diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:03:28 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:03:28 -0700 |
| commit | 2f4a8c0fa5d2f39b5ab182795b6ceddb753aaf1c (patch) | |
| tree | 1fbaafbaebb848187c5707277db264e38bd4a370 /old | |
Diffstat (limited to 'old')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/35296-h.htm.2021-01-25 | 17923 |
1 files changed, 17923 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/old/35296-h.htm.2021-01-25 b/old/35296-h.htm.2021-01-25 new file mode 100644 index 0000000..724cbed --- /dev/null +++ b/old/35296-h.htm.2021-01-25 @@ -0,0 +1,17923 @@ +<?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> + Sir Brook Fossbrooke, Vol I. 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"> + +Project Gutenberg's Sir Brook Fossbrooke, Volume I., 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: Sir Brook Fossbrooke, Volume I. + +Author: Charles James Lever + +Illustrator: E. J. Wheeler + +Release Date: February 16, 2011 [EBook #35296] +Last Updated: February 28, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIR BROOK FOSSBROOKE, VOLUME I. *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<h1> +SIR BROOK FOSSBROOKE +</h1> +<h3> +Volume I. +</h3> +<h2> +By Charles James Lever, +</h2> +<h3> +With Illustrations By E. J. Wheeler +</h3> +<h4> +Boston: <br /> Little, Brown, And Company. <br /> 1917. +</h4> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img alt="frontispiece (72K)" src="images/frontispiece.jpg" width="100%" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img alt="titlepage (21K)" src="images/titlepage.jpg" width="100%" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<h3> +To PHILIP ROSE, Esq. +</h3> +<p> +My dear Rose,—You have often stopped me when endeavouring to express +all the gratitude I felt towards you. You cannot do so now, nor prevent my +telling aloud how much I owe-how much I esteem you. These volumes were not +without interest for me as I wrote them, but they yielded me no such +pleasure as I now feel in dedicating them to you; and, with this +assurance, believe me, +</p> +<p> +Your affectionate Friend, +</p> +<p> +CHARLES LEVER. +</p> +<p> +Spezia, October 20. 1866. +</p> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<blockquote> +<p class="toc"> +<big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> +</p> +<p> +<br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> SIR BROOK FOSSBROOKE. </a><br /> <br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> AFTER MESS <br /><br /> +<a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> THE SWAN'S NEST +<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> A +DIFFICULT PATIENT <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> HOME +DIPLOMACIES <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> THE +PICNIC ON HOLY ISLAND <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. +</a> WAITING ON <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER +VII. </a> THE FOUNTAIN OF HONOR <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> A PUZZLING +COMMISSION <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a> A +BREAKFAST AT THE VICARAGE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. +</a> LENDRICK RECOUNTS HIS VISIT TO TOWN <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> CAVE CONSULTS SIR +BROOK <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a> A +GREAT MAN'S SCHOOLFELLOW <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER +XIII. </a> LAST DAYS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0014"> +CHAPTER XIV. </a> TOM CROSS-EXAMINES HIS SISTER <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. </a> MR. HAIRE'S MISSION +<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> SORROWS +AND PROJECTS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a> A +LUNCHEON AT THE PRIORY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER +XVIII. </a> THE FIRST LETTER HOME <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a> OFFICIAL MYSTERIES +<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. </a> IN COURT +<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. </a> A +MORNING CALL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. </a> COMING-HOME +THOUGHTS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. </a> A +VERY HUMBLE DWELLING <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. +</a> A MORNING AT THE PRIORY <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. </a> AN UNEXPECTED MEETING +<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. </a> SIR +BROOK IN CONFUSION <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. +</a> THE TWO LUCYS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0028"> +CHAPTER XXVIII. </a> THE NEST WITH STRANGE “BIRDS” IN IT +<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. </a> SEWELL +VISITS CAVE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX. </a> THE +RACES ON THE LAWN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI. </a> SEWELL +ARRIVES IN DUBLIN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII. +</a> MORNING AT THE PRIORY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0033"> +CHAPTER XXXIII. </a> EVENING AT THE PRIORY <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XXXIV. </a> SEWELL'S TROUBLES +<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0035"> CHAPTER XXXV. </a> BEATTIE'S +RETURN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0036"> CHAPTER XXXVI. </a> AN +EXIT <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0037"> CHAPTER XXXVII. </a> A +STORMY MOMENT <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0038"> CHAPTER XXXVIII. + </a> A LADY'S LETTER <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0039"> +CHAPTER XXXIX. </a> SOME CONJUGAL COURTESIES <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0040"> CHAPTER XL. </a> MR. BALFOUR'S OFFICE +<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0041"> CHAPTER XLI. </a> THE +PRIORY IN ITS DESERTION <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0042"> CHAPTER +XLII. </a> NECESSITIES OP STATE <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0043"> CHAPTER XLIII. </a> MR. BALFOUR'S +MISSION <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0044"> CHAPTER XLIV. </a> AFTER-DINNER +THOUGHTS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0045"> CHAPTER XLV. </a> THE +TIDELESS SHORES <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> +SIR BROOK FOSSBROOKE. +</h1> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER I. AFTER MESS +</h2> +<p> +The mess was over, and the officers of H. M.'s —th were grouped in +little knots and parties, sipping their coffee, and discussing the +arrangements for the evening. Their quarter was that pleasant city of +Dublin, which, bating certain exorbitant demands in the matter of +field-day and guard-mounting, stands pre-eminently first in military +favor. +</p> +<p> +“Are you going to that great ball in Merrion Square?” asked one., “Not so +lucky; not invited.” + </p> +<p> +“I got a card,” cried a third; “but I 've just heard it's not to come off. +It seems that the lady's husband is a judge. He's Chief something or +other; and he has been called away.” + </p> +<p> +“Nothing of the kind, Tomkins; unless you call a summons to the next world +being called away. The man is dangerously ill. He was seized with +paralysis on the Bench yesterday, and, they say, can't recover.” + </p> +<p> +There now ensued an animated conversation as to whether, on death +vacancies, the men went up by seniority at the bar, or whether a subaltern +could at once spring up to the top of the regiment. +</p> +<p> +“Suppose,” said one, “we were to ask the Colonel's guest his opinion. The +old cove has talked pretty nigh of everything in this world during dinner; +what if we were to ask him about Barons of the Exchequer?” + </p> +<p> +“Who is he? what is he?” asked another. +</p> +<p> +“The Colonel called him Sir Brook Fossbrooke; that's all I know.” + </p> +<p> +“Colonel Cave told me,” whispered the Major, “that he was the fastest man +on town some forty years ago.” + </p> +<p> +“I think he must have kept over the wardrobe of that brilliant period,” + said another. “I never saw a really swallow-tailed coat before.” + </p> +<p> +“His ring amused <i>me</i>. It is a small smoothing-iron, with a +coat-of-arms on it. Hush! here he comes.” + </p> +<p> +The man who now joined the group was a tall, gaunt figure, with a high +narrow head, from which the hair was brushed rigidly back to fall behind +in something like an old-fashioned queue. His eyes were black, and +surmounted with massive and much-arched eyebrows; a strongly marked mouth, +stern, determined, and, except in speaking, almost cruel in expression, +and a thin-pointed projecting chin, gave an air of severity and strong +will to features which, when he conversed, displayed a look of courteous +deference, and that peculiar desire to please that we associate with a +bygone school of breeding. He was one of those men, and very distinctive +are they, with whom even the least cautious take no liberties, nor venture +upon any familiarity. The eccentricities of determined men are very often +indications of some deep spirit beneath, and not, as in weaker natures, +mere emanations of vanity or offsprings of self-indulgence. +</p> +<p> +If he was, beyond question, a gentleman, there were also signs about him +of narrow fortune: his scrupulously white shirt was not fine, and the +seams of his well-brushed coat showed both care and wear. +</p> +<p> +He had joined the group, who were talking of the coming Derby when the +Colonel came up. “I have sent for the man we want, Fossbrooke. I'm not a +fisherman myself; but they tell me he knows every lake, river, and rivulet +in the island. He has sat down to whist, but we 'll have him here +presently.” + </p> +<p> +“On no account; don't disturb his game for me.” + </p> +<p> +“Here he comes. Trafford, I want to present you to a very old friend of +mine, Sir Brook Fossbrooke,—as enthusiastic an angler as yourself. +He has the ambition to hook an Irish salmon. I don't suppose any one can +more readily help him on the road to it.” + </p> +<p> +The young man thus addressed was a large, strongly, almost heavily built +young fellow, but with that looseness of limb and freedom that showed +activity had not been sacrificed to mere power. He had a fine, frank, +handsome face, blue-eyed and bold-looking; and as he stood to receive the +Colonel's orders, there was in his air that blending of deference and +good-humored carelessness that made up his whole nature. +</p> +<p> +It was plain to see in him one easy to persuade, impossible to coerce; a +fellow with whom the man he liked could do anything, bat one perfectly +unmanageable if thrown into the wrong hands. He was the second son of a +very rich baronet, but made the mistake of believing he had as much right +to extravagance as his elder brother, and, having persisted in this error +during two years in the Life Guards, had been sent to do the double +penance of an infantry regiment and an Irish station; two inflictions +which, it was believed, would have sufficed to calm down the ardor of the +most impassioned spendthrift. He looked at Fossbrooke from head to foot. +It was not exactly the stamp of man he would have selected for +companionship, but he saw at once that he was distinctively a gentleman, +and then the prospect of a few days away from regimental duty was not to +be despised, and he quickly replied that both he and his tackle were at +Sir Brook's disposal. “If we could run down to Killaloe, sir,” added he, +turning to the Colonel, “we might be almost sure of some sport.” + </p> +<p> +“Which means that you want two days' leave, Trafford.” + </p> +<p> +“No, sir, four. It will take a day at least to get over there; another +will be lost in exploring; all these late rains have sent such a fresh +into the Shannon there's no knowing where to try.” + </p> +<p> +“You see, Fossbrooke, what a casuistical companion I've given you. I 'll +wager you a five-pound note that if you come back without a rise he 'll +have an explanation that will perfectly explain it was the best thing +could have happened.” + </p> +<p> +“I am charmed to travel in such company,” said Sir Brook, bowing. “The +gentleman has already established a claim to my respect for him.” + </p> +<p> +Trafford bowed too, and looked not at all displeased at the compliment. +“Are you an early riser, sir?” asked he. +</p> +<p> +“I am anything, sir, the occasion exacts; but when I have an early start +before me, I usually sit up all night.” + </p> +<p> +“My own plan too,” cried Trafford. “And there's Aubrey quite ready to join +us. Are you a whister, Sir Brook?” + </p> +<p> +“At your service. I play all games.” + </p> +<p> +“Is he a whister?” repeated the Colonel. “Ask Harry Greville, ask Tom +Newenham, what they say of him at Grahams? Trafford, my boy, you may +possibly give him a hint about gray hackles, but I 'll be shot if you do +about the odd trick.” + </p> +<p> +“If you 'll come over to my room, Sir Brook, we 'll have a rubber, and I +'ll give orders to have my tax-cart ready for us by daybreak,” said +Trafford; and, Fossbrooke promising to be with him so soon as he had given +his servant his orders, they parted. +</p> +<p> +“And are you as equal to this sitting up all night as you used to be, +Fossbrooke?” asked the Colonel. +</p> +<p> +“I don't smoke as many cigars as formerly, and I am a little more choice +about my tobacco. I avoid mulled port, and take weak brandy-and-water; and +I believe in all other respects I 'm pretty much where I was when we met +last,—I think it was at Ceylon?” + </p> +<p> +“I wish I could say as much for myself. You are talking of thirty-four +years ago.” + </p> +<p> +“My secret against growing old is to do a little of everything. It keeps +the sympathies wider, makes a man more accessible to other men, and keeps +him from dwelling too much on himself. But tell me about my young +companion; is he one of Sir Hugh's family?” + </p> +<p> +“His second son; not unlike to be his eldest, for George has gone to +Madeira with very little prospect of recovery. This is a fine lad; a +little wild, a little careless of money, but the very soul of honor and +right-mindedness. They sent him to me as a sort of incurable, but I have +nothing but good to say of him.” + </p> +<p> +“There 'a great promise in a fellow when he can be a scamp and a man of +honor. When dissipations do not degrade and excesses do not corrupt a man, +there is a grand nature ever beneath.” + </p> +<p> +“Don't tell him that, Fossbrooke,” said the Colonel, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“I am not likely to do so,” said he, with a grim smile. “I am glad, too, +to meet his father's son; we were at Christ Church together; and now I see +he has the family good looks. 'Le beau Trafford' was a proverb in Paris +once.” + </p> +<p> +“Do you ever forget a man?” asked the Colonel, in some curiosity. +</p> +<p> +“I believe not. I forget books, places, dates occasionally, but never +people. I met an old schoolfellow t'other day at Dover whom I never saw +since we were boys. He had gone down in the world, and was acting as one +of the 'commissionnaires' they call them, who take your keys to the +Custom-house to have your luggage examined; and when he came to ask me to +employ him, I said, “'What! ain't you Jemmy Harper?' 'And who the devil +are you?' said he. 'Fossbrooke,' said I. 'Not “Wart”?' said he. That was +my school nickname, from a wart I once had on my chin. 'Ay, to be sure,' +said I, 'Wart.' I wish you saw the delight of the old dog. I made him dine +with us. Lord Brackington was with me, and enjoyed it all immensely.” + </p> +<p> +“And what had brought him so low?” + </p> +<p> +“He was cursed, he said, with a strong constitution; all the other fellows +of his set had so timed it that when they had nothing to live on they +ceased to live; but Jemmy told us he never had such an appetite as now; +that he passed from fourteen to sixteen hours a day on the pier in all +weathers; and as to gout he firmly believed it all came of the adulterated +wines of the great wine-merchants. British gin he maintained to be the +wholesomest liquor in existence.” + </p> +<p> +“I wonder how fellows bear up under such reverses as that,” said the +Colonel. +</p> +<p> +“My astonishment is rather,” cried Fossbrooke, “how men can live on in a +monotony of well-being, getting fatter, older, and more unwieldy, and with +only such experiences of life as a well-fed fowl might have in a hencoop.” + </p> +<p> +“I know that's <i>your</i> theory,” said the other, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“Well, no man can say that I have not lived up to my convictions; and for +myself, I can aver I have thoroughly enjoyed my intercourse with the +world, and like it as well to-day as on the first morning I made my bow to +it.” + </p> +<p> +“Listen to this, young gentlemen,” said the Colonel, turning to his +officers, who now gathered around them. “Now and then I hear some of you +complaining of being bored or wearied,—sick of this, tired of that; +here's my friend, who knows the whole thing better than any of us, and he +declares that the world is the best of all possible worlds, and that so +far from familiarity with it inspiring disgust with life, his enjoyment of +it is as racy as when first he knew it.” + </p> +<p> +“It is rather hard to ask these gentlemen to take me as a guide on trust,” + said Fossbrooke; “but I have known the fathers of most of those I see +around me, and could call many of them as witnesses to character. Major +Aylmer, your father and I went up the Nile together, when people talked of +it as a journey. Captain Harris, I 'm sure I am not wrong in saying you +are the son of Godfrey Harris, of Harrisburg. Your father was my friend on +the day I wounded Lord Ecclesmore. I see four or five others too,—so +like old companions that I find it hard to believe I am not back again in +the old days when I was as young as themselves; and yet I 'm not very +certain if I would like to exchange my present quiet enjoyment as a +looker-on for all that active share I once took in life and its +pleasures.” + </p> +<p> +Something in the fact that their fathers had lived in his intimacy, +something in his manner,—a very courteous manner it was,—and +something in the bold, almost defiant bearing of the old man, vouching for +great energy and dignity together, won greatly upon the young men, and +they gathered around him. He was, however, summoned away by a message from +Trafford to say that the whist-party waited for him, and he took his leave +with a stately courtesy and withdrew. +</p> +<p> +“There goes one of the strangest fellows in Christendom,” said the +Colonel, as the other left the room. “He has already gone through three +fortunes; he dissipated the first, speculated and lost the second, and the +third he, I might say, gave away in acts of benevolence and kindness,—leaving +himself so ill off that I actually heard the other day that some friend +had asked for the place of barrack-master at Athlone for him; but on +coming over to see the place, he found a poor fellow with a wife and five +children a candidate for it; so he retired in his favor, and is content, +as you see, to go out on the world, and take his chance with it.” + </p> +<p> +Innumerable questions pressed on the Colonel to tell more of his strange +friend; he had, however, little beyond hearsay to give them. Of his own +experiences, he could only say that when first he met him it was at +Ceylon, where he had come in a yacht like a sloop of war to hunt +elephants,—the splendor of his retinue and magnificence of his suite +giving him the air of a royal personage,—and indeed the gorgeous +profusion of his presents to the King and the chief personages of the +court went far to impress this notion. “I never met him since,” said the +Colonel, “till this morning, when he walked into my room, dusty and +travel-stained, to say, 'I just heard your name, and thought I 'd ask you +to give me my dinner to-day.' I owe him a great many,—not to say +innumerable other attentions; and his last act on leaving Trincomalee was +to present me with an Arab charger, the most perfect animal I ever +mounted. It is therefore a real pleasure to me to receive him. He is a +thoroughly fine-hearted fellow, and, with all his eccentricities, one of +the noblest natures I ever met. The only flaw in his frankness is as to +his age; nobody has ever been able to get it from him. You heard him talk +of your fathers,—he might talk of your grandfathers; and he would, +too, if we had only the opportunity to lead him on to it. I know of my own +knowledge that he lived in the Carlton House coterie, not a man of which +except himself survives, and I have heard him give imitations of Burke, +Sheridan, Gavin Hamilton, and Pitt, that none but one who had seen them +could have accomplished. And now that I have told you all this, will one +of you step over to Trafford's rooms, and whisper him a hint to make his +whist-points as low as he can; and, what is even of more importance, to +take care lest any strange story Sir Brook may tell—and he is full +of them—meet a sign of incredulity, still less provoke any quizzing? +The slightest shade of such a provocation would render him like a madman.” + </p> +<p> +The Major volunteered to go on this mission, which indeed any of the +others would as willingly have accepted, for the old man had interested +them deeply, and they longed to hear more about him. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER II. THE SWAN'S NEST +</h2> +<p> +As the Shannon draws near Killaloe, the wild character of the mountain +scenery, the dreary wastes and desolate islands which marked Lough Derg, +disappear, and give way to gently sloping lawns, dotted over with +well-grown timber, well-kept demesnes, spacious country-houses, and a +country which, in general, almost recalls the wealth and comfort of +England. +</p> +<p> +About a mile above the town, in a little bend of the river forming a small +bay, stands a small but pretty house, with a skirt of rich wood projecting +at the back, while the lawn in front descends by an easy slope to the +river. +</p> +<p> +Originally a mere farmhouse, the taste of an ingenious owner had taken +every advantage of its irregular outline, and converted it into something +Elizabethan in character, a style admirably adapted to the site, where all +the features of rich-colored landscape abounded, and where varied foliage, +heathy mountain, and eddying river, all lent themselves to make up a scene +of fresh and joyous beauty. +</p> +<p> +In the marvellous fertility of the soil, too, was found an ally to every +prospect of embellishment. Sheltered from north and east winds, plants +grew here in the open air, which in less favored spots needed the +protection of the conservatory; and thus in the neatly shaven lawn were +seen groups of blossoming shrubs or flowers of rare excellence, and the +camellia and the salvia and the oleander blended with the tulip, the +moss-rose, and the carnation, to stud the grass with their gorgeous +colors. +</p> +<p> +Over the front of the cottage, for cottage it really was, a South American +creeper, a sort of acanthus, grew, its crimson flowers hanging in rich +profusion over cornice and architrave; while a passion-tree of great age +covered the entire porch, relieving with its softened tints the almost +over-brilliancy of the southern plant. +</p> +<p> +Seen from the water,—and it came suddenly into view on rounding a +little headland,—few could forbear from an exclamation of wonder and +admiration at this lovely spot; nor could all the pretentious grandeur of +the rich-wooded parks, nor all the more imposing architecture of the great +houses, detract from the marvellous charm of this simple home. +</p> +<p> +A tradition of a swan carried away by some rising of the river from the +Castle of Portumna, and swept down the lake till it found refuge in the +little bay, had given the name to the place, and for more than a hundred +years was it known as the Swan's Nest. The Swan, however, no longer +existed, though a little thatched edifice at the water-side marked the +spot it had once inhabited, and sustained the truth of the legend. +</p> +<p> +The owner of the place was a Dr. Lendrick: he had come to it about twenty +years before the time at which our story opens,—a widower with two +children, a son and a daughter. He was a perfect stranger to all the +neighborhood, though by name well known as the son of a distinguished +judge, Baron Lendrick of the Court of Exchequer. +</p> +<p> +It was rumored about, that, having displeased his father, first by +adopting medicine instead of law as his profession, and subsequently by +marrying a portionless girl of humble family, the Baron had ceased to +recognize him in any way. Making a settlement of a few hundreds a year on +him, he resolved to leave the bulk of his fortune to a step-son, the child +of his second wife, a Colonel Sewell, then in India. +</p> +<p> +It was with no thought of practising his profession that Dr. Lendrick had +settled in the neighborhood; but as he was always ready to assist the poor +by his advice and skill, and as the reputation of his great ability +gradually got currency, he found himself constrained to yield to the +insistence of his neighbors, and consent to practise generally. There were +many things which made this course unpalatable to him. He was by nature +shy, timid, and retiring; he was fastidiously averse to a new +acquaintanceship; he had desired, besides, to live estranged from the +world, devoting himself entirely to the education of his children; and he +neither liked the forced publicity he became exposed to, nor that life of +servitude which leaves the doctor at the hourly mercy of the world around +him. +</p> +<p> +If he yielded, therefore, to the professional calls upon him, he resisted +totally all social claims: he went nowhere but as the doctor. +</p> +<p> +No persuasion, no inducement, could prevail on him to dine out; no +exigency of time or season prevent him returning to his home at night. +There were in his neighborhood one or two persons whose rank might have, +it was supposed, influenced him in some degree to comply with their +requests,—and, certainly, whose desire for his society would have +left nothing undone to secure it; but he was as obdurate to them as to +others, and the Earl of Drum-carran and Sir Reginald Lacy, of Lacy Manor, +were not a whit more successful in their blandishments than the Vicar of +Killaloe—old Bob Mills, as he was irreverently called—or +Lendrick's own colleague, Dr. Tobin, who, while he respected his superior +ability and admitted his knowledge, secretly hated him as only a rival +doctor knows how to hate a brother practitioner. +</p> +<p> +For the first time for many years had Dr. Lendrick gone up to Dublin. A +few lines from an old family physician, Dr. Beattie, had, however, called +him up to town. The Chief Baron had been taken ill in Court, and was +conveyed home in a state of insensibility. It was declared that he had +rallied and passed a favorable night; but as he was a man of very advanced +age, at no time strong, and ever unsparing of himself in the arduous +labors of his office, grave doubts were felt that he would ever again +resume his seat on the Bench. Dr. Beattie well knew the long estrangement +that had separated the father from the son; and although, perhaps, the +most intimate friend the Judge had in the world, he never had dared to +interpose a word or drop a hint as to the advisability of reconciliation. +</p> +<p> +Sir William Lendrick was, indeed, a man whom no amount of intimacy could +render his friends familiar with. He was positively charming to mere +acquaintanceship,—his manner was a happy blending of deference with +a most polished wit Full of bygone experiences and reminiscences of +interesting people and events, he never overlaid conversation by their +mention, but made them merely serve to illustrate the present, either by +contrast or resemblance. All this to the world and society was he; to the +inmates of his house he was a perfect terror! It was said his first wife +had died of a broken heart; his second, with a spirit fierce and combative +as his own, had quarrelled with him so often, so seriously, and so +hopelessly, that for the last fifteen years of life they had occupied +separate houses, and only met as acquaintances, accepting and sending +invitations to each other, and outwardly observing all the usages of a +refined courtesy. +</p> +<p> +This was the man of whom Dr. Beattie wrote: “I cannot presume to say that +he is <i>more</i> favorably disposed towards you than he has shown himself +for years, but I would strenuously advise your being here, and +sufficiently near, so that if a happier disposition should occur, or an +opportunity arise to bring you once more together, the fortunate moment +should not be lost. Come up, then, at once, come to my house, where your +room is ready for you, and where you will neither be molested by visitors +nor interfered with. Manage too, if you can, to remain here for some +days.” + </p> +<p> +It is no small tribute to the character of filial affection when one can +say, and say truthfully, that scarcely any severity on a parent's part +effaces the love that was imbibed in infancy, and that struck root in the +heart before it could know what unkindness was! Over and over again in +life have I witnessed this deep devotion. Over and over again have I seen +a clinging affection to a memory which nothing short of a hallowed tie +could have made so dear,—a memory that retained whatever could +comfort and sustain, and held nothing that recalled shame or sorrow. +</p> +<p> +Dr. Lendrick went up to town full of such emotions. All the wrong—it +was heavy wrong too—he had suffered was forgotten, all the Injustice +wiped out. He only asked to be permitted to see his father,—to nurse +and watch by him. There was no thought for himself. By reconciliation he +never meant restoration to his place as heir. Forgiveness and love he +asked for,—to be taken back to the heart so long closed against him, +to hear himself called Tom by that voice he knew so well, and whose +accents sounded through his dreams. +</p> +<p> +That he was not without a hope of such happiness, might be gathered from +one circumstance. He had taken up with him two miniatures of his boy and +girl to show “Grandfather,” if good fortune should ever offer a fitting +moment. +</p> +<p> +The first words which greeted him on reaching his friend's house were: +“Better. A tolerably tranquil night. He can move his hand. The attack was +paralysis, and his speech is also improved.” + </p> +<p> +“And his mind? how is his mind?” + </p> +<p> +“Clear as ever it was,—intensely eager to hear what is said about +his illness, and insatiable as to the newspaper versions of the attack.” + </p> +<p> +“Does he speak? Has he spoken of—his family at all?” said he, +falteringly. +</p> +<p> +“Only of Lady Lendrick. He desired to see her. He dictated a note to me, +in terms of very finished courtesy, asking her if, without incurring +inconvenience, she would favor him with an early call. The whole thing was +so like himself that I saw at once he was getting better.” + </p> +<p> +“And so you think him better?” asked Lendrick, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Better! Yes—but not out of danger. I fear as much from his +irritability as his malady. He will insist on seeing the newspapers, and +occasionally his eye falls on some paragraph that wounds him. It was but +yesterday that he read a sort of querulous regret from some writer that +'the learned Judge had not retired some years ago, and before failing +health, acting on a very irascible temperament, had rendered him a terror +alike to the bar and the suitors.' That unfortunate paragraph cost twenty +leeches and ice to his temples for eight hours after.” + </p> +<p> +“Cannot these things be kept from him? Surely your authority ought to be +equal to this!” + </p> +<p> +“Were I to attempt it, he would refuse to see me. In fact, any utility I +can contribute depends on my apparent submission to him in everything. +Almost his first question to me every morning is, 'Well, sir, who is to be +my successor?' Of course I say that we all look with a sanguine hope to +see him soon back in his court again. When I said this yesterday, he +replied, 'I will sit on Wednesday, sir, to hear appeals; there will be +little occasion for me to speak, and I trust another day or two will see +the last of this difficulty of utterance. Pemberton, I know, is looking to +the Attorney-Generalship, and George Hayes thinks he may order his ermine. +Tell them, however, from me, that the Chief Baron intends to preside in +his court for many a year to come; that the intellect, such as it is, with +which Providence endowed him, is still unchanged and unclouded.' This is +his language,—this his tone; and you may know how such a spirit jars +with all our endeavors to promote rest and tranquillity.” + </p> +<p> +Lendrick walked moodily up and down the room, his head sunk, and his eyes +downcast. “Never to speak of me,—never ask to see me,” muttered he, +in a voice of intense sadness. +</p> +<p> +“I half suspected at one time he was about to do so, and indeed he said, +'If this attack should baffle you, Beattie, you must not omit to give +timely warning. There are two or three things to be thought of.' When I +came away on that morning, I sat down and wrote to you to come up here.” + </p> +<p> +A servant entered at this moment and presented a note to the doctor, who +read it hastily and handed it to Lendrick. It ran thus:— +</p> +<p> +“Dear Dr. Beattie,—The Chief Baron has had an unfavorable turn, +partly brought on by excitement. Lose no time in coming here; and believe +me, yours sincerely, +</p> +<p> +“CONSTANTIA LENDRICK.” + </p> +<p> +“They've had a quarrel; I knew they would. I did my best to prevent their +meeting; but I saw he would not go out of the world without a scene. As he +said last night, 'I mean her to hear my “charge.” She must listen to my +charge, Beattie;' and I 'd not be astonished if this charge were to prove +his own sentence.” + </p> +<p> +“Go to him at once, Beattie; and if it be at all possible, if you can +compass it in any way, let me see him once again. Take these with you; who +knows but their bright faces may plead better than words for us?” and thus +saying, he gave him the miniatuies; and overcome with emotion he could not +control, turned away and left the room. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER III. A DIFFICULT PATIENT +</h2> +<p> +As Dr. Beattie drove off with all speed to the Chief Baron's house, which +lay about three miles from the city, he had time to ponder as he went over +his late interview. “Tom Lendrick,” as he still called him to himself, he +had known as a boy, and ever liked him. He had been a patient, studious, +gentle-tempered lad, desirous to acquire knowledge, without any of that +ambition that wants to make the knowledge marketable. To have gained a +professorship would have appeared to have been the very summit of his +ambition, and this rather as a quiet retreat to pursue his studies further +than as a sphere wherein to display his own gifts. Anything more unlike +that bustling, energetic, daring spirit, his father, would be hard to +conceive. Throughout his whole career at the bar, and in Parliament, men +were never quite sure what that brilliant speaker and most indiscreet +talker would do next. Men secured his advocacy with a half misgiving +whether they were doing the very best or the very worst for success. Give +him difficulties to deal with, and he was a giant; let all go smoothly and +well, and he would hunt up some crotchet,—some obsolete usage,—a +doubtful point, that in its discussion very frequently led to the damage +of his client's cause, and the defeat of his suit. +</p> +<p> +Display was ever more to him than victory. Let him have a great arena to +exhibit in, and he was proof against all the difficulties and all the +casualties of the conflict. Never had such a father a son less the +inheritor of his temperament and nature; and this same disappointment +rankling on through life—a disappointment that embittered all +intercourse, and went so far as to make him disparage the high abilities +of his son—created a gulf between them that Beattie knew could never +be bridged over. He doubted, too, whether as a doctor he could +conscientiously introduce a theme so likely to irritate and excite. As he +pondered, he opened the two miniatures, and looked at them. The young man +was a fine, manly, daring-looking fellow, with a determined brow and a +resolute mouth, that recalled his grandfather's face; he was evidently +well grown and strong, and looked one that, thrown where he might be in +life, would be likely to assert his own. +</p> +<p> +The girl, wonderfully like him in feature, had a character of subdued +humor in her eye, and a half-hid laughter in the mouth, which the artist +had caught up with infinite skill, that took away all the severity of the +face, and softened its traits to a most attractive beauty. Through her +rich brown hair there was a sort of golden <i>reflet</i> that imparted +great brilliancy to the expression of the head, and her large eyes of +gray-blue were the image of candor and softness, till her laugh gave them +a sparkle of drollery whose sympathy there was no resisting. She, too, was +tall and beautifully formed, with that slimness of early youth that only +escapes being angular, but has in it the charm of suppleness that lends +grace to every action and every gesture. +</p> +<p> +“I wish he could see the originals,” muttered Beattie. “If the old man, +with his love of beauty, but saw that girl, it would be worth all the +arguments in Christendom. Is it too late for this? Have we time for the +experiment?” + </p> +<p> +Thus thinking, he drove along the well-wooded approach, and gained the +large ground-space before the door, whence a carriage was about to drive +away. “Oh, doctor,” cried a voice, “I'm so glad you 're come; they are +most impatient for you.” It was the Solicitor-General, Mr. Pemberton, who +now came up to the window of Beattie's carriage. +</p> +<p> +“He has become quite unmanageable, will not admit a word of counsel or +advice, resists all interference, and insists on going out for a drive.” + </p> +<p> +“I see him at the window,” said Beattie; “he is beckoning to me; +good-bye,” and he passed on and entered the house. +</p> +<p> +In the chief drawing-room, in a deep recess of a window, sat the Chief +Baron, dressed as if to go out, with an overcoat and even his gloves on. +“Come and drive with me, Beattie,” cried he, in a feeble but harsh voice. +“If I take my man Leonard, they 'll say it was a keeper. You know that the +'Post' has it this morning that it is my mind which has given way. They +say they 've seen me breaking for years back. Good heavens! can it be +possible, think you, that the mites in a cheese speculate over the nature +of the man that eats them? You stopped to talk with Pemberton I saw; what +did he say to you?” + </p> +<p> +“Nothing particular,—a mere greeting, I think.” + </p> +<p> +“No, sir, it was not; he was asking you how many hours there lay between +him and the Attorney-Generalship. They 've divided the carcase already. +The lion has to assist at his autopsy,—rather hard, is n't it? How +it embitters death, to think of the fellows who are to replace us!” + </p> +<p> +“Let me feel your pulse.” + </p> +<p> +“Don't trust it, Beattie; that little dialogue of yours on the grass plot +has sent it up thirty beats; how many is it?” + </p> +<p> +“Rapid,—very rapid; you need rest,—tranquillity.” + </p> +<p> +“And you can't give me either, sir; neither you nor your craft. You are +the Augurs of modern civilization, and we cling to your predictions just +as our forefathers did, though we never believe you.” + </p> +<p> +“This is not flattery,” said Beattie, with a slight smile. +</p> +<p> +The old man closed his eyes, and passed his hand slowly over his forehead. +“I suppose I was dreaming, Beattie, just before you came up; but I thought +I saw them all in the Hall, talking and laughing over my death. Burrowes +was telling how old I must be, because I moved the amendment to Flood in +the Irish Parliament in '97; and Eames mentioned that I was Curran's +junior in the great Bagenal record; and old Tysdal set them all in a roar +by saying he had a vision of me standing at the gate of heaven, and +instead of going in, as St. Peter invited me, stoutly refusing, and +declaring I would move for a new trial! How like the rascals!” + </p> +<p> +“Don't you think you'd be better in your own room? There's too much light +and glare here.” + </p> +<p> +“Do you think so?” + </p> +<p> +“I am sure of it. You need quiet, and the absence of all that stimulates +the action of the brain.” + </p> +<p> +“And what do <i>you</i>, sir,—what does any one,—know about +the brain's operations? You doctors have invented a sort of conventional +cerebral organ, which, like lunar caustic, is decomposed by light; and in +your vulgar materialism you would make out that what affects <i>your</i> +brain must act alike upon <i>mine</i>. I tell you, sir, it is darkness—obscurity, +physical or moral, it matters not which—that irritates <i>me</i>, +just as I feel provoked this moment by this muddling talk of yours about +brain.” + </p> +<p> +“And yet I 'm talking about what my daily life and habits suggest <i>some</i> +knowledge of,” said Beattie, mildly. +</p> +<p> +“So you are, sir, and the presumption is all on my side. If you'll kindly +lend me your arm, I'll go back to my room.” + </p> +<p> +Step by step, slowly and painfully, he returned to his chamber, not +uttering a word as he went. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, this is better, doctor; this half light soothes; it is much +pleasanter. One more kindness. I wrote to Lady Lendrick this morning to +come up here. I suppose my combative spirit was high in me, and I wanted a +round with the gloves,—or, indeed, without them; at all events, I +sent the challenge. But <i>now</i>, doctor, I have to own myself a craven. +I dread the visit Could you manage to interpose? Could you suggest that it +is by your order I am not permitted to receive her? Could you hint”—here +he smiled half maliciously—“that you do not think the time has come +for anodynes,—eh, doctor?” + </p> +<p> +“Leave it to me. I 'll speak to Lady Lendrick.” + </p> +<p> +“There 's another thing: not that it much matters; but it might perhaps be +as well to send a few lines to the morning papers, to say the accounts of +the Chief Baron are more favorable to-day; he passed a tranquil night, and +so on. Pemberton won't like it, nor Hayes; but it will calm the fears of a +very attached friend who calls here twice daily. You'd never guess him. He +is the agent of the Globe Office, where I 'm insured. Ah, doctor, it was a +bright thought of Philanthropy to establish an industrial enterprise that +is bound, under heavy recognizances, to be grieved at our death.” + </p> +<p> +“I must not make you talk, Sir William. I must not encourage you to exert +yourself. I 'll say good-bye, and look in upon you this afternoon.” + </p> +<p> +“Am I to have a book? Well; be it so. I I 'll sit and muse over the +Attorney-General and his hopes.” + </p> +<p> +“I have got two very interesting miniatures here. I 'll leave them with +you; you might like to look at them.” + </p> +<p> +“Miniatures! whose portraits are they?” asked the other, hastily, as he +almost snatched them from his hand. “What a miserable juggler! what a +stale trick this!” said he, as he opened the case which contained the +young man's picture. “So, sir, you lend yourself to such attempts as +these.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't understand you,” said Beattie, indignantly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir, you understand me perfectly. You would do, by a piece of +legerdemain, what you have not the courage to attempt openly. These are +Tom Lendrick's children.” + </p> +<p> +“They are.” + </p> +<p> +“And this simpering young lady is her mother's image; pretty, pretty, no +doubt; and a little—a shade, perhaps—of <i>espièglerie</i> +above what her mother possessed. She was the silliest woman that ever +turned a fool's head. She had the ineffable folly, sir, to believe she +could persuade me to forgive my son for having married her; and when I +handed her to a seat,—for she was at my knees,—she fainted.” + </p> +<p> +“Well. It is time to forgive him now. As for her, she is beyond +forgiveness, or favor, either,” said Beattie, with more energy than +before. +</p> +<p> +“There is no such trial to a man in a high calling as the temptation it +offers him to step beyond it. Take care, sir, that with all your +acknowledged ability, this temptation be not too much for you.” The tone +and manner in which the old judge delivered these words recalled the +justice-seat. “It is an honor to me to have you as my doctor, sir. It +would be to disparage my own intelligence to accept you as my confessor.” + </p> +<p> +“A doctor but discharges half his trust when he fails to warn his patient +against the effects of irritability.” + </p> +<p> +“The man who would presume to minister to my temper or to my nature should +be no longer medico of mine. With what intention, sir, did you bring me +these miniatures?” + </p> +<p> +“That you might see two bright and beautiful faces whose owners are bound +to you by the strongest ties of blood.” + </p> +<p> +“Do you know, sir,—have you ever heard,—how their father, by +his wilfulness, by his folly, by his heartless denial of my right to +influence him, ruined the fortune that cost my life of struggle and labor +to create?” + </p> +<p> +The doctor shook his head, and the other continued: “Then I will tell it +to you, sir. It is more than seventeen years to-day when the then Viceroy +sent for me, and said, 'Baron Lendrick, there is no man, after Plunkett, +to whom we owe more than to yourself.' I bowed, and said, 'I do not accept +the qualification, my Lord, even in favor of the distinguished Chancellor. +I will not believe myself second to any.' I need not relate what ensued; +the discussion was a long one,—it was also a warm one; but he came +back at last to the object of the interview, which was to say that the +Prime Minister was willing to recommend my name to her Majesty for the +Peerage,—an honor, he was pleased to say, the public would see +conferred upon me with approval; and I refused! Yes, sir, I refused what +for thirty-odd years had formed the pride and the prize of my existence! I +refused it, because I would not that her Majesty's favor should descend to +one so unworthy of it as this fellow, or that his low-born children should +inherit a high name of my procuring. I refused, sir, and I told the noble +Marquess my reasons. He tried—pretty much as you have tried—to +bring me to a more forgiving spirit; but I stopped him by saying, 'When I +hear that your Excellency has invited to your table the scurrilous author +of the lampoon against you in the “Satirist,” I will begin to listen to +the claims that may be urged on the score of forgiveness; not till then.'” + </p> +<p> +“I am wrong—very wrong—to let you talk on themes like this; we +must keep them for calmer moments.” Beattie laid his finger on the pulse +as he spoke, and counted the beats by his watch. +</p> +<p> +“Well, sir, what says Death? Will he consent to a 'nolle prosequi,' or +must the cause go on?” + </p> +<p> +“You are not worse; and even that, after all this excitement, is +something. Good-bye now till evening. No books,—no newspapers, +remember. Doze; dream; do anything but excite yourself.” + </p> +<p> +“You are cruel, sir; you cut off all my enjoyments together. You deny me +the resources of reading, and you deny me the solace of my wife's +society.” The cutting sarcasm of the last words was shown in the spiteful +sparkle of his eye, and the insolent curl of his mouth; and as the doctor +retired, the memory of that wicked look haunted him throughout the day. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER IV. HOME DIPLOMACIES +</h2> +<p> +“Well, it 's done now, Lucy, and it can't be helped,” said young Lendrick +to his sister, as, with an unlighted cigar between his lips, and his hands +in the pockets of his shooting-jacket, he walked impatiently up and down +the drawing-room. “I 'm sure if I only suspected you were so strongly +against it, I 'd not have done it.” + </p> +<p> +“My dear Tom, I'm only against it because I think papa would be so. You +know we never see any one here when he is at home, and why should we now, +because he is absent?” + </p> +<p> +“Just for that reason. It's our only chance, girl.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, Tom!” + </p> +<p> +“Well, I don't mean that exactly, but I said it to startle you. No, Lucy; +but, you see, here's how the matter stands. I have been three whole days +in their company. On Tuesday the young fellow gave me that book of flies +and the top-joint of my rod. Yesterday I lunched with them. To-day they +pressed me so hard to dine with them that I felt almost rude in persisting +to refuse; and it was as much to avoid the awkwardness of the situation as +anything else that I asked them up to tea this evening.” + </p> +<p> +“I'm sure, Tom, if it would give you any pleasure—” + </p> +<p> +“Of course it gives me pleasure,” broke he in; “I don't suspect that +fellows of my age like to live like hermits. And whom do I ever see down +here? Old Mills and old Tobin, and Larry Day, the dog-breaker. I ask his +pardon for putting him last, for he is the best of the three. Girls can +stand this sort of nun's life, but I 'll be hanged if it will do for us.” + </p> +<p> +“And then, Tom,” resumed she, in the same tone, “remember they are both +perfect strangers. I doubt if you even know their names.” + </p> +<p> +“That I do,—the old fellow is Sir Brook something or other. It 's +not Fogey, but it begins like it; and the other is called Trafford,—Lionel, +I think, is his Christian name. A glorious fellow, too; was in the 9th +Lancers and in the blues, and is now here with the fifty—th because +he went it too hard in the cavalry. He had a horse for the Derby two years +ago.” The tone of proud triumph in which he made this announcement seemed +to say, Now, all discussion about him may cease. “Not but,” added he, +after a pause, “you might like the old fellow best; he has such a world of +stories, and he draws so beautifully. The whole time we were in the boat +he was sketching something; and he has a book full of odds and ends; a +tea-party in China, quail-shooting in Java, a wedding in Candia,—I +can't tell what more; but he 's to bring them up here with him.” + </p> +<p> +“I was thinking, Tom, that it might be as well if you 'd go down and ask +Dr. Mills to come to tea. It would take off some of the awkwardness of our +receiving two strangers.” + </p> +<p> +“But they 're not strangers, Lucy; not a bit of it. I call him Trafford, +and he calls me Lendrick; and the old cove is the most familiar old fellow +I ever met.” + </p> +<p> +“Have you said anything to Nicholas yet?” asked she, in some eagerness. +</p> +<p> +“No; and that's exactly what I want you to do for me. That old bear +bullies us all, so that I can't trust myself to speak to him.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, don't go away, and I'll send for him now;” and she rang the bell as +she spoke. A smart-looking lad answered the summons, to whom she said, +“Tell Nicholas I want him.” + </p> +<p> +“Take my advice, Lucy, and merely say there are two gentlemen coming to +tea this evening; don't let the old villain think you are consulting him +about it, or asking his advice.” + </p> +<p> +“I must do it my own way,” said she; “only don't interrupt. Don't meddle,—mind +that, Tom.” The door opened, and a very short, thick-set old man, dressed +in a black coat and waistcoat, and drab breeches and white stockings, with +large shoe-buckles in his shoes, entered. His face was large and red, the +mouth immensely wide, and the eyes far set from each other, his low +forehead being shadowed by a wig of coarse red hair, which moved when he +spoke, and seemed almost to possess a sort of independent vitality. +</p> +<p> +He had been reading when he was summoned, and his spectacles had been +pushed up over his forehead, while he still held the county paper in his +hand,—a sort of proud protest against being disturbed. +</p> +<p> +“You heard that Miss Lucy sent for you?” said Tom Lendrick, haughtily, as +his eye fell upon the newspaper. +</p> +<p> +“I did,” was the curt answer, as the old fellow, with a nervous shake of +the head, seemed to announce that he was ready for battle. +</p> +<p> +“What I wanted, Nicholas, was this,” interposed the girl, in a voice of +very winning sweetness; “Mr. Tom has invited two gentlemen this evening to +tea.” + </p> +<p> +“To tay!” cried Nicholas, as if the fact staggered all credulity. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, to tea; and I was thinking if you would go down to the town and get +some biscuits, or a sponge-cake, perhaps—whatever, indeed, you +thought best; and also beg Dr. Mills to step in, saying that as papa was +away—” + </p> +<p> +“That you was going to give a ball?” + </p> +<p> +“No. Not exactly that, Nicholas,” said she, smiling; “but that two friends +of my brother's—” + </p> +<p> +“And where did he meet his friends?” cried he, with a marked emphasis on +the “friends.” “Two strangers. God knows who or what! Poachers as like as +anything else. The ould one might be worse.” + </p> +<p> +“Enough of this,” said Tom, sternly. “Are you the master here? Go off, +sir, and do what Miss Lucy has ordered you.” + </p> +<p> +“I will not,—the devil a step,” said the old man, who now thrust the +paper into a capacious pocket, and struck each hand on a hip. “Is it when +the 'Jidge' is dying, when the newpapers has a column of the names that 's +calling to ask after him, you are to be carousing and feastin' here?” + </p> +<p> +“Dear Nicholas, there's no question of feasting. It is simply a cup of tea +we mean to give; sorely there's no carousing in that. And as to grandpapa, +papa says that he was certainly better yesterday, and Dr. Beattie has +hopes now.” + </p> +<p> +“I have n't, then, and I know him better than Dr. Beattie.” + </p> +<p> +“What a pity they have n't sent for you for the consultation!” said Tom, +ironically. +</p> +<p> +“And look here, Nicholas,” said Lucy, drawing the old man towards the door +of a small room that led off the drawing-room, “we could have tea here; it +will look less formal, and give less trouble; and Mears could wait,—he +does it very well; and you need n't be put out at all.” These last words +fell to a whisper; but he was beyond reserve, beyond flattery. The last +speech of her brother still rankled in his memory, and all that fell upon +his ear since that fell unheeded. +</p> +<p> +“I was with your grandfather, Master Tom,” said the old man, slowly, +“twenty-one years before you were born! I carried his bag down to Court +the day he defended Neal O' Gorman for high treason, and I was with him +the morning he shot Luke Dillon at Castle Knock; and this I 'll say and +stand to, there 's not a man in Ireland, high or low, knows the Chief +Baron better than myself.” + </p> +<p> +“It must be a great comfort to you both,” said Tom; but his sister had +laid her hand on his mouth and made the words unintelligible. +</p> +<p> +“You'll say to Mr. Mills, Nicholas,” said she, in her most coaxing way, +“that I did not write, because I preferred sending my message by <i>you</i>, +who could explain why I particularly wanted him this evening.” + </p> +<p> +“I'll go, Miss Lucy, resarving the point, as they say in the law,—resarving +the point! because I don't give in that what you're doin' is right; and +when the master comes home, I'm not goin' to defend it.” + </p> +<p> +“We must bear up under that calamity as well as we can,” said the young +man, insolently; but Nicholas never looked towards or seemed to hear him. +</p> +<p> +“A barn-a-brack is better than a spongecake, because if there 's some of +it left it does n't get stale, and one-and-six-pence will be enough; and I +suppose you don't need a lamp?” + </p> +<p> +“Well, Nicholas, I must say, I think it would be better; and two candles +on the small table, and two on the piano.” + </p> +<p> +“Why don't you mentiou a fiddler?” said he, bitterly. “If it's a ball, +there ought to be music?” + </p> +<p> +Unable to control himself longer, young Lendrick wrenched open the +sash-door, and walked out into the lawn. +</p> +<p> +“The devil such a family for temper from this to Bantry!” said Nicholas; +“and here's the company comin' already, or I 'm mistaken. There 's a boat +makin' for the landing-place with two men in the stern.” + </p> +<p> +Lucy implored him once more to lose no time on his errand, and hastened +away to make some change in her dress to receive the strangers. Meanwhile +Tom, having seen the boat, walked down to the shore to meet his friends. +</p> +<p> +Both Sir Brook and Trafford were enthusiastic in their praises of the +spot. Its natural beauty was indeed great, but taste and culture had +rendered it a marvel of elegance and refinement. Not merely were the trees +grouped with reference to foliage and tint, but the flower-beds were so +arranged that the laws of color should be respected, and thus these plats +of perfume were not less luxuriously rich in odor than they were +captivating as pictures. +</p> +<p> +“It is all the governor's own doing,” said Tom, proudly, “and he is +continually changing the disposition of the plants. He says variety is a +law of the natural world, and it is our duty to imitate it. Here comes my +sister, gentlemen.” + </p> +<p> +As though set in a beautiful frame, the lovely girl stood for an instant +in the porch, where drooping honeysuckles and the tangled branches of a +vine hung around her, and then came courteously to meet and welcome them. +</p> +<p> +“I am in ecstasy with all I see here, Miss Lendrick,” said Sir Brook. “Old +traveller that I am, I scarcely know where I have ever seen such a +combination of beauty.” + </p> +<p> +“Papa will be delighted to hear this,” said she, with a pleasant smile; +“it is the flattery he loves best.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm always saying we could keep up a salmon-weir on the river for a +tithe of what these carnations and primroses cost us,” said Tom. +</p> +<p> +“Why, sir, if you had been in Eden you 'd have made it a market garden,” + said the old man. +</p> +<p> +“If the governor was a Duke of Devonshire, all these-caprices might be +pardonable; but my theory is, roast-beef before roses.” + </p> +<p> +While young Lendrick attached himself to Trafford, and took him here and +there to show him the grounds, Sir Brook walked beside Lucy, who did the +honors of the place with a most charming courtesy. +</p> +<p> +“I am almost ashamed, sir,” said she, as they turned towards the house, +“to have asked you to see such humble objects as these to which we attach +value, for my brother tells me you are a great traveller; but it is just +possible you have met in your journeys others who, like us, lived so much +out of the world that they fancied they had the prettiest spot in it for +their own.” + </p> +<p> +“You must not ask me what I think of all I have seen: here, Miss Lendrick, +till my enthusiasm calms down;” and his look of admiration, so palpably +addressed to herself, sent a flush to her cheek. “A man's belongings are +his history,” said Sir Brook, quickly turning the conversation into an +easier channel: “show me his study, his stable, his garden; let me see his +hat, his cane, the volume he thrusts into his pocket, and I 'll make you +an indifferent good guess about his daily doings.” + </p> +<p> +“Tell me of papa's. Come here, Tom,” cried she, as the two young men came +towards her, “and listen to a bit of divination.” + </p> +<p> +“Nay, I never promised a lecture. I offered a confidence,” said he, in a +half whisper; but she went on: “Sir Brook says that he reads people pretty +much as Cuvier pronounced on a mastodon, by some small minute detail that +pertained to them. Here's Tom's cigar-case,” said she, taking it from his +pocket; “what do you infer from that, sir?” + </p> +<p> +“That he smokes the most execrable tobacco.” + </p> +<p> +“But can you say why?” asked Tom, with a sly twinkle of his eye. +</p> +<p> +“Probably for the same reason I do myself,” said Sir Brook, producing a +very cheap cigar. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, that's a veritable Cuban compared to one of mine,” cried Tom; “and by +way of making my future life miserable, here has been Mr. Trafford filling +my pocket with real havannahs, giving me a taste for luxuries I ought +never to have known of.” + </p> +<p> +“Know everything, sir, go everywhere, see all that the world can show you; +the wider a man's experiences the larger his nature and the more open his +heart,” said Foss-brooke, boldly. +</p> +<p> +“I like the theory,” said Trafford to Miss Lendrick; “do you?” + </p> +<p> +“Sir Brook never meant it for women, I fancy,” said she, in a low tone; +but the old man overheard her, and said: “You are right. The guide ought +to know every part of the mountain; the traveller need only know the +path.” + </p> +<p> +“Here comes a guide who is satisfied with very short excursions,” cried +Tom, laughing; “this is our parson, Dr. Mills.” + </p> +<p> +The little, mellow-looking, well-cared-for person who now joined them was +a perfect type of old-bachelorhood, in its aspect of not unpleasant +selfishness. Everything about him was neat, orderly, and appropriate; and +though you saw at a glance it was all for himself and his own enjoyment it +was provided, his good manners and courtesy were ever ready to extend its +benefits to others; and a certain genial look he wore, and a manner that +nature had gifted him with, did him right good service in life, and made +him pass for “an excellent fellow, though not much of a parson.” + </p> +<p> +He was of use now, if only that by his presence Lucy felt more at ease, +not to say that his violoncello, which always remained at the Nest, made a +pleasant accompaniment when she played, and that he sang with much taste +some of those lyrics which arc as much linked to Ireland by poetry as by +music. +</p> +<p> +“I wish he was our chaplain,—by Jove I do!” whispered Trafford to +Lendrick; “he's the jolliest fellow of his cloth I have ever met.” + </p> +<p> +“And such a cook,” muttered the other. +</p> +<p> +“A cook!” + </p> +<p> +“Ay, a cook. I 'll make him ask us to dinner, and you 'll tell me if you +ever ate fish as he gives it, or tasted macaroni as dressed by him. I have +a salmon for you, doctor, a ten-pound fish. I wish it were bigger! but it +is in splendid order.” + </p> +<p> +“Did you set it?” asked the parson, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“What does he mean by set it?” whispered Trafford. +</p> +<p> +“Setting means plunging it in very hot water soon after killing it, to +preserve and harden the 'curd.' Yes; and I took your hint about the +arbutus leaves, too, doctor. I covered it all up with them.” + </p> +<p> +“You are a teachable youth, and shall be rewarded. Come and eat him +to-morrow. Dare I hope that these gentlemen are disengaged, and will honor +my poor parsonage? Will you favor me with your company at five o'clock, +sir?” + </p> +<p> +Sir Brook bowed, and accepted the invitation with pleasure. +</p> +<p> +“And you, sir?” + </p> +<p> +“Only too happy,” said Trafford. +</p> +<p> +“Lucy, my dear, you must be one of us.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, I could not; it is impossible, doctor,—you know it is.” + </p> +<p> +“I know nothing of the kind.” + </p> +<p> +“Papa away,—not to speak of his never encouraging us to leave home,” + muttered she, in a whisper. +</p> +<p> +“I accept no excuses, Lucy; such a rare opportunity may not occur to me in +a hurry. Mrs. Brennan, my housekeeper, will be so proud to see you, that I +'m not sure she 'll not treat these gentlemen to her brandy peaches,—a +delicacy, I feel bound to say, she has never conceded to any one less than +the bishop of the diocese.” + </p> +<p> +“Don't ask me, doctor. I know that papa—” + </p> +<p> +But he broke in, saying,—“'You know I 'm your priest, and your +conscience is mine;' and besides, I really do want to see how the +parsonage will look with a lady at the top of the table: who knows what it +may lead to?” + </p> +<p> +“Come, Lucy, that's the nearest thing to a proposal I 've heard for some +time. You really must go now,” said Tom. +</p> +<p> +“Papa will not like it,” whispered she in his ear. +</p> +<p> +“Then he'll have to settle the matter with me, Lucy,” said the doctor, +“for it was I who overruled you.” + </p> +<p> +“Don't look to me, Miss Lendrick, to sustain you in your refusal,” said +Sir Brook, as the young girl turned towards him. “I have the strongest +interest in seeing the doctor successful.” + </p> +<p> +If Trafford said nothing, the glance he gave her more than backed the old +man's speech, and she turned away half vexed, half pleased, puzzled how to +act, and flattered at the same time by an amount of attention so new to +her and so strange. Still she could not bring herself to promise she would +go, and wished them all good-night at last, without a pledge. +</p> +<p> +“Of course she will,” muttered Tom in the doctor's ear. “She's afraid of +the governor; but I know he'll not be displeased,—you may reckon on +her.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER V. THE PICNIC ON HOLY ISLAND +</h2> +<p> +From the day that Sir Brook made the acquaintance of Tom Lendrick and his +sister, he determined he would “pitch his tent,” as he called it, for some +time at Killaloe. They had, so to say, captivated the old man. The young +fellow, by his frank, open, manly nature, his ardent love of sport in +every shape, his invariable good-humor, and more than all these, by the +unaffected simplicity of his character, had strongly interested him; while +Lucy had made a far deeper impression by her gentleness, her refinement, +an elegance in deportment that no teaching ever gives, and, along with +these, a mind stored with thought and reflectiveness. Let us, however, be +just to each, and own that her beauty and the marvellous fascination of +her smile gave her, even in that old man's eyes, an irresistible charm. It +was a very long bygone, but he had once been in love, and the faint +flicker of the memory had yet survived in his heart. It was just as likely +Lucy bore no resemblance to her he had loved, but he fancied she did,—he +imagined that she was her very image. That was the smile, the glance, the +tone, the gesture which once had set his heart a-throbbing, and the +illusion threw around her an immense fascination. +</p> +<p> +She liked him too. Through all the strange incongruities of his character, +his restless love of adventure and excitement, there ran a gentle liking +for quiet pleasures. He loved scenery passionately, and with a painter's +taste for color and form; he loved poetry, which he read with a wondrous +charm of voice and intonation. Nor was it without its peculiar power, this +homage of an old, old man, who rendered her the attentive service of a +devoted admirer. +</p> +<p> +There is very subtle flattery in the obsequious devotion of age to youth. +It is, at least, an honest worship, an unselfish offering, and in this way +the object of it may well feel proud of its tribute. +</p> +<p> +From the vicar, Dr. Mills, Fossbrooke had learned the chief events of Dr. +Lendrick's history, of his estrangement from his father, his fastidious +retirement from the world, and, last of all, his narrow fortune, +apparently now growing narrower, since within the last year he had +withdrawn his son from the University on the score of its expense. +</p> +<p> +A gold-medallist and a scholar, Dr. Lendrick would have eagerly coveted +such honors for his son. It was, probably, the one triumph in life he +would have set most store by, but Tom was one not made for collegiate +successes. He had abilities, but they were not teachable qualities; he +could pick up a certain amount of almost anything,—he could learn +nothing. He could carry away from a chance conversation an amount of +knowledge it had cost the talkers years to acquire, and yet set him down +regularly to work book-fashion, and either from want of energy, or +concentration, or of that strong will which masters difficulties just as a +full current carries all before it—whichever of these was his +defect,—he arose from his task wearied, worn, but unadvanced. +</p> +<p> +When, therefore, his father would speak, as he sometimes did, in +confidence to the vicar, in a tone of depression about Tom's deficiencies, +the honest parson would feel perfectly lost in amazement at what he meant. +To his eyes Tom Lendrick was a wonder, a prodigy. There was not a theme he +could not talk on, and talk well too. “It was but the other day he told +the chief engineer of the Shannon Company more about the geological +formation of the river-basin than all his staff knew. Ay, and what's +stranger,” added the vicar, “he understands the whole Colenso controversy +better than I do myself.” It is just possible that in the last panegyric +there was nothing of exaggeration or excess. “And with all that, sir, his +father goes on brooding over his neglected education, and foreshadowing +the worst results from his ignorance.” + </p> +<p> +“He is a fine fellow,” said Fossbrooke, “but not to be compared with his +sister.” + </p> +<p> +“Not for mere looks, perhaps, nor for a graceful manner, and a winning +address; but who would think of ranking Lucy's abilities with her +brother's?” + </p> +<p> +“Not I,” said Fossbrooke, boldly, “for I place hers far and away above +them.” + </p> +<p> +A sly twinkle of the parson's eye showed to what class of advantages he +ascribed the other's preference; but he said no more, and the controversy +ended. +</p> +<p> +Every morning found Sir Brook at the “Swan's Nest.” He was fond of +gardening, and had consummate taste in laying out ground, so that many +pleasant surprises had been prepared for Dr. Lendrick's return. He drew, +too, with great skill, and Lucy made considerable progress under his +teaching; and as they grew more intimate, and she was not ashamed of the +confession that she delighted in the Georgics of Virgil, they read whole +hours together of those picturesque descriptions of rural life and its +occupations, which are as true to nature at this hour as on the day they +were written. +</p> +<p> +Perhaps the old man fancied that it was he who had suggested this intense +appreciation of the poet. It is just possible that the young girl believed +that she had reclaimed a wild, erratic, eccentric nature, and brought him +back ta the love of simple pleasures and a purer source of enjoyment. +Whichever way the truth inclined, each was happy, each contented. And how +fond are we all, of every age, of playing the missionary, of setting off +into the savage districts of our neighbors' natures and combating their +false idols, their superstitions and strange rites! The least adventurous +and the least imaginative have these little outbursts of conversion, and +all are more or less propagandists. +</p> +<p> +It was one morning, a bright and glorious one too, that, while Tom and +Lucy were yet at breakfast, Sir Brook arrived and entered the +breakfast-room. +</p> +<p> +“What a day for a gray hackle, in that dark pool under the larch-trees!” + cried Tom, as he saw him. +</p> +<p> +“What a day for a long walk to Mount Laurel!” said Lucy. “You said, +t'other morning, you wanted cloud effects on the upper lake. I 'll show +you splendid ones to-day.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll promise you a full basket before four o'clock,” broke in Tom. +</p> +<p> +“I 'll promise you a full sketch-book,” said Lucy, with one of her +sweetest smiles. +</p> +<p> +“And I 'm going to refuse both; for I have a plan of my own, and a plan +not to be gainsaid.” + </p> +<p> +“I know it, You want us to go to work on that fish-pond. I'm certain it's +that.” + </p> +<p> +“No, Tom; it's the catalogue,—the weary catalogue that he told me, +as a punishment for not being able to find Machiavelli's comedies last +week, he 'd make me sit down to on the first lovely morning that came.” + </p> +<p> +“Better that than those dreary Georgics which remind one of school, and +the third form. But what 's your plan, Sir Brook? We have thought of all +the projects that can terrify us, and you look as if it ought to be a +terror.” + </p> +<p> +“Mine is a plan for pleasure, and pleasure only; so pack up at once and +get ready. Trafford arrived this morning.” + </p> +<p> +“Where is he? I am so glad! Where's Trafford?” cried Tom, delighted. +</p> +<p> +“I have despatched him with the vicar and two well-filled hampers to Holy +Island, where I mean that we shall all picnic. There 's my plan.” + </p> +<p> +“And a jolly plan too! I adhere unconditionally.” + </p> +<p> +“And you, Lucy, what do you say?” asked Sir Brook, as the young girl stood +with a look of some indecision and embarrassment. +</p> +<p> +“I don't say that it's not a very pleasant project, but—” + </p> +<p> +“But what, Lucy? Where 's the but?” + </p> +<p> +She whispered a few words in his ear, and he cried out: “Is n't this too +bad? She tells me Nicholas does not like all this gayety; that Nicholas +disapproves of our mode of life.” + </p> +<p> +“No, Tom; I only said Nicholas thinks that papa would not like it.” + </p> +<p> +“Couldn't we see Nicholas? Couldn't we have a commission to examine +Nicholas?” asked Sir Brook, laughingly. +</p> +<p> +“I 'll not be on it, that 's all I know; for I should finish by chucking +the witness into the Shannon. Come along, Lucy; don't let us lose this +glorious morning. I 'll get some lines and hooks together. Be sure you 're +ready when I come back.” + </p> +<p> +As the door closed after him, Sir Brook drew near to Lucy, where she stood +in an attitude of doubt and hesitation. “I mustn't risk your good opinion +of me rashly. If you really dislike this excursion, I will give it up,” + said he, in a low, gentle voice. +</p> +<p> +“Dislike it? No; far from it. I suspect I would enjoy it more than any of +you. My reluctance was simply on the ground that all this is so unlike the +life we have been leading hitherto. Papa will surely disapprove of it. Oh, +there comes Nicholas with a letter!” cried she, opening the sash-window. +“Give it to me; it is from papa.” + </p> +<p> +She broke the seal hurriedly, and ran rapidly over the lines. “Oh, yes! I +will go now, and go with delight too. It is full of good news. He is to +see grandpapa, if not to-morrow, the day after. He hopes all will be well. +Papa knows your name, Sir Brook. He says, 'Ask your friend Sir Brook if he +be any relative of a Sir Brook Foss-brooke who rescued Captain Langton +some forty years ago from a Neapolitan prison. The print-shops were filled +with his likeness when I was a boy.' Was he one of your family?” inquired +she, looking at him. +</p> +<p> +“I am the man,” said he, calmly and coldly. “Langton was sentenced to the +galleys for life for having struck the Count d'Aconi across the face with +his glove; and the Count was nephew to the King. They had him at Capri +working in chains, and I landed with my yacht's crew and liberated him.” + </p> +<p> +“What a daring thing to do!” + </p> +<p> +“Not so daring as you fancy. The guard was surprised, and fled. It was +only when reinforced that they showed fight. Our toughest enemies were the +galley-slaves, who, when they discovered that we never meant to liberate +them, attacked us with stones. This scar on my temple is a memorial of the +affair.” + </p> +<p> +“And Langton, what became of him?” + </p> +<p> +“He is now Lord Burrowfield. He gave me two fingers to shake the last time +I met him at the Travellers'.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, don't say that! Oh, don't tell me of such ingratitude!” + </p> +<p> +“My dear child, people usually regard gratitude as a debt which, once +acknowledged, is acquitted; and perhaps they are right. It makes all +intercourse freer and less trammelled.” + </p> +<p> +“Here comes Tom. May I tell him this story, or will you tell him +yourself?” + </p> +<p> +“Not either, my dear Lucy. Your brother's blood is over-hot as it is. Let +him not have any promptings to such exploits as these.” + </p> +<p> +“But may I tell papa?” + </p> +<p> +“Just as well not, Lucy. There were scores of wild things attributed to me +in those days. He may possibly remember some of them, and begin to suspect +that his daughter might be in better company.” + </p> +<p> +“How was it that you never told me of this exploit?” asked she, looking, +not without admiration, at the hard stern features before her. +</p> +<p> +“My dear child, egotism is the besetting sin of old people, and even the +most cautious lapse into it occasionally. Set me once a-talking of myself, +all my prudence, all my reserve vanishes; so that, as a measure of safety +for my friends and myself too, I avoid the theme when I can. There! Tom is +beckoning to us. Let us go to him at once.” + </p> +<p> +Holy Island, or Inishcaltra, to give it its Irish name, is a wild spot, +with little remarkable about it, save the ruins of seven churches and a +curious well of fabulous depth. It was, however, a favorite spot with the +vicar, whose taste in localities was somehow always associated with some +feature of festivity, the great merit of the present spot being that you +could dine without any molestation from beggars. In such estimation, +indeed, did he hold the class, that he seriously believed their craving +importunity to be one of the chief reasons of dyspepsia, and was +profoundly convinced that the presence of Lazarus at his gate +counterbalanced many of the goods which fortune had bestowed upon Dives. +</p> +<p> +“Here we dine in real comfort,” said he, as he seated himself under the +shelter of an ivy-covered wall, with a wide reach of the lake at his feet. +</p> +<p> +“When I come back from California with that million or two,” said Tom, “I +'ll build a cottage here, where we can all come and dine continually.” + </p> +<p> +“Let us keep the anniversary of the present day as a sort of foundation +era,” said the vicar. +</p> +<p> +“I like everything that promises pleasure,” said Sir Brook, “but I like to +stipulate that we do not draw too long a bill on Fortune. Think how long a +year is. This time twelvemonth, for example, you, my dear doctor, may be a +bishop, and not over inclined to these harmless levities. Tom there will +be, as he hints, gold-crushing, at the end of the earth. Trafford, not +improbably, ruling some rajah's kingdom in the far East. Of your destiny, +fair Lucy, brightest of all, it is not for me to speak. Of my own it is +not worth speaking.” + </p> +<p> +“Nolo episcopari,” said the vicar; “pass me the Madeira.” + </p> +<p> +“You forget, perhaps, that is the phrase for accepting the mitre,” said +Sir Brook, laughing. “Bishops, like belles, say 'No' when they mean +'Yes.'” + </p> +<p> +“And who told you that belles did?” broke in Lucy. “I am in a sad minority +here, but I stand up for my sex.” + </p> +<p> +“I repeat a popular prejudice, fair lady.” + </p> +<p> +“And Lucy will not have it that belles are as illogical as bishops? I see +I was right in refusing the bench,” said the vicar. +</p> +<p> +“What bright boon of Fortune is Trafford meditating the rejection of?” + said Sir Brook; and the young fellow's cheek grew crimson as he tried to +laugh off the reply. +</p> +<p> +“Who made this salad?” cried Tom. +</p> +<p> +“It was I; who dares to question it?” said Lucy. “The doctor has helped +himself twice to it, and that test I take to be a certificate to +character.” + </p> +<p> +“I used to have some skill in dressing a salad, but I have foregone the +practice for many a day; my culinary gift got me sent out of Austria in +twenty-four hours. Oh, it 's nothing that deserves the name of a story,” + said Sir Brook, as the others looked at him for an explanation. “It was as +long ago as the year 1806. Sir Robert Adair had been our minister at +Vienna, when, a rupture taking place between the two Governments, he was +recalled. He did not, however, return to England, but continued to live as +a private citizen at Vienna. Strangely enough, from the moment that our +embassy ceased to be recognized by the Government, our countrymen became +objects of especial civility. I myself, amongst the rest, was the <i>bien-venu</i> +in some of the great houses, and even invited by Count Cobourg Cohari to +those <i>déjeuners</i> which he gave with such splendor at Maria Hülfe. +</p> +<p> +“At one of these, as a dish of salad was handed round, instead of eating +it, like the others, I proceeded to make a very complicated dressing for +it on my plate, calling for various condiments, and seasoning my mess in a +most refined and ingenious manner. No sooner had I given the finishing +touch to my great achievement than the Grand-Duchess Sophia, who it seems +had watched the whole performance, sent a servant round to beg that I +would send her my plate. She accompanied the request with a little bow and +a smile whose charm I can still recall. Whatever the reason, before I +awoke next morning, an agent of the police entered my room and informed me +my passports were made out for Dresden, and that his orders were to give +me the pleasure of his society till I crossed the frontier. There was no +minister, no envoy to appeal to, and nothing left but to comply. They said +'Go,' and I went.” + </p> +<p> +“And all for a dish of salad!” cried the vicar. +</p> +<p> +“All for the bright eyes of an archduchess, rather,” broke in Lucy, +laughing. +</p> +<p> +The old man's grateful smile at the compliment to his gallantry showed +how, even in a heart so world-worn, the vanity of youth survived. +</p> +<p> +“I declare it was very hard,” said Tom,—“precious hard.” + </p> +<p> +“If you mean to give up the salad, so think I too,” cried the vicar. +</p> +<p> +“I 'll be shot if I 'd have gone,” broke in Trafford. +</p> +<p> +“You'd probably have been shot if you had stayed,” replied Tom. +</p> +<p> +“There are things we submit to in life, not because the penalty of +resistance affrights us, but because we half acquiesce in their justice. +You, for instance, Trafford, are well pleased to be here on leave, and +enjoy yourself, as I take it, considerably; and yet the call of duty—some +very commonplace duty, perhaps—would make you return tomorrow in all +haste.” + </p> +<p> +“Of course it would,” said Lucy. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm not so sure of it,” murmured Trafford, sullenly; “I 'd rather go +into close arrest for a week than I 'd lose this day here.” + </p> +<p> +“Bravo! here's your health, Lionel,” cried Tom. “I do like to hear a +fellow say he is willing to pay the cost of what pleases him.” + </p> +<p> +“I must preach wholesome doctrine, my young friends,” broke in the vicar. +“Now that we have dined well, I would like to say aword on abstinence.” + </p> +<p> +“You mean to take no coffee, doctor, then?” asked Lucy, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“That I do, my sweet child,—coffee and a pipe, too, for I know you +are tolerant of tobacco.” + </p> +<p> +“I hope she is,” said Tom, “or she 'd have a poor time of it in the house +with me.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll put no coercion upon my tastes on this occasion, for I 'll take a +stroll through the ruins, and leave you to your wine,” said she, rising. +</p> +<p> +They protested, in a mass, against her going. “We cannot lock the door, +Lucy, <i>de facto</i>,” said Sir Brook, “but we do it figuratively.” + </p> +<p> +“And in that case I make my escape by the window,” said she, springing +through an old lancet-shaped orifice in the Abbey wall. +</p> +<p> +“There goes down the sun and leaves us but a gray twilight,” said Sir +Brook, mournfully, as he looked after her. “If there were only enough +beauty on earth, I verily believe we might dispense with parsons.” + </p> +<p> +“Push me over the bird's-eye, and let me nourish myself till your +millennium comes,” said the vicar. +</p> +<p> +“What a charming girl she is! her very beauty fades away before the +graceful attraction of her manner!” whispered Sir Brook to the doctor. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, if you but knew her as I do! If you but knew how, sacrificing all the +springtime of her bright youth, she has never had a thought save to make +herself the companion of her poor father,—a sad, depressed, +sorrow-struck man, only rescued from despair by that companionship! I tell +you, sir, there is more courage in submitting one's self to the nature of +another than in facing a battery.” + </p> +<p> +Sir Brook grasped the parson's hand and shook it cordially. The action +spoke more than any words. “And the brother, doctor,—what say you of +the brother?” whispered he. +</p> +<p> +“One of those that the old adage says 'either makes a spoon or spoils the +horn.' That 's Master Tom there.” + </p> +<p> +Low as the words were uttered, they caught the sharp ears of him they +spoke of, and with a laughing eye he cried out, “What 's that evil +prediction you 're uttering about me, doctor?” + </p> +<p> +“I am just telling Sir Brook here that it's pure head or tail how you turn +out. There's stuff in you to make a hero, but it's just as likely you 'll +stop short at a highwayman.” + </p> +<p> +“I think I could guess which of the two would best suit the age we live +in,” said Tom, gayly. “Are we to have another bottle of that Madeira, for +I suspect I see the doctor putting up the corkscrew?” + </p> +<p> +“You are to have no more wine than what's before you till you land me at +the quay of Killaloe. When temperance means safety as well as forbearance, +it's one of the first of virtues.” + </p> +<p> +The vicar, indeed, soon grew impatient to depart. Fine as the evening was +then, it might change. There was a feeling, too, not of damp, but +chilliness; at all events, he was averse to being on the water late; and +as he was the great promoter of these little convivial gatherings, his +word was law. +</p> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img alt="062 (96K)" src="images/062.jpg" width="100%" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<p> +It is not easy to explain how it happened that Trafford sat beside Lucy. +Perhaps the trim of the boat required it; certainly, however, nothing +required that the vicar, who sat next Lucy on the other side, should fall +fast asleep almost as soon as he set foot on board. Meanwhile Sir Brook +and Tom had engaged in an animated discussion as to the possibility of +settling in Ireland as a man settles in some lone island in the Pacific, +teaching the natives a few of the needs of civilization and picking up a +few convenient ways of theirs in turn, Sir Brook warming with the theme so +far as to exclaim at last, “If I only had a few of those thousands left me +which I lost, squandered, or gave away, I 'd try the scheme, and you +should be my lieutenant, Tom.” + </p> +<p> +It was one of those projects, very pleasant in their way, where men can +mingle the serious with the ludicrous, where actual wisdom may go hand in +hand with downright absurdity; and so did they both understand it, +mingling, the very sagest reflections with projects the wildest and most +eccentric. Their life, as they sketched it, was to be almost savage in +freedom, untrammelled by all the tiresome conventionalities of the outer +world, and at the same time offering such an example of contentedness and +comfort as to shame the condition of all without the Pale. +</p> +<p> +They agreed that the vicar must join them; he should be their Bishop. He +might grumble a little at first about the want of hot plates or +finger-glasses, but he would soon fall into their ways, and some native +squaw would console him for the loss of Mrs. Brennan's housekeeping gifts. +</p> +<p> +And Trafford and Lucy all this time,—what did they talk of? Did +they, too, imagine a future and plan out a life-road in company? Far too +timid for that,—they lingered over the past, each asking some trait +of the other's childhood, eager to hear any little incident which might +mark character or indicate temper. And at last they came down to the +present,—to the very hour they lived in, and laughingly wondered at +the intimacy that had grown up between them. “Only twelve days to-morrow +since we first met,” said Lucy, and her color rose as she said it, “and +here we are talking away as if—as if—” + </p> +<p> +“As if what?” cried he, only by an effort suppressing her name as it rose +to his lips. +</p> +<p> +“As if we knew each other for years. To me it seems the strangest thing in +the world,—I who have never had friendships or companionships. To +you, I have no doubt, it is common enough.” + </p> +<p> +“But it is not,” cried he, eagerly. “Such fortune never befell me before. +I have gone a good deal into life,—seen scores of people in +country-houses and the like; but I never met any one before I could speak +to of myself,—I mean, that I had courage to tell—not that, +exactly—but that I wanted them to know I was n't so bad a fellow—so +reckless or so heartless as people thought me.” + </p> +<p> +“And is that the character you bear?” said she, with, though not visible +to him, a faint smile on her mouth. +</p> +<p> +“I think it's what my family would say of me,—I mean now, for once +on a time I was a favorite at home.” + </p> +<p> +“And why are you not still?” + </p> +<p> +“Because I was extravagant; because I went into debt; because I got very +easily into scrapes, and very badly out of them,—not dishonorably, +mind; the scrapes I speak of were money troubles, and they brought me into +collision with my governor. That was how it came about I was sent over +here. They meant as a punishment what has turned out the greatest +happiness of my life.” + </p> +<p> +“How cold the water is!” said Lucy, as, taking off her glove, she suffered +her hand to dip in the water beside the boat. +</p> +<p> +“Deliciously cold,” said he, as, plunging in his hand, he managed, as +though by accident, to touch hers. She drew it rapidly away, however, and +then, to prevent the conversation returning to its former channel, said +aloud: “What <i>are</i> you laughing over so heartily, Sir Brook? You and +Tom appear to have fallen upon a mine of drollery. Do share it with us.” + </p> +<p> +“You shall hear it all one of these days, Lucy. Jog the doctor's arm now +and wake him up, for I see the lights at the boat-house, and we shall soon +be on shore.” + </p> +<p> +“And sorry I am for it,” muttered Trafford, in a whisper; “I wish this +night could be drawn out to years.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER VI. WAITING ON +</h2> +<p> +On the sixth day after Dr. Lendrick's arrival in Dublin—a fruitless +journey so far as any hope of reconciliation was concerned—he +resolved to return home. His friend Beattie, however, induced him to delay +his departure to the-next day, clinging to some small hope from a few +words-that had dropped from Sir William on that same morning. “Let me see +you to-night, doctor; I have a note to show you which I could not to-day +with all these people about me.” Now, the people in question resolved +themselves into one person, Lady Lendrick, who indeed bustled into the +room and out of it, slammed doors and upset chairs in a fashion that might +well have excused the exaggeration that converted her into a noun of +multitude. A very warm altercation had occurred, too, in the doctor's +presence with reference to some letter from India, which Lady Lendrick was +urging Sir William to reply to, but which he firmly declared he would not +answer. +</p> +<p> +“How I am to treat a man subject to such attacks of temper, so easily +provoked, and so incessantly irritated, is not clear to me. At all events +I will see him to-night, and hear what he has to say to me. I am sure it +has no concern with this letter from India.” With these words Beattie +induced his friend to defer his journey for another day. +</p> +<p> +It was a long and anxious day to poor Lendrick. It was not alone that he +had to suffer the bitter disappointment of all his hopes of being received +by his father and admitted to some gleam of future favor, but he had +discovered that certain debts which he had believed long settled by the +judge were still outstanding against him, Lady Lendrick having interfered +to prevent their payment, while she assured the creditors that if they had +patience Dr. Lendrick would one day or other be in a position to acquit +them. Between two and three thousand pounds thus hung over him of +indebtedness above all his calculations, and equally above all his ability +to meet. +</p> +<p> +“We thought you knew all this, Dr. Lendrick,” said Mr. Hack, Sir William's +agent; “we imagined you were a party to the arrangement, understanding +that you were reluctant to bring these debts under the Chief Baron's eyes, +being moneys lent to your wife's relations.” + </p> +<p> +“I believed that they were paid,” was all his reply, for the story was a +painful one of trust betrayed and confidence abused, and he did not desire +to revive it. He had often been told that his stepmother was the real +obstacle to all hope of reconciliation with his father, but that she had +pushed her enmity to him to the extent of his ruin was more than he was +prepared for. They had never met, but at one time letters had frequently +passed between them. Hers were marvels of good wishes and kind intentions, +dashed with certain melancholy reflections over some shadowy unknown +something which had been the cause of his estrangement from his father, +but which time and endurance might not impossibly diminish the bitterness +of, though with very little hope of leading to a more amicable relation. +She would assume, besides, occasionally a kind of companionship in sorrow, +and, as though the confession had burst from her unawares, avow that Sir +William's temper was more than human nature was called upon to submit to, +and that years only added to those violent outbursts of passion which made +the existence of all around him a perpetual martyrdom. These always wound +up with some sweet congratulations on “Tom's good fortune in his life of +peaceful retirement,” and the “tranquil pleasures of that charming spot of +which every one tells me such wonders, and which the hope of visiting is +one of my most entrancing daydreams.” We give the passage textually, +because it occurred without a change of a word thus in no less than five +different letters. +</p> +<p> +This formal repetition of a phrase, and certain mistakes she made about +the names of his children, first opened Lendrick's eyes as to the +sincerity and affection of his correspondent, for he was the least +suspicious of men, and regarded distrust as a disgrace to him who +entertained it. +</p> +<p> +Over all these things now did he ponder during this long dreary day. He +did not like to go out lest he should meet old acquaintances and be +interrogated about his father, of whom he knew less than almost every one. +He shunned the tone of compassionate interest men met him with, and he +dreaded even the old faces that reminded him of the past. He could not +read: he tried, but could not. After a few minutes he found that his +thoughts wandered off from the book and centred on his own concerns, till +his head ached with the weary round of those difficulties which came ever +back, and back, and back again undiminished, unrelieved, and unsolved. The +embarrassments of life are not, like chess problems, to be resolved by a +skilful combination: they are to be encountered by temper, by patience, by +daring at one time, by submission at another, by a careful consideration +of a man's own powers, and by a clear-sighted estimate of his neighbors; +and all these exercised not beforehand, nor in retirement, but on the very +field itself where the conflict is raging and the fight at its hottest. +</p> +<p> +It was late at night when Beattie returned home, and entered the study +where Lendrick sat awaiting him. “I am very late, Tom,” said he, as he +threw himself into an arm-chair, like one fatigued and exhausted; “but it +was impossible to get away. Never in all my life have I seen him so full +of anecdote, so abounding in pleasant recollections, so ready-witted, and +so brilliant. I declare to you that if I could but recite the things he +said, or give them even with a faint semblance of the way he told them, it +would be the most amusing page of bygone Irish history. It was a grand +review of all the celebrated men whom he remembered in his youth, from the +eccentric Lord Bristol, the Bishop of Down, to O'Connell and Shiel. Nor +did his own self-estimate, high as it was, make the picture in which he +figured less striking, nor less memorable his concluding words, as he +said, 'These fellows are all in history, Beattie,—every man of them. +There are statues to them in our highways, and men visit the spots that +gave them birth; and here am I, second to none of them. Trinity College +and the Four Courts will tell you if I speak in vanity; and here am I; and +the only question about me is, when I intend to vacate the bench, when it +will be my good pleasure to resign—they are not particular which—my +judgeship or my life. But, sir, I mean not to do either; I mean to live +and protest against the inferiority of the men around me, and the +ingratitude of the country that does not know how to appreciate the one +man of eminence it possesses.' I assure you, Tom, vain and insolent as the +speech was, as I listened I thought it was neither. There was a haughty +dignity about him, to which his noble bead and his deep sonorous voice and +his commanding look lent effect that overcame all thought of attributing +to such a man any over-estimate of his powers.” + </p> +<p> +“And this note that he wished to show you,—what was it?” