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diff --git a/35297-h/35297-h.htm b/35297-h/35297-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d5a6655 --- /dev/null +++ b/35297-h/35297-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,12423 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> + <title> + Sir Brook Fossbrooke, Vol. II. by Charles James Lever, + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +Project Gutenberg's Sir Brook Fossbrooke, Volume II., by Charles James Lever + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Sir Brook Fossbrooke, Volume II. + +Author: Charles James Lever + +Illustrator: E. J. Wheeler + +Release Date: February 16, 2011 [EBook #35297] +Last Updated: February 28, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIR BROOK FOSSBROOKE, VOLUME II. *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<h1> +SIR BROOK FOSSBROOKE +</h1> +<h3> +Volume II. +</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> +<a name="linkimage-0001" id="linkimage-0001"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/399.jpg" width="100%" alt="Frontispiece2 " /> +</div> +<p> +<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> +<blockquote> +<p class="toc"> +<big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> +</p> +<p> +<br /> <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> A LEVANTER +<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. </a> BY THE +MINE AT LA VANNA <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> UP +AT THE MINE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> PARTING +COUNSELS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> ON +THE ISLAND <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> HOW +CHANGED <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a> HOW +TO MEET A SCANDAL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> TWO +MEN WELL MET <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a> A +SURPRISE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> THE +CHIEF AND HIS FRIEND <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. +</a> A LEAP IN THE DARK <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> +CHAPTER XII. </a> SOME OF SEWELL'S OPINIONS <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> THE VISIT TO THE +JAIL <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> A +GRAND DINNER AT THE PRIORY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER +XV. </a> CHIEF SECRETARY BALFOUR <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> A STARLIT NIGHT <br /><br /> +<a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a> AN UNGRACIOUS +ADIEU <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a> A +PLEASANT MEETING <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a> MAN +TO MAN <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. </a> ON +THE DOOR-STEPS AT NIGHT <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. +</a> GOING OUT <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER +XXII. </a> AT HOWTH <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0023"> +CHAPTER XXIII. </a> TO REPORT <br /><br /> <a +href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. </a> A MOMENT OF +CONFIDENCE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. </a> THE +TELEGRAM <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. </a> A +FAMILY PARTY <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. </a> PROJECTS +<br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. </a> THE +END OF ALL <br /><br /> +</p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<h1> +VOLUME II. +</h1> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER I. A LEVANTER. +</h2> +<p> +The storm raged fearfully during the night, and the sea rose to a height +that made many believe some earthquake had occurred in one of the islands +near. Old trees that resisted the gales of former hurricanes were +uprooted, and the swollen streams tore down amongst the fallen timber, +adding to the clamor of the elements and increasing the signs of +desolation and ruin that abounded. +</p> +<p> +It was, as Tom called it, a “regular Levanter,” one of those storms which +in a brief twenty-four hours can do the work of years in destruction and +change. +</p> +<p> +Amongst the group of fishermen who crouched under a rock on the shore, sad +predictions were uttered as to the fate of such as were at sea that night, +and the disasters of bygone years were recalled, and the story of a +Russian liner that was lost off Spartivento, and the Spanish admiral who +was wrecked on the rocks off Melissa, were told with all the details +eyewitnesses could impart to them. +</p> +<p> +“Those fellows have driven me half distracted, Lucy,” said Tom, as he came +in wet and dripping, “with their tales of shipwreck; and one of them +declares that he saw a large paddle-wheel steamer under English colors +drifting to the southward this morning, perfectly helpless and +unmanageable. I wish I could get over to Cagliari, and hear tidings of +her.” + </p> +<p> +“Of course that is impossible,” said she, with a shudder. +</p> +<p> +“So they tell me. They say there's not a boat in the island would live +five minutes in that sea.” + </p> +<p> +“And the gale seems increasing too.” + </p> +<p> +“So it does. They say, just before the storm ends it blows its very +hardest at the finish, and then stops as suddenly as it burst forth.” + </p> +<p> +By noon the gale began to decline, the sun burst out, and the sea +gradually subsided, and in a few hours the swollen torrents changed to +tiny rivulets, clear as crystal. The birds were singing in the trees, and +the whole landscape, like a newly washed picture, came out in fresher and +brighter color than ever. Nor was it easy to believe that the late +hurricane had ever existed, so little trace of it could be seen on that +rocky island. +</p> +<p> +A little before sunset a small “latiner” rounded the point, and stood in +towards the little bay. She had barely wind enough to carry her along, and +was fully an hour in sight before she anchored. As it was evident she was +a Cagliari boat, Tom was all impatient for her news, and went on board of +her at once. The skipper handed him a letter from Sir Brook, saying, “I +was to give you this, sir, and say I was at your orders.” Tom broke the +seal, but before he had read half-a-dozen lines, he cried out: “All right! +shove me on shore, and come in to me in an hour. By that time I 'll tell +you what I decide on.” + </p> +<p> +“Here's great news, Lucy,” cried he. “The 'Cadmus' troop-ship has put into +Cagliari disabled, foremast lost, one paddle-wheel carried away, all the +boats smashed, but her Majesty's—th safe and sound. Colonel Cave +very jolly, and Major Trafford, if you have heard of such a person, wild +with joy at the disaster of being shipwrecked.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, Tom, do be serious. What is it at all?” said she, as, pale with +anxiety, she caught his arm to steady herself. +</p> +<p> +“Here's the despatch,—read it yourself if you won't believe me. This +part here is all about the storm and the other wrecks; but here, this is +the important part, in your eyes at least. +</p> +<p> +“'Cave is now with me up here, and Trafford is to join us to-night. The +ship cannot possibly be fit for sea before ten days to come; and the +question is, Shall we go over and visit you, or will you and Lucy come +here? One or other of these courses it must be, and it is for you to +decide which suits you best. You know as well as myself what a sorry place +this is to ask dear Lucy to come to, but, on the other hand, I know +nothing as to the accommodation your cottage offers. For my own part it +does not signify; I can sleep on board any craft that takes me over; but +have you room for the soldiers?—I mean Cave and Trafford. I have no +doubt they will be easily put up; and if they could be consulted, would +rather bivouac under the olives than not come. At all events, let the boat +bring yourselves or the invitation for us,—and at once, for the +impatience of one here (I am too discreet to particularize) is pushing my +own endurance to its limits.' +</p> +<p> +“Now, Lucy, what's it to be? Decide quickly, for the skipper will be here +soon for his answer.” + </p> +<p> +“I declare I don't know, Tom,” said she, faltering at every word. “The +cottage is very small, the way we live here very simple: I scarcely think +it possible we can ask any one to be a guest—” + </p> +<p> +“So that you opine we ought to go over to Cagliari?” burst he in. +</p> +<p> +“I think <i>you</i> ought, Tom, certainly,” said she, still more faintly. +</p> +<p> +“I see,” said he, dryly, “you 'll not be afraid of being left alone here?” + </p> +<p> +“No, not in the least,” said she; and her voice was now a mere whisper, +and she swayed slightly back and forward like one about to faint. +</p> +<p> +“Such being the case,” resumed Tom, “what you advise strikes me as +admirable. I can make your apologies to old Sir Brook. I can tell him, +besides, that you had scruples on the propriety,—there may be Mrs. +Grundys at Cagliari, who would be shocked, you know; and then, if you +should get on here comfortably, and not feel it too lonely, why, perhaps, +I