well taken, and +he is eager and pressing to leave Ireland, lest anything should disturb +the concord, frail as it is, between them.” + </p> +<p> +“By Jove!” exclaimed Massingbred, passionately, “there is wonderfully +little real good in this world; wonderfully little that can stand the test +of the very basest of all motives,—mere gain.” + </p> +<p> +“Don't say so!” cried Repton. “Men have far better natures than you think; +the fault lies in their tempers. Ay, sir, we are always entering into +heavy recognizances with our passions, to do fifty things we never cared +for. We have said this, we have heard the other; somebody sneered at that, +and some one else agreed with him; and away we go, pitching all reason +behind us, like an old shoe, and only seeking to gratify a whim, or a mere +caprice, suggested by temper. Why do people maintain friendly intercourse +at a distance for years, who could not pass twenty-four hours amicably +under the same roof? Simply because it is their natures, and not their +tempers, are in exercise.” + </p> +<p> +“I scarcely can separate the two in my mind,” said Jack, doubtingly. +</p> +<p> +“Can't you, sir? Why, nature is your skin, temper only your great-coat.” + And the old lawyer laughed heartily at his own conceit. “But here comes +the postman.” + </p> +<p> +The double knock had scarcely reverberated through the spacious hall when +the servant entered with a letter. +</p> +<p> +“Ah! Barry Martin's hand. What have we here?” said Repton, as he ran his +eyes over it. “So-so; just as I was saying this minute, only that Barry +has the good sense to see it himself. 'My nephew,' he writes, 'has his own +ideas on all these subjects, which are not mine; and as it is no part of +my plan to hamper my gift with conditions that might impair its value, I +mean to leave this at once. +</p> +<p> +“'I have had my full share of calamity since I set foot in this land; and +if this rugged old nature could be crushed by mere misfortune, the last +two months might have done it. But no, Repton, the years by which we +survive friends serve equally to make us survive affections, and we live +on, untouched by time! +</p> +<p> +“'I mean to be with you this evening. Let us dine alone together, for I +have much to say to you. +</p> +<p> +“' Yours ever, +</p> +<p> +“'Barry Martin. +</p> +<p> +“'I hope I may see Massingbred before I sail. I 'd like to shake hands +with him once again. Say so to him, at all events.'” + </p> +<p> +“Come in to-morrow to breakfast,” said Repton; “by that time we'll have +finished all mere business affairs.” And Massingbred having assented, they +parted. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXIX. TOWARDS THE END +</h2> +<p> +Repton was standing at his parlor window, anxiously awaiting his friend's +arrival, when the chaise with four posters came to the door. “What have we +here?” said the old lawyer to himself, as Barry assisted a lady dressed in +deep mourning to alight, and hurried out to receive them. +</p> +<p> +“I have not come alone, Repton,” said the other. “I have brought my +daughter with me.” Before Repton could master his amazement at these +words, she had thrown back her veil, revealing the well-known features of +Kate Henderson. +</p> +<p> +“Is this possible?—is this really the case?” cried Repton, as he +grasped her hand between both his own. “Do I, indeed, see one I have so +long regarded and admired, as the child of my old friend?” + </p> +<p> +“Fate, that dealt me so many heavy blows of late, had a kindness in +reserve for me, after all,” said Barry. “I am not to be quite alone in +this world!” + </p> +<p> +“If <i>you</i> be grateful, what ought not to be <i>my</i> thankfulness?” + said Kate, tremulously. +</p> +<p> +“Leave us for a moment together, Kate,” said Barry; and taking Repton's +arm, he led him into an inner room. +</p> +<p> +“I have met with many a sore cut from fortune, Repton,” said he, in the +fierce tone that was most natural to him; “the nearest and dearest to me +not the last to treat me harshly. I need not tell you how I have been +requited in life; not, indeed, that I seek to acquit myself of my own +share of ill. My whole career has been a fault; it could not bring other +fruit than misery.” He paused, and for a while seemed laboring in strong +emotion. At last he went on:— +</p> +<p> +“When that girl was born—it was two years before I married—I +intrusted the charge of her to Henderson, who placed her with a sister of +his in Bruges. I made arrangements for her maintenance and education,—liberally +for one as poor as I was. I made but one condition about her. It was that +under no circumstances save actual want should she ever be reduced to earn +her own bread; but if the sad hour did come, never—as had been her +poor mothers fate—never as a governess! It was in that fearful +struggle of condition I first knew her. I continued, year after year, to +hear of her; remitting regularly the sums I promised,—doubling, +tripling them, when fortune favored me with a chance prosperity. The +letters spoke of her as well and happy, in humble but sufficient +circumstances, equally remote from privation as from the seductions of a +more exalted state. I insisted eagerly on my original condition, and hoped +some day to hear of her being married to some honest but humble man. It +was not often that I had time for self-reproach; but when such seasons +would beset me, I thought of this girl, and her poor mother long dead and +gone—But let me finish. While I struggled—and it was often a +hard struggle—to maintain my side of the compact, selling at ruinous +loss acquisitions it had cost me years of labor to obtain, this fellow, +this Henderson, was basely betraying the trust I placed in him! The girl, +for whose protection, whose