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, the note was a few lines written in an adjoining room by Balfour, the +Viceroy's secretary. It seems that his Excellency, finding all other +seductions fail, thought of approaching your father through you.” + </p> +<p> +“Through <i>me!</i> It was a bright inspiration.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; he sent Balfour to ask if the Chief Baron would feel gratified by +the post of Hospital Inspector at the Cape being offered to you. It is +worth eight hundred a year, and a house.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, what answer did he give?” asked Lendrick, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“He directed Balfour, who only saw Lady Lendrick, to reduce the proposal +to writing. I don't fancy that the accomplished young gentleman exactly +liked the task, but he did not care to refuse, and so he sat down and +wrote one of the worst notes I ever read.” + </p> +<p> +“Worst—in what way?” + </p> +<p> +“In every way. It was scarcely intelligible, without a previous knowledge +of its contents, and so worded as to imply that when the Chief Baron had +acceded to the proposal, he had so bound himself in gratitude to the +Government that all honorable retreat was closed to him. I wish you saw +your father's face when he read it. 'Beattie,' said he, 'I have no right +to say Tom must refuse this offer; but if he should do so, I will make the +document you see there be read in the House, and my name is not William +Lendrick if it do not cost them more than they are prepared for. Go now +and consult your friend;' it was so he called you. 'If his wants are such +that this place is of consequence to him, let him accept it. I shall not +ask his reasons for whatever course he may take. <i>My</i> reply is +already written, and to his Excellency in person.' This he said in a way +to imply that its tone was one not remarkable for conciliation or +courtesy. +</p> +<p> +“I thought the opportunity a favorable one to say that you were in town at +the moment, that the accounts of his illness had brought you up, and that +you were staying at my house. +</p> +<p> +“'The sooner will you be able to communicate with him, sir,' said he, +haughtily.” + </p> +<p> +“No more than that!” + </p> +<p> +“No more, except that he added, 'Remember, sir, his acceptance or his +refusal is to be his own act, not to be intimated in any way to me, nor to +come through me.'” + </p> +<p> +“This is unnecessary harshness,” said Lendrick, with a quivering lip; +“there was no need to tell me how estranged we are from each other.” + </p> +<p> +“I fancied I could detect a struggle with himself in all his sternness; +and his hand trembled when I took it to say 'good-bye.' I was going to ask +if you might not be permitted to see him, even for a brief moment; but I +was afraid, lest in refusing he might make a reconciliation still more +remote, and so I merely said, 'May I leave you those miniatures I showed +you a few days ago? 'His answer was, 'You may leave them, sir.' +</p> +<p> +“As I came down to the hall, I met Lady Lendrick. She was in evening +dress, going out, but had evidently waited to Catch me as I passed. +</p> +<p> +“'You find the Chief much better, don't you?' asked she. I bowed and +assented.. 'And he will be better still,' added she, 'when all these +anxieties are over.' She saw that I did not or would not apprehend her +meaning, and added, 'I mean about this resignation, which, of course, you +will advise him to. The Government are really behaving so very well, so +liberal, and withal so delicate. If they had been our own people, I doubt +if they would have shown anything like the same generosity.' +</p> +<p> +“'I have heard of nothing but the offer to Dr. Lendrick,' said I. +</p> +<p> +“She seemed confused, and moved on; and then recovering herself, said, +'And a most handsome offer it is. I hope he thinks so.' +</p> +<p> +“With this we parted, and I believe now I have told you almost word for +word everything that occurred concerning you.” + </p> +<p> +“And what do <i>you</i> say to all this, Beattie?” asked Lendrick, in a +half-sad tone. +</p> +<p> +“I say that if in your place, Tom, I would accept. It may be that the +Chief Baron will interpose and say, Don't go; or it may be that your +readiness to work for your bread should conciliate him; he has long had +the impression that you are indisposed to exertion, and too fond of your +own ease.” + </p> +<p> +“I know it,—I know it; Lady Lendrick has intimated as much to me.” + </p> +<p> +“At all events, you can make no mistake in entertaining the project; and +certainly the offer is not to be despised.” + </p> +<p> +“It is of him, and of him alone, I am thinking, Beattie. If he would let +me see him, admit me once more on my old terms of affection, I would go +anywhere, do anything that he counselled. Try, my dear friend, to bring +this about; do your best for me, and remember I will subscribe to any +terms, submit to anything, if he will only be reconciled to me.” + </p> +<p> +“It will be hard if we cannot manage this somehow,” said Beattie; “but now +let us to bed. It is past two o'clock. Good-night, Tom; sleep well, and +don't dream of the Cape or the Caffres.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER VII. THE FOUNTAIN OF HONOR +</h2> +<p> +That ancient and incongruous pile which goes by the name of the Castle in +Dublin, and to which Irishmen very generally look as the well from which +all honors and places flow, is not remarkable for either the splendor or +space it affords to the inmates beneath its roof. Upheld by a great +prestige perhaps, as in the case of certain distinguished people, who +affect a humble exterior and very simple belongings, it may deem that its +own transcendent importance has no need of accessories. Certainly the +ugliness of its outside is in noway unbalanced by the meanness within; and +even the very highest of those who claim its hospitality are lodged in +no-princely fashion. +</p> +<p> +In a corner of the old red brick quadrangle, to the right of the state +entrance, in a small room whose two narrow windows looked into a lane, sat +a very well-dressed young-gentleman at a writing-table. Short, and +disposed to roundness in face as well as figure, Mr. Cholmondely Balfour +scarcely responded in appearance to his imposing name. Nature had not been +as bountiful, perhaps, as Fortune; for while he was rich, well born, and +considerably gifted in abilities, his features were unmistakably common +and vulgar, and all the aids of dress could not atone for the meanness in +his general look. Had he simply accepted his image as a thing to be +quietly borne and submitted to, the case might not have been so very bad; +but he took it as something to be corrected, changed, and ameliorated, and +the result was a perpetual struggle to make the most ordinary traits and +commonplace features appear the impress of one on whom Nature had written +gentleman. It would have been no easy task to have imposed on him in a +question of his duty. He was the private secretary of the Viceroy, who was +his maternal uncle. It would have been a tough task to have misled or +deceived him in any matter open to his intelligence to examine; but upon +this theme there was not the inventor of a hair-wash, a skin-paste, a +whisker-dye, or a pearl-powder that might not have led him captive. A +bishop might have found difficulty in getting audience of him,—a +barber might have entered unannounced; and while the lieutenant of a +county sat waiting in the antechamber, the tailor, with a new waistcoat +pattern, walked boldly into the august presence. Entering life by that <i>petite +porte</i> of politics, an Irish office, he had conceived a very humble +estimate of the people amongst whom he was placed. Regarding his +extradition from Whitehall and its precincts as a sort of probationary +banishment, he felt, however, its necessity; and as naval men are +accredited with two years of service for every one year on the coast of +Africa, Mr. Balfour was aware that a grateful Government could equally +recognize the devotion of him who gave some of the years of his youth to +the Fernando Po of statecraft. +</p> +<p> +This impression, being rarely personal in its consequences, was not of +much moment; but it was conjoined with a more serious error, which was to +imagine that all rule and governance in Ireland should be carried on with +a Machiavellian subtlety. The people, he had heard, were quick-witted; he +must therefore out-manoeuvre them. Jobbery had been, he was told, the ruin +of Ireland; he would show its inefficiency by the superior skill with +which he could wield its weapon. To be sure his office was a very minor +one, its influence very restricted, but Mr. Balfour was ambitious; he was +a Viceroy's nephew; he had sat for months in the House, from which he had +been turned out on a petition. He had therefore social advantages to build +on, abilities to display, and wrongs to avenge; and as a man too late for +the train speculates during the day how far on his road he might have been +by this time or by that, so did Mr. Balfour continually keep reminding +himself how, but for that confounded petition, he might now have been a +Treasury this or a Board of Trade that,—a corporal, in fact, in that +great army whose commissioned officers are amongst the highest in Europe. +</p> +<p> +Let us now present him to our reader, as he lay back in his chair, and by +a hand-bell summoned his messenger. +</p> +<p> +“I say, Watkins, when Clancey calls about those trousers show him in, and +send some one over to the packet-office about the phosphorus blacking; you +know we are on the last jar of it. If the Solicitor-General should come—” + </p> +<p> +“He is here, sir; he has been waiting these twenty minutes. I told him you +were with his Excellency.” + </p> +<p> +“So I was,—so I always am,” said he, throwing a half-smoked cigar +into the fire. “Admit him.” + </p> +<p> +A pale, care-worn, anxious-looking man, whose face was not without traces +of annoyance at the length of time he had been kept waiting, now entered +and sat down. +</p> +<p> +“Just where we were yesterday, Pemberton,” said Balfour, as he rose and +stood with his back to the fire, the tails of his gorgeous dressing-gown +hanging over his arms. “Intractable as he ever was; he won't die, and he +won't resign.” + </p> +<p> +“His friends say he is perfectly willing to resign if you agree to his +terms.” + </p> +<p> +“That may be possible; the question is, What are his terms? Have you a +precedent of a Chief Baron being raised to the peerage?” + </p> +<p> +“It's not, as I understand, the peerage he insists on; he inclines to a +moneyed arrangement.” + </p> +<p> +“We are too poor, Pemberton,—we are too poor. There's a deep gap in +our customs this quarter. It's reduction we must think of, not outlay.” + </p> +<p> +“If the changes <i>are</i> to be made,” said the other, with a tone of +impatience, “I certainly ought to be told at once, or I shall have no time +left for my canvass.” + </p> +<p> +“An Irish borough, Pemberton,—an Irish borough requires so little,” + said Balfour, with a compassionate smile. +</p> +<p> +“Such is not the opinion over here, sir,” said Pemberton, stiffly; “and I +might even suggest some caution in saying it.” + </p> +<p> +“Caution is the badge of all our tribe,” said Balfour, with a burlesque +gravity. “By the way, Pemberton, his Excellency is greatly disappointed at +the issue of these Cork trials; why did n't you hang these fellows?” + </p> +<p> +“Juries can no more be coerced here than in England; they brought them in +not guilty.” + </p> +<p> +“We know all that, and we ask you why? There certainly was little room for +doubt in the evidence.” + </p> +<p> +“When you have lived longer in Ireland, Mr. Balfour, you will learn that +there are other considerations in a trial than the testimony of the +witnesses.” + </p> +<p> +“That's exactly what I said to his Excellency; and I remarked, 'If +Pemberton comes into the House, he must prepare for a sharp attack about +these trials.'” + </p> +<p> +“And it is exactly to ascertain if I am to enter Parliament that I have +come here to-day,” said the other, angrily. +</p> +<p> +“Bring me the grateful tidings that the Lord Chief Baron has joined his +illustrious predecessors in that distinguished court, I 'll answer you in +five minutes.” + </p> +<p> +“Beattie declares he is better this morning. He says that he has in all +probability years of life before him.” + </p> +<p> +“There 's nothing so hard to kill as a judge, except it be an archbishop. +I believe a sedentary life does it; they say if a fellow will sit still +and never move he may live to any age.” + </p> +<p> +Pemberton took an impatient turn up and down the room, and then wheeling +about directly in front of Balfour, said, “If his Excellency knew, +perhaps, that I do not want the House of Commons—” + </p> +<p> +“Not want the House,—not wish to be in Parliament?” + </p> +<p> +“Certainly not. If I enter the House, it is as a law-officer of the Crown; +personally it is no object to me.” + </p> +<p> +“I'll not tell him that, Pem. I'll keep your secret safe, for I tell you +frankly it would ruin you to reveal it.” + </p> +<p> +“It's no secret, sir; you may proclaim it,—you may publish it in the +'Gazette,' But really we are wasting much valuable time here. It is now +two o'clock, and I must go down to Court. I have only to say that if no +arrangement be come to before this time to-morrow—” He stopped +short. Another word might have committed him, but he pulled up in time. +</p> +<p> +“Well, what then?” asked Balfour, with a half smile. +</p> +<p> +“I have heard you pride yourself, Mr. Balfour,” said the other, +recovering, “on your skill in nice negotiation; why not try what you could +do with the Chief Baron?” + </p> +<p> +“Are there women in the family?” said Balfour, caressing his moustache. +</p> +<p> +“No; only his wife.” + </p> +<p> +“I 've seen her,” said he, contemptuously. +</p> +<p> +“He quarrelled with his only son, and has not spoken to him, I believe, +for nigh thirty years, and the poor fellow is struggling on as a country +doctor somewhere in the west.” + </p> +<p> +“What if we were to propose to do something for him? Men are often not +averse to see those assisted whom their own pride refuses to help.” + </p> +<p> +“I scarcely suspect you 'll acquire his gratitude that way.” + </p> +<p> +“We don't want his gratitude, we want his place. I declare I think the +idea a good one. There's a thing now at the Cape, an inspectorship of +something,—Hottentots or hospitals, I forget which. His Excellency +asked to have the gift of it; what if we were to appoint this man?” + </p> +<p> +“Make the crier of his Court a Commissioner in Chancery, and Baron +Lendrick will be more obliged to you,” said Pem-berton, with a sneer. “He +is about the least forgiving man I ever knew or heard of.” + </p> +<p> +“Where is this son of his to be found?” + </p> +<p> +“I saw him yesterday walking with Dr. Beattie. I have no doubt Beattie +knows his address. But let me warn you once more against the inutility of +the step you would take. I doubt if the old Judge would as much as thank +you.” + </p> +<p> +Balfour turned round to the glass and smiled sweetly at himself, as though +to say that he had heard of some one who knew how to make these +negotiations successful,—a fellow of infinite readiness, a clever +fellow, but withal one whose good looks and distinguished air left even +his talents in the background. +</p> +<p> +“I think I 'll call and see the Chief Baron myself,” said he. “His +Excellency sends twice a day to inquire, and I 'll take the opportunity to +make him a visit,—that is, if he will receive me.” + </p> +<p> +“It is doubtful. At all events, let me give you one hint for your +guidance. Neither let drop Mr. Attorney's name nor mine in your +conversation; avoid the mention of any one whose career might be +influenced by the Baron's retirement; and talk of him less as a human +being than as an institution that is destined to endure as long as the +British constitution.” + </p> +<p> +“I wish it was a woman—if it was only a woman I had to deal with, +the whole affair might be deemed settled.” + </p> +<p> +“If you should be able to do anything before the mail goes out to-night, +perhaps you will inform me,” said Pem-berton, as he bowed and left the +room. “And these are the men they send over here to administer the +country!” muttered he, as he descended the stairs,—“such are the +intelligences that are to rule Ireland! Was it Voltaire who said there was +nothing so inscrutable in all the ways of Providence as the miserable +smallness of those creatures to whom the destiny of nations was +committed?” + </p> +<p> +Ruminating over this, he hastened on to a <i>nisi prius</i> case. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER VIII. A PUZZLING COMMISSION +</h2> +<p> +As Colonel Cave re-entered his quarters after morning parade in the Royal +Barracks of Dublin, he found the following letter, which the post had just +delivered. It was headed “Strictly Private,” with three dashes under the +words. +</p> +<p> +“Holt-Trafford. +</p> +<p> +“My dear Colonel Cave,—Sir Hugh is confined to bed with a severe +attack of gout,—the doctors call it flying gout. He suffers greatly, +and his nerves are in a state of irritation that makes all attempt at +writing impossible. This will be my apology for obtruding upon you, +though, perhaps, the cause in which I write might serve for excuse. We are +in the deepest anxiety about Lionel. You are already aware how heavily his +extravagance has cost us. His play-debts amounted to above ten thousand +pounds, and all the cleverness of Mr. Joel has not been able to compromise +with the tradespeople for less than as much more; nor are we yet done with +demands from various quarters. It is not, however, of these that I desire +to speak. Your kind offer to take him into your own regiment, and exercise +the watchful supervision of a parent, has relieved us of much anxiety, and +his own sincere affection for you is the strongest assurance we can have +that the step has been a wise one. Our present uneasiness has however a +deeper source than mere pecuniary embarrassment. The boy—he is very +little more than a boy in years—has fallen in love, and gravely +writes to his father for consent that he may marry. I assure you the shock +brought back all Sir Hugh's most severe symptoms; and his left eye was +attacked with an inflammation such as Dr. Gole says he never saw equalled. +So far as the incoherency of his letter will permit us to guess, the girl +is a person in a very humble condition of life, the daughter of a country +doctor, of course without family or fortune. That he made her acquaintance +by an accident, as he informs us, is also a reason to suppose that they +are not people in society. The name, as well as I can decipher it, is +Lendrich or Hendrich,—neither very distinguished! +</p> +<p> +“Now, my dear Colonel, even to a second son, such an alliance would be +perfectly intolerable,—totally at variance with all his father's +plans for him, and inconsistent with the station he should occupy. But +there are other considerations,—too sad ones, too melancholy indeed +to be spoken of, except where the best interests of a family are to be +regarded, which press upon us here. The last accounts of George from +Madeira leave us scarcely a hope. The climate, from which so much was +expected, has done nothing. The season has been unhappily most severe, and +the doctors agree in declaring that the malady has not yielded in any +respect. You will see, therefore, what a change any day may accomplish in +Lionel's prospects, and how doubly important it is that he should contract +no ties inconsistent with a station of no mean importance. Not that these +considerations would weigh with Lionel in the least: he was always +headstrong, rash, and self-willed; and if he were, or fancied that he +were, bound in honor to do a thing, I know well that all persuasions would +be unavailing to prevent him. I cannot believe, however, that matters can +have gone so far here. This acquaintanceship must be of the very shortest; +and however designing and crafty such people may be, there will surely be +some means of showing them that their designs are impracticable, and of a +nature only to bring disappointment and disgrace upon themselves. That Sir +Hugh would give his consent is totally out of the question,—a thing +not to be thought of for a moment; indeed I may tell you in confidence +that his first thought on reading L.'s letter was to carry out a project +to which George had already consented, and by which the entail should be +cut off, and our third son, Harry, in that case would inherit. This will +show you to what extent his indignation would carry him. +</p> +<p> +“Now what is to be done? for, really, it is but time lost in deploring +when prompt action alone can save us. Do you know, or do you know any one +who does know, these Hendrichs or Lendrichs—who are they, what are +they? Are they people to whom I could write myself, or are they in that +rank in life which would enable us to make some sort of compromise? Again, +could you in anyway obtain L.'s confidence, and make him open his heart to +you <i>first?</i> This is the more essential, because the moment he hears +of anything like coercion or pressure, his whole spirit will rise in +resistance, and he will be totally unmanageable. You have perhaps more +influence over him than any one else, and even your influence he would +resent if he suspected any dominance. +</p> +<p> +“I am madly impatient to hear what you will suggest. Will it be to see +these people, to reason with them, to explain to them the fruitlessness of +what they are doing? Will it be to talk to the girl herself? +</p> +<p> +“My first thought was to send for Lionel, as his father was so ill, but on +consideration I felt that a meeting between them might be the thing of all +others to be avoided. Indeed, in Sir Hugh's present temper, I dare not +think of the consequences. +</p> +<p> +“Might it be advisable to get Lionel attached to some foreign station? If +so, I am sure I could manage it—only, would he go? there 's the +question,—would he go? I am writing in such distress of mind, and so +hurriedly too, that I really do not know what I have set down and what I +have omitted. I trust, however, there is enough of this sad case before +you to enable you to counsel me, or, what is much better, act for me. I +wish I could send you L.'s letter, but Sir Hugh has put it away, and I +cannot lay my hand on it. Its purport, however, was to obtain authority +from us to approach this girl's relations as a suitor, and to show that +his intentions were known to and concurred in by his family. The only +gleam of hope in the epistle was his saying, 'I have not the slightest +reason to believe she would accept me, but the approval of my friends will +certainly give me the best chance.' +</p> +<p> +“Now, my dear Colonel, compassionate my anxiety, and write to me at once—something—anything. +Write such a letter as Sir Hugh may see; and if you have anything secret +or confidential, enclose it as a separate slip. Was it not unfortunate +that we refused that Indian appointment for him? All this misery might +have been averted. You may imagine how Sir Hugh feels this conduct the +more bitterly, coming, as I may say, on the back of all his late +indiscretions. +</p> +<p> +“Remember, finally, happen what may, this project must not go on. It is a +question of the boy's whole future and life. To defy his father is to +disinherit himself; and it is not impossible that this might be the most +effectual argument you could employ with these people who now seek to +entangle him. +</p> +<p> +“I have certainly no reason to love Ireland. It was there that my cousin +Cornwallis married that dreadful creature who is now suing him for +cruelty, and exposing the family throughout England. +</p> +<p> +“Sir Hugh gave directions last week about lodging the purchase-money for +his company, but he wrote a few lines to Cox's last night—to what +purport I cannot say—not impossibly to countermand it. What +affliction all this is!” + </p> +<p> +As Colonel Cave read over this letter for a second time, he was not +without misgivings about the even small share to which he had contributed +in this difficulty. It was evidently during the short leave he had granted +that this acquaintanceship had been formed; and Fossbrooke's companionship +was the very last thing in the world to deter a young and ardent fellow +from anything high-flown or romantic. “I ought never to have thrown them +together,” muttered he, as he walked his room in doubt and deliberation. +</p> +<p> +He rang his bell and sent for the adjutant. “Where 's Trafford?” asked he. +</p> +<p> +“You gave him three days' leave yesterday, sir. He's gone down to that +fishing-village where he went before.” + </p> +<p> +“Confound the place! Send for him at once—telegraph. No—let us +see—his leave is up to-morrow?” + </p> +<p> +“The next day at ten he was to report.” + </p> +<p> +“His father is ill,—an attack of gout,” muttered the Colonel, to +give some color to his agitated manner. “But it is better, perhaps, not to +alarm him. The seizure seems passing off.” + </p> +<p> +“He said something about asking for a longer term; he wants a fortnight, I +think. The season is just beginning now.” + </p> +<p> +“He shall not have it, sir. Take good care to warn him not to apply. It +will breed discontent in the regiment to see a young fellow who has not +been a year with us obtain a leave every ten or fifteen days.” + </p> +<p> +“If it were any other than Trafford, there would be plenty of grumbling. +But he is such a favorite!” + </p> +<p> +“I don't know that a worse accident could befall any man. Many a fine +fellow has been taught selfishness by the over-estimate others have formed +of him. See that you keep him to his duty, and that he is to look for no +favoritism.” + </p> +<p> +The Colonel did not well know why he said this, nor did he stop to think +what might come of it. It smacked, to his mind, however, of something +prompt, active, and energetic. +</p> +<p> +His next move was to write a short note to Lady Trafford, acknowledging +hers, and saying that, Lionel being absent,—he did not add where,—nothing +could be done till he should see him. “To-morrow—next day at +farthest—I will report progress. I cannot believe the case to be so +serious as you suppose; at all events, count upon me.” + </p> +<p> +“Stay!” cried he to the adjutant, who stood in the window awaiting further +instructions; “on second thoughts, do telegraph. Say, 'Return at once.' +This will prepare him for something.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER IX. A BREAKFAST AT THE VICARAGE +</h2> +<p> +On the day after the picnic Sir Brook went by invitation to breakfast with +the vicar. +</p> +<p> +“When a man asks you to dinner,” said Fossbrooke, “he generally wants you +to talk; when he asks you to breakfast, he wants to talk to you.” + </p> +<p> +Whatever be the truth of this adage generally, it certainly-had its +application in the present case. The vicar wanted very much to talk to Sir +Brook. +</p> +<p> +As they sat, therefore, over their coffee and devilled kidneys, chatting +over the late excursion and hinting at another, the vicar suddenly said: +“By the way, I want you to tell me something of the young fellow who was +one of us yesterday. Tobin, our doctor here, who is a perfect +commission-agent for scandal, says he is the greatest scamp going; that +about eight or ten months ago the 'Times' was full of his exploits in +bankruptcy; that his liabilities were tens of thousands,—assets <i>nil</i>. +In a word, that, notwithstanding his frank, honest look, and his +unaffected manner, he is the most accomplished scapegrace of the age.” + </p> +<p> +“And how much of this do you believe?” asked Sir Brook, as he helped +himself to coffee. +</p> +<p> +“That is not so easy to reply to; but I tell you, if you ask me, that I 'd +rather not believe one word of it.” + </p> +<p> +“Nor need you. His Colonel told me something about the young fellow's +difficulties; he himself related the rest. He went most recklessly into +debt; betted largely on races, and lost; lent freely, and lost; raised at +ruinous interest, and renewed at still more ruinous; but his father has +paid every shilling of it out of that fortune which one day was to have +come to him, so that Lionel's thirty thousand pounds is now about eight +thousand. I have put the whole story into the fewest possible words, but +that's the substance of it.” + </p> +<p> +“And has it cured him of extravagance?” + </p> +<p> +“Of course it has not. How should it? <i>You</i> have lived some more +years in the world than he has, and I a good many more than <i>you</i>, +and will you tell me that time has cured either of us of any of our old +shortcomings? <i>Non sum quails eram</i> means, I can't be as wild as I +used to be.” + </p> +<p> +“No, no; I won't agree to that. I protest most strongly against the +doctrine. Many men are wiser through experience, and, consequently, +better.” + </p> +<p> +“I sincerely believe I knew the world better at four-and-twenty than I +know it now. The reason why we are less often deceived in after than in +early life is not that we are more crafty or more keen-eyed. It is simply +because we risk less. Let us hazard as much at sixty as we once did at +six-and-twenty, and we 'll lose as heavily.” + </p> +<p> +The vicar paused a few moments over the other's words, and then said, “To +come back to this young man, I half suspect he has formed an attachment to +Lucy, and that he is doing his utmost to succeed in her favor.” + </p> +<p> +“And is there anything wrong in that, doctor?” + </p> +<p> +“Not positively wrong; but there is what may lead to a great deal of +unhappiness. Who is to say how Trafford's family would like the +connection? Who is to answer for Lendrick's approval of Trafford?” + </p> +<p> +“You induce me to make a confidence I have no right to impart; but I rely +so implicitly on your discretion. I will tell you what was intrusted to me +as a secret: Trafford has already written to his father to ask his +consent.” + </p> +<p> +“Without speaking to Lendrick? without even being sure of Lucy's?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, without knowing anything of either; but on my advice he has first +asked his father's permission to pay his addresses to the young lady. His +position with his family is peculiar; he is a younger son, but not exactly +as free as most younger sons feel to act for themselves. I cannot now +explain this more fully, but it is enough if you understand that he is +entirely dependent on his father. When I came to know this, and when I saw +that he was becoming desperately in love, I insisted on this appeal to his +friends before he either entangled Lucy in a promise, or even made any +declaration himself. He showed me the letter before he posted it. It was +all I could wish. It is not a very easy task for a young fellow to tell +his father he 's in love; but he, in the very frankness of his nature, +acquitted himself well and manfully.” + </p> +<p> +“And what answer has he received?” + </p> +<p> +“None as yet. Two posts have passed. He might have heard through either of +them; but no letter has come, and he is feverishly uneasy and anxious.” + </p> +<p> +The vicar was silent, but a grave motion of his head implied doubt and +fear. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said Sir Brook, answering the gesture,—“yes, I agree with +you. The Traffords are great folk in their own country. Trafford was a +strong place in Saxon times. They have pride enough for all this blood, +and wealth enough for both pride and blood.” + </p> +<p> +“They 'd find their match in Lendrick, quiet and simple as he seems,” said +the vicar. +</p> +<p> +“Which makes the matter worse. Who is to give way? Who is to <i>céder le +pas?</i>” + </p> +<p> +“I am not so sure I should have advised that letter. I am inclined to +think I would have counselled more time, more consideration. Fathers and +mothers are prudently averse to these loves at first sight, and they are +merciless in dealing with what they deem a mere passing sentiment.” + </p> +<p> +“Better that than suffer him to engage the girl's affections, and then +learn that he must either desert her or marry her against the feeling of +his family. Let us have a stroll in the garden. I have made you one +confidence; I will now make you another.” + </p> +<p> +They lit their cigars, and strolled out into a long alley fenced on one +side by a tall dense hedge of laurels, and flanked on the other by a low +wall, over which the view took in the wide reach of the river and the +distant mountains of Scariff and Meelick. +</p> +<p> +“Was not that where we picnicked yesterday?” asked Sir Brook, pointing to +an island in the distance. +</p> +<p> +“No; you cannot see Holy Island from this.” + </p> +<p> +Sir Brook smoked on for some minutes without a word; at last, with a sort +of abruptness, he said, “She was so like her, not only in face and figure, +but her manner; the very tone of her voice was like; and then that +half-caressing, half-timid way she has in conversation, and, more than +all, the sly quietness with which she caps you when you fancy that the +smart success is all your own.” + </p> +<p> +“Of whom are you speaking?” + </p> +<p> +“Of another Lucy,” said Sir Brook, with a deep melancholy. “Heaven grant +that the resemblance follow them not in their lives as in their features! +It was that likeness, however, which first attracted me towards Miss +Lendrick. The first moment I saw her it overcame me; as I grew to know her +better, it almost confused me, and made me jumble in your hearing things +of long ago with the present. Time and space were both forgotten, and I +found my mind straying away to scenes in the Himalaya with those I shall +never see more. It was thus that, one day carried away by this delusion, I +chanced to call her Lucy, and she laughingly begged me not to retract it, +but so to call her always.” For some minutes he was silent, and then +resumed: “I don't know if you ever heard of a Colonel Frank Dillon, who +served on Napier's staff in Scinde. Fiery Frank was his nickname among his +comrades, but it only applied to him on the field of battle, and with an +enemy in front. Then he was indeed fiery,—the excitement rose to +almost madness, and led him to acts of almost incredible daring. At Meanee +he was nearly cut to pieces, and as he lay wounded, and to all appearance +dying, he received a lance-wound through the chest that the surgeon +declared must prove fatal. He lived, however, for eight months after,—he +lived long enough to reach the Himalayas, where his daughter, an only +child, joined him from England. On her way out she became acquainted with +a young officer, who was coming out as aide-de-camp to the +Governor-General. They were constantly thrown together on the journey, and +his attentions to her soon showed the sentiments he had conceived for her. +In fact, very soon after Lucy had joined her father, Captain Sewell +appeared 'in the Hills' to make a formal demand of her in marriage. +</p> +<p> +“I was there at the time, and I remember well poor Dillon's expression of +disappointment after the first meeting with him. His daughter's +enthusiastic description of his looks, his manner, his abilities, his +qualities generally, had perhaps prepared him for too much. Indeed, Lucy's +own intense admiration for the soldierlike character of her father's +features assisted the mistake; for, as Dillon said, 'There must be a dash +of the <i>sabreur</i> in the fellow that will win Lucy.' I came into +Dillon's room immediately after the first interview. The instant I caught +his eye I read what was going on in his brain. 'Sit down here, Brook,' +cried he, 'sit in my chair here;' and he arose painfully as he spoke. +'I'll show you the man.' With this he hobbled over to a table where his +cap lay, and, placing it rakishly on one side of his head, he stuck his +eyeglass in one eye, and, with a hand in his trousers-pocket, lounged +forward towards where I sat, saying, 'How d' ye do, Colonel? Wound doing +better, I hope. The breezy climate up here soon set you up.' 'Familiar +enough this, sir,' cried Dillon, in his own stern voice; 'but without time +to breathe, as it were,—before almost I had exchanged a greeting +with him,—he entered upon the object of his journey. I scarcely +heard a word he said; I knew its purport,—I could mark the theme,—but +no more. It was not the fellow himself that filled my mind; my whole +thoughts were upon my daughter, and I went on repeating to myself, “Good +heavens! is this Lucy's choice? Am I in a trance? Is it this contemptible +cur (for he was a cur, sir) that has won the affections of my darling, +high-hearted, generous girl? Is the romantic spirit that I have so loved +to see in her to bear no better fruit than this? Does the fellow realize +to her mind the hero that fills men's thoughts?” I was so overcome, so +excited, so confused, Brook, that I begged him to leave me for a while, +that one of my attacks of pain was coming on, and that I should not be +able to converse farther He said something about trying one of his +cheroots,—some impertinence or other, I forget what; but he left me, +and I, who never knew a touch of girlish weakness in my life, who when a +child had no mood of softness in my nature,—I felt the tears +trickling along my cheeks, and my eyes dimmed with them.' My poor friend,” + continued Fossbrooke, “could not go on; his emotions mastered him, and he +sat with his head buried between his hands and in silence. At last he +said, 'She 'll not give him up, Brook; I have spoken to her,—she +actually loves him. Good heavens!' he cried, 'how little do we know about +our children's hearts! how far astray are we as to the natures that have +grown up beside us, imbibing, as we thought, our hopes, our wishes, and +our prejudices! We awake some day to discover that some other influence +has crept in to undo our teachings, and that the fidelity on which we +would have staked our lives has changed allegiance.' +</p> +<p> +“He talked to me long in this strain, and I saw that the effects of this +blow to all his hopes had made themselves deeply felt on his chance of +recovery. It only needed a great shock to depress him to make his case +hopeless. Within two months after his daughter's arrival he was no more. +</p> +<p> +“I became Lucy's guardian. Poor Dillon gave me the entire control over her +future fortune, and left me to occupy towards her the place he had himself +held. I believe that next to her father I held the best place in her +affections,—of such affections, I mean, as are accorded to a parent. +I was her godfather, and from her earliest infancy she had learned to love +me. The reserve—it was positive coldness—with which Dillon had +always treated Sewell had caused a certain distance, for the first time in +their lives, between the father and daughter. She thought, naturally +enough, that her father was unjust; that, unaccustomed to the new tone of +manners which had grown up amongst young men,—their greater ease, +their less rigid observance of ceremonial, their more liberal +self-indulgence,—he was unfairly severe upon her lover. She was +annoyed, too, that Sewells attempts to conciliate the old man should have +turned out such complete failures. But none of these prejudices extended +to me, and she counted much on the good understanding that she expected to +find grow up between us. +</p> +<p> +“If I could have prevented the marriage, I would. I learned many things of +the man that I disliked. There is no worse sign of a man than to be at the +same time a man of pleasure and friendless. These he was,—he was +foremost in every plan of amusement and dissipation, and yet none liked +him. Vain fellows get quizzed for their vanity, and selfish men laughed at +for their selfishness, and close men for their avarice; but there is a +combination of vanity, egotism, small craftiness, and self-preservation in +certain fellows that is totally repugnant to all companionship. Their +lives are a series of petty successes, not owing to any superior ability +or greater boldness of daring, but to a studious outlook for small +opportunities. They are ever alive to know the 'right man,' to be invited +to the 'right house,' to say the 'right thing.' Never linked with whatever +is in disgrace or misfortune, they are always found backing the winning +horse, if not riding him. +</p> +<p> +“Such men as these, so long as the world goes well with them, and events +turn out fortunately, are regarded simply as sharp, shrewd fellows, with a +keen eye to their own interests. When, however, the weight of any +misfortune comes, when the time arrives that they have to bear up against +the hard pressure of life, these fellows come forth in their true colors, +swindlers and cheats. +</p> +<p> +“Such was he. Finding that I was determined to settle the small fortune +her father had left her inalienably on herself, he defeated me by a +private marriage. He then launched out into a life of extravagance to +which their means bore no proportion. I was a rich man in those days, and +knew nothing better to do with my money than assist the daughter of my +oldest friend. The gallant Captain did not balk my good intentions. He +first accepted, he then borrowed, and last of all he forged my name. I +paid the bills and saved him, not for his sake, I need not tell you, but +for hers, who threw herself at my feet, and implored me not to see them +ruined. Even this act of hers he turned to profit. He wrote to me to say +that he knew his wife had been to my house, that he had long nurtured +suspicions against me,—I that was many years older than her own +father,—that for the future he desired all acquaintance should cease +between us, and that I should not again cross his threshold. +</p> +<p> +“By what persuasions or by what menaces he led his wife to the step, I do +not know; but she passed me when we met without a recognition. This was +the hardest blow of all. I tried to write her a letter; but after a score +of attempts I gave it up, and left the place. +</p> +<p> +“I never saw her for eight years. I wish I had not seen her then. I am an +old, hardened man of the world, one whom life has taught all its lessons +to in the sternest fashion. I have been so baffled and beaten, and thrown +back by all my attempts to think well of the world, that nothing short of +a dogged resolution not to desert my colors has rescued me from a cold +misanthropy; and yet, till I saw, I did not believe there was a new pang +of misery my heart had not tasted. What? it is incredible,—surely +that is not she who once was Lucy Dillon,—that bold-faced woman with +lustrous eyes and rouged cheeks,—brilliant, indeed, and beautiful, +but not the beauty that is allied to the thought of virtue,—whose +every look is a wile, whose every action is entanglement. She was leaning +on a great man's arm, and in the smile she gave him told me how she knew +to purchase such distinctions. He noticed me, and shook my hand as I +passed. I heard him tell her who I was; and I heard her say that I had +been a hanger-on, a sort of dependant of her father's, but she never liked +me! I tried to laugh, but the pain was too deep. I came away, and saw her +no more.” + </p> +<p> +He ceased speaking, and for some time they walked along side by side +without a word. At last he broke out: “Don't believe the people who say +that men are taught by anything they experience in life. Outwardly they +may affect it. They may assume this or that manner. The heart cannot play +the hypocrite, and no frequency of disaster diminishes the smart. The +wondrous resemblance Miss Lendrick bears to Lucy Dillon renews to my +memory the bright days of her early beauty, when her poor father would +call her to sit down at his feet and read to him, that he might gaze at +will on her, weaving whole histories of future happiness and joy for her. +'Is it not like sunshine in the room to see her, Brook?' would he whisper +to me. 'I only heard her voice as she passed under my window this morning, +and I forgot some dark thought that was troubling me.' And there was no +exaggeration in this. The sweet music of her tones “vibrated so softly on +the ear, they soothed the sense, just as we feel soothed by the gentle +ripple of a stream. +</p> +<p> +“All these times come back to me since I have been here, and I cannot tell +you how the very sorrow that is associated with them has its power over +me. Every one knows with what attachment the heart will cling to some +little spot in a far-away land that reminds one of a loved place at home,—how +we delight to bring back old memories, and how we even like to name old +names, to cheat ourselves back into the past. So it is that I feel when I +see this girl. The other Lucy was once as my daughter; so, too, do I +regard her, and with this comes that dreadful sorrow I have told you of, +giving my interest in her an intensity unspeakable. When I saw Trafford's +attention to her, the only thing I thought of was how unlike he was to him +who won the other Lucy. His frank, unaffected bearing, his fine, manly +trustfulness, the very opposite to the other's qualities, made me his +friend at once. When I say friend, I mean well-wisher, for my friendship +now bears no other fruit. Time was when it was otherwise.” + </p> +<p> +“What is it, William?” cried the vicar, as his servant came hurriedly +forward. +</p> +<p> +“There 's a gentleman in the drawing-room, sir, wants to see Sir Brook +Fossbrooke.” + </p> +<p> +“Have I your leave?” said the old man, bowing low. “I 'll join you here +immediately.” + </p> +<p> +Within a few moments he was back again. “It was Trafford. He has just got +a telegram to call him to his regiment. He suspects something has gone +wrong; and seeing his agitation, I offered to go back with him. We start +within an hour.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER X. LENDRICK RECOUNTS HIS VISIT TO TOWN +</h2> +<p> +The vicar having some business to transact in Limerick, agreed to go that +far with Sir Brook and Trafford, and accompanied them to the railroad to +see them off. +</p> +<p> +A down train from Dublin arrived as they were waiting, and a passenger, +descending, hastily hurried after the vicar, and seized his hand. The +vicar, in evident delight, forgot his other friends for a moment, and +became deeply interested in the new-comer. “We must say good-bye, doctor,” + said Fossbrooke; “here comes our train.” + </p> +<p> +“A thousand pardons, my dear Sir Brook. The unlooked-for arrival of my +friend here—but I believe you don't know him. Lendrick, come here, I +want to present you to Sir Brook Fossbrooke. Captain Trafford, Dr. +Lendrick.” + </p> +<p> +“I hope these gentlemen are not departing,” said Lendrick, with the +constraint of a bashful man. +</p> +<p> +“It is our misfortune to do so,” said Sir Brook; “but I have passed too +many happy hours in this neighborhood not to come back to it as soon as I +can.” + </p> +<p> +“I hope we shall see you. I hope I may have an opportunity of thanking +you, Sir Brook.” + </p> +<p> +“Dublin! Dublin! Dublin! get in, gentlemen: first class, this way, sir,” + screamed a guard, amidst a thundering rumble, a scream, and a hiss. All +other words were drowned, and with a cordial shake-hands the new friends +parted. +</p> +<p> +“Is the younger man his son?” asked Lendrick; “I did not catch the name?” + </p> +<p> +“No; he's Trafford, a son of Sir Hugh Trafford,—a Lincolnshire man, +isn't he?” + </p> +<p> +“I don't know. It was of the other I was thinking. I felt it so strange to +see a man of whom when a boy I used to hear so much. I have an old print +somewhere of two over-dressed 'Bloods,' as they were called in those days, +with immense whiskers, styled 'Fossy and Fussy,' meaning Sir Brook and the +Baron Geramb, a German friend and follower of the Prince.” + </p> +<p> +“I suspect a good deal changed since that day, in person as well as +purse,” said the vicar, sadly. +</p> +<p> +“Indeed! I heard of his having inherited some immense fortune.” + </p> +<p> +“So he did, and squandered every shilling of it.” + </p> +<p> +“And the chicks are well, you tell me?” said Lendrick, whose voice +softened as he talked of home and his children. +</p> +<p> +“Could n't be better. We had a little picnic on Holy Island yesterday, and +only wanted yourself to have been perfectly happy. Lucy was for refusing +at first.” + </p> +<p> +“Why so?” + </p> +<p> +“Some notion she had that you would n't like it. Some idea about not doing +in your absence anything that was not usual when you are here.” + </p> +<p> +“She is such a true girl, so loyal,” said Lendrick, proudly. +</p> +<p> +“Well, I take the treason on my shoulders. I made her come. It was a +delightful day, and we drank your health in as good a glass of Madeira as +ever ripened in the sun. Now for your own news?” + </p> +<p> +“First let us get on the road. I am impatient to be back at home again. +Have you your car here?” + </p> +<p> +“All is ready, and waiting for you at the gate.” + </p> +<p> +As they drove briskly along, Lendrick gave the vicar a detailed account of +his visit to Dublin. Passing over the first days, of which the reader +already has heard something, we take up the story from the day on which +Lendrick learned that his father would see him. +</p> +<p> +“My mind was so full of myself, doctor,” said he, “of all the consequences +which had followed from my father's anger with me, that I had no thought +of anything else till I entered the room where he was. Then, however, as I +saw him propped up with pillows in a deep chair, his face pale, his eyes +colorless, and his head swathed up in a bandage after leeching, my heart +sickened, alike with sorrow and shame at my great selfishness. +</p> +<p> +“I had been warned by Beattie on no account to let any show of feeling or +emotion escape me, to be as cool and collected as possible, and in fact, +he said, to behave as though I had seen him the day before. +</p> +<p> +“'Leave the room, Poynder,' said he to his man, 'and suffer no one to +knock at the door—mind, not even to knock—till I ring my +bell.' He waited till the man withdrew, and then in a very gentle voice +said, 'How are you, Tom? I can't give you my right hand,—the +rebellious member has ceased to know me!' I thought I should choke as the +words met me; I don't remember what I said, but I took my chair and sat +down beside him. +</p> +<p> +“'I thought you might have been too much agitated, Tom, but otherwise I +should have wished to have had your advice along with Beattie. I believe, +on the whole, however, he has treated me well.' +</p> +<p> +“I assured him that none could have done more skilfully. +</p> +<p> +“The skill of the doctor with an old patient is the skill of an architect +with an old wall. He must not breach it, or it will tumble to pieces. +</p> +<p> +“'Beattie is very able, sir,' said I. +</p> +<p> +“'No man is able,' replied he, quickly, 'when the question is to repair +the wastes of time and years. Draw that curtain, and let me look at you. +No; stand yonder, where the light is stronger. What! is it my eyes deceive +me,—is your hair white?' +</p> +<p> +“'It has been so eight years, sir.' +</p> +<p> +“'And I had not a gray hair till my seventy-second year,—not one. I +told Beattie, t' other day, that the race of the strong was dying out. +Good heavens, how old you look! Would any one believe in seeing us that +you could be my son?' +</p> +<p> +“'I feel perhaps even more than I look it, sir.' +</p> +<p> +“'I could swear you did. You are the very stamp of those fellows who plead +guilty—“Guilty, my Lord; we throw ourselves on the mercy of the +court.” I don't know how the great judgment-seat regards these pleas,—with +<i>me</i> they meet only scorn. Give me the man who says, “Try me, test +me.” Drop that curtain, and draw the screen across the fire. Speak lower, +too, my dear,' said he, in a weak soft voice; 'you suffer yourself to grow +excited, and you excite me.' +</p> +<p> +“'I will be more cautious, sir,' said I. +</p> +<p> +“'What are these drops he is giving me? They have an acrid sweet taste.' +</p> +<p> +“'Aconite, sir; a weak solution.' +</p> +<p> +“'They say that our laws never forgot feudalism, but I declare I believe +medicine has never been able to ignore alchemy: drop me out twenty, I see +that your hand does not shake. Strange thought, is it not, to feel that a +little phial like that could make a new Baron of the Exchequer? You have +heard, I suppose, of the attempts—the indecent attempts—to +induce me to resign. You have heard what they say of my age. They quote +the registry of my baptism, as though it were the date of a conviction. I +have yet to learn that the years a man has devoted to his country's +service are counts in the indictment against his character. Age has been +less merciful to me than to my fellows,—it has neither made me deaf +to rancor nor blind to ingratitude. I told the Lord-Lieutenant so +yesterday.' +</p> +<p> +“'You saw him then, sir?' asked I. +</p> +<p> +“'Yes, he was gracious enough to call here; he sent his secretary to ask +if I would receive a visit from him. I thought that a little more tact +might have been expected from a man in his station,—it is the common +gift of those in high places. I perceive,' added he, after a pause, 'you +don't see what I mean. It is this: royalties, or mock royalties, for they +are the same in this, condescend to these visits as deathbed attentions. +They come to us with their courtesies as the priest comes with his holy +cruet, only when they have the assurance that we are beyond recovery. His +Excellency ought to have felt that the man to whom he proposed this +attention was not one to misunderstand its significance.' +</p> +<p> +“'Did he remain long, sir?' +</p> +<p> +“'Two hours and forty minutes. I measured it by my watch.' +</p> +<p> +“'Was the fatigue not too much for you?' +</p> +<p> +“'Of course it was; I fainted before he got to his carriage. He twice rose +to go away, but on each occasion I had something to say that induced him +to sit down again. It was the whole case of Ireland we reviewed,—that +is, I did. I deployed the six millions before him, and he took the salute. +Yes, sir, education, religious animosities, land-tenure, drainage, +emigration, secret societies, the rebel priest and the intolerant parson, +even nationality and mendicant insolence, all marched past, and he took +the salute! “And now, my Lord,” said I, “it is the man who tells you these +things, who has the courage to tell and the ability to display them, and +it is this man for whose retirement your Ex-lency is so eager, that you +have actually deigned to make him a visit, that he may carry away into the +next world, perhaps, a pleasing memory of this; it is this man, I say, +whom you propose to replace—and by what, my Lord, and by whom? Will +a mere lawyer, will any amount of <i>nisi prius</i> craft or precedent, +give you the qualities you need on that bench, or that you need, sadly +need, at this council-board? Go back, my Lord, and tell your colleagues of +the Cabinet that Providence is more merciful than a Premier, and that the +same overruling hand that has sustained me through this trial will uphold +me, I trust, for years to serve my country, and save it for some time +longer from your blundering legislation.” + </p> +<p> +“'He stood up, sir, like a prisoner when under sentence; he stood up, sir, +and as he bowed, I waved my adieu to him as though saying, You have heard +me, and you are not to carry away from this place a hope, the faintest, +that any change will come over the determination I have this day declared. +</p> +<p> +“'He went away, and I fainted. The exertion was too long sustained, too +much for me. I believe, after all,' added he, with a smile, 'his +Excellency bore it very little better. He told the Archbishop the same +evening that he'd not go through another such morning for “the garter.” + Men in his station hear so little of truth that it revolts them like +coarse diet. They 'd rather abstain altogether till forced by actual +hunger to touch it. When they come to me, however, it is the only fare +they will find before them.' +</p> +<p> +“There was a long pause after this,” continued Lendrick. “I saw that the +theme had greatly excited him, and I forbore to say a word, lest he should +be led to resume it. 'Too old for the bench!' burst he out suddenly; 'my +Lord, there are men who are never too old, as there are those who are +never too young. The oak is but a sapling when the pine is in decay. Is +there that glut of intellect just now in England, are we so surfeited with +ability that, to make room for the coming men, we, who have made our mark +on the age, must retire into obscurity?' He tried to rise from his seat; +his face was flushed, and his eyes flashing; he evidently forgot where he +was, and with whom, for he sank back with a faint sigh, and said, 'Let us +talk of it no more. Let us think of something else. Indeed, it was to talk +of something else I desired to see you.' He went on, then, to say that he +wished something could be done for me. His own means were, he said, sadly +crippled; he spoke bitterly, resentfully, I thought. 'It is too long a +story to enter on, and were it briefer, too disagreeable a one,' added he. +'I ought to be a rich man, and I am poor; I should be powerful, and I have +no influence. All has gone ill with me.' After a silence, he continued, +'They have a place to offer you: the inspectorship, I think they call it, +of hospitals at the Cape; it is worth, altogether, nigh a thousand a year, +a thing not to be refused.' +</p> +<p> +“'The offer could only be made in compliment to you, sir; and if my +acceptance were to compromise your position—' +</p> +<p> +“'Compromise <i>me!</i>' broke he in. 'I 'll take care it shall not. No +man need instruct me in the art of self-defence, sir. Accept at once.' +</p> +<p> +“'I will do whatever you desire, sir,' was my answer. +</p> +<p> +“'Go out there yourself, alone,—at first, I mean. Let your boy +continue his college career; the girl shall come to me.' +</p> +<p> +“'I have never been separated from my children, sir,' said I, almost +trembling with anxiety. +</p> +<p> +“'Such separations are bearable,' added he, 'when it is duty dictates +them, not disobedience.' +</p> +<p> +“He fixed his eyes sternly on me, and I trembled as I thought that the +long score of years was at last come to the reckoning. He did not dwell on +the theme, however, but in a tone of much gentler meaning, went on: 'It +will be an act of mercy to let me see a loving face, to hear a tender +voice. Your boy would be too rough for me.' +</p> +<p> +“'You would like him, sir. He is thoroughly truthful and honest.' +</p> +<p> +“'So he may, and yet be self-willed, be noisy, be over-redolent of that +youth which age resents like outrage. Give me the girl, Tom; let her come +here, and bestow some of those loving graces on the last hours of my life +her looks show she should be rich in. For your sake she will be kind to +me. Who knows what charm there may be in gentleness, even to a +tiger-nature like mine? Ask her, at least, if she will make the +sacrifice.' +</p> +<p> +“I knew not what to answer. If I could not endure the thought of parting +from Lucy, yet it seemed equally impossible to refuse his entreaty,—old, +friendless, and deserted as he was. I felt, besides, that my only hope of +a real reconciliation with him lay through this road; deny him this, and +it was clear he would never see me more. He said, too, it should only be +for a season. I was to see how the place, the climate, suited for a +residence. In a word, every possible argument to reconcile me to the +project rushed to my mind, and I at last said, 'Lucy shall decide, sir. I +will set out for home at once, and you shall have her own answer.' +</p> +<p> +“'Uninfluenced, sir,' cried he,—'mind that. If influence were to be +used, I could perhaps tell her what might decide her at once; but I would +not that pity should plead for me, till she should have seen if I be worth +compassion! There is but one argument I will permit in my favor,—tell +her that her picture has been my pleasantest companion these three long +days. There it lies, always before me. Go now, and let me hear from you as +soon as may be.' I arose, but somehow my agitation, do what I would, +mastered me. It was so long since we had met! All the sorrows the long +estrangement had cost me came to my mind, together with little touches of +his kindness in long-past years, and I could not speak. 'Poor Tom! poor +Tom!' said he, drawing me towards him; and he kissed me.” + </p> +<p> +As Lendrick said this, emotion overcame him, and he covered his face with +his hands, and sobbed bitterly. More than a mile of road was traversed +before a word passed between them. “There they are, doctor! There 's Tom, +there's Lucy! They are coming to meet me,” cried he. “Good-bye, doctor; +you 'll forgive me, I know,—goodbye;” and he sprang off the car as +he spoke, while the vicar, respecting the sacredness of the joy, wheeled +his horse round, and drove back towards the town. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XI. CAVE CONSULTS SIR BROOK +</h2> +<p> +A few minutes after the Adjutant had informed Colonel Cave that Lieutenant +Traflford had reported himself, Sir Brook entered the Colonel's quarters, +eager to know what was the reason of the sudden recall of Traflford, and +whether the regiment had been unexpectedly ordered for foreign service. +</p> +<p> +“No, no,” said Cave, in some confusion. “We have had our turn of India and +the Cape; they can't send us away again for some time. It was purely +personal; it was, I may say, a private reason. You know,” added he, with a +slight smile, “I am acting as a sort of guardian to Trafford just now. His +family sent him over to me, as to a reformatory.” + </p> +<p> +“From everything I have seen of him, your office will be an easy one.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, I suspect that, so far as mere wildness goes,—extravagance +and that sort of thing,—he has had enough of it; but there are +mistakes that a young fellow may make in life—mistakes in judgment—which +will damage him more irreparably than all his derelictions against +morality.” + </p> +<p> +“That I deny,—totally, entirely deny. I know what you mean,—that +is, I think I know what you mean; and if I guess aright, I am distinctly +at issue with you on this matter.” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps I could convince you, notwithstanding. Here's a letter which I +have no right to show you; it is marked 'Strictly confidential and +private.' You shall read it,—nay, you must read it,—because +you are exactly the man to be able to give advice on the matter. You like +Traflford, and wish him well. Read that over carefully, and tell me what +you would counsel.” + </p> +<p> +Fossbrooke took out his spectacles, and, having seated himself +comfortably, with his back to the light, began in leisurely fashion to +peruse the letter. “It's his mother who writes,” said he, turning to the +signature,—“one of the most worldly women I ever met. She was a +Lascelles. Don't you know how she married Trafford?” + </p> +<p> +“I don't remember, if I ever heard.” + </p> +<p> +“It was her sister that Trafford wanted to marry, but she was ambitious to +be a peeress; and as Bradbrook was in love with her, she told Sir Hugh, 'I +have got a sister so like me nobody can distinguish between us. She 'd +make an excellent wife for you. She rides far better than me, and she is +n't half so extravagant. I 'll send for her.' She did so, and the whole +thing was settled in a week.” + </p> +<p> +“They have lived very happily together.” + </p> +<p> +“Of course they have. They didn't 'go in,' as the speculators say, for +enormous profits; they realized very fairly, and were satisfied. I wish +her handwriting had been more cared for. What's this she says here about a +subscription?” + </p> +<p> +“That 's supervision,—the supervision of a parent.” + </p> +<p> +“Supervision of a fiddlestick! the fellow is six feet one inch high, and +seven-and-twenty years of age; he's quite beyond supervision. Ah! brought +back all his father's gout, has he? When will people begin to admit that +their own tempers have something to say to their maladies? I curse the +cook who made the mulligatawny, but I forget that I ate two platefuls of +it. So it's the doctor's daughter she objects to. I wish she saw her. I +wish <i>you</i> saw her, Cave. You are an old frequenter of courts and +drawing-rooms. I tell you you have seen nothing like this doctor's +daughter since Laura Bedingfield was presented, and that was before your +day.” + </p> +<p> +“Every one has heard of the Beauty Bedingfield; but she was my mother's +contemporary.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, sir, her successors have not eclipsed her! This doctor's daughter, +as your correspondent calls her, is the only rival of her that I have ever +seen. As to wit and accomplishments, Laura could not compete with Lucy +Lendrick.” + </p> +<p> +“You know her, then?” asked the Colonel; and then added, “Tell me +something about the family.” + </p> +<p> +“With your leave, I will finish this letter first. Ah! here we have the +whole secret. Lionel Trafford is likely to be that precious prize, an +eldest son. Who could have thought that the law of entail could sway a +mother's affections? 'Contract no ties inconsistent with his station.' +This begins to be intolerable, Cave. I don't think I can go on.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, yes; read it through.” + </p> +<p> +“She asks you if you know any one who knows these Hendrichs or Lendrichs; +tell her that you do; tell her that your friend is one of those men who +have seen a good deal of life, heard more, too, than he has seen. She will +understand that, and that his name is Sir Brook Fossbrooke, who, if +needed, will think nothing of a journey over to Lincolnshire to afford her +all the information she could wish for. Say this, Cave, and take my word +for it, she will put very few more questions to you.” + </p> +<p> +“That would be to avow I had already consulted with you. No, no; I must +not do that.” + </p> +<p> +“The wind-up of the epistle is charming. 'I have certainly no reason to +love Ireland.' Poor Ireland! here is another infliction upon you. Let us +hope you may never come to know that Lady Trafford cannot love you.” + </p> +<p> +“Come, come, Fossbrooke, be just, be fair; there is nothing so very +unreasonable in the anxiety of a mother that her son, who will have a good +name and a large estate, should not share them both with a person beneath +him.” + </p> +<p> +“Why must she assume that this is the case,—why take it for granted +that this girl must be beneath him? I tell you, sir, if a prince of the +blood had fallen in love with her, it would be a reason to repeal the +Royal Marriage Act.” + </p> +<p> +“I declare, Fossbrooke, I shall begin to suspect that your own heart has +not escaped scathless,” said Cave, laughing. +</p> +<p> +The old man's face became crimson, but not with anger. As suddenly it grew +pale; and in a voice of deep agitation he said, “When an old man like +myself lays his homage at her feet, it is not hard to believe how a young +man might love her.” + </p> +<p> +“How did you come to make this acquaintance?” said Cave, anxious to turn +the conversation into a more familiar channel. +</p> +<p> +“We chanced to fail in with her brother on the river. We found him +struggling with a fish far too large for his tackle, and which at last +smashed his rod and got away. He showed not alone that he was a perfect +angler, but that he was a fine-tempered fellow, who accepted his defeat +manfully and well; he had even a good word for his enemy, sir, and it was +that which attracted me. Trafford and he, young-men-like, soon understood +each other; he came into our boat, lunched with us, and asked us home with +him to tea. There 's the whole story. As to the intimacy that followed, it +was mostly my own doing. I own to you I never so much as suspected that +Trafford was smitten by her; he was always with her brother, scarcely at +all in her company; and when he came to tell me he was in love, I asked +him how he caught the malady, for I never saw him near the infection. Once +that I knew of the matter, however, I made him write home to his family.” + </p> +<p> +“It was by your advice, then, that he wrote that letter?” + </p> +<p> +“Certainly; I not only advised, I insisted on it,—I read it, too, +before it was sent off. It was such a letter as, if I had been the young +fellow's father, would have made me prouder than to hear he had got the +thanks of Parliament.” + </p> +<p> +“You and I, Fossbrooke, are old bachelors; we are scarcely able to say +what we should have done if we had had sons.” + </p> +<p> +“I am inclined to believe it would have made us better, not worse,” said +Fossbrooke, gravely. +</p> +<p> +“At all events, as it was at your instigation this letter was written, I +can't well suggest your name as an impartial person in the transaction,—I +mean, as one who can be referred to for advice or information.” + </p> +<p> +“Don't do so, sir, or I shall be tempted to say more than may be prudent. +Have you never noticed, Cave, the effect that a doctor's presence produces +in the society of those who usually consult him,—the reserve,—the +awkwardness,—the constraint,—the apologetic tone for this or +that little indiscretion,—the sitting in the draught or the extra +glass of sherry? So is it, but in a far stronger degree, when an old man +of the world like myself comes back amongst those he formerly lived with,—one +who knew all their past history, how they succeeded here, how they failed +there,—what led the great man of fashion to finish his days in a +colony, and why the Court beauty married a bishop. Ah, sir, we are the +physicians who have all these secrets in our keeping. It is ours to know +what sorrow is covered by that smile, how that merry laugh has but +smothered the sigh of a heavy heart. It is only when a man has lived to my +age, with an unfailing memory too, that he knows the real hollowness of +life,—all the combinations falsified, all the hopes blighted,—the +clever fellows that have turned out failures, or worse than failures,—the +lovely women that have made shipwreck through their beauty. It is not +only, however, that he knows this, but he knows how craft and cunning have +won where ability and frankness have lost,—how intrigue and trick +have done better than genius and integrity. With all this knowledge, sir, +in their heads, and stout hearts within them, such men as myself have +their utility in life. They are a sort of walking conscience that cannot +be ignored. The railroad millionnaire talks less boastfully before him who +knew him as an errand-boy; the <i>grande dame</i> is less superciliously +insolent in the presence of one who remembered her in a very different +character. Take my word for it, Cave, Nestor may have been a bit of a bore +amongst the young Greeks of fashion, but he had his utility too.” + </p> +<p> +“But how am I to answer this letter? What advice shall I give her?” + </p> +<p> +“Tell her frankly that you have made the inquiry she wished; that the +young lady, who is as well born as her son, is without fortune, and if her +personal qualities count for nothing, would be what the world would call a +'bad match.'” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, that sounds practicable. I think that will do.” + </p> +<p> +“Tell her, also, that if she seriously desires that her son should +continue in the way of that reformation he has so ardently followed for +some time back, and especially so since he has made the acquaintance of +this family, such a marriage as this would give her better reasons for +confidence than all her most crafty devices in match-making and +settlements.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't think I can exactly tell her that,” said Caver smiling. +</p> +<p> +“Tell her, then, that if this connection be not to her liking, to withdraw +her son at once from this neighborhood before this girl should come to +care for him; for if she should, by heavens! he shall marry her, if every +acre of the estate were to go to a cousin ten times removed!” + </p> +<p> +“Were not these people all strangers to you t' other day, Fossbrooke?” + said Cave, in something like a tone of reprehension. +</p> +<p> +“So they were. I had never so much as heard of them; but she, this girl, +has a claim upon my interest, founded on a resemblance so strong that when +I see her, I live back again in the long past, and find myself in converse +with the dearest friends I ever had. I vow to Heaven I never knew the +bitterness of want of fortune till now! I never felt how powerless and +insignificant poverty can make a man till I desired to contribute to this +girl's happiness; and if I were not an old worthless wreck,—shattered +and unseaworthy,—I 'd set to work to-morrow to refit and try to make +a fortune to bestow on her.” + </p> +<p> +If Cave was half disposed to banter the old man on what seemed little +short of a devoted attachment, the agitation of Fossbrooke's manner—his +trembling lip, his shaking voice, his changing color—all warned him +to forbear, and abstain from what might well have proved a perilous +freedom. +</p> +<p> +“You will dine with us at mess, Fossbrooke, won't you?” + </p> +<p> +“No; I shall return at once to Killaloe. I made Dr. Lendrick's +acquaintance just as I started by the train. I want to see more of him. +Besides, now that I know what was the emergency that called young Trafford +up here, I have nothing to detain me.” + </p> +<p> +“Shall you see him before you go?” + </p> +<p> +“Of course. I am going over to his quarters now.” + </p> +<p> +“You will not mention our conversation?” + </p> +<p> +“Certainly not.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'd like to show you my letter before I send it off. I 'd be glad to +think it was what you recommended.” + </p> +<p> +“Write what you feel to be a fair statement of the case, and if by any +chance an inclination to partiality crosses you, let it be in favor of the +young. Take my word for it, Cave, there is a selfishness in age that needs +no ally. Stand by the sons; the fathers and mothers will take care of +themselves. Good-bye.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XII. A GREAT MAN'S SCHOOLFELLOW +</h2> +<p> +Whether it was that the Chief Baron had thrown off an attack which had +long menaced him, and whose slow approaches had gradually impaired his +strength and diminished his mental activity, or whether, as some of his +“friends” suggested, that the old man's tenure of life had been renewed by +the impertinences of the newspapers and the insolent attacks of political +foes,—an explanation not by any means far-fetched,—whatever +the cause, he came out of his illness with all the signs of renewed vigor, +and with a degree of mental acuteness that he had not enjoyed for many +years before. +</p> +<p> +“Beattie tells me that this attack has inserted another life in my lease,” + said he; “and I am glad of it. It is right that the men who speculated on +my death should be reminded of the uncertainty of life by the negative +proof. It is well, too, that there should be men long-lived enough to +bridge over periods of mediocrity, and connect the triumphs of the past +with the coming glories of the future. We are surely not destined to a +perpetuity of Pendletons and Fitzgibbons?” + </p> +<p> +It was thus he discoursed to an old legal comrade,—who, less gifted +and less fortunate, still wore his stuff gown, and pleaded for the outer +bar,—poor old Billy Haire, the dreariest advocate, and one of the +honestest fellows that ever carried his bag into court. While nearly all +of his contemporaries had risen to rank and eminence, Billy toiled on +through life with small success, liked by his friends, respected by the +world, but the terror of attorneys, who only saw in him the type of +adverse decisions and unfavorable verdicts. +</p> +<p> +For forty-odd years had he lived a life that any but himself would have +deemed martyrdom,—his law laughed at, his eloquence ridiculed, his +manner mimicked, jeered at by the bench, quizzed by the bar, sneered at by +the newspapers, every absurd story tagged to his name, every stupid +blunder fathered on him, till at last, as it were, by the mere force of +years, the world came to recognize the incomparable temper that no +provocation had ever been able to irritate, the grand nature that rose +above all resentment, and would think better of its fellows than these +moods of spiteful wit or impertinent drollery might seem to entitle them +to. +</p> +<p> +The old Judge liked him; he liked his manly simplicity of character, his +truthfulness, and his honesty; but perhaps more than all these, did he +like his dulness. It was so pleasant to him to pelt this poor heavy man +with smart epigrams and pungent sarcasms on all that was doing in the +world, and see the hopeless effort he made to follow him. +</p> +<p> +Billy, too, had another use; he alone, of all the Chief Baron's friends, +could tell him what was the current gossip of the hall,—what men +thought, or at least what they said of him. The genuine simplicity of +Haire's nature gave to his revelations a character so devoid of all +spitefulness,—it was so evident that, in repeating, he never +identified himself with his story that Lendrick would listen to words from +him that, coming from another, his resentment would have repelled with +indignation. +</p> +<p> +“And you tell me that the story now is, my whole attack was nothing but +temper?” said the old Judge, as the two men walked slowly up and down on +the grass lawn before the door. +</p> +<p> +“Not that exactly; but they say that constitutional irritability had much +to say to it.” + </p> +<p> +“It was, in fact, such a seizure as, with a man like yourself, would have +been a mere nothing.” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps so.” + </p> +<p> +“I am sure of it, sir; and what more do they say?” + </p> +<p> +“All sorts of things, which, of course, they know nothing about. Some have +it that you refused the peerage, others that it was not offered.” + </p> +<p> +“Ha!” said the old man, irritably, while a faint flush tinged his cheek. +</p> +<p> +“They say, too,” continued Haire, “that when the Viceroy informed you that +you were not to be made a peer, you said: 'Let the Crown look to it, then. +The Revenue cases all come to my court; and so long as I sit there, they +shall never have a verdict.'” + </p> +<p> +“You must have invented that yourself, Billy,” said the Judge, with a +droll malice in his eye. “Come, confess it is your own. It is <i>so</i> +like you.” + </p> +<p> +“No, on my honor,” said the other, solemnly. +</p> +<p> +“Not that I would take it ill, Haire, if you had. When a man has a turn +for epigram, his friends must extend their indulgence to the humor.” + </p> +<p> +“I assure you, positively, it is not mine.” + </p> +<p> +“That is quite enough; let us talk of something else. By the way, I have a +letter to show you. I put it in my pocket this morning, to let you see it; +but, first of all, I must show you the writer,—here she is.” He drew +forth a small miniature case, and, opening it, handed it to the other. +</p> +<p> +“What a handsome girl! downright beautiful!” + </p> +<p> +“My granddaughter, sir,” said the old man, proudly. +</p> +<p> +“I declare, I never saw a lovelier face,” said Haire. “She must be a rare +cheat if she be not as good as she is beautiful. What a sweet mouth!” + </p> +<p> +“The brow is fine; there is a high intelligence about the eyes and the +temples.” + </p> +<p> +“It is the smile, that little lurking smile, that captivates me. What may +her age be?” + </p> +<p> +“Something close on twenty. Now for her letter. Read that.” + </p> +<p> +While Haire perused the letter, the old Judge sauntered away, looking from +time to time at the miniature, and muttering some low inaudible words as +he went. +</p> +<p> +“I don't think I understand it. I am at a loss to catch what she is +drifting at,” said Haire, as he finished the first side of the letter. +“What is she so grateful for?” + </p> +<p> +“You think the case is one which calls for little gratitude, then. What a +sarcastic mood you are in this morning, Haire!” said the Judge, with a +malicious twinkle of the eye. “Still, there are young ladies in the world +who would vouchsafe to bear me company in requital for being placed at the +head of such a house as this.” + </p> +<p> +“I can make nothing of it,” said the other, hopelessly. +</p> +<p> +“The case is this,” said the Judge, as he drew his arm within the other's. +“Tom Lendrick has beeu offered a post of some value—some value to a +man poor as he is—at the Cape. I have told him that his acceptance +in no way involves me. I have told those who have offered the place that I +stand aloof in the whole negotiation,—that in their advancement of +my son they establish no claim upon <i>me</i>, I have even said I will +know nothing whatever of the incident.” He paused for some minutes, and +then went on: “I have told Tom, however, if his circumstances were such as +to dispose him to avail himself of this offer, that—until he assured +himself that the place was one to his liking, that it gave a reasonable +prospect of permanence, that the climate was salubrious, and the society +not distasteful—I would take his daughter to live with me.” + </p> +<p> +“He has a son, too, has n't he?” + </p> +<p> +“He has, sir, and he fain would have induced me to take <i>him</i> instead +of the girl; but this I would not listen to. I have not nerves for the +loud speech and boisterous vitality of a young fellow of four or five and +twenty. His very vigor would be a standing insult to me, and the fellow +would know it. When men come to my age, they want a mild atmosphere in +morals and manners, as well as in climate. My son's physiology has not +taught him this, doctor though he be.” + </p> +<p> +“I see,—I see it all now,” said Haire; “and the girl, though sorry +to be separated from her father, is gratified by the thought of becoming a +tie between him and you.” + </p> +<p> +“That is not in the record, sir,” said the Judge, sternly. “Keep to your +brief.” He took the letter sharply from the other's hand as he spoke. “My +granddaughter has not had much experience of life; but her woman's tact +has told her that her real difficulty—her only one, perhaps—will +be with Lady Lendrick. She cannot know that Lady Lendrick's authority in +this house is nothing,—less than nothing. I would never have invited +her to come here, had it been otherwise.” + </p> +<p> +“Have you apprised Lady Lendrick of this arrangement?” + </p> +<p> +“No, sir; nor shall I. it shall be for you to do that 'officiously,' as +the French say, to distinguish from what is called 'officially.' I mean +you to call upon her and say, in the course of conversation, informally, +accidentally, that Miss Lendrick's arrival at the Priory has been +deferred, or that it is fixed for such a date,—in fact, sir, +whatever your own nice tact may deem the neatest mode of alluding to the +topic, leaving to her the reply. You understand me?” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm not so sure that I do.” + </p> +<p> +“So much the better; your simplicity will be more inscrutable than your +subtlety, Haire. I can deal with the one—the other masters me.” + </p> +<p> +“I declare frankly I don't like the mission. I was never, so to say, a +favorite with her Ladyship.” + </p> +<p> +“Neither was I, sir,” said the other, with a peremptory loudness that was +almost startling. +</p> +<p> +“Hadn't you better intimate it by a few lines in a note? Had n't you +better say that, having seen your son during his late visit to town, and +learnt his intention to accept a colonial appointment—” + </p> +<p> +“All this would be apologetic, sir, and must not be thought of. Don't you +know, Haire, that every unnecessary affidavit is a flaw in a man's case? +Go and see her; your very awkwardness will imply a secret, and she 'll be +so well pleased with her acuteness in discovering the mystery, she 'll +half forget its offence.” + </p> +<p> +“Let me clearly understand what I' ve got to do. I 'm to tell her or to +let her find out that you have been reconciled to your son Tom?” + </p> +<p> +“There is not a word of reconciliation, sir, in all your instructions. You +are to limit yourself to the statement that touches my granddaughter.” + </p> +<p> +“Very well; it will be so much the easier. I'm to say, then, that you have +adopted her, and placed her at the head of your house; that she is to live +here in all respects as its mistress?” + </p> +<p> +He paused; and as the Judge bowed a concurrence, he went on: “Of course +you will allow me to add that I was never consulted; that you did not ask +my opinion, and that I never gave one?” + </p> +<p> +“You are at liberty to, say all this.” + </p> +<p> +“I would even say that I don't exactly see how the thing will work. A very +young girl, with of course a limited experience of life, will have no +common difficulties in dealing with a world so new and strange, +particularly without the companionship of one of her own sex.” + </p> +<p> +“I cannot promise to supply that want, but she shall see as much of <i>you</i> +as possible.” And the words were uttered with a blended courtesy and +malice, of which he was perfect master. Poor Haire, however, only saw the +complimentary part, and hurriedly pledged himself to be at Miss Lendrick's +orders at all times. +</p> +<p> +“Come and let me show you how I mean to lodge her. I intend her to feel a +perfect independence of me and my humors. We are to see each other from +inclination, not constraint: I intend, sir that we should live on good +terms; and as the Church will have nothing to say to the compact, it is +possible it may succeed. +</p> +<p> +“These rooms are to be hers,” said he, opening a door which offered a <i>vista</i> +through several handsomely furnished rooms, all looking out upon a neatly +kept flower-garden. “Lady Lendrick, I believe, had long since destined +them for a son and daughter-in-law of hers, who are on their way home from +India. The plan will be now all the more difficult of accomplishment.” + </p> +<p> +“Which will not make my communication to her the pleasanter.” + </p> +<p> +“But redound so much the more to the credit of your adroitness, Haire, if +you succeed. Come over here this evening and report progress.” And with +this he nodded an easy good-bye, and strolled down the garden. +</p> +<p> +“I don't envy Haire his brief in this case,” muttered he. “He'll not have +the 'court with him,' that's certain;” and he laughed spitefully to +himself as he went. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XIII. LAST DAYS +</h2> +<p> +It may seem a hardship, but not improbably it is in its way an +alleviation, that we are never involved in any of the great trials in life +without having to deal with certain material embarrassments, questions of +vulgar interest which concern our pockets and affect our finances. +</p> +<p> +Poor Lendrick's was a case in point. He was about to leave his country,—to +tear himself from a home he had embellished,—to separate from his +children that he loved so dearly, to face a new life in a new land, +friendless and alone; and with all these cares on his heart, he had +creditors to satisfy, debts to insure payment of by security, and, not +least of his troubles, his house to relet. Now, the value the world sets +on that which is not for sale is very unlike its estimate for the same +commodity when brought to market. The light claret your friend pronounced +a very pleasant little wine at your own table, he would discover, when +offered for purchase, to be poor, washy, and acrid. The horse you had left +him, and whose performance he had encomiumized, if put up to auction, +would be found spavined, or windgalled, or broken-down. Such a stern test +is money, so fearfully does its coarse jingle jar upon all the music of +flattery, and make discord of all compliment. To such a pitch is the +process carried, that even pretty women, who as wives were objects of +admiration to despairing and disappointed adorers, have become, by +widowhood, very ordinary creatures, simply because they are once more “in +the market.” + </p> +<p> +It is well for us that heaven itself was not in the “Price Current,” or we +might have begun to think lightly of it. At all events we 'd have higgled +about the cost, and tried to get there as cheaply as might be. +</p> +<p> +From the day that the Swan's Nest appeared in the Dublin papers “to be let +furnished, for the three years of an unexpired term,” Lendrick was +besieged by letters and applications. All the world apparently wanted the +place, but wanted it in some way or other quite out of his power to +accord. One insisted on having it unfurnished, and for a much longer +period than he could give. Another desired more land, and the right of +shooting over several hundred additional acres. A third would like the +house and garden, but would not burden himself with the lawn, and could +not see why Lendrick might not continue to hold the meadow-land, and come +back from the Cape or anywhere else to mow the grass and rick it in due +season. +</p> +<p> +A schoolmistress proposed he should build a dormitory for thirty young +ladies, and make the flower-garden into a playground; and a miller from +Limerick inquired whether he was willing to join in a suit to establish a +right of water-power by diverting a stream from the Shannon through the +dining-room to turn an undershot wheel. +</p> +<p> +It was marvellous with what patience and courtesy Lendrick replied to +these and such-like, politely assuring the writers how he regretted his +inability to meet their wishes, and modestly confessing that he had +neither the money nor the time to make his house other than it was. +</p> +<p> +All these, however, were as nothing to his trials when the day arrived +when the house and grounds, in the language of the advertisement, were “on +view,” and the world of the curious and idle were free to invade the +place, stroll at will through rooms and gardens, comment and criticise not +merely the objects before them, but the taste and the fortunes, the habits +and the lives of those who had made this their home, and these things part +of their own natures. +</p> +<p> +In a half-jesting humor, but really to save Lendrick from a mortification +which, to a nature timid and sensitive as his, would have been torture, +Sir Brook and Tom agreed to divide the labors of ciceroneship between +them; the former devoting his attentions to the house and furniture, while +Tom assumed the charge of grounds and gardens. To complete the +arrangement, Lendrick and Lucy were banished to a small summer-house, and +strictly enjoined never to venture abroad so long as the stranger horde +overran the territory. +</p> +<p> +“I declare, my dear, I almost think the remedy worse than the disease,” + said Lendrick to his daughter, as he paced with short feverish steps the +narrow limits of his prison-house. “This isolation here has something +secret, something that suggests shame about it. I think I could almost +rather face all the remarks our visitors might make than sit down here to +fancy and brood over them.” + </p> +<p> +“I suspect not, dearest papa; I believe the plan will spare us much that +might pain us.” + </p> +<p> +“After all, child, these people have a right to be critical, and they are +not bound to know by what associations you and I are tied to that old +garden-seat or that bookstand, and we ought to be able to avoid showing +them this.” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps we ought, papa; but could we do so? that's-the question.” + </p> +<p> +“Surely the tradesman affects no such squeamishness about what he offers +for sale.” + </p> +<p> +“True, papa; because none of his wares have caught any clew to his +identity. They have never been his in the sense which makes possession +pleasure.” + </p> +<p> +“I wish they would not laugh without there; their coarse laughter sounds +to me so like vulgar ridicule. I hardly thought all this would have made +me so irritable; even the children's voices jar on my nerves.” + </p> +<p> +He turned away his head, but her eyes followed him, and two heavy tears +stole slowly along her cheek, and her lip quivered as she looked. +</p> +<p> +“There, they are going away,” said he, listening; “I am better now.” + </p> +<p> +“That 's right, dearest papa; I knew it was a mere passing pang,” said +she, drawing her arm within his, and walking along at his side. “How kind +Sir Brook is!” + </p> +<p> +“How kind every one, we might say. Poor Mills is like a brother, and Tobin +too,—I scarcely expected so much heart from him. He gave me his old +lancet-case as a keepsake yesterday, and I declare his voice trembled as +he said good-bye.” + </p> +<p> +“As for the poor people, I hear, papa, that one would think they had lost +their nearest and dearest. Molly Dew says they were crying in her house +this morning over their breakfast as if it was a funeral.” + </p> +<p> +“Is it not strange, Lucy, that what touches the heart so painfully should +help to heal the pang it gives? There is that in all this affection for us +that gladdens while it grieves. All,—all are so kind to us! That +young fellow—Trafford I think his name is—he was waiting at +the post for his letters this morning when I came up, and it seems that +Foss-brooke had told him of my appointment,—indiscreet of him, for I +would not wish it talked of; but Trafford turned to him and said, 'Ask Dr. +Lendrick, is he decided about going;' and when he heard that I was, he +scarcely said goodbye, but jumped into a cab, and drove off full speed. +</p> +<p> +“'What does that mean?' asked I. +</p> +<p> +“'He was so fond of Tom,' said Fossbrooke, 'they were never separate this +last month or five weeks;' so you see, darling, each of us has his sphere +of love and affection.” + </p> +<p> +Lucy was crimson over face and neck, but never spoke a word. Had she +spoken it would have been, perhaps, to corroborate Sir Brook, and to say +how fond the young men were of each other. I do not affirm this, I only +hint that it is likely. Where there are blanks in this narrative, the +reader has as much right to fill them as myself. +</p> +<p> +“Sir Brook,” continued Lendrick, “thinks well of the young man; but for my +own part I hardly like to see Tom in close companionship with one so much +his superior in fortune. He is easily led, and has not yet learned that +stern lesson in life, how to confess that there are many things he has no +pretension to aspire to.” + </p> +<p> +“Tom loves you too sincerely, papa, ever to do that which would seriously +grieve you.” + </p> +<p> +“He would not deliberately,—he would not in cold blood, Lucy; but +young men, when together, have not many moods of deliberation or cold +blood. But let us not speculate on trouble that may never come. It is +enough for the present that he and Trafford are separated, if Trafford was +even likely to lead him into ways of extravagance.” + </p> +<p> +“What 's that! Is n't it, Tom? He's laughing heartily at something. Yes; +here he comes.” + </p> +<p> +“You may come out; the last of them has just driven off,” cried Tom, +knocking at the door, while he continued to laugh on immoderately. +</p> +<p> +“What is it, Tom? What are you laughing at?” + </p> +<p> +“You should have seen it; it's nothing to tell, but it was wonderful to +witness. I'll never forget it as long as I live.” + </p> +<p> +“But what was it?” asked she, impatiently. +</p> +<p> +“I thought we had fully done with all our visitors,—and a rum set +they were, most of them, not thinking of taking the place, but come out of +mere curiosity,—when who should drive up with two postilions and +four spicy grays but Lady Drumcarran and a large party, three horsemen +following? I just caught the word 'Excellency,' and found out from one of +the servants that a tall old man with white hair and very heavy eyebrows +was the Lord-Lieutenant. He stooped a good deal, and walked tenderly; and +as the Countess was most eager about the grounds and the gardens, they +parted company very soon, he going into the house to sit down, while she +prosecuted her inquiries without doors. +</p> +<p> +“I took him into the library; we had a long chat about fishing, and +fish-curing, and the London markets, and flax, and national education, and +land-tenure, and such-like. Of course I affected not to know who he was, +and I took the opportunity to say scores of impertinences about the +stupidity of the Castle, and the sort of men they send over here to govern +us; and he asked me if I was destined for any career or profession, and I +told him frankly that whenever I took up anything I always was sure to +discover it was the one very thing that didn't suit me; and as I made this +unlucky discovery in law, medicine, and the Church, I had given up my +college career, and was now in a sort of interregnal period, wondering +what it was to be next. I did n't like to own that the <i>res angusto</i> +had anything to say to it. It was no business of his to know about that. +</p> +<p> +“'You surely have friends able and willing to suggest something that would +fit you,' said he. 'Is not the Chief Baron your grandfather?' +</p> +<p> +“'Yes, and he might make me crier of his court; but I think he has +promised the reversion to his butler. The fact is, I 'd not do over well +with any fixed responsibilities attached to me. I 'd rather be a guerilla +than serve in the regulars, and so I 'll just wait and see if something +won't turn up in that undisciplined force I 'd like to serve with.' +</p> +<p> +“'I 'll give you my name,' said he, 'before we part, and possibly I may +know some one who might be of use to you.' +</p> +<p> +“I thanked him coolly, and we talked of something else, when there came a +short plump little fellow, all beard and gold chains, to say that Lady +Drumcarran was waiting for him. 'Tell her I'm coming,' said he; 'and, +Balfour,' he cried out, 'before you go away, give this gentleman my +address, and if he should call, take care that I see him.' +</p> +<p> +“Balfour eyed me, and I eyed him, with, I take it, pretty much the same +result, which said plainly enough, 'You 're not the man for me.' +</p> +<p> +“'What in heaven's name is this?' cried the Viceroy, as he got outside and +saw Lady Drumcarran at the head of a procession carrying plants, slips, +and flower-pots down to the carriage. +</p> +<p> +“'Her Ladyship has made a raid amongst the greeneries,' said Balfour, 'and +tipped the head-gardener, that tall fellow there with the yellow +rose-tree; as the place is going to be sold, she thought she might well do +a little genteel pillage.' Curious to see who our gardener could be, all +the more that he was said to be 'tall,' I went forward, and what do you +think I saw? Sir Brook, with a flower-pot under one arm, and a quantity of +cuttings under the other, walking a little after the Countess, who was +evidently giving him ample directions as to her intentions. I could +scarcely refrain from an outburst of laughing, but I got away into the +shrubbery and watched the whole proceedings. I was too far off to hear, +but this much I saw. Sir Brook had deposited his rose-tree and his slips +on the rumble, and stood beside the carriage with his hat off. When his +Excellency came up, a sudden movement took place in the group, and the +Viceroy, seeming to push his way through the others, cried out something I +could not catch, and then grasped Sir Brook's hand with both his own. All +was tumult in a moment. My Lady, in evident confusion and shame,—that +much I could see,—was courtesying deeply to Sir Brook, who seemed +not to understand her apologies—, at least, he appeared stately and +courteous, as usual, and not in the slightest degree put out or chagrined +by the incident. Though Lady Drumcarran was profuse of her excuses, and +most eager to make amends for her mistake, the Viceroy took Sir Brook's +arm and led him off to a little distance, where they talked together for a +few moments. +</p> +<p> +“'It's a promise, then, Fossbrooke,—you promise me!' cried he aloud, +as he approached the carriage. +</p> +<p> +“'Rely upon me,—and within a week, or ten days at farthest,' said +Sir Brook, as they drove away. +</p> +<p> +“I have not seen him since, and I scarcely know if I shall be able to meet +him without laughing.” + </p> +<p> +“Here he comes,” cried Lucy; “and take care, Tom, that you do nothing that +might offend him.” + </p> +<p> +The caution was so far unnecessary that Sir Brook's manner, as he drew +near, had a certain stately dignity that invited no raillery. +</p> +<p> +“You have been detained a long time a prisoner, Dr. Len-drick,” said +Fossbrooke, calmly; “but your visitors were so charmed with all they saw +that they lingered on, unwilling to take their leave.” + </p> +<p> +“Tom tells me we had some of our county notabilities,—Lord and Lady +Drumcarran, the Lacys, and others,” said Lendrick. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; and the Lord-Lieutenant, too, whom I used to know at Christ Church. +He would have been well pleased to have met you. He told me your father +was the ablest and most brilliant talker he ever knew.” + </p> +<p> +“Ah! we are very unlike,” said Lendrick, blushing modestly. “Did he give +any hint as to whether his party are pleased or the reverse with my +father's late conduct?” + </p> +<p> +“He only said, 'I wish you knew him, Fossbrooke; I sincerely wish you knew +him, if only to assure him that he will meet far more generous treatment +from us than from the Opposition.' He added that we were men to suit each +other; and this, of course, was a flattery for which I am very grateful.” + </p> +<p> +“And the tall man with the stoop was the Lord-Lieutenant?” asked Tom. “I +passed half an hour or more with him in the library, and he invited me to +call upon him, and told a young fellow, named Balfour, to give me his +address, which he forgot to do.” + </p> +<p> +“We can go together, if you have no objection; for I, too, have promised +to pay my respects,” said Sir Brook. +</p> +<p> +Tom was delighted at the suggestion, but whispered in his sister's ear, as +they passed out into the garden, “I thought I 'd have burst my sides +laughing when I met him; but it's the very last thing in my thoughts now. +I declare I 'd as soon pull a tiger's whiskers as venture on the smallest +liberty with him.” + </p> +<p> +“I think you are right, Tom,” said she, squeezing his arm affectionately, +to show that she not alone agreed with him, but was pleased that he had +given her the opportunity of doing so. +</p> +<p> +“I wonder is he telling the governor what happened this morning? It can +scarcely be that, though, they look so grave.” + </p> +<p> +“Papa seems agitated too,” said Lucy. +</p> +<p> +“I just caught Trafford's name as they passed. I hope he 's not saying +anything against him. It is not only that Lionel Trafford is as good a +fellow as ever lived, but that he fully believes Fossbrooke likes him. I +don't think he could be so false; do you, Lucy?” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm certain he is not. There, papa is beckoning to you; he wants you;” + and Lucy turned hurriedly away, anxious to conceal her emotion, for her +cheeks were burning, and her lips trembled with agitation. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XIV. TOM CROSS-EXAMINES HIS SISTER +</h2> +<p> +It was decided on that evening that Sir Brook and Tom should set out for +Dublin the next morning. Lucy knew not why this sudden determination had +been come to, and Tom, who never yet had kept a secret from her, was now +reserved and uncommunicative. Nor was it merely that he held aloof his +confidence, but he was short and snappish in his manner, as though she had +someway vexed him, and vexed him in some shape that he could not openly +speak of or resent. +</p> +<p> +This was very new to her from him, and yet how was it? She had not courage +to ask for an explanation. Tom was not exactly one of those people of whom +it was pleasant to ask explanations., Where the matter to be explained +might be one of delicacy, he had a way of abruptly blurting out the very +thing one would have desired might be kept back. Just as an awkward +surgeon will tear off the dressing, and set a wound a-bleeding, would he +rudely destroy the work of time in healing by a moment of rash impatience. +It was knowing this—knowing it well—that deterred Lucy from +asking what might lead to something not over-agreeable to hear. +</p> +<p> +“Shall I pack your portmanteau, Tom?” asked she. It was a task that always +fell to her lot. +</p> +<p> +“No; Nicholas can do it,—any one can do it,” said he, as he mumbled +with an unlit cigar between his teeth. +</p> +<p> +“You used to say I always did it best, Tom,—that I never forgot +anything,” said she, caressingly. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps I did,—perhaps I thought so. Look here, Lucy,” said he, as +though by an immense effort he had got strength to say what he wanted, “I +am half vexed with you, if not more than half.” + </p> +<p> +“Vexed with me, Tom,—vexed with <i>me!</i> and for what?” + </p> +<p> +“I don't think that you need ask. I am inclined to believe that you know +perfectly well what I mean, and what I would much rather not say, if you +will only let me.” + </p> +<p> +“I do not,” said she, slowly and deliberately. +</p> +<p> +“Do you mean to say, Lucy,” said he, and his manner was almost stern as he +spoke, “that you have no secrets from me, that you are as frank and +outspoken with me today as you were three months ago?” + </p> +<p> +“I do say so.” + </p> +<p> +“Then what's the meaning of this letter?” cried he, as, carried away by a +burst of passion, he overstepped all the prudential reserve he had sworn +to himself to regard. “What does this mean?” + </p> +<p> +“I know nothing of that letter, nor what it contains,” said she, blushing +till her very brow became crimson. +</p> +<p> +“I don't suppose you do, for though it is addressed to you, the seal is +unbroken; but you know whose handwriting it's in, and you know that you +have had others from the same quarter.” + </p> +<p> +“I believe the writing is Mr. Trafford's,” said she, as a deathlike +paleness spread over her face, “because he himself once asked me to read a +letter from him in the same handwriting.” + </p> +<p> +“Which you did?” + </p> +<p> +“No; I refused. I handed the letter back to him unopened, and said that, +as I certainly should not write to him without my father's knowledge and +permission, I would not read a letter from him without the same.” + </p> +<p> +“And what was the epistle, then, that the vicar's housekeeper handed him +from you?” + </p> +<p> +“That same letter I have spoken of. He left it on my table, insisting and +believing that on second thoughts I would read it. He thought so because +it was not to me, though addressed to me, but the copy of a letter he had +written to his mother, about me certainly.” Here she blushed deeply again. +“As I continued, however, of the same mind, determined not to see what the +letter contained, I re-enclosed it and gave it to Mrs. Brennan to hand to +him.” + </p> +<p> +“And all this you kept a secret from me?” + </p> +<p> +“It was not my secret. It was his. It was his till such time as he could +speak of it to my father, and this he told me had not yet come.” + </p> +<p> +“Why not?” + </p> +<p> +“I never asked him that. I do not think, Tom,” said she, with much +emotion, “it was such a question as you would have had me ask.” + </p> +<p> +“Do you love—Come, darling Lucy, don't be angry with me. I never +meant to wound your feelings. Don't sob that way, my dear, dear Lucy. You +know what a rough coarse fellow I am; but I'd rather die than offend you. +Why did you not tell me of all this? I never liked any one so well as +Trafford, and why leave me to the chance of misconstruing him? Would n't +it have been the best way to have trusted me as you always have?” + </p> +<p> +“I don't see what there was to have confided to you. Mr. Trafford might, +if he wished. I mean, that if there was a secret at all. I don't know what +I mean,” cried she, covering her face with her handkerchief, while a +convulsive motion of her shoulders showed how she was moved. +</p> +<p> +“I am as glad as if I had got a thousand pounds, to know you have been so +right, so thoroughly right, in all this, Lucy; and I am glad, too, that +Trafford has done nothing to make me think less well of him. Let's be +friends; give me your hand, like a dear, good girl, and forgive me if I +have said what pained you.” + </p> +<p> +“I am not angry, Tom,” said she, giving her hand, but with her head still +averted. +</p> +<p> +“God knows it's not the time for us to fall out,” said he, with a shaking +voice. “Going to separate as we are, and when to be together again not so +easy to imagine.” + </p> +<p> +“You are surely going out with papa?” asked she, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“No; they say not.” + </p> +<p> +“Who says not?” + </p> +<p> +“The governor himself—Sir Brook—old Mills—everybody, in +fact. They have held a committee of the whole house on it. I think +Nicholas was present too; and it has been decided that as I am very much +given to idleness, bitter beer, and cigars, I ought not to be anywhere +where these ingredients compose the chief part of existence. Now the Cape +is precisely one of these places; and if you abstract the idleness, the +bitter beer, and the tobacco, there is nothing left but a little +Hottentotism, which is neither pleasant nor profitable. Voted, therefore, +I am not to go to the Cape. It is much easier, however, to open the +geography books, and show all the places I am unfit for, than to hit upon +the one that will suit me. And so I am going up to Dublin to-morrow with +Sir Brook to consult—I don't well know whom, perhaps a +fortune-teller—what 's to be done with me. All I do know is, I am to +see my grandfather, and to wait on the Viceroy, and I don't anticipate +that any of us will derive much pleasure from either event.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, Tom! what happiness it would be to me if grandpapa—” She +stopped, blushed, and tried in vain to go on. +</p> +<p> +“Which is about the least likely thing in the world, Lucy,” said he, +answering her unspoken sentence. “I am just the sort of creature he could +n't abide,—not to add that, from all I have heard of him, I 'd +rather take three years with hard labor at the hulks than live with him. +It will do very well with you. You have patience, and a soft forgiving +disposition. You 'll fancy yourself, besides, Heaven knows what of a +heroine, for submitting to his atrocious temper, and imagine slavery to be +martyrdom. Now, I could n't. I 'd let him understand that I was one of the +family, and had a born right to be as ill-tempered, as selfish, and as +unmannerly as any other Lendrick.” + </p> +<p> +“But if he should like you, Tom? If you made a favorable impression upon +him when you met?” + </p> +<p> +“If I should, I think I 'd go over to South Carolina, and ask some one to +buy me as a negro, for I 'd know in my heart it was all I could be fit +for.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, my dear, dear Tom, I wish you would meet him in a different spirit, +if only for poor papa's sake. You know what store he lays by grandpapa's +affection.” + </p> +<p> +“I see it, and it puzzles me. If any one should continue to ill-treat me +for five-and-twenty years, I 'd not think of beginning to forgive him till +after fifty more, and I 'm not quite sure I 'd succeed then.” + </p> +<p> +“But you are to meet him, Tom,” said she, hopefully. “I trust much to your +meeting.” + </p> +<p> +“That 's more than I do, Lucy. Indeed, I 'd not go at all, except on the +condition which I have made with myself, to accept nothing from him. I had +not meant to tell you this; but it has escaped me, and can't be helped. +Don't hang your head and pout your lip over that bad boy, brother Tom. I +intend to be as submissive and as humble in our interview as if I was +going to owe my life to him, just because I want him to be very kind and +gracious to you; and I 'd not wish to give him any reason for saying harsh +things of me, which would hurt you to listen to. If I only knew how—and +I protest I do not—I'd even try and make a favorable impression upon +him, for I 'd like to be able to come and see you, Lucy, now and then, and +it would be a sore blow to me if he forbade me.” + </p> +<p> +“You don't think I'd remain under his roof if he should do so?” asked she, +indignantly. +</p> +<p> +“Not if you saw him turn me away,—shutting the door in my face; but +what scores of civil ways there are of intimating that one is not welcome! +But why imagine all these?—none of them may happen; and, as Sir +Brook says, the worst misfortunes of life are those that never come to us; +and I, for one, am determined to deal only with real, actual, present +enemies. Is n't he a rare old fellow?—don't you like him, Lucy?” + </p> +<p> +“I like him greatly.” + </p> +<p> +“He loves you, Lucy,—he told me so; he said you were so like a girl +whose godfather he was, and that he had loved her as if she were his own. +Whether she had died, or whether something had happened that estranged +them, I could n't make out; but he said you had raised up some old +half-dead embers in his heart, and kindled a flame where he had thought +all was to be cold forever; and the tears came into his eyes, and that +great deep voice of his grew fainter and fainter, and something that +sounded like a sob stopped him. I always knew he was a brave, +stout-hearted, gallant fellow; but that he could feel like this I never +imagined. I almost think it was some girl he was going to be married to +once that you must be so like. Don't you think so?” “I don't know; I +cannot even guess,” said she, slowly. “It's not exactly the sort of nature +where one would expect to find much sentiment; but, as he said one day, +some old hearts are like old chateaux, with strange old chambers in them +that none have traversed for years and years, and with all the old +furniture moth-eaten and crumbling, but standing just where it used to be. +I 'd not wonder if it was of himself he was speaking.” + </p> +<p> +She remained silent and thoughtful, and he went on,—“There's a deal +of romance under that quaint stern exterior. What do you think he said +this morning?—'Your father's heart is wrapped up in this place, Tom; +let us set to work to make money and buy it for him. 'I did not believe he +was serious, and I said some stupid nonsense about a diamond necklace and +ear-rings for you on the day of presentation; and he turned upon me with a +fierce look, and in a voice trembling with anger, said, 'Well, sir, and +whom would they become better? Is it her birth or her beauty would +disparage them, if they were the jewels of a crown?' I know I 'll not +cross another whim of his in the same fashion again; though he came to my +room afterwards to make an apology for the tone in which he had spoken, +and assured me it should never be repeated.” “I hope you told him you had +not felt offended.” “I did more,—I did, at least, what pleased him +more,—I said I was delighted with that plan of his about buying up +the Nest, and that the very thought gave a zest to any pursuit I might +engage in; and so, Lucy, it is settled between us that if his Excellency +won't make me something with a fine salary and large perquisites, Sir +Brook and I are to set out I'm not very sure where, and we are to do I'm +not quite certain what; but two such clever fellows, uniting experience +with energy, can't fail, and the double event—I mean the estate and +the diamonds—are just as good as won already. Well, what do you +want, Nicholas?” cried Tom, as the grim old man put his head inside the +door and retired again, mumbling something as he went. “Oh, I remember it +now; he has been tormenting the governor all day about getting him some +place,—some situation or other; and the old rascal thinks we are the +most ungrateful wretches under the sun, to be so full of our own affairs +and so forgetful of his: we are certainly not likely to leave him +unprovided for; he can't imagine that. Here he comes again. My father is +gone into Killaloe, Nicholas; but don't be uneasy, he 'll not forget you.” + </p> +<p> +“Forgettin's one thing, Master Tom, and rememberin's the right way is +another,” said Nicholas, sternly. “I told him yesterday, and I repeated it +to-day, I won't go among them Hottentots.” + </p> +<p> +“Has he asked you?” + </p> +<p> +“Did he ask me?” repeated the old man, leaning forward and eying him +fiercely,—“did he ask me?” + </p> +<p> +“My brother means, Nicholas, that papa could n't expect you to go so far +away from your home and your friends.” + </p> +<p> +“And where's my home and my friends?” cried the irascible old fellow; “and +I forty-eight years in the family? Is that the way to have a home or +friends either?” + </p> +<p> +“No, Tom, no,—I entreat—I beg of you,” said Lucy, standing +between her brother and the old man, and placing her hand on Tom's lips; +“you know well that he can't help it.” + </p> +<p> +“That's just it,” cried Nicholas, catching the words; “I can't help it. I +'m too old to help it. It is n't after eight-and-forty years one ought to +be looking out for new sarvice.” + </p> +<p> +“Papa hopes that grandpapa will have no objection to taking you, Nicholas; +he means to write about it to-day; but if there should be a difficulty, he +has another place.” + </p> +<p> +“Maybe I'm to 'list and be a sodger; faix, it wouldn't be much worse than +going back to your grandfather.” + </p> +<p> +“Why, you discontented old fool,” burst in Tom, “have n't you been teasing +our souls out these ten years back by your stories of the fine life you +led in the Chief Baron's house?” + </p> +<p> +“The eatin' was better, and the drinkin' was better,” said Nicholas, +resolutely. “Wherever the devil it comes from, the small beer here bangs +Banagher; but for the matter of temper he was one of yourselves! and by my +sowl, it's a family not easily matched!” + </p> +<p> +“I agree with you; any other man than my father would have pitched you +neck and crop into the Shannon years ago,—I 'll be shot if I would +n't.” + </p> +<p> +“Mind them words. What you said there is a threat; it's what the law makes +a constructive threat, and we 'll see what the Coorts say to it.” + </p> +<p> +“I declare, Nicholas, you would provoke any one; you will let no one be +your friend,” said Lucy; and taking her brother's arm she led him away, +while the old man, watching them till they entered the shrubbery, seated +himself leisurely in a deep arm-chair, and wiped the perspiration from his +forehead. “By my conscience,” muttered he, “it takes two years off my life +every day I have to keep yez in order.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XV. MR. HAIRE'S MISSION. +</h2> +<p> +Although the Chief Baron had assured Haire that his mission had no +difficulty about it, that he 'd find her Ladyship would receive him in a +very courteous spirit, and, finally, that “he'd do the thing” admirably, +the unhappy little lawyer approached his task with considerable +misgivings, which culminated in actual terror as he knocked at the door of +the house where Lady Lendrick resided in Merrion Square, and sent up his +name. +</p> +<p> +“The ladies are still in committee, sir,” said a bland-looking, usher-like +personage, who, taking up Haire's card from the salver, scanned the name +with a half-supercilious look. +</p> +<p> +“In committee! ah, indeed, I was not aware,” stammered out Haire. “I +suspect—that is—I have reason to believe her Ladyship is aware—I +mean my name is not unknown to Lady Lendrick—would you kindly +present my card?” + </p> +<p> +“Take it up, Bates,” said the man in black, and then turned away to +address another person, for the hall was crowded with people of various +conditions and ranks, and who showed in their air and manner a something +of anxiety, if not of impatience. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. MacClean,—where's Mr. MacClean?” cried a man in livery, as he +held forth a square-shaped letter. “Is Mr. MacClean there?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, I'm Mr. MacClean,” said a red-faced, fussy-looking man. “I'm Mr. +George Henry MacClean, of 41 Mount Street.” + </p> +<p> +“Two tickets for Mr. MacClean,” said the usher, handing him the letter +with a polite bow. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Nolan, Balls Bridge,—does any one represent Mr. Nolan of Balls +Bridge?” said the usher, haughtily. +</p> +<p> +“That 's me,” said a short man, who wiped the perspiration from his face +with a red-spotted handkerchief, as large as a small bed-quilt,—“that's +me.” + </p> +<p> +“The references not satisfactory, Mr. Nolan,” said the usher, reading from +a paper in his hand. +</p> +<p> +“Not satisfactory?—what do you mean? Is Peter Arkins, Esquire, of +Clontarf, unsatisfactory? Is Mr. Ryland, of Abbey Street, unsatisfactory?” + </p> +<p> +“I am really, sir, unable to afford you the explanation you desire. I am +simply deputed by her Ladyship to return the reply that I find written +here. The noise is really so great here I can hear nothing. Who are you +asking for, Bates?” + </p> +<p> +“Mr. Mortimer O'Hagan.” + </p> +<p> +“He's gone away,” cried a voice; “he was here since eleven o'clock.” + </p> +<p> +“Application refused. Will some one tell Mr. O'Hagan his application is +refused?” said the usher, austerely. +</p> +<p> +“Might I be bold enough to ask what is going forward?” whispered Haire. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. W. Haire, Ely Place,” shouted out the man in livery. “Card refused +for want of a reference.” + </p> +<p> +“You ought to have sent up two names,—well-known names, Mr. Haire,” + said the usher, with a politeness that seemed marked. “It's not too late +yet; let me see,” and he looked at his watch, “we want a quarter to one; +be back here in half an hour. Take a car,—you 'll find one at the +door. Get your names, and I 'll see if I can't do it for you.” + </p> +<p> +“I am afraid I don't understand you, and I am sure you don't understand +me. I came here by appointment—” The rest of the sentence was lost +by a considerable bustle and movement that now ensued, for a number of +ladies descended the stairs, chatting and laughing freely; while servants +rushed hither and thither, calling up carriages, or inquiring for others +not yet come. The usher, frantically pushing the crowd aside to clear a +path for the ladies, was profuse of apologies for the confusion; adding at +the same time that “it was twice as bad an hour ago. There were n't less +than two hundred here this morning.” + </p> +<p> +A number of little pleasantries passed as the bland usher handed the +ladies to their carriages; and it was evident by their laughter that his +remarks were deemed pungent and witty. Meanwhile the hall was becoming +deserted. The persons who had crowded there, descending singly or in +groups, went their several ways, leaving Haire the only one behind. “And +now, sir,” said the usher, “you see it's all over. You would n't take my +advice. They are all gone, and it's the last meeting.” + </p> +<p> +“Will you favor me so far as to say for what did they meet? What was the +object of the gathering?” + </p> +<p> +“I suppose, sir, you are not a reader of the morning papers?” + </p> +<p> +“Occasionally. Indeed, I always glance at them.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, sir, and has not your glance fallen upon the announcement of the +ball,—the grand ball to be given at the-Rotundo for the orphan +asylum called the 'Rogues Redemptory,' at Rathmines, at the head of whose +patronesses stands my Lady's name?” + </p> +<p> +Haire shook his head in negative. +</p> +<p> +“And have you not come like the rest with an application for permission to +attend the ball?” + </p> +<p> +“No; I have come to speak to Lady Lendrick—and by appointment too.” + </p> +<p> +A faint but prolonged “Indeed!” expressed the usher's-astonishment, and he +turned and whispered a few words to-a footman at his side. He disappeared, +and returned in & moment to say that her Ladyship would see Mr. Haire. +</p> +<p> +“I trust you will forgive me, sir,” said Lady Lendrick,—a very +large, very showy, and still handsome woman,—as she motioned him to +be seated. “I got your card when my head was so full of this tiresome +ball, and I made the absurd mistake of supposing you came for tickets. You +are, I think your note says, an old friend of Mr. Thomas-Lendrick?” + </p> +<p> +“I am an old friend of his father's. Madam! The Chief Baron and myself +were schoolfellows.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, yes: I have no doubt,” said she, hurriedly; “but from your note—I +have it here somewhere,” and she rummaged amongst a lot of papers that +littered the table,—“your note gave me to understand that your visit +to me regarded Mr. Thomas Lendrick, and not the Chief Baron. It is +possible, however, I may have mistaken your meaning. I wish I could find +it. I laid it out of my hand a moment ago. Oh, here it is! now we shall +see which of us is right,” and with a sort of triumph she opened the +letter and read aloud, slurring over the few commencing lines till she +came to “that I may explain to your Ladyship the circumstances by which +Mr. Thomas Lendrick's home will for the present be broken up, and entreat +of you to extend to his daughter the same kind interest and favor you have +so constantly extended to her father.” “Now, sir, I hope I may say that it +is not <i>I</i> have been mistaken. If I read this passage aright, it +bespeaks my consideration for a young lady who will shortly need a home +and a protectress.” + </p> +<p> +“I suppose I expressed myself very ill. I mean, Madam, I take it, that in +my endeavor not to employ any abruptness, I may have fallen into some +obscurity. Shall I own, besides,” added he, with a tone of +half-desperation in his voice, “that I had no fancy for this mission of +mine at all,—that I undertook it wholly against my will? Baron +Len-drick's broken health, my old friendship for him, his insistence,—and +you can understand what <i>that</i> is, eh?”—he thought she was +about to speak; but she only gave a faint equivocal sort of smile, and he +went on: “All these together overcame my scruples, and I agreed to come.” + He paused here as though he had made the fullest and most ample +explanation, and that it was now her turn to speak. +</p> +<p> +“Well, sir,” said she, “go on; I am all ears for your communication.” + </p> +<p> +“There it is: that 's the whole of it, Madam. You are to understand +distinctly that with the arrangement itself I had no concern whatever. +Baron Lendrick never asked my advice; I never tendered it. I 'm not sure +that I should have concurred with his notions,—but that 's nothing +to the purpose; all that I consented to was to come here, to tell you the +thing is so, and why it is so—there!” and with this he wiped his +forehead, for the exertion had heated and fatigued him. +</p> +<p> +“I know I 'm very dull, very slow of comprehension; and in compassion for +this defect, will you kindly make your explanation a little, a very +little, fuller? What is it that is <i>so?</i>” and she emphasized the last +word with a marked sarcasm in her tone. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I can see that your Ladyship may not quite like it. There is no +reason why you should like it,—all things considered; but, after +all, it may turn out very well. If she suit him, if she can hit it off +with his temper,—and she may,—young folks have often more +forbearance than older ones,—there 's no saying what it may lead +to.” + </p> +<p> +“Once for all, sir,” said she, haughtily, for her temper was sorely tried, +“what is this thing which I am not to like, and yet bound to bear?” + </p> +<p> +“I don't think I said that; I trust I never said your Ladyship was bound +to bear anything. So well as I can recall the Chief Baron's words,—and, +God forgive me, but I wish I was—no matter what or where—when +I heard them,—this is the substance of what he said: 'Tell her,' +meaning your Ladyship,—'tell her that, rightly understood, the +presence of my granddaughter as mistress of my house—'” + </p> +<p> +“What do you say, sir?—is Miss Lendrick coming to reside at the +Priory?” + </p> +<p> +“Of course—what else have I been saying this half-hour?” + </p> +<p> +“To take the position of lady of the house?” said she, not deigning to +notice his question. +</p> +<p> +“Just so, Madam.” + </p> +<p> +“I declare, sir, bold as the step is,”—she arose as she spoke, and +drew herself haughtily up,—“bold as the step is, it is not half so +bold as your own courage in coming to tell of it. What the Chief Baron had +not the hardihood to communicate in writing, you dare to deliver to me by +word of mouth,—you dare to announce to me that my place, the station +I ought to fill, is to be occupied by another, and that whenever I pass +the threshold of the Priory, I come as the guest of Lucy Lendrick! I do +hope, sir, I may attribute to the confusion of your faculties—a +confusion of which this short interview has given me proof—that you +really never rightly apprehended the ignominy of the mission your friend +intrusted to you.” + </p> +<p> +“You 're right there,” said he, placing both his hands on the side of his +head; “confusion is just the name for it.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir; but I apprehend you must have undertaken this office in a calm +moment, and let me ask you how you could have lent yourself to such a +task? You are aware, for the whole world is aware, that in living apart +from the Chief Baron I am yielding to a necessity imposed by his horrible, +his insufferable temper; now, how long will this explanation be valid, if +my place in any respect should be occupied by another? The isolation in +which he now lives, his estrangement from the world, serve to show that he +has withdrawn from society, and accepted the position of a recluse. Will +this continue now? Will these be the habits of the house with a young lady +at its bead, free to indulge all the caprices of ignorant girlhood? I +declare, sir, I wonder how a little consideration for your friend might +not have led you to warn him against the indiscretion he was about to +commit. The slight to me,” said she, sarcastically, and flushing deeply, +“it was possible you might overlook; but I scarcely see how you could have +forgotten the stain that must attach to that 'large intellect,—that +wise and truly great man.' I am quoting a paragraph I read in the 'Post' +this morning, with which, perhaps, you are familiar.” + </p> +<p> +“I did not see it,” said Haire, helplessly. +</p> +<p> +“I declare, sir, I was unjust enough to think you wrote it. I thought no +one short of him who had come on your errand to-day could have been the +author.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, I wish with all my heart I 'd never come,” said he, with a +melancholy gesture of his hands. +</p> +<p> +“I declare, sir, I am not surprised at your confession. I suppose you are +not aware that in the very moment adopted for this—this—this +new establishment, there is something like studied insult to me. It is +only ten days ago I mentioned to the Chief Baron that my son, Colonel +Sewell, was coming back from India on a sick-leave. He has a wife and +three little children, and, like most soldiers, is not over-well off. I +suggested that as the Priory was a large roomy house, with abundant space +for many people without in the slightest degree interfering with each +other, he should offer the Sewells to take them in. I said nothing more,—nothing +about <i>ménage</i>,—no details of any kind. I simply said: “Could +n't you give the Sewells the rooms that look out on the back lawn? Nobody +ever enters them; even when you receive in the summer evenings, they are +not opened. It would be a great boon to an invalid to be housed so +quietly, so removed from all noise and bustle.' And to mark how I intended +no more, I added, 'They would n't bore you, nor need you ever see them +unless you wished for it.' And what was his reply? 'Madam, I never liked +soldiers. I 'm not sure that his young wife would n't be displeasing to +me, and I know that his children would be insufferable.' +</p> +<p> +“I said, 'Let me take the dear children, then.' 'Do, by all means, and +their dear parents also,' he broke in. 'I should be in despair if I +thought I had separated you.' Yes, sir, I give you his very words. This +wise and truly great man, or truly wise and great—which is it?—had +nothing more generous nor more courteous to say to me than a sarcasm and +an impertinence. Are you not proud of your friend?” + </p> +<p> +Never was there a more unlucky peroration, from the day when Lord Denman +concluded an eloquent defence of a queen's innocence by appealing to the +unhappy illustration which called forth the touching words, “Let him that +is without sin cast the first stone at her.” Never was there a more signal +blunder than to ask this man to repudiate the friendship which had formed +the whole pride and glory of his life. +</p> +<p> +“I should think I <i>am</i> proud of him, Madam,” said he, rising, and +speaking with a boldness that amazed even himself. “I was proud to be his +class-fellow at school; I was proud to sit in the same division with him +in college,—proud when he won his gold medal and carried off his +fellowship. It was a proud day to me when I saw him take his seat on the +bench; and my heart nearly burst with pride when he placed me on his right +hand at dinner, and told the Benchers and the Bar that we had walked the +road of life together, and that the grasp of my hand—he called it my +honest hand—had been the ever-present earnest of each success he had +achieved in his career. Yes, Madam, I am very proud of him; and my heart +must be cold indeed before I cease to be proud of him.” + </p> +<p> +“I declare, sir, you astonish, you amaze me. I was well aware how that +truly great and wise man had often inspired the eloquence of attack. Many +have assailed—many have vituperated him; but that any one should +have delivered a panegyric on the inestimable value of his friendship!—his +friendship, of all things!—is what I was not prepared for.” + </p> +<p> +Haire heard the ringing raillery of her laugh; he was stung by he knew not +what tortures of her scornful impertinence; bitter, biting words, very +cruel words, too, fell over and around him like a sort of hail; they beat +on his face and rattled over his head and shoulders. He was conscious of a +storm, and conscious too that he sought neither shelter nor defence, but +only tried to fly before the hurricane, whither he knew not. +</p> +<p> +How he quitted that room, descended the stairs, and escaped from the +house, he never was able to recall. He was far away outside the city +wandering along through an unfrequented suburb ere he came to his full +consciousness, murmuring to himself ever as he went, “What a woman, what a +woman! what a temper,—ay, and what a tongue!” Without any guidance +of his own—without any consciousness of it—he walked on and +on, till he found himself at the gate-lodge of the Priory; a carriage was +just passing in, and he stopped to ask whose it was. It was the Chief +Baron's granddaughter who had arrived that morning by train. He turned +back when he heard this, and returned to town. “Whether you like it or +not, Lady Lendrick, it is done now, and there 's no good in carrying on +the issue after the verdict.” And with this reflection, embodying possibly +as much wisdom as his whole career had taught him, he hastened homeward, +secretly determining, if he possibly could, never to reveal anything to +the Chief Baron of his late interview with Lady Lendrick. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XVI. SORROWS AND PROJECTS +</h2> +<p> +Dr. Lendrick and his son still lingered at the Swan's Nest after Lucy's +departure for the Priory. Lendrick, with many things to arrange and +prepare for his coming voyage, was still so overcome by the thought of +breaking up his home and parting from his children, that he could not +address his mind to anything like business. He would wander about for +hours through the garden and the shrubberies, taking leave, as he called +it, of his dear plants and flowers, and come back to the house distressed +and miserable. Often and often would he declare to Sir Brook, who was his +guest, that the struggle was too much for him. “I never was a man of ardor +or energy, and it is not now, when I have passed the middle term of life, +that I am to hope for that spring and elasticity which were denied to my +youth. Better for me send for Lucy, and stay where I am; nowhere shall I +be so happy again.” Then would come the sudden thought that all this was +mere selfishness, that in this life of inaction and indolence he was +making no provision for that dear girl be loved so well. Whatever hopes +the reconciliation with his father might lead to, would of course be +utterly scattered to the winds by an act so full of disobedience as this. +“It is true,” thought he, “I may fail abroad as I have failed at home. +Success and I are scarcely on speaking terms,—but the grandfather +cannot leave the granddaughter whom he has taken from her home, totally +uncared and unprovided for.” + </p> +<p> +As for young Tom, Sir Brook had pledged himself to-take care of him. It +was a vague expression enough; it might mean anything, everything, or +nothing. Sir Brook Fossbrooke had certainly, in worldly parlance, not +taken very good care of himself,—far from it; he had squandered and +made away with two large estates and an immense sum in ready money. It was +true he had friends everywhere,—some of them very great people with +abundant influence, and well able to help those they cared for; but +Fossbrooke was not one of those who ask; and the world has not yet come to +the millennial beatitude in which one's friends importune them with +inquiries how they are to be helped, what and where they wish for. +</p> +<p> +Many a time in the course of country-house life—at breakfast, as the +post came in, and during the day, as a messenger would deliver a telegram—some +great man would say, “There is a vacancy there—such a one has died—so-and-so +has retired. There's a thing to suit you, Fossbrooke,”—and Sir Brook +would smile, say a word or two that implied nothing, and so would end the +matter. If “my Lord” ever retained any memory of the circumstance some +time after, it would be that he had offered something to Fossbrooke, who +would n't take it, did n't care for it. For so is it throughout life; the +event which to one is the veriest trifle of the hour, is to another a fate +and a fortune; and then, great folk who lead lives of ease and security +are very prone to forget that humble men have often a pride very +disproportioned to their condition, and are timidly averse to stretch out +the hand for what it is just possible it may not be intended they should +touch. +</p> +<p> +At all events, Fossbrooke went his way through the world a mystery to many +and a puzzle,—some averring that it was a shame to his friends in +power that he had “got nothing,” others as stoutly declaring that he was +one whom no office would tempt, nor would any place requite him for the +loss of liberty and independence. +</p> +<p> +He himself was well aware of each of these theories, but too proud to say +a word to those who professed either of them. If, however, he was too +haughty to ask for himself, he was by no means above being a suitor for +his friends; and many a one owed to his active solicitude the advancement +which none stood more in need of than himself. +</p> +<p> +“We shall make the Viceroy do something for us, Tom,” he would say. “Think +over what it shall be,—for that's the invariable question, What is +it you want? And it's better far to say, Make me an archbishop, than have +to own that you want anything, and are, maybe, fit for nothing.” + </p> +<p> +Though Lendrick was well disposed towards Fossbrooke, and fully sensible +of his manly honesty and frankness, he could not help seeing that he was +one of those impulsive sanguine natures that gain nothing from experience +beyond the gift of companionship. They acquire all that can make them +delightful in society,—boons they are,—and especially to those +whose more prudent temperament inclines them to employ their gifts more +profitably. Scores of these self-made men, rich to overflowing with all +that wealth could buy around them, would say, What a happy fellow was +Fossbrooke! what a blessing it was to have his nature, his spirits, +buoyancy, and such-like,—to be able to enjoy life as he did! Perhaps +they believed all that they said too,—who knows? When they made such +speeches to himself, as they would at times, he heard them with the +haughty humility of one who hears himself praised for that which the +flatterer deems a thing too low for envy. He well understood how cheaply +others estimated his wares, for they were a scrip that figured in no +share-list, and never were quoted at a premium. +</p> +<p> +Lendrick read him very correctly, and naturally thought that a more +practical and a more worldly guide would have been better for Tom,—some +one to hold him back, not to urge him forward; some one to whisper +prudence, restraint, denial,—not daring, and dash, and indulgence. +But somehow these flighty, imaginative, speculative men have very often a +wonderful persuasiveness about them, and can give to the wildest dreams a +marvellous air of substance and reality. A life so full of strange +vicissitudes as Fossbrooke's seemed a guarantee for any—no matter +what—turn of fortune. Hear him tell of where he had been, what he +had done, and with whom, and you at once felt you were in presence of one +to whom no ordinary laws of worldly caution or prudence applied. +</p> +<p> +That his life had compassed many failures and few successes was plain +enough. He never sought to hide the fact. +</p> +<p> +Indeed, he was candor itself in his confessions, only that he accompanied +them by little explanations, showing the exact spot and moment in which he +had lost the game. It was wonderful what credit he seemed to derive from +these disclosures. It was like an honest trader showing his balance-sheet +to prove that, but for the occurrence of such ills as no prudence could +ward off, his condition must have been one of prosperity. +</p> +<p> +Never did he say anything more truthful than that “he had never cared for +money.” So long as he had it he used it lavishly, thoughtlessly, very +often generously. When he ceased to have it, the want scarcely appeared to +touch him personally. Indeed, it was only when some necessity presented +itself to aid this one or extricate that, he would suddenly remember his +impotence to be of use, and then the sting of his poverty would sorely +pain him. +</p> +<p> +Like all men who have suffered reverses, he had to experience the +different acceptance he met with in his days of humble fortune from what +greeted him in his era of prosperity. If he felt this, none could detect +it. His bearing and manner betrayed nothing of such consciousness. A very +slight increase of stateliness might possibly have marked him in his +poverty, and an air of more reserved dignity, which showed itself in his +manner to strangers. In all other respects he was the same. +</p> +<p> +That such a character should have exercised a great influence over a young +man like Tom Lendrick—ardent, impetuous, and desirous of adventure—was +not strange. +</p> +<p> +“We must make a fortune for Lucy, Tom,” said Sir Brook. “Your father's +nature is too fine strung to be a money-maker, and she must be cared for.” + This was a desire which he continued to utter day after day; and though +Fossbrooke usually smoked on after he had said it without any intimation +as to where and when and how this same fortune was to be amassed, Tom +Lendrick placed the most implicit faith in the assurance that it would be +done “somehow.” + </p> +<p> +One morning as Lendrick was walking with his son in the garden, making, as +he called it, his farewell visit to his tulips and moss-roses, he asked +Tom if any fixed plan had been decided on as to his future. +</p> +<p> +“We have got several, sir. The difficulty is the choice. Sir Brook was at +one time very full of buying a great tract in Donegal, and stocking it +with all sorts of wild animals. We began with deer, antelopes, and +chamois; and last night we got to wolves, bears, and a tiger. We were to +have a most commodious shooting-box, and invite parties to come and sport, +who, instead of going to Bohemia, the Rocky Mountains, and to Africa, +would find all their savagery near home, and pay us splendidly for the +privilege. +</p> +<p> +“There are some difficulties in the plan, it is true; our beasts might not +be easy to keep within bounds. The jaguar might make an excursion into the +market-town; the bear might eat a butcher. Sir Brook, besides, doubts if +<i>fero</i> could be preserved under the game laws. He has sent a case to +Brewster for his opinion.” + </p> +<p> +“Don't tell me of such absurdities,” said Lendrick, trying to repress his +quiet laugh. “I want you to speak seriously and reasonably.” + </p> +<p> +“I assure you, sir, we have the whole details of this on paper, even to +the cost of the beasts, and the pensions to the widows of the keepers that +may be devoured. Another plan that we had, and it looked plausible enough +too, was to take out a patent for a wonderful medical antidote. As Sir +Brook says, there is nothing like a patent medicine to make a man rich; +and by good luck he is possessed of the materials for one. He has the +secret for curing the bite of the rattlesnake. He got it from a Tuscarora +Indian, who, I believe, was a sort of father-in-law to him. Three +applications of this to the wound have never been known to fail.” + </p> +<p> +“But we are not infested with rattlesnakes, Tom.” + </p> +<p> +“That's true, sir. We thought of that, and decided that we should alter +the prospectus of our company, and we have called it 'The antidote to an +evil of stupendous magnitude and daily recurrence. +</p> +<p> +“A new method of flotation in water, by inflating the cellular membrane to +produce buoyancy; a translation of the historical plays of Shakspeare into +Tonga, for the interesting inhabitants of those islands; artificial +rainfall by means of the voltaic battery: these are a few of his jottings +down in a little book in manuscript he has entitled 'Things to be Done.' +</p> +<p> +“His favorite project, however, is one he has revolved for years in his +mind, and he is fully satisfied that it contains the germ of boundless +wealth. It has been shown, he says, that in the smoke issuing from the +chimneys of great smelt-ing-furnaces, particles of subtilized metal are +carried away to the amount of thousands of pounds sterling: not merely is +the quantity great, but the quality, as might be inferred, is of the most +valuable and precious kind. To arrest and precipitate this waste is his +project, and he has been for years making experiments to this end. He has +at length, he believes, arrived at the long-sought-for problem; and as he +possesses a lead-mine in the island of Sardinia, he means that we should +set out there, and at once begin operations.” + </p> +<p> +Dr. Lendrick shook his head gravely as he listeued; indeed, Tom's manner +in detailing Sir Brook's projects was little calculated to inspire serious +confidence. +</p> +<p> +“I know, father,” cried he, “what you mean. I know well how wild and +flighty these things appear; but if you had only heard them from him,—had +you but listened to his voice, and heard him speak of his own doubts and +fears,—how he canvasses, not merely the value of his project, but +what the world will say of it and of him,—how modestly he rates +himself,—how free of all the cant of the discoverer he is,—how +simply he enters into explanations,—how free to own the difficulties +that bar success,—I say, if you had experienced these, I feel sure +you would not escape from him without catching some of that malady of +speculation which has so long beset him. Nor is one less disposed to trust +him that he makes no parade of these things. Indeed, they are his deepest, +most inviolable secrets. In his intercourse with the world no one has ever +heard him allude to one of these projects, and I have given him my solemn +pledge not to speak of them, save to you.” + </p> +<p> +“It is a reason to think better of the man, Tom, but not to put more faith +in the discoveries.” + </p> +<p> +“I believe I take the man and his work together; at all events, when I am +along with him, and listening to him, he carries me away captive, and I am +ready to embark in any enterprise he suggests. Here he comes, with two +letters, I see, in his hand. Did you ever see a man less like a visionary, +father? Is not every trait of his marked with thought and struggle?” This +was not the way Tom's father read Fossbrooke, but there was no time to +discuss the point further. +</p> +<p> +“A letter for each of you,” said Sir Brook, handing them; and then taking +out a cigar, he strolled down an alley, while they were engaged in +reading. +</p> +<p> +“We have got a tenant at last,” said Lendrick. “The Dublin house-agent has +found some one who will take the place as it stands; and now, to think of +my voyage.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XVII. A LUNCHEON AT THE PRIORY. +</h2> +<p> +It was well for poor Lendrick that he was not to witness the great change +which, in a few short weeks, had been effected in his once home. So +complete, indeed, was the transformation, there was but very little left +beyond the natural outline of the scenery to remind one of that lovely +nook in which the tasteful cottage nestled. The conservatory had been +converted into a dining-room; the former dinner-room being fitted up for a +billiard-room. The Swiss cowhouse, a pretty little conceit, on which +Lendrick had lavished some money and more time, was turned into a stable, +with three loose boxes; and the neat lawn, whose velvet sward was scarce +less beautiful than the glittering flower-beds that studded it, was +ruthlessly cut up into a racecourse, with hurdles and fences and double +ditches, to represent a stiff country, and offer all the features of a +steeple-chase. +</p> +<p> +It needed not the assurance of Mr. Kimball, the house-agent, to proclaim +that his client was very unlike the last occupant of the place. “<i>He</i> +was no recluse, no wretched misanthropist, hiding his discontent amongst +shrubs and forcing-beds; he was a man of taste and refinement, with +knowledge of life and its requirements. He would be an acquisition to any +neighborhood.” + </p> +<p> +Now, the last phrase—and he invariably made it his peroration—has +a very wide and sweeping acceptation. It appeals to the neighborhood with +all the charms that pertain to social intercourse; a guest the more and a +host the more are no small claims in small places. It appeals to the +parson, as another fountain from which to draw draughts of benevolence. To +the doctor it whispers fees and familiar dinners. Galen knows that the +luckiest of men are not exempt from human ills, and that gout comes as a +frequent guest where the cook is good and the wine tempting; and the +butcher himself revels in the thought of a “good family” that consumes +sirloins and forestalls sweetbreads. +</p> +<p> +It was somewhat trying to young Tom Lendrick, who had gone down to the +Nest to fetch away some remnants of fishing-tackle he had left there, to +hear these glowing anticipations of the new-comer, so evidently placed in +contrast with the quiet and inexpensive life his father had led. How +unlike were his father and this “acquisition to any neighborhood,” was +impressed upon him at any moment! How could a life of unobtrusive +kindness, of those daily ministerings to poor men's wants, compete with +the glitter and display which were to adorn a neighborhood? +</p> +<p> +Already were people beginning to talk of Lendrick as odd, eccentric, +peculiar; to set down his finest qualities as strange traits of a strange +temperament, and rather, on the whole, to give themselves credit for the +patience and forbearance which they had shown to one who, after all, was +“simply an egotist.” + </p> +<p> +Yes, such are not unfrequent judgments in this same world of ours; and if +you would have men's suffrages for the good you do, take care that you do +it conventionally. Be in all things like those around you; and if there be +a great man in your vicinity, whenever a doubt arises in your mind as to +any course of action, do as you may imagine he might do. +</p> +<p> +Young Lendrick came away not a little disgusted with this taste of human +fickleness. The sight of their old home changed even to desecration was +bad enough, but this cold ingratitude was worse. +</p> +<p> +Had he gone into the cabins of the poor, had he visited the humble +dwellings where his father's generous devotion had brought him face to +face with famine and fever, he would have heard much to redress the +balance of these opinions. He would have heard those warm praises that +come from sorrow-stricken hearts, the wail of the friendless and forlorn. +Tom heard not these, and he returned to town with a feeling of anger and +resentment against the world he had never known before. +</p> +<p> +“How absurd it is in old Fossbrooke,” thought he, “to go on saying money +cannot do this, that, and t'other! Why, it can do everything. It does not +alone make a man great, powerful, and influential, but it gains him the +praise of being good and kind and generous. Look at my poor father, who +never had a thought but for others, who postponed himself to all around +him; and yet here is some one, whose very name is unknown, more eagerly +looked for, more ardently desired, than would he be were it to be +announced to-morrow he was coming back to live amongst them. What nonsense +it is to say that the world cares for any qualities save those it can +utilize; and I am only amazed how a man could have seen so much of life as +Sir Brook and gained so little by his experience.” + </p> +<p> +It was in this mood he got back to the little lodging in a humble suburb +called Cullen's Wood, where Sir Brook awaited him. It is not impossible +that the disparities of temperament in this world are just as beneficial, +just as grateful, as are the boundless variety and change we find in +nature. To Tom Lendrick's depression, almost disgust with life, Sir Brook +brought that bright, hopeful, happy spirit which knew how to throw +sunlight on every path to be travelled. +</p> +<p> +He had received good news, or what he thought was good news, from +Sardinia. A new vein of ore had been struck,—very “fat” ore they +called it,—some eighty-odd per cent, and a fair promise of silver in +it. “They ask me for thirty thousand francs, though, Tom,” said he, with a +smile; “they might as well have written 'pounds' when they were about it. +They want to repair the engine and erect a new crane. They say, too, the +chains are worn and unsafe,—a thing to be looked to, or we shall +have some accidents. In fact, they need fully double what they ask for; +and seeing how impossible was the performance, I am astonished at their +modesty.” + </p> +<p> +“And what do you mean to do, sir?” asked Tom, bluntly. +</p> +<p> +“I have been thinking of two courses: my first thought was to make a +formal conveyance of the mine to you and your sister, for your joint use +and benefit. This done, and I standing aloof from all possible interest in +it, I bethought me of a loan to be raised on the security of the property,—not +publicly, not generally, but amongst your father's friends and +well-wishers,—beginning with the neighborhood where he has lived so +long, and around which he has sowed the seeds of such benefits as needs +must ripen in gratitude.” + </p> +<p> +“Indulge no delusions on that score, sir. There is not a man in the +county, except old Mills the vicar, perhaps, has a good word for us; and +as to going to one of them for assistance, I 'd rather sweep a crossing. +You shake your head, Sir Brook, and you smile at my passionate +denunciation; but it is true, every word of it. I heard, in the few hours +I spent there, scores of stories of my poor father's eccentricity,—his +forgetfulness, his absence, and what not,—but never a syllable of +his noble liberality, his self-sacrifice, or his gentleness.” + </p> +<p> +“My dear Tom,” said the old man, solemnly, “when you have lived to +one-half my age, you will discover that the world is not so much cursed +with ill-nature as with levity, and that when men talk disparagingly of +their fellows, they do so rather to seem witty than to be just. There was +not, perhaps, one of those who tried to raise a laugh at your father's +oddities, or who assumed to be droll at his expense, who would not in a +serious mood have conceded to him every good and great trait of his +nature. The first step in worldly knowledge is to rise above all +consideration of light gossip. Take my word for it, we often confirm men +in wrong thinking by opposition, who, if left to themselves and their own +hearts, would review their judgments, and even retract them.” + </p> +<p> +Tom took a hasty turn up and down the room; a ready reply was on his lip; +indeed, it was with difficulty he repressed it, but he did so, and stood +in seeming acquiescence to what he had heard. At last he said, “And the +other plan, Sir Brook,—what was that?” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps a more likely one, Tom,” said the old man, cheerfully. “It was to +apply directly to your grandfather, a man whose great intelligence would +enable him to examine a project with whose details he had not ever before +versed himself, and ask whether he would not make the advance we require +on mortgage or otherwise.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't think I 'd like to ask him,” said Tom, with a grim smile. +</p> +<p> +“The proposal could come from me,” said Sir Brook, proudly, “if he would +graciously accord me an interview.” + </p> +<p> +Tom turned away to hide a smile, for he thought, if such a meeting were to +take place, what he would give to be an unseen witness of it,—to +watch the duel between antagonists so different, and whose weapons were so +unlike. +</p> +<p> +“My sister knows him better than any of us,” said Tom, at last; “might I +consult her as to the likelihood of any success with him?” + </p> +<p> +“By all means; it is what I would have myself advised.” + </p> +<p> +“I will do so, then, to-day. I ought to have gone to see her yesterday; +but I will go to-day, and report progress when I come back. I have a long +budget for her,” added he, with a sigh,—“a catalogue of all the +things I am not going to do. I am not going to be a medallist, nor win a +fellowship, nor even be a doctor; it will, however, give me great courage +if I can say, I 'll be a miner.” + </p> +<p> +Tom Lendrick was right when he said he should have gone to see his sister +on the day before, though he was not fully aware how right. The Chief +Baron, in laying down a few rules for Lucy's guidance, made a point of +insisting that she should only receive visitors on one day of the week; +and in this regulation he included even her brother. So averse was the old +man to be exposed to even a passing meeting with strangers, that on these +Tuesdays he either kept his room or retired to a little garden of which he +kept the key, and from whose precincts all were rigorously excluded. +</p> +<p> +Well knowing her brother's impatience of anything like restricted liberty, +and how rapidly he would connect such an injunction as this with a life of +servitude and endurance, Lucy took care to make the time of receiving him +appear a matter of her own choice and convenience, and at the time of +parting would say, “Good-bye till Tuesday, Tom; don't forget Tuesday, for +we shall be sure to be alone and to ourselves.” He the more easily +believed this, that on these same Tuesdays the whole place seemed deserted +and desolate. The grave-looking man in black, who preceded him up the +stairs, ushered him along the corridor, and finally announced him, awaited +him like a piece of machinery, repeating every movement and gesture with +an unbroken uniformity, and giving him to understand that not only his +coming was expected, but all the details of his reception had been +carefully prescribed and determined on. +</p> +<p> +“As I follow that fellow along the passage, Lucy,” said Tom, one day, “I +can't help thinking that I experience every sensation of a man going to be +hanged,—his solemn face, his measured tread, the silence, and the +gloom,—only needing pinioned arms to make the illusion perfect.” + </p> +<p> +“Tie them around me, dearest Tom,” said she, laughing, and drawing him to +a seat beside her on the sofa; “and remember,” added she, “you have a long +day. Your sentence will not come off for another week;” and thus jestingly +did she contrive to time his coming without ever letting him know the +restrictions that defined his visits. +</p> +<p> +Now, the day before this conversation between Sir Brook and Tom took place +being a Tuesday, Lucy had watched long and anxiously for his coming. She +knew he had gone down to Killaloe on the preceding Saturday, but he had +assured her he would be back and be with her by Tuesday. Lucy's life was +far from unhappy, but it was one of unbroken uniformity, and the one sole +glimpse of society was that meeting with her brother, whose wayward +thoughts and capricious notions imparted to all he said a something +striking and amusing. He usually told her how his week had been passed,—where +he had been and with whom,—and she had learned to know his +companions, and ask after them by name. Her chief interest was, however, +about Sir Brook, from whom Tom usually brought a few lines, but always in +an unsealed envelope, inscribed, “By the favor of Mr. Lendrick, jun.” + </p> +<p> +How often would Tom quiz her about the respectful devotion of her old +admirer, and jestingly ask her if she could consent to marry him. “I know +he'll ask you the question one of these days, Lucy, and it's your own +fault if you give him such encouragement as may mislead him.” And then +they would talk over the romance of the old man's nature, wondering +whether the real world would be rendered more tolerable or the reverse by +that ideal tone which so imaginative a temperament could give it “Is it +not strange,” said Tom, one day, “that I can see all the weakness of his +character wherever my own interests do not come, but the moment he +presents before me some bright picture of a splendid future, a great name +to achieve, a great fortune to make, that moment he takes me captive, and +I regard him not as a visionary or a dreamer, but as a man of consummate +shrewdness and great knowledge of life?” + </p> +<p> +“In this you resemble Sancho Panza, Tom,” said she, laughing. “He had +little faith in his master's chivalry, but he implicitly believed in the +island he was to rule over;” and from that day forward she called her +brother Sancho and Sir Brook the Don. +</p> +<p> +On the day after that on which Tom's visit should have been but was not +paid, Lucy sat at luncheon with her grandfather in a small breakfast-room +which opened on the lawn. The old Judge was in unusual spirits; he had +just received an address from the Bar, congratulating him on his recovery, +and expressing hope that he might be soon again seen on that Bench he had +so much ornamented by his eloquence and his wisdom. The newspapers, too, +with a fickleness that seems their most invariable feature, spoke most +flatteringly of his services, and placed his name beside those who had +conferred highest honor on the judgeship. +</p> +<p> +“It is neatly worded, Lucy,” said the old man, taking up the paper on +which the address was written; “and the passage that compares me with +Mansfield is able as well as true. Both Mansfield and myself understood +how there stands above all written law that higher, greater, grander law, +that is based in the heart of all humanity, in the hope of an eternal +justice, and soars above every technicality, by the intense desire of +truth. It would have been, however, no more than fair to have added that, +to an intellect the equal of Mansfield, I brought a temper which Mansfield +had not, and a manner which if found in the courts of royalty, is seldom +met with on the Bench. I do not quite like that phrase, 'the rapid and +unerring glance of Erskine.' Erskine was brilliant for a Scotchman, but a +brilliant Scotchman is but a third-rate Irishman. They who penned this +might have known as much. I am better pleased with the words, 'the noble +dignity of Lord Eldon.' There, my child, there, they indeed have hit upon +a characteristic. In Eldon nature seemed to have created the judicial +element in a high degree. It would be the vulgarity of modesty to pretend +not to recognize in my own temperament a like organization. +</p> +<p> +“May I read you, Lucy, the few words in which I mean to reply to this +courteous address? Will it bore you, my dear?” + </p> +<p> +“On the contrary, sir, I shall feel myself honored as well as interested.” + </p> +<p> +“Sit where you are, then, and I will retire to the far corner of the room. +You shall judge if my voice and delivery be equal to the effort; for I +mean to return my thanks in person, Lucy. I mean to add the force of my +presence to the vigor of my sentiments. I have bethought me of inviting +those who have signed this document to luncheon here; and it may probably +be in the large drawing-room that I shall deliver this reply. If not, it +may possibly be in my court before rising,—I have not fully +determined.” So saying, he arose, and with feeble steps—assisting +himself, as he went, by the table, and then grasping a chair—he +moved slowly across the room. She knew him too well to dare to offer her +arm, or appear in any way to perceive his debility. That he felt, and felt +bitterly, “the curse of old age,” as he once profanely called it, might be +marked in the firm compression of his lips and the stern frown that +settled on him, while, as he sank into a seat, a sad weary sigh declared +the utter exhaustion that overcame him. +</p> +<p> +It was not till after some minutes that he rallied sufficiently to unroll +his manuscript and adjust his spectacles. The stillness in the room was +now perfect; not a sound was heard save the faint hum of a bee which had +strayed into the room, and was vaguely floating about to find an exit. +Lucy sat in an attitude of patient attention,—her hands crossed +before her, and her eyes slightly downcast. +</p> +<p> +A faint low cough, and he began, but in a voice tremulous and faint, “'Mr. +Chief Sergeant, and Gentlemen of the Bar'—do you hear me, Lucy?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir, I hear you.” + </p> +<p> +“I will try to be more audible; I will rest for a moment.” fie laid his +paper on his knees, closed his eyes, and sat immovable for some seconds. +</p> +<p> +It was at this moment, when to the intense stillness was added a sense of +expectancy, the honeysuckle that grew across the window moved, the frail +branches gave way, and a merry voice called out, “Scene the first: a young +lady discovered at luncheon!” and with a spring Tom Lendrick bounced into +the room, and, ere her cry of alarm had ended, was clasping his sister in +his arms. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Tom, dearest Tom, why to-day? Grandpapa—grandpapa is here,” + sighed she, rather than whispered, in his ear. +</p> +<p> +The young man started back, more struck by the emotion he had shown than +by her words, and the Chief Baron advanced towards him with a manner of +blended courtesy and dignity, saying, “I am glad to know you. Your +sister's brother must be very welcome to me.” + </p> +<p> +“I wish I could make a proper excuse for this mode of entry, sir. First of +all, I thought Lucy was alone; and, secondly—” + </p> +<p> +“Never mind the second plea; I submit to a verdict on the first,” said the +Judge, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“Tom forgot; it was Tuesday was his day,” began Lucy. +</p> +<p> +“I have no day; days are all alike to me, Lucy. My occupations of Monday +could be transferred to a Saturday, or, if need be, postponed indefinitely +beyond it.” + </p> +<p> +“The glorious leisure of the fortunate,” said the Judge, with a peculiar +smile. +</p> +<p> +“Or the vacuity of the unlucky, possibly,” said Tom, with an easy laugh. +</p> +<p> +“At all events, young gentleman, you carry your load jauntily.” + </p> +<p> +“One reason is, perhaps, that I never knew it was a load. I have always +paraded in heavy marching order, so that I don't mind the weight of my +pack.” + </p> +<p> +For the first time did the old man's features relax into a look of kindly +meaning. To find the youth not merely-equal to appreciate a figure of +speech, but able to carry on the illustration, seemed so to identify him +with his own blood and kindred that the old Judge felt himself +instinctively drawn towards him. +</p> +<p> +“Lucy, help your brother to something; there was an excellent curry there +awhile ago,—if it be not cold.” + </p> +<p> +“I have set my affections on that cold beef. It seems tome an age since I +have seen a real sirloin.” + </p> +<p> +A slight twitch crossed the Judge's face,—a pang he felt at what +might be an insinuated reproach at his in hospitality; and he said, in a +tone of almost apology, “We see no one—-absolutely no one—here. +Lucy resigns herself to the companionship of a very dreary old man whom +all else have forgotten.” + </p> +<p> +“Don't say so, grandpapa, on the day when such a testimony of esteem and +affection reaches you.” + </p> +<p> +Young Lendrick looked up from his plate, turning his eyes first towards +his sister, then towards his grandfather; his glance was so palpably an +interrogatory, there was no-mistaking it. Perhaps the old man's first +impulse was not to reply; but his courtesy or his vanity, or a blending of +both, carried the day, and he said, in a voice of much feeling: “Your +sister refers to an address I have just received,—an address which +the Irish Bar have deemed proper to transmit to me with their +congratulations on my recovery. It is as gratifying, it is as flattering, +as she says. My brethren have shown that they can rise above all +consideration of sect or party in tendering their esteem to a man whom no +administration has ever been able to convert into a partisan.” + </p> +<p> +“But you have always been a Whig, sir, haven't you?” said Tom, bluntly. +</p> +<p> +“I have been a Whig, sir, in the sense that a King is a Royalist,” said +the old man, haughtily; and though Tom felt sorely provoked to reply to +this pretentious declaration, he only gave a wicked glance at his sister, +and drank off his wine. +</p> +<p> +“It was at the moment of your unexpected appearance,” continued the Judge, +“that I was discussing with your sister whether my reply to this +compliment would come better if delivered here, or from my place on the +Bench.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'd say from the Bench,” said Tom, as he helped himself to another slice +of beef. +</p> +<p> +The old man gave a short cough, with a start. The audacity of tendering +advice so freely and positively overcame him; and his color, faint indeed, +rose to his withered cheek, and his eye glittered as he said, “Might I +have the benefit of hearing the reasons which have led you to this +opinion?” + </p> +<p> +“First of all,” said Tom, in a careless off-hand way, “I take it the thing +would have more—what shall I say?—dignity; secondly, the men +who have signed the address might feel they were treated with more +consideration; and lastly,—it 's not a very good reason, but I 'm +bound to own it,—I 'd like to hear it myself, which I could if it +were delivered in public, but which I am not so likely to do if spoken +here.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, Tom, dear Tom!” whispered his sister, in dismay at a speech so +certain to be accepted in its least pleasing signification. +</p> +<p> +“You have already to-day reminded me of my deficiencies in hospitality, +sir. This second admonition was uncalled for. It is happy for <i>me</i> +that my defence is unassailable. It is happy for <i>you</i> that your +impeachment is unwitnessed.” + </p> +<p> +“You have mistaken me, sir,” said Tom, eagerly. “I never thought of +reflecting on your hospitality. I simply meant to say that as I find +myself here to-day by a lucky accident, I scarcely look to Fortune to do +me such another good turn in a hurry.” + </p> +<p> +“Your father's fault—a fault that would have shipwrecked fourfold +more ability than ever he possessed—was a timidity that went to very +cowardice. He had no faith in himself, and he inspired no confidence in +others. Yours is, if possible, a worse failing. You have boldness without +knowledge. You have the rashness that provokes a peril, and no part of the +skill that teaches how to meet it. It was with a wise prescience that I +saw we should not be safe company for each other.” + </p> +<p> +He arose as he spoke, and, motioning back Lucy as she approached to offer +her arm, he tottered from the room, to all seeming more overcome by +passion than even by years and infirmity. +</p> +<p> +“Well!” said Tom, as he threw his napkin on the table, and pushed his +chair back, “I 'll be shot if I know how I provoked that burst of anger, +or to what I owe that very neat and candid appreciation of my character.” + </p> +<p> +Lucy threw her arm around his neck, and, bending over his shoulder till +her face touched his own, said, “Oh, my dearest Tom, if you only knew how +nervous and susceptible he is, in part from his nature, but more, far +more, from suffering and sorrow! Left to the solitude of his own bitter +thoughts for years, without one creature to whisper a kind word or a +hopeful thought, is it any wonder if his heart has begun to consume +itself?” + </p> +<p> +“Devilish bitter diet it must find it! Pass me over the Madeira, Lucy. I +mean to have my last glass to the old gentleman's health and better +temper.” + </p> +<p> +“He has moments of noble generosity that would win all your love,” said +she, enthusiastically. +</p> +<p> +“You have a harder lot than ever I thought it, my poor Lucy,” said he, +looking into her eyes with an affectionate solicitude. “This is so unlike +our old home.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, so unlike!” said she; and her lip quivered and her eyes grew glazy. +</p> +<p> +“And can you bear it, girl? Does it not seem to you like a servitude to +put up with such causeless passion, such capricious anger as this?” + </p> +<p> +She shook her head mournfully, but made no answer. +</p> +<p> +“If it be your woman's nature enables you to do it, all I can say is, I +don't envy you your sex.” + </p> +<p> +“But, Tom, remember his years,—remember his age.” + </p> +<p> +“By Jove, he took good care to remind me of my own!—not that he was +so far wrong in what he said of me, Lucy. I felt all the while he had 'hit +the blot,' and I would have owned it too, if he had n't taken himself off +so quickly.” + </p> +<p> +“If you had, Tom,—if you had said but one word to this purport,—you +would have seen how nobly forgiving he could be in an instant.” + </p> +<p> +“Forgiving,—humph! I don't think the forgiveness was to have come +from <i>him</i>.” + </p> +<p> +“Sir William wishes to speak with you, Miss Lucy,” said the butler, +entering hastily. +</p> +<p> +“I must go, Tom,—good-bye. I will write to you tomorrow,—to-night, +if I can,—good-bye, my dearest brother; be sure to come on Tuesday,—mind, +Tuesday. You will be certain to find me alone.