might be able to stay with them till they sail.” + </p> +<p> +She tried to mutter a Yes, but her lips moved without a sound. +</p> +<p> +“So that is settled, eh?” cried he, looking full at her. +</p> +<p> +She nodded, and then turned away her head. +</p> +<p> +“What an arrant little hypocrite it is!” said he, drawing his arm around +her waist; “and with all the will in the world to deceive, what a poor +actress! My child, I know your heart is breaking this very moment at my +cruelty, my utter barbarity, and if you had only the courage, you 'd tell +me I was a beast!” + </p> +<p> +“Oh! Tom,—oh! dear Tom,” said she, hiding her face on his shoulder. +</p> +<p> +“Dear Tom, of course, when there 's no help for it. And this is a specimen +of the candor and frankness you promised me!” + </p> +<p> +“But, Tom,” said she, faltering at every word, “it is not—as you +think; it is not as you believe.” + </p> +<p> +“What is not as I believe?” said he, quickly. +</p> +<p> +“I mean,” added she, trembling with shame and confusion, “there is no more—that +it 's over—all over!” And unable to endure longer, she burst into +tears, and buried her face between her hands. +</p> +<p> +“My own dear, dear sister,” said he, pressing her to his side, “why have +you not told me of this before?” + </p> +<p> +“I could not, I could not,” sobbed she. +</p> +<p> +“One word more, Lu, and only one. Who was in fault? I mean, darling, was +this <i>your</i> doing or <i>his?</i>” + </p> +<p> +“Neither, Tom; at least, I think so. I believe that some deceit was +practised,—some treachery; but I don't know what, nor how. In fact, +it is all a mystery to me; and my misery makes it none the clearer.” + </p> +<p> +“Tell me, at least, whatever you know.” + </p> +<p> +“I will bring you the letter,” said she, disengaging herself from him. +</p> +<p> +“And did he write to you?” asked he, fiercely. +</p> +<p> +“No; <i>he</i> did not write,—from <i>him</i> I have heard nothing.” + </p> +<p> +She rushed out of the room as she spoke, leaving Tom in a state of wild +bewilderment. Few as were the minutes of her absence, the interval to him +seemed like an age of torture and doubt. Weak, and broken by illness, his +fierce spirit was nothing the less bold and defiant; and over and over as +he waited there, he swore to himself to bring Trafford to a severe +reckoning if he found that he had wronged his sister. +</p> +<p> +“How noble of her to hide all this sorrow from me, because she saw my +suffering! What a fine nature! And it is with hearts like these fellows +trifle and temper, till they end by breaking them! Poor thing! might it +not be better to leave her in the delusion of thinking him not a +scoundrel, than to denounce and brand him?” + </p> +<p> +As he thus doubted and debated with himself, she entered the room. Her +look was now calm and composed, but her face was lividly pale, and her +very lips bloodless. “Tom,” said she, gravely, “I don't think I would let +you see this letter but for one reason, which is, that it will convince +you that you have no cause of quarrel whatever with <i>him</i>.” + </p> +<p> +“Give it to me,—let me read it,” burst he in, impatiently; “I have +neither taste nor temper for any more riddles,—leave me to find my +own road through this labyrinth.” + </p> +<p> +“Shall I leave you alone, Tom?” said she, timidly, as she handed him the +letter. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, do so. I think all the quicker when there's none by me.” He turned +his back to the light, as he sat down, and began the letter. +</p> +<p> +“I believe I ought to tell you first,” said she, as she stood with her +hand on the lock of the door, “the circumstances under which that was +written.” + </p> +<p> +“Tell me nothing whatever,—let me grope out my own road;” and now +she moved away and left him. +</p> +<p> +He read the letter from beginning to end, and then re-read it. He saw +there were many allusions to which he had no clew; but there was a tone in +it which there was no mistaking, and that tone was treachery. The way in +which the writer deprecated all possible criticism of her life, at the +outset, showed how sensitive she was to such remark, and how conscious of +being open to it. Tom knew enough of life to be aware that the people who +affect to brave the world are those who are past defying it. So far at +least he felt he had read her truly; but he had to confess to himself that +beyond this it was not easy to advance. +</p> +<p> +On the second reading, however, all appeared more clear and simple. It was +the perfidious apology of a treacherous woman for a wrong which she had +hoped, but had not been able, to inflict. “I see it all,” cried Tom; “her +jealousy has been stimulated by discovering Trafford's love for Lucy, and +this is her revenge. It is just possible, too, she may have entangled him. +There are meshes that men can scarcely keep free of. Trafford may have +witnessed the hardship of her daily life—seen the indignities to +which she submits—and possibly pitied her; if he has gone no further +than this, there is no great mischief. What a clever creature she must +be!” thought he again,—“how easy it ought to be for a woman like +that to make a husband adore her; and yet these women will not be content +with that. Like the cheats at cards, they don't care to win by fair play.” + He went to the door, and called out “Lucy!” + </p> +<p> +The tone of his voice sounded cheerily, and she came on the instant. +</p> +<p> +“How did you meet after this?” asked he, as she entered. +</p> +<p> +“We have not met since that. I left the Priory, and came abroad three days +after I received it.” + </p> +<p> +“So then that was the secret of the zeal to come out and nurse poor +brother Tom, eh?” said he, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“You know well if it was,” said she, as her eyes swam in tears. +</p> +<p> +“No, no, my poor dear Lu, I never thought so; and right glad am I to know +that you are not to live in companionship with the woman who wrote that +letter.” + </p> +<p> +“You think ill of her?” + </p> +<p> +“I will not tell you half how badly I think of her; but Trafford is as +much wronged here as any one, or else I am but a sorry decipherer of +mysterious signs.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, Tom!” cried she, clasping his hand and looking at him as though she +yearned for one gleam of hope. +</p> +<p> +“It is so that I read it; but I do not like to rely upon my own sole +judgment in such a case. Will you trust me with this letter, and will you +let me show it to Sir Brooke? He is wonderfully acute in tracing people's +real meaning through all the misty surroundings of expression. I will go +over to Cagliari at once, and see him. If all be as I suspect, I will +bring them back with me. If Sir Brook's opinion be against mine, I will +believe him to be the wiser man, and come back alone.” + </p> +<p> +“I consent to everything, Tom, if you will give me but one pledge,—you +must give it seriously, solemnly.” + </p> +<p> +“I guess what you mean, Lucy; your anxious face has told the story without +words. You are afraid of my hot temper. You think I will force a quarrel +on Trafford,—yes, I knew what was in your thoughts. Well, on my +honor I will not. This I promise you faithfully.” + </p> +<p> +She threw herself into his arms and kissed him, muttering, in a low voice, +“My own dear brother,” in his ear. +</p> +<p> +“It is just as likely you may see me back again tomorrow, Lucy, and alone +too. Mind that, girl! The version I have taken of this letter may turn out +to be all wrong. Sir Brook may show me how and where and why I have +mistaken it; and if so, Lu, I must have a pledge from you,—you know +what I mean.” + </p> +<p> +“You need none, Tom,” said she, proudly; “you shall not be ashamed of your +Sister.” + </p> +<p> +“That was said like yourself, and I have no fears about you now. You will +be anxious—you can't help being anxious, my poor child—about +all this; but your uncertainty shall be as short as I can make it. Look +out for me, at all events, with the evening breeze. I'll try and catch the +land-wind to take me up. If I fly no ensign, Lucy, I am alone; if you see +the 'Jack,' it will mean I have company with me. Do you understand me?” + </p> +<p> +She nodded, but did not speak. +</p> +<p> +“Now, Lu, I'll just get my traps together, and be off; that light +Tramontana wind will last till daybreak, and by that time the sea-breeze +will carry me along pleasantly. How I 'd like to have you with me!” + </p> +<p> +“It is best as it is, Tom,” said she, trying to smile. +</p> +<p> +“And if all goes wrong,—I mean if all does not go right,—Lucy, +I have got a plan, and I am sure Sir Brook won't oppose it. We 'll just +pack up, wish the lead and the cobalt and the rest of it a good-bye, and +start for the Cape and join father. There's a project after your own +heart, girl.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, Tom dearest, if we could do that!” + </p> +<p> +“Think over it till we meet again, and it will at least keep away darker +thoughts.