safety I was toiling, was thrown by him into +the very world for which I had distinctly excepted her; her talents, her +accomplishments, her very graces, farmed out and hired for his own profit! +Launched into the very sea where her own mother met shipwreck, she was a +mere child, sent to thread her way through the perils of the most +dissipated society. Hear her own account of it, Repton. Let <i>her</i> +tell you what is the tone of that high life to which foreign nobility +imparts its fascinations. Not that I want to make invidious comparisons; +our own country sends its high tributaries to every vice of Europe! I know +not what accident saved her amidst this pollution. Some fancied theory of +popular wrongs, she thinks, gave her a kind of factitious heroism; +elevating her, at least to her own mind, above the frivolous corruptions +around her. She was a democrat, to rescue her from being worse. +</p> +<p> +“At last came a year of unusual pressure; my remittance was delayed, but +when sent was never acknowledged. From that hour out I never heard of her. +How she came into my brother's family, you yourself know. What was her +life there, she has told me! Not in any spirit of complaint,—nay, +she acknowledges to many kindnesses and much trust. Even my cold +sister-in-law showed traits for which I had not given her credit. I have +already forgotten her wrongs towards myself, in requital of her conduct to +this poor girl.” + </p> +<p> +“I'll spare you the scene with Henderson, Repton,” said he, after a long +pause. “When the fellow told me that the girl was the same I had seen +watching by another's sickbed, that she it was whose never-ceasing cares +had soothed the last hours of one dearer than herself, I never gave +another thought to him. I rushed out in search of her, to tell her myself +the tidings.” + </p> +<p> +“How did she hear it?” asked Repton, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“More calmly than I could tell it. Her first words were, 'Thank God for +this, for I never could love that man I had called my father!'” + </p> +<p> +“She knows, then, every circumstance of her birth?” + </p> +<p> +“I told her everything. We know each other as well as though we had lived +under the same roof for years. She is my own child in every sentiment and +feeling. She is frank and fearless, Repton,—two qualities that will +do well enough in the wild savannahs of the New World, but would be +unmanageable gifts in the Old, and thither we are bound. I have written to +Liverpool about a ship, and we shall sail on Saturday.” + </p> +<p> +“How warmly do I sympathize in this your good fortune, Martin!” said +Repton. “She is a noble creature, and worthy of belonging to you.” + </p> +<p> +“I ask for nothing more, Repton,” said he, solemnly. “Fortune and station, +such as they exist here, I have no mind for! I'm too old now to go to +school about party tactics and politics; I'm too stubborn, besides, to +yield up a single conviction for the sake of unity with a party,—so +much for my unfitness for public life. As to private, I am rough and +untrained; the forms of society so pleasant to others would be penalties +to <i>me</i>. And then,” said he, rising, and drawing up his figure to its +full height, “I love the forest and the prairie; I glory in the vastness +of a landscape where the earth seems boundless as the sky, and where, if I +hunt down a buffalo-ox, after twenty miles of a chase, I have neither a +game-law nor a gamekeeper nor a charge of trespass hanging over me.” + </p> +<p> +“There's some one knocking at the door,” said Repton, as he arose and +opened it. +</p> +<p> +“A thousand pardons for this interruption,” said Mas-singbred, in a low +and eager voice, “but I cannot keep my promise to you; I cannot defer my +journey to the West. I start to-night. Don't ask me the reasons. I 'll be +free enough to give them if they justify me.” + </p> +<p> +“But here is one who wishes to shake hands with you, Massingbred,” said +Repton, as he led him forward into the room. +</p> +<p> +“I hope you are going to keep your pledge with me, though,” said Barry. +“Have you forgotten you have promised to be my guest over the sea?” + </p> +<p> +“Ah,” said Jack, sighing, “I 've had many a day-dream of late!” + </p> +<p> +“The man's in love,” said Repton. “Nay, prisoner, you are not called on to +say what may criminate you. I 'll tell you what, Barry, you 'll do the boy +good service by taking him along with you. There 's a healthful sincerity +in the active life of the New World well fitted to dispel illusions that +take their rise in the indolent voluptuousness of the Old. Carry him off +then, I say; accept no excuses nor apologies. Send him away to buy powder +and shot, leather gaiters, and the rest of it. When I saw him first +myself, it was in the character of a poacher, and he filled the part well. +Ah! he is gone,” added he, perceiving that Martin had just quitted the +room. “Poor fellow, he is so full of his present happiness,—the +first gleam of real sunshine on a long day of lowering gloom! He has just +found a daughter,—an illegitimate one, but worthy to be the +rightful-born child to the first man in the land. The discovery has +carried him back twenty years of life, and freshened a heart whose wells +of feeling were all but dried up forever. If I mistake not, you must have +met her long ago at Cro' Martin.” + </p> +<p> +“Possibly. I have no recollection of it,” said Jack, musing. +</p> +<p> +“An ignoble confession, sir,” said Repton; “no less shocked should I be +were she to tell me she was uncertain if she had ever met Mr. Massingbred. +As Burke once remarked to me, 'Active intelligences, like appropriate +ingredients in chemistry, never meet without fresh combinations.' It is +then a shame to