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XVIII. THE FIRST LETTER HOME. +</h2> +<p> +The post of the morning after the events of our last chapter brought Lucy +a letter from her father. It was the first since his departure. What +chapters in life are these first letters after absence! How do they open +to us glimpses of not only new scenes and incidents, but of emotions and +sentiments which, while we had relied upon them, we had never so palpably +realized before! There is such ecstasy in thinking that time and space are +no barriers against love, and that, even as we read, the heart that sent +the message is beating with affection for us. +</p> +<p> +Lendrick's letter to his daughter was full of fondness; her image had +evidently gone with him through all the changes of the voyage, and their +old home mingled in every thought of the new life before him. It was plain +enough how unwillingly he turned from the past to the present, and how far +rather he would revel in the scenes around the Shannon than turn to the +solitary existence that awaited him beyond the seas. +</p> +<p> +“I console myself, dear Lucy,” wrote he, “as well as I may, by thinking +that in my great sacrifice I have earned the love of my father,—that +love from which I have lived so long estranged, and for which my heart had +never ceased to yearn; and I delight to think how by this time you must +have grown into his heart, soothed many a care for him, and imparted to +his solitary life the blessing of that bright hopefulness which gave even +to my own dull existence a glow of glad sunshine. Out of my selfishness I +cannot help asking you to remind him of all I have given him. And now that +my egotism is so fully aroused, let me tell of myself. The voyage was less +dreary than my fears had made it. I suffered at first, it is true; and +when at last use had inured me to the sea, I fell into a sort of low +feverish state, more the result of homesickness, perhaps, than real +malady. It was a condition of rather depression than disease. Nothing +could engage, nothing interest me. I could not read, neither could I +partake in any of the various pastimes by which my fellow-voyagers +beguiled the hours; and I found myself in that pitiable state of sinking +daily lower and lower, without what I could call a cause for the +depression. +</p> +<p> +“I have more than once in my experience as a doctor had to deal with such +cases, and I own now that I have neither valued their intensity nor +understood their importance. I did not, it is true, go to the vulgar +extent of calling them hippishness; but I did the next worse thing,—I +treated them as the offspring of an over-easy existence, of a placid +frictionless life. +</p> +<p> +“With much shame do I recall how often I have rallied these poor sufferers +on the vast space that separated them from real sorrow. There is no +unreality, dearest Lucy, in whatever so overcomes the brain that thought +is all but madness, and so pains the heart that the whole wish is for +death. There are subtler influences in our nature than those that work by +the brain or the blood, and the maladies of these have but one physician. +</p> +<p> +“It was my great good-fortune to have a fellow-traveller who took the +kindest interest in me. If he could not cure, he certainly did much to +console me. He was a young man, lately gazetted on the +commander-in-chief's staff, and who came on board of us in the Downs from +a frigate bound for England. It was the merest accident that he did not +miss us and lose his passage. +</p> +<p> +“I am not a very attractive person, and it was with some astonishment that +I heard he desired to make my acquaintance; and on meeting he said, +'Though you have forgotten me, Dr. Lendrick, I had the honor of being +presented to you at Killaloe by my friend Sir Brook Fossbrooke;' and I +then remembered all about it, and how it was his features were so familiar +to me,—very good features, too, they were, with much candor and +manliness in the expression,—altogether a handsome young fellow, and +with an air of good birth about him just as distinctive as his good looks. +</p> +<p> +“I am so unused to being singled out by a stranger as the object of +attentions, that I never fully got over the surprise which this young +man's attachment to me inspired; and I am not using too strong a word, +Lucy, when I call it attachment. There might have been, at least to his +eyes, something in our respective fortunes that suggested this drawing +towards me. Who knows whether he too might not have parted from a loved +home and friends! +</p> +<p> +“When he first came on board, his manner was wild,—almost +incoherent; he ran here and there, like one in search of something or of +somebody, but whose name he had forgotten. Indeed he actually startled me +by the eagerness with which he addressed me; and when I informed him that +I was alone, quite alone, and as friendles as himself on board, I thought +he would have fainted. In all this suffering and emotion I suspected that +I found what led him to a companionship with one as sorrow-stricken as +himself. +</p> +<p> +“As it was, there was no care he did not bestow on me. My own dear boy +himself could not have nursed me more tenderly, nor tried to rally my +spirits with more affectionate solicitude. He read for me, played chess +with me, he even lent himself to the sort of reading I liked best, to +become more companionable to me, withdrawing all this while from the gay +and pleasant society of young fellows like himself. In a word, Lucy, by +his devotion to me, he sent through my heart a lurking thought, almost +like a hope, that I must somehow have certain qualities for which the +world at large had not yet credited me, which could make me of interest to +a young, bright-natured creature, fresh to life and all its enjoyments; +and from the self-esteem of this notion I really believe I drew more +encouragement than from any amount of more avowed approbation. +</p> +<p> +“I feel I am not wearying you, my darling Lucy, by dwelling even with +prolixity on what beguiled the long hours of absence, the weary, weary +days at sea. +</p> +<p> +“When we landed, for a time at least, I only met him now and then; he had +his duties, and I had mine. I had to look out for a house. My +predecessor's family are still occupying the official residence, and have +begged of me leave to remain there a little longer. I had my visits of +duty or compliment to make, and a whole round of little courtesies to +perform, for which I well know I have all your sympathy. Every one was, +however, kind and polite; some were even friendly. Indeed, my very want of +manner, my awkward bashfulness and deficient tact, have, I can see, not +injured me in the esteem of those whose worldly breeding and knowledge +have taught them to be compassionate as well as courteous. +</p> +<p> +“Amongst the many persons to whom I was presented I made two acquaintances +of more than common interest to me,—I will not go farther, and say +of any great degree of gratification. In dining with the Governor, +yesterday week, he said, 'You will meet a relation to-day, Dr. Lendrick. +His ship has just put in to coal, and he and his wife dine with us.' +Though quite persuaded the Governor was laboring under some mistake, I +waited with anxiety as the different arrivals were announced, and at last +came Colonel and Mrs. Sewell,—the Colonel being Lady Lendrick's son +by her first marriage,—what relation to myself all my skill in +genealogy is unable to pronounce. +</p> +<p> +“We met, however, shook hands very cordially, and I had the honor to +conduct Mrs. Sewell to table. I am unfortunately terribly prone to first +impressions, and all those that I entertain regarding the Colonel are +adverse. He is a tall, handsome man, easy in manner, and with the +readiness in speech and address that shows familiarity with life. He +however will never suffer your eyes to meet his, never exchange a frank +look with you, and seems, from some cause or other, to be always laboring +under an impatient anxiety to be somewhere else than where he stands at +the moment. +</p> +<p> +“He asked about my father, and never waited for my reply; and he +laughingly said, with a bad taste that shocked me, 'My mother and he never +could hit it off together.' +</p> +<p> +“Mrs. Sewell interested me more than her husband. She is still very +handsome; she must at one time have been perfectly beautiful. She is very +gentle, low-voiced, and quiet, talking with a simplicity that even I can +detect only covers a deep knowledge of life and the world. The dread of +her husband seems, however, to pervade all she says or does. She changes +color when he looks at her, and if he addresses her, she sometimes seems +about to faint. His slightest word is accepted as a command; and yet with +all this terror—terror it was—I caught a look that once passed +between them that actually overwhelmed me with amazement. It was the very +look that two accomplices might have interchanged in a moment when they +could not communicate more freely. Don't think that there is any +exaggeration in this, Lucy, or that I am assuming to possess a finer +insight into human motives than my neighbors; but my old craft as a doctor +supplies me with a technical skill that no acquaintance with the mere +surface-life of the world could have given; for the <i>Medico</i> reads +mankind by a stronger and steadier light than ever shone out of +conventionalities or social usages. +</p> +<p> +“'We are on our way to England, to Ireland, perhaps,' he said to me, in a +careless way; but she, not aware of his speech, told me they had been +invited to the Priory,—a piece of information which I own startled +me. First of all, they are not by any means like people who would be +agreeable to my father, nor, so far as I can guess, are they persons who +would easily sacrifice their own modes of life and habits to the wishes of +a recluse. Least of all, dearest Lucy, do I desire this lady to be your +companion. She has, I see, many attractive qualities; she may have others +as good and excellent; but if I do not greatly err, her whole nature and +being are in subjection to a very stern, cold, and unscrupulous man, and +she is far from being all that she should be with such gifts as she +possesses, and farther again from what she might have been with a happier +destiny in marriage. +</p> +<p> +“If it were not that you are so certain to meet, and not improbably see +much of these people, I should not have filled so much of my letter with +them; but I confess to you, since I saw them they have never been out of +my thoughts. Our relationship—if that be the name for it—led +us rapidly into considerable intimacy; he brought his children—two +lovely girls, and a little cherub of a boy of three years old—to see +me yesterday, and Mrs. Sewell comes to take me to drive every day after +luncheon. She expresses the most ardent desire to meet you, and says she +knows you will love each other. She carried off your picture t' other day, +and I was in real terror till I got it back again. She seemed in ecstasy +on being told you were living with your grandfather; but I saw a look she +shot across to her husband as I told it, and I saw his reply by another +glance that revealed to me how my tidings had caused surprise, and +something more than surprise. +</p> +<p> +“You must not set me down as fanciful or captious, dear Lucy; but the +simple truth is, I have never had a quiet moment since I knew these +people. They inspire me with the same sort of anxiety I have often felt +when, in the course of my profession, some symptom has supervened in a +case not very grave or startling in itself, but still such as I have +always found heralding in very serious combinations. It is therefore the +doctor as much as the father that takes alarm here. +</p> +<p> +“It is just possible—mind, I say possible—that I am a little +jealous of these Sewells, for they have already seduced from me my young +friend Lionel, who was so kind to me on the voyage. I scarcely see him +now, he is always with them; and yesterday I heard—it may not be +true—that he is already weary of Cape Town, and means to return home +by the next ship,—that is, along with the Sewells, who are to sail +on Friday. +</p> +<p> +“I am certain that Sewell is neither a good nor a safe companion for a +young fellow so bashful and unsuspecting as Lionel Trafford. +</p> +<p> +“There are men who read the world the way certain dishonest critics quote +a book or an article, by extracting all that is objectionable, and, +omitting context and connection, place passage after passage in quick +sequence. By such a process as this, human life is a pandemonium. I half +suspect Sewell to be one of this scornful school; and if so, a most +dangerous intimate. The heartfelt racy enjoyment of his manner, as he +records some trait of rascality or fraud, is not more marked than the +contemptuous sneer with which he receives a story that bears testimony to +generosity or trustfulness, throwing over his air in each that tone of +knowledge of life and the world that seems to say, 'These are the things +we all of us know well, though only a few have either the manliness or the +honesty to declare them openly.' +</p> +<p> +“I may have tired you with this long tirade, my dear Lucy, but I am +pouring out to you my thoughts as they come,—come, too, out of the +fulness of much reflection. Remember, too, my sweet child, that I have +often told you, 'It is just some half-dozen people with whom we are +intimate who make or mar our fate in life.' Big as the world is, we play a +very small game in one corner of the board, and it behoves us to look well +to those with whom we are to play it. +</p> +<p> +“If I am jealous of the Sewells for having robbed me of my young friend, I +am envious of himself also, for he is going back to England,—going +back to the loved faces and scenes he has left,—going back to Home. +There 's the word, Lucy, that gathers all that we come to live for, when +life really is a blessing. +</p> +<p> +“It would seem too early to pronounce, but I think I can already see this +is not a place to which I would like to bring you; but I will not prejudge +it. It may be that time will reconcile me to some things I now dislike; it +may be, too, that the presence of my own around me will dispose me to take +a cheerier view of much that now depresses me. I have a great deal to do; +I am employed during the whole day, and never really free till evening, +when society claims me. This latter is my only severe burden. You can +imagine me daily dining out, and fancy the martyrdom it costs me. +</p> +<p> +“I am most anxious to hear of you, and how you like your new life,—I +mean how you bear it. Liking is not the word for that which entails +separation. I feel assured that you will love my father. You will be +generous towards those traits which the host of mere acquaintanceship took +pleasure in exaggerating, and you will be fair enough not to misjudge his +great qualities because of certain faults of temper. He has great gifts, +Lucy; and as you will see, the two pendulums of his nature, heart and +head, swing together, and he is as noble in sentiment as he is grand in +action. +</p> +<p> +“It almost consoles me for separation when I think that I have transferred +to him the blessings of that presence that made my own sunshine. Mind that +you send me a diary of your life. I want your whole day; I want to see how +existence is filled, so that whenever my mind flies back to you I may say, +'She is in her garden,—she is working,—she is at her music,—she +is reading to him.' +</p> +<p> +“It was a mistake to send me here, Lucy. There are men in scores who would +rejoice in the opportunities of such a place, and see in it the road to +rapid fortune. I only look at one feature of it,—the banishment. Not +that by nature I am discontented,—I hope and believe this is not so,—but +I feel that there are many things in life far worse than poverty. I have +not the same dread of narrow means most men have. I do not feel depressed +in spirit when I lie beneath a very humble roof, and sit down to a coarse +meal; nor has splendor the power to exhilarate or elevate me. I am +essentially humble, and I need nothing that is not generally within the +reach of the humble; and I vow to you in all truth, I 'd rather be your +grandfather's gardener than be the governor of this great colony. There 's +an ignoble confession, but keep it for yourself. +</p> +<p> +“I have written a long letter to Tom by this post, and addressed it to Mr. +Dempster, who will forward it if he should have left before this. It +distresses me greatly when I think that I have not been able to give him +any definite career in life before we parted. Mere aptitude has no value +with the world. You may be willing and ready to do fifty things, but some +fourth-rate fellow who <i>knows</i> how to do one will beat you. The +marketable quality in life is skill; the thing least in request is genius. +Tom has this harsh lesson yet to learn, but learn it he must, for the +world is a schoolmaster that will stand no skulking, and however little to +our taste be its tasks, we must come up when called on, and go on with our +lesson as well as we may. +</p> +<p> +“In many respects Sir Brook Fossbrooke was an unfortunate companion for +him to have chanced upon. A man of considerable resources, who has +employed them all unprofitably, is a bad pilot. The very waywardness of +such a nature was exactly the quality to be avoided in Tom's case; but +what was to be done? Poverty can no more select its company than its +climate; and it would have been worse than ungracious to have rejected a +friendship so generously and freely offered. +</p> +<p> +“I am curious—I am more than curious, I am anxious—to know if +Tom should ever have met my father. They are so intensely alike in many +things that I fear me their meeting could not lead to-good. I know well +that Tom resents, and would like to show that he resents, what he deems +the harsh treatment evinced towards me, and I dread anything like +interchange of words between them. My whole hope is that you would prevent +such a mischance, or, if it did occur, would take measures to obviate its +dangers. +</p> +<p> +“Tell me particularly about this when you write. Tell me also, have you +met Lady Lendrick, and if so, on what terms? I have ever found her +obliging and good-natured, and with many qualities which the world has not +given her credit for. Give her my most respectful regards when you see +her. +</p> +<p> +“It is daybreak; the hot sun of Africa is already glancing into the room, +and I must conclude. I cannot bear to think of the miles these lines must +travel ere they meet you, but they will be with you at last, and they are +in this more fortunate than your loving father, +</p> +<p> +“T. Lendrick.” + </p> +<p> +Lucy sat long pondering over this letter. She read it too, again and +again, and by a light which was certainly not vouchsafed to him who wrote +it. To <i>her</i> there was no mystery in Trafford's conduct. It was plain +enough he had gone out, expecting to find her as his fellow-passenger. His +despair—his wretchedness—his devotion to her father, the last +resource of that disappointment he could not subdue—were all +intelligible enough. Less easy, however, to read the sudden attachment he +had formed for the Sewells. What did this mean? Had it any meaning; and if +so, was it one that concerned her to know? +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XIX. OFFICIAL MYSTERIES +</h2> +<p> +“I think I had better see him myself,” said Fossbrooke, after patiently +listening to Tom Lendrick's account of his meeting with his grandfather. +“It is possible I may be able to smooth down matters a little, and dispose +the old gentleman, besides, to accord us some aid in our Sardinian +project, for I have resolved upon that, Tom.” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed, sir; the gold-mine?” + </p> +<p> +“No, the lead,—the lead and silver. In the rough calculation I made +last night on this slip of paper, I see my way to something like seven +thousand a year to begin with; untold wealth will follow. There are no +less than eleven products available,—the black lead of pencils and +the white used by painters being the chief; while in my new salt, which I +am disposed to call the 'pyrochloride of plumbium,' we have a sedative +that will allay the pangs of hydrophobia.” + </p> +<p> +“I wish it would quiet the Chief Baron,” muttered Tom; and Sir Brook, not +hearing him correctly, continued,—“I think so,—I think the +Chief Baron eminently calculated to take a proper estimate of my +discovery. A man of fine intellect is ever ready to accept truth, albeit +it come in a shape and through a channel in which he has himself not +pursued it. Will you write a line to your sister and ask if it would be +his Lordship's convenience to receive me, and at what time?” + </p> +<p> +“Of course, sir, whatever you wish,” said Tom, in some confusion; “but +might I ask if it be your intention to ask my grandfather to aid me with +his purse?” + </p> +<p> +“Naturally. I mean that he should, by advancing, let us say, eight hundred +pounds, put you in a position to achieve a speedy fortune. He shall see, +too, that our first care has been your sister's interests. Six-sixteenths +of the profits for fifty years are to be hers; three each we reserve for +ourselves; the remaining four will form a reserve fund for casualties, a +capital for future development, and a sum at interest to pay +superannuations, with some other objects that you will find roughly jotted +down here, for which, however, they will amply suffice. I take it his +Lordship knows something of metallurgy, Tom?” “I believe he knows a little +of everything.” “Chemistry I feel sure he must have studied.” “I won't +answer for the study; but you 'll find that when you come to talk with +him, you 'll scarcely wander very far out of his geography. But I was +going to say, sir, that I 'm not quite easy at the thought of asking him +for money.” + </p> +<p> +“It's not money—at least, it's no gift—we require of him. We +are in possession of a scheme certain to secure a fortune. We know where a +treasure lies hid, and we want no more than the cost of the journey to go +and fetch it. He shall be more than repaid. The very dispositions we make +in your sister's favor will show him in what spirit we mean to deal. It is +possible—I am willing to own it—it is possible I might +approach a man of inferior intelligence with distrust and fear, but in +coming before Baron Lendrick I have no misgivings. All my experience of +life has shown me that the able men are the generous men. In the ample +stretch of their minds they estimate mankind by larger averages, and thus +they come to see that there is plenty of good in human nature.” + </p> +<p> +“I believe the old Judge is clever enough, and some speak very well of his +character; but his temper—his temper is something that would swallow +up all the fine qualities that ever were accorded to one man; and even if +you were about to go on a mission I liked better, I 'd say, Don't ask to +see him, don't expose yourself to the risk of some outrageous affront,—something +you could n't bear and would n't resent.” + </p> +<p> +“I have never yet found myself in the predicament you speak of,” said Sir +Brook, drawing himself up haughtily, “nor do I know of any contingency in +life from which I could retreat on account of its perils. It may be, +indeed it is, more than likely, from what you tell me, that I shall make +no appeal to your grandfather's generosity; but I shall see him to tender +your regrets for any pain you may have caused him, and to tell also so +much of our future intentions as it is becoming the head of your house +should hear. I also desire to see your sister, and say good-bye.” + </p> +<p> +“Ask her to let me do so too. I can't go away without seeing her again.” + Tom took a turn or two up and down the room as though he had not made up +his mind whether to say something or not. He looked out of the window, +possibly in search of something to distract his thoughts, and then turning +suddenly about, he said: “I was thinking, sir, that if it was your opinion—mind, +I don't want to insinuate that it ought to be, or even that it is my own—but +that if you came to the conclusion that my sister was not happy with my +grandfather—that her life was one of depression and suffering—what +would you say to her coming along with us?” + </p> +<p> +“To Sardinia! Coming to Sardinia, do you mean, Tom?” said the old man, in +astonishment. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir, that is what I meant.” + </p> +<p> +“Have I not told you the sort of life that lies before us in the island,—the +hardships, the dangers, the bitter privations we shall have to endure? Is +it to these we can invite a young girl, trained and accustomed to every +elegance and every comfort?” + </p> +<p> +“She 'd not shrink from her share,—that much I 'll warrant you; and +the worst roughing of that rugged life would be easier to bear than this +old man's humor.” + </p> +<p> +“No, no; it must not be thought of,” said Fossbrooke, sternly. “What +meaning has our enterprise if it be not to secure her future fortune? She +cannot—she shall not—pay any part of the price. Let me think +over this, Tom. It may be that we ought not to leave her; it may be that +we should hit upon something nearer home. I will go up to the Castle and +see the Viceroy.” + </p> +<p> +He made a light grimace as he said this. Such a visit was by no means to +his taste. If there was anything totally repugnant to his nature, it was +to approach men whom he had known as friends or intimates with anything +like the request for a favor. It seemed to him to invert all the relations +which ought to subsist between men in society. The moment you had stooped +to such a step, in his estimation you had forfeited all right to that +condition of equality which renders intercourse agreeable. +</p> +<p> +“I must have something for this young fellow,—something that may +enable him to offer his sister a home if she should need it. I will accept +nothing for myself,—on that I am determined. It is a sorry part, +that of suppliant, but so long as it is for another it is endurable. Not +that I like it, though,—not that it sits easy on me,—and I am +too old to acquire a new manner.” Thus muttering to himself, he went along +till he found himself at the chief entrance of the Castle. +</p> +<p> +“You will have to wait on Mr. Balfour, sir, his Excellency's private +secretary, the second door from the corner,” said the porter, scarcely +deigning a glance at one so evidently unversed in viceregal observances. +Sir Brook nodded and withdrew. From a groom who was holding a neat-looking +cob pony Fossbrooke learned that Mr. Balfour was about to take his +morning's ride. “He'll not see you now,” said the man. “You 'll have to +come back about four or half-past.” + </p> +<p> +“I have only a question to ask,” said Sir Brook, half to himself as he +ascended the stairs. As he gained the landing and rang, the door opened +and Mr. Balfour appeared. “I regret to detain you, sir,” began Sir Brook, +as he courteously raised his hat. “Mr. Balfour, I believe.” + </p> +<p> +“You are right as to my name, but quite as wrong if you fancy that you +will detain me,” said that plump and very self-satisfied gentleman, as he +moved forward. +</p> +<p> +“And yet, sir, such is my intention,” said Sir Brook, placing himself +directly in front of him. +</p> +<p> +“That is a matter very soon settled,” said Balfour, returning to the door +and calling out, “Pollard, step down to the lower yard, and send a +policeman here.” + </p> +<p> +Sir Brook heard the order unmoved in manner, and even made way for the +servant to pass down the stairs. No sooner, however, was the man out of +hearing than he said, “It would be much better, sir, not to render either +of us ridiculous. I am Sir Brook Fossbrooke, and I come here to learn at +what time it would be his Excellency's pleasure to receive me.” + </p> +<p> +The calm quiet dignity in which he spoke, even more than the words, had +its effect on Balfour, who, with more awkwardness than he would like to +have owned, asked Sir Brook to walk in and be seated. “I have had a +message for you from his Excellency these three or four days back, and +knew not where to find you.” + </p> +<p> +“Did it never occur to you to try what assistance the police might afford, +sir?” said he, with deep gravity. +</p> +<p> +“One thinks of these generally as a last resource,” said Balfour, coolly, +and possibly not sorry to show how imperturbable he could be under a +sarcasm. +</p> +<p> +“And now for the message, sir,” said Fossbrooke. +</p> +<p> +“I'll be shot if I remember it. Wasn't it something about an election +riot? You thrashed a priest, named Malcahy, eh?” + </p> +<p> +“I opine not, sir,” said Sir Brook, with a faint smile. +</p> +<p> +“No, no; you are the great man for acclimatization; you want to make the +ornithorhynchus as common as the turkey. Am I right?” + </p> +<p> +Sir Brook shook his head. +</p> +<p> +“I never have my head clear out of office hours, that 's the fact,” said +Balfour, impatiently. “If you had called on me between twelve and three, +you 'd have found me like a directory.” + </p> +<p> +“Put no strain upon your recollection, sir. When I see the Viceroy, it is +probable he will repeat the message.” + </p> +<p> +“You know him, then?” + </p> +<p> +“I have known him eight-and-forty years.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, I have it,—I remember it all now. You used to be with Colonel +Hanger and Hugh Seymour and O'Kelly and all the Carlton House lot.” + </p> +<p> +Fossbrooke bowed a cold assent. +</p> +<p> +“His Excellency told us the other evening that there was not a man in +England who had so many stories of the Prince. Didn't Moore go to you +about his Life of Sheridan?—yes, of course,—and you promised +him some very valuable documents; and sent him five-and-twenty protested +bills of poor Brinsley's, labelled 'Indubitable Records.'” + </p> +<p> +“This does not lead us to the message, sir,” said Foss-brooke, stiffly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, but it does though,—I'm coming to it. I have a system of +artificial memory, and I have just arrived at you now through Carlton +House, milk-punch, and that story about Lord Grey and yourself riding +postilions to Ascot, and you on the wheelers tipping up Grey with your +whip till he grew frantic. Was n't that a fact?” + </p> +<p> +“I wait for the message, sir; or rather I grow impatient at not hearing +it.” + </p> +<p> +“I remember it perfectly. It's a place he wants to offer you; it's a +something under the Courts of Law. You are to do next to nothing,—nothing +at all, I believe, if you prefer it, as the last fellow did. He lived in +Dresden for the education of his children, and he died there, and we did +n't know when he died,—at least they suspect he signed some dozen +life certificates that his doctor used to forward at quarter-day. Mind, I +don't give you the story as mine; but the impression is that he held the +office for eight years after his death.” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps, sir, you would now favor me with the name and nature of the +appointment.” + </p> +<p> +“He was called the Deputy-Assistant Sub-something of somewhere in the +Exchequer; and he had to fill, or to register, or to put a seal, or, if +not a seal, a stamp on some papers; but the marrow of the matter is, he +had eight hundred a year for it; and when the Act passed requiring two +seals, he asked for an increase of salary and an assistant clerk, and they +gave him two hundred more, but they refused the clerk. They do such shabby +things in those short sittings over the Estimates!” + </p> +<p> +“And am I to understand that his Excellency makes me an offer of this +appointment?” + </p> +<p> +“Well, not exactly; there's a hitch in it,—I may say there are two +hitches: first of all, we 're not sure it's in our gift; and, secondly—” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps I may spare you the secondly,—the firstly is more than +enough for me.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, but I'd like to explain. Here's how it is: the Chief Baron claimed +the patronage about twenty years ago, and we made, or the people who were +in power made, some sort of a compromise about an ultimate nomination, and +he was to have the first. Now this man only died t' other day, having held +the office, as I said, upwards of twenty years,—a most +unconscionable thing,—just one of those selfish acts small official +fellows are always doing; and so <i>I</i> thought, as I saw your name down +for something on his Excellency's list, that I 'd mention <i>you</i> for +the post as a sort of sop to Baron Lendrick, saying, 'Look at our man; we +are not going to saddle the country with one of your long-annuity fellows,—<i>he</i> +'s eighty if he's a day.' I say, I 'd press this point, because the old +Judge says he is no longer bound by the terms of the compromise, for that +the office was abolished and reconstructed by the 58th of Victoria, and +that he now insists on the undivided patronage.” + </p> +<p> +“I presume that the astute reasons which induced you to think of <i>me</i> +have not been communicated to the Viceroy.” + </p> +<p> +“I should think not. I mention them to you frankly, because his Excellency +said you were one of those men who must be dealt with openly. 'Play on the +square with Foss-brooke,' said he; 'and whether he win or lose, you 'll +see no change in him. Try to overreach him, and you 'll catch a tiger.'” + </p> +<p> +“I am very grateful for his kind estimate of me. It is, however, no more +than I looked for at his hands.” This he said with a marked feeling, and +then added, in a lighter tone, “I have also a debt of gratitude to +yourself, of which I know not how to acquit myself better than by +accepting this appointment, and taking the earliest opportunity to die +afterwards.” + </p> +<p> +“No, don't do that; I don't mean that. You can do like that fellow they +made Pope because he looked on the verge of the grave, and who pitched his +crutch into the air when he had put on the tiara.” + </p> +<p> +“I understand; so that it is only in Baron Lendrick's eyes I am to look +short-lived.” + </p> +<p> +“Just so; call on him,—have a meeting with him; say that his +Excellency desires to act with every delicacy towards him,—that +should it be discovered hereafter the right of nomination lies with the +Court and not with us, we 'll give him an equivalent somewhere else, till—till—” + </p> +<p> +“Till I shall have vacated the post,” chimed in Sir Brook, blandly; “a +matter, of course, of very brief space.” + </p> +<p> +“You see the whole thing,—you see it in all its bearings; and now if +you only could know something about the man you have to deal with, there +would be nothing more to tell you.” + </p> +<p> +“I have heard about him passingly.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, yes, his eccentricities are well known. The world is full of stories +of him, but he is one of those men who play wolf on the species,—he +must be worrying somebody to keep him from worrying himself; he smashed +the last two Governments here, and he 'd have upset <i>us</i> too if <i>I</i> +had n't been here. He hates <i>me</i> cordially; and if you don't want to +rouse his anger, don't let your lips murmur the name, Cholmondely +Balfour.” + </p> +<p> +“You may rely upon me, sir,” said Sir Brook, bowing. “I have scarcely ever +met a gentleman whose name I am not more likely to recall than your own.” + </p> +<p> +“Sharp, that; did you mean it?” said Balfour, with his glass to his eye. +</p> +<p> +“I am never ambiguous, sir, though it occasionally happens to me to say +somewhat less than I feel. I wish you a good day.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XX. IN COURT. +</h2> +<p> +When the day arrived that the Chief Baron was to resume his place on the +Bench, no small share of excitement was seen to prevail within the +precincts of the Four Courts. Many opined that his recovery was far from +perfect, and that it was not his intention ever to return to the +justice-seat. Some maintained that the illness had been far less severe +than was pretended, and that he had employed the attack as a means of +pressure on the Government, to accord to his age and long services the +coveted reward. Less argumentative partisans there were who were satisfied +to wager that he would or would not reappear on the Bench, and bets were +even laid that he would come for one last time, as though to show the +world in what full vigor of mind and intellect was the man the Government +desired to consign to inactivity and neglect. +</p> +<p> +It is needless to say that he was no favorite with the Bar. There was +scarcely a man, from the highest to the lowest, whom he had not on some +occasion or another snubbed, ridiculed, or reprimanded. Whose law had he +not controverted? Whose acuteness had he not exposed, whose rhetoric not +made jest of? The mere presence of ability before him seemed to stimulate +his combative spirit, and incite him to a passage at arms with one able to +defend himself. No first-rate man could escape the shafts of his barbed +and pointed wit; it was only dulness, hopeless dulness, that left his +court with praise of his urbanity and an eulogy over his courteous +demeanor. +</p> +<p> +Now, hopeless dulness is not the characteristic of the Irish Bar, and with +the majority the Chief Baron was the reverse of popular. +</p> +<p> +No small tribute was it therefore to his intellectual superiority, to that +mental power that all acknowledged while they dreaded, that his appearance +was greeted with a murmur of approbation, which swelled louder and louder +as he moved across the hall, till it burst out at last into a hoarse, full +cheer of welcome. Mounting the steps with difficulty, the pale old man, +seared with age and wrinkled with care, turned round towards the vast +crowd, and with an eye of flashing brightness, and a heightened color, +pressed his hand upon his heart, and bowed. A very slight motion it was,—less, +far less, perhaps, than a sovereign might have accorded; but in its +dignity and grace it was a perfect recognition of all the honor he felt +had been done him. +</p> +<p> +How broken! how aged! how fearfully changed! were the whispered remarks +that were uttered around as he took his seat on the Bench, and more +significant even than words were the looks interchanged when he attempted +to speak, and instead of that clear metallic ring which once had been +audible even outside the court, a faint murmuring sound was only heard. +</p> +<p> +A few commonplace motions were made and discharged. A somewhat wearisome +argument followed on a motion for a new trial, and the benches of the Bar +gradually grew thinner and thinner, as the interest of the scene wore off, +and as each in turn had scanned, and, after his own fashion, interpreted, +the old Judge's powers of mind and body; when suddenly, and as it were +without ostensible cause, the court began to fill,—bench after bench +was occupied, till at last even all the standing-space was crowded; and +when the massive curtain moved aside, vast numbers were seen without, +eagerly trying to enter. At first the Chief Baron appeared not to notice +the change, but his sharp eye no sooner detected it than he followed with +his glance the directed gaze of the crowd, and saw it fixed on the +gallery, opposite the jury-box, now occupied by a well-dressed company, in +the midst of whom, conspicuous above all, sat Lady Lendrick. So well known +were the relations that subsisted between himself and his wife, such +publicity had been given to their hates and quarrels, that her presence +here was regarded as a measure of shameless indelicacy. In the very +defiant look, too, that she bestowed on the body of the court she seemed +to accept the imputation, and to dare it. +</p> +<p> +Leisurely and calmly did she scan the old man's features through her +double eyeglass, while from time to time, with a simpering smile, she +would whisper some words to the lady at her side,—words it was not +needful to overhear, they were so palpably words of critical comment upon +him she gazed at. +</p> +<p> +So engrossed was attention by the indecency of this intrusion, which had +not even the shallow pretext of an interesting cause to qualify it, that +it was only after a considerable time it was perceived that the lady who +sat next Lady Lendrick was exceedingly beautiful. If no longer in her +first youth, there were traits of loveliness in her perfectly formed +features which even years respect; and in the depth of her orbits and the +sculptural elegance of her nostrils and her mouth, there was all that +beauty we love to call Greek, but in which no classic model ever could +compete with the daughters of England. +</p> +<p> +Her complexion was of exceeding delicacy, as was the half-warm tint of her +light-brown hair. But it was when she smiled that the captivation of her +beauty became perfect; and it seemed as though each and all there +appropriated that radiant favor to himself, and felt his heart bound with +a sort of ecstasy. It had been rumored in the morning through the hall +that the Chief Baron, at the rising of the Court, would deliver a short +reply to the address of the Bar; and now, as the last motion was being +disposed of, the appearance of eager expectation and curiosity became +conspicuous on every side. +</p> +<p> +That the unlooked-for presence of his wife had irritated and embarrassed +the old man, was plain to the least observant. The stern expression of his +features; the steadfast way in which he gazed into the body of the court, +to avoid even a chance glance at the gallery; the fretful impatience with +which he moved his hands restlessly amongst his papers,—all showed +discomposure and uneasiness. Still, it was well known that the moment he +was called on for a mental effort intellect ever assumed the mastery over +temper, and all felt that when he should arise not a trace of +embarrassment would remain to mar the calm dignity of his manner. +</p> +<p> +It was amidst a hushed silence that he stood up, and said: “Mr. Chief +Sergeant, and Gentlemen of the Bar: I had intended to-day,—I had +even brought down with me some notes of a reply which I purposed to make +to the more than flattering address which you so graciously offered to me. +I find, however, that I have overrated the strength that remains to me. I +find I have measured my power to thank you by the depth of my gratitude, +and not by the vigor of my frame. I am too weak to say all that I feel, +and too deeply your debtor to ask you to accept less than I owe you. Had +the testimony of esteem you presented to me only alluded to those gifts of +mind and intellect with which a gracious Providence was pleased to endow +me,—had you limited yourself to the recognition of the lawyer and +the judge,—I might possibly have found strength to assure you that I +accepted your praise with the consciousness that it was not all unmerited. +The language of your address, however, went beyond this; your words were +those of regard, even of affection. I am unused to such as these, +gentlemen,—they unsettle—they unman me. Physicians tell us +that the nerves of the student acquire a morbid and diseased acuteness for +want of those habits of action and physical exertion which more vulgar +organizations practise. So do I feel that the mental faculties gain an +abnormal intensity in proportion as the affections are neglected, and the +soil of the heart left untilled. +</p> +<p> +“Mine have been worse than ignored,” said he, with an elevated tone, and +in a voice that rang through the court,—“they have been outraged; +and when the time comes that biography will have to deal with my character +and my fortunes, if there be but justice in the award, the summing-up will +speak of me as one ever linked with a destiny that was beneath him. He was +a lawyer,—he ought to have been a legislator. He sat on the Bench, +while his place was the Cabinet; and when at the end of a laborious life +his brethren rallied round him with homage and with tender regard, they +found him like a long beleaguered city starved into submission, carrying a +bold port towards the enemy, but torn by dissension within, and betrayed +by the very garrison that should have died in its defence.” + </p> +<p> +The savage fierceness of these words turned every eye in the court to the +gallery, where Lady Lendrick sat, and where, with a pleasant smile on her +face, she not only listened with seeming pleasure, but beat time with her +fan to the rhythm of the well-rounded periods. +</p> +<p> +A quivering of the lip, and a strange flattening of the cheek of one side, +succeeded to the effort with which he delivered these words, and when he +attempted to speak again his voice failed him; and after a few attempts he +placed his hand on his brow, and with a look of intense and most painful +significancy, bowed around him to both sides of the court and retired. +</p> +<p> +“That woman, that atrocious woman, has killed him,” muttered poor Haire, +as he hastened to the Judge's robing-room. +</p> +<p> +“I am sorry, my dear, you should not have heard him in a better vein, for +he is really eloquent at times,” said Lady Lendrick to her beautiful +companion, as they moved through the crowd to their carriage. +</p> +<p> +“I trust his present excitement will not have bad consequences,” said the +other, softly. “Don't you think we ought to wait and ask how he is?” + </p> +<p> +“If you like. I have only one objection, and that is, that we may be +misconstrued. There are people here malicious enough to impute the worst +of motives to our anxiety. Oh, here is Mr. Pemberton! Mr. Pemberton, will +you do me the great favor to inquire how the Chief Baron is? Would you do +more, and say that I am most eager to know if I could be of any use to +him?” + </p> +<p> +If Mr. Pemberton had no fancy for his mission, he could not very well +decline it. While he was absent, the ladies took a turn through the hall, +inspecting the two or three statues of distinguished lawyers, and scanning +the living faces, whose bewigged expression seemed to blend the over-wise +and the ridiculous in the strangest imaginable manner. +</p> +<p> +A sudden movement in the crowd betokened some event; and now, through a +lane formed in the dense mass, the Chief Baron was seen approaching. He +had divested himself of his robes, and looked the younger for the change. +Indeed, there was an almost lightness in his step, as he came forward, and +with a bland smile said: “I am most sensible of the courtesy that led you +here. I only wish my strength had been more equal to the occasion.” And he +took Lady Lendrick's hand with a mingled deference and regard. +</p> +<p> +“Sir William, this is my daughter-in-law. She only arrived yesterday, but +was determined not to lose the opportunity of hearing you.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/178.jpg" width="100%" alt="178 " /> +</div> +<p> +“To have <i>heard</i> me to-day was disappointment,” said the old man, as +he raised the young lady's hand to his lips; “to see her is none. I am +charmed to meet one so closely tied to me,—of such exquisite beauty. +Ah, Madam! it's a dear-bought privilege, this candid appreciation of +loveliness we old men indulge in. May I offer you my arm?” + </p> +<p> +And now through the dense crowd they passed along,—all surprised and +amazed at the courteous attentions of the old Judge, whom but a few +moments before they had seen almost convulsed with passion. +</p> +<p> +“She almost had won the game, Haire,” said the Chief Baron, as, having +handed the ladies to their carriage, he went in search of his own. “But I +have mated her. My sarcasm has never given me one victory with that +woman,” said he, sternly. “I have never conquered her except by courtesy.” + </p> +<p> +“Why did she come down to court at all?” blurted out Haire; “it was +positively indecent.” + </p> +<p> +“The Spanish women go to bull-fights, but I never heard that they stepped +down into, the arena. She has great courage,—very great courage.” + </p> +<p> +“Who was the handsome woman with her?” + </p> +<p> +“Her daughter-in-law, Mrs. Sewell. Now, that is what I call beauty, Haire. +There is the element which is denied to us men,—to subdue without +effort, to conquer without conflict.” + </p> +<p> +“Your granddaughter is handsomer, to my thinking.” + </p> +<p> +“They are like each other,—strangely like. They have the same +dimpling of the cheek before they smile, and her laugh has the same ring +as Lucy's.” + </p> +<p> +Haire muttered something, not very intelligibly, indeed, but certainly not +sounding like assent. +</p> +<p> +“Lady Lendrick had asked me to take these Sewells in at the Priory, and I +refused her. Perhaps I 'd have been less peremptory had I seen this +beauty. Yes, sir! There is a form of loveliness—this woman has it—as +distinctly an influence as intellectual superiority, or great rank, or +great riches. To deny its power you must live out of the world, and reject +all the ordinances of society.” + </p> +<p> +“Coquettes, I suppose, have their followers; but I don't think you or I +need be of the number.” + </p> +<p> +“You speak with your accustomed acuteness, Haire; but coquetry is the +exercise of many gifts, beauty is the display of one. I can parry off the +one; I cannot help feeling the burning rays of the other. Come, come, +don't sulk; I am not going to undervalue your favorite Lucy. They have +promised to dine with me on Sunday; you must meet them.” + </p> +<p> +“Dine with you!—dine with you, after what you said today in open +court!” + </p> +<p> +“That I could invite them, and they accept my invitation, is the best +reply to those who would, in their malevolence, misinterpret whatever may +have fallen from me. The wound of a sharp arrow is never very painful till +some inexpert bungler endeavors to withdraw the weapon. It is then that +agony becomes excruciating, and peril imminent.” + </p> +<p> +“I suppose I am the bungler, then?” + </p> +<p> +“Heaven forbid I should say so! but as I have often warned you, Haire, +your turn for sarcasm is too strong for even your good sense. When you +have shotted your gun with a good joke, you will make a bull's eye of your +best friend.” + </p> +<p> +“By George, then, I don't know myself, that's all; and I could as easily +imagine myself a rich man as a witty one.” + </p> +<p> +“You are rich in gifts more precious than money; and you have the +quintessence of all wit in that property that renders you suggestive; it +is like what chemists call latent heat. But to return to Mrs. Sewell: she +met my son at the Cape, and reports favorably of his health and +prospects.” + </p> +<p> +“Poor fellow! what a banishment he must feel it!” + </p> +<p> +“I wonder, sir, how many of us go through life without sacrifices! She +says that he goes much into the world, and is already very popular in the +society of the place,—a great and happy change to a man who had +suffered his indolence and self-indulgence to master him. Had he remained +at home, I might have been able to provide for him. George Ogle's place is +vacant, and I am determined to exercise my right of appointment.” + </p> +<p> +“First Registrar, was he not?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; a snug berth for incapacity,—one thousand a year. Ogle made +more of it by means we shall not inquire into, but which shall not be +repeated.” + </p> +<p> +“You ought to give it to your grandson,” said Haire, bluntly. +</p> +<p> +“You ought to know better than to say so, sir,” said the Judge, with a +stern severity. “It is to men like myself the public look for example and +direction, and it would be to falsify all the teaching of my life if I +were to misuse my patronage. Come up early on Saturday morning, and go +over the lists with me. There are one hundred and twenty-three applicants, +backed by peers, bishops, members of Parliament, and men in power.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't envy you your patronage.” + </p> +<p> +“Of course not, sir. The one hundred and twenty-two disappointed +candidates would present more terror to a mind like yours than any +consciousness of a duty fulfilled would compensate for; but I am fashioned +of other stuff.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, I only hope it may be a worthy fellow gets it.” + </p> +<p> +“If you mean worthy in what regards a devotion to the public service, I +may possibly be able to assure you on that head.” + </p> +<p> +“No, no; I mean a good fellow,—a true-hearted, honest fellow, to +whom the salary will be a means of comfort and happiness.” + </p> +<p> +“Sir, you ask far too much. Men in my station investigate fitness and +capacity; they cannot descend to inquire how far the domestic virtues +influence those whom they advance to office.” + </p> +<p> +“You may drop me here: I am near home,” said Haire, who began to feel a +little weary of being lectured. +</p> +<p> +“You will not dine with me?” + </p> +<p> +“Not to-day. I have some business this evening. I have a case to look +over.” + </p> +<p> +“Come up on Saturday, then,—come to breakfast; bring me any +newspapers that treat of the appointment, and let us see if we cannot +oppose this spirit of dictation they are so prone to assume; for I am +resolved I will never name a man to office who has the Press for his +patron.” + </p> +<p> +“It may not be his fault.” + </p> +<p> +“It shall be his misfortune, then. Stop, Drab; Mr. Haire wishes to get +down. To the Priory,” said he, as his friend went his way; and now, +leaning back in his carriage, the old man continued to talk aloud, and, +addressing an imaginary audience, declaim against the encroaching spirit +of the newspapers, and inveigh against the perils to which their +irresponsible counsels exposed the whole framework of society; and thus +speaking, and passionately gesticulating, he reached his home. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXI. A MORNING CALL. +</h2> +<p> +As Sir William waited breakfast for Haire on Saturday morning, a car drove +up to the door, and the butler soon afterwards entered with a card and a +letter. The card bore the name “Sir Brook Fossbrooke,” and the letter was +sealed with the viceregal arms, and had the name “Wilmington” on the +corner. Sir William broke it open, and read,— +</p> +<p> +“My dear Chief Baron,—This will come to your hand through Sir Brook +Fossbrooke, one of my oldest and choicest friends. He tells me he desires +to know you, and I am not aware of any more natural or legitimate +ambition. It would be presumption in me to direct your attention to +qualities you will be more quick to discover and more able to appreciate +than myself. I would only add that your estimate will, I feel assured, be +not less favorable that it will be formed of one of whose friendship I am +proud. It may be that his visit to you will include a matter of business; +if so, give it your courteous attention: and believe me ever, my dear +Chief Baron, your faithful friend, +</p> +<p> +“Wilmington.” + </p> +<p> +“Show the gentleman in,” said the Judge; and he advanced towards the door +as Sir Brook entered. “I am proud to make your acquaintance, Sir Brook,” + said he, presenting his hand. +</p> +<p> +“I would not have presumed to call on you at such an hour, my Lord Chief +Baron, save that my minutes are numbered. I must leave for England this +evening; and I wished, if possible, to meet you before I started.” + </p> +<p> +“You will, I hope, join me at breakfast?” + </p> +<p> +“I breakfasted two hours ago,—if I dare to dignify by the name my +meal of bread and milk. But, pray, let me not keep you from yours,—that +is, if you will permit me to speak to you while so occupied.” + </p> +<p> +“I am at your orders, sir,” said the old Judge, as he seated himself and +requested his visitor to sit beside him. +</p> +<p> +“His Excellency tells me, my Lord, that there is just now vacant a +situation of which some doubt exists as to the patron,—a +Registrarship, I think he called it, in your Court?” + </p> +<p> +“There is no doubt whatever, sir. The patronage is mine.” + </p> +<p> +“I merely quote the Viceroy, my Lord,—I assert nothing of myself.” + </p> +<p> +“It may not impossibly save time, sir, when I repeat that his Excellency +has misinformed you. The office is in my gift.” + </p> +<p> +“May I finish the communication with which he charged me?” + </p> +<p> +“Sir, there is no case before the court,” said the Judge. “I can hear you, +as a matter of courtesy; but it cannot be your object to be listened to on +such terms?” + </p> +<p> +“I will accept even so little. If it should prove that the view taken by +his Excellency is the correct one—pray, sir, let me proceed—” + </p> +<p> +“I cannot; I have no temper for a baseless hypothesis. I will not, +besides, abuse your time any more than my own forbearance; and I therefore +say that if any portion of your interest in making my acquaintance +concerns that question you have so promptly broached, the minutes employed +in the discussion would be thrown away by us both.” + </p> +<p> +“Mr. Haire,” said the servant, at this moment; and the Chief Baron's old +friend entered, rather heated by his walk. +</p> +<p> +“You are late by half an hour, Haire; let me present you to Sir Brook +Fossbrooke, whose acquaintance I am now honored in making. Sir Brook is +under a delusive impression, Haire, which I told you a few days ago would +demand some decisive step on my part; he thinks that the vacant +registrarship is at the disposal of the Crown.” + </p> +<p> +“I ask pardon,” said Fossbrooke. “As I understood his Excellency, they +only claim the alternate appointment.” + </p> +<p> +“And they shall not assert even that, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“Sir William's case is strong,—it is irrefutable. I have gone over +it myself,” broke in Haire. +</p> +<p> +“There, sir! listen to that. You have now wherewithal to go back and tell +the Viceroy that the opinion of the leading man of the Irish Bar has +decided against his claim. Tell him, sir, that accident timed your visit +here at the same moment with my distinguished friend's, and that you in +this way obtained a spontaneous decision on the matter at issue. When you +couple with that judgment the name of William Haire, you will have said +enough.” + </p> +<p> +“I bow to this great authority,” said Sir Brook, with deep courtesy, “and +accepting your Lordship's statement to the fullest, I would only add, that +as it was his Excellency's desire to have named me to this office, might I +so far presume, on the loss of the good fortune that I had looked for, to +approach you with a request, only premising that it is not on my own +behalf?” + </p> +<p> +“I own, sir, that I do not clearly appreciate the title to your claim. You +are familiar with the turf, Sir Brook, and you know that it is only the +second horse has a right to demand his entry.” + </p> +<p> +“I have not been beaten, my Lord. You have scratched my name and prevented +my running.” + </p> +<p> +“Let us come back to fact, sir,” said the Chief Baron, not pleased with +the retort. “How can you base any right to approach me with a request on +the circumstance that his Excellency desired to give you what belonged to +another?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, that puts it forcibly—unanswerably—to my thinking,” said +Haire. +</p> +<p> +“I may condole with disappointment, sir, but I am not bound to compensate +defeat,” said the old Judge; and he arose and walked the room with that +irritable look and manner which even the faintest opposition to him often +evoked, and for which even the utterance of a flippant rebuke but partly +compensated him. +</p> +<p> +“I take it, my Lord Chief Baron,” said Fossbrooke, calmly, “that I have +neither asked for condolence nor compensation. I told you, I hoped +distinctly that what I was about to urge was not on my own behalf.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, sir, and I think the plea is only the less sustainable. The +Viceroy's letter might give a pretext for the one; there is nothing in our +acquaintance would warrant the other.” + </p> +<p> +“If you knew, sir, how determined I am not to take offence at words which +certainly imperil patience, you would possibly spare me some of these +asperities. I am in close relations of friendship with your grandson; he +is at present living with me; I have pledged myself to his father to do my +utmost in securing him some honorable livelihood, and it is in his behalf +that I have presented myself before you to-day. Will you graciously accord +me a hearing on this ground?” + </p> +<p> +There was a quiet dignity of manner in which he said this, a total +forgetfulness of self, and a manly simplicity of purpose so palpable, that +the old Judge felt he was in presence of one whose character called for +all his respect; at the same time he was not one to be suddenly carried +away by a sentiment, and in a very measured voice he replied, “If I 'm +flattered, sir, by the interest you take in a member of my family, I am +still susceptible of a certain displeasure that it should be a stranger +should stand before me to ask me for any favor to my own.” + </p> +<p> +“I am aware, my Lord Chief Baron, that my position is a false one, but so +is your own.” + </p> +<p> +“Mine, sir! mine? What do you mean? Explain yourself.” + </p> +<p> +“If your Lordship's interest had been exerted as it might have been, Dr. +Lendrick's son would never have needed so humble a friend as he has found +in me.” + </p> +<p> +“And have you come here, sir, to lecture me on my duty to my family? Have +you presented yourself under the formality of a viceregal letter of +introduction to tell a perfect stranger to you how he should have demeaned +himself to his own?” + </p> +<p> +“Probably I might retort, and ask by what right you lecture me on my +manners and behavior? But I am willing to be taught by so consummate a +master of everything; and though I was once a courtier, I believe that I +have much to learn on the score of breeding. And now, my Lord, let us +leave this unpromising theme, and come to one which has more interest for +each of us. If this registrarship, this place, whatever it be, would be +one to suit your grandson, will the withdrawal of <i>my</i> claim serve to +induce your Lordship to support <i>his?</i> In one word, my Lord, will you +let him have the appointment?” + </p> +<p> +“I distinctly refuse, sir,” said the Judge, waving his hand with an air of +dignity. “Of the young gentleman for whom you intercede I know but little; +but there are two disqualifications against him, more than enough, either +of them, to outweigh your advocacy.” + </p> +<p> +“May I learn them?” asked Sir Brook, meekly. +</p> +<p> +“You shall, sir. He carries my name without its prestige; he inherits <i>my</i> +temper, but not my intellect.” The blood rushed to his face as he spoke, +and his chest swelled, and his whole bearing bespoke the fierce pride that +animated him; when suddenly, as it were, recollecting himself, he added: +“I am not wont to give way thus, sir. It is only in a moment of +forgetfulness that I could have obtruded a personal consideration into a +question of another kind. My friend here will tell you if it has been the +habit of my life to pension my family on the public.” + </p> +<p> +“Having failed in one object of my coming, let me hope for better success +in another. May I convey to your Lordship your grandson's regret for +having offended you? It has caused him sincere sorrow and much +self-reproach. May I return with the good tidings of your forgiveness?” + </p> +<p> +“The habits of my order are opposed to rash judgments, and consequently to +hasty reversions. I will consider the case, and let you hear my opinion +upon it.” + </p> +<p> +“I think that is about as much as you will do with him,” muttered Haire in +Sir Brook's ear, and with a significant gesture towards the door. +</p> +<p> +“Before taking my leave, my Lord, would it be too great a liberty if I beg +to present my personal respects to Miss Lendrick?” + </p> +<p> +“I will inform her of your wish, sir,” said the Judge, rising, and ringing +the bell. After a pause of some minutes, in which a perfect silence was +maintained by all, the servant returned to say, “Miss Lendrick would be +happy to see Sir Brook.” + </p> +<p> +“I hope, sir,” said the Chief Baron, as he accompanied him to the door, “I +have no need to request that no portion of what has passed here to-day be +repeated to my granddaughter.” + </p> +<p> +A haughty bow of assent was all the reply. +</p> +<p> +“I make my advances to her heart,” said the Judge, with a tone of more +feeling in his voice, “through many difficulties. Let these not be +increased to me,—let her not think me unmindful of my own.” + </p> +<p> +“Give her no reason to think so, my Lord, and you may feel very +indifferent to the chance words of a passing acquaintance.” + </p> +<p> +“For the third time to-day, sir, have you dared to sit in judgment over my +behavior to my family. You cannot plead want of experience of life, or +want of converse with men, to excuse this audacity. I must regard your +intrusion, therefore, as a settled project to insult me. I accept no +apologies, sir,” said the old man, with a haughty wave of his hand, while +his eyes glittered with passion. “I only ask, and I hope I ask as a right, +that I may not be outraged under my own roof. Take your next opportunity +to offend me when I may not be hampered by the character of your host. +Come down into the open arena, and see how proud you will feel at the +issue of the encounter.” He rang the bell violently as he spoke, and +continued to ring it till the servant came. +</p> +<p> +“Accompany this gentleman to the gate,” said he to the man. +</p> +<p> +Not a change came over Sir Brook's face during the delivery of this +speech; and as he bowed reverentially and withdrew, his manner was all +that courtesy could desire. +</p> +<p> +“I see he's not going to visit Lucy,” muttered Haire, as Sir Brook passed +the window. +</p> +<p> +“I should think not, sir. There are few men would like to linger where +they have been so ingloriously defeated.” He walked the room with a proud +defiant look for some minutes, and then, sinking faintly into a chair, +said, in a weak, tremulous tone, “Haire, these trials are too much for me. +It is a cruel aggravation of the ills of old age to have a heart and a +brain alive to the finest sense of injury.” + </p> +<p> +Haire muttered something like concurrence. +</p> +<p> +“What is it you say, sir? Speak out,” cried the Judge. +</p> +<p> +“I was saying,” muttered the other, “I wish they would not provoke—would +not irritate you; that people ought to see the state your nerves are in, +and should use a little discretion how they contradict and oppose you.” + The bland smile of the Chief-Justice, and an assenting gesture of his +hand, emboldened Haire to continue, and he went on: “I have always said, +Keep away such as excite him; his condition is not one to be bettered by +passionate outbreaks. Calm him, humor him.” + </p> +<p> +“What a pearl above price is a friend endowed with discretion! Leave me, +Haire, to think over your nice words. I would like to ponder them alone +and to myself. I 'll send for you by and by.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXII. COMING-HOME THOUGHTS +</h2> +<p> +Had a mere stranger been a guest on that Sunday when the Chief Baron +entertained at dinner Lady Lendrick, the Sewells, and his old schoolfellow +Haire, he might have gone away under the impression that he had passed an +evening in the midst of a happy and united family. +</p> +<p> +Nothing could be more perfect than the blending of courtesy and +familiarity. The old Chief himself was in his best of humors, which means +that, with the high polish of a past age, its deference, and its homage, +he combined all the readiness and epigrammatic smartness of a later +period. Lady Lendrick was bland, courteous, and attentive. Colonel Sewell +took the part assigned him by his host, alternate talker and listener; and +Mrs. Sewell herself displayed, with true woman's wit, that she knew how to +fall in with the Judge's humor, as though she had known him for years, and +that, in each sally of his wit and each flash of his repartee he was but +reviving memories of such displays in long-past years. As for Haire, no +enchantment could be more complete; he found himself not only listened to +but appealed to. The Chief asked him to correct him about some fact or +other of recent history; he applied to him to relate some incident in a +trial he had taken part in; and, greatest triumph of all, he was called on +to decide some question about the dressing of Mrs. Sewell's hair, his +award being accepted as the last judgment of connoisseurship. +</p> +<p> +Lucy talked little, but seemed interested by all around her. It was a bit +of high-life comedy, really amusing, and she had that mere suspicion—it +was no more—of the honesty and loyalty of the talkers to give an +added significance to all she saw and heard. This slight distrust, +however, gave way, when Mrs. Sewell sat down beside her in the +drawing-room, and talked to her of her father. Oh, how well she appeared +to know him; how truly she read the guileless simplicity of his noble +nature; how she distinguished—it was not all who did so—between +his timid reserve and pride; how she saw that what savored of haughtiness +was in reality an excess of humility shrouding itself from notice; how she +dwelt on his love for children, and the instantaneous affection he +inspired in them towards himself. Last of all, how she won the poor girl's +heart as she said, “It will never do to leave him there, Lucy; we must +have him here, at home with us. I think you may intrust it to me; I +generally find my way in these sort of things.” + </p> +<p> +Lucy could have fallen at her feet with gratitude as she heard these +words, and she pressed her hand to her lips and kissed it fervently. “Why +isn't your brother here? Is he not in Dublin?” asked Mrs. Sewell, +suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, he is in town,” stammered out Lucy, “but grandpapa scarcely knows +him, and when they did meet, it was most unfortunate. I 'll tell you all +about it another time.” + </p> +<p> +“We have many confidences to make each other,” said Mrs. Sewell, with a +sigh so full of sorrow that Lucy instinctively pressed her hand with +warmth, as though to imply her trustfulness would, not be ill deposited. +</p> +<p> +At last came the hour of leave-taking, and the Judge accompanied his +guests to the door, and even bareheaded handed Lady Lendrick to her +carriage. To each, as they said “Good-night,” he had some little +appropriate speech,—a word or two of gracious compliment, uttered +with all his courtesy. +</p> +<p> +“I call this little dinner a success, Lucy,” said he, as he stood to say +“Good-night” on the stairs. “Lady Lendrick was unusually amiable, and her +daughter-in-law is beyond praise.” + </p> +<p> +“She is indeed charming,” said Lucy, fervently. +</p> +<p> +“I found the Colonel also agreeable,—less dictatorial than men of +his class generally are. I suspect we shall get on well together with +further acquaintance; but, as Haire said, I was myself to-night, and would +have struck sparks out of the dullest rock, so that I must not impute to +him what may only have been the reflex of myself. Ah, dear! there was a +time when these exertions were the healthful stimulants of my life; now +they only weary and excite,—good-night, dear child, good-night.” + </p> +<p> +As Lady Lendrick and her party drove homeward, not a word was uttered for +some minutes after they had taken their seats. It was not till after they +had passed out of the grounds, and gained the high-road, that she herself +broke silence. “Well, Dudley,” said she at last, “is he like my +description? Was my portrait too highly colored?” + </p> +<p> +“Quite the reverse. It was a faint weak sketch of the great original. In +all my life I never met such inordinate vanity and such overweening +pretension. I give him the palm as the most conceited man and the greatest +bore in Christendom.” + </p> +<p> +“Do you wonder now if I could n't live with him?” asked she, half +triumphantly. +</p> +<p> +“I 'll not go that far. I think I could live with him if I saw my way to +any advantage by it.” + </p> +<p> +“I'm certain you could not! The very things you now reprobate are the few +endurable traits about him. It is in the resources of his intense conceit +he finds whatever renders him pleasant and agreeable. I wish you saw his +other humor.” + </p> +<p> +“I can imagine it may not be all that one would desire; but still—” + </p> +<p> +“It comes well from you to talk of submitting and yielding,” burst out +Lady Lendrick. “I certainly have not yet detected these traits in your +character; and I tell you frankly, you and Sir William could not live a +week under the same roof together. Don't you agree with me, Lucy?” + </p> +<p> +“What should she know about it?” said he, fiercely; and before she could +reply, “I don't suspect she knows a great deal about me,—she knows +nothing at all about <i>him</i>.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, would you like to live with him yourself, Lucy?” asked Lady +Lendrick. +</p> +<p> +“I don't say I 'd <i>like</i> it, but I think it might be done,” said she, +faintly, and scarcely raising her eyes as she spoke. +</p> +<p> +“Of course, then, my intractable temper is the cause of all our +incompatibility; my only consolation is that I have a son and a +daughter-in-law so charmingly endowed that their virtues are more than +enough to outweigh my faults.” + </p> +<p> +“What I say is this,” said the Colonel, sternly,—“I think the man is +a bore or a bully, but that he need n't be both if one does n't like it. +Now I 'd consent to be bored, to escape being bullied, which is precisely +the reverse of what you appear to have done.” + </p> +<p> +“I am charmed with the perspicuity you display. I hope, Lucy, that it +tends to the happiness of your married life to have a husband so well able +to read character.” + </p> +<p> +Apparently this was a double-headed shot, for neither spoke for several +minutes. +</p> +<p> +“I declare I almost wish he would put you to the test,” said Lady +Lendrick. “I mean, I wish he'd ask you to the Priory.” + </p> +<p> +“I fancy it is what he means to do,” said Mrs. Sewell, in the same low +tone,—“at least he came to me when I was standing in the small +drawing-room, and said, 'How would you endure the quiet stillness and +uniformity of such a life as I lead here? Would its dulness overpower +you?'” + </p> +<p> +“Of course, you said it would be paradise,” broke in her Ladyship; “you +hinted all about your own resources, and such-like.” + </p> +<p> +“She did no such thing; she took the pathetic line, put her handkerchief +to her eyes, and implied how she would love it, as a refuge from the cruel +treatment of a bad husband,—eh, am I right?” Harsh and insolent as +the words were, the accents in which they were uttered were far more so. +“Out with it, Madam! was it not something like that you said?” + </p> +<p> +“No,” said she, gently. “I told Sir William I was supremely happy, blessed +in every accident and every relation of my life, and that hitherto I had +never seen the spot which could not suit the glad temper of my heart.” + </p> +<p> +“You keep the glad temper confoundedly to yourself then,” burst he out. “I +wish you were not such a niggard of it.” + </p> +<p> +“Dudley, Dudley, I say,” cried Lady Lendrick, in a tone of reproof. +</p> +<p> +“I have learned not to mind these amenities,” said Mrs. Sewell, in a quiet +voice, “and I am only surprised that Colonel Sewell thinks it worth while +to continue them.” + </p> +<p> +“If it be your intention to become Sir William's guest, I must say such +habits will require to be amended,” said her Ladyship, gravely. +</p> +<p> +“So they shall, mother. Your accomplished and amiable husband, as you once +called him in a letter to me, shall only see us in our turtle moods, and +never be suffered to approach our cage save when we are billing and +cooing.” + </p> +<p> +The look of aversion he threw at his wife as he spoke was something that +words cannot convey; and though she never raised eyes to meet it, a sickly +pallor crept over her cheek as the blight fell on her. +</p> +<p> +“I am to call on him to-morrow, by appointment. I wish he had not said +twelve. One has not had his coffee by twelve; but as he said, 'I hope that +will not be too early for you,' I felt it better policy to reply, 'By no +means;' and so I must start as if for a journey.” + </p> +<p> +“What does he mean by asking you to come at that hour? Have you any notion +what his business is?” + </p> +<p> +“Not the least. We were in the hall. I was putting on my coat, when he +suddenly turned round and asked me if I could without inconvenience drop +in about twelve.” + </p> +<p> +“I wonder what it can be for.” + </p> +<p> +“I'll tell you what I hope it may not be for! I hope it may not be to show +me his conservatory, or his Horatian garden, as he pedantically called it, +or his fish-ponds. If so, I think I 'll invite him some fine morning to +turn over all my protested bills, and the various writs issued against me. +Bore for Bore, I suspect we shall come out of the encounter pretty equal.” + </p> +<p> +“He has some rare gems. I'd not wonder if it was to get you to select a +present for Lucy.” + </p> +<p> +“If I thought so, I'd take a jeweller with me, as though my friend, to +give me a hint as to the value.” + </p> +<p> +“He admires you greatly, Lucy; he told me so as he took me downstairs.” + </p> +<p> +“She has immense success with men of that age: nothing over eighty seems +able to resist her.” + </p> +<p> +This time she raised her eyes, and they met his, not with their former +expression, but full of defiance, and of an insolent meaning, so that +after a moment he turned away his gaze, and with a seeming struggle looked +abashed and ashamed. “The first change I will ask you to make in that +house,” said Lady Lendrick, who had noticed this by-play, “if ever you +become its inmates, will be to dismiss that tiresome old hanger-on, Mr. +Haire. I abhor him.” + </p> +<p> +“My first reform will be in the sherry,—to get rid of that vile +sugary compound of horrid nastiness he gives you After soup. The next will +be the long-tailed black coach-horses. I don't think a man need celebrate +his own funeral every time he goes out for a drive.” + </p> +<p> +“Haire,” resumed Lady Lendrick, in a tone of severity, meant, perhaps, to +repress all banter on a serious subject,—“Haire not only supplies +food to his vanity, but stimulates his conceit by little daily stories of +what the world says of him. I wish he would listen to <i>me</i> on that +subject,—I wish he would take <i>my</i> version of his place in +popular estimation.” + </p> +<p> +“I opine that the granddaughter should be got rid of,” said the Colonel. +</p> +<p> +“She is a fool,—only a fool,” said Lady Lendrick. +</p> +<p> +“I don't think her a fool,” said Mrs. Sewell, slowly. +</p> +<p> +“I don't exactly mean so much; but that she has no knowledge of life, and +knows nothing whatever of the position she is placed in, nor how to profit +by it.” + </p> +<p> +“I'd not even go that far,” said Mrs. Sewell, in the same quiet tone. +</p> +<p> +“Don't pay too much attention to <i>that</i>,” said the Colonel to his +mother. “It's one of her ways always to see something in every one that +nobody else has discovered.” + </p> +<p> +“I made that mistake once too often for my own welfare,” said she, in a +voice only audible to his ear. +</p> +<p> +“She tells me, mother, that she made that same mistake once too often for +her own welfare; which being interpreted, means in taking me for her +husband,—a civil speech to make a man in presence of his mother.” + </p> +<p> +“I begin to think that politeness is not the quality any of us are eager +about,” said Lady Lendrick; “and I must say I am not at all sorry that the +drive is over.” + </p> +<p> +“If I had been permitted to smoke, you'd not have been distressed by any +conversational excesses on my part,” said the Colonel. +</p> +<p> +“I shall know better another time, Dudley; and possibly-it would be as +well to be suffocated with tobacco as half-choked with anger. Thank heaven +we are at the door!” + </p> +<p> +“May I take your horses as far as the Club?” asked Sewell, as he handed +her out. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, but not to wait. You kept them on Tuesday night till past four +o'clock.” + </p> +<p> +“On second thought, I'll walk,” said he, turning away. “Good-night;” and +leaving his wife to be assisted down the steps by the footman, he lighted +his cigar, and walked away. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXIII. A VERY HUMBLE DWELLING +</h2> +<p> +The little lodging occupied by Sir Brook and young Lendrick was in a not +very distinguished suburb near Cullen's Wood. It was in a small +one-storied cottage, whose rickety gate bore the inscription “Avoca Villa” + on a black board, under which, in the form of permanence that indicated +frequent changes of domicile, were the words, “Furnished Apartments, and +Board if required.” A small enclosure, with three hollyhocks in a raised +mound in the centre, and a luxurious crop of nettles around, served as +garden: a narrow path of very rough shingle conducted to the door. +</p> +<p> +The rooms within were very small, low, and meanly furnished; they bespoke +both poverty and neglect; and while the broken windows, the cobwebbed +ceiling, and the unwashed floor all indicated that no attention was +bestowed on comfort or even decency, over the fireplace, in a large black +frame, was a painting representing the genealogical tree of the house of +the proprietor, Daniel O'Reardon, Esquire, the lineal descendant of +Frenok-Dhubh-na-Bochlish O'Reardon, who was King of West Carbarry, a.d. +703, and who, though at present only a doorkeeper in H. M. Court of +Exchequer, had royal blood in his veins, and very kingly thoughts in his +head. +</p> +<p> +If a cruel destiny compelled Mr. O'Reardon to serve the Saxon, he “took it +out” in a most hearty hatred of his patron. He denounced him when he +talked, and he reviled him when he sang. He treasured up paragraphs of all +the atrocities of the English press, and he revelled in the severe +strictures which the Irish papers bestowed on them. So far as hating went, +he was a true patriot. +</p> +<p> +If some people opined that Mr. O'Reardon's political opinions rather +partook of what was in vogue some sixty-odd years ago than what +characterized a time nearer our own day, there were others, less generous +critics, who scrupled not to say that he was a paid spy of the Government, +and that all the secret organization of treason—all the mysterious +plotting of rebellion that seems never to die completely out in Ireland—were +known to and reported by this man to the Castle. Certain it was that he +lived in a way his humble salary at the Four Courts could not have met, +and indulged in convivial excesses far beyond the reach of his small +income. +</p> +<p> +When Sir Brook and Tom Lendrick became his lodgers, he speedily saw that +they belonged to a class far above what usually resorted to his humble +house. However studiously simple they might be in all their demands, they +were unmistakably gentlemen; and this fact, coupled with their evident +want of all employment or occupation, considerably puzzled Mr. O'Reardon, +and set him a-thinking what they could be, who they were, and, as he +phrased it, “what they were at.” No letters came for them, nor, as they +themselves gave no names, was there any means of tracing their address; +and to his oft-insinuated request, “If any one asks for you, sir, by what +name will I be able to answer?” came the same invariable “No one will +call;” and thus was Mr. O'Reardon reduced to designate them to his wife as +the “old chap” and the “young one,”—titles which Sir Brook and Tom +more than once overheard through the frail partitions of the ill-built +house. +</p> +<p> +It is not impossible that O'Reardon's peculiar habits and line of life +disposed him to attach a greater significance to the seeming mystery that +surrounded his lodgers than others might have ascribed; it is probable +that custom had led him to suspect everything that was in any way +suspicious. These men draw many a cover where there is no fox, but they +rarely pass a gorse thicket and leave one undetected. His lodgers thus +became to him a study. Had he been a man of leisure, he would have devoted +the whole of it to their service; he would have dogged their steps, +learned their haunts, and watched their acquaintances,—if they had +any. Sunday was, however, his one free day, and by some inconceivable +perversity they usually spent the entire of it at home. +</p> +<p> +The few books they possessed bore no names, some of them were in foreign +languages, and increased thereby Mr. O'Reardon's suspicious distrust; but +none gave any clew to their owners. There was another reason for his +eagerness and anxiety; for a long time back Ireland had been generally in +a condition of comparative quiet and prosperity; there was less of +distress, and, consequently, less of outrage. The people seemed at length +to rely more upon themselves and their own industry than on the specious +promises of trading politicians, and Mr. O'Reardon, whose functions, I +fear, were not above reproach in the matter of secret information, began +to fear lest some fine morning he might be told his occupation was gone, +and that his employers no longer needed the fine intelligence that could +smell treason, even by a sniff; he must, he said, do something to revive +the memory of his order, or the chance was it would be extinguished +forever. +</p> +<p> +He had to choose between denouncing them as French emissaries or American +sympathizers. A novel of Balzac's that lay on the table decided for the +former, for he knew enough to be aware it was in French; and fortified +with this fact, he proceeded to draw up his indictment for the Castle. +</p> +<p> +It was, it must be confessed, a very meagre document; it contained little +beyond the writer's own suspicions. Two men who were poor enough to live +in Avoca Villa, and yet rich enough to do nothing for their livelihood, +who gave no names, went out at unseasonable hours, and understood French, +ought to be dangerous, and required to be watched, and therefore he gave +an accurate description of their general appearance, age, and dress, at +the office of the Private Secretary, and asked for his “instructions” in +consequence. +</p> +<p> +Mr. O'Reardon was not a bad portrait-painter with his pen, and in the case +of Sir Brook there were peculiarities enough to make even a caricature a +resemblance; his tall narrow head, his long drooping moustache, his +massive gray eyebrows, his look of stern dignity, would have marked him, +even without the singularities of dress which recalled the fashions of +fifty years before. +</p> +<p> +Little, indeed, did the old man suspect that his high-collared coat and +bell-shaped hat were subjecting him to grave doubts upon his loyalty. +Little did he think, as he sauntered at evening along the green lanes in +this retired neighborhood, that his thoughts ought to have been on treason +and bloodshed. +</p> +<p> +He had come to the little lodging, it is true, for privacy. After his +failure in that memorable interview with Sir William Lendrick, he had +determined that he would not either importune the Viceroy for place, or +would he be in any way the means of complicating the question between the +Government and the Chief Baron by exciting the Lord-Lieutenant's interest +in his behalf. +</p> +<p> +“We must change our lodging, Tom,” said he, when he came home on that +night. “I am desirous that, for the few days we remain here, none should +trace nor discover us. I will not accept what are called compensations, +nor will I live on here to be either a burden or a reproach to men who +were once only my equals.” + </p> +<p> +“You found my worthy grandfather somewhat less tractable than you thought +for, sir?” asked Tom. +</p> +<p> +“He was very fiery and very haughty; but on the whole, there was much that +I liked in him. Such vitality in a man of his years is in itself a grand +quality, and even in its aggressiveness suggests much to regard. He +refused to hear of me for the vacant office, and he would not accept <i>you</i>.” + </p> +<p> +“How did he take your proposal to aid us by a loan?” + </p> +<p> +“I never made it. The terms we found ourselves on after half an hour's +discussion of other matters rendered such a project impossible.” + </p> +<p> +“And Lucy, how did she behave through it all?” + </p> +<p> +“She was not there; I did not see her.” + </p> +<p> +“So that it turned out as I predicted,—a mere meeting to exchange +amenities.” + </p> +<p> +“The amenities were not many, Tom; and I doubt much if your grandfather +will treasure up any very delightful recollections of my acquaintance.” + </p> +<p> +“I'd like to see the man, woman, or child,” burst out Tom, “who ever got +out of his cage without a scratch. I don't believe that Europe contains +his equal for irascibility.” + </p> +<p> +“Don't dwell on these views of life,” said Sir Brook, almost sternly. +“You, nor I, know very little what are the sources of those intemperate +outbreaks we so often complain of,—what sore trials are ulcerating +the nature, what agonizing maladies, what secret terrors, what visions of +impending misery; least of all do we know or take count of the fact that +it is out of these high-strung temperaments we obtain those thrilling +notes of human passion and tenderness coarser natures never attain to. Let +us bear with a passing discord in the instrument whose cadences can move +us to very ecstasy.” + </p> +<p> +Tom hung his head in silence, but he certainly did not seem convinced. Sir +Brook quietly resumed: “How often have I told you that the world has more +good than bad in it,—yes, and what's more, that as we go on in life +this conviction strengthens in us, and that our best experiences are based +on getting rid of our disbeliefs. Hear what happened me this morning. You +know that for some days back I have been negotiating to raise a small loan +of four hundred pounds to take us to Sardinia and start our mine. Mr. +Waring, who was to have lent me this sum on the security of the mine +itself, took it into his head to hesitate at the last hour, and inserted +an additional clause that I should insure my life in his behalf. +</p> +<p> +“I was disconcerted, of course, by this,—so much so, that had I not +bought a variety of tools and implements on trust, I believe I would have +relinquished the bargain and tried elsewhere. It was, however, too late +for this; I was driven to accept his terms, and, accredited with a printed +formula from an insurance office, I waited on the doctor who was to +examine me. +</p> +<p> +“A very brief investigation satisfied him that I was not seaworthy; he +discovered I know not what about the valves of my heart, that implied +mischief, and after 'percussing' me, as he called it, and placing his ear +to my chest, he said, 'I regret to say, sir, that I cannot pronounce you +insurable.' +</p> +<p> +“I could have told him that I came of a long-lived race on either side; +that during my life I had scarcely known an illness, that I had borne the +worst climates without injury, and such-like,—but I forbore; I had +too much deference for his station and his acquirements to set my judgment +against them, and I arose to take my leave. It is just possible, though I +cannot say I felt it, that his announcement might have affected me; at all +events, the disappointment did so, and I was terrified about the +difficulties in which I saw myself involved. I became suddenly sick, and I +asked for a glass of water; before it came I had fainted, a thing that +never in my whole life had befallen me. When, I rallied, he led me to talk +of my usual habits and pursuits, and gradually brought me to the subject +which had led me-to his house. 'What!' said he, 'ask for any security +beyond the property itself! It is absurd; Waring is always-doing these +things. Let me advance this money. I know a great deal more about you, Sir +Brook, than you think; my friend Dr. Lendrick has spoken much of you, and +of all your kindness to his son; and though you may not have heard of my +name,—Beattie,—I am very familiar with yours.' +</p> +<p> +“In a word, Tom, he advanced the money. It is now in that writing-desk; +and I have—I feel it—a friend the-more in the world. As I left +his door, I could not help saying to myself, What signify a few days more +or less of life, so long as such generous traits as this follow one to the +last? He made me a happier man by his noble trust in me than if he had +declared me a miracle of strength and vigor. Who is that looking in at the +window, Tom? It's the second time I have seen a face there.” + </p> +<p> +Tom started to his feet and hurried to the door. There was, however, no +one there; and the little lane was silent and deserted. He stopped a few +minutes to listen, but not a footfall could be heard, and he returned to +the room believing it must have been a mere illusion. +</p> +<p> +“Let us light candles, Tom, and have out our maps. I want to see whether +Marseilles will not be our best and cheapest route to the island.” + </p> +<p> +They were soon poring eagerly over the opened map, Sir Brook carefully +studying all the available modes of travel; while Tom, be it owned, let +his eyes wander from land to land, till following out the Danube to the +Black Sea, he crossed over and stretched away into the mountain gorges of +Circassia, where Schamyl and his brave followers were then fighting for +liberty. For maps, like the lands they picture, never offer to two minds +kindred thoughts; each follows out in space the hopes and ambitions that +his heart is charged with; and where one reads wars and battle-fields, +another but sees pastoral pleasures and a tranquil existence,—home +and home-happiness. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Tom; here I have it. These coasting-craft, whose sailing-lines are +marked here, will take us and our traps to Cagliari for a mere trifle,—here +is the route.” + </p> +<p> +As the young man bent over the map, the door behind opened, and a stranger +entered. “So I have found you, Fossbrooke!” cried he, “though they +insisted you had left Ireland ten days ago.” + </p> +<p> +“Mercy on me! Lord Wilmington!” said Sir Brook, as he shaded his eyes to +stare at him. “What could have brought you here?” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll tell you,” said he, dropping his voice. “I read a description so +very like you in the secret report this morning, that I sent my servant +Curtis, who knows you well, to see if it was not yourself; when he came +back to me—for I waited for him at the end of the lane—with +the assurance that I was right, I came on here. I must tell you that I +took the precaution to have your landlord detained, as if for examination, +at the Under-Secretary's office; and he is the only one here who knows me. +Mr. Lendrick, I hope you have not forgotten me? We met some months ago on +the Shannon.” + </p> +<p> +“What can I offer you?” said Sir Brook. “Shall it be tea? We were just +going to have it.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll take whatever you like to give me; but let us profit by the few +moments I can stay. Tell me how was it you failed with the Chief Baron?” + </p> +<p> +“He wouldn't have me; that's all. He maintains his right to an undivided +patronage, and will accept of no dictation.” + </p> +<p> +“Will he accept of your friend here? He has strong claims on him.” + </p> +<p> +“As little as myself, my Lord; he grew eloquent on his public virtue, and +of course became hopeless.” + </p> +<p> +“Will he retire and let us compensate him?” + </p> +<p> +“I believe not. He thinks the country has a vested interest in his +capacity, and as he cannot be replaced, he has no right to retire.'' +</p> +<p> +“He may make almost his own terms with us, Fossbrooke,” said the Viceroy. +“We want to get rid of himself and an intractable Solicitor-General +together. Will you try what can be done?” + </p> +<p> +“Not I, my Lord. I have made my first and last advances in that quarter.” + </p> +<p> +“And yet I believe you are our last chance. He told Pemberton yesterday +you were the one man of ability that ever called on him with a message +from a Viceroy.” + </p> +<p> +“Let us leave him undisturbed in his illusion, my Lord.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'd say, let us profit by it, Fossbrooke. I have been in search of you +these eight days, to beg you would take the negotiation in hand. Come, Mr. +Lendrick, you are interested in this; assist me in persuading Sir Brook to +accept this charge. If he will undertake the mission, I am ready to give +him ample powers to treat.” + </p> +<p> +“I suspect, my Lord,” said Tom, “you do not know my grandfather. He is not +a very manageable person to deal with.” + </p> +<p> +“It is for that reason I want to place him in the hands of my old friend +here.” + </p> +<p> +“No, no, my Lord; it is quite hopeless. Had we never met, I might have +come before him with some chance of success; but I have already prejudiced +myself in his eyes, and our one interview was not very gratifying to +either of us.” + </p> +<p> +“I'll not give in, Fossbrooke, even though I am well aware I can do +nothing to requite the service I ask of you.” + </p> +<p> +“We leave Ireland to-morrow evening. We have a project which requires our +presence in the island of Sardinia. We are about to make our fortunes, my +Lord, and I 'm sure you 're not the man to throw any obstacle in the way.” + </p> +<p> +“Give me half an hour of your morning, Fossbrooke; half an hour will +suffice. Drive out to the Priory; see the Chief Baron; tell him I +intrusted the negotiation to you, as at once more delicate to each of us. +You are disconnected with all party ties here. Say it is not a question of +advancing this man or that,—that we well know how inferior must any +successor be to himself, but that certain changes are all-essential to us. +We have not—I may tell you in confidence—the right man as our +law adviser in the House; and add, 'It is a moment to make your own terms; +write them down and you shall have your reply within an hour,—a +favorable one I may almost pledge myself it will be. At all events, every +detail of the meeting is strictly between us, and on honor.' Come, now, +Fossbrooke; do this for me as the greatest service I could entreat of +you.” + </p> +<p> +“I cannot refuse you any longer. I will go. I only premise that I am to +limit myself strictly to the statement you shall desire me to repeat. I +know nothing of the case; and I cannot be its advocate.” + </p> +<p> +“Just so. Give me your card. I will merely write these words,—'See +Sir Brook for me.—Wilmington.' Our object is his resignation, and we +are prepared to pay handsomely for it. Now, a word with you, Mr. Lendrick. +I heard most honorable mention of you yesterday from the vice-provost; he +tells me that your college career was a triumph so long as you liked it, +and that you have abilities for any walk in life. Why not continue, then, +on so successful a path? Why not remain, take out your degree, and emulate +that distinguished relative who has thrown such lustre on your family?” + </p> +<p> +“First of all, my Lord, you have heard me much overrated. I am not at all +the man these gentlemen deem me; secondly, if I were, I 'd rather bring my +abilities to any pursuit my friend here could suggest. I 'd rather be <i>his</i> +companion than be my grandfather's rival. You have heard what he said +awhile ago,—we are going to seek our fortune.” + </p> +<p> +“He said to make it,” said Lord Wilmington, with a smile. +</p> +<p> +“Be it so, my Lord. <i>I 'll</i> seek, and <i>he 'll</i> find; at all +events, I shall be his companion; and I'm a duller dog than I think myself +if I do not manage to be the better of it.” + </p> +<p> +“You are not the only one he has fascinated,” said the Viceroy, in a +whisper. “I 'm not sure I 'd disenchant you if I had the power.” + </p> +<p> +“Must I positively undertake this negotiation?” asked Fossbrooke, with a +look of entreaty. +</p> +<p> +“You must” + </p> +<p> +“I know I shall fail.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't believe it.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, as Lady Macbeth says, if we fail <i>we fail</i>; and though +murdering a king be an easier thing than muzzling a Chief Baron,—here +goes.” + </p> +<p> +As he said this, the door was gently moved, and a head protruded into the +room. +</p> +<p> +“Who is that?” cried Tom, springing rapidly towards the door; but all was +noiseless and quiet, and no one to be seen. “I believe we are watched +here,” said he, coming back into the room. +</p> +<p> +“Good-night, then. Let me have your report as early as may be, Fossbrooke. +Good-night.