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER II. BY THE MINE AT LA VANNA +</h2> +<p> +The mine of Lavanna, on which Sir Brook had placed all his hopes of future +fortune, was distant from the town of Cagliari about eighteen miles. It +was an old, a very old shaft; Livy had mentioned it, and Pliny, in one of +his letters, compares people of sanguine and hopeful temperament with men +who believe in the silver ore of Lavanna. There had therefore been a +traditionary character of failure attached to the spot, and not impossibly +this very circumstance had given it a greater value in Fossbrooke's +estimation; for he loved a tough contest with fortune, and his experiences +had given him many such. +</p> +<p> +Popular opinion certainly set down the mine as a disastrous enterprise, +and the list of those who had been ruined by the speculation was a long +one. Nothing daunted by all he had heard, and fully convinced in his own +mind that his predecessors had earned their failures by their own +mistakes, Fossbrooke had purchased the property many years before, and +there it had remained, like many of his other acquisitions, uncared for +and unthought of, till the sudden idea had struck him that he wanted to be +rich, and to be rich instantaneously. +</p> +<p> +He had coffee-plantations somewhere in Ceylon, and he had purchased +largely of land in Canada; but to utilize either of these would be a work +of time, whereas the mine would yield its metal bright and ready for the +market. It was so much actual available money at once. +</p> +<p> +His first care was to restore, so far as to make it habitable, a dreary +old ruinous barrack of a house, which a former speculator had built to +hold all his officials and dependants. A few rooms that opened on a +tumble-down terrace—of which some marble urns yet remained to bear +witness of former splendor—were all that Sir Brook could manage to +make habitable, and even these would have seemed miserable and +uncomfortable to any one less bent on “roughing it” than himself. +</p> +<p> +Some guns and fishing-gear covered one wall of the room that served as +dinner-room; and a few rude shelves on the opposite side contained such +specimens of ore as were yet discovered, and the three or four books which +formed their library; the space over the chimney displaying a sort of +trophy of pipes of every sort and shape, from the well-browned meerschaum +to the ignoble “dudeen” of Irish origin. +</p> +<p> +These were the only attempts at decoration they had made, but it was +astonishing with what pleasure the old man regarded them, and with what +pride he showed the place to such as accidentally came to see him. +</p> +<p> +“I'll have a room yet, just arrayed in this fashion, Tom,” would he say, +“when we have made our fortune, and go back to live in England. I 'll have +a sort of snuggery a correct copy of this; all the old beams in the +ceiling, and those great massive architraves round the doors, shall be +exactly followed, and the massive stone mantelpiece; and it will remind +us, as we sit there of a winter's night, of the jolly evenings we have had +here after a hard day's work in the shaft. Won't I have the laugh at you, +Tom, too, as I tell you of the wry face you used to make over our +prospects, the hang-dog look you 'd give when the water was gaining on us, +and our new pump got choked!” + </p> +<p> +Tom would smile at all this, though secretly nourishing no such thoughts +for the future. Indeed, he had for many a day given up all hope of making +his fortune as a miner, and merely worked on with the dogged determination +not to desert his friend. +</p> +<p> +On one of the large white walls of their sitting-room Sir Brook had +sketched in charcoal a picture of the mine, in all the dreariest aspect of +its poverty, and two sad-looking men, Tom and himself, working at the +windlass over the shaft; and at the other extremity of the space there +stood a picturesque mansion, surrounded with great forest trees, under +which deer were grouped, and two men—the same—were riding up +the approach on mettlesome horses; the elder of the two, with outstretched +arm and hand, evidently directing his companion's attention to the rich +scenes through which they passed. These were the “now” and “then” of the +old man's vision, and he believed in them, as only those believe who draw +belief from their own hearts, unshaken by all without. +</p> +<p> +It was at the close of a summer day, just in that brief moment when the +last flicker of light tinges the earth at first with crimson and then with +deep blue, to give way a moment later to black night, that Sir Brook sat +with Colonel Cave after dinner, explaining to his visitor the fresco on +the wall, and giving, so far as he might, his reasons to believe it a +truthful foreshadowing of the future. +</p> +<p> +“But you tell me,” said Cave, “that the speculation has proved the ruin of +a score of fellows.” + </p> +<p> +“So it has. Did you ever hear of the enterprise, at least of one worth the +name, that had not its failures? or is success anything more in reality +than the power of reasoning out how and why others have succumbed, and how +to avoid the errors that have beset them? The men who embarked in this +scheme were alike deficient in knowledge and in capital.” + </p> +<p> +“Ah, indeed!” muttered Cave, who did not exactly say what his looks +implied. “Are you their superior in these requirements?” + </p> +<p> +Sir Brook was quick enough to note the expression, and hastily said, “I +have not much to boast of myself in these respects, but I possess that +which they never had,—that without which men accomplish nothing in +life, going through the world mere desultory ramblers, and not like sturdy +pilgrims, ever footing onward to the goal of their ambition. I have +Faith!” + </p> +<p> +“And young Lendrick, what says he to it?” + </p> +<p> +“He scarcely shares my hopes, but he shows no signs of backwardness.” + </p> +<p> +“He is not sanguine, then?” + </p> +<p> +“Nature did not make him so, and a man can no more alter his temperament +than his stature. I began life with such a capital of confidence that, +though I have been an arrant spendthrift, I have still a strong store by +me. The cunning fellows laugh at us and call us dupes; but let me tell +you, Cave, if accounts were squared, it might turn out that even as a +matter of policy incredulity has not much to boast of, and were it not so, +this world would be simply intolerable.” + </p> +<p> +“I'd like, however, to hear that your mine was not all outlay,” said Cave, +bringing back the theme to its starting-point. +</p> +<p> +“So should I,” said Fossbrooke, dryly. +</p> +<p> +“And I 'd like to learn that some one more conversant—more +professional in these matters—” + </p> +<p> +“Less ignorant than myself, in a word,” said Fossbrooke, laughing. “You +mean you'd like to hear a more trustworthy prophet predict as favorably; +and with all that I agree heartily.” + </p> +<p> +“There's no one would be better pleased to be certain that the fine palace +on the wall there was not a castle in Spain. I think you know that.” + </p> +<p> +“I do, Cave,—I know it well; but bear in mind, your best runs in the +hunting-field have not always been when you have killed your fox. The +pursuit, when it is well sustained, with its fair share of perils met, +dared, and overcome,—this is success. Whatever keeps a man's heart +up and his courage high to the end, is no mean thing. I own to you I hope +to win, and I don't know that there is any such failure possible as would +quench this hope.” + </p> +<p> +“Just what Trafford said of you when he came back from that +fishing-excursion,” cried Cave, as though carried away by a sudden burst +of thought. +</p> +<p> +“What a good fellow he is! Shall we have him up here to-night?” + </p> +<p> +“No; some of our men have been getting into scrapes at Cagliari, and I +have been obliged to ask him to stay there and keep things in order.” + </p> +<p> +“Is his quarrel with his family final, or is there still an opening to +reconciliation?” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm afraid not. Some old preference of his mother's for the youngest son +has helped on the difference; and then certain stories she brought back +from Ireland of Lionel's doings there, or at least imputed doings, have, I +suspect, steeled his father's heart completely against him.” + </p> +<p> +“I'll stake my life on it there is nothing dishonorable to attach to him. +What do they allege?” + </p> +<p> +“I have but a garbled version of the story, for from Trafford himself I +have heard nothing; but I know, for I have seen the bills, he has lost +largely at play to a very dangerous creditor, who also accuses him of +designs on his wife; and the worst of this is that the latter suspicion +originated with Lady Trafford.” + </p> +<p> +“I could have sworn it. It was a woman's quarrel, and she would sacrifice +her own son for vengeance. I 'll be able to pay her a very refined +compliment when I next see her, Cave, and tell her that she is not in the +least altered from the day I first met her. And has Lionel been passed +over in the entail?” + </p> +<p> +“So he believes, and I think with too good reason.” + </p> +<p> +“And all because he loved a girl whose alliance would confer honor on the +proudest house in the land. I think I 'll go over and pay Holt a visit. It +is upwards of forty years since I saw Sir Hugh, and I have a notion I +could bring him to reason.” + </p> +<p> +Cave shook his head doubtingly. +</p> +<p> +“Ay, to be sure,” sighed Fossbrooke, “it does make a precious difference +whether one remonstrates at the head of a fine fortune or pleads for +justice in a miner's jacket. I was forgetting that, Cave. Indeed, I am +always forgetting it. And have they made no sort of settlement on Lionel,—nothing +to compensate him for the loss of his just expectations?” + </p> +<p> +“I suspect not. He has told me nothing beyond the fact that he is to have +the purchase-money for the lieutenant-colonelcy, which I was ready and +willing to vacate in his favor, but which we are unable to negotiate, +because he owes a heavy sum, to the payment of which this must go.” + </p> +<p> +“Can nothing be done with his creditor?