ignore such products. I 'd swear that when you did meet +you understood each other thoroughly; agreed well,—ay, and what is +more to the purpose, differed in the right places too.” + </p> +<p> +“I'm certain we did,” said Jack, smiling, “though I'm ungrateful enough to +forget all about it.” + </p> +<p> +“Well,” said Martin, entering, “I have sent for another advocate to plead +my cause. My daughter will tell you, sir, that she, at least, is not +afraid to encounter the uncivilized glens beside the Orinoco. Come in, +Kate. You tell me that you and Mr. Massingbred are old friends.” + </p> +<p> +Massingbred started as he heard the name, looked up, and there stood Kate +before him, with her hand extended in welcome. +</p> +<p> +“Good heavens! what is this? Am I in a dream? Can this be real?” cried +Jack, pressing his hands to his temples, and trembling from head to foot +in the intensity of his anxiety. +</p> +<p> +“My father tells me of an invitation he has given you, Mr. Massingbred,” + said she, smiling faintly at his embarrassment, “and asks me to repeat it; +but I know far better than he does all that you would surrender by exile +from the great world wherein you are destined to eminence. The great +debater, the witty conversationalist, the smart reviewer, might prove but +a sorry trapper, and even a bad shot! I have my scruples, then, about +supporting a cause where my conscience does not go along with me.” + </p> +<p> +“My head on't, but he 'll like the life well,” said Barry, half +impatiently. +</p> +<p> +“Am I to think that you will not ask me to be your guest?” said Jack, in a +whisper, only audible by Kate. +</p> +<p> +“I have not said so,” said she, in the same low tone. “Will you go +further, Kate,” muttered he, in tremulous eagerness, “and say, 'Come'?” + “Yes!” said she. “Come!” + </p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0016" id="linkimage-0016"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/410.jpg" width="100%" alt="410 " /> +</div> +<p> +“I accept!” cried Jack, rushing over, and grasping Martin's hands between +his own. “I 'm ready,—this hour, this instant, if you like it.” + </p> +<p> +“We find the prisoner guilty, my Lords,” said Repton; “but we recommend +him to mercy, as his manner on this occasion convinces us it is a first +offence.” + </p> +<p> +We have now done with the Martins of Cro' Martin. Should any of our +readers feel a curiosity as to the future fortunes of the estate, its +story, like that of many another Irish property, is written in the +Encumbered Estates Court. Captain Martin only grew wiser by the especial +experience of one class of difficulties. His indolent, easy disposition +and a taste for expense led him once again into embarrassments from which +there was but one issue,—the sale of his property. He has still, +however, a handsome subsistence remaining, and lives with Lady Dorothea, +notable and somewhat distinguished residents of a city on the Continent. +</p> +<p> +We cannot persuade ourselves that we have inspired interest for the +humbler characters of our piece. Nor dare we ask the reader to hear more +about Mrs. Cronan and her set, nor learn how Kilkieran fared in the +changes around it. +</p> +<p> +For Joseph Nelligan, however, we claim a parting word. He was the first of +an order of men who have contributed no small share to the great social +revolution of Ireland in late years. With talents fully equal to the best +in the opposite scale of party, and a character above all reproach, he +stood a rebuking witness to all the taunts and sarcasms once +indiscriminately levelled at his class; and, at the same time, inspired +his own party with the happy knowledge that there was a nobler and more +legitimate road to eminence than by factious display and popular +declamation. +</p> +<p> +We do not wish to inquire how far the one great blow to his happiness—the +disappointment of his early life—contributed to his success by +concentrating his ambition on his career. Certain is it, no man achieved a +higher or more rapid elevation, and old Dan lived to receive at his board +the Chief Justice of the Queen's Bench in the person of his own son. +</p> +<p> +Poor Simmy Crow! for if we would forget him, he has taken care that +oblivion is not to be his fate. He has sent from the Rocky Mountains, +where he is now wandering with Barry Martin, some sketches of Indian Life +to the Irish Art Exhibition. +</p> +<p> +If it be a pleasure to trace in our friends the traits we have admired in +them in youth, and remark the embers of the fires that once wanned their +hearts, Simmy affords us this gratification, since his drawings reveal the +inspirations that first filled his early mind. The Chief in his war-paint +has a fac-simile likeness to his St. John in the Wilderness; and as for +the infant the squaw is bathing in the stream, we can produce twelve +respectable witnesses to depose that it is “Moses.” + </p> +<p> +We are much tempted to add a word about the Exiles themselves, but we +abstain. It is enough to say that all the attractive prospects of ambition +held out by friends, all the seductions of generous offers from family, +have never tempted them to return to the Old World; but that they live on +happily, far away from the jarring collisions of life, the tranquil +existence they had longed for. +</p> +<p> +THE END. <br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Martins Of Cro' Martin, Vol. II +(of II), by Charles James Lever + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MARTINS OF CRO' MARTIN *** + +***** This file should be named 35144-h.htm or 35144-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/1/4/35144/ + +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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