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXIV. A MORNING AT THE PRIORY +</h2> +<p> +The morning after this interview was that on which the Chief Baron had +invited Colonel Sewell to inspect his gardens and hothouses,—a +promise of pleasure which, it is but fair to own, the Colonel regarded +with no extravagant delight. To his thinking, the old Judge was an +insupportable bore. His courtesy, his smartness, his anecdotes, his +reminiscences were all Boredom. He was only endurable when by the excess +of his conceit he made himself ridiculous. Then alone did Sewell relish +his company; for he belonged to that class of men, and it is a class, who +feel their highest enjoyment whenever they witness any trait in human +nature that serves to disparage its dignity or tarnish its lustre. +</p> +<p> +That a man of unquestionable ability and power like the Chief Baron should +render himself absurd through his vanity, was a great compensation to such +a person as Sewell. To watch the weaknesses and note the flaws in a great +nature, to treasure up the consolation that, after all, these “high +intelligences” occasionally make precious fools of themselves, are very +congenial pastimes to small folk. Perhaps, indeed, they are the sole +features of such men they are able to appreciate, and, like certain +reptiles, they never venture to bite save where corruption has preceded +them. +</p> +<p> +Nothing in his manner betrayed this tendency; he was polished and +courteous to a degree. A very critical eye might have detected in his +bearing that he had been long a subordinate. His deference was a little—a +very little—overstrained; he listened with a slight tinge of +over-attention; and in his humility as he heard an order, and his activity +as he obeyed it, you could read at once the aide-decamp in waiting. +</p> +<p> +It is not necessary to remind the reader that all this lacquer of good +breeding covered a very coarse and vulgar nature. In manner he was +charming,—his approach, his address, his conversation were all +perfect; he knew well when to be silent,—when to concur by a smile +with what he was not expected to confirm by a word,—when to seem +suddenly confronted with a new conviction, and how to yield assent as +though coerced to what he would rather have resisted. In a word, he was +perfect in all the training of those superb poodles who fetch and carry +for their masters, that they may have the recompense of snarling at all +the rest of mankind. +</p> +<p> +As there are heaven-born doctors, lawyers, divines, and engineers, so are +there men specially created for the antechamber, and Sewell was one of +them. +</p> +<p> +The old Judge had given orders for a liberal breakfast. He deemed a +soldier's appetite would be a hearty one, and he meant to treat him +hospitably. The table was therefore very generously spread, and Sewell +looked approvingly at the fare, and ventured on a few words of compliment +on the ample preparations before him. +</p> +<p> +“It is the only real breakfast-table I have seen since I left Calcutta,” + said he, smiling graciously. +</p> +<p> +“You do me honor, sir,” replied the old man, who was not quite sure +whether or not he felt pleased to be complimented on a mere domestic +incident. +</p> +<p> +Sewell saw the hitch at once, and resumed: “I remember an observation Lord +Commorton made me when I joined his staff in India. I happened to make +some remark on a breakfast set out pretty much like this, and he said, +'Bear in mind, Captain Sewell, that when a man who holds a high function +sits down to a well-served breakfast, it means that he has already +completed the really important work of the day. The full head means the +empty stomach.'” + </p> +<p> +“His Excellency was right, sir; had he always been inspired with +sentiments of equal wisdom, we should never have been involved in that +unhappy Cantankankarabad war.” + </p> +<p> +“It was a very disastrous affair, indeed,” sighed Sewell; “I was through +the whole of it.” + </p> +<p> +“When I first heard of the project,” continued the Judge, “I remarked to a +friend who was with me,—one of the leading men at the Bar,—'This +campaign will tarnish our arms, and imperil our hold on India. The +hill-tribes are eminently warlike, and however specious in their promises +to us, their fidelity to their chiefs has never been shaken.'” + </p> +<p> +“If your judgment had been listened to, it would have saved us a heavy +reverse, and saved me a very painful wound; both bones were fractured +here,” said Sewell, showing his wrist. +</p> +<p> +The Chief Baron scarcely deigned a glance at the cicatrix; he was high +above such puny considerations. He was at that moment Governor-General of +India and Prime Minister of England together. He was legislating for +hundreds of millions of dark-skins, and preparing his explanations of his +policy for the pale faces at home. +</p> +<p> +“'Mark my words, Haire,' said I,” continued the Judge, with increased +pomposity of manner, “'this is the beginning of insurrection in India.' We +have a maxim in law, Colonel Sewell, Like case, like rule. So was it +there. May I help you to this curry?” + </p> +<p> +“I declare, my Lord, I was beginning to forget how hungry I was. Shall I +be deemed impertinent if I ask how you obtained your marvellous—for +it is marvellous—knowledge of India?” + </p> +<p> +“Just as I know the Japanese constitution; just as I know Central Africa; +just as I know, and was able to quote some time back, that curious chapter +of the Brehon laws on substitutes in penal cases. My rule of life has +been, never to pass a day without increasing the store of my +acquirements.” + </p> +<p> +“And all this with the weighty charge and labor of your high office.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir; I have been eighteen years on the Bench. I have delivered in +that time some judgments which have come to be deemed amongst the highest +principles of British law. I have contributed largely to the periodical +literature of the time. In a series of papers—you may not have heard +of them—signed 'Icon,' in the 'Lawyer's Treasury of Useful Facts,' I +have defended the Bar against the aggressive violence of the Legislature, +I hope it is not too much to say, triumphantly.” + </p> +<p> +“I remember Judge Beale, our Indian Chief-Justice, referring to those +papers as the most splendid statement of the position and claims of the +barrister in Great Britain.” + </p> +<p> +“Beale was an ass, sir; his law was a shade below his logic,—both +were pitiable.” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed?—yes, a little more gravy. Is your cook a Provençal? that +omelette would seem to say so.” + </p> +<p> +“My cook is a woman, and an Irishwoman, sir. She came to me from Lord +Manners, and, I need not say, with the worst traditions of her art, which, +under Lady Lendrick's training, attained almost to the dignity of +poisoning.” + </p> +<p> +Sewell could not restrain himself any longer, but laughed out at this +sudden outburst. The old Judge was, however, pleased to accept the emotion +as complimentary; he smiled and went on: “I recognized her aptitude, and +resolved to train her, and to this end I made it a practice to detain her +every morning after prayers, and read to her certain passages from +approved authors on cookery, making her experiment on the receipts for the +servants' hall. We had at first some slight cases of illness, but not more +serious than colic and violent cramps. In the end she was successful, sir, +and has become what you see her.” + </p> +<p> +“She would be a <i>cordon bleu</i> in Paris.” + </p> +<p> +“I will take care, sir, that she hears of your approval. Would you not +like a glass of Maraschino to finish with?” + </p> +<p> +“I have just tasted your brandy, and it is exquisite.” + </p> +<p> +“I cannot offer you a cigar, Colonel; but you are at liberty to smoke if +you have one.” + </p> +<p> +“If I might have a stroll in that delicious garden that I see there, I +could ask nothing better. Ah, my Lord,” said he, as they sauntered down a +richly scented alley, “India has nothing like this,—I doubt if +Paradise has any better.” + </p> +<p> +“You mean to return to the East?” + </p> +<p> +“Not if I can help it,—not if an exchange is possible. The fact is, +my Lord, my dear wife's health makes India impossible so far as she is +concerned; the children, too, are of the age that requires removal to +Europe; so that, if I go back, I go back alone.” He said this with a voice +of deep depression, and intending to inspire the sorrow that overwhelmed +him. The old Judge, however, fancied he had heard of heavier calamities in +life than living separated from the wife of his bosom; he imagined, at +least, that with courage and fortitude the deprivation might be endured; +so he merely twitched the corners of his mouth in silence. +</p> +<p> +The Colonel misread his meaning, and went on: “Aspiring to nothing in life +beyond a home and home-happiness, it is, of course, a heavy blow to me to +sacrifice either my career or my comfort. I cannot possibly anticipate a +return earlier than eight or ten years; and who is to count upon eight or +ten years in that pestilent climate? Assuredly not a man already broken +down by wounds and jungle fever!” + </p> +<p> +The justice of the remark was, perhaps, sufficient for the Chief Baron. He +paid no attention to its pathetic side, and <i>so</i> did not reply. +</p> +<p> +Sewell began to lose patience, but he controlled himself, and, after a few +puffs of his cigar, went on: “If it were not for the children, I 'd take +the thing easy enough. Half-pay is a beggarly thing, but I 'd put up with +it. I 'm not a man of expensive tastes. If I can relish thoroughly such +sumptuous fare as you gave me this morning, I can put up with very humble +diet. I 'm a regular soldier in that.” + </p> +<p> +“An excellent quality, sir,” said the old man, dryly. +</p> +<p> +“Lucy, of course, would suffer. There are privations which fall very +heavily on a woman, and a woman, too, who has always been accustomed to a +good deal of luxury.” + </p> +<p> +The Chief bowed an assent. +</p> +<p> +“I suppose I might get a depot appointment for a year or two. I might also—if +I sold out—manage a barrack-mastership, or become an inspector of +yeomanry, or some such vulgar makeshift; but I own, my Lord, when a man +has filled the places I have,—held staff appointments,—been a +private secretary,—discharged high trusts, too, for in Mooraghabad I +acted as Deputy-Resident for eight months,—it does seem a precious +come-down to ask to be made a paymaster in a militia regiment, or a +subaltern in the mounted police.” + </p> +<p> +“Civil life is always open to a man of activity and energy,” said the +Judge, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“If civil life means a profession, it means the sort of labor a man is +very unfit for after five-and-thirty. The Church, of course, is open on +easier terms; but I have scruples about the Church. I really could not +take orders without I could conscientiously say, This is a walk I feel +called to.” + </p> +<p> +“An honorable sentiment, sir,” was the dry rejoinder. +</p> +<p> +“So that the end will be, I suppose, one of these days I shall just repack +my bullock-trunk, and go back to the place from whence I came, with the +fate that attends such backward journeys!” + </p> +<p> +The Chief Baron made no remark. He stooped to fasten, a fallen carnation +to the stick it had been attached to, and then resumed his walk. Sewell +was so provoked by the sense of failure—for it had been a direct +assault—that he walked along silent and morose. His patience could +endure no longer, and he was ready now to resent whatever should annoy +him. +</p> +<p> +“Have you any of the requirements, sir, that civil services demand?” asked +the Judge, after a long pause. +</p> +<p> +“I take it I have such as every educated gentleman possesses,” replied +Sewell, tartly. +</p> +<p> +“And what may these be, in your estimation?” + </p> +<p> +“I can read and write, I know the first three rules of arithmetic, and I +believe these are about the qualifications that fit a man for a place in +the Cabinet.” + </p> +<p> +“You are right, sir. With these, and the facility to talk platitudes in +Parliament, a man may go very far and very high in life. I see that you +know the world.” + </p> +<p> +Sewell, for a moment, scarcely knew whether to accept the speech as irony +or approval; but a sidelong glance showed him that the old man's face had +resumed its expression of mingled insolence and vanity, and convinced him +that he was now sincere. “The men,” said the Judge, pompously, “who win +their way to high station in these days are either the crafty tricksters +of party or the gross flatterers of the people; and whenever a man of +superior mould is discovered, able to leave his mark on the age, and +capable of making his name a memory, they have nothing better to offer +him, as their homage, than an entreaty that he would resign his office and +retire.” + </p> +<p> +“I go with every word you say, my Lord,” cried Sewell, with a well-acted +enthusiasm. +</p> +<p> +“I want no approval, sir; I can sustain my opinions without a following!” + A long silence ensued; neither was disposed to speak: at last the Judge +said,—and he now spoke in a more kindly tone, divested alike of +passion and of vanity,—“Your friends must see if something cannot be +done for you, Colonel Sewell. I have little doubt but that you have many +and warm friends. I speak not of myself; I am but a broken reed to depend +on. Never was there one with less credit with his party. I might go +farther, and say, never was there one whose advocacy would be more sure to +damage a good cause; therefore exclude <i>me</i> in all questions of your +advancement. If you could obliterate our relationship, it might possibly +serve you.” + </p> +<p> +“I am too proud of it, my Lord, to think so.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, sir,” said he, with a sigh, “it is possibly a thing a man need not +feel ashamed of; at least I hope as much. But we must take the world as it +is, and when we want the verdict of public opinion, we must not presume to +ask for a special jury. What does that servant want? Will you have the +kindness to ask him whom he is looking for?” + </p> +<p> +“It is a visitor's card, my Lord,” said Sewell, handing it to the old man +as he spoke. +</p> +<p> +“There is some writing on it. Do me the favor to read it.” + </p> +<p> +Sewell took the card and read, “See Sir B. for me.—Wilmington. Sir +Brook Fossbrooke.” The last words Sewell spoke in a voice barely above a +whisper, for a deadly sickness came over him, and he swayed to and fro +like one about to faint. +</p> +<p> +“What! does he return to the charge?” cried the old man, fiercely. “The +Viceroy was a diplomatist once. Might it not have taught him that, after a +failure, it would be as well to employ another envoy?” + </p> +<p> +“You have seen this gentleman already, then?” asked Sewell, in a low faint +tone. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir. We passed an hour and half together,—an hour and half +that neither of us will easily forget.” + </p> +<p> +“I conjecture, then, that he made no very favorable impression upon you, +my Lord?” + </p> +<p> +“Sir, you go too fast. I have said nothing to warrant your surmise; nor am +I one to be catechised as to the opinions I form of other men. It is +enough on the present occasion if I say I do not desire to receive Sir +Brook Fossbrooke, accredited though he be from so high a quarter. Will you +do me the very great favor”—and now his voice became almost +insinuating in its tone—“will you so deeply oblige me ate to see him +for me? Say that I am prevented by the state of my health; that the +rigorous injunctions of my doctor to avoid all causes of excitement—lay +stress on excitement—deprive me of the honor of receiving him in +person; but that <i>you</i>—mention our relationship—have been +deputed by me to hear, and if necessary to convey to me, any communication +he may have to make. You will take care to impress upon him that if the +subject-matter of his visit be the same as that so lately discussed +between ourselves, you will avail yourself of the discretion confided to +you not to report it to me. That my nerves have not sufficiently recovered +from the strain of that excitement to return to a topic no less full of +irritating features than utterly hopeless of all accommodation. Mind, sir, +that you employ the word as I give it,—'accommodation.' It is a +Gallicism, but all the better, where one desires to be imperative, and yet +vague. You have your instructions, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, I think I understand what you desire me to do. My only difficulty is +to know whether the matters Sir Brook Fossbrooke may bring forward be the +same as those you discussed together. If I had any clew to these topics, I +should at once be in a position to say, These are themes I must decline to +present to the Chief Baron.” + </p> +<p> +“You have no need to know them, sir,” said the old man, haughtily. “You +are in the position of an attesting witness; you have no dealing with the +body of the document. Ask Sir Brook the question as I have put it, and +reply as I have dictated.” + </p> +<p> +Sewell stood for a moment in deep thought. Had the old man but known over +what realms of space his mind was wandering,—what troubles and +perplexities that brain was encountering,—he might have been more +patient and more merciful as he gazed on him. +</p> +<p> +“I don't think, sir, I have confided to you any very difficult or very +painful task,” said the Judge at last. +</p> +<p> +“Nothing of the kind, my Lord,” replied he, quickly; “my anxiety is only +that I may acquit myself to your perfect satisfaction. I 'll go at once.” + </p> +<p> +“You will find me here whenever you want me.” + </p> +<p> +Sewell bowed, and went his way; not straight towards the house, however, +but into a little copse at the end of the garden, to recover his +equanimity and collect himself. Of all the disasters that could befall +him, he knew of none he was less ready to confront than the presence of +Sir Brook Fossbrooke in the same town with himself. No suspicion ever +crossed his mind that he would come to Ireland. The very last he had heard +of him was in New Zealand, where it was said he was about to settle. What, +too, could be his business with the Chief Baron? Had he discovered their +relationship, and was he come to denounce and expose him? No,—evidently +not. The Viceroy's introduction of him could not point in this direction, +and then the old Judge's own manner negatived this conjecture. Had he +heard but one of the fifty stories Sir Brook could have told of him, there +would be no question of suffering him to cross his threshold. +</p> +<p> +“How shall I meet him? how shall I address him?” muttered he again and +again to himself, as he walked to and fro in a perfect agony of trouble +and perplexity. With almost any other man in the world, Sewell would have +relied on his personal qualities to carry him through a passage of +difficulty. He could assume a temper of complete imperturbability; he +could put on calm, coldness, deference, if needed, to any extent; he could +have acted his part—it would have been mere acting—as man of +honor and man of courage to the life, with any other to confront him but +Sir Brook. +</p> +<p> +This, however, was the one man on earth who knew him,—the one man by +whose mercy he was able to hold up his head and maintain his station; and +that this one man should now be here! here, within a few yards of where he +stood! +</p> +<p> +“I could murder him as easily as I go to meet him,” muttered Sewell, as he +turned towards the house. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXV. AN UNEXPECTED MEETING +</h2> +<p> +As Sir Brook sat in the library waiting for the arrival of the Chief +Baron, Lucy Lendrick came in to look for a book she had been reading. +“Only think, sir,” said she, flushing deeply with joy and astonishment +together,—“to find you here! What a delightful surprise!” + </p> +<p> +“I have come, my dear child,” said he, gravely, “to speak with Sir William +on a matter of some importance; and evidently he is not aware that my +moments are precious, for I have been here above half an hour alone.” + </p> +<p> +“But now that I am with you,” said she, coquettishly, “you 'll surely not +be so churlish of your time, will you?” + </p> +<p> +“There is no churlishness, my darling Lucy, in honest thrift. I have +nothing to give away.” The deep sadness of his voice showed how intensely +his words were charged with a stronger significance. “We are off +to-night.” + </p> +<p> +“To-night!” cried she, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Lucy. It's no great banishment,—only to an island in the +Mediterranean, and Tom came up here with me in the vague, very vague hope +he might see you. I left him in the shrubbery near the gate, for he would +not consent to come farther.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll go to him at once. We shall meet again,” said she, as she opened +the sash-door and hastened down the lawn at speed. +</p> +<p> +After another wait of full a quarter of an hour, Foss-brooke's patience +became exhausted, and he drew nigh the bell to summon a servant; his hand +was on the rope, when the door opened, and Sewell entered. Whatever +astonishment Fossbrooke might have felt at this unexpected appearance, +nothing in his manner or look betrayed it. As for Sewell, all his +accustomed ease had deserted him, and he came forward with an air of +assumed swagger, but his color came and went, and his hands twitched +almost convulsively. +</p> +<p> +He bowed, and, smiling courteously, invited Fossbrooke to be seated. +Haughtily drawing himself up to his full height, Sir Brook said, in his +own deep sonorous voice, “There can be nothing between us, sir, that +cannot be dismissed in a moment—and as we stand.” + </p> +<p> +“As you please, sir,” rejoined Sewell, with an attempt at the same haughty +tone. “I have been deputed by my stepfather, the Chief Baron, to make his +excuses for not receiving you,—his health forbids the excitement. It +is his-wish that you may make to <i>me</i> whatever communication you had +destined for <i>him</i>.” + </p> +<p> +“Which I refuse, sir, at once,” interrupted Sir Brook. “I opine, then, +there is no more to be said,” said Sewell, with a faint smile. +</p> +<p> +“Nothing more, sir,—not a word; unless perhaps you will be gracious +enough to explain to the Chief Baron the reasons—they cannot be +unknown to you—why I refuse all and any communication with Colonel +Sewell.” + </p> +<p> +“I have no presumption to read your mind and know your thoughts,” said +Sewell, with quiet politeness. +</p> +<p> +“You would discover nothing in either to your advantage, sir,” said +Fossbrooke, defiantly. +</p> +<p> +“Might I add, sir,” said Sewell, with an easy smile, “that all your +malevolence cannot exceed my indifference to it?” + </p> +<p> +Fossbrooke waived his hand haughtily, as though to dismiss the subject and +all discussion of it, and after a few seconds' pause said: “We have a +score that must be settled one day. I have deferred the reckoning out of +reverence to the memory of one whose name must not be uttered between us, +but the day for it shall come. Meanwhile, sir, you shall pay me interest +on your debt.” + </p> +<p> +“What do you assume me to owe you?” asked Sewell, whose agitation could no +longer be masked. +</p> +<p> +“You would laugh if I said, your character before the world and the repute +through which men keep your company; but you will not laugh—no, sir, +not even smile—when I say that you owe me the liberty by which you +are at large, instead of being, as I could prove you, a forger and a +felon.” + </p> +<p> +Sewell threw a hurried and terrified look around the room, as though there +might possibly be some to overhear the words; he grasped the back of a +chair to steady himself, and in the convulsive effort seemed as if he was +about to commit some act of violence. +</p> +<p> +“None of that, sir,” said Fossbrooke, folding his arms. +</p> +<p> +“I meant nothing; I intended nothing; I was faint, and wanted support,” + stammered out Sewell, in a broken voice. “What do you mean by interest? +How am I to pay interest on an indefinite sum?” + </p> +<p> +“It may relieve you of some anxiety to learn that I am not speaking of +money in the interest I require of you. What I want—what I shall +exact—is this: that you and yours—” He stopped and grew +scarlet; the fear lest something coarse or offensive might fall from him +in a moment of heat and anger arrested his words, and he was silent. +</p> +<p> +Sewell saw all the difficulty. A less adroit man would have deemed the +moment favorable to assert a triumph; Sewell was too acute for this, and +waited without speaking a word. +</p> +<p> +“My meaning is this,” said Fossbrooke, in a voice of emotion. “There is a +young lady here for whom I have the deepest interest. I desire that, so +long as she lives estranged from her father's roof, she should not be +exposed to other influences than such as she has met there. She is new to +life and the world, and I would not that she should make acquaintance with +them through any guidance save of her own nearest and dearest friends.” + </p> +<p> +“I hear, sir; but, I am free to own, I greatly mistrust myself to +appreciate your meaning.” + </p> +<p> +“I am sorry for it,” said Fossbrooke, sighing. “I wanted to convey my hope +that in your intercourse here Miss Lendrick might be spared the perils of—of—” + </p> +<p> +“My wife's friendship, you would say, sir,” said Sewell, with a perfect +composure of voice and look. +</p> +<p> +Fossbrooke hung his head. Shame and sorrow alike crushed him down. Oh that +the day should come when he could speak thus of Frank Dillon's daughter! +</p> +<p> +“I will not say with what pain I hear you, Sir Brook,” said Sewell, in a +low gentle voice. “I am certain that you never uttered such a speech +without much suffering. It will alleviate your fears when I tell you that +we only remain a few days in town. I have taken a country house, some +sixty or seventy miles from the capital, and we mean to live there +entirely.” + </p> +<p> +“I am satisfied,” said Sir Brook, whose eagerness to make reparation was +now extreme. +</p> +<p> +“Of course I shall mention nothing of this to my wife,” said Sewell. +</p> +<p> +“Of course not, sir; save with such an explanation as I could give of my +meaning, it would be an outrage.” + </p> +<p> +“I was not aware that there was—that there could be—an +explanation,” said Sewell, quietly; and then seeing the sudden flash that +shot from the old man's eyes, he added hastily, “This is far too painful +to dwell on; let it suffice, sir, that I fully understand you, and that +you shall be obeyed.” + </p> +<p> +“I ask no more,” said Fossbrooke, bowing slightly. +</p> +<p> +“You will comprehend, Sir Brook,” resumed Sewell, “that as I am precluded +from making this conversation known to my wife, I shall not be able to +limit any intimacy between her and Miss Lendrick farther than by such +intimations and hints as I may offer without exciting suspicion. It might +happen, for instance, that in coming up to town we should be Sir William's +guests. Am I to suppose that you interdict this?” + </p> +<p> +“I hope I am not capable of such a condition,” said Sir Brook, flushing, +for at every step and stage of the negotiation he felt that his zeal had +outrun his judgment, and that he was attempting not only more than he +could, but more than he ought to do. +</p> +<p> +“In fairness, Sir Brook,” said Sewell, with an assumed candor that sat +very well on him, “I ought to tell you that your conditions are very easy +ones My wife has come to this country to recruit her health and look after +her children. I myself shall probably be on my way back to India soon +after Christmas. Our small means totally preclude living in the gay world; +and,” added he, with a laugh, “if we really had any blandishments or +captivations at our disposal, they would be best bestowed on the Horse +Guards, to extend my leave, or assist me to an exchange.” + </p> +<p> +There was high art in the way in which Sewell had so contrived to get the +old man involved in the conflict of his own feelings that he was actually +grateful for the easy and even familiar tone employed towards him. +</p> +<p> +“I have wounded this man deeply,” said Fossbrooke to himself. “I have said +to him things alike unfeeling and ungenerous, and yet he has temper enough +to treat me amicably, even courteously.” + </p> +<p> +It was almost on his lips to say that he had still some influence with the +Horse Guards, that a great man there had been one of his most intimate +friends in life, and that he was ready to do anything in his power with +him, when a sudden glance at Sewell's face recalled him at once to +himself, and he stammered out, “I will detain you no longer, sir. Be kind +enough to explain to the Lord Chief Baron that my communication was of a +character that could not be made indirectly. His Excellency's name on my +card probably suggested as much. It might be proper to add that the +subject was one solely attaching to his Lordship and to his Lordship's +interest. He will himself understand what I mean.” + </p> +<p> +Sewell bowed acquiescence. As he stood at the half-open door, he was +disposed to offer his hand. It was a bold step, but he knew if it should +succeed it would be a great victory. The opportunity was too good to be +lost, and just as Sir Brook turned to say good-morning, Sewell, like one +carried away by a sudden impulse, held out his hand, and said, “You may +trust me, Sir Brook.” + </p> +<p> +“If you wish me to do so, sir, let me not touch your hand,” said the old +man, with a look of stern and haughty defiance, and he strode out without +a farewell. +</p> +<p> +Sewell staggered back into the room and sat down. A clammy cold +perspiration covered his face and forehead, for the rancor that filled his +heart sickened him like a malady. “You shall pay for this, by heaven! you +shall,” muttered he, as he wiped the great drops from his brow. “The old +fool himself has taught me where he was vulnerable, and as I live he shall +feel it.” + </p> +<p> +“His Lordship wants to see you, sir; he is in the garden,” said a servant; +and Sewell rose and followed him. He stopped twice as he went to compose +his features and regain his calm. On the last time he even rehearsed the +few words and the smile by which he meant to accost the Judge. The little +artifice was, however, forestalled, as Sir William met him abruptly with +the words, “What a time you have been, sir,—forty-eight minutes by +my watch!” + </p> +<p> +“I assure you, my Lord, I'd have made it shorter if I could,” said Sewell, +with a smile of some significance. +</p> +<p> +“I am unable to see why you could not have done so. The charge I gave you +was to report to me, not to negotiate on your own part.” + </p> +<p> +“Nor did I, my Lord. Sir Brook Fossbrooke distinctly declared that he +would only communicate with yourself personally,—that what he +desired to say referred to yourself, and should be answered by yourself.” + </p> +<p> +“On hearing which, sir, you withdrew?” + </p> +<p> +“So far as your Lordship was concerned, no more was said between us. What +passed after this I may be permitted to call private.” + </p> +<p> +“What, sir! You see a person in <i>my</i> house, at <i>my</i> instance, +and with <i>my</i> instructions,—who comes to see and confer with <i>me</i>; +and you have the hardihood to tell me that you took that opportunity to +discuss questions which you call private!” + </p> +<p> +“I trust, my Lord, you will not press me in this matter; my position is a +most painful one.” + </p> +<p> +“It is worse than painful, sir; it is humiliating. But,” added he, after a +short pause, “I have reason to be grateful to you. You have rescued me +from, perhaps, a very grave indiscretion. Your position—your wife's +health—your children's welfare had all interested me. I might have—No +matter what, sir. I have recovered the balance of my mind. I am myself +again.” + </p> +<p> +“My Lord, I will be open with you.” + </p> +<p> +“I will accept of no forced confidences, sir,” said the Judge, waving his +hand haughtily. +</p> +<p> +“They are not forced, my Lord, farther than my dislike to give you pain +renders them so. The man to whom you sent me this morning is no stranger +to me—would that he had been!—would that I had never known nor +heard of him! Very few words will explain why, my Lord. I only entreat +that, before I say them, they may be in strictest confidence between us.” + </p> +<p> +“If they require secrecy, sir, they shall have it.” + </p> +<p> +“Quite enough, my Lord,—amply sufficient for me is this assurance. +This person, then, my Lord, was the old friend and brother officer of Sir +Frank Dillon, my father-in-law. They lived as young men in closest +friendship together; shared perils, amusements, and purse together. For +many years nothing occurred to interrupt the relations between them, +though frequent remonstrances from Dillon's family against the intimacy +might possibly have caused a coolness; for the world had begun to talk of +Fossbrooke with a certain distrust, comparing his mode of living with the +amount of his fortune, and half hinting that his successes at play were +more than accidental. +</p> +<p> +“Still Dillon held to him; and to break the tie at last, his family +procured an Indian appointment for him, and sent him to Calcutta. +Fossbrooke no sooner heard of it than he sold off his town house and +horses, and actually sailed in the same packet with him.” + </p> +<p> +“Let us sit down, Colonel Sewell; I am wearied with walking, and I should +like to hear the remainder of this story.” + </p> +<p> +“I will make it very brief, my Lord. Here is a nice bench to rest on. +Arrived in India, they commenced a style of living the most costly and +extravagant imaginable. Their receptions, their dinners, their equipages, +their retinues, completely eclipsed the splendors of the native princes. +For a while these were met promptly by ready money; later on came bills, +at first duly met, and at last dishonored. On investigation, however, it +was found that the greater number—far the greater number—of +the acceptances were issued by Dillon alone,—a circumstance which +puzzled none so much as Dillon himself, who never remembered the +emergencies that had called for them.” + </p> +<p> +“They were forgeries by Fossbrooke,” said the Judge. +</p> +<p> +“You are right, my Lord, they were, but so adroitly done that Dillon was +the first to declare the signatures his own; nor was the fraud ever +discovered. To rescue his friend, as it were, Dillon sold off everything, +and paid, I know not what amount, and they both left for Ceylon, where +Dillon was named Commander of the Forces. +</p> +<p> +“Here Dillon married, and, on the birth of his first child, Fossbrooke was +the godfather, their affection being stronger than ever. Once more the +life of extravagance burst forth, and now, besides the costly household +and reckless expenditure, the stories of play became rife and frequent, +several young fellows being obliged to leave the service and sell their +commissions to meet their debts. The scandal reached England, and Dillon +was given his choice to resign or resume active service at his old rank. +He accepted the last, and went back to India. For a while they were +separated. My father-in-law made a brilliant campaign, concluding with the +victory of Atteyghur. He was named Political Resident at the seat of +government, and found himself in the receipt of a large revenue, and might +in a few years have become wealthy and honored. His evil genius, however, +was soon at his side. Fossbrooke arrived, as he said, to see him before +leaving for Europe; he never left him till his death. From that day dated +my father-in-law's inevitable ruin. Maladministration, corruption, forced +loans on every side. Black-mail was imposed on all the chiefs, and a +system of iniquity instituted that rendered the laws a farce, and the +office of judge a degradation. +</p> +<p> +“Driven almost to desperation by his approaching ruin, and yet blind to +the cause of it, Sir Frank took service against the Affghans, and fell, +severely wounded, at Walhalla. Fossbrooke followed him to the Hills, where +he went to die. The infatuation of that fatal man was unbroken, and on his +deathbed he not only confided to him all the deeds and documents that +concerned his fortune, but gave him the guardianship and control of his +daughter. In the very last letter he ever penned are these words: 'Scandal +may some day or other dare to asperse him (Sir Brook),—the best have +no immunity on that score,—but I charge you, however fortune may +deal with you, share it with him if he need it; your father never had so +true, so noble, so generous a friend. Have full courage in any course he +approves of, and never distrust yourself so completely as when he differs +from you; above all, believe no ill of him.' +</p> +<p> +“I have seen this letter,—I have read it more than once; and with my +full knowledge of the man, with my memory stored with stories about him, +it was very hard to see him exercise an influence in my house, and a power +over my wife. For a while I tried to respect what had been the faith of +her childhood; I could not bear to destroy what formed one of the links +that bound her to her father's memory; but the man's conduct obliged me to +abandon this clemency. He insisted on living upon us, and living in a +style not merely costly, but openly, flagrantly disreputable. Of his +manner to myself I will not speak; he treated me not alone as a dependant, +but as one whose character and fortune were in his hands. To what comments +this exposed me in my own house I leave you to imagine: I remonstrated at +first, but my endurance became exhausted, and I turned him from my house. +</p> +<p> +“Then began his persecution of me,—not alone of myself, but my wife, +and all belonging to me. I must not dwell on this, or I should forget +myself. +</p> +<p> +“We left India, hoping never to hear more of him. There was a story that +he had gone on a visit to a Rajah in Oude, and would in all likelihood +live there till he died. Imagine what I felt, my Lord, when I read his +name on that visiting-card. I knew, of course, what his presence meant, a +pretended matter of business with you,—the real object being to +traduce and vilify me. He had ascertained the connection between us, and +determined to turn it to profit. So long as I followed my career in India,—a +poor soldier of fortune,—I was not worth persecution; but here at +home, with friends, possibly with friends able and willing to aid me, I at +once assumed importance in his eyes. He well knows how dear to us is the +memory of my wife's father, what sacrifices we have made, what sacrifices +we would make again, that his name should not be harshly dealt with by the +world. He feels, too, all the power and weight he can yield by that letter +of poor Dillon's, given so frankly, so trustfully, and so unfortunately on +his deathbed. In one word, my Lord, this man has come back to Europe to +exert over me the pressure which he once on a time used over my +father-in-law. For reasons I cannot fathom, the great people who knew him +once, and who ought to know whom and what he has become, are still willing +to acknowledge him. It is true he no longer frequents their houses and +mixes in their society,—but they recognize him. The very card he +sent in this morning bore the Viceroy's name,—and from this cause +alone, even if there were not others, he would be dangerous. I weary you, +my Lord, and I will conclude. By an accidental admission he let drop that +he would soon leave Ireland for a while; let it seem, my Lord, so long as +he remains here, that I am less intimate here, less frequent as a visitor, +than he has imagined. Let him have grounds to imagine that my presence +here was a mere accident, and that I am not at all likely to enjoy any +share of your Lordship's favor,—in fact, let him believe me as +friendless here as he saw me in India, and he will cease to speculate on +persecuting me.” + </p> +<p> +“There would be indignity in such a course, sir,” cried the Judge, +fiercely; “the man has no terrors for <i>me</i>.” + </p> +<p> +“Certainly not, my Lord, nor for me personally. I speak on my wife's +behalf; it is for her sake and for her peace of mind I am alone thinking +here.” + </p> +<p> +“I will speak to her myself on this head.” + </p> +<p> +“I entreat you not, my Lord. I implore you never to approach the subject. +She has for years been torn between the terrible alternative of obeying +the last injunctions of her father or yielding to the wishes of her +husband. Her life has been a continual struggle, and her shattered health +has been the consequence. No, my Lord; let us go down for a few weeks or +months—as it may be—to this country place they have taken for +us; a little quietness will do us both good. My leave will not expire till +March; there is still time to look about me.” + </p> +<p> +“Something shall be done for you, sir,” said the Judge, pompously. Sewell +bowed low: he knew how to make his bow a very deep acknowledgment of +gratitude; he knew the exact measure of deference and trustfulness and +thankfulness to throw into his expression as he bent his head, while he +seemed too much overpowered to speak. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir, you shall be cared for,” said the old man. “And if this person, +this Sir Brook Fossbrooke, return here, it is with <i>me</i> he will have +to deal,—not <i>you</i>.” + </p> +<p> +“My Lord, I entreat you never to admit him; neither see nor correspond +with him. The man is a desperado, and holds his own life too cheap to care +for another's.” + </p> +<p> +“Sir, you only pique my curiosity to meet with him. I have heard of such +fellows, but never saw one.” + </p> +<p> +“From all I have heard, my Lord, <i>your</i> courage requires no proofs.” + </p> +<p> +“You have heard the truth, sir. It has been tested in every way, and found +without alloy. This man came here a few days ago to ask me to nominate my +grandson to an office in my gift; but, save a lesson for his temerity, he +'took nothing by his motion.'” The old Judge walked up and down with short +impatient steps, his eyebrows moving fiercely, And his mouth twitching +angrily. “The Viceroy must be taught that it is not through such +negotiators he can treat with men like myself. We hear much about the +dignity of the Bench. I would that his Excellency should know that the +respect for it is a homage to be rendered by the highest as well as the +lowest, and that I for one will accept of nothing less than all the honors +that befit my station.” + </p> +<p> +Relieved, as it were, by this outburst of vanity, his heart unburdened of +a load of self-conceit, the old man felt freer And better; and in the sigh +he heaved there seemed a something that indicated a sense of alleviation. +Then, turning to Sewell, with a softened voice, he said, “How grieved I am +that you should have passed such a morning! It was certainly not what I +had intended for you.” + </p> +<p> +“You are too good to me, my Lord,—far too good, and too thoughtful +of me,” said Sewell, with emotion. +</p> +<p> +“I am one of those men who must go to the grave misconstrued and +misrepresented. He who would be firm in an age of cowardice, he who would +be just in an age of jobbery, cannot fail to be calumniated. But, sir, +there is a moral stature, as there is a material stature, that requires +distance for its proportions; and it is possible posterity will be more +just to me than my contemporaries.” + </p> +<p> +“I would only hope, my Lord, that the time for such a judgment may be long +deferred.” + </p> +<p> +“You are a courtier, sir,” said the Judge, smiling. “It was amongst +courtiers I passed my early youth, and I like them. When I was a young +man, Colonel Sewell, it was the fashion to make the tour of Europe as a +matter of education and good breeding. The French Court was deemed, and +justly deemed, the first school of manners, and I firmly believe France +herself has suffered in her forms of politeness from having ceased to be +the centre of supply to the world. She adulterated the liquor as the +consumers decreased in taste and increased in number.” + </p> +<p> +“How neatly, how admirably expressed!” said Sewell, bowing. +</p> +<p> +“I had some of that gift once,” said the old man, with a sigh; “but it is +a weapon out of use nowadays. Epigram has its place in a museum now as +rightfully as an Andrea Ferrara.” + </p> +<p> +“I declare, my Lord, it is two o'clock. Here is your servant coming to +announce luncheon. I am ashamed to-think what a share of your day I have +monopolized.” + </p> +<p> +“You will stay and take some mutton broth, I hope?” + </p> +<p> +“No, my Lord. I never eat luncheon, and I am, besides, horrified at +inflicting you so long already.” + </p> +<p> +“Sir, if I suffer many of the miseries of old age, I avail myself of some +of its few privileges. One of the best of these is, never to be bored. I +am old and feeble enough to be able to say to him who wearies me, Leave me—leave-me +to myself and my own dreariness. Had you 'inflicted' me, as you call it, I +'d have said as much two hours ago. Your company was, however, most +agreeable. You know how to talk, and, what is rarer, you know how to +listen.” + </p> +<p> +Sewell bowed respectfully and in silence. +</p> +<p> +“I wish the school that trains aides-de-camp could be open to junior +barristers and curates,” muttered he, half to himself; then added aloud, +“Come and see me soon again. Come to breakfast, or, if you prefer it, to +dinner. We dine at seven;” and without further adieu than a slight wave of +his hand, he turned away and entered the house. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXVI. SIR BROOK IN CONFUSION +</h2> +<p> +Tom Lendrick had just parted with his sister as Fossbrooke came up, and, +taking his arm in silence, moved slowly down the road. +</p> +<p> +Seeing his deep preoccupation, Tom did not speak for some time, but walked +along without a word. “I hope you found my grandfather in better temper, +sir?” asked Tom, at last. +</p> +<p> +“He refused to receive me; he pleaded illness, or rather he called it by +its true name, indisposition. He deputed another gentleman to meet me,—a +Colonel Sewell, his stepson.” + </p> +<p> +“That 's the man my father saw at the Cape; a clever sort of person he +called him, but, I suspect, not one to his liking; too much man of the +world,—too much man of fashion for poor Dad.” + </p> +<p> +“I hope so,” muttered Fossbrooke, unconsciously. +</p> +<p> +“Indeed, sir; and why?” asked Tom, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“What of Lucy?” said Sir Brook, abruptly; “how did you think she was +looking?” + </p> +<p> +“Well, sir, on the whole, well. I've seen her jollier; but, to be sure, it +was a leave-taking to-day, and that's not the occasion to put one in high +spirits. Poor girl, she said, 'Is it not hard, Tom? There are only three +of us, and we must all live apart.'” + </p> +<p> +“So it is,—hard, very hard. I 'd have tried once more to influence +the old Judge if he 'd have given me a meeting. He may do worse with that +office than bestow it on you, Tom. I believe I'd have told him as much.” + </p> +<p> +“It's perhaps as well, sir, that you did not see him,” said Tom, with a +faint smile. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said Fossbrooke, following along the train of his own thoughts, and +not noticing the other's remark. “He may do worse; he may give it to <i>him</i>, +and thus draw closer the ties between them; and if <i>that</i> man once +gets admission there, he'll get influence.” + </p> +<p> +“Of whom are you talking, sir?” + </p> +<p> +“I was not speaking, Tom. I was turning over some things in my mind. By +the way, we have much to do before evening. Go over to Hodgen's about +those tools; he has not sent them yet: and the blasting-powder, too, has +not come down. I ought, if I could manage the time, to test it; but it 's +too late. I must go to the Castle for five minutes,—five minutes +will do it; and I 'll pass by Grainger's on my way back, and buy the +flannel—miners' flannel they call it in the advertisement. We must +look our <i>métier</i>, Tom, eh? You told Lucy where to write, and how to +address us, I hope?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir, she wrote it down. By the way, that reminds me of a letter she +gave me for you. It was addressed to her care, and came yesterday.” + </p> +<p> +The old man thrust it in his pocket without so much as a look at it. +</p> +<p> +“I think the post-mark was Madeira,” said Tom, to try and excite some +curiosity. +</p> +<p> +“Possibly. I have correspondents everywhere.” + </p> +<p> +“It looked like Trafford's writing, I thought.” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed! let us see;” and he drew forth the letter, and broke the +envelope. “Right enough, Tom,—it is Trafford.” + </p> +<p> +He ran his eyes rapidly over the first lines, turned to the next side, and +then to the end of the letter, and then once more began at the beginning. +</p> +<p> +“This is his third attempt, he says, to reach me, having written twice +without any acknowledgment; hence he has taken the liberty—and a +very great liberty too—to address the present to the care of your +sister. His brother died in March last, and the younger brother has now +shown symptoms of the same malady, and has been sent out to Madeira. 'I +could not,' he writes,—'I could not refuse to come out here with +him, however eager I was to go to Ireland. You can well believe,'”—here +the old man slurred over the words, and murmured inaudibly for some +seconds. “I see,” added he at last, “he has gone back to his old regiment, +with good hopes of the majority. 'Hinks is sick of the service, and quite +willing to leave. Harvey, however, stands above me, and deems it a cruel +thing to be passed over. I must have your advice about this, as well as +about—'” Here again he dropped his voice and mumbled unintelligibly. +At length he read on: “'What is Tom doing? What a shame it would be if a +fellow with such abilities should not make his way!'” + </p> +<p> +“A crying shame,” burst in Tom, “but I neither see the abilities nor the +way; would he kindly indicate how to find either or both?” + </p> +<p> +“'My mother suggested,'” read on Sir Brook, “'two or three things which my +father could readily obtain, but you know the price of the promotion; you +know what I would have to—'” Here, once more, the old man stopped +abruptly. +</p> +<p> +“Pray go on, sir,” cried Tom, eagerly; “this interests me much, and as it +touches myself I have half a claim to hear it.” + </p> +<p> +Sir Brook gave no heed to the request, but read on in silence and to +himself. Turning to the last page, he said: “'I may then hope to be in +England by the end of the month. I shall not go down to Holt, but straight +to Dublin. My leave will expire on the 28th, and this will give me a good +excuse for not going home. I am sure you will agree with me that I am +doing the right thing. +</p> +<p> +“'If I am fortunate enough to meet you in Dublin, I can ask your advice on +many things which press for solution; but if you should have left Ireland +and gone heaven knows where, what is to become of me?'” + </p> +<p> +“Got into debt again, evidently,” said Tom, as he puffed his cigar. +</p> +<p> +“Nothing of the kind. I know thoroughly what he alludes to, though I am +not at liberty to speak of it. He wishes me to leave our address with +Colonel Cave at the barracks, and that if we should have left Ireland +already, he 'll try and manage a month's leave, and pay us a visit.” + </p> +<p> +“I declare I guessed that!” burst out Tom. “I had a dread of it, from the +very day we first planned our project. I said to myself, So sure as we +settle down to work,—to work like men who have no thought but how to +earn their bread,—some lavender-gloved fellow, with a dressing-case +and three hat-boxes, will drop down to disgust us alike with our own +hardships and <i>his</i> foppery.” + </p> +<p> +“He'll not come,” said Sir Brook, calmly; “and if he should, he will be +welcome.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh! as to that,” stammered out Tom, somewhat ashamed of his late warmth, +“Trafford is perhaps the one exception to the sort of thing I am afraid +of. He is a fine, manly, candid fellow, with no affectations nor any +pretensions.” + </p> +<p> +“A gentleman, sir,—just a gentleman, and of a very good type.” + </p> +<p> +The last few lines of the letter were small and finely written, and cost +the old man some time to decipher. At last he read them aloud. “'Am I +asking what you would see any objection to accord me, if I entreat you to +give me some letter of introduction or presentation to the Chief t Baron? +I presume that you know him; and I presume that he might not refuse to +know <i>me</i>. It is possible I may be wrong in either or both of these +assumptions. I am sure you will be frank in your reply to this request of +mine, and say No, if you dislike to say Yes. I made the acquaintance of +Colonel Sewell, the Judge's step-son, at the Cape; but I suspect—I +may be wrong—but I suspect that to be presented by the Colonel might +not be the smoothest road to his Lordship's acquaintance,—I was +going to write “favor,” but I have no pretension, as yet at least, to +aspire that far.' +</p> +<p> +“'The Colonel himself told me that his mother and Sir William never met +without a quarrel. His affectionate remark was that the Chief Baron was +the only creature in Europe whose temper was worse than Lady Lendrick's, +and it would be a blessing to humanity if they could be induced to live +together. +</p> +<p> +“'I saw a good deal of the Se wells at the Cape. She is charming! She was +a Dillon, and her mother a Lascelles, some forty-fifth cousin of my +mother's,—quite enough of relationship, however, to excuse a very +rapid intimacy, so that I dined there when I liked, and uninvited. I did +not like <i>him</i> so well; but then he beat me at billiards, and always +won my money at <i>écarté</i>, and of course these are detracting +ingredients which ought not to be thrown into the scale. +</p> +<p> +“'How she sings! I don't know how you, with your rapturous love of music, +would escape falling in love with her: all the more that she seems to me +one who expects that sort of homage, and thinks herself defrauded if +denied it. If the Lord Chief Baron is fond of ballads, he has been her +captive this many a day. +</p> +<p> +“'My love to Tom, if with you or within reach of you; and believe me, ever +yours affectionately,—Lionel Trafford.'” + </p> +<p> +“It was the eldest son who died,” said Tom, carelessly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, the heir. Lionel now succeeds to a splendid fortune and the +baronetcy.” + </p> +<p> +“He told me once that his father had made some sort of compact with his +eldest son about cutting off the entail, in case he should desire to do +it. In fact, he gave me to understand that he was n't a favorite with his +father, and that, if by any course of events he were likely to succeed to +the estate, it was more than probable his father would use this power, and +merely leave him what he could not alienate,—a very small property +that pertained to the baronetage.” + </p> +<p> +“With reference to what did he make this revelation to you? What had you +been talking of?” + </p> +<p> +“I scarcely remember. I think it was about younger sons,—how hardly +they were treated, and how unfairly.” + </p> +<p> +“Great hardship truly that a man must labor! not to say that there is not +a single career in life he can approach without bringing to it greater +advantages than befall humbler men,—a better and more liberal +education, superior habits as regards society, powerful friends, and what +in a country like ours is inconceivably effective,—the prestige of +family. I cannot endure this compassionate tone about younger sons. To my +thinking they have the very best opening that life can offer, if they be +men to profit by it; and if they are not, I care very little what becomes +of them.” + </p> +<p> +“I do think it hard that my elder brother should have fortune and wealth +to over-abundance, while my pittance will scarcely keep me in cigars.” + </p> +<p> +“You have no right, sir, to think of his affluence. It is not in the +record; the necessities of your position have no-relation to his +superfluities. Bethink you of yourself, and if cigars are too expensive +for you, smoke cavendish. Trafford was full of this cant about the cruelty +of primogeniture, but I would have none of it. Whenever a man tells me +that he deems it a hardship that he should do anything for his livelihood, +I leave him, and hope never to see more of him.” + </p> +<p> +“Trafford surely did not say so.” + </p> +<p> +“No,—certainly not; there would have been no correspondence between +us if he had. But I want to see these young fellows showing the world that +they shrink from no competitorship with any. They have long proved that to +confront danger and meet death they are second to none. Let me show that +in other qualities they admit of no inferiority,—that they are as +ready for enterprise, as well able to stand cold and hunger and thirst, to +battle with climate and disease. <i>I</i> know well they can do it, but I +want the world to know it.” + </p> +<p> +“As to intellectual distinctions,” said Tom, “I think they are the equals +of any. The best man in Trinity in my day was a fellow-commoner.” + </p> +<p> +This speech seemed to restore the old man to his best humor. He slapped +young Lendrick familiarly on the shoulder and said: “It would be a grand +thing, Tom, if we could extend the application of that old French adage, +'noblesse oblige,' and make it apply to every career in life and every +success. Come along down this street; I want to buy some nails,—we +can take them home with us.” + </p> +<p> +They soon made their purchases; and each, armed with a considerably sized +brown-paper parcel, issued from the shop,—the old man eagerly +following up the late theme, and insisting on all the advantages good +birth and blood conferred, and what a grand resource was the gentleman +element in moments of pressure and temptation. +</p> +<p> +“His Excellency wishes to speak to you, sir,” said a footman, respectfully +standing hat in hand before him “The carriage is over the way.” + </p> +<p> +Sir Brook nodded an assent, and then, turning to Torn, said, “Have the +kindness to hold this for me for a moment; I will not detain you longer;” + and placing in young Lendrick's hands a good-sized parcel, he stepped +across the street, totally forgetting that over his left arm, the hand of +which was in his pocket, a considerable coil of strong rope depended, +being one of his late purchases. As he drew nigh the carriage, he made a +sign that implied defeat; and mortified as the Viceroy was at the +announcement, he could not help smiling at the strange guise in which the +old man presented himself. +</p> +<p> +“And how so, Fossbrooke?” asked he, in answer to the other's signal. +</p> +<p> +“Simply, he would not see me, my Lord. Our first meeting had apparently +left no very agreeable memories of me, and he scarcely cared to cultivate +an acquaintance that opened so inauspiciously.” + </p> +<p> +“But you sent him your card with my name?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; and his reply was to depute another gentleman to receive me and take +my communication.” + </p> +<p> +“Which you refused, of course, to make?” + </p> +<p> +“Which I refused.” + </p> +<p> +“Do you incline to suppose that the Chief Baron guessed the object of your +visit?” + </p> +<p> +“I have no means of arriving at that surmise, my Lord. His refusal of me +was so peremptory that it left me no clew to any guess.” + </p> +<p> +“Was the person deputed to receive you one with whom it was at all +possible to indicate such an intimation of your business as might convey +to the Chief Baron the necessity of seeing you?” + </p> +<p> +“Quite the reverse, my Lord; he was one with whom, from previous +knowledge, I could hold little converse.” + </p> +<p> +“Then there is, I fear, nothing to be done.” + </p> +<p> +“Nothing.” + </p> +<p> +“Except to thank you heartily, my dear Fossbrooke, and ask you once more, +why are you going away?” + </p> +<p> +“I told you last night I was going to make a fortune. I have—to my +own astonishment I own it—begun to feel that narrow means are +occasionally most inconvenient; that they limit a man's action in so many +ways that he comes at last to experience a sort of slavery; and instead of +chafing against this, I am resolved to overcome it, and become rich.” + </p> +<p> +“I hope, with all my heart, you may. There is no man whom wealth will more +become, or who will know how to dispense it more reputably.” + </p> +<p> +“Why, we have gathered a crowd around us, my Lord,” said Fossbrooke, +looking to right and left, where now a number of people had gathered, +attracted by the Viceroy's presence, but still more amused by the +strange-looking figure with the hank of rope over his arm, who discoursed +so freely with his Excellency. “This is one of the penalties of greatness, +I take it,” continued he. “It's your Excellency's Collar of St. Patrick +costs you these attentions—” + </p> +<p> +“I rather suspect it's <i>your 'grand cordon</i>,' Fossbrooke,” said the +Viceroy, laughing, while he pointed to the rope. +</p> +<p> +“Bless my stars!” exclaimed Sir Brook, blushing deeply, “how forgetful I +am growing! I hope you forgive me. I am sure you could not suppose—” + </p> +<p> +“I could never think anything but good of you, Fossbrooke. Get in, and +come out to 'the Lodge' to dinner.” + </p> +<p> +“No, no; impossible. I am heartily ashamed of myself. I grow worse and +worse every day; people will lose patience at last, and cut me; good-bye.” + </p> +<p> +“Wait one moment. I want to ask you something about young Lendrick. Would +he take an appointment in a colonial regiment? Would he—” But +Fossbrooke had elbowed his way through the dense crowd by this time, and +was far out of hearing,—shocked with himself, and overwhelmed with +the thought that in his absurd forgetfulness he might have involved +another in ridicule. +</p> +<p> +“Think of me standing talking to his Excellency with this on my arm, Tom!” + said he, flushing with shame and annoyance: “how these absent fits keep +advancing on me! When a man begins to forget himself in this fashion, the +time is not very distant when his friends will be glad to forget him. I +said so this moment to Lord Wilmington, and I am afraid that he agreed +with me. Where are the screws, Tom,—have I been forgetting them +also?” + </p> +<p> +“No, sir, I have them here; the holdfasts were not finished, but they will +be sent over to us this evening, along with the cramps you ordered.” + </p> +<p> +“So, then, my head was clear so far,” cried he, with a smile. “In my +prosperous days, Tom, these freaks of mine were taken as good jokes, and +my friends laughed at them over my Burgundy; but when a man has no longer +Burgundy to wash down his blunders with, it is strange how different +becomes the criticism, and how much more candid the critic.” + </p> +<p> +“So that, in point of enlightenment, sir, it is better to be poor.” + </p> +<p> +“It is what I was just going to observe to you,” said he, calmly. “Can you +give me a cigar?” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXVII. THE TWO LUCYS +</h2> +<p> +Within a week after this incident, while Fossbrooke and young Lendrick +were ploughing the salt sea towards their destination, Lucy sat in her +room one morning engaged in drawing. She was making a chalk copy from a +small photograph her brother had sent her, a likeness of Sir Brook, taken +surreptitiously as he sat smoking at a window, little heeding or knowing +of the advantage thus taken of him. +</p> +<p> +The head was considerably advanced, the brow and the eyes were nearly +finished, and she was trying for the third time to get an expression into +the mouth which the photograph had failed to convey, but which she so +often observed in the original. Eagerly intent on her work, she never +heard the door open behind her, and was slightly startled as a very gentle +hand was laid on her shoulder. +</p> +<p> +“Is this a very presumptuous step of mine, dear Lucy?” said Mrs. Sewell, +with one of her most bewitching smiles: “have I your leave for coming in +upon you in this fashion?” + </p> +<p> +“Of course you have, my dear Mrs. Sewell; it is a great pleasure to me to +see you here.” + </p> +<p> +“And I may take off my bonnet and my shawl and my gloves and my company +manner, as my husband calls it?” + </p> +<p> +“Oh! <i>you</i> have no company manner,” broke in Lucy. +</p> +<p> +“I used to think not; but men are stern critics, darling, and especially +when they are husbands. You will find out, one of these days, how neatly +your liege lord will detect every little objectionable trait in your +nature, and with what admirable frankness he will caution you against—yourself.” + </p> +<p> +“I almost think I 'd rather he would not.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm very certain of it, Lucy,” said the other, with greater firmness +than before. “The thing we call love in married life has an existence only +a little beyond that of the bouquet you carried to the wedding-breakfast; +and it would be unreasonable in a woman to expect it, but she might fairly +ask for courtesy and respect, and you would be amazed how churlish even +gentlemen can become about expending these graces in their own families.” + </p> +<p> +Lucy was both shocked and astonished at what she heard, and the grave tone +in which the words were uttered surprised her most of all. +</p> +<p> +Mrs. Sewell had by this time taken off her bonnet and shawl, and, pushing +back her luxuriant hair from her forehead, looked as though suffering from +headache, for her brows were contracted, and the orbits around her eyes +dark and purple-looking. +</p> +<p> +“You are not quite well to-day,” said Lucy, as she sat down on the sofa +beside her, and took her hand. +</p> +<p> +“About as well as I ever am,” said she, sighing; and then, as if suddenly +recollecting herself, added, “India makes such an inroad on health and +strength! No buoyancy of temperament ever resisted that fatal climate. You +would n't believe it, Lucy, but I was once famed for high spirits.” + </p> +<p> +“I can well believe it.” + </p> +<p> +“It was, however, very long ago. I was little more than a child at the +time—that is, I was about fourteen or fifteen—when I left +England, to which I returned in my twentieth year. I went back very soon +afterwards to nurse my poor father, and be married.” + </p> +<p> +The depth of sadness in which she spoke the last words made the silence +that followed intensely sad and gloomy. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said she, with a deep melancholy smile, “papa called me madcap. Oh +dear, if our fathers and mothers could look back from that eternity they +have gone to, and see how the traits they traced in our childhood have +saddened and sobered down into sternest features, would they recognize us +as their own? I don't look like a madcap now, Lucy, do I?” As she said +this, her eyes swam in tears, and her lip trembled convulsively. Then +standing hastily up, she drew nigh the table, and leaned over to look at +the drawing at which Lucy had been engaged. +</p> +<p> +“What!” cried she, with almost a shriek,—“what is this? Whose +portrait is this? Tell me at once; who is it?” + </p> +<p> +“A very dear friend of mine and of Tom's. One you could not have ever met, +I'm sure.” + </p> +<p> +“And how do you know whom I have met?” cried she, fiercely. “What can you +know of my life and my associates?” + </p> +<p> +“I said so, because he is one who has lived long estranged from the +world,” said Lucy, gently; for in the sudden burst of the other's passion +she only saw matter for deep compassion. It was but another part of a +nature torn and distracted by unceasing anxieties. +</p> +<p> +“But his name,—his name?” said Mrs. Sewell, wildly. +</p> +<p> +“His name is Sir Brook Fossbrooke.” + </p> +<p> +“I knew it, I knew it!” cried she, wildly,—“I knew it!” and said it +over and over again. “Go where we will we shall find him. He haunts; us +like a curse,—like a curse!” And it was in almost a shriek the last +word came forth. +</p> +<p> +“You cannot know the man if you say this of him,” said Lucy, firmly. +</p> +<p> +“Not know him!—not know him! You will tell me next that I do not +know myself,—not know my own name,—not know the life of +bitterness I have lived,—the shame of it,—the ineffable shame +of it!” and she threw herself on her face on the sofa, and sobbed +convulsively. Long and anxiously did Lucy try all in her power to comfort +and console her. She poured out her whole heart in pledges of sisterly +love and affection. She assured her of a sympathy that would never desert +her; and, last of all, she told her that her judgment of Sir Brook was a +mistaken one,—that in the world there lived not one more +true-hearted, more generous, or more noble. +</p> +<p> +“And where did you learn all this, young woman?” said the other, +passionately. “In what temptations and trials of your life have these +experiences been gained? Oh, don't be angry with me, dearest Lucy; forgive +this rude speech of mine; my head is turning, and I know not what I say. +Tell me, child, did this man speak to you of my husband?” + </p> +<p> +“No.” + </p> +<p> +“Nor of myself?” + </p> +<p> +“Not a word. I don't believe he was aware that we were related to each +other.” + </p> +<p> +“He not aware? Why, it's his boast that he knows every one and every one's +connections. You never heard him speak without this parade of universal +acquaintanceship. But why did he come here? How did you happen to meet +him?” + </p> +<p> +“By the merest accident. Tom found him one day fishing the river close to +our house, and they got to talk together; and it ended by his coming to us +to tea. Intimacy followed very quickly, and then a close friendship.” + </p> +<p> +“And do you mean to tell me that all this while he never alluded to us?” + </p> +<p> +“Never.” + </p> +<p> +“This is so unlike him,—so unlike him,” muttered she, half to +herself. “And the last place you saw him,—where was it?” + </p> +<p> +“Here in this house.” + </p> +<p> +“Here! Do you mean that he came here to see you?” + </p> +<p> +“No; he had some business with grandpapa, and called one morning, but he +was not received. Grandpapa was not well, and sent Colonel Sewell to meet +him.” + </p> +<p> +“He sent my husband! And did he go?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes.” + </p> +<p> +“Are you sure of that?” + </p> +<p> +“I know it.” + </p> +<p> +“I never heard of this,” said she, holding her hands to her temples. +“About what time was it?” + </p> +<p> +“It was on Friday last. I remember the day, because it was the last time I +saw poor Tom.” + </p> +<p> +“On Friday last,” said she, pondering. “Yes, you are right. I do remember +that Friday;” and she drew up the sleeve of her dress, and looked at a +dark-blue mark upon the fair white skin of her arm; but so hastily was the +action done that Lucy did not remark it. +</p> +<p> +“It was on Friday morning. It was on the forenoon of Friday, was it not?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes. The clock struck one, I remember, as I got back to the house.” + </p> +<p> +“Tell me, Lucy,” said she in a caressing tone, as she drew her arm round +the girl's waist,—“tell me, darling, how did Colonel Sewell look +after that interview? Did he seem angry or irritated? I'll tell you why I +ask this some other time,—but I want to know if he seemed vexed or +chagrined by meeting this man.” + </p> +<p> +“I did not see him after; he went away almost immediately after Sir Brook. +I heard his voice talking with grandpapa in the garden, but I went to my +room, and we did not meet.” + </p> +<p> +“As they spoke in the garden, were their voices raised? Did they talk like +men excited or in warmth?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes. Their tone and manner were what you say,—so much so that I +went away, not to overhear them. Grandpapa, I know, was angry at +something; and when we met at luncheon, he barely spoke to me.” + </p> +<p> +“And what conclusion did you draw from all this?” + </p> +<p> +“None! There was nothing to induce me to dwell on the circumstance; +besides,” added she, with some irritation, “I am not given to reason upon +the traits of people's manner, or their tone in speaking.” + </p> +<p> +“Nor perhaps accustomed to inquire, when your grandfather is vexed, what +it is that has irritated him.” + </p> +<p> +“Certainly not. It is a liberty I should not dare to take.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, darling,” said she, with a saucy laugh, “he is more fortunate in +having <i>you</i> for a granddaughter than me. I 'm afraid I should have +less discretion,—at all events, less dread.” + </p> +<p> +“Don't be so sure of that,” said Lucy, quietly. “Grandpapa is no common +person. It is not his temper but his talent that one is loath to +encounter.” + </p> +<p> +“I do not suspect that either would terrify me greatly. As the soldiers +say, Lucy, I have been under fire pretty often, and I don't mind it now. +Do you know, child, that we have got into a most irritable tone with each +other? Each of us is saying something that provokes a sharp reply, and we +are actually sparring without knowing it.” + </p> +<p> +“I certainly did not know it,” said Lucy, taking her hand within both her +own, “and I ask pardon if I have said anything to hurt you.” + </p> +<p> +Leaving her hand to Lucy unconsciously, and not heeding one word of what +she had said, Mrs. Sewell sat with her eyes fixed on the floor deep in +thought. “I 'm sure, Lucy,” said she at last, “I don't know why I asked +you all those questions awhile ago. That man—Sir Brook, I mean—is +nothing to me; he ought to be, but he is not. My father and he were +friends; that is, my father thought he was his friend, and left him the +guardianship of me on his deathbed.” + </p> +<p> +“Your guardian,—Sir Brook your guardian?” cried Lucy, with intense +eagerness. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; with more power than the law, I believe, would accord to any +guardian.” She paused and seemed lost in thought for some seconds, and +then went on: “Colonel Sewell and he never liked each other. Sir Brook +took little trouble to be liked by him; perhaps Dudley was as careless on +his side. What a tiresome vein I have got in! How should <i>you</i> care +for all this?” + </p> +<p> +“But I do care—I care for all that concerns you.” + </p> +<p> +“I take it, if you were to hear Sir Brook's account, we should not make a +more brilliant figure than himself. He 'd tell you about our mode of life, +and high play, and the rest of it; but, child, every one plays high in +India, every one does scores of things there they would n't do at home, +partly because the <i>ennui</i> of life tempts to anything,—anything +that would relieve it; and then all are tolerant because all are equally—I +was going to say wicked; but I don't mean wickedness,—I mean bored +to that degree that there is no stimulant left without a breach of the +decalogue.” + </p> +<p> +“I think that might be called wickedness,” said Lucy, dryly. +</p> +<p> +“Call it what you like, only take my word for it you 'd do the selfsame +things if you lived there. I was pretty much what you are now when I left +England; and if any naughty creature like myself were to talk, as I am +doing to you now, and make confession of all her misdeeds and misfortunes, +I'm certain I'd have known how to bridle up and draw away my hand, and +retire to a far end of the sofa, and look unutterable pruderies, just as +you do this moment.” + </p> +<p> +“Without ever suspecting it, certainly,” said Lucy laughing. +</p> +<p> +“Tear up that odious drawing, dear Lucy,” said she, rising and walking the +room with impatience. “Tear it up; or, if you won't do that, let me write +a line under it—one line, I ask for no more—so that people may +know at whom they are looking.” + </p> +<p> +“I will do neither; nor will I sit here to listen to one word against +him.” + </p> +<p> +“Which means, child, that your knowledge of life is so-much greater than +mine, you can trust implicitly to your own judgment. I can admire your +courage, certainly, though I am not captivated by your prudence.” + </p> +<p> +“It is because I have so little faith in my own judgment that I am +unwilling to lose the friend who can guide me.” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps it would be unsafe if I were to ask you to choose between <i>him</i> +and me,” said Mrs. Sewell, very slowly, and with her eyes fully bent on +Lucy. +</p> +<p> +“I hope you will not.” + </p> +<p> +“With such a warning I certainly shall not do so. Who-could have believed +it was so late?” said she, hastily looking at her watch; “What a seductive +creature you must be, child, to slip over one's whole morning without +knowing it,—two o'clock already. You lunch about this time?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, punctually at two.” + </p> +<p> +“Are you sufficiently lady of the house to invite me, Lucy?” + </p> +<p> +“I am sure <i>you</i> need no invitation here; you are one of us.” + </p> +<p> +“What a little Jesuit it is!” said Mrs. Sewell, patting her cheek. “Come, +child, I 'll be equal with you. I 'll enter the room on your arm, and say, +'Sir William, your granddaughter insisted on my remaining; I thought it an +awkwardness, but she tells me she is the mistress here, and I obey.'” + </p> +<p> +“And you will find he will be too well-bred to contradict you,” said Lucy, +while a deep blush covered her face and throat. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I think him positively charming!” said Mrs. Sewell, as she arranged +her hair before the glass; “I think him charming. My mother-in-law and I +have a dozen pitched battles every day on the score of his temper and his +character. <i>My</i> theory is, the only intolerable thing on earth is a +fool; and whether it be that Lady Lendrick suspects me of any secret +intention to designate one still nearer to her by this reservation, I do +not know, but the declaration drives her half crazy. Come, Lucy, we shall +be keeping grandpapa waiting for us.” + </p> +<p> +They moved down the stairs arm-in-arm, without a word; but as they gained +the door of the dining-room, Mrs. Sewell turned fully round and said, in a +low deep voice, “Marry anything,—rake, gambler, villain,—anything, +the basest and the blackest; but never take a fool, for a fool means them +all combined.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXVIII. THE NEST WITH STRANGE “BIRDS” IN IT +</h2> +<p> +To the Swan's Nest, very differently tenanted from what we saw it at the +opening of our story, we have now to conduct our reader. Its present +occupant—“the acquisition to any neighborhood,” as the house-agent +styled him—was Colonel Sewell. +</p> +<p> +Lady Lendrick had taken the place for her son on finding that Sir William +would not extend his hospitality to him. She had taken the precaution not +merely to pay a year's rent in advance, but to make a number of changes in +the house and its dependencies, which she hoped might render the residence +more palatable to him, and reconcile him in some degree to its isolation +and retirement. +</p> +<p> +The Colonel was, however, one of those men—they are numerous enough +in this world—who canvass the mouth of the gift-horse, and have few +scruples in detecting the signs of his age. He criticised the whole place +with a most commendable frankness. It was a “pokey little hole.” It was +dark; it was low-ceilinged. It was full of inconveniences. The furniture +was old-fashioned. You had to mount two steps into the drawing-room and go +down three into the dining-room. He had to cross a corridor to his +bath-room, and there was a great Tudor window in the small +breakfast-parlor, that made one feel as if sitting in a lantern. +</p> +<p> +As for the stables, “he would n't put a donkey into them.” No light, no +ventilation,—no anything, in short. To live surrounded with so many +inconveniences was the most complete assertion of his fallen condition, +and, as he said, “he had never realized his fall in the world till he +settled down in that miserable Nest.” + </p> +<p> +There are men whose especial delight it is to call your attention to their +impaired condition, their threadbare coat, their patched shoes, their +shabby equipage, or their sorry dwelling, as though they were framing a +sort of indictment against Fate, and setting forth the hardships of +persons of merit like them being subjected to this unjustifiable treatment +by Fortune. +</p> +<p> +“I suppose you never thought to see me reduced to this,” is the burden of +their song; and it is very strange how, by mere repetition and insistence, +these people establish for themselves a sort of position, and oblige the +world to yield them a black-mail of respect and condolence. +</p> +<p> +“This was not the sort of tipple I used to set before you once on a time, +old fellow,” will be uttered by one of whose hospitalities you have never +partaken. “It was another guess sort of beast I gave you for a mount when +we met last,” will be said by a man who never rose above a cob pony; and +one is obliged to yield a kind of polite assent to such balderdash, or +stand forward as a public prosecutor and arraign the rascal for a humbug. +</p> +<p> +In this self-commiseration Sewell was a master, and there was not a corner +of the house he did not make the butt of his ridicule,—to contrast +its littleness and vulgarity with the former ways and belongings of his +own once splendor. +</p> +<p> +“You're capital fellows,” said he to a party of officers from the +neighboring garrison, “to come and see me in this dog-hole. Try and find a +chair you can sit on, and I 'll ask my wife if we can give you some +dinner. You remember me up at Rangoon, Hobbes? Another guess sort of +place, wasn't it? I had the Rajah's palace and four elephants at my +orders. At Guzerat, too, I was the Resident, and, by Jove, I never dreamed +of coming down to this!” + </p> +<p> +Too indolent or too indifferent to care where or how she was lodged, his +wife gave no heed to his complaints, beyond a little half-supercilious +smile as he uttered them. “If a fellow will marry, however, he deserves it +all,” was his usual wind-up to all his lamentations; and in this he seemed +to console himself by the double opportunity of pitying himself and +insulting his wife. +</p> +<p> +All that Colonel Cave and his officers could say in praise of the spot, +its beauty, its neatness, and its comfort, were only fresh aliment to his +depreciation, and he more than half implied that possibly the place was +quite good enough for <i>them</i>, but that was not exactly the question +at issue. +</p> +<p> +Some men go through life permitted to say scores of things for which their +neighbor would be irrevocably cut and excluded from society. Either that +the world is amused at their bitterness, or that it is regarded as a +malady, far worse to him who bears than to him who witnesses it,—whatever +the reason,—people endure these men, and make even a sort of vicious +pets of them. Sewell was of this order, and a fine specimen too. +</p> +<p> +All the men around him were his equals in every respect, and yet there was +not one of them who did not accept a position of quiet, unresisting +inferiority to him for the sake of his bad temper and his bad tongue. It +was “his way,” they said, and they bore it. +</p> +<p> +He was a consummate adept in all the details of a household; and his +dinners were perfection, his wine good, and his servants drilled to the +very acme of discipline. These were not mean accessories to any +pretension; and as they sat over their claret, a pleasanter and more +social tone succeeded than the complaining spirit of their host had at +first promised. +</p> +<p> +The talk was chiefly professional. Pipeclay will ever assert its +pre-eminence, and with reason, for it is a grand leveller; and Digges, who +joined three months ago, may have the Army List as well by heart as the +oldest major in the service: and so they discussed, Where was Hobson? what +made Jobson sell out? how did Bobson get out of that scrape with the +paymaster? and how long will Dobson be able to live at his present rate in +that light-cavalry corps? Everything that fell from them showed the most +thorough intimacy with the condition, the fortune, and the prospects of +the men they discussed,—familiarity there was enough of, but no +friendship. No one seemed to trouble himself whether the sick-leave or the +sell-out meant hopeless calamity,—all were dashed with a species of +well-bred fatalism that was astonished with nothing, rejoiced at nothing, +repined at nothing. +</p> +<p> +“I wish Trafford would make up his mind!” cried one. “Three weeks ago he +told me positively he would leave, and now I hear he offered Craycroft +three thousand pounds to retire from the majority.” + </p> +<p> +“That 's true; Craycroft told me so himself; but old Joe is a wily bird, +and he 'll not be taken so easily.” + </p> +<p> +“He's an eldest son now!” broke in another. “What does he care whether he +be called major or captain?” + </p> +<p> +“An eldest son!” cried Sewell, suddenly; “how is that? When I met him at +the Cape, he spoke of an elder brother.” + </p> +<p> +“So he had, then, but he's 'off the hooks.'” + </p> +<p> +“I don't think it matters much,” said the Colonel. “The bulk of the +property is disentailed, and Sir Hugh can leave it how he likes.” + </p> +<p> +“That's what I call downright shameful,” said one; but he was the +minority, for a number of voices exclaimed,—“And perfectly right; +that law of primogeniture is a positive barbarism.” + </p> +<p> +While the dispute waxed warm and noisy, Sewell questioned the Colonel +closely about Trafford,—how it happened that the entail was removed, +and why there was reason to suppose that Sir Hugh and his son were not on +terms of friendship. +</p> +<p> +Cave was frank enough when he spoke of the amount of the fortune and the +extent of the estate, but used a careful caution in speaking of family +matters, merely hinting that Trafford had gone very fast, spent a deal of +money, had his debts twice paid by his father, and was now rather in the +position of a reformed spendthrift, making a good character for prudence +and economy. +</p> +<p> +“And where is he?—not in Ireland?” asked Se well, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“No; he is to join on Monday. I got a hurried note from him this morning, +dated Holyhead. You said you had met him?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, at the Cape; he used to come and dine with us there occasionally.” + </p> +<p> +“Did you like him?” + </p> +<p> +“In a way. Yes, I think he was a nice fellow,—that is, he might be +made a nice fellow, but it was always a question into what hands he fell; +he was at the same time pliant and obstinate. He would always imitate,—he +would never lead. So he seemed to me; but, to tell you the truth, I left +him a good deal to the women; he was too young and too fresh for a man +like myself.” + </p> +<p> +“You are rather hard on him,” said Cave, laughing; “but you are partly +right. He has, however, fine qualities,—he is generous and trustful +to any extent.” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed!” said Sewell, carelessly, as he bit off the end of a cigar. +</p> +<p> +“Nothing would make him swerve from his word; and if placed in a +difficulty where a friend was involved, his own interests would be the +last he 'd think of.” + </p> +<p> +“Very fine, all that. Are you drinking claret?—if so, finish that +decanter, and let's have a fresh bottle.” + </p> +<p> +Cave declined to take more wine, and he arose, with the rest, to repair to +the drawing-room for coffee. +</p> +<p> +It was not very usual for Sewell to approach his wife or notice her in +society; now, however, he drew a chair near her as she sat at the fire, +and in a low whisper said, “I have some pleasant news for you.” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed!” she said coldly,—“what a strange incident!” + </p> +<p> +“You mean it is a strange channel for pleasant news to come through, +perhaps,” said he, with a curl of his lip. +</p> +<p> +“Possibly that is what I meant,” said she, as quietly as before. +</p> +<p> +“None of these fine-lady airs with me, Madam,” said he, reddening with +anger; “there are no two people in Europe ought to understand each other +better than we do.” + </p> +<p> +“In that I quite agree with you.” + </p> +<p> +“And as such is the case, affectations are clean thrown away, Madam; we <i>can</i> +have no disguises for each other.” + </p> +<p> +A very slight inclination of her head seemed to assent to this remark, but +she did not speak. +</p> +<p> +“We came to plain speaking many a day ago,” said he, with increased +bitterness in his tone. “I don't see why we are to forego the advantage of +it now,—do you?” + </p> +<p> +“By no means. Speak as plainly as you wish; I am quite ready to hear you.” + </p> +<p> +“You have managed, however, to make people observe us,” muttered he, +between his teeth,—“it's an old trick of yours, Madam. You can play +martyr at the shortest notice.” He rose hastily and moved to another part +of the room, where a very noisy group were arranging a party for pool at +billiards. +</p> +<p> +“Won't you have me?” cried Sewell, in his ordinary tone. “I'm a perfect +boon at pool; for I am the most unlucky dog in everything.” + </p> +<p> +“I scarcely think you'll expect us to believe <i>that</i>,” said Cave, +with a glance of unmistakable admiration towards Mrs. Sewell. +</p> +<p> +“Ay,” cried Sewell, fiercely, and answering the unspoken sentiment,—“ay, +sir, and <i>that</i>,”—he laid a stern emphasis on the word,—“and +<i>that</i> the worst luck of all.” + </p> +<p> +“I 've been asking Mrs. Sewell to play a game with us, and she says she +has no objections,” said a young subaltern, “if Colonel Sewell does not +dislike it.” + </p> +<p> +“I'll play whist, then,” said Sewell. “Who 'll make a rubber?—Cave, +will you? Here's Houghton and Mowbray,—eh?” + </p> +<p> +“No, no,” said Mowbray,—“you are all too good for me.” + </p> +<p> +“How I hate that,—too good for me,” said Sewell. “Why, man, what +better investment could you ask for your money than the benefit of good +teaching? Always ride with the best hounds, play with the best players, +talk with the best talkers.” + </p> +<p> +“And make love to the prettiest women,” added Cave, in a whisper, as +Mowbray followed Mrs. Sewell into the billiard-room. +</p> +<p> +“I heard you, Cave,” whispered Sewell, in a still lower whisper; “there's +devilish little escapes my ears, I promise you.” The bustle and +preparation of the card-table served in part to cover Cave's confusion, +but his cheek tingled and his hand shook with mingled shame and annoyance. +</p> +<p> +Sewell saw it all, and knew how to profit by it. He liked high play, to +which Cave generally objected; but he well knew that on the present +occasion Cave would concur in anything to cover his momentary sense of +shame. +</p> +<p> +“Pounds and fives, I suppose,” said Sewell; and the others bowed, and the +game began. +</p> +<p> +As little did Cave like three-handed whist, but he was in no mood to +oppose anything; for, like many men who have made an awkward speech, he +exaggerated the meaning through his fears, and made it appear absolutely +monstrous to himself. +</p> +<p> +“Whatever you like,” was therefore his remark; and he sat down to the +game. +</p> +<p> +Sewell was a skilled player; but the race is no more to the swift in cards +than in anything else,—he lost, and lost heavily. He undervalued his +adversaries too, and, in consequence, he followed up his bad luck by +increased wagers. Cave tried to moderate the ardor he displayed, and even +remonstrated with him on the sums they were staking, which, he +good-humoredly remarked, were far above his own pretensions; but Sewell +resented the advice, and replied with a coarse insinuation about winners' +counsels. The ill-luck continued, and Sewell's peevishness and ill-temper +increased with every game. “What have I lost to you?” cried he, abruptly, +to Cave; “it jars on my nerves every time you take out that cursed +memorandum, so that all I can do is not to fling it into the fire.” + </p> +<p> +“I'm sure I wish you would, or that you would let me do it,” said Cave, +quietly. +</p> +<p> +“How much is it?—not short of three hundred, I'll be bound.” + </p> +<p> +“It is upwards of five hundred,” said Cave, handing the book across the +table. +</p> +<p> +“You'll have to wait for it, I promise you. You must give me time, for I +am in all sorts of messes just now.” While Cave assured him that there was +no question of pressing for payment,—to take his own perfect +convenience,—Sewell, not heeding him, went on: “This confounded +place has cost me a pot of money. My wife, too, knows how to scatter her +five-pound notes; in short, we are a wasteful lot. Shall we have one +rubber more, eh?” + </p> +<p> +“As you like. I am at your orders.” + </p> +<p> +“Let us say double or quits, then, for the whole sum.” + </p> +<p> +Cave made no reply, and seemed not to know how to answer. +</p> +<p> +“Of course, if you object,” said Sewell, pushing back his chair from the +table, as though about to rise, “there's no more to be said.” + </p> +<p> +“What do <i>you</i> say, Houghton?” asked Cave. +</p> +<p> +“Houghton has nothing to say to it; <i>he</i> hasn't won twenty pounds +from me,” said Sewell, fiercely. +</p> +<p> +“Whatever you like, then,” said Cave, in a tone in which it was easy to +see irritation was with difficulty kept under, and the game began. +</p> +<p> +The game began in deep silence. The restrained temper of the players and +the heavy sum together impressed them, and not a word was dropped. The +cards fell upon the table with a clear, sharp sound, and the clink of the +counters resounded through the room, the only noises there. +</p> +<p> +As they played, the company from the billiard-room poured in and drew +around the whist-table, at first noisily enough; but seeing the deep +preoccupation of the players, their steadfast looks, their intense +eagerness, made more striking by their silence, they gradually lowered +their voices, and at last only spoke in whispers and rarely. +</p> +<p> +The first game of the rubber had been contested trick by trick, but ended +by Cave winning it. The second game was won by Sewell, and the third +opened with his deal. +</p> +<p> +As he dealt the cards, a murmur ran through the bystanders that the stake +was something considerable, and the interest increased in consequence. A +few trifling bets were laid on the issue, and one of the group, in a voice +slightly raised above the rest, said, “I'll back Sewell for a pony.” + </p> +<p> +“I beg you will not, sir,” said Sewell, turning fiercely round. “I'm in +bad luck already, and I don't want to be swamped altogether. There, sir, +your interference has made me misdeal,” cried he, passionately, as he +flung the cards on the table. +</p> +<p> +Not a word was said as Cave began his deal. It was too plain to every one +that Sewell's temper was becoming beyond control, and that a word or a +look might bring the gravest consequences. +</p> +<p> +“What cards!” said Cave, as he spread his hand on the table: “four honors +and nine trumps.” Sewell stared at them, moved his fingers through them to +separate and examine them, and then, turning his head round, he looked +behind. It was his wife was standing at the back of his chair, calm, pale, +and collected. “By Heaven!” cried he, savagely, “I knew who was there as +well as if I saw her. The moment Cave spread out his cards, I 'd have +taken my oath that <i>she</i> was standing over me.” + </p> +<p> +She moved hastily away at the ruffianly speech, and a low murmur of +indignant anger filled the room. Cave and Houghton quitted the table, and +mingled with the others; but Sewell sat still, tearing up the cards one by +one, with a quiet, methodical persistence that betrayed no passion. +“There!” said he, as he threw the last fragment from him, “you shall never +bring good or bad luck to any one more.” With the ease of one to whom such +paroxysms were not un-frequent, he joined in the conversation of a group +of young men, and with a familiar jocularity soon set them at their ease +towards him; and then, drawing his arm within Cave's, he led him apart, +and said: “I 'll go over to the Barrack to-morrow and breakfast with you. +I have just thought of how I can settle this little debt.