—can we not manage to secure +the debt and pay the interest?” + </p> +<p> +“This same creditor is one not easily dealt with,” said Cave, slowly. +</p> +<p> +“A money-lender?” + </p> +<p> +“No. He 's the man I just told you wanted to involve Trafford with his own +wife. As dangerous a fellow as ever lived. I take shame to myself to own +that, though acquainted with him for years, I never really knew his +character till lately.” + </p> +<p> +“Don't think the worse of yourself for that, Cave. The faculty to read bad +men at sight argues too much familiarity with badness. I like to hear a +fellow say, 'I never so much as suspected it.' Is this, man's name a +secret?” + </p> +<p> +“No. Nothing of the kind. I don't suppose you ever met him, but he is well +known in the service,—better perhaps in India than at home,—he +served on Rolffe's staff in Bengal. His name is Sewell.” + </p> +<p> +“What! Dudley Sewell?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; that's his name. Do you know him?” + </p> +<p> +“Do I know him!” muttered the old man, as he bent down and supported his +head upon his hand. +</p> +<p> +“And do I wrong him in thinking him a dangerous fellow?” asked Cave. But +Fossbrooke made no answer; indeed, he never heard the question, so +absorbed was he in his own thoughts. +</p> +<p> +“What do you know of him?” asked Cave, in a louder voice. +</p> +<p> +“Everything,—everything! I know all that he has done, and scores of +things he would have done if he could. By what ill-luck was it that +Trafiford came to know this man?” + </p> +<p> +“They met at the Cape, and Trafford went to visit him when they came over +to Ireland. I suspect—I do not know it—but I suspect that +there was some flirtation in the case. She is extremely pretty, and a +coquette.” + </p> +<p> +“I declare,” said Fossbrooke, as he arose and paced the room, totally +unattentive to all the other said,—“I declare I begin sometimes to +think that the only real activity in life is on the part of the +scoundrels. Half the honest people in the world pass their lives in +forming good intentions, while the rogues go straight at their work and do +it. Do you think, Cave, that Trafford would tell me frankly what has +passed between this man and himself?” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm not sure. I mean, he might have some reserve on one point, and that +is the very point on which his candor would be most important. There have +been letters, it would seem, that Sewell has got hold of, and threatens +exposure, if some enormous demand be not complied with.” + </p> +<p> +“What! Is the scoundrel so devoid of devices that he has to go back on an +old exploded villany? Why, he played that game at Rangoon, and got five +thousand pounds out of poor Beresford.” + </p> +<p> +“I have heard something of that.” + </p> +<p> +“Have heard of it! Who that ever served in India is not familiar with the +story? What does Trafford mean by not coming up here, and telling me the +whole story?” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll tell you what he means, Fossbrooke: he is heartily ashamed of +himself; he is in love with another, and he knows that you know it; but he +believes you may have heard stories to his detriment, and, tied as he is, +or fancies he is, by a certain delicate reserve, he cannot go into his +exculpation. There, in one word, is the reason that he is not here +to-night; he asked me to put on him special duty, and save him from all +the awkwardness of meeting you with a half-confidence.” + </p> +<p> +“And I, meanwhile, have written off to Tom Lendrick to come over here with +his sister, or to let us go and pay them a visit at the island.” + </p> +<p> +“You never told me of this.” + </p> +<p> +“Why should I? I was using the rights I possess over you as my guests, +doing for you what I deemed best for your amusement.” + </p> +<p> +“What answer have they given you?” + </p> +<p> +“None up to this; indeed, there has been scarcely time; and now, from what +you tell me, I do not well know what answer I'd like to have from them.” + </p> +<p> +For several minutes neither uttered a word; at last Fossbrooke said: +“Trafford was right not to meet me. It has saved him some prevarication, +and me some passion. Write and tell him I said so.” + </p> +<p> +“I can scarcely do that, without avowing that I have revealed to you more +than I am willing to own.” + </p> +<p> +“When you told me in whose hands he was, you told me more than all the +rest. Few men can live in Dudley Sewells intimacy and come unscathed out +of the companionship.” + </p> +<p> +“That would tell ill for myself, for I have been of late on terms of much +intimacy with him.” + </p> +<p> +“You have n't played with him?” + </p> +<p> +“Ay, but I have; and, what's more, won of him,” said Cave, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“You profited little by that turn of fortune,” said Foss-brooke, +sarcastically. +</p> +<p> +“You imply that he did not pay his debt; but you are wrong: he came to me +the morning after we had played, and acquitted the sum lost.” + </p> +<p> +“Why, I am entangling myself in the miracles I hear! That Sewell should +lose is strange enough: that he should pay his losses is simply +incredible.” + </p> +<p> +“Your opinion of him would seem to be a very indifferent one.” + </p> +<p> +“Far from it, Cave. It is without any qualification whatever. I deem him +the worst fellow I ever knew; nor am I aware of any greater misfortune to +a young fellow entering on life than to have become his associate.” + </p> +<p> +“You astonish me! I was prepared to hear things of him that one could not +justify, nor would have willingly done themselves, but not to learn that +he was beyond the pale of honor.” + </p> +<p> +“It is exactly where he stands, sir,—beyond the pale of honor. I +wish we had not spoken of him,” said the old man, rising, and pacing the +room. “The memory of that fellow is the bitterest draught I ever put to my +lips; he has dashed my mind with more unworthy doubts and mean suspicions +of other men than all my experience of life has ever taught me. I declare, +I believe if I had never known him my heart would have been as hopeful +to-day as it was fifty years ago.” + </p> +<p> +“How came it that I never heard you speak of him?” + </p> +<p> +“Is it my wont, Cave, to talk of my disasters to my friends? You surely +have known me long enough to say whether I dwell upon the reverses and +disappointments of my life. It is a sorry choice of topics, perhaps, that +is left to men old as myself when they must either be croakers or +boasters. At all events, I have chosen the latter; and people bear with it +the better because they can smile at it.” + </p> +<p> +“I wish with all my heart I had never played with Sewell, and still more +that I had not won of him.” + </p> +<p> +“Was it a heavy sum?” + </p> +<p> +“For a man like myself, a very heavy sum. I was led on—giving him +his revenge, as it is called—till I found myself playing for a stake +which, had I lost, would have cost me the selling my commission.” + </p> +<p> +Fossbrooke nodded, as though to say he had known of such, incidents in the +course of his life. +</p> +<p> +“When he appeared at my quarters the next morning to settle the debt, I +was so overcome with shame that I pledge you my word of honor, I believe I +'d rather have been the loser and taken all the ruin the loss would have +brought down upon me.” + </p> +<p> +“How your friend must have appreciated your difficulty!” said Fossbrooke, +sarcastically. +</p> +<p> +“He was frank enough, at all events, to own that he could not share my +sense of embarrassment. He jeered a little at my pretension to be an +example to my young officers, as well he might. I had selected an unlucky +moment to advance such a claim; and then he handed me over my innings, +with all the ease and indifference in life.” + </p> +<p> +“I declare, Cave, I was expecting, to the very last moment, a different +ending to your story. I waited to hear that he had handed you a bond of +his wife's guardian, which for prudential reasons should not be pressed +for prompt payment.” + </p> +<p> +“Good heavens! what do you mean?” cried Cave, leaning over the table in +intense eagerness. “Who could have told you this?” + </p> +<p> +“Beresford told me; he brought me the very document once to my house with +my own signature annexed