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, don't distress yourself about that,” said Cave. “I beg you will not +let it give you a moment's uneasiness.” + </p> +<p> +“Good fellow!” said Sewell, clapping him on the shoulder; “but I have the +means of doing it without inconvenience, as I 'll show you to-morrow. +Don't go yet; don't let your fellows go. We are going to have a broil, or +a devilled biscuit, or something.” He walked over and rang the bell, and +then hastily passed on into a smaller room, where his wife was sitting on +a sofa, an old doctor of the regiment seated at her side. +</p> +<p> +“I won't interrupt the consultation,” said Sewell, “but I have just one +word to say.” He leaned over the back of the sofa, and whispered in her +ear, “Your friend Trafford is become an eldest son. He is at the Bilton +Hotel, Dublin; write and ask him here. Say I have some cock-shooting,—there +are harriers in the neighborhood. Are you listening to me, Madam?” said +he, in a harsh hissing voice, for she had half turned away her head, and +her face had assumed an expression of sickened disgust. She nodded, but +did not speak. “Tell him that I've spoken to Cave—he'll make his +leave all right—that I 'll do my best to make the place pleasant to +him, and that—in fact, I needn't toy to teach you to write a sweet +note. You understand me, eh?” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, perfectly,” said she, rising; and a livid paleness now spread over +her face, and even her lips were bloodless. +</p> +<p> +“I was too abrupt with my news. I ought to have been more considerate; I +ought to have known it might overcome you,” said he, with a sneering +bitterness. “Doctor, you 'll have to give Mrs. Se well some cordial, some +restorative,—that's the name for it. She was overcome by some +tidings I brought her. Even pleasant news will startle us occasionally. As +the French comedy has it, <i>La joie fait peur</i>;” and with a listless, +easy air, he sauntered away into another room. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0029" id="link2HCH0029"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXIX. SEWELL VISITS CAVE +</h2> +<p> +Punctual to his appointment, Sewell appeared at breakfast the next morning +with Colonel Cave. Of all the ill-humor and bad conduct of the night +before, not a trace now was to be seen. He was easy, courteous, and +affable. He even made a half-jesting apology for his late display of bad +temper; attributing it to an attack of coming gout. “So long as the +malady,” said he, “is in a state of menace, one's nerves become so +fine-strung that there is no name for the irritability; but when once a +good honest seizure has taken place, a man recovers himself, and stands up +to his suffering manfully and well. +</p> +<p> +“To-day, for instance,” said he, pointing to a shoe divided by long +incisions, “I have got my enemy fixed, and I let him do his worst.” + </p> +<p> +The breakfast proceeded pleasantly; Cave was in admiration of his guest's +agreeability; for he talked away, not so much of things as of people. He +had in a high degree that-man-of-the-world gift of knowing something about +every one. No name could turn up of which he could not tell you something +the owner of it had said or done, and these “scratch” biographies are +often very amusing, particularly when struck off with the readiness of a +practised talker. +</p> +<p> +It was not, then, merely that Sewell obliterated every memory of the +evening before, but he made Cave forget the actual object for which he had +come that morning. Projects, besides, for future pleasure did Sewell throw +out, like a man who had both the leisure, the means, and the taste for +enjoyment. There was some capital shooting he had just taken; his +neighbor, an old squire, had never cared for it, and let him have it “for +a song.” They were going to get up hack races, too, in the Park,—“half-a-dozen +hurdles and a double ditch to tumble over,” as he said, “will amuse our +garrison fellows,—and my wife has some theatrical intentions—if +you will condescend to help her.” + </p> +<p> +Sewell talked with that blended munificence and shiftiness, which seems a +specialty with a certain order of men. Nothing was too costly to be done, +and yet everything must be accomplished with a dexterity that was almost a +dodge. The men of this gift are great scene-painters. They dash you off a +view—be it a wood or a rich interior, a terraced garden or an Alpine +hut—in a few loose touches. Ay! and they “smudge” them out again +before criticism has had time to deal with them. “By the way,” cried he, +suddenly, stopping in the full swing of some description of a possible +regatta, “I was half forgetting what brought me here this morning. I am in +your debt, Cave.” + </p> +<p> +He stopped as though his speech needed some rejoinder, and Cave grew very +red and very uneasy—tried to say something—anything—but +could not. The fact was, that, like a man who had never in all his life +adventured on high play or risked a stake that could possibly be of +importance to him, he felt pretty much the same amount of distress at +having won as he would have felt at having lost. He well knew that if by +any mischance he had incurred such a loss as a thousand pounds, it would +have been a most serious embarrassment—by what right, then, had he +won it? Now, although feelings of this sort were about the very last to +find entrance into Sewell's heart, he well knew that there were men who +were liable to them, just as there were people who were exposed to plague +or yellow fever, and other maladies from which he lived remote. It was, +then, with a sort of selfish delight that he saw Cave's awkward hesitating +manner, and read the marks of the shame that was overwhelming him. +</p> +<p> +“A heavy sum too,” said Sewell, jauntily; “we went the whole 'pot' on that +last rubber.” + </p> +<p> +“I wish I could forget it—I mean,” muttered Cave, “I wish we could +both forget it.” + </p> +<p> +“I have not the least objection to that,” said Sewell gayly; “only let it +first be paid.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, but—what I meant was—what I wanted to say, or rather, +what I hoped—was—in plain words, Sewell,” burst he out, like a +man to whom desperation gave courage,—“in plain words, I never +intended to play such stakes as we played last night,—I never have—I +never will again.” + </p> +<p> +“Not to give me my revenge?” said Sewell, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“No, not for anything. I don't know what I 'd have done—I don't know +what would have become of me—if I had lost; and I pledge you my +honor, I think the next worst thing is to have won.” + </p> +<p> +“Do you, by George!” + </p> +<p> +“I do, upon my sacred word of honor. My first thoughts on waking this +morning were more wretched than they have been for any day in the last +twenty years of life, for I was thoroughly ashamed of myself.” + </p> +<p> +“You 'll not find many men afflicted with your malady, Cave; and, at all +events, it's not contagious.” + </p> +<p> +“I know nothing about that,” said Cave, half irritably; “I never was a +play man, and have little pretension to understand their feelings.” + </p> +<p> +“They have n't got any,” said Sewell, as he lit his cigar. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps not; so much the worse for them. I can only say, if the misery of +losing be only proportionate to the shame of winning, I don't envy a +gambler. Such an example, too, to exhibit to my young officers! It was too +bad—too bad.” + </p> +<p> +“I declare I don't understand this,” said Sewell, carelessly; “when I +commanded a battalion, I never imagined I was obliged to be a model to the +subs or the junior captains.” The tone of banter went, this time, to the +quick; and Cave flushed a deep crimson, and said,—“I'm not sorry +that my ideas of my duty are different; though, in the present case, I +have failed to fulfil it.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, well, there's nothing to grow angry about,” said Sewell, laughing, +“even though you won't give me my revenge. My present business is to book +up;” and, as he spoke, he sat down at the table, and drew a roll of papers +from his pocket and laid it before him. +</p> +<p> +“You distress me greatly by all this, Sewell,” said Cave, whose agitation +now almost overcame him. “Cannot we hit upon some way? can't we let it lie +over? I mean,—is there no arrangement by which this cursed affair +can be deferred? You understand me?” + </p> +<p> +“Not in the least. Such things are never deferred without loss of honor to +the man in default. The stake that a man risks is supposed to be in his +pocket, otherwise play becomes trade, and accepts all the vicissitudes of +trade.” + </p> +<p> +“It's the first time I ever heard them contrasted to the disparagement of +honest industry.” + </p> +<p> +“And I call billiards, tennis, whist, and écarté honest industries, too, +though I won't call them trades. There, there,” said he, laughing at the +other's look of displeasure, “don't be afraid; I am not going to preach +these doctrines to your young officers, for whose morals you are so much +concerned. Sit down here, and just listen to me for one moment.” + </p> +<p> +Cave obeyed, but his face showed in every feature how reluctantly. +</p> +<p> +“I see, Cave,” said Sewell, with a quiet smile,—“I see you want to +do me a favor,—so you shall. I am obliged to own that I am an +exception to the theory I have just now enunciated. I staked a thousand +pounds, and I had <i>not</i> the money in my pocket. Wait a moment,—don't +interrupt me. I had not the money in gold or bank-notes, but I had it +here”—and he touched the papers before him—“in a form equally +solvent, only that it required that he who won the money should be not a +mere acquaintance, but a friend,—a friend to whom I could speak with +freedom and in confidence. This,” said he, “is a bond for twelve hundred +pounds, given by my wife's guardian in satisfaction of a loan once made to +him; he was a man of large fortune, which he squandered away recklessly, +leaving but a small estate, which he could neither sell nor alienate. Upon +this property this is a mortgage. As an old friend of my father-in-law,—a +very unworthy one, by the way,—I could of course not press him for +the interest, and, as you will see, it has never been paid; and there is +now a balance of some hundred pounds additional against him. Of this I +could not speak, for another reason,—we are not without the hope of +inheriting something by him, and to allude to this matter would be +ruinous. Keep this, then. I insist upon it. I declare to you, if you +refuse, I will sell it to-morrow to the first moneylender I can find, and +send you my debt in hard cash. I 've been a play-man all my life, but +never a defaulter.” + </p> +<p> +There was a tone of proud indignation in the way he spoke that awed Cave +to silence; for in good truth he was treating of themes of which he knew +nothing whatever: and of the sort of influences which swayed gamblers, of +the rules that guided and the conventionalities that bound them, he was +profoundly ignorant. +</p> +<p> +“You 'll not get your money, Cave,” resumed Sewell, “till this old fellow +dies; but you will be paid at last,—of that I can assure you. +Indeed, if by any turn of luck I was in funds myself, I 'd like to redeem +it. All I ask is, therefore, that you 'll not dispose of it, but hold it +over in your own possession till the day—and I hope it may be an +early one—it will be payable.” + </p> +<p> +Cave was in no humor to dispute anything. There was no condition to which +he would not have acceded, so heartily ashamed and abashed was he by the +position in which he found himself. What he really would have liked best, +would have been to refuse the bond altogether, and say, Pay when you like, +how you like, or, better still, not at all. This of course was not +possible, and he accepted the terms proposed to him at once. +</p> +<p> +“It shall be all as you wish,” said he, hurriedly. “I will do everything +you desire; only let me assure you that I would infinitely rather this +paper remained in <i>your</i> keeping than in <i>mine</i>. I'm a careless +fellow about documents,” added he, trying to put the matter on the lesser +ground of a safe custody. “Well, well, say no more; you don't wish it, and +that's enough.” + </p> +<p> +“I must be able to say,” said Sewell, gravely, “that I never lost over +night what I had not paid the next morning; and I will even ask of you to +corroborate me so far as this transaction goes. There were several of your +fellows at my house last night; they saw what we played for, and that I +was the loser. There will be—there always is—plenty of gossip +about these things, and the first question is, 'Has he-booked up?' I'm +sure it's not asking more than you are ready to do, to say that I paid my +debt within twenty-four hours.” + </p> +<p> +“Certainly; most willingly. I don't know that any one has a right to +question me on the matter.” + </p> +<p> +“I never said he had. I only warned you how people will talk, and how +necessary it is to be prepared to stifle a scandal even before it has +flared out.” + </p> +<p> +“It shall be cared for. I'll do exactly as you wish,” said Cave, who was +too much flurried to know what was asked of him, and to what he was +pledged. +</p> +<p> +“I'm glad this is off my mind,” said Sewell, with a long sigh of relief. +“I lay awake half the night thinking of it; for there are scores of +fellows who are not of your stamp, and who would be for submitting these +documents to their lawyer, and asking, Heaven knows, what this affair +related to. Now I tell you frankly, I 'd have given no explanations. He +who gave that bond is, as I know, a consummate rascal, and has robbed me—that +is, my wife—out of two-thirds of her fortune; but <i>my</i> hands +are tied regarding him. I could n't touch him, except he should try to +take my life,—a thing, by the way, he is quite capable of. Old +Dillon, my wife's father, believed him to be the best and truest of men, +and my wife inherited this belief, even in the face of all the injuries he +had worked us. She went on saying, 'My father always said, “Trust Fossy: +there's at least one man in the world that will never deceive you.'”” + </p> +<p> +“What was the name you said?” asked Cave, quickly. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, only a nickname. I don't want to mention his name. I have sealed up +the bond, with this superscription,—'Colonel Sewell's bond.' I did +this believing you would not question me farther; but if you desire to +read it over, I 'll break the envelope at once.” + </p> +<p> +“No, no; nothing of the kind. Leave it just as it is.” + </p> +<p> +“So that,” said Sewell, pursuing his former line of thought, “this man not +alone defrauded me, but he sowed dissension between me and my wife. Her +faith is shaken in him, I have no doubt, but she 'll not confess it. Like +a genuine woman, she will persist in asserting the convictions she has +long ceased to be held by, and quote this stupid letter of her father in +the face of every fact. +</p> +<p> +“I ought not to have got into these things,” said Sewell, as he walked +impatiently down the room. “These family bedevilments should be kept from +one's friends; but the murder is out now, and you can see how I stand—and +see besides, that if I am not always able to control my temper, a friend +might find an excuse for me.” + </p> +<p> +Cave gave a kindly nod of assent to this, not wishing, even by a word, to +increase the painful embarrassment of the scene. +</p> +<p> +“Heigh ho!” cried Sewell, throwing himself down in a chair, “there's one +care off my heart, at least! I can remember a time when a night's bad luck +would n't have cost me five minutes of annoyance; but nowadays I have got +it so hot and so heavy from fortune, I begin not to know myself.” Then, +with a sudden change of tone, he added: “When are you coming out to us +again? Shall we say Tuesday?” + </p> +<p> +“We are to be inspected on Tuesday. Trafford writes me that he is coming +over with General Halkett,—whom, by the way, he calls a Tartar,—and +says, 'If the Sewells are within hail, say a kind word to them on my +part.'” + </p> +<p> +“A good sort of fellow, Trafford,” said Sewell, carelessly. +</p> +<p> +“An excellent fellow,—no better living!” + </p> +<p> +“A very wide-awake one too,” said Sewell, with one eye closed, and a look +of intense cunning. +</p> +<p> +“I never thought so. It is, to my notion, to the want of that faculty he +owes every embarrassment he has ever suffered. He is unsuspecting to a +fault.” + </p> +<p> +“It's not the way <i>I</i> read him; though, perhaps, I think as well of +him as <i>you</i> do. I 'd say that for his years he is one of the very +shrewdest young fellows I ever met.” + </p> +<p> +“You astonish me! May I ask if you know him well?” + </p> +<p> +“Our acquaintance is not of very old date, but we saw a good deal of each +other at the Cape. We rode out frequently, dined, played, and conversed +freely together; and the impression he made upon me was that every sharp +lesson the world had given him he 'd pay back one day or other with a +compound interest.” + </p> +<p> +“I hope not,—I fervently hope not!” cried Cave. “I had rather hear +to-morrow that he had been duped and cheated out of half his fortune than +learn he had done one act that savored of the—the—” He +stopped, unable to finish, for he could not hit upon the word that might +be strong enough for his meaning, and yet not imply an offence. +</p> +<p> +“Say blackleg. Is n't that what you want? There's my wife's pony chaise. I +'ll get a seat back to the Nest. Goodbye, Cave. If Wednesday is open, give +it to us, and tell Trafford I'd be glad to see him.” + </p> +<p> +Cave sat down as the door closed after the other, and tried to recall his +thoughts to something like order. What manner of man was that who had just +left him? It was evidently a very mixed nature. Was it the good or the +evil that predominated? Was the unscrupulous tone he displayed the result +of a spirit of tolerance, or was it the easy indifference of one who +trusted nothing,—believed nothing? +</p> +<p> +Was it possible his estimate of Trafford could be correct? and could this +seemingly generous and open manner cover a nature cold, calculating, and +treacherous? No, no. <i>That</i> he felt to be totally out of the +question. +</p> +<p> +He thought long and intently over the matter, but to no end; and as he +arose to deposit the papers left by Sewell in his writing-desk, he felt as +unsettled and undecided as when he started on the inquiry. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0030" id="link2HCH0030"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXX. THE RACES ON THE LAWN +</h2> +<p> +A bright October morning, with a blue sky and a slight, very slight +feeling of frost in the air, and a gay meeting on foot and horseback on +the lawn before the Swan's Nest, made as pretty a picture as a painter of +such scenes could desire. I say of such scenes, because in the <i>tableau +de genre</i> it is the realistic element that must predominate, and the +artist's skill is employed in imparting to very commonplace people and +costumes whatever poetry can be lent them by light and shade, by happy +groupings, and, more than all these, by the insinuation of some incident +in which they are the actors,—a sort of storied interest pervading +the whole canvas, which gives immense pleasure to those who have little +taste for the fine arts. +</p> +<p> +There was plenty of color even in the landscape. The mountains had put on +their autumn suit, and displayed every tint from a pale opal to a deep and +gorgeous purple, while the river ran on in those circling eddies which +come to the surface of water under sunshine as naturally as smiles to the +face of flattered beauty. +</p> +<p> +Colonel Sewell had invited the country-side to witness hack-races in his +grounds, and the country-side had heartily responded to the invitation. +There were the county magnates in grand equipages,—an earl with two +postilions and outriders, a high sheriff with all his official splendors, +squires of lower degree in more composite vehicles, and a large array of +jaunting-cars, through all of which figured the red coats of the +neighboring garrison, adding to the scene that tint of warmth in color so +dear to the painter's heart. +</p> +<p> +The wonderful beauty of the spot, combining, as it did, heath-clad +mountain, and wood, and winding river, with a spreading lake in the +distance, dotted with picturesque islands, was well seconded by a glorious +autumnal day,—one of those days when the very air has something of +champagne in its exhilarating quality, and gives to every breath of it a +sense of stimulation. +</p> +<p> +The first three races—they were on the flat—had gone off +admirably. They were well contested, well ridden, and the “right horse” + the winner. All was contentment, therefore, on every side, to which the +interval of a pleasant moment of conviviality gave hearty assistance, for +now came the hour of luncheon; and from the “swells” in the great marquée, +and the favored intimates in the dining-room, to the assembled unknown in +the jaunting-cars, merry laughter issued, with clattering of plates and +popping of corks, and those commingled sounds of banter and jollity which +mark such gatherings. +</p> +<p> +The great event of the day was, however, yet to come off. It was a hurdle +race, to which two stiff fences were to be added, in the shape of double +ditches, to test the hunting powers of the horses. The hurdles were to be +four feet eight in height, so that the course was by no means a despicable +one, even to good cross-country riders. To give increased interest to the +race, Sewell himself was to ride, and no small share of eagerness existed +amongst the neighboring gentry to see how the new-comer would distinguish +himself in the saddle,—some opining he was too long of leg; some, +that he was too heavy; some, that men of his age—he was over +five-and-thirty—begin to lose nerve; and many going so far as to +imply “that he did not look like riding,”—a judgment whose vagueness +detracts nothing from its force. +</p> +<p> +“There he goes now, and he sits well down too!” cried one, as a group of +horsemen swept past, one of whom, mounted on a “sharp” pony, led the way, +a white macintosh and loose overalls covering him from head to foot. They +were off to see that the fences were all being properly put up, and in an +instant were out of sight. +</p> +<p> +“I'll back Tom Westenra against Sewell for a twenty-pound note,” cried +one, standing up on the seat of his car to proclaim the challenge. +</p> +<p> +“I'll go further,” shouted another,—“I 'll do it for fifty.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll beat you both,” cried out a third,—“I 'll take Tom even +against the field.” + </p> +<p> +The object of all this enthusiasm was a smart, cleanshaven little fellow, +with a good blue eye, and a pleasant countenance, who smoked his cigar on +the seat of a drag near, and nodded a friendly recognition to their +confidence. +</p> +<p> +“If Joe Slater was well of his fall, I 'd rather have him than any one in +the county,” said an old farmer, true to a man of his own class and +standing. +</p> +<p> +“Here's one can beat them both!” shouted another; “here's Mr. Creagh of +Liskmakerry!” and a thin, ruddy-faced, keen-eyed man of about fifty rode +by on a low-sized horse, with that especial look of decision in his mouth, +and a peculiar puckering about the corners that seem to belong to those +who traffic in horse-flesh, and who, it would appear, however much they +may know about horses, understand humanity more thoroughly still. +</p> +<p> +“Are you going to ride, Creagh?” cried a friend from a high tax-cart. +</p> +<p> +“Maybe so, if the fences are not too big for me;” and a very malicious +drollery twinkled in his gray eye. +</p> +<p> +“Faix, and if they are,” said a farmer, “the rest may stay at home.” + </p> +<p> +“I hope you 'll ride, Creagh,” said the first speaker, “and not let these +English fellows take the shine out of us. Yourself and Tom are the only +county names on the card.” + </p> +<p> +“Show it to me,” said Creagh, listlessly; and he took the printed list in +his hand and conned it over, as though it had all been new to him. “They +'re all soldiers, I see,” said he. “It's Major This, and Captain That—Who +is the lady?” This question was rapidly called forth by a horsewoman who +rode past at an easy canter in the midst of a group of men. She was +dressed in a light-gray habit and hat of the same color, from which a long +white feather encircling the hat hung on one side. +</p> +<p> +“That's Mrs. Sewell,—what do you think of her riding?” + </p> +<p> +“If her husband has as neat a hand, I 'd rather he was out of the course. +She knows well what she 's about.” + </p> +<p> +“They say there's not her equal in the park in London.” + </p> +<p> +“That's not park riding; that's something very different, take my word for +it. She could lead half the men here across the country.” + </p> +<p> +Nor was she unworthy of the praise, as, with her hand low, her head a +little forward, but her back well curved in, she sat firmly down in her +saddle; giving to the action of the horse that amount of movement that +assisted the animal, but never more. The horse was mettlesome enough to +require all her attention. It was his first day under a sidesaddle, and he +chafed at it, and when the heavy skirt smote his flank, bounded with a +lunge and a stroke of his head that showed anger. +</p> +<p> +“That's a four-hundred guinea beast she 's on. He belongs to the tall +young fellow that's riding on her left.” + </p> +<p> +“I like his own horse better,—the liver-chestnut with the short +legs. I wish I had a loan of him for the hurdle-race.” + </p> +<p> +“Ask him, Phil; or get the mistress there to ask him,” said another, +laughing. “I 'm mighty mistaken or he wouldn't refuse her.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, is that it?” said Creagh, with a knowing look. +</p> +<p> +“So they tell me here, for I don't know one of them myself; but the story +goes that she was to have married that young fellow when Sewell earned her +off.” + </p> +<p> +“I must go and get a better look at her,” said Creagh, as he spurred his +horse and cantered away. +</p> +<p> +“Is any one betting?” said little Westenra, as he descended from his seat +on the drag. “I have not seen a man to-day with five pounds on the race.” + </p> +<p> +“Here's Sewell,” muttered another; “he's coming up now, and will give or +take as much as you like.” + </p> +<p> +“Did you see Mrs. Sewell, any of you?” asked Sewell, cavalierly, as he +rode up with an open telegram in his hand; and as the persons addressed +were for the most part his equals, none responded to the insolent demand. +</p> +<p> +“Could you tell me, sir,” said Sewell, quickly altering his tone, while he +touched his hat to Westenra, “if Mrs. Sewell passed this way?” + </p> +<p> +“I haven't the honor to know Mrs. Sewell, but I saw a lady ride past, +about ten minutes ago, on a black thoroughbred.” + </p> +<p> +“Faix, and well she rode him too,” broke in an old farmer. +</p> +<p> +“She took the posy out of that young gentleman's button-hole, while her +beast was jumping, and stuck it in her breast, as easy as I 'm sitting +here.” + </p> +<p> +Sewel's face grew purple as he darted a look of savage anger at the +speaker, and, turning his horse's head, he dashed out at speed and +disappeared. +</p> +<p> +“Peter Delaney,” said Westenra, “I thought you had more discretion than to +tell such a story as that.” + </p> +<p> +“Begorra, Mister Tom! I didn't know the mischief I was making till I saw +the look he gave me!” + </p> +<p> +It was not till after a considerable search that Sewell came up with his +wife's party, who were sauntering leisurely along the river-side, through +a gorse-covered slope. +</p> +<p> +“I 've had a devil of a hunt after you!” he cried, as he rode up, and the +ringing tone of his voice was enough to intimate to her in what temper he +spoke. “I 've something to say to you,” said he, as though meant for her +private ear; and the others drew back, and suffered them to ride on +together. “There 's a telegram just come from that old beast the Chief +Baron; he desires to see me to-night. The last train leaves at five, and I +shall only hit it by going at once. Can't you keep your horse quiet, +Madam, or must you show off while I 'm speaking to you?” + </p> +<p> +“It was the furze that stung him,” said she, coldly, and not showing the +slightest resentment at his tone. +</p> +<p> +“If the old bear means anything short of dying, and leaving me his heir, +this message is a shameful swindle.” + </p> +<p> +“Do you mean to go?” asked she, coldly. +</p> +<p> +“I suppose so; that is,” added he, with a bitter grin, “if I can tear +myself away from <i>you</i>;” but she only smiled. +</p> +<p> +“I 'll have to pay a forfeit in this match,” continued he, “and my book +will be all smashed, besides. I say,” cried he, “would Trafford ride for +me?” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps he would.” + </p> +<p> +“None of your mock indifference, Madam. I can't afford to lose a thousand +pounds every time you have a whim. Ay, look astonished if you like! but if +you had n't gone into the billiard-room on Saturday evening and spoiled my +match, I 'd have escaped that infernal whist-table. Listen to me now! Tell +him that I have been sent for suddenly,—it might be too great a risk +for me to refuse to go,—and ask him to ride Crescy; if he says Yes,—and +he will say yes if you ask him as you <i>ought</i>,”—her cheek grew +crimson as he uttered the last word with a strong emphasis,—“tell +him to take up my book. Mind you use the words 'take up;' <i>he'll</i> +understand you.” + </p> +<p> +“But why not say all this yourself?—he 's riding close behind at +this minute.” + </p> +<p> +“Because I have a wife, Madam, who can do it so much better; because I +have a wife who plucks a carnation out of a man's coat, and wears it in +her bosom, and this on an open race-course, where people can talk of it! +and a woman with such rare tact ought to be of service to her husband, +eh?” She swayed to and fro in her saddle for an instant as though about to +fall, but she grasped the horn with both hands and saved herself. +</p> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img alt="frontispiece (72K)" src="images/frontispiece.jpg" width="100%" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<p> +“Is that all?” muttered she, faintly. +</p> +<p> +“Not quite. Tell Trafford to come round to my dressing-room, and I 'll +give him a hint or two about the horse. He must come at once, for I have +only time to change my clothes and start. You can make some excuse to the +people for my absence; say that the old Judge has had another attack, and +I only wish it may be true. Tell them I got a telegram, and <i>that</i> +may mean anything. Trafford will help you to do the honors, and I 'll +swear him in as viceroy before I go. Is n't that all that could be asked +of me?” The insolence of his look as he said this made her turn away her +head as though sickened and disgusted. +</p> +<p> +“They want you at the weighing-stand, Colonel Sewell,” said a gentleman, +riding up. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, they do! Well, say, please, that I 'm coming. Has he given you that +black horse?” asked he, in a hurried whisper. +</p> +<p> +“No; he offered him, but I refused.” + </p> +<p> +“You had no right to refuse; he's strong enough to carry <i>me</i>; and +the ponies that I saw led round to the stable-yard, whose are they?” + </p> +<p> +“They are Captain Trafford's.” + </p> +<p> +“You told him you thought them handsome, I suppose, didn't you?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, I think them very beautiful.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, don't take them as a present. Win them if you like at piquet or +écarté,—any way you please, but don't take them as a gift, for I +heard Westenra say they were meant for you.” + </p> +<p> +She nodded; and as she bent her head, a smile, the very strangest, crossed +her features. If it were not that the pervading expression of her face was +at the instant melancholy, the look she gave him would have been almost +devilish. +</p> +<p> +“I have something else to say, but I can't remember it.” + </p> +<p> +“You don't know when you'll be back?” asked she, carelessly. +</p> +<p> +“Of course not,—how can I? I can only promise that I'll not arrive +unexpectedly, Madam; and I take it that's as much as any gentleman can be +called on to say. Bye-bye.” + </p> +<p> +“Good-bye,” said she, in the same tone. +</p> +<p> +“I see that Mr. Balfour is here. I can't tell who asked him; but mind you +don't invite him to luncheon; take no notice of him whatever; he'll not +bet a guinea; never plays; never risks anything,—even his <i>affections!</i>” + </p> +<p> +“What a creature!” + </p> +<p> +“Isn't he! There! I'll not detain you from pleasanter company; good-bye; +see you here when I come back, I suppose?” + </p> +<p> +“Most probably,” said she, with a smile; and away he rode, at a tearing +gallop, for his watch warned him that he was driven to the last minute. +</p> +<p> +“My husband has been sent for to town, Captain Traf-ford,” said she, +turning her head towards him as he resumed his place at her side; “the +Chief Baron desires to see him immediately, and he sets off at once.” + </p> +<p> +“And his race? What 's to become of his match?” + </p> +<p> +“He said I was to ask you to ride for him.” + </p> +<p> +“Me—I ride! Why, I am two stone heavier than he is.” + </p> +<p> +“I suppose he knew that,” said she, coldly, and as if the matter was one +of complete indifference to her. “I am only delivering a message,” + continued she, in the same careless tone; “he said, 'Ask Captain Trafford +to ride for me and take up my book; 'I was to be particular about the +phrase 'take up;' I conclude you will know what meaning to attach to it.” + </p> +<p> +“I suspect I do,” said he, with a low soft laugh. +</p> +<p> +“And I was to add something about hints he was to give you, if you 'd go +round to his dressing-room at once; indeed, I believe you have little time +to spare.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, I'll go,—I 'll go now; only there 's one thing I 'd like to +ask—that is—I'd be very glad to know—” + </p> +<p> +“What is it?” said she, after a pause, in which his confusion seemed to +increase with every minute. +</p> +<p> +“I mean, I should like to know whether you wished me to ride this race or +not?” + </p> +<p> +“Whether <i>I</i> wished it?” said she, in a tone of astonishment. +</p> +<p> +“Well, whether you cared about the matter one way or other?” replied he, +in still deeper embarrassment. +</p> +<p> +“How could it concern me, my dear Captain Trafford?” said she, with an +easy smile; “a race never interests me much, and I 'd just as soon see +Blue and Orange come in as Yellow and Black; but you 'll be late if you +intend to see my husband; I think you 'd better make haste.” + </p> +<p> +“So I will, and I 'll be back immediately,” said he, not sorry to escape a +scene where his confusion was now making him miserable. +</p> +<p> +“You <i>are</i> a very nice horse!” said she, patting the animal's neck, +as he chafed to dash off after the other. “I 'd like very much to own you; +that is, if I ever was to call anything my own.” + </p> +<p> +“They 're clearing the course, Mrs. Sewell,” said one of her companions, +riding up; “we had better turn off this way, and ride down to the stand.” + </p> +<p> +“Here's a go!” cried another, coming up at speed. “Big Trafford is going +to ride Crescy; he 's well-nigh fourteen stone.” + </p> +<p> +“Not thirteen: I 'll lay a tenner on it.” + </p> +<p> +“He can ride a bit,” said a third. +</p> +<p> +“I 'd rather he 'd ride his own horse than mine.” + </p> +<p> +“Sewell knows what he 's about, depend on 't.” + </p> +<p> +“That's his wife,” whispered another; “I'm certain she heard you.” + </p> +<p> +Mrs. Sewell turned her head as she cantered along, and, in the strange +smile her features wore, seemed to confirm the speaker's words; but the +hurry and bustle of the moment drowned all sense of embarrassment, and the +group dashed onward to the stand. +</p> +<p> +Leaving that heaving, panting, surging tide of humanity for an instant, +let us turn to the house, where Sewell was already engaged in preparing +for the road. +</p> +<p> +“You are going to ride for me, Trafford?” said Sewell, as the other +entered his dressing-room, where, with the aid of his servant, he was +busily packing up for the road. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm not sure; that is, I don't like to refuse, and I don't see how to +accept.” + </p> +<p> +“My wife has told you; I 'm sent for hurriedly.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes.” + </p> +<p> +“Well?” said he, looking round at him from his task. +</p> +<p> +“Just as I have told you already; I 'd ride for you as well as a heavy +fellow could take a light-weight's place, but I don't understand about +your book—am I to stand your engagements?” + </p> +<p> +“You mean, are you to win all the money I'm sure to pocket on the match?” + </p> +<p> +“No, I don't mean that,” said he, laughing; “I never thought of trading on +another man's brains; I simply meant, am I to be responsible for the +losses?” + </p> +<p> +“If you ride Crescy as you ought to ride him, you needn't fret about the +losses?” + </p> +<p> +“But suppose that I do not—and the case is a very possible one—that, +not knowing your horse—” + </p> +<p> +“Take this portmanteau down, Bob, and the carpet-bag; I shall only lose my +train,” said Sewell, with a gesture of hot impatience; and as the servant +left the room, he added: “Pray don't think any more about this stupid +race; scratch Crescy, and tell my wife that it was a change of mind on +“my” part,—that I did not wish you to ride; good-bye;” and he waved +a hasty adieu with his hand, as though to dismiss him at once. +</p> +<p> +“If you 'll let me ride for you, I 'll do my best,” blundered out +Trafford; “when I spoke of your engagements, it was only to prepare you +for what perhaps you were not aware of, that I 'm not very well off just +now, and that if anything like a heavy sum—” + </p> +<p> +“You are a most cautious fellow; I only wonder how you ever did get into a +difficulty; but I 'm not the man to lead you astray, and wreck such +splendid principles; adieu!” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll ride, let it end how it may!” said Trafiford, angrily, and left the +room at once, and hurried downstairs. +</p> +<p> +Sewell gave a parting look at himself in the glass; and as he set his hat +jauntily on one side, said, “There 's nothing like a little mock +indignation to bully fellows of <i>his</i> stamp; the keynote of their +natures is the dread of being thought mean, and particularly of being +thought mean by a woman.” He laughed pleasantly at this conceit, and went +on his way. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0031" id="link2HCH0031"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXI. SEWELL ARRIVES IN DUBLIN +</h2> +<p> +It was late at night when Sewell reached town. An accidental delay to the +train deferred the arrival for upwards of an hour after the usual time; +and when he reached the Priory, the house was all closed for the night, +and not a light to be seen. +</p> +<p> +He knocked, however, and rang boldly; and after a brief delay, and +considerable noise of unbolting and unbarring, was admitted. “We gave you +up, sir, after twelve o'clock,” said the butler, half reproachfully, “and +his Lordship ordered the servants to bed. Miss Lendrick, however, is in +her drawing-room still.” + </p> +<p> +“Is there anything to eat, my good friend? That is what I stand most in +need of just now.” + </p> +<p> +“There's a cold rib of beef, sir, and a grouse pie; but if you 'd like +something hot, I 'll call the cook.” + </p> +<p> +“No, no, never mind the cook; you can give me some sherry, I 'm sure?” + </p> +<p> +“Any wine you please, sir. We have excellent Madeira, which ain't to be +had everywhere nowadays.” + </p> +<p> +“Madeira be it, then; and order a fire in my room. I take it you have a +room for me?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir, all is ready; the bath was hot about an hour ago, and I 'll +have it refreshed in a minute.” + </p> +<p> +“Now for the grouse pie. By the way, Fenton, what is the matter with his +Lordship? He was n't ill, was he, when he sent off that despatch to me?” + </p> +<p> +“No, sir; he was in court to-day, and he dined at the Castle, and was in +excellent spirits before he went out.” + </p> +<p> +“Has anything gone wrong, then, that he wanted me up so hurriedly?” + </p> +<p> +“Well, sir, it ain't so easy to say, his Lordship excites himself so +readily; and mayhap he had words with some of the judges,—mayhap +with his Excellency, for they 're always at him about resigning, little +knowing that if they 'd only let him alone he 'd go of himself, but if +they press him he 'll stay on these twenty years.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't suspect he has got so many as twenty years before him.” + </p> +<p> +“If he wants to live, sir, he 'll do it. Ah, you may laugh, sir, but I +have known him all my life, and I never saw the man like him to do the +thing he wishes to do.” + </p> +<p> +“Cut me some of that beef, Fenton, and fetch me some draught beer. How +these old tyrants make slaves of their servants,” said he, aloud, as the +man left the room,—“a slavery that enthralls mind as well as body.” + A gentle tap came to the door, and before Sewell could question the +summons, Miss Lendrick entered. She greeted him cordially, and said how +anxiously her grandfather had waited for him till midnight. “I don't know +when I saw him so eager or so impatient,” she said. +</p> +<p> +“Have you any clew to his reason for sending for me?” said he, as he +continued to eat, and assumed an air of perfect unconcern. +</p> +<p> +“None whatever. He came into my room about two o'clock, and told me to +write his message in a good bold hand; he seemed in his usual health, and +his manner displayed nothing extraordinary. He questioned me about the +time it would take to transmit the message from the town to your house, +and seemed satisfied when I said about half an hour.” + </p> +<p> +“It's just as likely, perhaps, to be some caprice,—some passing +fancy.” + </p> +<p> +She shook her head dissentingly, but made no reply. +</p> +<p> +“I believe the theory of this house is, 'he can do no wrong,'” said +Sewell, with a laugh. +</p> +<p> +“He is so much more able in mind than all around him, such a theory might +prevail; but I 'll not go so far as to say that it does.” + </p> +<p> +“It's not his mind gives him his pre-eminence, Miss Lucy,—it's his +temper; it's that same strong will that overcomes weaker natures by dint +of sheer force. The people who assert their own way in life are not the +most intellectual, they are only the best bullies.” + </p> +<p> +“You know very little of grandpapa, Colonel Sewell, that's clear.” + </p> +<p> +“Are you so sure of that?” asked he, with a dubious-smile. +</p> +<p> +“I <i>am</i> sure of it, or in speaking of him you would never have used +such a word as bully.” + </p> +<p> +“You mistake me,—mistake me altogether, young lady. I spoke of a +class of people who employ certain defects of temper to supply the place +of certain gifts of intellect; and if your grandfather, who has no +occasion for it, chooses to take a weapon out of their armory, the worse +taste his.” + </p> +<p> +Lucy turned fiercely round, her face flushed, and her lip trembling. An +angry reply darted through her mind, but she repressed it by a great +effort, and in a faint voice she said, “I hope you left Mrs. Sewell well?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, perfectly well, amusing herself vastly. When I saw her last, she had +about half a dozen young fellows cantering on either side of her, saying, +doubtless, all those pleasant things that you ladies like to hear.” + </p> +<p> +Lucy shrugged her shoulders, without answering. +</p> +<p> +“Telling you,” continued he, in the same strain, “that if you are +unmarried you are angels, and that if married you are angels and martyrs +too; and it is really a subject that requires investigation, how the best +of wives is not averse to hearing her husband does not half estimate her. +Don't toss your head so impatiently, my dear Miss Lucy; I am giving you +the wise precepts of a very thoughtful life.” + </p> +<p> +“I had hoped, Colonel Sewell, that a very thoughtful life might have +brought forth pleasanter reflections.” “No, that is precisely what it does +not do. To live as long as I have, is to arrive at a point when all the +shams have been seen through, and the world exhibits itself pretty much as +a stage during a day rehearsal.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, sir, I am too young to profit by such experiences, and I will wish +you a very good-night,—that is, if I can give no orders for anything +you wish.” + </p> +<p> +“I have had everything. I will finish this Madeira—to your health—and +hope to meet you in the morning, as beautiful and as trustful as I see you +now,—<i>felice notte</i>.” He bowed as he opened the door for her to +pass out, and she went, with a slight bend of the head and a faint smile, +and left him. +</p> +<p> +“How I could make you beat your wings against your cage, for all your +bravery, if I had only three days here, and cared to do it,” said he, as +he poured the rest of the wine into his glass. “How weary I could make you +of this old house and its old owner. Within one month—one short +month—I 'd have you repeating as wise saws every sneer and every +sarcasm that you just now took fire at. And if I am to pass three days in +this dreary old dungeon, I don't see how I could do better. What can he +possibly want with me?” All the imaginable contingencies he could conjure +up now passed before his mind. That the old man was sick of solitude, and +wanted him to come and live with them; that he was desirous of adopting +one of the children, and which of them? then, that he had held some +correspondence with Fossbrooke, and wanted some explanations,—a +bitter pang, that racked and tortured him while he revolved it; and, last +of all, he came back to his first guess,—it was about his will he +had sent for him. He had been struck by the beauty of the children, and +asked their names and ages twice or thrice over; doubtless he was bent on +making some provision for them. “I wish I could tell him that I'd rather +have ten thousand down, than thrice the sum settled on Reginald and the +girls. I wish I could explain to him that mine is a ready-money business, +and that cash is the secret of success; and I wish I could show him that +no profits will stand the reverses of loans raised at two hundred per +cent! I wonder how the match went off to-day; I'd like to have the odds +that there were three men down at the double rail and bank.” Who got first +over the brook, was his next speculation, and where was Trafford? “If he +punished Crescy, I think I could tell <i>that</i>,” muttered he, with a +grin of malice. “I only wish I was there to see it;” and in the delight +this thought afforded he tossed off his last glass of wine, and rang for +his bedroom candle. +</p> +<p> +“At what time shall I call you, sir?” asked the butler. +</p> +<p> +“When are you stirring here,—I mean, at what hour does Sir William +breakfast?” + </p> +<p> +“He breakfasts at eight, sir, during term; but he does not expect to see +any one but Miss Lucy so early.” + </p> +<p> +“I should think not. Call me at eleven, then, and bring me some coffee and +a glass of rum when you come. Do you mean to tell me,” said he, in a +somewhat stern tone, “that the Chief Baron gets up at seven o'clock?” + </p> +<p> +“In term-time, sir, he does every day.” + </p> +<p> +“Egad! I 'm well pleased that I have not a seat on the Bench. I 'd not be +Lord Chancellor at that price.” + </p> +<p> +“It 's very hard on the servants, sir,—very hard indeed.” + </p> +<p> +“I suppose it is,” said Sewell, with a treacherous twinkle of the eye. +</p> +<p> +“If it was n't that I'm expecting the usher's place in the Court, I 'd +have resigned long ago.” + </p> +<p> +“His Lordship's pleasant temper, however, makes up for everything, Fenton, +eh?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir, that's true;” and they both laughed heartily at the pleasant +conceit; and in this merry humor they went their several ways to bed. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0032" id="link2HCH0032"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXII. MORNING AT THE PRIORY +</h2> +<p> +Sewell was awoke from a sound and heavy sleep by the Chief Baron's valet +asking if it was his pleasure to see his Lordship before he went down to +Court, in which case there was not much time to be lost. +</p> +<p> +“How soon does he go?” asked Sewell, curtly. +</p> +<p> +“He likes to be on the Bench by eleven exactly, sir, and he has always +some business in Chamber first.” + </p> +<p> +“All that tells me nothing, my good friend. How much time have I now to +catch him in before he starts?” + </p> +<p> +“Half an hour, sir. Forty minutes, at most.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, I 'll try and do it. Say I 'm in my bath, and that I 'll be with +him immediately.” + </p> +<p> +The man was not well out of the room when Sewell burst out into a torrent +of abuse of the old Judge and his ways: “His inordinate vanity, his +consummate conceit, to imagine that any activity of an old worn-out +intellect like his could be of service to the public! If he knew but all, +he is just as useful in his nightcap as in his wig, and it would be fully +as dignified to sleep in his bed as in the Court of Exchequer.” While he +poured forth this invective, he dressed himself with all possible haste; +indeed his ill-temper stimulated his alacrity, and he very soon issued +from his room, trying to compose his features into a semblance of pleasure +on meeting with his host. +</p> +<p> +“I hope and trust I have not disturbed you unreasonably,” said the Judge, +rising from the breakfast-table, as Sewell entered. “I know you arrived +very late, and I 'd have given you a longer sleep if it were in my power.” + </p> +<p> +“An old soldier, my Lord, knows how to manage with very little. I am only +sorry if I have kept you waiting.” + </p> +<p> +“No man ever presumed to keep me waiting, sir. It is a slight I have yet +to experience.” + </p> +<p> +“I mean, my Lord, it would have grieved me much had I occasioned you an +inconvenience.” + </p> +<p> +“If you had, sir, it might have reacted injuriously upon yourself.” + </p> +<p> +Sewell bowed submissively, for what he knew not; but he surmised that as +there was an opening for regret, there might also be a reason for +gratitude; he waited to see if he were right. +</p> +<p> +“My telegram only told you that I wanted you; it could not say for what,” + continued the Judge; and his voice still retained the metallic ring the +late irritation had lent it. +</p> +<p> +“There has been a contested question between the Crown and myself as to +the patronage to an office in my Court. I have carried my point. They have +yielded. They would have me believe that they have submitted out of +deference to myself personally, my age, and long services. I know better, +sir. They have taken the opinion of the Solicitor-General in England, who, +with no flattering opinion of what is called 'Irish law,' has pronounced +against them. The gift of the office rests with me, and it is my intention +to confer it upon <i>you</i>.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, my Lord, I have no words to express my gratitude!” + </p> +<p> +“Very well, sir, it shall be assumed to have been expressed. The salary is +one thousand a year. The duties are almost nominal.” + </p> +<p> +“I was going to ask, my Lord, whether my education and habits are such as +would enable me to discharge these duties?” + </p> +<p> +“I respect your conscientious scruple, sir. It is creditable and +commendable. Your mind may, however, be at ease. Your immediate +predecessor passed the last thirteen years at Tours, in France, and there +was never a complaint of official irregularity till, three years ago, when +he came over to afford his substitute a brief leave of absence, he forgot +to sign his name to certain documents,—a mistake the less pardonable +that his signature formed his whole and sole official drudgery.” + </p> +<p> +It was on Sewell's lips to say, “that if <i>he</i> had not signed his name +a little too frequently in life, his difficulties would not have been such +as they now were.” + </p> +<p> +“I am afraid I did not catch what you said, sir,” said the Judge. +</p> +<p> +“I did not speak, my Lord,” replied he, bowing. +</p> +<p> +“You will see, therefore, sir, that the details of your official life need +not deter you, although I have little doubt the Ministerial press will +comment sharply upon your absence, if you give them the opportunity, and +will reflect severely upon your unfitness, if they can detect a flaw in +you. Is there anything, therefore, in your former life to which these +writers can refer—I will not say disparagingly—but +unpleasantly?” + </p> +<p> +“I am not aware, my Lord, of anything.” + </p> +<p> +“Of course, sir, I could not mean what might impugn your honor or affect +your fame. I spoke simply of what soldiers are, perhaps, more exposed to +than civilians,—the lighter scandals of society. You apprehend me?” + </p> +<p> +“I do, my Lord; and, I repeat that I have a very easy conscience on this +score: for though I have filled some rather responsible stations at times, +and been intrusted with high functions, all my tastes and habits have been +so domestic and quiet—I have been so much more a man of home than a +man of pleasure—that I have escaped even the common passing +criticisms bestowed on people who are before the world.” + </p> +<p> +“Is this man—this Sir Brook Fossbrooke—one likely to occasion +you any trouble?” + </p> +<p> +“In the first place, my Lord, he is out of the country, not very likely to +return to it; and secondly, it is not in his power—not in any man 's +power—to make me a subject for attack.” + </p> +<p> +“You are fortunate, sir; more fortunate than men who have served their +country longer. It will scarcely be denied that I have contributed to the +public service, and yet, sir, <i>I</i> have been arraigned before the bar +of that insensate jury they call Public Opinion, and it is only in denying +the jurisdiction I have deferred the award.” + </p> +<p> +Sewell responded to the vainglorious outburst by a look of admiring +wonder, and the Judge smiled a gracious acceptance of the tribute. “I +gather, therefore, sir, that you can accept this place without fear of +what scandal or malignity may assail you by—” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lord, I can say as much with confidence.” + </p> +<p> +“It is necessary, sir, that I should be satisfied on this-head. The very +essence of the struggle between the Crown and myself is in the fact that +<i>my</i> responsibility is pledged, <i>my</i> reputation is in bond for +the integrity and the efficiency of this officer, and I will not leave to +some future biographer of the Irish Chief Barons of the Exchequer the task +of apology for one who was certainly not the least eminent of the line.” + </p> +<p> +“Your Lordship's high character shall not suffer through me,” said Sewell, +bowing respectfully. +</p> +<p> +“The matter, then, is so far settled; perhaps, however, you would like to +consult your wife? She might be averse to your leaving the army.” + </p> +<p> +“No, my Lord. She wishes—she has long wished it. We are both +domestic in our tastes, and we have always-been looking to the time when +we could live more for each other, and devote ourselves to the education +of our children.”' +</p> +<p> +“Commendable and praiseworthy,” said the Judge, with a half grunt, as +though he had heard something of this-same domesticity and home-happiness, +but that his own experiences scarcely corroborated the report. “There +are-certain steps you will have to take before leaving the service; it +may, then, be better to defer your public nomination to this post till +they be taken?” + </p> +<p> +This, which was said in question, Sewell answered at once, saying, “There +need be no delay on this score, my Lord; by this day week I shall be +free.” + </p> +<p> +“On this day week, then, you shall be duly sworn in. Now, there is another +point—I throw it out simply as a suggestion—you will not +receive it as more if you are indisposed to it. It may be some time before +you can find a suitable house or be fully satisfied where to settle down. +There is ample room here; one entire wing is unoccupied. May I beg to +place it at your disposal?” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, my Lord, this is really too much kindness. You overwhelm me with +obligations. I have never heard of such generosity.” + </p> +<p> +“Sir, it is not all generosity,—I reckon much on the value of your +society. Your companionable qualities are gifts I would secure by a +'retainer.'” + </p> +<p> +“In your society, my Lord, the benefits would be all on my side.” + </p> +<p> +“There was a time, sir,—I may say it without boastful-ness,—men +thought me an agreeable companion. The three Chiefs, as we were called +from our separate Courts, were reputed to be able talkers. I am the sole +survivor; and it would be a gain to those who care to look back on the +really great days of Ireland, if some record should remain of a time when +there were giants in the land. I have myself some very curious materials—masses +of letters and such-like—which we may turn over some winter's +evening together.” + </p> +<p> +Sewell professed his delight at such a prospect; and the Judge then, +suddenly bethinking himself of the hour,—it was already nigh eleven,—arose. +“Can I set you down anywhere? Are you for town?” asked he. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lord; I was about to pay my mother a visit.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll drop you there; perhaps you would convey a message from me, and say +how grateful I should feel if she would give us her company at dinner,—say +seven o'clock. I will just step up to say good-bye to my granddaughter, +and be with you immediately.” + </p> +<p> +Sewell had not time to bethink him of all the strange events which a few +minutes had grouped around him, when the Chief Baron appeared, and they +set out. +</p> +<p> +As they drove along, their converse was most agreeable. Sewell's attentive +manner was an admirable stimulant, and the old Judge was actually sorry to +lose his companion, as the carriage stopped at Lady Lendrick's door. +</p> +<p> +“What on earth brought you up, Dudley?” said she, as he entered the room +where she sat at breakfast. +</p> +<p> +“Let me have something to eat, and I 'll tell you,” said he, seating +himself at table, and drawing towards him a dish of cutlets. “You may +imagine what an appetite I have when I tell you whose guest I am.” + </p> +<p> +“Whose?” + </p> +<p> +“Your husband's.” + </p> +<p> +“You! at the Priory! and how came that to pass?” + </p> +<p> +“I told you already I must eat before I talk. When I got downstairs this +morning, I found the old man just finishing his breakfast, and instead of +asking me to join him, he entertained me with the siege of Derry, and some +choice anecdotes of Lord Bristol and 'the Volunteers.' This coffee is +cold.” + </p> +<p> +“Ring, and they 'll bring you some.” + </p> +<p> +“If I am to take him as a type of Irish hospitality as well as Irish +agreeability, I must say I get rid of two delusions together.” + </p> +<p> +“There 's the coffee. Will you have eggs?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, and a rasher along with them. You can afford to be liberal with the +larder, mother, for I bring you an invitation to dine.” + </p> +<p> +“At the Priory?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; he said seven o'clock.” + </p> +<p> +“Who dines there?” + </p> +<p> +“Himself and his granddaughter and I make the company, I believe.” + </p> +<p> +“Then I shall not go. I never do go when there 's not a party.” + </p> +<p> +“He's safer, I suppose, before people?” + </p> +<p> +“Just so. I could not trust to his temper under the temptation of a family +circle. But what Drought you to town?” + </p> +<p> +“He sent for me by telegraph; just, too, when I had the whole county with +me, and was booked to ride a match I had made with immense trouble. I got +his message,—'Come up immediately.' There was not the slightest +reason for haste, nor for the telegraph at all. The whole could have been +done by letter, and replied to at leisure, besides—” + </p> +<p> +“What was it, then?” + </p> +<p> +“It is a place he has given me,—a Registrarship of something in his +Court, that he has been fighting the Castle people about for eighteen +years, and to which Heaven knows if he has the right of appointment this +minute.” + </p> +<p> +“What'sit worth?” + </p> +<p> +“A thousand a year net. There were pickings,—at least, the last man +made a good thing of them,—but there are to be no more. We are to +inaugurate, as the newspapers say, a reign of integrity and +incorruptibility.” + </p> +<p> +“So much the better.” + </p> +<p> +“So much the worse,” say I. “My motto is, Full batta and plenty of loot; +and it's every man's motto, only that every man is not honest enough to +own it.” + </p> +<p> +“And when are you to enter upon the duties of your office?” + </p> +<p> +“Immediately. I 'm to be sworn in—there's an oath, it seems—this +day week, and we 're to take up our abode at the Priory till we find a +house to suit us.” + </p> +<p> +“At the Priory?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes. May I light a cigarette, mother: only one? He gave the invitation +most royally. A whole wing is to be at our disposal. He said nothing about +the cook or the wine-cellar, and these are the very ingredients I want to +secure.” + </p> +<p> +She shook her head dubiously, but made no answer. +</p> +<p> +“You don't think, then, that he meant to have us as his guests?” + </p> +<p> +“I think it unlikely.” + </p> +<p> +“How shall I find out? It's quite certain I 'll not go live under his roof—which +means his surveillance—without an adequate compensation. I 'll only +consent to being bored by being fed.” + </p> +<p> +“House-rent is something, however.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, mother, but not everything. That old man would be inquiring who +dined with me, how late he stayed, who came to supper, and what they did +afterwards. Now, if he take the whole charge of us, I 'll put up with a +great deal, because I could manage a little '<i>pied à terre</i>' +somewhere about Kingstown or Dalkey, and 'carry on' pleasantly enough. You +must find out his intentions, mother, before I commit myself to an +acceptance. You must, indeed.” + </p> +<p> +“Take my advice, Dudley, and look out for a house at once. You 'll not be +in <i>his</i> three weeks.” + </p> +<p> +“I can submit to a great deal when it suits me, mother,” said he, with a +derisive smile, and a look of intense treachery at the same time. +</p> +<p> +“I suppose you can,” said she, nodding in assent. “How is she?” + </p> +<p> +“As usual,” said he, with a shrug of the shoulders. +</p> +<p> +“And the children?” + </p> +<p> +“They are quite well. By the way, before I forget it, don't let the Judge +know that I have already sent in my papers to sell out. I want him to +believe that I do so now in consequence of his offer.” + </p> +<p> +“It is not likely we shall soon meet, and I may not have an opportunity of +mentioning the matter.” + </p> +<p> +“You 'll come to dinner to-day, won't you?” + </p> +<p> +“No.” + </p> +<p> +“You ought, even out of gratitude on <i>my</i> account. It would be only +commonly decent to thank him.” + </p> +<p> +“I could n't.” + </p> +<p> +“Couldn't what? Couldn't come, or couldn't thank him?” + </p> +<p> +“Could n't do either. You don't know, Dudley, that whenever our +intercourse rises above the common passing courtesies of mere +acquaintanceship, it is certain to end in a quarrel. We must never condemn +or approve. We must never venture upon an opinion, lest it lead to a +discussion, for discussion means a fight.” + </p> +<p> +“Pleasant, certainly,—pleasant and amiable too!” + </p> +<p> +“It would be better, perhaps, that I had some of that happy disposition of +my son,” said she, with a cutting tone, “and could submit to whatever +suited me.” + </p> +<p> +He started as if he had seen something, and turning on her a look of +passionate anger, began: “Is it from <i>you</i> that this should come?” + Then suddenly recollecting himself, he subdued his tone, and said: “We 'll +not do better by losing our tempers. Can you put me in the way to raise a +little money? I shall have the payment for my commission in about a +fortnight; but I want a couple of hundred pounds at once.” + </p> +<p> +“It's not two months since you raised five hundred.” + </p> +<p> +“I know it, and there 's the last of it. I left Lucy ten sovereigns when I +came away, and this twenty pounds is all that I now have in the world.” + </p> +<p> +“And all these fine dinners and grand entertainments that I have been told +of,—what was the meaning of them?” + </p> +<p> +“They were what the railway people call 'preliminary expenses,' mother. +Before one can get fellows to come to a house where there is play, there +must be a sort of easy style of good living established that all men like: +excellent dinners and good wine are the tame elephants, and without them +you 'll not get the wild ones into your 'compounds.'” + </p> +<p> +“And to tell me that this could pay!” + </p> +<p> +“Ay, and pay splendidly. If I had three thousand pounds in the world to +carry on with, I 'd see the old Judge and his rotten place at Jericho +before I 'd accept it. One needs a little capital, that's all. It's just +like blockade-running,—you must be able to lose three for one you +succeed with.” + </p> +<p> +“I see nothing but ruin—disreputable ruin—in such a course.” + </p> +<p> +“Come down and look at it, mother, and you 'll change your mind. You 'll +own you never saw a better ordered society in your life,—the <i>beau +idéal</i> of a nice country-house on a small scale. I admit our <i>chef</i> +is not a Frenchman, and I have only one fellow out of livery; but the +thing is well done, I promise you. As for any serious play, you 'll never +hear of it—never suspect it—no more than a man turning over +Leech's sketches in a dentist's drawing-room suspects there's a fellow +getting his eye-tooth extracted in the next room.” + </p> +<p> +“I disapprove of it all, Dudley. It is sure to end ill.” + </p> +<p> +“For that matter, mother, so shall I! All I have asked from Fate this many +a year is a deferred sentence; a long day, my Lord,—a long day!” + </p> +<p> +“Tell Sir William I am sorry I can't dine at the Priory to-day. It is one +of my cruel headache-days. Say you found me looking very poorly. It puts +him in good-humor to hear it; and if you can get away in the evening, come +in to tea.” + </p> +<p> +“You will think of this loan I want,—won't you?” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll think of it, but I don't know what good thinking will do.” She +paused, and after a few minutes' silence, said, “If you really are serious +about taking up your abode at the Priory, you 'll have to get rid of the +granddaughter.” + </p> +<p> +“We could marry her off easily enough.” + </p> +<p> +“You might, and you mightn't. If she marry to Sir William's satisfaction, +he'll leave her all he has in the world.” + </p> +<p> +“Egad, he must have a rare taste in a son-in-law if he likes the fellow I +'ll promote to the place.” + </p> +<p> +“You seem to forget, Dudley, that the young lady has a will of her own. +She's a Lendrick too.” + </p> +<p> +“With all my heart, mother. She 'll not be a match for Lucy.” + </p> +<p> +“And would <i>she</i>—” + </p> +<p> +“Ay, would she,” interrupted he, “if her pride as a woman—if her +jealousy was touched. I have made her do more than that when I wounded her +self-love!” + </p> +<p> +“You are a very amiable husband, I must say.” + </p> +<p> +“We might be better, perhaps, mother; but I suspect we are pretty much +like our neighbors. And it's positive you won't come to dinner?” + </p> +<p> +“No! certainly not.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, I 'll try and look in at tea-time. You 'll not forget what I spoke +of. I shall be in funds in less than three weeks.” + </p> +<p> +She gave a little incredulous laugh as she said “Goodbye!” She had heard +of such pledges before, and knew well what faith to attach to them. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0033" id="link2HCH0033"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXIII. EVENING AT THE PRIORY +</h2> +<p> +The Chief Baron brought his friend Haire back from Court to dine with him. +The table had been laid for five, and it was only when Sewell entered the +drawing-room that it was known Lady Lendrick had declined the invitation. +Sir William heard the apology to the end; he even waited when Sewell +concluded, to see if he desired to add anything more, but nothing came. +</p> +<p> +“In that case,” said he, at length, “we 'll order dinner.” That his +irritation was extreme needed no close observation to detect, and the +bell-rope came down with the pull by which he summoned the servant. +</p> +<p> +The dinner proceeded drearily enough. None liked to adventure on a remark +which might lead to something unpleasant in discussion, and little was +spoken on any side. Sewell praised the mutton, and the Chief Baron bowed +stiffly. When Haire remarked that the pale sherry was excellent, he dryly +told the butler to “fill Mr. Haire's glass;” and though Lucy, with more +caution, was silent, she did not escape, for he turned towards her and +said, “We have not been favored with a word from your lips, Miss Lendrick; +I hope these neuralgic headaches are not becoming a family affection.” + </p> +<p> +“I am perfectly well, sir,” said she, with a smile. +</p> +<p> +“It is Haire's fault, then,” said the Judge, with one of his malicious +twinkles of the eye,—“all Haire's fault if we are dull. It is ever +so with wits, Colonel Sewell; they will not perform to empty benches.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't know whom you call a wit,” began Haire. +</p> +<p> +“My dear friend, the men of pleasantry and happy conceits must no more +deny the reputation that attaches to them than must a rich merchant +dishonor his bill; nor need a man resent more being called a Wit, than +being styled a Poet, a Painter, a Chief Baron, or”—here he waved his +hand towards Sewell, and bowing slightly, added—“a Chief Registrar +to the Court of Exchequer.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, have you got the appointment?” said Haire to the Colonel. “I am +heartily glad of it. I 'm delighted to know it has been given to one of +the family.” + </p> +<p> +“As I said awhile ago,” said the Judge, with a smile of deeper malice, +“these witty fellows spare nobody! At the very moment he praises the +sherry he disparages the host. Why should not this place be filled by one +of my family, Haire? I call upon you to show cause.” + </p> +<p> +“There's no reason against it. I never said there was. Nay, I was far from +satisfied with you on the day you refused my prayer on behalf of one +belonging to you.” + </p> +<p> +“Sir, you are travelling out of the record,” said the Judge, angrily. +</p> +<p> +“I can only say,” added Haire, “that I wish Colonel Sewell joy with all my +heart; and if he 'll allow me, I 'll do it in a bumper.” + </p> +<p> +“'A reason fair to drink his health again!' That 's not the line. How does +it go, Lucy? Don't you remember the verse?” + </p> +<p> +“No, sir; I never heard it.” + </p> +<p> +“'A reason fair,—a reason fair.' I declare I believe the newspapers +are right. I am losing my memory. One of the scurrilous rascals t'other +day said they saw no reason Justice should be deaf as well as blind. +Haire, was that yours?” + </p> +<p> +“A thousand a year,” muttered Haire to Sewell. +</p> +<p> +“What is that, Haire?” cried the old Judge. “Do I hear you aright? You +utter one thousand things just as good every year?” + </p> +<p> +“I was speaking of the Registrar's salary,” said Haire, half testily. +</p> +<p> +“A thousand a year is a pittance,—a mere pittance, sir, in a country +like England. It is like the place at a window to see a procession. You +may gaze on the passing tide of humanity, but must not dare to mix in it.” + </p> +<p> +“And yet papa went half across the globe for it,” said Lucy, with a +flushed and burning cheek. +</p> +<p> +“In your father's profession the rewards are less money, Lucy, than the +esteem and regard of society. I have ever thought it wise of our rulers +not to bestow titles on physicians, but to leave them the unobtrusive and +undistinguished comforters of every class and condition. The equal of any,—the +companion of all.” + </p> +<p> +It was evident that the old Judge was eager for discussion on anything. He +had tried in vain to provoke each of his guests, and he was almost +irritable at the deference accorded him. +</p> +<p> +“Do I see you pass the decanter, Colonel Sewell? Are you not drinking any +wine?” + </p> +<p> +“No, my Lord.” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps you like coffee? Don't you think, Lucy, you could give him some?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir. I shall be delighted.” + </p> +<p> +“Very well. Haire and I will finish this magnum, and then join you in the +drawing-room.” + </p> +<p> +Lucy took Sewells arm and retired. They were scarcely well out of the room +when Sewell halted suddenly, and in a voice so artificial that, if Lucy +had been given to suspectfulness, she would have detected at once, said, +“Is the Judge always as pleasant and as witty as we saw him today?” + </p> +<p> +“To-day he was very far from himself; something, I 'm sure, must have +irritated him, for he was not in his usual mood.” + </p> +<p> +“I confess I thought him charming; so full of neat reply, pleasant +apropos, and happy quotation.” + </p> +<p> +“He very often has days of all that you have just said, and I am delighted +with them.” + </p> +<p> +“What an immense gain to a young girl—of course, I mean one whose +education and tastes have fitted her for it—to be the companion of +such a mind as his! Who is this Mr. Haire?” + </p> +<p> +“A very old friend. I believe he was a schoolfellow of grandpapa's.” + </p> +<p> +“Not his equal, I suspect, in ability or knowledge.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, nothing like it; a most worthy man, respected by every one, and +devotedly attached to grandpapa, but not clever.” + </p> +<p> +“The Chief, I remarked, called him witty,” said Sewell with a faint +twinkle in his eye. +</p> +<p> +“It was done in jest. He is fond of fathering on him the smart sayings of +the day, and watching his attempts to disown them.” + </p> +<p> +“And Haire likes that?” + </p> +<p> +“I believe he likes grandpapa in every mood he has.” + </p> +<p> +“What an invaluable friend! I wish to Heaven he could find such another +for me. I want—there 's nothing I want more than some one who would +always approve of me.” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps you might push this fidelity further than grandpapa does,” said +she, with a smile. +</p> +<p> +“You mean that it might not always be so easy to applaud <i>me</i>.” + </p> +<p> +She only laughed, and made no effort to disclaim the assertion. +</p> +<p> +“Well,” said he, with a sigh, “who knows but if I live to be old and rich +I may be fortunate enough to have such an accommodating friend? Who are +the other 'intimates' here? I ask because we are going to be domesticated +also.” + </p> +<p> +“I heard so this morning.” + </p> +<p> +“I hope with pleasure, though you have n't said as much.” + </p> +<p> +“With pleasure, certainly; but with more misgiving than pleasure.” + </p> +<p> +“Pray explain this.” + </p> +<p> +“Simply that the very quiet life we lead here would not be endurable by +people who like the world, and whom the world likes. We never see any one, +we never go out, we-have not even those second-hand glances at society +that people have who admit gossiping acquaintances; in fact, regard what +you have witnessed to-day as a dinner-party, and then fashion for yourself +our ordinary life.” + </p> +<p> +“And do <i>you</i> like it?” + </p> +<p> +“I know nothing else, and I am tolerably happy. If papa and Tom were here, +I should be perfectly happy.” + </p> +<p> +“By Jove! you startle me,” said he, throwing away the unlighted cigar he +had held for some minutes in his fingers; “I did n't know it was so bad.” + </p> +<p> +“It is possible he may relax for you and Mrs. Sewell; indeed, I think it +more than likely that he will.” + </p> +<p> +“Ay, but the relaxation might only be in favor of a few more like that old +gent we had to-day. No, no; the thing will never work. I see it at once. +My mother said we could not possibly stand it three weeks, and I perceive +it is your opinion too.” + </p> +<p> +“I did not say so much,” said she, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“Joking apart,” said he, in a tone that assuredly bespoke sincerity, “I +could n't stand such a dinner as we had to-day very often. I can bear +being bullied, for I was brought up to it. I served on Rolffe's staff in +Bombay for four years, and when a man has been an aide-de-camp he knows +what being bullied means; but what I could not endure is that outpouring +of conceit mingled with rotten recollections. Another evening of it would +kill me.” + </p> +<p> +“I certainly would not advise your coming here at that price,” said she, +with a gravity almost comical. +</p> +<p> +“The difficulty is how to get off. He appears to me to resent as an +affront everything that differs from his own views.” + </p> +<p> +“He is not accustomed to much contradiction.” + </p> +<p> +“Not to any at all!” + </p> +<p> +The energy with which he said this made her laugh heartily, and he half +smiled at the situation himself. +</p> +<p> +“They are coming upstairs,” said she; “will you ring for tea?—the +bell is beside you.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, if they 're coming I 'm off. I promised my mother a short visit this +evening. Make my excuses if I am asked for;” and with this he slipped from +the room and went his way. +</p> +<p> +“Where's the Colonel, Lucy? Has he gone to bed?” + </p> +<p> +“No, sir, he has gone to see his mother; he had made some engagement to +visit her this evening.” + </p> +<p> +“This new school of politeness is too liberal for my taste. When we were +young men, Haire, we would not have ventured to leave the house where we +had dined without saluting the host.” + </p> +<p> +“I take it we must keep up with the spirit of our time.” “You mistake, +Haire,—it is the spirit of our time is in arrear. It is that same +spirit lagging behind, and deserting the post it once occupied, makes us +seem in default. Let us have the cribbage-board, Lucy. Haire has said all +the smart things he means to give us this evening, and I will take my +revenge at the only game at which I am his master. Haire, who reads men +like a book, Lucy,” continued the Chief, as he dealt the cards, “says that +our gallant friend will rebel against our humdrum life here. I demur to +the opinion,—what say you?” But he was now deep in his game, and +never heeded the answer. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0034" id="link2HCH0034"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXIV. SEWELL'S TROUBLES +</h2> +<p> +“A letter for you by the post, sir, and his Lordship's compliments to say +he is waiting breakfast,” were the first words which Sewell heard the next +morning. +</p> +<p> +“Waiting breakfast! Tell him not to wait,—I mean, make my respects +to his Lordship, and say I feel very poorly to-day,—that I think I +'ll not get up just yet.” + </p> +<p> +“Would you like to see Dr. Beattie, sir? He's in the drawing-room.” + </p> +<p> +“Nothing of the kind. It's a complaint I caught in India; I manage it +myself. Bring me up some coffee and rum in about an hour, and mind, don't +disturb me on any account till then. What an infernal house!” muttered he, +as the man withdrew. “A subaltern called up for morning parade has a +better life than this. Nine o'clock only! What can this old ass mean by +this pretended activity? Upon whom can it impose? Who will believe that it +signifies a rush whether he lay abed till noon or rose by daybreak?” A +gentle tap came to the door, but as he made no reply there came after a +pause another, a little louder. Sewell still preserved silence, and at +last the sound of retiring footsteps along the corridor. “Not if I know +it,” muttered he to himself, as he turned round and fell off asleep again. +</p> +<p> +“The coffee, sir, and a despatch; shall I sign the receipt for you?” said +the servant, as he reappeared about noon. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; open the window a little, and leave me.” + </p> +<p> +Leaning on his arm, he tore open the envelope and glanced at the +signature,—“Lucy.” He then read, “Send down Eccles or Beattie by +next train; he is worse.” He read and re-read this at least half-a-dozen +times over before he bethought him of the letter that lay still unopened +on the bed. +</p> +<p> +He now broke the seal; it was also from his wife, dated the preceding +evening, and very brief:— +</p> +<p> +“Dear Dudley,—Captain Trafford has had a severe fall. Crescy balked +at the brook and fell afterwards. Trafford was struck on the head as he +rose by Mr. Creagh's horse. It is feared the skull is fractured. You are +much blamed for having asked him to ride a horse so much under his weight. +All have refused to accept their bets but Kinshela the grocer. I have +written to Sir H. Trafford, and I telegraphed to him Dr. Tobin's opinion, +which is not favorable. I suppose you will come back at once; if not, +telegraph what you advise to be done. Mr. Balfour is here still, but I do +not find he is of much use. The veterinary decided Crescy should be shot, +as the plate-bone, I think he called it, was fractured; and as he was in +great pain, I consented. I hope I have done right.—Yours truly, +</p> +<p> +“Lucy Sewell.” + </p> +<p> +“Here's a go! a horse I refused four hundred and fifty for on Tuesday +last! I <i>am</i> a lucky dog, there 's no denying it. I did n't know +there was a man in Europe could have made that horse balk his fence. What +a rumpus to make about a fellow getting a 'cropper'! My share of the +disaster is a deuced deal the worst. I 'll never chance on such a horse +again. How am I to find either of these men?” muttered he, as he took up +the telegram. He rang the bell violently, and scarcely ceased to pull at +it till the servant entered. +</p> +<p> +“Where does Dr. Eccles live?” + </p> +<p> +“Sir Gilbert, sir?” + </p> +<p> +“Ay, if he be Sir Gilbert.” + </p> +<p> +“Merrion Square, sir,” said the man reproachfully, for he thought it +rather hard to ignore one of the great celebrities of the land. +</p> +<p> +“Take this note to him, that I 'll write now, and if he be from home go to +the other man,—what's his name?—Beattie.” + </p> +<p> +“Dr. Beattie is coming to dinner to-day, sir,” said the servant, thinking +to facilitate matters. +</p> +<p> +“Just do as I tell you, my good fellow, and don't interrupt. If I am to +take up my quarters here, you'll all of you have to change some of your +present habits.” As he spoke, he dashed off a few hasty lines, addressing +them to Sir Gilbert Eccles or Dr. Beattie. “Ask if it's 'all right;' that +will be sufficient reply; and now send me my bath.” As he proceeded with +his dressing,—a very lengthy affair it always was,—he +canvassed with himself whether or not he ought to take the train and go +down to the country with the doctor. Possibly few men in such +circumstances would have given the matter a doubt. The poor fellow who had +incurred the mishap had been, at his insistence, acting for him. Had it +not been for Se well's pressing this task upon him, Trafford would at that +moment have been hale and hearty. Sewell knew all this well; he read the +event just as nineteen out of every twenty would have read it, but having +done so, he proceeded to satisfy himself why all these reasonings should +give way to weightier considerations. +</p> +<p> +First of all, it would not be quite convenient to let the old Judge know +anything of these doings in the country. His strait-laced notions might +revolt at races and betting-rings. It might not be perhaps decorous that a +registrar of a high court should be the patron of such sports. These were +prudential reasons, which he dilated on for some time. Then came some, +others more sentimental. It was to a house of doctors and nurses and gloom +and sorrow he should go back. All these were to him peculiarly +distasteful. He should be tremendously “bored” by it all, and being +“bored” was to him whatever was least tolerable in life. It was strange +that there was one other reason stronger than all these,—a reason +that really touched him in what was the nearest thing in his nature to +heart. He couldn't go back and look at the empty loose-box where his +favorite horse once stood, and where he was never to stand more. Crescy +the animal he was so proud of,—the horse he counted on for who knows +what future triumphs,—the first steeplechase horse, he felt +convinced, in Ireland, if not in the kingdom,—such strength, such +power in the loins, such square joints, such courage, should he ever see +united again? If there was anything in that man's nature that represented +affection, he had it for this horse. He knew well to what advantage he +looked when on his back,—he knew what admiration and envy it drew +upon him to see him thus mounted. He had won him at billiards from a man +who was half broken-hearted at parting with him, and who offered immense +terms rather than lose him. +</p> +<p> +“He said I'd have no luck with him,” muttered Sewell, now in his misery,—“and, +confound the fellow! he was right. No, I can't go back to look at his +empty stall. It would half kill me.” + </p> +<p> +It was very real grief, all this; he was as thoroughly heart-sore as it +was possible for him to be. He sorrowed for what nothing in his future +life could replace to him; and this is a very deep sorrow. +</p> +<p> +Trafford's misfortune was so much the origin and cause of his own disaster +that he actually thought of him with bitterness. The man who could make +Crescy balk! What fate could be too hard for him? +</p> +<p> +Nor was he quite easy in his mind about that passage in his wife's letter +stating that men would not take their bets. Was this meant as reflecting +upon him? Was it a censure on him for making Trafford ride a horse beneath +his weight? “They get up some stupid cry of that sort,” muttered he, “as +if I am not the heaviest loser of all. I lost a horse that was worth a +score of Traffords.” + </p> +<p> +When dressed, Sewell went down to the garden and lit his cigar. His sorrow +had grown calmer, and he began to think that in the new life before him he +should have had to give up horses and sport of every kind. “I must make my +book now on this old fellow, and get him to make me his heir. He cares +little for his son, and he can be made to care just as little for his +granddaughter. That's the only game open to me,—a dreary life it +promises to be, but it's better than a jail.” + </p> +<p> +The great large wilderness of a garden, stretching away into an orchard at +the end, was in itself a place to suggest sombre thoughts,—so silent +and forsaken did it all appear. The fruit lay thick on the ground uncared +for; the artichokes, grown to the height of shrubs, looked monsters of +uncouthness; and even in the alleys flower-seeds had fallen and given +birth to flowers, which struggled up through the gravel and hung their +bright petals over the footway. There was in the neglect, the silence, the +un-cared-for luxuriance of the place, all that could make a moody man +moodier; and as he knocked off the great heads of the tall hollyhocks, he +thought, and even said aloud, “This is about as much amusement as such a +spot offers.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh no, not so bad as that,” said a laughing voice; and Lucy peeped over a +laurel-hedge with a rake in her hand, and seemed immensely amused at his +discomfiture. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/302.jpg" width="100%" alt="302 " /> +</div> +<p> +“Where are you?—I mean, how is one to come near you?” said he, +trying to laugh, but not successfully. +</p> +<p> +“Go round yonder by the fish-pond, and you 'll find a wicket. This is <i>my</i> +garden, and I till it myself.” + </p> +<p> +“So!” said he, entering a neat little enclosure, with beds of flowers and +flowering shrubs, “this is your garden?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes,—what do you think of it?” + </p> +<p> +“It's very pretty,—it 's very nice. I should like it larger, +perhaps.” + </p> +<p> +“So would I; but, being my own gardener, I find it quite big enough.” + </p> +<p> +“Why doesn't the Chief give you a gardener?—he's rich enough, +surely.” + </p> +<p> +“He never cared for gardening himself. Indeed, I think it is the wild +confusion of foliage here that he likes. He said to me one day, 'In <i>my</i> +old garden a man loses himself in thought. In this trimly kept place one +is ever occupied by the melon-frame or the forcing-house.'” + </p> +<p> +“That's the dreadful thing about old people; they are ever for making the +whims and crotchets of age the rules of life to others. I wonder you bear +this so well.” + </p> +<p> +“I didn't know that I bore anything,” said she, with a smile. +</p> +<p> +“That's true slave doctrine, I must say; and when one does not feel +bondage, there's no more to be said.” + </p> +<p> +“I suspect I have a great deal more freedom than most girls; my time is +almost all my own, to dispose of as I will. I read, or play, or walk, or +work, as I feel inclined. If I wish to occupy myself with household +matters, I am the mistress here.” + </p> +<p> +“In other words, you are free to do everything that is not worth doing,—you +lead the life of a nun in a convent, only that you have not even a sister +nun to talk to.” + </p> +<p> +“And which are the things you say are worth doing?” + </p> +<p> +“Would you not care to go out into the world, to mix in society, to go to +balls, theatres, fêtes, and such-like? Would you not like to ride? I don't +mean it for flattery, but would you not, like the admiration you would be +sure to meet,—the sort of homage people render to beauty, the ouly +tribute the world ever paid freely,—are all these not worth +something?” + </p> +<p> +“I am sure they are: they are worth a great deal to those who can enjoy +them with a happy heart; but remember, Colonel Se well, I have a father +living in exile, simply to earn a livelihood, and I have a brother toiling +for his bread in a strange land: is it likely I could forget these, or is +it likely that I could carry such cares about with me, and enjoy the +pleasures you tell of?” + </p> +<p> +“Oh! as for that, I never met the man, nor woman either, that could bring +into the world a mind unburdened by care. You must take life as it is. If +I was to wait for a heart at ease before I went into society, I 'd have to +decline a few dinner-parties. Your only chance of a little respite, +besides, is at your age. The misfortunes of life begin as a little +drizzle, but become a regular downpour when one gets to <i>my</i> time of +life. Let me just tell you what this morning brought forth. A letter and +then a telegram from my wife, to tell me that my favorite horse—an +animal worth five hundred pounds if he was worth five shillings—the +truest, bravest, best horse I ever backed—has just been killed by a +stupid fellow I got to ride for me. What he did to make the horse refuse +his leap, what magic he used, what conjuring trick he performed, I can't +tell. With <i>me</i> it was enough to show him his fence, and if I wanted +it I could n't have held him back. But this fellow—a dragoon, too, +and the crack rider of his regiment—contrives to discourage my poor +beast, then rushes him at the jump at half speed. I know it was a widish +brook, and they tumbled in, and my horse smashed his blade bone,—of +course there was nothing for it but to shoot him.” + </p> +<p> +“How sad! I am really sorry for you.” + </p> +<p> +“And all this came of the old Judge's message, the stupidity of sending me +five words in a telegram, instead of writing a proper note, and saying +what he wanted. But for that I 'd have stayed at home, ridden my horse, +won my match, and spared myself the whole disaster.” + </p> +<p> +“Grandpapa is often very hasty in his decisions, but I believe he seldom +sees cause to revoke them.” + </p> +<p> +“The old theory, 'The King can do no wrong,'” said Sewell, with a saucy +laugh; “but remember he can often do a deal of mischief incidentally, as +it were,—as on the present occasion.” + </p> +<p> +“And the rider, what of him? Did he escape unhurt?” said she, eager to +avoid unpleasant discussion. +</p> +<p> +“The rider! my dear young lady,” said he, with affected slowness,—“the +rider came to grief. What he did, or how he did it, to throw my poor horse +down, is his own secret, and, from what I hear, he is likely to keep it. +No, no, don't look so horrified,—he's not killed, but I don't +suspect he's a long way off it. He got a smashing fall at a fence I 'd +have backed myself to ride with my hands tied. Ay, and to have my good +horse back again, I 'd ride in that fashion to-morrow.” + </p> +<p> +“And the poor fellow, where is he now?” + </p> +<p> +“The poor fellow is receiving the very sweetest of Mrs. Sewell's +attentions. He is at my house,—in all likelihood in my room,—not +that he is very conscious of all the favors bestowed upon him.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, don't talk with that pretended indifference! You must be, you cannot +help being, deeply sorry for what has happened.” + </p> +<p> +“There can be very little doubt on that score. I've lost such a horse as I +never shall own again.” + </p> +<p> +“Pray think of something beside your horse. Who was he? What's his name?” + </p> +<p> +“A stranger,—an Englishman; you never heard of him; and I wish I had +never heard of him!” + </p> +<p> +“What are you smiling at?” said she, after a pause, for he stood as though +reflecting, and a very strange half-smile moved his mouth. +</p> +<p> +“I was just thinking,” said he, gravely, “what his younger brother ought +to give me; for this fellow was an elder son, and heir to a fine estate +too.” + </p> +<p> +She turned an indignant glance towards him, and moved away. He was quickly +after her, however, and, laying his hand on her arm, said good-humoredly: +“Come, don't be angry with me. I 'm sorry, if you like,—I 'm very +sorry for this poor fellow. I won't say that my own loss does not dash my +sorrow with a little anger,—he was such a horse! and the whole thing +was such a blunder! as fair a brook,—with a high bank, it's true,—but +as fair a fence as ever & man rode at, and ground like this we 're +walking over to take off from.” + </p> +<p> +“Is he in danger?” + </p> +<p> +“I believe so; here's what my wife says. Oh, I haven't got the letter +about me, but it comes to this, I was to send down one of the best doctors +by the first train, telling him it was a case of compression or +concussion, which is it? And so I have despatched Beattie, your +grandfather's man. I suppose there 's no better?” + </p> +<p> +“But why have you not gone back yourself? He was a friend, was he not?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, he was what people would call a friend. I 'm like the hare in the +fable, I have many friends; but if I must be confidential, I 'll tell you +why I did <i>not</i> go. I had a notion, just as likely to be wrong as +right, that the Chief would take offence at his Registrar being a sporting +character, and that if I were to absent myself just now, he'd find out the +reason, whereas by staying here I could keep all quiet, and when Beattie +came back I could square <i>him</i>.” + </p> +<p> +“You could what?” + </p> +<p> +“A thousand pardons for my bit of slang; but the fact is, just as one +talks French when he wants to say nothings, one takes to slang when one +requires to be shifty. I meant to say, I could manage to make the doctor +hold his tongue.” + </p> +<p> +“Not if grandpapa were to question him.” + </p> +<p> +Sewell smiled, and shook his head in dissent. +</p> +<p> +“No, no. You're quite mistaken in Dr. Beattie; and what's more, you 're +quite mistaken in grandpapa too, if you imagine that he 'll think the +better of you for forgetting the claims of friendship.” + </p> +<p> +“There was none.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, of humanity, then! It was in <i>your</i> cause this man suffered, +and it is in <i>your</i> house he lies ill. I think you ought to be there +also.” + </p> +<p> +“Do you think so?” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm sure of it. You know the world a great deal better than I do, and +you can tell what people will say of your absence; but I think it requires +no knowledge of more than one's own nature to feel what is right and +proper here.” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed!” said he, reflectingly. +</p> +<p> +“Don't you agree with me?” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps,—that is, in part. I suppose what you mean about the world +is, that there will be some scandal afloat, the 'young wife' story, and +all that sort of balderdash?” + </p> +<p> +“I really do not understand you.” + </p> +<p> +“You don't?” + </p> +<p> +“No. Certainly not. What do you mean?” + </p> +<p> +“Possibly you did not understand me. Well, if I am to go, there 's no time +to be lost. It's four o'clock already, and the last train leaves at +five-forty. I will go.” + </p> +<p> +“You are quite right.” + </p> +<p> +“You 'll make my excuses to the Chief. You 'll tell him that my wife's +message was so alarming that I could not delay my departure. Beattie will +probably be back tomorrow, and bring you news of us.” + </p> +<p> +“Won't you write a few lines?” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm not sure,—I 'll not promise. I'm a bad penman, but my wife +will write, I 've no doubt. Say all sorts of affectionate and dutiful +things to the Chief for me; tell him I went away in despair at not being +able to say good-bye; he likes that style of thing, does n't he?” + </p> +<p> +“I don't think he cares much for 'that style of thing,'” said she, with a +saucy smile. +</p> +<p> +“What a capital mimic you are! Do you know I am just beginning to suspect +that you are, for all your quiet simplicity of manner, a deuced deep one. +Am I right?” + </p> +<p> +She shook her head, but made no reply. +</p> +<p> +“Not that I 'd like you the less for it,” said he, eagerly; “on the +contrary, we 'd understand each other all the better; there's nothing like +people talking the same language, eh?” + </p> +<p> +“I hope you'll not lose your train,” said she, looking at her watch; “I am +half-past four.” + </p> +<p> +“A broad hint,” said he, laughing; “bye-bye,—<i>à bientôt</i>.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0035" id="link2HCH0035"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXV. BEATTIE'S RETURN +</h2> +<p> +The old Chief sat alone in his dining-room over his wine. If somewhat +fatigued by the labors of the day,—for the Court had sat late,—he +showed little of exhaustion; still less was he, as his years might have +excused, drowsy or heavy. He sat bolt upright in his chair, and by an +occasional gesture of his hand, or motion of his head, seemed as though he +were giving assent to some statement he was listening to, or making his +comments on it as it proceeded. +</p> +<p> +The post had brought a letter to Lucy just as dinner was over. It bore the +post-mark “Cagliari,” and was in her brother's hand; and the old man, with +considerate kindness, told her to go to her room and read it. “No, my dear +child,” said he, as she arose to leave the room; “no! I shall not be +lonely,—where there is memory there are troops of friends. Come back +and tell me your news when you have read your letter.” + </p> +<p> +More than an hour passed over, and he sat there heedless of time. A whole +long life was passing in review before him, not connectedly, or in due +sequence of events, but in detached scenes and incidents. Now it was some +stormy night in the old Irish House, when Flood and Grattan exchanged +their terrific denunciations and insults,—now it was a brilliant +dinner at Ponsonby's, with all the wits of the day,—now he was +leading the famous Kitty O'Dwyer, the beauty of the Irish Court, to her +carriage, amid such a murmur of admiration as made the progress a triumph; +or, again, it was a raw morning of November, and he was driving across the +park to be present at Curran's meeting with Egan. +</p> +<p> +A violent ring of the hall bell startled him, and before he could inquire +the cause a servant had announced Dr. Beattie. +</p> +<p> +“I thought I might be fortunate enough to catch you before bed-hour,” said +the doctor, “and I knew you would like to hear some tidings of my +mission.” + </p> +<p> +“You have been to—Where have you been?” said the old Judge, +embarrassed between the late flood of his recollections and the sudden +start of his arrival. +</p> +<p> +“To Killaloe, to see that poor fellow who had the severe fall in the +hurdle-race.” + </p> +<p> +“Ay—to be sure—yes. I remember all now. Give me a moment, +however.” He nodded his head twice or thrice, as if concurring with some +statement, and then said, “Go on, sir; the Court is with you.” + </p> +<p> +Beattie proceeded to detail the accident and the state of the sufferer,—of +whom he pronounced favorably,—saying that there was no fracture, nor +anything worse than severe concussion. “In fact,” said he, “were it an +hospital case, I'd say there was very little danger.” + </p> +<p> +“And do you mean to tell me, sir,” said the Judge, who had followed the +narrative with extreme attention, “that the man of birth and blood must +succumb in any conflict more readily than the low-born?” + </p> +<p> +“It's not the individual I was thinking of, so much as his belongings +here. What I fear for in the present case is what the patient must +confront every day of his convalescence.” + </p> +<p> +Seeing that the Judge waited for some explanation, Beattie began to relate +that, as he had started from Dublin the day before, he found himself in +the same carriage with the young man's mother, who had been summoned by +telegraph to her son's bedside. +</p> +<p> +“I have met,” said he, “in my time, nearly all sorts and conditions of +people. Indeed, a doctor's life brings him into contact with more maladies +of nature and temperament than diseases of material origin; but anything +like this woman I never saw before. To begin: she combined within herself +two qualities that seem opposed to each other,—a most lavish candor +on the score of herself and her family, and an intense distrust of all the +rest of mankind. She told me she was a baronet's wife; how she had married +him; where they lived; what his estate was worth; how this young fellow +had become, by the death of a brother, the heir to the property; and how +his father, indignant at his extravagance, had disentailed the estate, to +leave it to a younger son if so disposed. She showed at times the very +greatest anxiety about her son's state; but at other moments just as +intense an eagerness to learn what schemes and intrigues were being formed +against him,—who were the people in whose house he then was, what +they were, and how he came there. To all my assurances that they were +persons in every respect her son's equals, she answered by a toss of the +head or a saucy half-laugh. 'Irish?' asked she. 'Yes, Irish.' 'I thought +so,' rejoined she; 'I told Sir Hugh I was sure of it, though he said there +were English Sewells.' From this instant her distrust broke forth. All +Ireland had been in a conspiracy against her family for years. She had a +brother, she said it with a shiver of horror, who was cruelly beaten by an +attorney in Cork for a little passing pleasantry to the man's sister; he +had kissed her, or something of the kind, in a railroad carriage; and her +cousin,—poor dear Cornwall is Merivale,—it was in Ireland he +found that creature that got the divorce against him two years since. She +went on to say that there had been a plot against her son, in the very +neighborhood where he now lay ill, only a year ago,—some intrigue to +involve him in a marriage, the whole details of which she threatened me +with the first time we should be alone. +</p> +<p> +“Though at some moments expressing herself in terms of real affection and +anxiety about her poor son, she would suddenly break off to speculate on +what might happen from his death. 'You know, doctor, there is only one +more boy, and if his life lapsed, Holt and the Holt estate goes to the +Carringtons.'” + </p> +<p> +“An odious woman, sir,—a most odious woman; I only wonder why you +continued to travel in the same carriage with her.” + </p> +<p> +“My profession teaches great tolerance,” said the doctor, mildly. +</p> +<p> +“Don't call tolerance, sir, what there is a better word for,—subserviency. +I am amazed how you endured this woman.” + </p> +<p> +“Remember—it is to'be remembered—that in my version of her I +have condensed the conversation of some hours, and given you, as it were, +the substance of much talking; and also that I have not attempted to +convey what certainly was a very perfect manner. She had no small share of +good looks, a very sweet voice, and considerable attraction in point of +breeding.” + </p> +<p> +“I will accept none of these as alleviations, sir; her blandishments +cannot blind the Court.” + </p> +<p> +“I will not deny their influence upon myself,” said Beattie, gently. +</p> +<p> +“I can understand you, sir,” said the Judge, pompously. “The habits of +your profession teach you to swallow so much that is nauseous in a sweet +vehicle, that you carry the same custom into morals.” + </p> +<p> +Beattie laughed so heartily at the analogy that the old man's good-humor +returned to him, and he bade him continue his narrative. +</p> +<p> +“I have not much more to tell. We reached the house by about eleven +o'clock at night, and my fellow-traveller sat in the carriage till I +announced her to Mrs. Sewell. My own cares called me to the sick-room, and +I saw no more of the ladies till this morning, just before I came away.” + </p> +<p> +“She is, then, domesticated there? She has taken up her quarters at the +Sewells' house?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes. I found her maid, too, had taken possession of Colonel Sewell's +dressing-room, and dispossessed a number of his chattels to make room for +her own.” + </p> +<p> +“It is a happy thing, a very happy thing for me, that I have not been +tried by these ordeals,” said the Judge, with a long-drawn breath. “I +wonder how Colonel Sewell will endure it.” + </p> +<p> +“I have no means of knowing; he arrived late at night, and was still in +bed and asleep when I left.” + </p> +<p> +“You have not told me these people's name?” + </p> +<p> +“Trafford,—Sir Hugh Beecham Trafford, of Holt-Trafford, +Staffordshire.” + </p> +<p> +“I have met the man, or rather his father, for it was nigh fifty years +ago,—an old family, and of Saxon origin; and his wife,—who was +she?” + </p> +<p> +“Her name was Merivale. Her father, I think, was Governor of Madras.” + </p> +<p> +“If so, sir, she has hereditary claims for impertinence and presumption. +Sir Ulysses Merivale enjoyed the proud distinction of being the most +insolent man in England. It is well that you have told me who she was, +Beattie, for I might have made a very fatal blunder. I was going to write +to Sewell to say, 'As this is a great issue, I would advise you to bring +down your mother, “special,”' but I recall my intention. Lady Lendrick +would have no chance against Lady Trafford. Irish insolence has not the +finish of the English article, and we put an alloy of feeling in it that +destroys it altogether. Will the young man recover?” + </p> +<p> +“He is going on favorably, and I see nothing to apprehend, except, indeed, +that the indiscretions of his mother may prejudice his case. She is very +likely to insist on removing him; she hinted it to me as I took my leave.” + </p> +<p> +“I will write to the Sewells to come up here at once. They shall evacuate +the territory, and leave her in possession. As persons closely connected +with my family, they must not have this outrage put upon them.” He rang +the bell violently, and desired the servant to request Miss Lendrick to +come to him. +</p> +<p> +“She is not very well, my Lord, and has gone to her room. She told Mrs. +Beales to serve your Lordship's tea when you were ready for it.” + </p> +<p> +“What is this? What does all this mean?” said the old Judge, eagerly; for +the idea of any one presuming to be ill without duly apprising him—without +the preliminary step of ascertaining that it could not inconvenience him—was +more than he was fully prepared for. +</p> +<p> +“Tell Mrs. Beales I want her,” said he, as he rose and left the room. +Muttering angrily as he went, he ascended the stairs and traversed the +long corridor which led to Lucy's room; but before he had reached the door +the housekeeper was at his side. +</p> +<p> +“Miss Lucy said she 'd like to see your Lordship, if it was n't too much +trouble, my Lord.” + </p> +<p> +“I am going to see her. Ask her if I may come in.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lord,” said Mrs. Beales from the open door. “She is awake.” + </p> +<p> +“My own dear grandpapa,” said Lucy, stretching out her arms to him from +her bed, “how good and kind of you to come here!” + </p> +<p> +“My dear, dear child,” said he, fondly; “tell me you are not ill; tell me +that it is a mere passing indisposition.” + </p> +<p> +“Not even so much, grandpapa. It is simply a headache. I was crying, and I +was ashamed that you should see it; and I walked out into the air; and I +came back again, trying to look at ease; and my head began to throb and to +pain me so that I thought it best to go to bed. It was a letter I got,—a +letter from Cagliari. Poor Tom has had the terrible fever of the island. +He said nothing about it at first, but now he has relapsed. There are only +three lines in his own hand,—the rest is from his friend. You shall +see what he says. It is very short, and not very hard to read.” + </p> +<p> +The old man put on his spectacles and read:— +</p> +<p> +“'My very dear Lucy.' +</p> +<p> +“Who presumes to address you in this way? 'Brook Fossbrooke?' What! is +this the man who is called Sir Brook Fossbrooke? By what means have you +become so intimate with a person of his character?” + </p> +<p> +“I know nothing better, nothing more truly noble and generous, than his +character,” said she, holding her temples as she spoke, for the pain of' +her head was almost agony. “Do read on,—read on, dearest grandpapa.” + </p> +<p> +He turned again to the letter, and read it over in silence till he came to +the few words in Tom's hand, which he read aloud: “Darling Lu—I +shall be all right in a week. Don't fret, but write me a long—long”—he +had forgotten the word “letter,”—“and love me always.” + </p> +<p> +She burst into tears, as the old man read the words, for by some strange +magic, the syllables of deep affection, uttered by one unmoved, smite the +heart with a pang that is actual torture. +</p> +<p> +“I will take this letter down to Beattie, Lucy, and hear what he says of +it,” said the old man, and left the room. +</p> +<p> +“Read this, Beattie, and tell me what you say to it,” said the Chief +Baron, as he handed the doctor Sir Brook's letter; “I'll tell you of the +writer when you have read it.” + </p> +<p> +Beattie read the note in silence, and as he laid it on the table said, “I +know the man, and his strange old-fashioned writing would have recalled +him without his name.” + </p> +<p> +“And what do you know of him, sir?” asked the Judge, sternly. +</p> +<p> +“I can tell you the story in three words: He came to consult me one +morning, about six or eight months ago. It was about an insurance on his +life,—a very small sum he wanted to raise, to go out to this very +place he writes from. He got to talk about the project, and I don't +exactly know how it came about,—I forget the details now,—but +it ended by my lending him the money myself.” + </p> +<p> +“What, sir! do you combine usury with physic?” + </p> +<p> +“On that occasion I appear to have done so,” said Beattie, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“And you advanced a sum of money to a man whom you saw for the first time, +simply on his showing that his life was too insecure to guarantee +repayment?” + </p> +<p> +“That puts the matter a little too nakedly.” + </p> +<p> +“It puts it truthfully, sir, I apprehend.” + </p> +<p> +“If you mean that the man impressed me so favorably that I was disposed to +do him a small service, you are right.” + </p> +<p> +“You and I, Beattie, are too old for this impulsive generosity,—too +old by thirty years! After forty philanthropy should take a chronic form, +and never have paroxysms. I think I am correct in my medical language.” + </p> +<p> +“Your medicine pleases me more than your morality,” said Beattie, +laughing; “but to come back to this Sir Brook, I wish you had seen him.” + </p> +<p> +“Sir, I have seen him, and I have heard of him, and if not at liberty to +say what I have heard of him, it is quite enough to state that <i>my</i> +information cannot corroborate <i>your</i> opinion.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, my Lord, the possibility of what I might hear will not shake the +stability of what I have seen. Remember that we doctors imagine we read +human nature by stronger spectacles than the laity generally.” + </p> +<p> +“You imagine it, I am aware, sir; but I have met with no such instances of +acuteness amongst your co-professionals as would sustain the claim; but +why are we wandering from the record? I gave you that letter to read that +you might tell me, is this boy's case a dangerous one?” + </p> +<p> +“It is a very grave case, no doubt; this is the malaria fever of Sardinia,—bad +enough with the natives, but worse with strangers. He should be removed to +better air at once if he could bear removal.” + </p> +<p> +“So is it ever with your art,” said the Judge, in a loud declamatory +voice. “You know nothing in your difficulties but a piteous entreaty to +the unknown resources of nature to assist you. No, sir; I will not hear +your defence; there is no issue before the Court. What sort of +practitioners have they in this island?” + </p> +<p> +“Rude enough, I can believe.” + </p> +<p> +“Could a man of eminence be found to go out there and see him?” + </p> +<p> +“A man in large practice could not spare the time; but there are men of +ability who are not yet in high repute: one of these might be possibly +induced.” + </p> +<p> +“And what might the expense be?” + </p> +<p> +“A couple of hundred—say three hundred pounds, would perhaps +suffice.” + </p> +<p> +“Go upstairs and see my granddaughter. She is very nervous and feverish; +calm her mind so far as you are able; say that we are concerting measures +for her brother's benefit; and by the time you shall come down again I +will have made up my mind what to do.” + </p> +<p> +Beattie was a valued friend of Lucy's, and she was glad to see him enter +her room, but she would not suffer him to speak of herself; it was of poor +Tom alone she would talk. She heard with delight the generous intentions +of her grandfather, and exclaimed with rapture,—“This is his real +nature, and yet it is only by the little foibles of his temper that the +world knows him; but we, doctor,—we, who see him as he is, know how +noble-hearted and affectionate he can be!” + </p> +<p> +“I must hasten back to him,” said Beattie, after a short space; “for +should he decide on sending out a doctor, I must lose no time, as I must +return to see this young fellow at Killaloe to-morrow.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, in my greater anxieties I forgot him! How is he,—can he +recover?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, I regard him as out of danger,—that is, if Lady Trafford can +be persuaded not to talk him into a relapse.” + </p> +<p> +“Lady Trafford! who is she?” + </p> +<p> +“His mother; she arrived last night.” + </p> +<p> +“And his name is Trafford, and his Christian name Lionel?” + </p> +<p> +“Lionel Wentworth Trafford. I took it from his dressing-case when I +prescribed for him.” + </p> +<p> +Lucy had been leaning on her arm as she spoke, but she now sank slowly +backward and fainted. +</p> +<p> +It was a long time before consciousness came back, and even then she lay +voiceless and motionless, and, though she heard what Beattie said to her, +unable to speak to him, or intimate by a gesture that she heard him. +</p> +<p> +The doctor needed no confidences,—he read the whole story. There are +expressions in the human face which have no reference to physical ills; +nor are there any indications of bodily suffering. He who asked, “Canst +thou minister to a mind diseased?” knew how hopeless was his question; and +this very despair it is—this sense of an affliction beyond the reach +of art—gives a character to the expression which the doctor's eye +never fails to discriminate from the look worn by mere malady. +</p> +<p> +As she lay there motionless, her large eyes looking at him with that +expression in which eagerness struggles against debility, he saw how he +had become her confidant. +</p> +<p> +“Come, my dear child,” said he, taking her hand between both his own, “you +have no occasion for fears on this score,—so far I assure you on my +honor.” + </p> +<p> +She gave his hand a slight, a very slight pressure, and tried to say +something, but could not. “I will go down now, and see what is to be done +about your brother.” She nodded, and he continued: “I will pay you another +visit to-morrow early, before I leave town, and let me find you strong and +hearty; and remember that though I force no confidences, Lucy, I will not +refuse them if you offer.” + </p> +<p> +“I have none, sir,—none,” said she, in a voice of deep melancholy. +</p> +<p> +“So that I know all that is to be known?” asked he. +</p> +<p> +“All, sir,” said she, with a trembling lip. +</p> +<p> +“Well, accept me as a friend whom you may trust, my dear Lucy. If you want +me, I will not fail you; and if you have no need of me, there is nothing +that has passed to-day between us ever to be remembered,—you +understand me?” + </p> +<p> +“I do, sir. You will come to-morrow, won't you?” + </p> +<p> +He nodded assent, and left her. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0036" id="link2HCH0036"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXVI. AN EXIT +</h2> +<p> +Colonel Sewell stood at the window of a small drawing-room he called “his +own,” watching the details of loading a very cumbrous travelling-carriage +which was drawn up before the door. Though the postilions were in the +saddle, and all ready for a start, the process of putting up the luggage +went on but slowly,—now a heavy imperial would be carried out, and +after a while taken in again; dressing-boxes carefully stowed away would +be disinterred to be searched for some missing article; bags, baskets, and +boxes of every shape and sort came and went and came again; and although +the two footmen who assisted these operations showed in various ways what +length of training had taught them to submit to in the way of worry and +caprice, the smart “maid,” who now and then appeared to give some order, +displayed most unmistakable signs of ill-humor on her face. “Drat those +dogs! I wish they were down the river!” cried she, of two yelping, barking +Maltese terriers, which, with small bells jingling on their collars, made +an uproar that was perfectly deafening. +</p> +<p> +“Well, Miss Morris, if it would oblige <i>you</i>—” said one of the +tall footmen, as he caressed his whisker, and gave a very languishing +look, more than enough, he thought, to supply the words wanting to his +sentence. +</p> +<p> +“It would oblige <i>me</i> very much, Mr. George, to get away out of this +horrid place. I never did—no, never—in all my life pass such a +ten days.” + </p> +<p> +“We ain't a-going just yet, after all,” said footman number two, with a +faint yawn. +</p> +<p> +“It's so like you, Mr. Breggis, to say something disagreeable,” said she, +with a toss of her head. +</p> +<p> +“It's because it's true I say it, not because it's onpleasant, Miss +Caroline.” + </p> +<p> +“I'm not Miss Caroline, at least from you, Mr. Breggis.” + </p> +<p> +“Ain't she haughty,—ain't she fierce?” But his colleague would not +assent to this judgment, and looked at her with a longing admiration. +</p> +<p> +“There's her bell again,” cried the girl; “as sure as I live, she's rung +forty times this morning;” and she hurried back to the house. +</p> +<p> +“Why do you think we're not off yet?” asked George. +</p> +<p> +“It's the way I heerd her talking that shows me,” replied the other. +“Whenever she 's really about to leave a place she goes into them fits of +laughing and crying and screaming one minute, and a-whimpering the next; +and then she tells the people—as it were, unknownst to her—how +she hated them all,—how stingy they was,—the shameful way they +starved the servants, and such-like. There's some as won't let her into +their houses by reason of them fits, for she'll plump out everything she +knows of a family,—who ran away with the Misses, and why the second +daughter went over to France.” + </p> +<p> +“You know her better than me, Breggis.” + </p> +<p> +“I do think I does; it's eight years I 've had of it. Eh, what's that,—was +n't that a screech?” and as he spoke a wild shrill scream resounded +through the house, followed by a rapid succession of notes that might +either have been laughter or crying. +</p> +<p> +Sewell drew the curtain; and wheeling an arm-chair to the fireside, lit +his cigar, and began to smoke. +</p> +<p> +The house was so small that the noises could be heard easily in every part +of it; and for a time the rapid passage of persons overhead, and the +voices of many speaking together, could be detected, and, above these, a +wild shriek would now and then rise above all, and ring through the house. +Sewell smoked on undisturbed; it was not easy to say that he so much as +heard these sounds. His indolent attitude, and his seeming enjoyment of +his cigar, indicated perfect composure; nor even when the door opened, and +his wife entered the room, did he turn his head to see who it was. +</p> +<p> +“Can William have the pony to go into town?” asked she, in a +half-submissive voice. +</p> +<p> +“For what?” + </p> +<p> +“To tell Dr. Tobin to come out; Lady Trafford is taken ill.” + </p> +<p> +“He can go on foot; I may want the pony.” + </p> +<p> +“She is alarmingly ill, I fear,—very violent spasms; and I don't +think there is any time to be lost.” + </p> +<p> +“Nobody that makes such a row as that can be in any real danger.” + </p> +<p> +“She is in great pain, at all events.” + </p> +<p> +“Send one of her own people,—despatch one of the postboys,—do +what you like, only don't bore <i>me</i>.” + </p> +<p> +She was turning to leave the room, when he called out, “I say, when the +attack came on did she take the opportunity to tell you any pleasant +little facts about yourself or your family?” She smiled faintly, and moved +towards the door. “Can't you tell me, ma'am? Has this woman been condoling +with you over your hard fate and your bad husband? or has she discovered +how that 'dear boy' upstairs broke his head as well as his heart in your +service?” + </p> +<p> +“She did ask me certainly if there was n't a great friendship between you +and her son,” said she, with a tone of quiet disdain. +</p> +<p> +“And what did you reply?” said he, throwing one leg over the arm of the +chair as he swung round to face her. +</p> +<p> +“I don't well remember. I may have said <i>you</i> liked <i>him</i>, or +that <i>he</i> liked <i>you</i>. It was such a commonplace reply I made, I +forget it.” + </p> +<p> +“And was that all that passed on the subject?” + </p> +<p> +“I think I'd better send for the doctor,” said she, and left the room +before he could stop her, though that such was his intention was evident +from the way he arose from his chair with a sudden spring. +</p> +<p> +“You shall hear more of this, Madam,—by Heaven, you shall!” muttered +he, as he paced the room with rapid steps. “Who's that? Come in,” cried +he, as a knock came to the door. “Oh, Balfour! is it you?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; what the deuce is going on upstairs? Lady Trafford appears to have +gone mad.” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed! how unpleasant!” + </p> +<p> +“Very unpleasant for your wife, I take it. She has been saying all sorts +of unmannerly things to her this last hour,—things that, if she were +n't out of her reason, she ought to be thrown out of the window for.” + </p> +<p> +“And why didn't you do so?” + </p> +<p> +“It was a liberty I couldn't think of taking in another man's house.” + </p> +<p> +“Lord love you, I'd have thought nothing of it! I'm the best-natured +fellow breathing. What was it she said?” + </p> +<p> +“I don't know how I can repeat them.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, I see, they reflect on me. My dear young friend, when you live to my +age you will learn that anything can be said to anybody, provided it only +be done by 'the third party.' Whatever the law rejects as evidence, +assumes in social life the value of friendly admonition. Go on, and tell +me who it is is in love with my wife.” + </p> +<p> +Cool as Mr. Cholmondely Balfour was, the tone of this demand staggered +him. +</p> +<p> +“Art thou the man, Balfour?” said Sewell at last, staring at him with a +mock frown. +</p> +<p> +“No, by Jove! I never presumed that far.” + </p> +<p> +“It's the sick fellow, then, is the culprit?” + </p> +<p> +“So his mother opines. She is an awful woman! I was sitting with your wife +in the small drawing-room when she burst into the room and cried out, +'Mrs. Sewell, is your name Lucy? for, if so, my son has been rambling on +about you this last hour in a wonderful way: he has told me about fifty +times that he wants to see you before he dies; and now that the doctor +says he is out of danger he never ceases talking of dying. I suppose you +have no objection to the interview; at least they tell me you were +constantly in his room before my arrival.” + </p> +<p> +“How did my wife take this?—what did she say?” asked Sewell, with an +easy smile as he spoke. +</p> +<p> +“She said something about agitation or anxiety serving to excuse conduct +which otherwise would be unpardonable; and she asked me to send her maid +to her,—as I think, to get me away.” + </p> +<p> +“Of course you rang the bell and sat down again.” + </p> +<p> +“No; she gave me a look that said, I don't want you here, and I went; but +the storm broke out again as I closed the door, and I heard Lady +Trafford's voice raised to a scream as I came downstairs.” + </p> +<p> +“It all shows what I have said over and over again,” said Sewell, slowly, +“that whenever a man has a grudge or a grievance against a woman, he ought +always to get another woman to torture her. I 'll lay you fifty pounds +Lady Traf-ford cut deeper into my wife's flesh by her two or three +impertinences than if I had stormed myself into an apoplexy.” + </p> +<p> +“And don't you mean to turn her out of the house?” + </p> +<p> +“Turn whom out?” + </p> +<p> +“Lady Trafford, of course.” + </p> +<p> +“It's not so easily done, I suspect. I'll take to the long-boat myself one +of these days, and leave her in command of the ship.” + </p> +<p> +“I tell you she's a dangerous, a very dangerous woman; she has been +ransacking her son's desk, and has come upon all sorts of ugly memoranda,—sums +lost at play, and reminders to meet bills, and such-like.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; he was very unlucky of late,” said Sewell, coldly. +</p> +<p> +“And there was something like a will, too; at least there was a packet of +trinkets tied up in a paper, which purported to be a will, but only bore +the name Lucy.” + </p> +<p> +“How delicate! there's something touching in that, Balfour; isn't there?” + said Sewell, with a grin. “How wonderfully you seem to have got up the +case! You know the whole story. How did you manage it?” + </p> +<p> +“My fellow Paxley had it from Lady Trafford's maid. She told him that her +mistress was determined to show all her son's papers to the Chief Baron, +and blow you sky high.” + </p> +<p> +“That's awkward, certainly,” said Sewell, in deep thought. “It would be a +devil of a conflagration if two such combustibles came together. I 'd +rather she 'd fight it out with my mother.” + </p> +<p> +“Have you sent in your papers to the Horse Guards?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; it's all finished. I am gazetted out, or I shall be on Tuesday.” + </p> +<p> +“I'm sorry for it. Not that it signifies much as to this registrarship. We +never intended to relinquish our right to it, we mean to throw the case +into Chancery, and we have one issue already to submit to trial at bar.” + </p> +<p> +“Who are <i>we</i> that are going to do all this?” + </p> +<p> +“The Crown,” said Balfour, haughtily. +</p> +<p> +“<i>Ego et rex meus</i>; that's the style, is it? Come now, Balfy, if you +'re for a bet, I 'll back my horse, the Chief Baron, against the field. +Give me sporting odds, for he 's aged, and must run in bandages besides.” + </p> +<p> +“That woman's coming here at this moment was most unlucky.” + </p> +<p> +“Of course it was; it would n't be <i>my</i> lot if it were anything else. +I say,” cried he, starting up, and approaching the window, “what's up +now?” + </p> +<p> +“She's going at last, I really believe.” + </p> +<p> +The sound of many and heavy footsteps was now heard descending the stairs +slowly, and immediately after two men issued from the door, carrying young +Trafford on a chair; his arms hung listlessly at his side, and his head +was supported by his servant. +</p> +<p> +“I wonder whose doing is this? Has the doctor given his concurrence to it? +How are they to get him into the coach, and what are they to do with him +when he is there?” Such was the running commentary Balfour kept up all the +time they were engaged in depositing the sick man in the carriage. Again a +long pause of inaction ensued, and at last a tap came to the door of the +room, and a servant inquired for Mr. Balfour. +</p> +<p> +“There!” cried Sewell, “it's <i>your</i> turn now. I only hope she 'll +insist on your accompanying her to town.” + </p> +<p> +Balfour hurried out, and was seen soon afterwards escorting Lady Trafford +to the carriage. Whether it was that she was not yet decided as to her +departure, or that she had so many injunctions to give before going, the +eventful moment was long delayed. She twice tried the seat in the +carriage, once with cushions and then without. She next made Balfour try +whether it might not be possible to have a sort of inclined plane to lie +upon. At length she seemed overcome with her exertions, sent for a chair, +and had a glass of water given her, to which her maid added certain drops +from a phial. +</p> +<p> +“You will tell Colonel Sewell all I have said, Mr. Balfour,” said she, +aloud, as she prepared to enter the carriage. “It would have been more +agreeable to me had he given me the opportunity of saying it to himself, +but his peculiar notions on the duties of a host have prevented this. As +to Mrs. Sewell, I hope and believe I have sufficiently explained myself. +She at least knows my sentiments as to what goes on in this house. Of +course, sir, it is very agreeable to <i>you</i>. Men of pleasure are not +persons to be overburdened with scruples,—least of all such scruples +as interfere with self-indulgence. This sort of life is therefore +charming; I leave you to all its delights, sir, and do not even warn you +against its dangers. I will not promise the same discretion, however, when +I go hence. I owe it to all mothers who have sons, Mr. Balfour,—I +owe it to every family in which there is a name to be transmitted, and a +fortune to be handed down, to declare what I have witnessed under this +roof. No, Lionel,—no, my dear boy; nothing shall prevent my speaking +out.” This was addressed to her son, who by a deep sigh seemed to protest +against the sentiments he was not able to oppose. “It may suit Mr. +Balfour's habits, or his tastes, to remain here,—with these I have +nothing to do. The Duke of Bayswater might possibly think his heir could +keep better company,—with that I have no concern; though when the +matter comes to be discussed before me,—as it one day will, I have +no doubt,—I shall hold myself free to state my opinion. Good-bye, +sir; you will, perhaps, do me the favor to call at the Bilton; I shall +remain till Saturday there; I have resolved not to leave Ireland till I +see the Viceroy; and also have a meeting with this Judge, I forget his +name, Lam—Lena—what is it? He is the Chief something, and +easily found.” + </p> +<p> +A few very energetic words, uttered so low as to be inaudible to all but +Balfour himself, closed this address. +</p> +<p> +“On my word of honor,—on my sacred word of honor,—Mr. +Balfour,” said she, aloud as she placed one foot on the step, “Caroline +saw it,—saw it with her own eyes. Don't forget all I have said; +don't drop that envelope; be sure you come to see me.” And she was gone. +</p> +<p> +“Give me five minutes to recover myself,” said Balfour, as he entered Se +well's room, and threw himself on a sofa; “such a 'breather' as that I +have not had for many a day.” + </p> +<p> +“I heard a good deal of it,” said Sewell, coolly. “She screams, +particularly when she means to be confidential; and all that about my wife +must have reached the gardener in the shrubbery. Where is she off to?” + </p> +<p> +“To Dublin. She means to see his Excellency and the Chief Baron; she says +she can't leave Ireland till she has unmasked all your wickedness.” + </p> +<p> +“She had better take a house on a lease then; did you tell her so?” + </p> +<p> +“I did nothing but listen,—I never interposed a word. Indeed, she +won't let one speak.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'd give ten pounds to see her with the Chief Baron. It would be such a +'close thing.' All his neat sparring would go for nothing against her; for +though she hits wide, she can stand a deal of punishment without feeling +it.” + </p> +<p> +“She 'll do you mischief there.” + </p> +<p> +“She might,” said he, more thoughtfully. “I think I 'll set my mother at +her; not that she 'll have a chance, but just for the fun of the thing. +What 's the letter in your hand?” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, a commission she gave me. I was to distribute this amongst your +household;” and he drew forth a banknote. “Twenty pounds! you have no +objection to it, have you?” + </p> +<p> +“I know nothing about it; of course you never hinted such a thing to me;” + and with this he arose and left the room. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0037" id="link2HCH0037"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXVII. A STORMY MOMENT +</h2> +<p> +Within a week after the first letter came a second from Cagliari. It was +but half a dozen lines from Tom himself. +</p> +<p> +“They are sending me off to a place called Maddalena, dearest Lucy, for +change of air The priest has given me his house, and I am to be Robinson +Crusoe there, with an old hag for Friday,—how I wish for you! Sir +Brook can only come over to me occasionally. Look out for three rocks—they +call them islands—off the N. E. of Sardinia; one of them is mine.—Ever +your own, +</p> +<p> +“Tom L.” + </p> +<p> +Lucy hastened down with this letter in her hand to her grandfather's room, +but met Mr. Haire on the stairs, who whispered in her ear, “Don't go in +just yet, my dear; he is out of sorts this morning; Lady Lendrick has been +here, and a number of unpleasant letters have arrived, and it is better +not to disturb him further.” + </p> +<p> +“Will you take this note,” said she, “and give it to him at any fitting +moment? I want to know what I shall reply,—I mean, I 'd like to hear +if grandpapa has any kind message to send the poor fellow.” + </p> +<p> +“Leave it with me. I 'll take charge of it, and come up to tell you when +you can see the Judge.” Thus saying, he passed on, and entered the room +where the Chief Baron was sitting. The curtains were closely drawn, and in +one of the windows the shutters were closed,—so sensitive to light +was the old man in his periods of excitement. He lay back in a deep chair, +his eyes closed, his face slightly flushed, breathing heavily, and the +fingers of one hand twitching slightly at moments; the other was held by +Beattie, as he counted the pulse. “Dip that handkerchief in the cold +lotion, and lay it over his forehead,” whispered Beattie to Haire. +</p> +<p> +“Speak out, sir; that muttering jars on my nerves, and irritates me,” said +the Judge, in a slow firm tone. +</p> +<p> +“Come,” said Beattie, cheerfully, “you are better now; the weakness has +passed off.” + </p> +<p> +“There is no weakness in the case, sir,” said the old man, sitting bolt +upright in the chair, as he grasped and supported himself by the arms. “It +is the ignoble feature of your art to be materialist. You can see nothing +in humanity but a nervous cord and a circulation.” + </p> +<p> +“The doctor's ministry goes no further,” said Beattie, gently. +</p> +<p> +“Your art is then but left-handed, sir. Where 's Haire?” + </p> +<p> +“Here, at your side,” replied Haire. +</p> +<p> +“I must finish my story, Haire. Where was it that I left off? Yes; to be +sure,—I remember now. This boy of Sewell's—Reginald Victor +Sewell—was, with my permission, to take the name of Lendrick, and be +called Reginald Victor Sewell Lendrick.” + </p> +<p> +“And become the head of your house?” + </p> +<p> +“The head of my house, and my heir. She did not say so, but she could not +mean anything short of it.” + </p> +<p> +“What has your son done to deserve this?” asked Haire, bluntly. +</p> +<p> +“My son's rights, sir, extend but to the modest fortune I inherited from +my father. Whatever other property I possess has been acquired by my own +ability and labor, and is mine to dispose of.” + </p> +<p> +“I suppose there are other rights as well as those of the statute-book?” + </p> +<p> +“Listen to this, Beattie,” cried the old Judge, with a sparkle of the eye,—“listen +to this dialectician, who discourses to me on the import of a word. It is +not generous I must say, to come down with all the vigor of his bright, +unburdened faculties upon a poor, weak, and suffering object like myself. +You might have waited, Haire, till I had at least the semblance of power +to resist you.” + </p> +<p> +“What answer did you give her?” asked Haire, bluntly. +</p> +<p> +“I said,—what it is always safe to say,—'<i>Le roi s'avisera</i>.' +Eh, Beattie? this is the grand principle of your own craft. Medicine is +very little else than 'the wisdom of waiting.' I told her,” continued he, +“I would think of it,—that I would see the child. 'He is here,' said +she, rising and leaving the room, and in a few moments returned, leading a +little boy by the hand,—a very noble-looking child, I will say, with +a lofty head and a bold brow. He met me as might a prince, and gave his +hand as though it were an honor he bestowed. What a conscious power there +is in youth! Ay, sirs, that is the real source of all the much-boasted +vigor and high-heartedness. Beattie will tell us some story of arterial +action or nervous expansion; but the mystery lies deeper. The conscious +force of a future development imparts a vigor that all the triumphs of +after life pale before.” + </p> +<p> +“'<i>Fiat justitia, ruât coelum</i>,'” said Haire,—“I'd not provide +for people out of my own family.” + </p> +<p> +“It is a very neat though literal translation, sir, and, like all that +comes from you, pointed and forcible.” + </p> +<p> +“I'd rather be fair and honest than either,” said Haire, bluntly. +</p> +<p> +“I appeal to you, Beattie, and I ask if I have deserved this;” and the old +Judge spoke with an air of such apparent sincerity as actually to impose +upon the doctor. “The sarcasms of this man push my regard for him to the +last intrenchment.” + </p> +<p> +“Haire never meant it; he never intended to reflect upon you,” said +Beattie, in a low tone. +</p> +<p> +“He knows well enough that I did not,” said Haire, half sulky; for he +thought the Chief was pushing his raillery too far. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm satisfied,” said the Judge, with a sigh. “I suppose he can't help +it. There are fencers who never believe they have touched you till they +see the blood. Be it so; and now to go back. She went away and left the +child with me, promising to take him up after paying a visit she had to +make in the neighborhood. I was not sorry to have the little fellow's +company. He was most agreeable, and, unlike Haire, he never made me his +butt. Well, I have done; I will say no more on that head. I was actually +sorry when she came to fetch him, and I believe I said so. What does that +grunt mean, Haire?” + </p> +<p> +“I did not speak.” + </p> +<p> +“No, sir; but you uttered what implied an ironical assent,—a <i>nisi +prius</i> trick,—like the leer I have seen you bestow upon the +jury-box. How hard it is for the cunning man to divest himself of the +subtlety of his calling!” + </p> +<p> +“I want to hear how it all ended,” muttered Haire. +</p> +<p> +“You shall hear, sir, if you will vouchsafe me a little patience. When men +are in the full vigor of their faculties, they should be tolerant to those +footsore and weary travellers who, like myself, halt behind and delay the +march. But bear in mind, Haire, I was not always thus. There was a time +when I walked in the van. Ay, sir, and bore myself bravely too. I was +talking with that child when they announced Mr. Balfour, the private +secretary, a man most distasteful to me; but I told them to show him in, +curious, indeed, to hear what new form of compromise they were about to +propose to me. He had come with a secret and confidential message from the +Viceroy, and really seemed distressed at having to speak before a child of +six years old, so mysterious and reserved was he. He made a very long +story of it,—full an hour; but the substance was this: The Crown had +been advised to dispute my right of appointment to the registrarship, and +to make a case for a jury; but—mark the 'but'—in consideration +for my high name and great services, and in deference to what I might be +supposed to feel from an open collision with the Government, they were +still willing for an accommodation, and would consent to ratify any +appointment I should make, other than that of the gentleman I had already +named,—Colonel Sewell. +</p> +<p> +“Self-control is not exactly the quality for which my friends give me most +credit. Haire, there, will tell you I am a man of ungovernable temper, and +who never even tried to curb his passion; but I would hope there is some +injustice in this award. I became a perfect dove in gentleness, as I asked +Balfour for the reasons which compelled his Excellency to make my +stepson's exclusion from office a condition. 'I am not at liberty to state +them,' was the cool reply. 'They are personal, and, of course, delicate?' +asked I, in a tone of submission, and he gave a half assent in silence. I +concurred,—that is, I yielded the point. I went even further. I +hinted, vaguely of course, at the courteous reserve by which his +Excellency was willing to spare me such pain as an unpleasant disclosure—if +there were such—might occasion me. I added, that old men are not +good subjects for shocks; and I will say, sirs, that he looked at me as I +spoke with a compassionate pity which won all my gratitude! Ay, Beattie, +and though my veins swelled at the temples, and I felt a strange rushing +sound in my ears, I had no fit, and in a moment or two was as calm as I am +this instant. +</p> +<p> +“'Let me be clear upon this point,' said I to him. 'I am to nominate to +the office any one except Sewell, and you will confirm such nomination?' +'Precisely,' replied he. 'Such act on my part in no way to prejudice +whatever claim I lay to the appointment in perpetuity, or jeopardize any +rights I now assert?' 'Certainly not,' said he. 'Write it,' said I, +pushing towards him a pen and paper; and so overjoyed was he with his +victorious negotiation that he wrote word for word as I dictated. When I +came to the name Sewell, I added, 'To whose nomination his Excellency +demurs, on grounds of character and conduct sufficient in his Excellency's +estimation to warrant such exclusion; but which, out of deference to the +Chief Baron's feelings, are not set forth in this negotiation.' 'Is this +necessary?' asked he, as he finished writing. 'It is,' was my reply; 'put +your name at foot, and the date;' and he did so. +</p> +<p> +“I now read over the whole aloud; he winced at the concluding lines, and +said, 'I had rather, with your permission, erase these last words; for +though I know the whole story, and believe it too, there 's no occasion +for entering upon it here.' +</p> +<p> +“As he spoke, I folded the paper and placed it in my pocket. 'Now, sir,' +said I, 'let <i>me</i> hear the story you speak of.' 'I cannot. I told you +before I was not at liberty to repeat it.' I insisted, and he refused. +There was a positive altercation between us and he raised his voice in +anger, and demanded back from me the paper which he said I had tricked him +into writing. I will not say that he meant to use force, but he sprang +from his chair and came towards me with such an air of menace that the +boy, who was playing in the corner, rushed at him and struck him with his +drumstick, saying, 'You sha'n't beat grandpapa!' I believe I rang the +bell; yes, I rang the bell sharply. The child was crying when they came. I +was confused and flurried. Balfour was gone.” + </p> +<p> +“And the paper?” asked Haire. +</p> +<p> +“The paper is here, sir,” said he, touching his breastpocket. “The country +shall ring with it, or such submission shall I exact as will bring that +Viceroy and his minions to my feet in abject contrition. Were you to ask +me now, I know not what terms I would accept of.” + </p> +<p> +“I would rather you said no more at present,” said Beattie. “You need rest +and quietness.” + </p> +<p> +“I need reparation and satisfaction, sir; that is what I need.” + </p> +<p> +“Of course—of course; but you must be strong and well to enforce +it,” said Beattie. +</p> +<p> +“I told Lady Lendrick to leave the child with me. She said she would bring +him back to-morrow. I like the boy. What does my pulse say, Beattie?” + </p> +<p> +“It says that all this talking and agitation are injurious to you,—that +you must be left alone.” + </p> +<p> +The old man sighed faintly, but did not speak. +</p> +<p> +“Haire and I will take a turn in the garden, and be within call if you +want us,” said Beattie. +</p> +<p> +“Wait a moment,—what was it I had to say? You are too abrupt, +Beattie; you snap the cords of thought by such rough handling, and we old +men lose our dexterous knack of catching the loose ends, as we once did. +There, there—leave me now; the skein is all tangled in hopeless +confusion.” He waved his hand in farewell, and they left him. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0038" id="link2HCH0038"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXVIII. A LADY'S LETTER +</h2> +<p> +“Lucy asked me to show him this note from her brother,” said Haire, as he +strolled with Beattie down the lawn. “It was no time to do so. Look over +it and say what you advise.” + </p> +<p> +“The boy wants a nurse, not a doctor,” said Beattie. “A little care and +generous diet would soon bring him round; but they are a strange race, +these Lendricks. They have all the stern qualities that brave danger, and +they are terribly sensitive to some small wound to their self-love. Let +that young fellow, for instance, only begin to feel that he is forgotten +or an outcast, and he 'll droop at once. A few kind words, and a voice he +loved, <i>now</i>, will do more than all my art could replace a little +later.” + </p> +<p> +“You mean that we ought to have him back here?” asked Haire, bluntly. +</p> +<p> +“I mean that he ought to be where he can be carefully and kindly treated.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll tell the Chief you think so. I 'll say that you dropped the remark +to myself, of course,—never meaning to dictate anything to <i>him</i>.” + </p> +<p> +Beattie shook his head in sign of doubt. +</p> +<p> +“I know him well, better perhaps than any one, and I know there's no more +generous man breathing; but he must not be coerced,—he must not be +even influenced, where the question be one for a decision. As he said to +me one day, 'I want the evidence, sir, I don't want your speech to it.'” + </p> +<p> +“There 's the evidence, then,” said Beattie,—“that note with its +wavering letters, weak and uncertain as the fingers that traced them,—show +him that. Say, if you like, that <i>I</i> read it and thought the lad's +case critical. If, after that, he wishes to talk to me on the subject, I +'m ready to state my opinion. If the boy be like his father, a few tender +words and a little show of interest for him will be worth all the tonics +that ever were brewed.” + </p> +<p> +“It's the grandfather's nature too; but the world has never known it,—probably +never will know it,” said Haire. +</p> +<p> +“In that I agree with you,” said Beattie, dryly. +</p> +<p> +“He regards it as a sort of weakness when people discover any act of +generosity or any trait of kindliness about him; and do you know,” added +he, confidentially, “I have often thought that what the world regarded as +irritability and sharpness was nothing more nor less than shyness,—just +shyness.” + </p> +<p> +“I certainly never suspected that he was the victim of that quality.” + </p> +<p> +“No, I imagine not. A man must know him as I do to-understand it. I +remember one day, long, long ago, I went so far as to throw out a half +hint that I thought he labored under this defect; he only smiled and said, +'You suspect me of diffidence. I am diffident,—no man more so, sir; +but it is of the good or great qualities in other men.' Was n't that a +strange reply? I never very clearly understood it,—do you?” + </p> +<p> +“I suspect I do; but here comes a message to us.” + </p> +<p> +Haire spoke a word with the servant, and then, turning: to Beattie, said: +“He wants to see me. I 'll just step in, and be back in a moment.” + </p> +<p> +Beattie promised not to leave till he returned, and strolled along by the +side of a little brook which meandered tastefully through the greensward. +He had fallen into a revery,—a curious inquiry within himself +whether it were a boon or an evil for a man to have acquired that sort of +influence over another mind which makes his every act and word seem +praiseworthy and excellent. “I wonder is the Chief the better or the worse +for this indiscriminating attachment? Does it suggest a standard to attain +to, or does it merely minister to self-love and conceit? Which is it? +which is it?” cried he, aloud, as he stood and gazed on the rippling +rivulet beside him. +</p> +<p> +“Shall I tell you?” said a low, sweet voice; and Lucy Lendrick slipped her +arm within his as she spoke,—“shall I tell you, doctor?” + </p> +<p> +“Do, by all means.” + </p> +<p> +“A little of both, I opine. Mind,” said she, laughing, “I have not the +vaguest notion of what you were balancing in your mind, but somehow I +suspect unmixed good or evil is very rare, and I take my stand on a +compromise. Am I right?” + </p> +<p> +“I scarcely know, but I can't submit the case to you. I have an +old-fashioned prejudice against letting young people judge their seniors. +Let us talk of something else. What shall it be?” + </p> +<p> +“I want to talk to you of Tom.” + </p> +<p> +“I have just been speaking to Haire about him. We must get him back here, +Lucy,—we really must.” + </p> +<p> +“Do you mean here, in this house, doctor?” + </p> +<p> +“Here, in this house. Come, don't shake your head, Lucy. I see the +necessity for it on grounds you know nothing of. Lady Lendrick is +surrounding your grandfather with her family, and I want Tom back here +just that the Chief should see what a thorough Lendrick he is. If your +grandfather only knew the stuff that's in him, he 'd be prouder of him +than of all his own successes.” + </p> +<p> +“No, no, no,—a thousand times no, doctor! It would never do,—believe +me, it would never do. There are things which a girl may submit to in +quiet obedience, which in a man would require subserviency. The Sewells, +too, are to be here on Saturday, and who is to say what that may bring +forth?” + </p> +<p> +“She wrote to you,” said the doctor, with a peculiar significance in his +voice. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, a strange sort of note too; I almost wish I could show it to you,—I +'d so like to hear what you 'd say of the spirit of the writer.” + </p> +<p> +“She told me she would write,” said he again, with a more marked meaning +in his manner. +</p> +<p> +“You shall see it,” said she, resolutely; “here it is;” and she drew forth +the letter and handed it to him. For an instant she seemed as if about to +speak, but suddenly, as if changing her mind, she merely murmured, “Read +it, and tell me what you think of it.” The note ran thus:— +</p> +<p> +“My dearest Lucy,—We are to meet to-morrow, and I hope and trust to +meet like sisters who love each other. Let me make one brief explanation +before that moment arrives. I cannot tell what rumors may have reached you +of all that has happened here. I know nothing of what people say, nor have +I the faintest idea how our life may have been represented. If you knew me +longer and better, you would know that I neither make this ignorance +matter of complaint nor regret. I have lived about long enough to take the +world at its just value, and not to make its judgments of such importance +as can impair my self-esteem and my comfort. It would, however, have been +agreeable to me to have known what you may have heard of me—of us—as +it is not impossible I might have felt the necessity to add something,—to +correct something,—perhaps to deny something. I am now in the dark, +and pray forgive me if I stumble rudely against you, where I only meant to +salute you courteously. +</p> +<p> +“You at least know the great disaster which befell here. Dr. Beattie has +told you the story,—what more he may have said I cannot guess. If I +were to wait for our meeting, I should not have to ask you. I should read +it in your face, and hear it in every accent of your voice; but I write +these few lines that you may know me at once in all frankness and +openness, and know that if <i>you</i> be innocent of <i>my</i> secret, <i>I</i> +at least have <i>yours</i> in my keeping. Yes, Lucy, I know all; and when +I say all, I mean far more than you yourself know. +</p> +<p> +“If I were treacherous, I would not make this avowal to you. I should be +satisfied with the advantage I possessed, and employ it to my benefit. +Perhaps with any other woman than yourself I should play this part,—with +you I neither can nor will. I will declare to you frankly and at once, you +have lost the game and I have won it. That I say this thus briefly, is +because in amplifying I should seem to be attempting to explain what there +is no explaining. That I say it in no triumph, my own conscious +inferiority to you is the best guarantee. I never would have dreamed of a +rivalry had I been a girl. It is because I cannot claim the prize I have +won it. It is because my victory is my misery I have gained it. I think I +know your nature well enough to know that you will bear me no ill-will. I +even go so far as to believe I shall have your compassion and your +sympathy. I need them more, far more, than you know of. I could tell you +that had matters fallen out differently it would not have been to <i>your</i> +advantage, for there were obstacles—family obstacles—perfectly +insurmountable. This is no pretence: on my honor I pledge to the truth of +what I say. So long as I believed they might be overcome, I was in <i>your</i> +interest, Lucy. You will not believe me, will you, if I swear it? Will you +if I declare it on my knees before you? +</p> +<p> +“If I have not waited till we met to say these things, it is that we may +meet with open hearts, in sorrow, but in sincerity. When I have told you +everything, you will see that I have not been to blame. There may be much +to grieve over, but there is nothing to reprehend—anywhere. And now, +how is our future to be? It is for you to decide. I have not wronged you, +and yet I am asking for forgiveness. Can you give me your love, and what I +need as much, your pity? Can you forget your smaller affliction for the +sake of my heavier one, for it is heavier? +</p> +<p> +“I plead guilty to one only treachery; and this I stooped to, to avoid the +shame and disgrace of an open scandal. I told his mother that, though Lucy +was my name, it was yours also; and that you were the Lucy of all his +feverish wanderings. Your woman's heart will pardon me this one perfidy. +</p> +<p> +“She is a very dangerous woman in one sense. She has a certain position in +the world, from which she could and would open a fire of slander on any +one. She desires to injure me. She has already threatened, and she is +capable of more than threatening. She says she will see Sir William. This +she may not be able to do; but she can write to him. You know better than +I do what might ensue from two such tempers meeting; for myself I cannot +think of it. +</p> +<p> +“I have written you a long letter, dear Lucy, when I only meant to have +written five or six lines. I have not courage to read it over; were I to +do so, I am sure I would never send it. Perhaps you will not thank me for +my candor. Perhaps you will laugh at all my scrupulous honesty. Perhaps +you will—no, that you never will—I mean, employ my +trustfulness against myself. +</p> +<p> +“Who knows if I have not given to this incident an importance which you +will only smile at? There are people so rich that they never are aware if +they be robbed. Are you one of these, Lucy? and, if so, will you forgive +the thief who signs herself your ever-loving sister, +</p> +<p> +“Lucy Skwell. +</p> +<p> +“I have told Dr. Beattie I would write to you; he looked as if he knew +that I might, or that I ought,—which is it? Doctors see a great deal +more than they ought to see. The great security against them is, that they +acquire an indifference to the sight of suffering, which, in rendering +them callous, destroys curiosity, and then all ills that can neither be +bled nor blistered they treat as trifles, and end by ignoring altogether. +Were it otherwise,—that is, had they any touch of humanity in their +nature,—they would be charming confidants, for they know everything +and can go everywhere. If Beattie should be one of your pets, I ask pardon +for this impertinence; but don't forget it altogether, as, one day or +other, you will be certain to acknowledge its truth. +</p> +<p> +“We arrive by the 4.40 train on Saturday afternoon. If I see you at the +door when we drive up, I shall take it as a sign I am forgiven.” + </p> +<p> +Beattie folded the letter slowly, and handed it to Lucy without a word. +“Tell me,” said he, after they had walked on several seconds in silence,—“tell +me, do you mean to-be at the door as she arrives?” + </p> +<p> +“I think not,” said she, in a very low voice. +</p> +<p> +“She has a humble estimate of doctors; but there is one touch of nature +she must not deny them,—they are very sensitive about contagion. +Now, Lucy, I wish with all my heart that you were not to be the intimate +associate of this woman.” + </p> +<p> +“So do I, doctor; but how is it to be helped?” + </p> +<p> +He walked along silent and in deep thought. +</p> +<p> +“Shall I tell you, doctor, how it can be managed, but only by your help +and assistance? I must leave this.” + </p> +<p> +“Leave the Priory! but for where?” + </p> +<p> +“I shall go and nurse Tom: he needs <i>me</i>, doctor, and I believe I +need <i>him</i>; that is, I yearn after that old companionship which made +all my life till I came here—Come now, don't oppose this plan; it is +only by your hearty aid it can ever be carried out. When you have told +grandpapa that the thought is a good one, the battle will be more than +half won. You see yourself I ought not to be here.” + </p> +<p> +“Certainly not here with Mrs. Sewell; but there comes the grave difficulty +of how you are to be lodged and cared for in that wild country where your +brother lives?” + </p> +<p> +“My dear doctor, I have never known pampering till I came here. Our life +at home—and was it not happy!—was of the very simplest. To go +back again to the same humble ways will be like a renewal of the happy +past; and then Tom and I suit each other so well,—our very caprices +are kindred. Do say you like this notion, and tell me you will forward +it.” + </p> +<p> +“The very journey is an immense difficulty.” + </p> +<p> +“Not a bit, doctor; I have planned it all. From this to Marseilles is easy +enough,—only forty hours; once there, I either go direct to +Cagliari, or catch the Sardinian steamer at Genoa—” + </p> +<p> +“You talk of these places as if they were all old acquaintances; but, my +dear child, only fancy yourself alone in a foreign city. I don't speak of +the difficulties of a new language.” + </p> +<p> +“You might, though, my dear doctor. My French and Italian, which carry me +on pleasantly enough with Racine and Ariosto, will expose me sadly with my +'commissionnaire.'” + </p> +<p> +“But quite alone you cannot go,—that's certain.” + </p> +<p> +“I must not take a maid, that's as certain; Tom would only send us both +back again. If you insist, and if grandpapa insists upon it, I will take +old Nicholas. He thinks it a great hardship that he has not been carried +away over seas to see the great world; and all his whims and tempers that +tortured us as children will only amuse us now; his very tyranny will be +good fun.” + </p> +<p> +“I declare frankly,” said the doctor, laughing, “I do not see how the +difficulties of foreign travel are to be lessened by the presence of old +Nicholas; but are you serious in all this?” + </p> +<p> +“Perfectly serious, and fully determined on it, if I be permitted.” + </p> +<p> +“When would you go?” + </p> +<p> +“At once! I mean as soon as possible. The Sewells are to be here on +Saturday. I would leave on Friday evening by the mail-train from London. I +would telegraph to Tom to say on what day he might expect me.” + </p> +<p> +“To-day is Tuesday; is it possible you could be ready?” + </p> +<p> +“I would start to-night, doctor, if you only obtain my leave.” + </p> +<p> +“It is all a matter of the merest chance how your grandfather will take +it,” said Beattie, musing. +</p> +<p> +“But <i>you</i> approve? tell me you approve of it.” + </p> +<p> +“There is certainly much in the project that I like. I cannot bear to +think of your living here with the Sewells; my experience of them is very +brief, but it has taught me to know there could be no worse companionship +for you; but as these are things that cannot be spoken of to the Chief, +let us see by what arguments we should approach him. I will go at once. +Haire is with him, and he is sure to see that what I suggest has come from +you. If it should be the difficulty of the journey your grandfather +objects to, Lucy, I will go as far as Marseilles with you myself, and see +you safely embarked before I leave you.” + </p> +<p> +She took his hand and kissed it twice, but was not able to utter a word. +</p> +<p> +“There, now, my dear child, don't agitate yourself; you need all your calm +and all your courage. Loiter about here till I come to you, and it shall +not be long.” + </p> +<p> +“What a true, kind friend you are!” said she, as her eyes grew dim with +tears. “I am more anxious about this than I like to own, perhaps. Will +you, if you bring me good tidings, make me a signal with your +handkerchief?” + </p> +<p> +He promised this, and left her. +</p> +<p> +Lucy sat down under a large elm-tree, resolving to wait there patiently +for his return; but her fevered anxiety was such that she could not rest +in one place, and was forced to rise and walk rapidly up and down. She +imagined to herself the interview, and fancied she heard her grandfather's +stern question,—whether she were not satisfied with her home? What +could he do more for her comfort or happiness than he had done? Oh, if he +were to accuse her of ingratitude, how should she bear it? Whatever +irritability he might display towards others, to herself he had always +been kind and thoughtful and courteous. +</p> +<p> +She really loved him, and liked his companionship, and she felt that if in +leaving him she should consign him to solitude and loneliness, she could +scarcely bring herself to go; but he was now to be surrounded with others, +and if they were not altogether suited to him by taste or habit, they +would, even for their own sakes, try to conform to his ways and likings. +</p> +<p> +Once more she bethought her of the discussion, and how it was faring. Had +her grandfather suffered Beattie to state the case fully, and say all that +he might in its favor? or had he, as was sometimes his wont, stopped him +short with a peremptory command to desist? And then what part had Haire +taken? Haire, for whose intelligence the old Judge entertained the lowest +possible estimate, had somehow an immense influence over him, just as +instincts are seen too strong for reason. Some traces of boyish +intercourse yet survived and swayed his mind with his consciousness of its +power. +</p> +<p> +“How long it seems!” murmured she. “Does this delay augur ill for success, +or is it that they are talking over the details of the plan? Oh, if I +could be sure of that! My poor dear Tom, how I long to be near you—to +care for you—and watch you!” and as she said this, a cold sickness +came over her, and she muttered aloud: “What perfidy it all is! As if I +was not thinking of myself, and my own sorrows, while I try to believe I +am but thinking of my brother.” And now her tears streamed fast down her +cheeks, and her heart felt as if it would burst. “It must be an hour since +he left this,” said she, looking towards the house, where all was still +and motionless. “It is not possible that they are yet deliberating. +Grandpapa is never long in coming to a decision. Surely all has been +determined on before this, and why does he not come and relieve me from my +miserable uncertainty?” + </p> +<p> +At last the hall door opened, and Haire appeared; he beckoned to her with +his hand to come, and then re-entered the house. Lucy knew not what to +think of this, and she could scarcely drag her steps along as she tried to +hasten back. As she entered the hall, Haire met her, and, taking her hand +cordially, said, “It is all right; only be calm, and don't agitate him. +Come in now;” and with this she found herself in the room where the old +Judge was sitting, his eyes closed and his whole attitude betokening +sleep. Beattie sat at his side, and held one hand in his own. Lucy knelt +down and pressed her lips to the other hand, which hung over the arm of +the chair. Gently drawing away the hand, the old man laid it on her head, +and in a low faint voice said: “I must not look at you, Lucy, or I shall +recall my pledge. You are going away!” + </p> +<p> +The young girl turned her tearful eyes towards him, and held her lips +firmly closed to repress a sob, while her cheeks trembled with emotion. +</p> +<p> +“Beattie tells me you are right,” continued he, with a sigh; and then, +with a sort of aroused energy, he added; “But old age, amongst its other +infirmities, fancies that right should yield to years. '<i>Ce sont les +droits de la decrepitude</i>,' as La Rochefoucauld calls them. I will not +insist upon my 'royalties,' Lucy, this time. You shall go to your +brother.” His hand trembled as it lay on her head, and then fell heavily +to his side. Lucy clasped it eagerly, and pressed it to her cheek, and all +was silent for some seconds in the room. +</p> +<p> +At last the old man spoke, and it was now in a clear distinct voice, +though weak. “Beattie will tell you everything, Lucy; he has all my +instructions. Let him now have yours. To-morrow we shall, both of us, be +calmer, and can talk over all together. To-morrow will be Thursday?” + </p> +<p> +“Wednesday, grandpapa.” + </p> +<p> +“Wednesday,—all the better, my dear child; another day gained. I +say, Beattie,” cried he in a louder tone, “I cannot have fallen into the +pitiable condition the newspapers describe, or I could never have gained +this victory over my selfishness. Come, sir, be frank enough to own that +where a man combats himself, he asserts his identity. Haire will go out +and give that as his own,” muttered he; and as he smiled, he lay back, his +breathing grew heavier and longer, and he sank into a quiet sleep. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0039" id="link2HCH0039"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXIX. SOME CONJUGAL COURTESIES +</h2> +<p> +“You have not told me what she wrote to you,” said Sewell to his wife, as +he smoked his cigar at one side of the fire while she read a novel at the +other. It was to be their last evening at the Nest; on the morrow they +were to leave it for the Priory. “Were there any secrets in it, or were +there allusions that I ought not to see?” + </p> +<p> +“Not that I remember,” said she, carelessly. +</p> +<p> +“What about our coming? Does the old man seem to wish for it?—how +does she herself take it?” + </p> +<p> +“She says nothing on the subject, beyond her regret at not being there to +meet us.” + </p> +<p> +“And why can't she?—where will she be?” + </p> +<p> +“At sea, probably, by that time. She goes off to Sardinia to her brother.” + </p> +<p> +“What! do you mean to that fellow who is living with Fossbrooke? Why did +n't you tell me this before?” + </p> +<p> +“I don't think I remembered it; or, if I did, it's possible I thought it +could not have much interest for you.” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed, Madam! do you imagine that the only things I care for are the +movements of <i>your</i> admirers? Where 's this letter? I 'd like to see +it.” + </p> +<p> +“I tore it up. She begged me to do so when I had read it.” + </p> +<p> +“How honorable! I declare you ladies conduct your intercourse with an +integrity that would be positively charming to think of if only your male +friends were admitted to any share of the fair dealing. Tell me so much as +you can remember of this letter.” + </p> +<p> +“She spoke of her brother having had a fever, and being now better, but so +weak and reduced as to require great care and attention, and obliged to +remove for change of air to a small island off the coast.” + </p> +<p> +“And Fossbrooke,—does she mention <i>him?</i>” + </p> +<p> +“Only that he is not with her brother, except occasionally: his business +detains him near Cagliari.” + </p> +<p> +“I hope it may continue to detain him there! Has this-young woman gone off +all alone on this journey?” + </p> +<p> +“She has taken no maid. She said it might prove inconvenient to her +brother; and has only an old family servant she calls Nicholas with her.” + </p> +<p> +“So, then, we have the house to ourselves so far. She 'll not be in a +hurry back, I take it. Anything would be better than the life she led with +her grandfather.” + </p> +<p> +“She seems sorry to part with him, and recurs three or four times to his +kindness and affection.” + </p> +<p> +“His kindness and affection! His vanity and self-love are nearer the mark. +I thought I had seen something of conceit and affectation, but that old +fellow leaves everything in that line miles behind. He is, without +exception, the greatest bore and the most insupportable bully I ever +encountered.” + </p> +<p> +“Lucy liked him.” + </p> +<p> +“She did not,—she could not. It suits you women to say these things, +because you cultivate hypocrisy so carefully that you carry on the game +with each other! How could any one, let her be ever so abject, like that +incessant homage this old man exacted,—to be obliged to be alive to +his vapid jokes and his dreary stories, to his twaddling reminiscences of +college success or House of Commons—Irish House too—triumphs? +Do you think if I wasn't a beggar I 'd go and submit myself to such a +discipline?” + </p> +<p> +To this she made no reply, and for a while there was a silence in the +room. At last he said, “<i>You'll</i> have to take up that line of +character that <i>she</i> acted. <i>You'll</i> have to 'swing the incense' +now. I'll be shot if <i>I</i> do.” + </p> +<p> +She gave no answer, and he went on: “You 'll have to train the brats too +to salute him, and kiss his hand and call him—what are they to call +him—grandpapa? Yes, they must say grandpapa. How I wish I had not +sent in my papers! If I had only imagined I could have planted you all +here, I could have gone back to my regiment and served out my time.” + </p> +<p> +“It might have been better,” said she, in a low voice. +</p> +<p> +“Of course it would have been better; each of us would have been free, and +there are few people, be it said, take more out of their freedom,—eh, +Madam?” + </p> +<p> +She shrugged her shoulders carelessly, but a slight, a very slight, flush +colored her cheek. +</p> +<p> +“By the way, now we're on that subject, have you answered Lady Trafford's +letter?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes,” said she; and now her cheek grew crimson. +</p> +<p> +“And what answer did you send?” + </p> +<p> +“I sent back everything.” + </p> +<p> +“What do you mean?—your rings and trinkets, the bracelet with the +hair—mine, of course,—it could be no one's but mine.” + </p> +<p> +“All, everything,” said she, with a gulp. +</p> +<p> +“I must read the old woman's letter over again. You have n't burnt <i>that</i>, +I hope?” + </p> +<p> +“No; it's upstairs in my writing-desk.” + </p> +<p> +“I declare,” said he, rising and standing with his back to the fire, “you +women, and especially fine ladies, say things to each other that men never +would dare to utter to other men. That old dame, for instance, charged you +with what we male creatures have no equivalent for,—cheating at play +would be mild in comparison.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't think that <i>you</i> escaped scot-free,” said she, with an +intense bitterness, though her tone was studiously subdued and low. +</p> +<p> +“No,” said he, with a jeering laugh. “I figured as the accessory or +accomplice, or whatever the law calls it. I was what polite French ladies +call <i>le mari complaisant</i>,—a part I am so perfect in, Madam, +that I almost think I ought to play it for my Benefit.' What do you say?” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, sir, it is not for me to pass an opinion on your abilities.” + </p> +<p> +“I have less bashfulness,” said he, fiercely. “I 'll venture to say a word +on <i>yours</i>. I 've told you scores of times—I told you in India, +I told you at the Cape, I told you when we were quarantined at Trieste, +and I tell you now—that you never really captivated any man much +under seventy. When they are tottering on to the grave, bald, blear-eyed, +and deaf, you are perfectly irresistible; and I wish—really I say it +in all good faith—you would limit the sphere of your fascinations to +such very frail humanities. Trafford only became spooney after that smash +on the skull; as he grew better, he threw off his delusions,—did n't +he?” + </p> +<p> +“So he told me,” said she, with perfect calm. +</p> +<p> +“By Jove! that was a great fluke of mine,” cried he, aloud. “That was a +hazard I never so much as tried. So that this fellow had made some sort of +a declaration to you?” + </p> +<p> +“I never said so.” + </p> +<p> +“What was it then that you <i>did</i> say, Madam? Let us understand each +other clearly.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, I am sure we need no explanations for that,” said she, rising, and +moving towards the door. +</p> +<p> +“I want to hear about this before you go,” said he, standing between her +and the door. +</p> +<p> +“You are not going to pretend jealousy, are you?” said she, with an easy +laugh. +</p> +<p> +“I should think not,” said he, insolently. “That is about one of the last +cares will ever rob me of my rest at night. I 'd like to know, however, +what pretext I have to send a ball through your young friend.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, as to that peril, it will not rob <i>me</i> of a night's rest,” said +she, with such a look of scorn and contempt as seemed actually to sicken +him, for he staggered back as though about to fall and she passed out ere +he could recover himself. +</p> +<p> +“It is to be no quarter between us then! Well, be it so,” cried he, as he +sank heavily into a seat. “She's playing a bold game when she goes thus +far.” He leaned his head on the table, and sat thus so long that he +appeared to have fallen asleep; indeed, the servant who came to tell him +that tea was served, feared to disturb him, and retired without speaking. +Far from sleeping, however, his head was racked with a maddening pain, and +he kept on muttering to himself, “This is the second time—the second +time she has taunted me with cowardice. Let her beware! Is there no one +will warn her against what she is doing?” + </p> +<p> +“Missis says, please, sir, won't you have a cup of tea?” said the maid +timidly at the door. +</p> +<p> +“No; I'll not take any.” + </p> +<p> +“Missis says too, sir, that Miss Blanche is tuk poorly, and has a +shiverin' over her, and a bad headache, and she hopes you 'll send in for +Dr. Tobin.” + </p> +<p> +“Is she in bed?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir, please.” + </p> +<p> +“I'll go up and see her;” and with this he arose and passed up the little +stair that led to the nursery. In one bed a little dark-haired girl of +about three years old lay fast asleep; in the adjoining bed a bright +blue-eyed child of two years or less lay wide awake, her cheeks crimson, +and the expression of her features anxious and excited. Her mother was +bathing her temples with cold water as Sewell entered, and was talking in +a voice of kind and gentle meaning to the child. +</p> +<p> +“That stupid woman of yours said it was Blanche,” said Sewell, pettishly, +as he gazed at the little girl. +</p> +<p> +“I told her it was Cary; she has been heavy all day, and eaten nothing. +No, pet,—no, darling,” said she, stooping over the sick child, “pa +is not angry; he is only sorry that little Cary is ill.” + </p> +<p> +“I suppose you'd better have Tobin to see her,” said he, coldly. “I 'll +tell George to take the tax-cart and fetch him out. It's well it was n't +Blanche,” muttered he, as he sauntered out of the room. His wife's eyes +followed him as he went, and never did a human face exhibit a stronger +show of repressed passion than hers, as, with closely compressed lips and +staring eyes, she watched him as he passed out. +</p> +<p> +“The fool frightened me,—she said it was Blanche,” were the words he +continued to mutter as he went down the stairs. +</p> +<p> +Tobin arrived in due time, and pronounced the case not serious,—a +mere feverish attack that only required a day or two of care and +treatment. +</p> +<p> +“Have you seen Colonel Sewell?” said Mrs. Sewell, as she accompanied the +doctor downstairs. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; I told him just what I 've said to you.” + </p> +<p> +“And what reply did he make?” + </p> +<p> +“He said, 'All right! I have business in town, and must start to-morrow. +My wife and the chicks can follow by the end of the week.'” + </p> +<p> +“It's so like him!—so like him!” said she, as though the pent-up +passion could no longer be restrained. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0040" id="link2HCH0040"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XL. MR. BALFOUR'S OFFICE +</h2> +<p> +On arriving in Dublin, Sewell repaired at once to Balfour's office in the +Castle yard; he wanted to “hear the news,” and it was here that every one +went who wanted to “hear the news.” There are in all cities, but more +especially in cities of the second order, certain haunts where the men +about town repair; where, like the changing-houses of bankers, people +exchange their “credits,”—take up their own notes, and give up those +of their neighbors. +</p> +<p> +Sewell arrived before the usual time when people dropped in, and found +Balfour alone and at breakfast. The Under-Secretary's manner was dry, so +much Sewell saw as he entered; he met him as though he had seen him the +day before, and this, when men have not seen each other for some time, has +a certain significance. Nor did he ask when he had come up, nor in any way +recognize that his appearance was matter of surprise or pleasure. +</p> +<p> +“Well, what's going on here?” said Sewell, as he flung himself into an +easy-chair, and turned towards the fire. “Anything new?” + </p> +<p> +“Nothing particular. I don't suppose you care for the Cattle Show or the +Royal Irish Academy?” + </p> +<p> +“Not much,—at least, I can postpone my inquiries about them. How +about my place here? Are you going to give me trouble about it?” + </p> +<p> +“Your place,—your place?” muttered the other, once or twice; and +then, standing up with his back to the fire, and his skirts over his arms, +he went on. “Do you want to hear the truth about this affair, or are we +only to go on sparring with the gloves, eh?” + </p> +<p> +“The truth, of course, if such a novel proceeding should not be too much +of a shock to you.” + </p> +<p> +“No, I suspect not. I do a little of everything every day just to keep my +hand in.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, go on now, out with this truth.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, the truth is,—I am now speaking confidentially,—if I +were you I 'd not press my claim to that appointment,—do you +perceive?” + </p> +<p> +“I do not; but perhaps I may when you have explained yourself a little +more fully.” + </p> +<p> +“And,” continued he, in the same tone, and as though no interruption had +occurred, “that's the opinion of Halkett, and Doyle, and Jocelyn, and the +rest.” + </p> +<p> +“Confidentially, of course,” said Sewell, with a sneer so slight as not to +be detected. +</p> +<p> +“I may say confidentially, because it was at dinner we talked it over, and +we were only the household,—no guests but Byam Herries and +Barrington.” + </p> +<p> +“And you all agreed?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, there was not a dissentient voice but Jocelyn's, who said, if he +were in your place, he'd insist on having all the papers and letters given +up to him. His view is this: 'What security have I that the same charges +are not to be renewed again and again? I submit now, but am I always to +submit? Are my Indian'—(what shall I call them? I forget what he +called them; I believe it was escapades)—'my Indian escapades to +declare me unfit to hold anything under the Crown?' He said a good deal in +that strain, but we did not see it. It was hard, to be sure, but we did +not see it. As Halkett said, 'Sewell has had his innings already in India. +If, with a pretty wife and a neat turn for billiards, he did not lay by +enough to make his declining years comfortable, I must say that he was not +provident.' Doyle, however, remarked that after that affair with Loftus up +at Agra—wasn't it Agra?”—Sewell nodded—“it was n't so +easy for you to get along as many might think, and that you were a +devilish clever fellow to do what you had done. Doyle likes you, I think.” + Sewell nodded again, and, after a slight pause, Balfour proceeded: “And it +was Doyle, too, said, 'Why not try for something in the colonies? There +are lots of places a man can go and nothing be ever heard of him. If I was +Sewell, I 'd say, Make me a barrackmaster in the Sandwich Islands, or a +consul in the Caraccas.' +</p> +<p> +“They all concurred in one thing, that you never did so weak a thing in +your whole life as to have any dealings with Trafford. It was his mother +went to the Duke—ay, into the private office at the Horse Guards—and +got Clifford's appointment cancelled, just for a miserable five hundred +pounds Jack won off the elder brother,—that fellow who died last +year at Madeira. She's the most dangerous woman in Europe. She does not +care what she says, nor to whom she says it. She 'd go up to the Queen at +a drawing-room and make a complaint as soon as she 'd speak to you or me. +As it is, she told their Excellencies here all that went on in your house, +and I suppose scores of things that did not go on either, and said, 'And +are you going to permit this man to be'—she did not remember what, +but she said—'a high official under the Crown? and are you going to +receive his wife amongst your intimates?' What a woman she is! To hear her +you 'd think her 'dear child,' instead of being a strapping fellow of six +feet two, was a brat in knickerbockers, with a hat and feather. The fellow +himself must be a consummate muff to be bullied by her; but then the +estate is not entailed, they say, and there's a younger brother may come +into it all. His chances look well just now, for Lionel has got a relapse, +and the doctors think very ill of him.” + </p> +<p> +“I had not heard that,” said Sewell, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, he was getting on most favorably,—was able to sit up at the +window, and move a little about the room,—when, one morning Lady +Trafford had driven over to the Lodge to luncheon, he stepped downstairs +in his dressing-gown as he was, got into a cab, and drove off into the +country. All the cabman could tell was that he ordered him to take the +road to Rathfarnham, and said, 'I 'll tell you by and by where to;' and at +last he said, 'Where does Sir William Lendrick live?' and though the man +knew the Priory, he had taken a wrong turn and got down to ask the road. +Just at this moment a carriage drove by with two grays and a postilion—A +young lady was inside with an elderly gentleman, and the moment Trafford +saw her he cried out, 'There she is,—that is she!' As hard as they +could they hastened after; but they smashed a trace, and lost several +minutes in repairing it, and as many more in finding out which way the +carriage had taken. It was to Kingstown, and, as the cabman suspected, to +catch the packet for Holyhead; for just as they drove up, the steamer +edged away from the pier, and the carriage with the grays drove off with +only the old man, Trafford fell back in a faint, and appeared to have +continued so, for when they took him out of the cab at Bilton's he was +insensible. +</p> +<p> +“Beattie says he'll come through it, but Maclin thinks he 'll never be the +same man again; he 'll have a hardening or a softening—which is it?