to it,—an admirable forgery as ever was, +done. My seal, too, was there. By bad luck, however, the paper was stolen +from me that very night,—taken out of a locked portfolio. And when +Beresford charged the fellow with the fraud, Sewell called him out and +shot him.” + </p> +<p> +Cave sat for several minutes like one stunned and overcome. He looked +vacantly before him, but gave no sign of hearing or marking what was said +to him. At last he arose, and, walking over to a table, unlocked his +writing-desk, and took out a large packet, of which he broke the seal, and +without examining the contents, handed it to Fossbrooke, saying,—“Is +that like it?” + </p> +<p> +“It is the very bond itself; there's my signature. I wish I wrote as good +a hand now,” said he, laughing. “It is as I always said, Cave,” cried he, +in a louder, fuller voice; “the world persists in calling this swindler a +clever fellow, and there never was a greater mistake. The devices of the +scoundrel are the very fewest imaginable; and he repeats his three or four +tricks, with scarcely a change, throughout a life long.” + </p> +<p> +“And this is a forgery!” muttered Cave, as he bent over the document and +scanned it closely. +</p> +<p> +“You shall see me prove it such. You 'll intrust me with it. I 'll promise +to take better care of it this time.” + </p> +<p> +“Of course. What do you mean to do?” + </p> +<p> +“Nothing by course of law, Cave. So far I promise you, and I know it is of +that you are most afraid. No, my good friend. If you never figure in a +witness-box till brought there by <i>me</i>, you may snap your fingers for +many a day at cross-examinations.” + </p> +<p> +“This cannot be made the subject of a personal altercation,” said Cave, +hesitatingly. +</p> +<p> +“If you mean a challenge, certainly not; but it may be made the means of +extricating Trafford from his difficulties with this man, and I can hardly +see where and what these difficulties are.” + </p> +<p> +“You allude to the wife?” + </p> +<p> +“We will not speak of that, Cave,” said Fossbrooke, coloring deeply. “Mrs. +Sewell has claims on my regard, that nothing her husband could do, nothing +that he might become could efface. She was the daughter of the best and +truest friend, and the most noble-hearted fellow I ever knew. I have long +ceased to occupy any place in her affections, but I shall never cease to +remember whose child she was,—how he loved her, and how, in the last +words he ever spoke, he asked me to befriend her. In those days I was a +rich man, and had the influence that wealth confers. I had access to great +people, too, and, wanting nothing for myself, could easily be of use to +others; but, where am I wandering to? I only intended to say that <i>her</i> +name is not to be involved in any discussion those things may occasion. +What are these voices I hear outside in the court? Surely that must be Tom +Lendrick I hear.” He arose and flung open the window, and at the same +instant a merry voice cried out, “Here we are, Sir Brook,—Trafford +and myself. I met him in the Piazza at Cagliari, and carried him off with +me.” + </p> +<p> +“Have you brought anything to eat with you?” asked Fossbrooke. +</p> +<p> +“That I have,—half a sheep and a turkey,” said Tom. +</p> +<p> +“Then you are thrice welcome,” said Fossbrooke, laughing; “for Cave and I +are reduced to fluids. Come up at once; the fellows will take care of your +horses. We 'll make a night of it, Cave,” said the old man, as he +proceeded to cover the table with bottles. “We'll drink success to the +mine! We 'll drink to the day when, as lieutenant-general, you 'll come +and pay me a visit in that great house yonder,—and here come the +boys to help us.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER III. UP AT THE MINE +</h2> +<p> +Though they carried their convivialities into a late hour of the night, +Sir Brook was stirring early on the next morning, and was at Tom +Lendrick's bedside ere he was awake. +</p> +<p> +“We had no time for much talk together, Tom, when you came up last night,” + said he; “nor is there much now, for I am off to England within an hour.” + </p> +<p> +“Off to England! and the mine?” + </p> +<p> +“The mine must take care of itself, Tom, till you are stronger and able to +look after it. My care at present is to know if Trafford be going back +with you.” + </p> +<p> +“I meant that he should; in fact, I came over here expressly to ask you +what was best to be done. You can guess what I allude to; and I had +brought with me a letter which Lucy thought you ought to read; and, +indeed, I intended to be as cautious and circumspect as might be, but I +was scarcely on shore when Trafford rushed across a street and threw his +arm over my shoulder, and almost sobbed out his joy at seeing me. So +overcome was I that I forgot all my prudence,—all, indeed, that I +came for. I asked him to come up with me,—ay, and to come back, too, +with me to the island and stay a week there.” + </p> +<p> +“I scarcely think that can be done,” said the old man, gravely. “I like +Trafford well, and would be heartily glad I could like him still better; +but I must learn more about him ere I consent to his going over to +Maddalena. What is this letter you speak of?” + </p> +<p> +“You 'll find it in the pocket of my dressing-case there. Yes; that's it.” + </p> +<p> +“It's a longish epistle, but in a hand I well know,—at least, I knew +it well long ago.” There was an indescribable sadness in the tone in which +he said this, and he turned away that his face should not be seen. He +seated himself in a recess of the window, and read the letter from end to +end. With a heavy sigh he laid it on the table, and muttered below his +breath, “What a long, long way to have journeyed from what I first saw her +to <i>that!</i>” + </p> +<p> +Tom did not venture to speak, nor show by any sign that he had heard him, +and the old man went on in broken sentences: “And to think that these are +the fine natures—the graceful—the beautiful—that are +thus wrecked! It is hard to believe it. In the very same characters of +that letter I have read such things, so beautiful, so touching, so tender, +as made the eyes overflow to follow them. You see I was right, Tom,” cried +he, aloud, in a strong stern voice, “when I said that she should not be +your sister's companion. I told Sewell I would not permit it. I was in a +position to dictate my own terms to him, and I did so. I must see Trafford +about this!” and as he spoke he arose and left the room. +</p> +<p> +While Tom proceeded to dress himself, he was not altogether pleased with +the turn of events. If he had made any mistake in inviting Trafford to +return with him, there would be no small awkwardness in recalling the +invitation. He saw plainly enough he had been precipitate, but +precipitation is one of those errors which, in their own cases, men are +prone to ascribe to warm-heartedness. “Had I been as distrustful or +suspicious as that publican yonder,” is the burden of their +self-gratulation; and in all that moral surgery where men operate on +themselves, they cut very gingerly. +</p> +<p> +“Of course,” muttered Tom, “I can't expect Sir Brook will take the same +view of these things. Age and suspicion are simply convertible terms, and, +thank Heaven, I have not arrived at either.” + </p> +<p> +“What are you thanking Heaven for?” said Sir Brook, entering. “In nine +cases out of ten, men use that formula as a measure of their own vanity. +For which of your shortcomings were you professing your gratitude, Tom?” + </p> +<p> +“Have you seen Trafford, sir?” asked Tom, trying to hide his confusion by +the question. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; we have had some talk together.” + </p> +<p> +Tom waited to hear further, and showed by his air of expectation how eager +he felt; but the old man made no sign of any disclosure, but sat there +silent and wrapped in thought. “I asked him this,” said the old man, +fiercely, “'If you had got but one thousand pounds in all the world, would +it have occurred to you to go down and stake it on a match of billiards +against Jonathan?' 'Unquestionably not,' he replied; 'I never could have +dreamed of such presumption.' +</p> +<p> +“'And on what pretext, by what impulse of vanity,' said I, 'were you +prompted to enter the lists with one every way your superior in tact, in +craft, and in coquetry? If she accepted your clumsy addresses, did you +never suspect that there was a deeper game at issue than your +pretensions?' +</p> +<p> +“'You are all mistaken,' said he, growing crimson with shame as he spoke. +'I made no advances whatever. I made her certain confidences, it is true, +and I asked her advice; and then, as we grew to be more intimate, we wrote +to each other, and Sewell came upon my letters, and affected to think I +was trying to steal his wife's affection. She could have dispelled the +suspicion at once. She could have given the key to the whole mystery, and +why she did not is more than I can say. My unlucky accident just then +occurred, and I only issued from my illness to hear that I had lost +largely at play, and was so seriously compromised, besides, that it was a +question whether he should shoot me, or sue for a divorce.' +</p> +<p> +“It was clear enough that so long as he represented the heir to the Holt +property, Sewell treated him with a certain deference; but when Trafford +declared to his family that he would accept no dictation, but go his own +road, whatever the cost, from that moment Sewell pressed his claims, and +showed little mercy in his exactions. +</p> +<p> +“'And what's your way out of this mess?' asked I, 'What do you propose to +do?' +</p> +<p> +“I have written to my father, begging he will pay off this debt for me,—the +last I shall ever ask him to acquit. I have requested my brother to back +my petition; and I have told Sewell the steps I have taken, and promised +him if they should fail that I will sell out, and acquit my debt at the +price of my commission.' +</p> +<p> +“'And at the price of your whole career in life?' +</p> +<p> +“'Just so. If you 'll not employ me in the mine, I must turn navvy.' +</p> +<p> +“'And how, under such circumstances as these, can you accept Tom +Lendrick's invitation, and go over to Maddalena?' +</p> +<p> +“'I could not well say no when he asked me, but I determined not to go. I +only saw the greater misery I should bring on myself. Cave can send me off +in haste to Gibraltar or to Malta. In fact, I pass off the stage, and +never turn up again during the rest of the performance. '” + </p> +<p> +“Poor fellow!” said Tom, with deep feeling. +</p> +<p> +“He was so manly throughout it all,” said Fossbrooke, “so straightforward +and so simple. Had there been a grain of coxcomb in his nature, the fellow +would have thought the woman in love with him, and made an arrant fool of +himself in consequence, but his very humility saved him. I 'm not sure, +Master Tom, you 'd have escaped so safely, eh?” + </p> +<p> +“I don't see why you think so.” + </p> +<p> +“Now for action,” said Fossbrooke. “I must get to England at once. I shall +go over to Holt, and see if I can do anything with Sir Hugh. I expect +little, for when men are under the frown of fortune they plead with small +influence. I shall then pass over to Ireland. With Sewell I can promise +myself more success. I may be away three or four weeks. Do you think +yourself strong enough to come back here and take my place till I return?” + </p> +<p> +“Quite so. I 'll write and tell Lucy to join me.” + </p> +<p> +“I'd wait till Saturday,” said Fossbrooke, in a low voice. “Cave says they +can sail by Saturday morning, and it would be as well Lucy did not arrive +till they are gone.” + </p> +<p> +“You are right,” said Tom, thoughtfully. +</p> +<p> +“It's not his poverty I 'm thinking of,” cried Fossbrooke. “With health +and strength and vigor, a man can fight poverty. I want to learn that he +is as clean-handed in this affair with the Sewells as he thinks himself. +If I once were sure of that, I 'd care little for his loss of fortune. I +'d associate him with us in the mine, Tom. There will always be more +wealth here than we can need. That new shaft promises splendidly. Such fat +ore I have not seen for many a day.” + </p> +<p> +Tom's mouth puckered, and his expression caught a strange sort of +half-quizzical look, but he did not venture to speak. +</p> +<p> +“I know well,” added the old man, cautiously, “that it 's no good service +to a young fellow to plunge him at once into ample means without making +him feel the fatigues and trials of honest labor. He must be taught to +believe that there is work before him,—hard work too. He must be +made to suppose that it is only by persistence and industry, and steady +devotion to the pursuit, that it will yield its great results.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't suspect our success will turn his head,” said Tom, dryly. +</p> +<p> +“That 's the very thing I want to guard against, Tom. Don't you see it is +there all my anxiety lies?” + </p> +<p> +“Let him take a turn of our life here, and I 'll warrant him against the +growth of an over-sanguine disposition.” + </p> +<p> +“Just so,” said Fossbrooke, too intensely immersed in his own thought +either to notice the words or the accents of the other,—“just so: a +hard winter up here in the snows, with all the tackle frozen, ice on the +cranks, ice on the chains, ice everywhere, a dense steam from the heated +air below, and a cutting sleet above, try a man's chest smartly; and then +that lead colic, of which you can tell him something. These give a zest +and a difficulty that prove what a man's nature is like.” + </p> +<p> +“They have proved mine pretty well,” said Tom, with a bitter laugh. +</p> +<p> +“And there's nothing like it in all the world for forming a man!” cried +Fossbrooke, in a voice of triumph. “Your fair-weather fellows go through +life with half their natures unexplored. They know no more of the interior +country of their hearts than we do of Central Africa. Beyond the fact that +there is something there—something—they know nothing. A man +must have conflict, struggle, peril, to feel what stuff there 's in him. +He must be baffled, thwarted, ay, and even defeated. He must see himself +amongst other men as an unlucky dog that fellows will not willingly +associate with. He must, on poor rations and tattered clothing, keep up a +high heart,—not always an easy thing to do; and, hardest of all, he +must train himself never in all his poverty to condescend to a meanness +that when his better day comes he would have to blush for.” + </p> +<p> +“If you weight poverty with all those fine responsibilities, I suspect +you'll break its back at once,” said Tom, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“Far from it. It is out of these self-same responsibilities that poverty +has a backbone at all;” and the old man stood bolt upright, and threw back +his head as though he were emblematizing what he had spoken of. +</p> +<p> +“Now, Tom, for business. Are you strong enough to come back here and look +after the shaft?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, I think so. I hope so.” + </p> +<p> +“I shall probably be some weeks away. I 'll have to go over to Holt; and I +mean to run adown amongst the Cornwall fellows and show them some of our +ore. I 'll make their mouths water when they see it.” + </p> +<p> +Tom bit off the end of his cigar, but did not speak. +</p> +<p> +“I mean to make Beattie a present of ten shares in that new shaft, too. I +declare it's like a renewal of youth to me to feel I can do this sort of +thing again. I 'll have to write to your father to come back also. Why +should he live in exile while we could all be together again in affluence +and comfort?” + </p> +<p> +Tom's eyes ranged round the bare walls and the shattered windows, and he +raised his eyebrows in astonishment at the other's illusions. +</p> +<p> +“We had a stiff 'heat' before we weathered the point, that's certain, +Tom,” said the old man. “There were days when the sky looked dark enough, +and it needed all our pluck and all our resolution to push on; but I never +lost heart,—I never wavered about our certainty of success,—did +I?” + </p> +<p> +“No; that you did not. And if you had, I certainly should not have +wondered at it.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll ask you to bear this testimony to me one of these days, and to tell +how I bore up at times that you yourself were not over hopeful.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, that you may. I'll be honest enough to own that the sanguine humor +was a rare one with me.” + </p> +<p> +“And it's your worst fault. It is better for a young fellow to be +disappointed every hour of the twenty-four than to let incredulity gain on +him. Believe everything that it would be well to believe, and never grow +soured with fortune if the dice don't turn up as you want them. I declare +I 'm sorry to leave this spot just now, when all looks so bright and +cheery about it. You 're a lucky dog, Tom, to come in when the battle is +won, and nothing more to do than announce the victory.” And so saying, he +hurried off to prepare for the road, leaving Tom Lendrick in a state of +doubt whether he should be annoyed or amused at the opinions he had heard +from him. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER IV. PARTING COUNSELS +</h2> +<p> +Quick and decided in all his movements, Fossbrooke set out almost +immediately after this scene with Tom, and it was only as they gathered +together at breakfast that it was discovered he had gone. +</p> +<p> +“He left Bermuda in the very same fashion,” said Cave. “He had bought a +coffee-plantation in the morning, and he set out the same night; and I +don't believe he ever saw his purchase after. I asked him about it, and he +said he thought—he was n't quite sure—he made it a present to +Dick Molyneux on his marriage. 'I only know,' said he, 'it's not mine +now.'” + </p> +<p> +As they sat over their breakfast, or smoked after it, they exchanged +stories about Fossbrooke, all full of his strange eccentric ways, but all +equally abounding in traits of kind-heartedness and generosity. Comparing +him with other men of liberal mould, the great and essential difference +seemed to be that Fossbrooke never measured his generosity. When he gave, +he gave all that he had; he had no notion of aiding or assisting. His idea +was to establish a man at once,—easy, affluent, and independent. He +abounded in precepts of prudence, maxims of thrift, and such-like; but in +practice he was recklessly lavish. +</p> +<p> +“Why ain't there more like him?” cried Trafford, enthusiastically. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm not sure it would be better,” said Cave. “The race of idle, +cringing, do-nothing fellows is large enough already. I suspect men like +Fossbrooke—at least what he was in his days of prosperity—give +a large influence to the spread of dependants.” + </p> +<p> +“The fault I find with him,” said Tom, “is his credulity. He believes +everything, and, what's worse, every one. There are fellows here who +persuade him this mine is to make his fortune; and if he had thousands +to-morrow, he would embark them all in this speculation, the only result +of which is to enrich these people, and ruin ourselves.” + </p> +<p> +“Is that your view of it?” asked Cave, in some alarm. +</p> +<p> +“Of course it is; and if you doubt it, come down with me into the gallery, +as they call it, and judge for yourself.” + </p> +<p> +“But I have already joined the enterprise.” + </p> +<p> +“What! invested money in it?” + </p> +<p> +“Ay. Two thousand pounds,—a large sum for me, I promise you. It was +with immense persuasion, too, I got Fossbrooke to let me have these +shares. He offered me scores of other things as a free gift in preference,—salmon-fisheries +in St. John's; a saw-mill on Lake Huron; a large tract of land at the +Cape; I don't know what else: but I was firm to the copper, and would have +nothing but this.” + </p> +<p> +“I went in for lead,” said Trafford, laughingly. +</p> +<p> +“<i>You</i>; and are <i>you</i> involved in this also?” asked Tom. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; so far as I have promised to sell out, and devote whatever remains +after paying my debts to the mine.” + </p> +<p> +“Why, this beats all the infatuation I ever heard of! You have not the +excuse of men at a distance, who have only read or listened to plausible +reports; but you have come here,—you have been on the spot,—you +have seen with your own eyes the poverty-stricken air of the whole +concern, the broken machinery, the ruined scaffoldings, the mounds of +worthless dross that hide the very approach to the shaft; and you have +seen us, too, and where and how we live!” + </p> +<p> +“Very true,” broke in Cave; “but I have heard <i>him</i> talk, and I could +no more resist the force of his words than I could stand in a current and +not be carried down by it.” + </p> +<p> +“Exactly so,” chimed in Trafford; “he was all the more irresistible that +he did not seek to persuade. Nay, he tried his utmost to put me off the +project, and, as with the Colonel, he offered me dozens of other ways to +push my fortune, without costing me a farthing.” + </p> +<p> +“Might not we,” said Cave, “ask how it comes that you, taking this +dispiriting view of all here, still continue to embark your fortunes in +its success?” + </p> +<p> +“It is just because they are my fortunes; had it been my fortune, I had +been more careful. There is all the difference in life between a man's +hopes and his bank-stock. But if you ask me why I hang on here, after I +have long ceased to think anything can come of it, my answer is, I do so +just as I would refuse to quit the wreck, when he declared he would not +leave it. It might be I should save my life by deserting him; but it would +be little worth having afterwards; and I 'd rather live with him in daily +companionship, watching his manly courageous temper and his high-hearted +way of dealing with difficulties, than I would go down the stream +prosperously with many another; and over and over have I said to myself, +If that fine nature of his can make defeat so endurable, what splendor of +triumph would it not throw over a real success!” + </p> +<p> +“And this is exactly what we want to share,” said Traf-ford, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“But what do either of you know of the man, beyond the eccentricity, or +the general kindliness with which he meets you? You have not seen him as I +have, rising to his daily toil with a racking head and a fevered frame, +without a word of complaint, or anything beyond a passing syllable of +discomfort; never flinching, never yielding; as full of kind thought for +others, as full of hopeful counsel, as in his best days; lightening labor +with proverb and adage, and stimulating zeal with many a story. You can't +picture to yourselves this man, once at the head of a princely fortune, +which he dispensed with more than princely liberality, sharing a poor +miner's meal of beans and oil with pleasant humor, and drinking a toast, +in wine that would set the teeth on edge, to that good time when they +would have more generous fare, and as happy hearts to enjoy it. +</p> +<p> +“Nor have you seen him, as I have, the nurse beside the sick-bed, so +gentle, so thoughtful,—a very woman in tenderness; and all that +after a day of labor that would have borne down the strongest and the +stoutest. And who is he that takes the world in such good part, and thinks +so hopefully of his fellow-men? The man of all his time who has been most +betrayed, most cheated, whose trust has been most often abused, whose +benefits have been oftenest paid back in ingratitude. It is possible +enough he may not be the man to guide one to wealth and fortune; but to +whatever condition of life he leads, of one thing I am certain, there will +be no better teacher of the spirit and temper to enjoy it; there will be +none who will grace any rank—the highest or the humblest—with +a more manly dignity.” + </p> +<p> +“It was knowing all this of him,” said Cave, “that impelled me to +associate myself with any enterprise he belonged to. I felt that if +success were to be won by persistent industry and determination, his would +do it, and that his noble character gave a guarantee for fair dealing +better than all the parchments lawyers could engross.” + </p> +<p> +“From what I have seen of life, I 'd not say that success attends such men +as he is,” said Tom. “The world would be, perhaps, too good if it were +so.” + </p> +<p> +Silence now fell upon the party, and the three men smoked on for some time +without a word. At last Tom, rising from the bench where he had been +seated, said, “Take my advice; keep to your soldiering, and have nothing +to do with this concern here. You sail on Saturday next, and by Sunday +evening, if you can forget that there is such an island as Sardinia, and +such poor devils on it as ourselves, it will be all the better for you.” + </p> +<p> +“I am sorry to see you so depressed, Lendrick,” said Cave. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm not so low as you suspect; but I'd be far lower if I thought that +others were going to share our ill-fortunes.” + </p> +<p> +Though the speech had no direct reference to Trafford, it chanced that +their eyes met as he spoke, and Trafford's face flushed to a deep crimson +as he felt the application of the words. +</p> +<p> +“Come here, Tom,” said he, passing his arm within Len-drick's, and leading +him off the terrace into a little copse of wild hollies at the foot of it. +“Let me have one word with you.” They walked on some seconds without a +word, and when Trafford spoke his voice trembled with agitation. “I don't +know,” muttered he, “if Sir Brook has told you of the change in my +fortunes,—that I am passed over in the entail by my father, and am, +so to say, a beggar.” + </p> +<p> +Lendrick nodded, but said nothing. +</p> +<p> +“I have got debts, too, which, if not paid by my family, will compel me to +sell out,—has he told you this?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; I think he said so.” + </p> +<p> +“Like the kind, good fellow he is,” continued Trafford, “he thinks he can +do something with my people,—talk my father over, and induce my +mother to take my side. I 'm afraid I know them better, and that they 're +not sorry to be rid of me at last. It is, however, just possible—I +will not say more, but just possible—that he may succeed in making +some sort of terms for me before they cut me off altogether. I have no +claim whatever, for I have spent already the portion that should have come +to me as a younger son. I must be frank with you, Tom. There 's no use in +trying to make my case seem better than it is.” He paused, and appeared to +expect that the other would say something; but Tom smoked on and made no +sign whatever. +</p> +<p> +“And it comes to this,” said Trafford, drawing a long breath and making a +mighty effort, “I shall either have some small pittance or other,—and +small it must be,—or be regularly cleaned out without a shilling.” + </p> +<p> +A slight, very slight, motion of Tom's shoulders showed that he had heard +him. +</p> +<p> +“If the worst is to befall me,” said Traflford, with more energy than he +had shown before, “I 'll no more be a burden to you than to any other of +my friends. You shall hear little more of me; but if fortune is going to +give me her last chance, will <i>you</i> give me one also?” + </p> +<p> +“What do you mean?” said Tom, curtly. +</p> +<p> +“I mean,” stammered out Trafford, whose color came and went with agitation +as he spoke,—“I mean, shall I have your leave—that is, may I +go over to Maddalena?