—of +the brain, and that he'll be fit for nothing.” + </p> +<p> +“Except a place in the viceregal household, perhaps. I don't imagine you +want gold-medallists for your gentlemen-in-waiting?” + </p> +<p> +“We have some monstrous clever fellows, let me tell you. Halkett made a +famous examination at Sandhurst, and Jocelyn wrote that article in 'Bell's +Life,' 'The Badger Drawn at Last.'” + </p> +<p> +“To come back to where we were, how are you to square matters with the +Chief Baron? Are you going to law with him about this appointment, or are +you about to say that <i>I</i> am the objection? Let me have a definite +answer to this question.” + </p> +<p> +“We have not fully decided; we think of doing either, and we sometimes +incline to do both. At all events, we are not to have it; that's the only +thing certain.” + </p> +<p> +“Have you got a cigar? No, not these things; I mean something that can be +smoked.” + </p> +<p> +“Try this,” said Balfour, offering his case. +</p> +<p> +“They 're the same as those on the chimney. I must say, Balfour, the +traditional hospitalities of the Castle are suffering in their present +hands. When I dined here the last time I was in town, they gave me two +glasses of bad sherry and one glass of a corked Gladstone; and I came to +dinner that day after reading in Barrington all about the glorious +festivities of the Irish Court in the olden days of Richmond and Bedford.” + </p> +<p> +“Lady Trafford insists that your names—your wife's as well as your +own—are to be scratched from the dinner-list. Sir Hugh has three +votes in the House, and she bullies us to some purpose, I can tell you. I +can't think how you could have made this woman so much your enemy. It is +not dislike,—it is hatred.” + </p> +<p> +“Bad luck, I suppose,” said Sewell, carelessly. +</p> +<p> +“She seems so inveterate too; she'll not give you up, very probably.” + </p> +<p> +“Women generally don't weary in this sort of pursuit.” + </p> +<p> +“Couldn't you come to some kind of terms? Couldn't you contrive to let her +know that you have no designs on her boy? You've won money of him, have +n't you?” + </p> +<p> +“I have some bills of his,—not for a very large amount, though; you +shall have them a bargain.” + </p> +<p> +“I seldom speculate,” was the dry rejoinder. +</p> +<p> +“You are right; nor is this the case to tempt you.” + </p> +<p> +“They 'll be paid, I take it?” + </p> +<p> +“Paid! I'll swear they shall!” said Sewell, fiercely. “I'll stand a deal +of humbug about dinner invitations, and cold salutations, and such-like; +but none, sir, not one, about what touches a material interest.” + </p> +<p> +“It's not worth being angry about,” said Balfour, who was really glad to +see the other's imperturbability give way. +</p> +<p> +“I'm not angry. I was only a little impatient, as a man may be when he +hears a fellow utter a truism as a measure of encouragement. Tell your +friends—I suppose I must call them your friends—that they make +an egregious mistake when they push a man like me to the wall. It is +intelligible enough in a woman to do it; women don't measure their +malignity, nor their means of gratifying it; but <i>men</i> ought to know +better.” + </p> +<p> +“I incline to think I'll tell my 'friends' nothing whatever on the +subject.” + </p> +<p> +“That's as you please; but remember this,—if the day should come +that I need any of these, details you have given me this morning, I'll +quote them, and you too, as their author; and if I bring an old house +about your ears, look out sharp for a falling chimney-pot! You gave me a +piece of advice awhile ago,” continued he, as he put on his hat before the +glass, and arranged his necktie. “Let me repay you with two, which you +will find useful in their several ways: Don't show your hand when you play +with as shrewd men as myself; and, Don't offer a friend such execrable +tobacco as that on the chimney;” and with this he nodded and strolled out, +humming an air as he crossed the Castle yard and entered the city. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0041" id="link2HCH0041"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XLI. THE PRIORY IN ITS DESERTION +</h2> +<p> +The old Judge was very sad after Lucy's departure from the Priory. While +she lived there they had not seen much of each other, it is true. They met +at meal-times, and now and then Sir William would send up the housekeeper +to announce a visit from him; but there is a sense of companionship in the +consciousness that under the same roof with you dwells one upon whose +affection you can draw, whose sympathy will be with you in your hour of +need; and this the old man now felt to be waiting; and he wandered +restlessly about the house and the garden, tenacious to see that nothing +she liked or loved was threatened with any change, and repeating to all +that she must find everything as she left it when she came back again. +</p> +<p> +Sewell had been recalled to the country by the illness of his child, and +they were not expected at the Priory for at least a week or two longer. +Haire had gone on circuit, and even Beattie the Judge only saw hurriedly +and at long intervals. With Lady Lendrick he had just had a most angry +correspondence, ending in one of those estrangements which, had they been +nations instead of individuals, would have been marked by the recall of +their several envoys, but which they were satisfied to signalize by an +order at the Priory gate-lodge not to admit her Ladyship's carriage, and +an equally determined command at Merrion Square for the porter to take in +no letters that came from the Chief Baron. +</p> +<p> +Lest the world should connect this breach with any interest in my story, I +may as well declare at once the incident had no possible bearing upon it. +It was a little episode entirely self-contained, and consisted in Lady +Lendrick having taken advantage of Sir William's illness and confinement +to house to send for and use his carriage-horses,—a liberty which he +resented by a most furious letter, to which the rejoinder begot another +infinitely more sarcastic,—the correspondence ending by a printed +notice which her Ladyship received in an envelope, that the Chief Baron's +horses would be sold on the ensuing Saturday at Dycer's to the highest +bidder, his Lordship having no further use for them. +</p> +<p> +Let me own that the old Judge was sincerely sorry when this incident was +concluded. So long as the contest lasted, while he was penning his epistle +or waiting for the reply, his excitement rallied and sustained him. He +used to sit after the despatch of one of his cutting letters calculating +with himself the terror and consternation it produced, just as the captain +of a frigate might have waited with eager expectancy that the smoke might +drift away and show him the shattered spars or the yawning bulwarks of his +enemy. But when his last missive was returned unopened, and the messenger +reported that the doctor's carriage was at her Ladyship's door as he came +away, the Judge collapsed at once, and all the dreariness of his deserted +condition closed in upon him. +</p> +<p> +Till Sewell returned to-town, Sir William resolved not to proceed farther +with respect to the registrarship. His plan, long determined upon, was to +induct him into the office, administer the oaths, and leave him to the +discharge of the duties. The scandal of displacing an official would, he +deemed, be too great a hazard for any government to risk. At all events, +if such a conflict came, it would be a great battle, and with the nation +for spectators. +</p> +<p> +“The country shall ring with it,” was the phrase he kept repeating over +and over as he strolled through his neglected garden or his leafy +shrubberies; but as he plodded along, alone and in silence, the dreary +conviction would sometimes shoot across his mind that he had run his race, +and that the world had wellnigh forgotten him. “In a few days more,” + sighed he out, “it will be over, and I shall be chronicled as the last of +them.” And for a moment it would rally him to recall the glorious names +with which he claimed companionship, and compare them—with what +disparagement!—with the celebrities of the time. +</p> +<p> +It was strange how bright the lamp of intellect would shine out as the +wick was fast sinking in the socket. His memory would revive some stormy +scene in the House, some violent altercation at the Bar, and all the fiery +eloquence of passion would recur to him, stirring his heart and warming +his blood, till he half forgot his years, and stood forth, with head erect +and swelling chest, strong with a sense of power and a whole soul full of +ambition. +</p> +<p> +“Beattie would not let me take my Circuit,” would he say. “I wish he saw +me to-day. Decaying powers! I would tell them that the Coliseum is grander +in its ruin than all their stuccoed plastering in its trim propriety. Had +he suffered me to go, the grand jury would have heard a charge such as +men's ears have not listened to since Avonmore! Avon-more! what am I +saying?—Yelverton had not half my law, nor a tenth part of my +eloquence.” + </p> +<p> +In his self-exaltation he began to investigate whether he was greater as +an advocate or as prosecutor. How difficult to decide! After all, it was +in the balance of the powers thus displayed that he was great as a judge. +He recalled the opinions of the press when he was raised to the bench, and +triumphantly asked aloud, had he not justified every hope and contradicted +every fear that was entertained of him? “Has my learning made me +intolerant, or my brilliancy led me into impatience? Has the sense of +superiority that I possess rendered me less conciliatory? Has my +'impetuous genius'—how fond they were of that phrase!—carried +me away into boundless indiscretions? and have I, as one critic said, so +concentrated the attention of the jury on myself that the evidence went +for nothing and the charge was everything?” + </p> +<p> +It was strange how these bursts of inordinate vanity and self-esteem +appeared to rally and invigorate the old man, redressing, as it were, the +balance of the world's injustice—such he felt it—towards him. +They were like a miser's hoard, to be counted and re-counted in secret +with that abiding assurance that he had wealth and riches, however others +might deem him poor. +</p> +<p> +It was out of these promptings of self-love that he drew the energetic +powers that sustained him, broken and failing and old as he was. +</p> +<p> +Carried on by his excited thoughts, he strayed away to a little mound, on +which, under a large weeping-ash, a small bench was placed, from which a +wide view extended over the surrounding country. There was a tradition of +a summer-house on the spot in Curran's day, and it was referred to more +than once in the diaries and letters of his friends; and the old Chief +loved the place, as sacred to great memories. +</p> +<p> +He had just toiled up the ascent, and gained the top, when a servant came +to present him with a card and a letter, saying that the gentleman who +gave them was then at the house. The card bore the name, “Captain +Trafford,—th Regiment.” The letter was of a few lines, and ran thus:— +</p> +<p> +“My dear Sir William,—I had promised my friend and late patient +Captain Trafford to take him over to the Priory this morning and present +him to you. A sudden call has, however, frustrated the arrangement; and as +his time is very brief, I have given him this as a credential to your +acquaintance, and I hope you will permit him to stroll through the garden +and the shrubberies, which he will accept as a great favor. I especially +beg that you will lay no burden on your own strength to become his +entertainer: he will be amply gratified by a sight of your belongings, of +which he desires to carry the memory beyond seas.—Believe me very +sincerely yours, +</p> +<p> +“J. Beattie.” + </p> +<p> +“If the gentleman who brought this will do me the favor to come up here, +say I shall be happy to see him.” + </p> +<p> +As the servant went on his message, the old man lay back on his seat, and, +closing his eyes, muttered some few dropping words, implying his +satisfaction at this act of reverential homage. “A young soldier too; it +speaks well for the service when the men of action revere the men of +thought. I am glad it is a good day with me; he shall carry away other +memories than of woods and streams. Ah! here he comes.” + </p> +<p> +Slowly, and somewhat feebly, Trafford ascended the hill, and with a most +respectful greeting approached the Judge. +</p> +<p> +“I thank you for your courtesy in coming here, sir,” said the Chief; “and +when we have rested a little, I will be your <i>Cicerone</i> back to the +house.” The conversation flowed on pleasantly between them, Sir William +asking where Traflford had served, and what length of time he had been in +Ireland,—his inquiries evidently indicating that he had not heard of +him before, or, if he had, had forgotten him. +</p> +<p> +“And now you are going to Malta?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lord; we sail on the 12th.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, sir, Valetta has no view to rival that. See what a noble sweep the +bay takes here, and mark how well the bold headlands define the limits! +Look at that stretch of yellow beach, like a golden fillet round the sea; +and then mark the rich woods waving in leafy luxuriance to the shore! +Those massive shadows are to landscape what times of silent thought are to +our moral natures. Do you like your service, sir?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lord; there is much in it that I like. I would like it all if it +were in 'activity.'” + </p> +<p> +“I have much of the soldier in myself, and the qualities by which I have +gained any distinction I have won are such as make generals,—quick +decision, rapid intelligence, prompt action.” + </p> +<p> +Traflford bowed to this pretentions summary, but did not speak. +</p> +<p> +The old Judge went on to describe what he called the military mind, +reviewing in turn the generals of note from Hannibal down to Marlborough. +“What have they left us by way of legacy, sir? The game, lost or won, +teaches us as much! Is not a letter of Cicero, is not an ode of Horace +worth it all? And as for battle-fields, it is the painter, not the +warrior, has made them celebrated. Wouvermans has done more for war than +Turenne!” + </p> +<p> +“But, my Lord, there must be a large number of men like myself who make +very tolerable soldiers, but who would turn out sorry poets or poor +advocates.” + </p> +<p> +“Give me your arm now, and I will take you round by the fish-pond and show +you where the 'Monks of the Screw' held their first meeting. You have +heard of that convivial club?” Trafiford bowed; and the Judge went on to +tell of the strange doings of those grave and thoughtful men, who-deemed +no absurdity too great in their hours of distraction and levity. When they +reached the house, the old man was so fatigued that he had to sit down in +the porch to rest. “You have seen all, sir; all I have of memorable. You +say you 'd like to see the garden, but there is not a memory connected +with it. See it, however, by all means; saunter about till I have rallied +a little, and then join me at my early dinner. I 'll send to tell you when +it is ready. I am sorry it will be such a lonely meal; but she who could +have thrown sunshine over it is gone—gone!” And he held his hands +over his face, and said no more. Trafiford moved silently away, and went +in search of the garden. He soon found the little wicket, and ere many +minutes was deep in the leafy solitude of the neglected spot. At last he +came upon the small gate in the laurel hedge, passing through which he +entered the little flower-garden. Yes, yes; there was no doubting it! This +was hers! Here were the flowers she tended; here the heavy bells from +which she emptied the rain-drops; here the tendrils her own hands had +trained! Oh, force of love, that makes the very ground holy, and gives to +every leaf and bud an abiding value! He threw himself upon the sward and +kissed it. There was a little seat under a large ilex—how often had +she sat there thinking!—could it be thinking over the days beside +the Shannon,—that delicious night they came back from Holy Island, +the happiest of all his life? Oh, if he could but believe that she loved +him! if he could only know that she did not think of him with anger and +resentment!—for she might! Who could tell what might have been said +of his life at the Sewells'? He had made a confidante of one who assumed +to misunderstand him, and who overwhelmed him with a confession of her own +misery, and declared she loved him; and this while he lay in a burning +fever, his head racked with pain, and his mind on the verge of wandering. +Was there-ever a harder fate than his? That he had forfeited the affection +of his family, that he had wrecked his worldly fortunes, seemed little in +his eyes to the danger of being thought ill of by her he loved. +</p> +<p> +His father's last letter to him had been a command to leave the army and +return home, to live there as became the expectant head of the house. “I +will have your word of honor to abandon this ignoble passion”—so he +called his love; “and in addition, your solemn pledge never to marry an +Irishwoman.” These words were, he well knew, supplied by his mother. It +had been the incessant burden of her harangues to him during the tedious +days of his recovery; and even when, on the morning of this very day, she +had been suddenly recalled to England by a severe attack of illness of her +husband, her last act before departure was to write a brief note to +Lionel, declaring that if he should not follow her within a week, she +would no longer conceive herself bound to maintain his interests against +those of his more obedient and more affectionate brother. +</p> +<p> +“Won't that help my recovery, doctor?” said he, showing the kind and +generous epistle to Beattie. “Are not these the sort of tonic stimulants +your art envies?” + </p> +<p> +Beattie shook his head in silence, and after a long pause said, “Well, +what was your reply to this?” + </p> +<p> +“Can you doubt it? Don't you know it; or don't you know <i>me?</i>” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps I guess.” + </p> +<p> +“No, but you are certain of it, doctor. The regiment is ordered to Malta, +and sails on the 12th. I go with them! Holt is a grand old place, and the +estate is a fine one; I wish my brother every luck with both. Will you do +me a favor,—a great favor?” + </p> +<p> +“If in my power, you may be certain I will. What is it?” + </p> +<p> +“Take me over to the Priory; I want to see it. You can find some pretext +to present me to the Chief Baron, and obtain his leave to wander through +the grounds.” + </p> +<p> +“I perceive—I apprehend,” said Beattie, slyly. “There is no +difficulty in this. The old Judge cherishes the belief that the spot is +little short of sacred; he only wonders why men do not come as pilgrims to +visit it. There is a tradition of Addison having lived there, while +secretary in Ireland; Curran certainly did; and a greater than either now +illustrates the locality.” + </p> +<p> +It was thus that Trafford came to be there; with what veneration for the +haunts of genius let the reader picture to himself! +</p> +<p> +“His Lordship is waiting dinner, sir,” said a servant, abruptly, as he sat +there—thinking, thinking; and he arose and followed the man to the +house. +</p> +<p> +The Chief Baron had spent the interval since they parted in preparing for +the evening's display. To have for his guest a youth so imbued with +reverence for Irish genius and ability, was no common event. Young +Englishmen and soldiers, too, were not usually of this stuff; and the +occasion to make a favorable impression was not to be lost. +</p> +<p> +When he entered the dinner-room, Trafford was struck by seeing that the +table was laid for three, though they were but two; and that on the napkin +opposite to where he sat a small bouquet of fresh flowers was placed. +</p> +<p> +“My granddaughter's place, sir,” said the old Judge, as he caught his eye. +“It is reserved for her return. May it be soon!” + </p> +<p> +How gentle the old man's voice sounded as he said this, and how kindly his +eyes beamed! Trafford thought there was something actually attractive in +his features, and wondered he had not remarked it before. +</p> +<p> +Perhaps on that day when the old Judge well knew how agreeable he was, +what stores of wit and pleasantry he was pouring forth, his convictions +assured him that his guest was charmed. It was a very pardonable delusion,—he +talked with great brilliancy and vigor. He possessed the gift—which +would really seem to be the especial gift of Irishmen of that day—to +be a perfect relater. To a story he imparted that slight dash of dramatic +situation and dialogue that made it lifelike, and yet never retarded the +interest nor prolonged the catastrophe. Acute as was his wit, his taste +was fully as conspicuous, never betraying him for an instant, so long as +his personal vanity could be kept out of view. +</p> +<p> +Trafford's eager and animated attention showed with what pleasure he +listened; and the Chief, like all men who love to talk and know they talk +well, talked all the better for the success vouchsafed to him. He even +arrived at that stage of triumph in which he felt that his guest was no +common man, and wondered if England really turned out many young fellows +of this stamp,—so well read, so just, so sensible, so keenly alive +to nice distinction, and so unerring in matters of taste. +</p> +<p> +“You were schooled at Rugby, sir, you told me; and Rugby has reason to be +proud if she can turn out such young men. I am only sorry Oxford should +not have put the fine edge on so keen an intellect.” + </p> +<p> +Trafford blushed at a compliment he felt to be so unmerited, but the old +man saw nothing of his confusion,—he was once again amongst the +great scenes and actors of his early memories. +</p> +<p> +“I hope you will spare me another day before you leave Ireland. Do you +think you could give me Saturday?” said the Chief, as his guest arose to +take leave. +</p> +<p> +“I am afraid not, my Lord; we shall be on the march by that day.” + </p> +<p> +“Old men have no claim to use the future tense, or I should ask you to +come and see me when you come back again.” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed will I. I cannot thank you enough for having asked me.” + </p> +<p> +“Why are there not more young men of that stamp?” said the old Judge, as +he looked after him as he went. “Why are they not more generally +cultivated and endowed as he is? It is long since I have found one more +congenial to me in every way. I must tell Beattie I like his friend. I +regret not to see more of him.” + </p> +<p> +It was in this strain Sir William ruminated and reflected; pretty much +like many of us, who never think our critics so just or so appreciative as +when they applaud ourselves. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0042" id="link2HCH0042"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XLII. NECESSITIES OP STATE +</h2> +<p> +It is, as regards views of life and the world, a somewhat narrowing +process to live amongst sympathizers; and it may be assumed as an axiom, +that no people so much minister to a man's littleness as those who pity +him. +</p> +<p> +Now, when Lady Lendrick separated from Sir William, she carried away with +her a large following of sympathizers. The Chief Baron was well known; his +haughty overbearing temper at the bar, his assuming attitude in public +life, his turn for sarcasm and epigram, had all contributed to raise up +for him a crowd of enemies; and these, if not individually well disposed +to Lady Lendrick, could at least look compassionately on one whose +conjugal fate had been so unfortunate. All <i>her</i> shortcomings were +lost sight of in presence of <i>his</i> enormities, for the Chief Baron's +temper was an Aaron's rod of irascibility, which devoured every other; and +when the verdict was once passed, that “no woman could live with him,” + very few women offered a word in his defence. +</p> +<p> +It is just possible that if it had not been for this weight in the +opposite scale, Lady Lendrick herself would not have stood so high. Sir +William's faults, however, were accounted to her for righteousness, and +she traded on a very pretty capital in consequence. Surrounded by a large +circle of female friends, she lived in a round of those charitable +dissipations by which some people amuse themselves; and just as dull +children learn their English history through a game, and acquire their +geography through a puzzle, these grown-up children take in their +Christianity by means of deaf and dumb bazaars, balls for blind +institutions, and private theatricals for an orphan asylum. This devotion, +made easy to the lightest disposition, is not, perhaps, a bad theory,—at +least, it does not come amiss to an age which likes to attack its gravest +ills in a playful spirit, to treat consumption with cough lozenges, and +even moderate the excesses of insanity by soft music. There is another +good feature, too, in the practice: it furnishes occupation and employment +to a large floating class which,' for the interest and comfort of society, +it is far better should be engaged in some pursuit, than left free to the +indulgence of censorious tastes and critical habits. Lady Lendrick lived a +sort of monarch amongst these. She was the patroness of this, the +secretary of that, and the corresponding member of some other society. +Never was an active intelligence more actively occupied; but she liked it +all, for she liked power, and, strange as it may seem, there is in a small +way an exercise of power even in these petty administrations. Loud, +bustling, overbearing, and meddlesome, she went everywhere, and did +everything. The only sustaining hope of those she interfered with was that +she was too capricious to persist in any system of annoyance, and was +prone to forget to-day the eternal truths she had propounded for reverence +yesterday. +</p> +<p> +I am not sure that she conciliated—I am not sure that she would have +cared for—much personal attachment; but she had what certainly she +did like, a large following of very devoted supporters. All her little +social triumphs—and occasionally she had such—were blazoned +abroad by those people who loved to dwell on the courtly attentions +bestowed upon their favorite, what distinguished person had taken her +“down” to dinner, and the neat compliment that the Viceroy paid her on the +taste of her “tabinet.” + </p> +<p> +It need scarcely be remarked that the backwater of all this admiration for +Lady Lendrick was a swamping tide of ill-favor for her husband. It would +have been hard to deny him ability and talent. But what had he made of his +ability and talent? The best lawyer of the bar was not even Chief-Justice +of the Queen's Bench. The greatest speaker and scholar of his day was +unknown, except in the reminiscences of a few men almost as old as +himself. Was the fault in himself, or was the disqualifying element of his +nature the fact of being an Irishman? For a number of years the former +theory satisfied all the phenomena of the case, and the restless, +impatient disposition—irritable, uncertain, and almost irresponsible—seemed +reason enough to deter the various English officials who came over from +either seeking the counsels or following the suggestions of the bold Baron +of the Exchequer. A change, however, had come, in pail; induced by certain +disparaging articles of the English press as to the comparative ability of +the two countries; and now it became the fashion to say that had Sir +William been born on the sunnier side of St. George's Channel, and had his +triumphs been displayed at Westminster instead of the Four Courts, there +would have been no limit to the praise of his ability as a lawyer, nor any +delay in according him the highest honors the Crown could bestow. +</p> +<p> +Men shook their heads, recalled the memorable “curse” recorded by Swift, +and said, “Of course there is no favor for an Irishman.” It is not the +place nor the time to discuss this matter here. I would only say that a +good deal of the misconception which prevails upon it is owing to the fact +that the qualities which win all the suffrages of one country are held +cheaply enough in the other. Plodding unadorned ability, even of a high +order, meets little favor in Ireland, while on the other side of the +Channel Irish quickness is accounted as levity, and the rapid appreciation +of a question without the detail of long labor and thought, is set down as +the lucky hit of a lively but very idle intelligence. I will not let +myself wander away further in this digression, but come back to my story. +Connected with this theory of Irish depreciation, was the position that +but for the land of his birth Sir William would have been elevated to the +peerage. +</p> +<p> +Of course it was a subject to admit of various modes of telling, according +to the tastes, the opportunities, and the prejudices of the tellers. The +popular version of the story, however, was this: that Sir William declined +to press a claim that could not have been resisted, on account of the +peculiarly retiring, unambitious character of him who should be his +immediate successor. His very profession—adopted and persisted in, +in despite of his father's wish—was a palpable renunciation of all +desire for hereditary honor. As the old Judge said, “The <i>Libro d, Oro</i> +of nobility is not the Pharmacopoeia;” and the thought of a doctor in the +peerage might have cost “Garter” a fit of apoplexy. +</p> +<p> +Sir William knew this well,—no man better; but the very difficulties +gave all the zest and all the flavor to the pursuit. He lived, too, in the +hope that some Government official might have bethought him of this +objection, that he might spring on him, tiger-like, and tear him in +fragments. +</p> +<p> +“Let them but tell me this,” muttered he, “and I will rip up the whole +woof, thread by thread, and trace them! The noble duke whose ancestor was +a Dutch pedler, the illustrious marquess whose great-grandfather was a +smuggler, will have to look to it. Before this cause be called on I would +say to them, better to retain me for the Crown! Ay, sirs, such is my +advice to you.” + </p> +<p> +While these thoughts agitated Sir William's mind, the matter of them was +giving grave and deep preoccupation to the Viceroy. The Cabinet had +repeatedly pressed upon him the necessity of obtaining the Chief Baron's +retirement from the bench,—a measure the more imperative that while +they wanted to provide for an old adherent, they were equally anxious to +replace him in the House by an abler and readier debater; for so is it, +when dulness stops the way, dulness must be promoted,—just as the +most tumble-down old hackney-coach must pass on before my Lord's carriage +can draw up. +</p> +<p> +“Pemberton must go up,” said the Viceroy. “He made a horrid mess of that +explanation t' other night in the House. His law was laughed at, and his +logic was worse; he really must go on the bench. Can't you hit upon +something, Balfour? Can you devise nothing respecting the Chief Baron?” + </p> +<p> +“He 'll take nothing but what you won't give him; I hear he insists on the +peerage.” + </p> +<p> +“I'd give it, I declare,—I 'd give it to-morrow. As I told the +Premier t' other day, Providence always takes care that these law lords +have rarely successors. They are life peerages and no more; besides, what +does it matter a man more or less in 'the Lords'? The peer without +hereditary rank and fortune is like the officer who has been raised from +the ranks,—he does not dine at mess oftener than he can help it.” + </p> +<p> +Balfour applauded the illustration, and resolved to use it as his own. +</p> +<p> +“I say again,” continued his Excellency, “I'd give it, but they won't +agree with me; they are afraid of the English bar,—they dread what +the benchers of Lincoln's Inn would say.” + </p> +<p> +“They'd only say it for a week or two,” mumbled Balfour. +</p> +<p> +“So I remarked: you'll have discontent, but it will be passing. Some +newspaper letters will appear, but Themis and Aristides will soon tire, +and if they should not, the world who reads them will tire; and probably +the only man who will remember the event three months after will be the +silversmith who is cresting the covered dishes of the new creation. You +think you can't go and see him, Balfour?” + </p> +<p> +“Impossible, my Lord, after what occurred between us the last time.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't take it in that way. I suspect he 'll not bear any malice. +Lawyers are not thin-skinned people; they give and take such hard knocks +that they lose that nice sense of injury other folks are endowed with. I +think you might go.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'd rather not, my Lord,” said he, shaking his head. +</p> +<p> +“Try his wife, then.” + </p> +<p> +“They don't live together. I don't know if they're on speaking terms.” + </p> +<p> +“So much the better,—she'll know every chink of his armor, and +perhaps tell us where he is vulnerable. Wait a moment. There has been some +talk of a picnic on Dalkey Island. It was to be a mere household affair. +What if you were to invite her?—making of course the explanation +that it was a family party, that no cards had been sent out; in fact, that +it was to be so close a thing the world was never to hear of it.” + </p> +<p> +“I think the bait would be irresistible, particularly when she found out +that all her own set and dear friends had been passed over.” + </p> +<p> +“Charge her to secrecy,—of course she'll not keep her word.” + </p> +<p> +“May I say we 'll come for her? The great mystery will be so perfectly in +keeping with one of the household carriages and your Excellency's +liveries.” + </p> +<p> +“Won't that be too strong, Balfour?” said the Viceroy, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“Nothing is too strong, my Lord, in this country. They take their blunders +neat as they do their sherry, and I'm sure that this part of the +arrangement will, in the gossip it will give rise to, be about the best of +the whole exploit.” + </p> +<p> +“Take your own way, then; only make no such mistake as you made with the +husband. No documents, Balfour,—no documents, I beg;” and with this +warning laughingly given, but by no means so pleasantly taken, his +Excellency went off and left him. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0043" id="link2HCH0043"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XLIII. MR. BALFOUR'S MISSION +</h2> +<p> +Lady Lendrick was dictating to her secretary, Miss Morse, the Annual +Report of the “Benevolent Ballad-Singers' Aid Society,” when her servant +announced the arrival of Mr. Cholmondely Balfour. She stopped abruptly +short at a pathetic bit of description,—“The aged minstrel, too old +for erotic poetry, and yet debarred by the stern rules of a repressive +policy from the strains of patriotic song,”—for, be it said +parenthetically, Lady Lendrick affected “Irishry” to a large extent,—and, +dismissing Miss Morse to an adjoining room, she desired the servant to +introduce Mr. Balfour. +</p> +<p> +Is it fancy, or am I right in supposing that English officials have a +manner specially assumed for Ireland and the Irish,—a thing like the +fur cloak a man wears in Russia, or the snowshoes he puts on in Lapland, +not intended for other latitudes, but admirably adapted for the locality +it is made for? I will not insist that this theory of mine is faultless, +but I appeal to a candid public of my own countrmen if they have not in +their experience seen what may support it. I do not say it is a bad +manner,—a presuming manner,—a manner of depreciation towards +these it is used to, or a manner indicative of indifference in him who +uses it. I simply say that they who employ it keep it as especially for +Ireland as they keep their macintosh capes for wet weather, and would no +more think of displaying it in England than they would go to her Majesty's +levee in a shooting-jacket. Mr. Balfour was not wanting in this manner. +Indeed, the Administration of which he formed a humble part were all +proficients in it. It was a something between a mock homage and a very +jocular familiarity, so that when he arose after a bow, deep and +reverential enough for the presence of majesty, he lounged over to a chair +and threw himself down with the ease and unconcern of one perfectly at +home. +</p> +<p> +“And how is my Lady? and how are the fourscore and one associations for +turnkeys' widows and dog-stealers' orphans doing? What 's the last new +thing in benevolence? Do tell me, for I 've won five shillings at loo, and +want to invest it.” + </p> +<p> +“You mean you have drawn your quarter's salary, Mr. Balfour.” + </p> +<p> +“No, by Jove; they don't pay us so liberally. We have the run of our teeth +and no more.” + </p> +<p> +“You forget your tongue, sir; you are unjust.” + </p> +<p> +“Why, my Lady, you are as quick as Sir William himself; living with that +great wit has made you positively dangerous.” + </p> +<p> +“I have not enjoyed over-much of the opportunity you speak of.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, I know that; no fault of yours, though. The world is agreed on that +point. I take it he's about the most impossible man to live with the age +has yet produced. Sewell has told me such things of him!—things that +would be incredible if I had not seen him.” + </p> +<p> +“I beg pardon for interrupting, but of course you have not come to dilate +on the Chief Baron's defects of temper to his wife.” + </p> +<p> +“No, only incidentally,—parenthetically, as one may say,—just +as one knocks over a hare when he's out partridge-shooting.” + </p> +<p> +“Never mind the hare, then, sir; keep to your partridges.” + </p> +<p> +“My partridges! my partridges! which are my partridges? Oh, to be sure! I +want to talk to you about Sewell. He has told you perhaps how ill we have +behaved to him,—grossly, shamefully ill, I call it.” + </p> +<p> +“He has told me that the Government object to his having this appointment, +but he has not explained on what ground.” + </p> +<p> +“Neither can I. Official life has its mysteries, and, hate them as one +may, they must be respected; he ought n't to have sold out,—it was +rank folly to sell out. What could he have in the world better than a +continued succession of young fellows fresh from home, and knowing +positively nothing of horse-flesh or billiards?” + </p> +<p> +“I don't understand you, sir,—that is, I hope I misunderstand you,” + said she, haughtily. +</p> +<p> +“I mean simply this, that I'd rather be a lieutenant-colonel with such +opportunities than I 'd be Chairman of the Great Overland.” + </p> +<p> +“Opportunities—and for what?” + </p> +<p> +“For everything,—for everything; for game off the balls, on every +race in the kingdom, and as snug a thing every night over a devilled +kidney as any man could wish for. Don't look shocked,—it's all on +the square; that old hag that was here last week would have given her +diamond ear-rings to find out something against Sewell, and she could +n't.” + </p> +<p> +“You mean Lady Trafford?” + </p> +<p> +“I do. She stayed a week here just to blacken his character, and she never +could get beyond that story of her son and Mrs. Sewell.” + </p> +<p> +“What story? I never heard of it.” + </p> +<p> +“A lie, of course, from beginning to end; and it's hard to imagine that +she herself believed it.” + </p> +<p> +“But what was it?” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, a trumpery tale of young Trafford having made love to Mrs. Sewell, +and proposed to run off with her, and Sewell having played a game at +écarté on it, and lost,—the whole thing being knocked up by +Trafford's fall. But you must have heard it! The town talked of nothing +else for a fortnight.” + </p> +<p> +“The town never had the insolence to talk of it to <i>me</i>.” + </p> +<p> +“What a stupid town! If there be anything really that can be said to be +established in the code of society, it is that you may say anything to +anybody about their relations. But for such a rule how could conversation +go on?—who travels about with his friend's family-tree in his +pocket? And as to Sewell,—I suppose I may say it,—he has not a +truer friend in the world than myself.” + </p> +<p> +She bowed a very stiff acknowledgment of the speech, and he went on: “I 'm +not going to say he gets on well with his wife,—but who does? Did +you ever hear of him who did? The fact I take to be this, that every one +has a certain capital of good-nature and kindliness to trade on, and he +who expends this abroad can't have so much of it for home consumption; +that's how your insufferable husbands are such charming fellows for the +world! Don't you agree with me?” + </p> +<p> +A very chilling smile, that might mean anything, was all her reply. +</p> +<p> +“I was there all the time,” continued he, with unabated fluency. “I saw +everything that went on: Sewell's policy was what our people call +non-intervention; he saw nothing, heard nothing, believed nothing; and I +will say there 's a great deal of dignity in that line; and when your +servant comes to wake you in the morning, with the tidings that your wife +has run away, you have established a right before the world to be +distracted, injured, overwhelmed, and outraged to any extent you may feel +disposed to appear.” + </p> +<p> +“Your thoughts upon morals are, I must say, very edifying, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“They 're always practical, so much I will say. This world is a composite +sort of thing, with such currents of mixed motives running through it, if +a man tries to be logical he is sure to make an ass of himself, and one +learns at last to become as flexible in his opinions and as elastic as the +great British constitution. +</p> +<p> +“I am delighted with your liberality, sir, and charmed with your candor; +and as you have expressed your opinion so freely upon my husband and my +son, would it appear too great a favor if I were to ask what you would say +of myself?” + </p> +<p> +“That you are charming, Lady Lendrick,—positively charming,” replied +he, rapturously. “That there is not a grace of manner, nor a captivation, +of which you are not mistress; that you possess that attraction which +excels all others in its influence; you render all who come within the +sphere of your fascination so much your slaves that the cold grow +enthusiastic, the distrustful become credulous, and even the cautious +reserve of office gives way, and the well-trained private secretary of a +Viceroy betrays himself into indiscretions that would half ruin an +aide-de-camp.” + </p> +<p> +“I assure you, sir, I never so much as suspected my own powers.” + </p> +<p> +“True as I am here; the simple fact is, I have come to say so.” + </p> +<p> +“You have come to say so! What do you mean?” + </p> +<p> +With this he proceeded to explain that her Excellency had deputed him to +invite Lady Lendrick to join the picnic on the island. “It was so +completely a home party, that, except himself and a few of the household, +none had even heard of it. None but those really intimate will be there,” + said he; “and for once in our lives we shall be able to discuss our absent +friends with that charming candor that gives conversation its salt. When +we had written down all the names, it was her Excellency said, 'I 'd call +this perfect if I could add one more to the list.' 'I'll swear I know whom +you mean,' said his Excellency; and he took his pencil and wrote a line on +a card. 'Am I right?' asked he. She nodded, and said, 'Balfour, go and ask +her to come. Be sure you explain what the whole thing is, how it was got +up, and that it must not be talked of.' Of course, do what one will, these +things do get about. Servants will talk of them, and tradespeople talk of +them, and we must expect a fair share of ill-nature and malice from that +outer world which was not included in the civility; but it can't be +helped. I believe it's one of the conditions of humanity, that to make one +man happy you may always calculate on making ten others miserable.” + </p> +<p> +This time Lady Lendrick had something else to think of besides Mr. +Balfour's ethics, and so she only smiled and said nothing. +</p> +<p> +“I hope I 'm to bring back a favorable answer,” said he, rising to take +leave. “Won't you let me say that we 're to call for you?” + </p> +<p> +“I really am much flattered. I don't know how to express my grateful sense +of their Excellencies' recollection of me. It is for Wednesday, you say?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, Wednesday. We mean to leave town by two o'clock, and there will be a +carriage here for you by that hour. Will that suit you?” + </p> +<p> +“Perfectly.” + </p> +<p> +“I am overjoyed at my success. Good-bye till Wednesday, then.” He moved +towards the door, and then stopped. “What was it? I surely had something +else to say. Oh, to be sure, I remember. Tell me, if you can, what are Sir +William's views about retirement: he is not quite pleased with us just +now, and we can't well approach him; but we really would wish to meet his +wishes, if we could manage to come at them.” All this he said in a sort of +careless, easy way, as though it were a matter of little moment, or one +calling for very slight exercise of skill to set right. +</p> +<p> +“And do you imagine he has taken me into his confidence, Mr. Balfour?” + asked she, with a smile. +</p> +<p> +“Not formally, perhaps,—not what we call officially; but he may have +done so in that more effective way termed 'officiously.'” + </p> +<p> +“Not even that. I could probably make as good a guess about your own +future intentions as those of the Chief Baron.” + </p> +<p> +“You have heard him talk of them?” + </p> +<p> +“Scores of times.” + </p> +<p> +“And in what tone,—with what drift?” + </p> +<p> +“Always as that of one very ill-used, hardly treated, undervalued, and the +like.” + </p> +<p> +“And the remedy? What was the remedy?” + </p> +<p> +“To make him a peer,—at least, so his friends say.” + </p> +<p> +“But taking that to be impossible, what next?” + </p> +<p> +“He becomes 'impossible' also,” said she, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“Are we to imagine that a man of such intelligence as he possesses cannot +concede something to circumstances,—cannot make allowances for the +exigencies of 'party,'—cannot, in fact, take any other view of a +difficulty but the one that must respond to his own will?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; I think that is exactly what you are called on to imagine. You are +to persuade yourself to regard this earth as inhabited by the Chief Baron, +and some other people not mentioned specifically in the census.” + </p> +<p> +“He is most unreasonable, then.” + </p> +<p> +“Of course he is; but I wouldn't have you tell him so. You see, Mr. +Balfour, the Chief imagines all this while that he is maintaining and +upholding the privileges of the Irish Bar. The burden of his song is, +'There would have been no objection to my claim had I been the Chief Baron +of the English Court.'” + </p> +<p> +“Possibly,” murmured Balfour; and then, lower again, “Fleas are not—” + </p> +<p> +“Quite true,” said she, for her quick ear caught his words,—“quite +true. Fleas are not lobsters,—bless their souls! But, as I said +before, I 'd not remind them of that fact. 'The Fleas' are just sore +enough upon it already.” + </p> +<p> +Balfour for once felt some confusion. He saw what a slip he had made, and +now it had damaged his whole negotiation. Nothing but boldness would avail +now, and he resolved to be bold. +</p> +<p> +“There is a thing has been done in England, and I don't see why we might +not attempt it in the present case. A great lawyer there obtained a +peerage for his wife—” + </p> +<p> +She burst out into a fit of laughter at this, at once so hearty and so +natural that at last he could not help joining, and laughing too. +</p> +<p> +“I must say, Mr. Balfour,” said she, as soon as she could speak,—“I +must say there is ingenuity in your suggestion. The relations that subsist +between Sir William and myself are precisely such as to recommend your +project.” + </p> +<p> +“I am not so sure that they are obstacles to it. I have always heard that +he had a poor opinion of his son, who was a common-place sort of man that +studied medicine. It could be no part of the Chief Baron's plan to make +such a person the head of a house. Now, he likes Sewell, and he dotes on +that boy,—the little fellow I saw at the Priory. These are all +elements in the scheme. Don't you think so?” + </p> +<p> +“Let me ask you one question before I answer yours: Does this thought come +from yourself alone, or has it any origin in another quarter?” + </p> +<p> +“Am I to be candid?” + </p> +<p> +“You are.” + </p> +<p> +“And are <i>you</i> to be confidential?” + </p> +<p> +“Certainly.” + </p> +<p> +“In that case,” said he, drawing a long breath, as though about to remove +a perilous weight off his mind, “I will tell you frankly, it comes from +authority. Now, don't ask me more,—not another question. I have +already avowed what my instructions most imperatively forbid me to own,—what, +in fact, would be ruin to me if it were known that I revealed. What his +Excellency—I mean, what the other person said was, 'Ascertain Lady +Lendrick's wishes on this subject; learn, if you can,—but, above +all, without compromising yourself,—whether she really cares for a +step in rank; find out, if so, what aid she can or will lend us.' But what +am I saying? Here am I entering upon the whole detail? What would become +of me if I did not know I might rely upon you?” + </p> +<p> +“It's worth thinking over,” said she, after a pause. +</p> +<p> +“I should think it is. It is not every day of our lives such a brilliant +offer presents itself. All I ask, all I stipulate for, is that you make no +confidences, ask no advice from any quarter. Think it well over in your +own mind, but impart it to none, least of all to Sewell.” + </p> +<p> +“Of course not to <i>him</i>,” said she, resolutely, for she knew well to +what purposes he would apply the knowledge. +</p> +<p> +“Remember that we want to have the resignation before Parliament meets,—bear +that in mind. Time is all-important with us; the rest will follow in due +course.” With this he said “Good-bye,” and was gone. +</p> +<p> +“The rest will follow in due course,” said she to herself, repeating his +last words as he went. “With your good leave, Mr. Balfour, the 'rest' +shall precede the beginning.” + </p> +<p> +Was n't it Bolingbroke that said constitutional government never could go +on without lying,—audacious lying too? If the old Judge will only +consent to go, her Ladyship's peerage will admit of a compromise. Such was +Mr. Balfour's meditation as he stepped into his cab. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0044" id="link2HCH0044"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XLIV. AFTER-DINNER THOUGHTS +</h2> +<p> +Her Majesty's—th had got their orders for Malta, and some surmised +for India, though it was not yet known; but all agreed it was hard,—“confoundedly +hard,” they called it. “Had n't they had their turn of Inidan service?—how +many years had that grim old major passed in the Deccan,—what weary +winters had the bronzed bald captain there spent at Rangoon!” + </p> +<p> +How they inveighed against the national niggardliness that insisted on +making a small army do the work of a large one! How they scouted the +popular idea that regiments were treated alike and without favoritism! <i>They</i> +knew better. They knew that if they had been the Nine Hundred and Ninth, +or Three Thousand and First, there would have been no thought of sending +them back to cholera and jungle fever. Some, with a little sly flattery, +ascribed the order to their efficiency, and declared that they had done +their work so well at Gonurshabad, the Government selected them at once +when fresh troubles were threatening; and a few old grumblers, tired of +service, sick of the Horse Guards,—not over-enamored of even life,—agreed +that it was rank folly to join a regiment where the Lieutenant-Colonel was +not a man of high connections; as they said, “If old Cave there had been a +Lord George or even an Honorable, we 'd have had ten years more of home +service.” + </p> +<p> +With the exception of two or three raw subalterns who had never been out +of England, and who wanted the glory of pig-sticking and the brevet to +tell tiger stories, there were gloom and depression everywhere. The +financially gifted complained that as they had all or nearly all bought +their commissions, there was no comparison between the treatment +administered to them and to officers in any foreign army; and such as knew +geography asked triumphantly whether a Frenchman, who could be only sent +to Africa, or an Austrian, whose most remote banishment was the “Banat,” + was in the same position as an unfortunate Briton, who could be despatched +to patrol the North Pole to-day, and to-morrow relieve guard at New +Zealand? By a unanimous vote it was carried that the English army was the +worst paid, hardest worked, and most ill-treated service in Europe; but +the roast-beef played just at the moment, and they went in to dinner. +</p> +<p> +As the last bars of that prandial melody were dying away, two men crossed +the barrack-yard towards the mess-house. They were in close confabulation, +and although evidently on their way to dinner, showed by their loitering +pace how much more engrossed they were by the subject that engaged them +than by any desire for the pleasures of the table. They were Colonel Cave +and Sewell. +</p> +<p> +“I can scarcely picture to my mind as great a fool as that,” said Sewell, +angrily. “Can you?” + </p> +<p> +“I don't know,” said Cave, slowly and doubtingly. “First of all, I never +was heir to a large estate; and, secondly, I was never, that I remember, +in love.” + </p> +<p> +“In love! in fiddlestick. Why, he has not seen the girl this year and +half; he scarcely knows her. I doubt greatly if she cares a straw for him; +and for a caprice—a mere caprice—to surrender his right to a +fine fortune and a good position is absolute idiocy; but I tell you more, +Cave, though worse—far worse.” Here his voice grew harsh and +grating, as he continued: “When I and other men like me played with +Trafford, we betted with the man who was to inherit Holt. When I asked the +fellow to my house, and suffered a certain intimacy—for I never +liked him—it was because he represented twelve thousand a year in +broad acres. I 'd stand a good deal from a man like that, that I 'd soon +pull another up for,—eh?” + </p> +<p> +The interrogative here puzzled Cave, who certainly was not a concurring +party to the sentiment, and yet did not want to make it matter of +discussion. +</p> +<p> +“We shall be late,—we've lost our soup already,” said he, moving +more briskly forward. +</p> +<p> +“I 'd no more have let that fellow take on him, as he did under my roof, +than I 'd sufifer him to kennel his dogs in my dressing-room. You don't +know—you can't know—how he behaved.” These words were spoken +in passionate warmth, and still there was that in the speaker's manner +that showed a want of real earnestness; so it certainly seemed to Cave, +who secretly determined to give no encouragement to further disclosures. +</p> +<p> +“There are things,” resumed Sewell, “that a man can't speak on,—at +least, he can only speak of them when they become the talk of the town.” + </p> +<p> +“Come along, I want my dinner. I'm not sure I have not a guest, besides, +who does not know any of our fellows. I only remembered him this instant. +Is n't this Saturday?” + </p> +<p> +“One thing I 'll swear,—he shall pay me every shilling he owes me, +or he does not sail with the regiment. I 'll stand no nonsense of +renewals; if he has to sell out for it, he shall book up. You have told +him, I hope, he has nothing to expect from my forbearance?” + </p> +<p> +“We can talk this all over another time. Come along now,—we 're very +late.” + </p> +<p> +“Go on, then, and eat your dinner; leave me to my cigar—I 've no +appetite. I 'll drop in when you have dined.” + </p> +<p> +“No, no; you shall come too,—your absence will only make fellows +talk; they are talking already.” + </p> +<p> +“Are they? and in what way?” asked he, sternly. +</p> +<p> +“Nothing seriously, of course,” mumbled Cave, for he saw how he had fallen +into an indiscretion; “but you must come, and you must be yourself too. +It's the only way to meet flying rumors.” + </p> +<p> +“Come along, then,” said Sewell, passing his arm within the other's; and +they hurried forward without another word being spoken by either. +</p> +<p> +It was evident that Sewell's appearance caused some surprise. There was a +certain awkward significance in the way men looked at him and at each +other that implied astonishment at his presence. +</p> +<p> +“I didn't know you were down here,” said the old Major, making an +involuntary explanation of his look of wonderment. +</p> +<p> +“Nothing very remarkable, I take it, that a man is stopping at his own +house,” said Se well, testily. “No—no fish. Get me some mutton,” + added he to the mess-waiter. +</p> +<p> +“You have heard that we 've got our orders,” said a captain opposite him. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; Cave told me.” + </p> +<p> +“I rather like it,—that is, if it means India,” said a very +young-looking ensign. +</p> +<p> +Sewell put up his eye-glass and looked at the speaker, and then, letting +it drop, went on with his dinner without a word. +</p> +<p> +“There 's no man can tell you more about Bengal than Colonel Sewell +there,” said Cave, to some one near him. “He served on the staff there, +and knows every corner of it.” + </p> +<p> +“I wish I did n't, with all my heart. It's a sort of knowledge that costs +a man pretty dearly.” + </p> +<p> +“I 've always been told India was a capital place,” said a gay, +frank-looking young lieutenant, “and that if a man did n't drink, or take +to high play, he could get on admirably.” + </p> +<p> +“Nor entangle himself with a pretty woman,” added another. +</p> +<p> +“Nor raise a smashing loan from the Agra Bank,” cried a third. +</p> +<p> +“You are the very wisest young gentlemen it has ever been my privilege to +sit down with,” said Sewell, with a grin. “Whence could you have gleaned +all these prudent maxims?” + </p> +<p> +“I got mine,” said the Lieutenant, “from a cousin. Such a good fellow as +he was! He always tipped me when I was at Sandhurst, but he's past tipping +any one now.” + </p> +<p> +“Dead?” + </p> +<p> +“No; I believe it would be better he were; but he was ruined in India,—'let +in' on a race, and lost everything, even to his commission.” + </p> +<p> +“Was his name Stanley?” + </p> +<p> +“No, Stapyleton,—Frank Stapyleton,—he was in the Grays.” + </p> +<p> +“Sewell, what are you drinking?” cried Cave, with a loudness that overbore +the talk around him. “I can't see you down there. You 've got amongst the +youngsters.” + </p> +<p> +“I am in the midst of all that is agreeable and entertaining,” said +Sewell, with a smile of most malicious meaning. “Talk of youngsters, +indeed! I'd like to hear where you could match them for knowledge of life +and mankind.” + </p> +<p> +There was certainly nothing in his look or manner as he spoke these words +that suggested distrust or suspicion to those around him, for they seemed +overjoyed at his praise, and delighted to hear themselves called men of +the world. The grim old Major at the opposite side of the table shook his +head thoughtfully, and muttered some words to himself. +</p> +<p> +“They 're a shady lot, I take it,” said a young captain to his neighbor, +“those fellows who remain in India, and never come home; either they have +done something they can't meet in England, or they want to do things in +India they couldn't do here.” + </p> +<p> +“There's great truth in that remark,” said Sewell. “Captain Neeves, let us +have a glass of wine together. I have myself seen a great deal to bear out +your observation.” + </p> +<p> +Neeves colored with pleasure at this approval, and went on: “I heard of +one fellow—I forget his name—I never remember names; but he +had a very pretty wife, and all the fellows used to make up to her, and +pay her immense attention, and the husband rooked them all at écarté, +every man of them.” + </p> +<p> +“What a scoundrel!” said Sewell, with energy. “You ought to have preserved +the name, if only for a warning.” + </p> +<p> +“I think I can get it, Colonel. I 'll try and obtain it for you.” + </p> +<p> +“Was it Moorcroft?” cried one. +</p> +<p> +“Or Massingbred?” asked another. +</p> +<p> +“I'll wager a sovereign it was Dudgeon; wasn't it Dudgeon?” + </p> +<p> +But no; it was none of the three. Still, the suggestions opened a whole +chapter of biographical details, in which each of these worthies vied with +the other. No man ever listened to the various anecdotes narrated with a +more eager interest than Sewell. Now and then, indeed, a slight +incredulity—a sort of puzzled astonishment that the world could be +so very wicked, that there really were such fellows—would seem to +distract him; but he listened on, and even occasionally asked an +explanation of this or of that, to show the extreme attention he +vouchsafed to the theme. +</p> +<p> +To be sure, their attempts to describe the way some trick was played with +the cards or the dice, how the horse was “nobbled” or the match “squared,” + were neither very remarkable for accuracy nor clearness. They had not been +well “briefed,” as lawyers say, or they had not mastered their +instructions. Sewell, however, was no captious critic; he took what he +got, and was thankful. +</p> +<p> +When they arose from the table, the old Major, dropping behind the line of +those who lounged into the adjoining room, caught a young officer by the +arm, and whispered some few words in his ear. +</p> +<p> +“What a scrape I 'm in!” cried the young fellow as he listened. +</p> +<p> +“I think not, this time; but let it be a caution to you how you talk of +rumors in presence of men who are strangers to you.” + </p> +<p> +“I say, Major,” asked a young captain, coming up hurriedly, “isn't that +Sewell the man of the Agra affair?” + </p> +<p> +“I don't think I 'd ask him about it, that's all,” said the Major, slyly, +and moved away. +</p> +<p> +“I got amongst a capital lot of young fellows at my end of the table—second +battalion men, I think,—who were all new to me, but very agreeable,” + said Sewell to Cave, as he sipped his coffee. +</p> +<p> +“You'd like your rubber, Sewell, I know,” said Cave; “let us see if we +haven't got some good players.” + </p> +<p> +“Not to-night,—thanks,—I promised my wife to be home early; +one of the chicks is poorly.” + </p> +<p> +“I want so much to have a game with Colonel Sewell,” said a young fellow. +“They told me up at Delhi that you hadn't your equal at whist or +billiards.” + </p> +<p> +Sewell's pale face grew flushed; but though he smiled and bowed, it was +not difficult to see that his manner evinced more irritation than +pleasure. +</p> +<p> +“I say,” said another, who sat shuffling the cards by himself at a table, +“who knows that trick about the double ace in picquet? That was the way +Beresford was rooked at Madras.” + </p> +<p> +“I must say good-night,” said Sewell; “it's a long drive to the Nest You +'ll come over to breakfast some morning before you leave, won't you?” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll do my best. At all events, I 'll pay my respects to Mrs. Sewell;” + and with a good deal of hand-shaking and some cordial speeches Sewell took +his leave and retired. +</p> +<p> +Had any one marked the pace at which Sewell drove home that night, black +and dark as it was, he would have said, “There goes one on some errand of +life or death.” There was something of recklessness in the way he pushed +his strong-boned thoroughbred, urging him up hill and down without check +or relief, nor slackening rein till he drew up at his own door, the +panting beast making the buggy tremble with the violent action of his +respiration. Low muttering to himself, the groom led the beast to the +stable, and Sewell passed up the stairs to the small drawing-room where +his wife usually sat. +</p> +<p> +She was reading as he entered; a little table with a tea equipage at her +side. She did not raise her eyes from her book when he came in; but +whether his footstep on the stair had its meaning to her quick ears or +not, a slight flush quivered on her cheek, and her mouth trembled faintly. +</p> +<p> +“Shall I give you some tea?” asked she, as he threw himself into a seat. +He made no answer, and she laid down her book, and sat still and silent. +</p> +<p> +“Was your dinner pleasant?” said she, after a pause. +</p> +<p> +“How could it be other than pleasant, Madam,” said he, fiercely, “when +they talked so much of <i>you?</i>” + </p> +<p> +“Of <i>me?</i>—talked of <i>me?</i>” + </p> +<p> +“Just so; there were a set of young fellows who had just joined from +another battalion, and who discoursed of you, of your life in India, of +your voyage home, and lastly of some incidents that were attributed to +your sojourn here. To me it was perfectly delightful. I had my opinion +asked over and over again, if I thought that such a levity was so +perfectly harmless, and such another liberty was the soul of innocence? In +a word, Madam, I enjoyed the privilege, very rarely accorded to a husband, +I fancy, to sit in judgment over his own wife, and say what he thought of +her conduct.” + </p> +<p> +“Was there no one to tell these gentlemen to whom they were speaking?” + said she, with a subdued, quiet tone. +</p> +<p> +“No; I came in late and took my place amongst men all strangers to me. I +assure you I profited largely by the incident. It is so seldom one gets +public opinion in its undiluted form, it 's quite refreshing to taste it +neat. Of course they were not always correct. I could have set them right +on many points. They had got a totally wrong version of what they called +the 'Agra row,' though one of the party said he was Beresford's cousin.” + </p> +<p> +She grasped the table convulsively to steady herself, and in so doing +threw it down, and the whole tea equipage with it. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” continued he, as though responding to this evidence of emotion on +her part,—“yes; it pushed one's patience pretty hard to be obliged +to sit under such criticism.” + </p> +<p> +“And what obliged you, sir? was it fear?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, Madam, you have guessed it. I was afraid—terribly afraid to +own I was your husband.” + </p> +<p> +A low faint groan was all she uttered, as she covered her face with her +hands. “I had next,” continued he, “to listen to a dispute as to whether +Trafford had ever seriously offered to run away with you or not. It was +almost put to the vote. Faith, I believe my casting voice might have +carried the thing either way if I had only known how to give it.” She +murmured something too low to be heard correctly, but he caught at part of +it, and said: “Well, that was pretty much what I suspected. The debate +was, however, adjourned; and as Cave called me by my name at the moment, +the confidences came to an abrupt conclusion. As I foresaw that these +youngsters, ignorant of life and manners as they were, would be at once +for making apologetic speeches and such-like, I stole away and came home, +<i>more domestico</i>, to ruminate over my enjoyments at my own fireside.” + </p> +<p> +“I trust, sir, they were strangers to your own delinquencies. I hope they +had no unpleasant reminders to give you of yourself.” + </p> +<p> +“Pardon, Madam. They related several of what you pleasantly call my +delinquencies, but they only came in as the by-play of the scene where you +were the great character. We figured as brigands. It was <i>you</i> always +who stunned the victim; <i>I</i> only rifled his pockets—fact, I +assure you. I'm sorry that china is smashed. It was Saxe,—wasn't +it?” + </p> +<p> +She nodded. +</p> +<p> +“And a present of Trafford's too! What a pity! I declare I believe we +shall not have a single relic of the dear fellow, except it be a protested +bill or two.” He paused a moment or so, and then said, “Do you know, it +just strikes me that if they saw how ill—how shamefully you played +your cards in this Trafford affair, they 'd actually absolve you of all +the Circe gifts the world ascribes to you.” + </p> +<p> +She fixed her eyes steadfastly on him, and as her clasped hands dropped on +her knees, she leaned forward and said: “What do you mean by it? What do +you want by this? If these men, whose insolent taunts you had not courage +to arrest or to resent, say truly, whose the fault? Ay, sir, whose the +fault? Answer me, if you dare, and say, was not my shame incurred to cover +and conceal <i>yours?</i>” + </p> +<p> +“Your tragedy-queen airs have no effect upon me. I 've been too long +behind the scenes to be frightened by stage thunder. What is past is past. +You married a gambler; and if you shared his good luck, you oughtn't to +grumble at partaking his bad fortune. If you had been tired of the yoke, I +take it you 'd have thrown it behind you many a day ago.” + </p> +<p> +“If I had not done so, you know well why,” said she, fiercely. +</p> +<p> +“The old story, I suppose,—the dear darlings upstairs. Well, I can't +discuss what I know nothing about. I can only promise you that such ties +would never bind <i>me</i>.” + </p> +<p> +“I ask you once again what you mean by this?” cried she, as her lips +trembled and her pale cheeks shook with agitation. “What does it point to? +What am I to do? What am I to be?” + </p> +<p> +“That's the puzzle,” said he, with an insolent levity; “and I 'll be shot +if I can solve it! Sometimes I think we 'd do better to renounce the +partnership, and try what we could do alone; and sometimes I suspect—it +sounds odd, does n't it?—but I suspect that we need each other.” + </p> +<p> +She had by this time buried her face between her hands, and by the +convulsive motion of her shoulders, showed she was weeping bitterly. +</p> +<p> +“One thing is certainly clear,” said he, rising, and standing with his +back to the fire,—“if we decide to part company, we have n't the +means. If either of us would desert the ship, there 's no boat left to do +it with.” + </p> +<p> +She arose feebly from her chair, but sank down again, weak and overcome. +</p> +<p> +“Shall I give you my arm?” asked he. +</p> +<p> +“No; send Jane to me,” said she, in a voice barely above a whisper. +</p> +<p> +He rang the bell, and said, “Tell Jane her mistress wants her;” and with +this he searched for a book on the table, found it, and strolled off to +his room, humming an air as he went. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0045" id="link2HCH0045"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XLV. THE TIDELESS SHORES +</h2> +<p> +They who only know the shores of the Mediterranean in the winter months, +and have but enjoyed the contrast—and what a contrast!—between +our inky skies and rain-charged atmosphere with that glorious expanse of +blue heaven and that air of exciting elasticity,—they, I say, can +still have no conception of the real ecstasy of life in a southern climate +till they have experienced a summer beside the tideless sea. +</p> +<p> +Nothing is more striking in these regions than the completeness of the +change from day to night. It is not alone the rapidity with which darkness +succeeds,—and in this our delicious twilight is ever to be +regretted; what I speak of is the marvellous transition from the world of +sights and sounds to the world of unbroken silence and dimness. In the day +the whole air rings with life. The flowers flaunt out their gorgeous +petals, not timidly or reluctantly, but with the bold confidence of +admitted beauty. The buds unfold beneath your very eyes, the rivulets sing +in the clear air, and myriads of insects chirp till the atmosphere seems +to be charged with vitality. This intense vitality is the striking +characteristic of the scene; and it is to this that night succeeds, grand, +solemn, and silent, at first to all seeming in unrelieved blackness, but +soon to be displayed in a glorious expanse of darkest, deepest blue, with +stars of surpassing size. To make this change more effective, too, it is +instantaneous. It was but a moment back, and you were gazing on the +mountain peaks bathed in an opal lustre, the cicala making the air vibrate +with his song; a soft sea-breeze was blowing, and stirring the oranges +amongst the leaves; and now all is dim and silent and breathless, as +suddenly as though an enchanter's wand had waved and worked the miracle. +</p> +<p> +In a little bay—rather a cleft in the shore than a bay—bounded +by rocks and backed by a steep mountain overgrown with stunted olives, +stood a small cottage,—so very small that it looked rather like a +toy house than a human dwelling, a resemblance added to now as the windows +lay wide open, and all the interior was a blaze of light from two lamps. +All was still and silent within; no human being was to be seen, nor was +there a sign of life about the place; for it was the only dwelling on the +eastern shore of the island, and that island was Maddalena, off Sardinia. +</p> +<p> +In a little nook among the rocks, close to the sea, sat Tom and Lucy +Lendrick. They held hands, but were silent; for they had come down into +the darkness to muse and ponder, and drink in the delicious tranquillity +of that calm hour. Lucy had now been above a week on the island, and every +day Tom made progress towards recovery. She knew exactly, and as none +other knew, what amount of care and nursing he would accept of without +resistance,—where companionship would gratify and where oppress him; +she knew, besides, when to leave him to the full swing of his own wild +discursive talk, and never to break in upon his moods of silent +reflection. +</p> +<p> +For upwards of half an hour they had sat thus without a word, when Tom, +suddenly turning round, and looking towards the cottage, said, “Is n't +this the very sort of thing we used to imagine and wish for long ago, +Lucy?” + </p> +<p> +“It was just what was passing through my mind. I was thinking how often we +longed to have one of the islands on Lough Derg, and to go and live there +all by ourselves.” + </p> +<p> +“We never dreamed of anything so luxurious as this, though. We knew +nothing of limes and oranges, Lucy. We never fancied such a starry sky, or +an air so loaded with perfume. I declare,” cried he, with more energy, “it +repays one for all the disappointment, to come and taste the luxury of +such a night as this.” + </p> +<p> +“And what is the disappointment you speak of, Tom?” + </p> +<p> +“I mean about our project-that blessed mine, by which we were to have +amassed a fortune, and which has only yielded lead enough to shoot +ourselves with.” + </p> +<p> +“I never suspected that,” said she, with a sigh. +</p> +<p> +“Of course you never did; nor am I in a great hurry to tell it even now. +I'd not whisper it if Sir Brook were on the same island with us. Do you +know, girl, that he resents a word against the mine as if it was a stain +upon his own honour. For a while I used to catch up his enthusiasm, and +think if we only go on steadily, if we simply persist, we are sure to +succeed in the end. But when week after week rolled over, and not a trace +of a mineral appeared when the very workmen said we were toiling in vain +when I felt half-ashamed to meet the jeering questions of the neighbours, +and used to skulk up to the shaft by the back way,—he remarked it, +and said to me one morning, 'I am afraid, Tom, it is your sense of loyalty +to me that keeps you here, and not your hope of success. Be frank, and +tell me if this be so.' I blundered out something about my determination +to share his fate, whatever it might be, and it would have been lucky if I +had stopped there; but I went on to say that I thought the mine was an +arrant delusion, and that the sooner we turned our backs on it, and +addressed our energies to another quarter, the better. 'You think so?' +said he, looking almost fiercely at me. 'I am certain of it,' said I, +decisively; for I thought the moment had come when a word of truth could +do him good service. He went out without speaking, and instead of going to +Lavanna, where the mine is, he went over to Cagliari, and only came home +late at night. The next morning, while we were taking our coffee before +'setting out, he said to me, 'Don't strap on your knapsack to-day. I don't +mean you should come down into the shaft again.' 'How so?' asked I; 'what +have I said or done that could offend you?' 'Nothing, my dear boy,' said +he, laying his hand on my shoulder; 'but I cannot bear you should meet +this dreary life of toil without the one thing that can lighten its gloom—Hope. +I have managed, therefore, to raise a small sum on the mine; for,' said +he, with a sly laugh, 'there are men in Cagliari who don't take the +despondent view you have taken of it; and I have written to my old friend +at the Horse Guards to give you a commission, and you shall go and be a +soldier.' And leave you here, sir, all alone?' 'Far from alone, lad. I +have that companion which you tell me never joined <i>you</i>. I have Hope +with <i>me</i>.' +</p> +<p> +“'Then I'll stay too, sir, and try if he'll not give me his company yet. +At all events, I shall have <i>yours</i>; and there is nothing I know that +could recompense me for the loss of it.' It was not very easy to turn him +from his plan, but I insisted so heartily-for I'd have stayed on now, if +it were to have entailed a whole life of poverty-that he gave in at last; +and from that hour to this, not a word of other than agreement has passed +between us. For my own part, I began to work with a will, and a +determination that I never felt before; and perhaps I overtaxed my +strength, for I caught this fever by remaining till the heavy dews began +to fall, and in this climate it is always a danger.” + </p> +<p> +“And the mine, Tom—did it grow better?” “Not a bit. I verily believe +we never saw ore from that day. We got upon yellow clay, and lower down +upon limestone rock, and then upon water; and we are pumping away yet, and +old Sir Brook is just as much interested by the decrease of the water as +if he saw a silver floor beneath it. 'We've got eight inches less this +morning, Tom; we are doing famously now.' I declare to you, Lucy, when I +saw his fine cheery look and bright honest eye, I thought how far better +this man's fancies are than the hard facts of other people; and I'd rather +have his great nature than all the wealth success could bring us.” + </p> +<p> +“My own dear brother!” was all she could say, as she grasped his hand, and +held it with both her own. +</p> +<p> +“The worst of all is, that in the infatuation he feels about this mining +project he forgets everything else. Letters come to him from agents and +men of business asking for speedy answers; some occasionally come to tell +that funds upon which he had reckoned to meet certain payments had been +withdrawn from his banker long sinca When he reads these, he ponders a +moment, and mutters, 'The old story, I suppose. It is so easy to write +Brook Fossbrooke;' and then the whole seems to pass out of his mind, and +he'll say, 'Come along, Tom; we must push matters a little; I'll want some +coin by the end of the month.' +</p> +<p> +“When I grew so weak that I could n't go to the mine, the accounts he used +to give me daily made me think we must be prospering. He would come back +every night so cheery and so hopeful, and his eyes would sparkle as he 'd +tell of a bright vein that they 'd just 'struck.' He owned that the men +were less sanguine, but what could they know? They had no other teaching +than the poor experiences of daily labor. If they saw lead or silver, they +believed in it. To him, however, the signs of the coming ore were enough; +and then he would open a paper full of dark earth in which a few shining +particles might be detected, and point them out to me as the germs of +untold riches. 'These are silver, Tom, every one of them; they are +oxidized, but still perfectly pure. I 've seen the natives in Ceylon +washing earth not richer than this;' and the poor fellow would make this +hopeful tidings the reason for treating me to champagne, which in an +unlucky moment the doctor said would be good for me, and which Sir Brook +declared always disagreed with him. But I don't believe it, Lucy,—I +don't believe it! I am certain that he suffered many a privation to give +me luxuries that he would n't share. Shall I tell you the breakfast I saw +him eating one morning? I had gone to his room to speak to him before he +started to the mine, and, opening the door gently, I surprised him at his +breakfast,—a piece of brown bread and a cup of coffee without milk +was his meal, to support him till he came home at nightfall. I knew if he +were aware that I had seen him that it would have given him great +distress, so I crept quietly back to my bed, and lay down to think of this +once pampered, flattered gentleman, and how grand the nature must be that +could hold up uncomplaining and unshaken under such poverty as this. Nor +is it that he ignores the past, Lucy, or strives to forget it,—far +from that. He is full of memories of bygone events and people, but he +talks of his own part in the grand world he once lived in as one might +talk of another individual; nor is there the semblance of a regret that +all this splendor has passed away never to return. He will be here on +Sunday to pay us a visit, Lucy; and though perhaps you 'll find him sadly +changed in appearance, you 'll see that his fine nature is the same as +ever.” + </p> +<p> +“And will he persist in this project, Tom, in spite of all failure and in +defiance of hope?” + </p> +<p> +“That's the very point I 'm puzzled about. If he decide to go on, so must +I. I 'll not leave him, whatever come of it.” + </p> +<p> +“No, no, Tom; that I know you will not do.” + </p> +<p> +“His confidence of success is unshaken. It was only t' other night, as we +sat at a very frugal supper, he said, 'You 'll remember all this, Tom, one +of these days; and as you sip your Burgundy, you 'll tell your friends how +jolly we thought ourselves over our little acid wine and an onion.' I did +not dare to say what was uppermost in my thoughts, that I disbelieved in +the Burgundy era.” + </p> +<p> +“It would have been cruel to have done it.” + </p> +<p> +“He had the habit, he tells me, in his days of palmiest prosperity, of +going off by himself on foot, and wandering about for weeks, roughing it +amongst all sorts of people,—-gypsies, miners, charcoal-burners in +the German forests, and such-like. He said, without something of this +sort, he would have grown to believe that all the luxuries he lived +amongst were <i>bona fide</i> necessities of life. He was afraid too, he +said, they would become part of him; for his theory is, never let your +belongings master your own nature.” + </p> +<p> +“There is great romance in such a man.” + </p> +<p> +“Ah! there you have it, Lucy; that's the key to his whole temperament; and +I 'd not be surprised if he had been crossed in some early love.” + </p> +<p> +“Would that account for all his capricious ways?” said she, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“My own experiences can tell me nothing; but I have a sister who could +perhaps help me to an explanation. Eh, Lucy? What think you?” + </p> +<p> +She tried to laugh off the theme, but the attempt only half succeeded, and +she turned away her head to hide her confusion. +</p> +<p> +Tom took her hand between his own, and patted it affectionately. +</p> +<p> +“I want no confessions, my own dear Lucy,” said he, gently; “but if there +is anything which, for your own happiness or for my honor, I ought to +know, you will tell me of it, I am certain.” + </p> +<p> +“There is nothing,” said she, with a faint gasp. +</p> +<p> +“And you would tell me if there had been?” + </p> +<p> +She nodded her head, but did not trust herself to speak. +</p> +<p> +“And grandpapa, Lucy?” said he, trying to divert her thoughts from what he +saw was oppressing her; “has he forgiven me yet, or does he still harp on +about my presumption and self-sufficiency?” + </p> +<p> +“He is more forgiving than you think, Tom,” said she, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“I am not so sure of that. He wrote me a long letter some time back,—a +sort of lecture on the faults and shortcomings of my disposition, in which +he clearly showed that if I had all the gifts which my own self-confidence +ascribed to me, and a score more that I never dreamed of, they would go +for nothing,—absolutely nothing, so long as they were allied with my +unparalleled—no, he did n't call it impudence, but something very +near it. He told me that men of my stamp were like the people who traded +on credit, and always cut a sorry figure when their accounts came to be +audited; and, perhaps to stave off the hour of my bankruptcy, he enclosed +me fifty pounds.” + </p> +<p> +“So like him!” said she, proudly. +</p> +<p> +“I suppose it was. Indeed, as I read his note, I thought I heard him +talking it. There was an acrid flippancy about it that smacked of his very +voice.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, Tom, I will not let you say that.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll think it all the same, Lucy. His letter brought him back to my mind +so palpably that I thought I stood there before him on that morning when +he delivered that memorable discourse on my character after luncheon.” + </p> +<p> +“Did you reply to him?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, I replied,” said he, with a dry sententiousness that sounded as +though he wished the subject to drop. +</p> +<p> +“Do tell me what you said. I hope you took it in good part. I am sure you +could not have shown any resentment at his remarks.” + </p> +<p> +“No; I rather think I showed great forbearance. I simply said, 'My dear +Lord Chief Baron, I have to acknowledge the receipt of your letter, of +which I accept everything but the enclosure.—I am, faithfully +yours.'” + </p> +<p> +“And refused his gift?” + </p> +<p> +“Of course I did. The good counsel without the money, or the last without +the counsel, would have beeu all very well; but coming together, in what a +false position the offer placed me! I remember that same day we happened +to have an unusually meagre dinner, but I drank the old man's health after +it in some precious bad wine; and Sir Brook, who knew nothing about the +letter, joined in the toast, and pronounced a very pretty little eulogium +on his vigor and energy; and thus ended the whole incident.” + </p> +<p> +“If you only knew him better, Tom! if you knew him as I know him!” + </p> +<p> +Tom shrugged his shoulders, and merely said, “It was nicely done, though, +not to tell <i>you</i> about this. There was delicacy in <i>that</i>.” + </p> +<p> +Lucy went on now to relate all his kind intentions towards Tom when the +news of his illness arrived,—how he had conferred with Beattie about +sending out a doctor, and how, at such a sacrifice to his own daily +habits, he had agreed that she should come out to Cagliari. “And you don't +know how much this cost him, Master Tom,” said she, laughing; “for however +little store you may lay by my company, he prizes it, and prizes it highly +too, I promise you; and then there was another reason which weighed +against his letting me come out here,—he has got some absurd +prejudice against Sir Brook. I call it absurd, because I have tried to +find out to what to trace it, and could not; but a chance expression or +two that fell from Mrs. Sewell leads me to suppose the impression was +derived from them.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't believe he knows the Sewells. I never heard him speak of them. I +'ll ask when he comes over here. By the way, how do you like them +yourself?” + </p> +<p> +“I scarcely know. I liked her at first,—that is, I thought I should +like her; and I fancied, too, it was her wish that I might—but—” + </p> +<p> +“But what? What does this 'but' mean?” + </p> +<p> +“It means that she has puzzled me, and my hope of liking her depends on my +discovering that I have misunderstood her.” + </p> +<p> +“That's a riddle, if ever there was one! but I suppose it comes to this, +that if you have read her aright you do not like her.” + </p> +<p> +“I wish I could show you a letter she wrote me.” + </p> +<p> +“And why can't you?” + </p> +<p> +“I don't think I can tell you even that, Tom.” + </p> +<p> +“What a mysterious damsel you have grown! Does this come of your living +with that great law lord, Lucy? If so, tell him from me he has spoiled you +sadly. How frank you were long ago!” + </p> +<p> +“That is true,” said she, sighing. +</p> +<p> +“How I wish we could go back to that time, with all its dreaminess and all +its castle-building. Do you remember, Lu, when we used to set off of a +morning in the boat on a voyage of discovery, as we called it, and find +out new islands and new creeks, and give them names?” + </p> +<p> +“Do I not? Oh, Tom, were we not a thousand times happier then than we knew +we were?” + </p> +<p> +“That's a bit of a bull, Lucy, but it's true all the same. I know all you +mean, and I agree with you.” + </p> +<p> +“If we had troubles, what light ones they were!” + </p> +<p> +“Ay, that's true. We were not grubbing for lead in those days, and finding +only quartz; and our poor hearts, Lucy, were whole enough then.” He gave a +half malicious laugh as he said this; but, correcting himself quickly, he +drew her towards him and said, “Don't be angry with me, dear Lu; you know +of old what a reckless tongue I 've got.” + </p> +<p> +“Was that thunder, Tom? There it is again. What is it?” + </p> +<p> +“That's a storm getting up. It's coming from the south'ard. See how the +drift is flying overhead, and all the while the sea beneath is like a +mill-pond! Watch the stars now, and you 'll see how, one by one, they will +drop out, as if extinguished; and mark the little plash—it is barely +audible—that begins upon the beach. There! did you hear that,—that +rushing sound like wind through the trees? That's the sea getting up. How +I wish I was strong enough to stay out here. I 'd like to show you a +'Levanter,' girl,—a regular bit of Southern passion, not increasing +slowly, like a Northern wrath, but bursting out in its full fury in an +instant. Here it comes!” and as he spoke two claps of thunder shook the +air, followed by a long clattering roll like musketry, and the sea, +upheaving, surged heavily hither and thither, while the air was still and +calm; and then, as though let loose from their caverns, the winds swept +past with a wild shrill whistle that swelled into a perfect roar. The +whole surface of the sea became at once white, and the wind, sweeping +across the crests of the waves, carried away a blinding drift that added +to the darkness. The thunder, too, rolled on unceasingly, and great +flashes of lightning broke through the blackness, and displayed tall masts +and spars of ships far out to sea, rocking fearfully, and in the next +instant lost to sight in the dense darkness. +</p> +<p> +“Here comes the rain, and we must run for it,” said Tom, as a few heavy +drops fell. A solemn pause in the storm ensued, and then, as though the +very sky was rent, the water poured down in cataracts. Laughing merrily, +they made for the cottage, and though but a few yards off, were drenched +thoroughly ere they reached it. +</p> +<p> +“It's going to be a terrific night,” said Tom, as he passed from window to +window, looking to the bars and fastenings. “The great heat always brings +one of the Levant storms, and the fishermen here know it so well that on +seeing certain signs at sunset they draw up all their boats on shore, and +even secure the roofs of their cabins with strong spars and stones.” + </p> +<p> +“I hope poor old Nicholas is safe by this time. Could he have reached +Cagliari by this?” said Lucy. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, he is snug enough. The old rogue is sitting at his supper this +minute, cursing the climate and the wine and the place, and the day he +came to it.” + </p> +<p> +“Come, Tom! I think he bears everything better than I expected.” + </p> +<p> +“Bears everything better! Why, child, what has he to bear that you and I +have not to bear? Is there one privation here that falls to his share +without coming to us?” + </p> +<p> +“And what would be the value of that good blood you are so proud of, Tom, +if it would not make us as proof against petty annoyances as against big +dangers?” + </p> +<p> +“I declare time and place make no change on you. You are the same +disputatious damsel here that you used to be beside the Shannon. Have I +not told you scores of times you must never quote what one has once said, +when it comes in opposition to a present opinion?” + </p> +<p> +“But if I cease to quote you, Tom, whence am I to derive those maxims of +wisdom I rely upon so implicitly?” + </p> +<p> +“Take care, young lady,—take care,” said he, shaking his finger at +her. “Every fort has its weak side. If you assail me by the brain, I may +attack you at the heart! How will it be then, eh?” Coloring till her face +and neck were crimson, she tried to laugh; but though her lips parted, no +sound came forth, and after a second or two of struggle, she said, +“Good-night,” and rushed away. +</p> +<p> +“Good-night, Lu,” cried he after her. “Look well to your +window-fastenings, or you will be blown away before morning.” + </p> +<p> +END OF VOL. I. <br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sir Brook Fossbrooke, Volume I., by +Charles James Lever + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIR BROOK FOSSBROOKE, VOLUME I. *** + +***** This file should be named 35296-h.htm or 35296-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/2/9/35296/ + +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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” + or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project +Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +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 + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +“Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from +the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method +you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is +owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he +has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the +Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments +must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you +prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax +returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and +sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the +address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to +the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.” + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies +you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he +does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License. You must require such a user to return or +destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium +and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of +Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any +money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the +electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days +of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free +distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +“Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right +of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: +Dr. Gregory B. Newby +Chief Executive and Director +gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + +http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> +</body> +</html> |