—may I—O Tom,” burst he out at last, “you +know well what hope my heart clings to.” + </p> +<p> +“If there was nothing but a question of money in the way,” broke in Tom, +boldly, “I don't see how beggars like ourselves could start very strong +objections. That a man's poverty should separate him from us would be a +little too absurd; but there 's more than that in it. You have got into +some scrape or other. I don't want to force a confidence—I don't +want to hear about it. It's enough for me that you are not a free man.” + </p> +<p> +“If I can satisfy you that this is not the case—” + </p> +<p> +“It won't do to satisfy <i>me,</i>” said Tom, with a strong emphasis on +the last word. +</p> +<p> +“I mean, if I can show that nothing unworthy, nothing dishonorable, +attaches to me.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't suspect all that would suffice. It's not a question of your +integrity or your honor. It's the simple matter whether when professing to +care for one woman you made love to another?” + </p> +<p> +“If I can disprove that. It 's a long story—” + </p> +<p> +“Then, for Heaven's sake, don't tell it to me.” + </p> +<p> +“Let me, at least, show that it is not fair to shun me.” + </p> +<p> +There was such a tone of sorrow in his voice as he spoke that Tom turned +at once towards him, and said: “If you can make all this affair straight—I +mean, if it be clear that there was no more in it than such a passing +levity that better men than either of us have now and then fallen into—I +don't see why you may not come back with me.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, Tom, if you really will let me!” + </p> +<p> +“Remember, however, you come at your own peril. I tell you frankly, if +your explanation should fail to satisfy the one who has to hear it, it +fails with me too,—do you understand me?” + </p> +<p> +“I think I do,” said Trafford, with dignity. +</p> +<p> +“It's as well that we should make no mistake; and now you are free to +accept my invitation or to refuse it. What do you say?” + </p> +<p> +“I say, yes. I go back with you.” + </p> +<p> +“I'll go and see, then, if Cave will join us,” said Tom, turning hastily +away, and very eager to conceal the agitation he was suffering, and of +which he was heartily ashamed. +</p> +<p> +Cave accepted the project with delight,—he wanted to see the island,—but, +more still, he wanted to see that Lucy Lendrick of whom Sir Brook had +spoken so rapturously. “I suppose,” whispered he in Tom's ear, “you know +all about Trafford. You 've heard that he has been cut out of the estate, +and been left with nothing but his pay?” + </p> +<p> +Tom nodded assent. +</p> +<p> +“He's not a fellow to sail under false colors, but he might still have +some delicacy in telling about it—” + </p> +<p> +“He has told me all,” said Tom, dryly. +</p> +<p> +“There was a scrape, too,—not very serious, I hope,—in +Ireland.” + </p> +<p> +“He has told me of that also,” said Tom. “When shall you be ready? Will +four o'clock suit you?” + </p> +<p> +“Perfectly.” + </p> +<p> +And they parted. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER V. ON THE ISLAND +</h2> +<p> +When, shortly after daybreak, the felucca rounded the point of the island, +and stood in for the little bay of Maddalena, Lucy was roused from sleep +by her maid with the tidings, “Give me the glass, quickly,” cried she, as +she rushed to the window, and after one rapid glance, which showed her the +little craft gayly decked with the flag of England, she threw herself upon +her bed, and sobbed in very happiness. In truth, there was in the long +previous day's expectancy—in the conflict of her hope and fear—a +tension that could only be relieved by tears. +</p> +<p> +How delightful it was to rally from that momentary gush of emotion, and +feel so happy! To think so well of the world as to believe that all goes +for the best in it, is a pleasant frame of mind to begin one's day with; +to feel that though we have suffered anxiety, and all the tortures of +deferred hope, it was good for us to know that everything was happening +better for us than we could have planned it for ourselves, and that +positively it was not so much by events we had been persecuted as by our +own impatient reading of them. Something of all these sensations passed +through Lucy's mind as she hurried here and there to prepare for her +guests, stopping at intervals to look out towards the sea, and wonder how +little way the felucca made, and how persistently she seemed to cling to +the selfsame spot. +</p> +<p> +Nor was she altogether unjust in this. The breeze had died away at +sunrise; and in the interval before the land-wind should spring up there +was almost a dead calm. +</p> +<p> +“Is she moving at all?” cried Lucy, to one of the sailors who lounged on +the rocks beneath the window. +</p> +<p> +The man thought not. They had kept their course too far from shore, and +were becalmed in consequence. +</p> +<p> +How could they have done so?—surely sailors ought to have known +better! and Tom, who was always boasting how he knew every current, and +every eddy of wind, what was he about? It was a rude shock to that sweet +optimism of a few moments back to have to own that here at least was +something that might have been better. +</p> +<p> +“And what ought they to do, what can they do?” asked she, impatiently, of +the sailor. +</p> +<p> +“Wait till towards noon, when the land-breeze freshens up, and beat.” + </p> +<p> +“Beat means, go back and forward, scarcely gaining a mile an hour?” + </p> +<p> +The sailor smiled, and owned she was not far wrong. +</p> +<p> +“Which means that they may pass the day there,” cried she, fretfully. +</p> +<p> +“They're not going to do it, anyhow,” said the man; “they are lowering a +boat, and going to row ashore.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, how much better! and how long will it take them?” + </p> +<p> +“Two hours, if they 're good rowers; three, or even four, if they 're +not.” + </p> +<p> +“Come in and have a glass of wine,” said she; “and you shall look through +the telescope, and tell me how they row, and who are in the boat,—I +mean how many are in it.” + </p> +<p> +“What a fine glass! I can see them as if they were only a cable's length +off. There's the Signorino Maso, your brother, at the bow oar; and then +there's a sailor, and another sailor; and there's a signore, a large man,—<i>per +Bacco</i>, he's the size of three,—at the stroke; and an old man, +with white hair, and a cap with gold lace round it, steering; he has +bright buttons down his coat.” + </p> +<p> +“Never mind <i>him</i>. What of the large man,—is he young?” + </p> +<p> +“He pulls like a young fellow! There now, he has thrown off his coat, and +is going at it in earnest! Ah, he's no signore after all.” + </p> +<p> +“How no signore?” asked she, hastily. +</p> +<p> +“None but a sailor could row as he does! A man must be bred to it to +handle an oar in that fashion.” + </p> +<p> +She took the glass impatiently from him, and tried to see the boat; but +whether it was the unsteadiness of her hand, or that some dimness clouded +her eyes, she could not catch the object, and turned away and left the +room. +</p> +<p> +The land-wind freshened, and sent a strong sea against the boat, and it +was not until late in the afternoon that the party landed, and, led by +Tom, ascended the path to the cottage. At his loud shout of “Lucy,” she +came to the door looking very happy indeed, but more agitated than she +well liked. “My sister, Colonel Cave,” said Tom, as they came up; “and +here's an old acquaintance, Lucy; but he's a major now. Sir Brook is away +to England, and sent you all manner of loving messages.” + </p> +<p> +“I have been watching your progress since early morning,” said Lucy, “and, +in truth, I scarcely thought you seemed to come nearer. It was a hard +pull.” + </p> +<p> +“All Trafford's fault,” said Tom, laughing; “he would do more than his +share, and kept the boat always dead against her rudder.” + </p> +<p> +“That's not the judgment one of our boatmen here passed on him,” said +Lucy; “he said it must be a sailor, and no signore, who was at the stroke +oar.” + </p> +<p> +“See what it is to have been educated at Eton,” said Cave, slyly; “and yet +there are people assail our public schools!” + </p> +<p> +Thus chatting and laughing, they entered the cottage, and were soon seated +at table at a most comfortable little dinner. +</p> +<p> +“I will say,” said Tom, in return for some compliment from the Colonel, +“she is a capital housekeeper. I never had anything but limpets and +sea-urchins to eat till she came, and now I feel like an alderman.” + </p> +<p> +“When men assign us the humble office of providing for them, I remark they +are never chary of their compliments,” said Lucy, laughingly. “Master Tom +is willing to praise my cookery, though he says nothing of my +companionship.” + </p> +<p> +“It was such a brotherly speech,” chimed in Cave. +</p> +<p> +“Well, it's jolly, certainly,” said Tom, as he leaned back in his chair, +“to sit here with that noble sea-view at our feet, and those grand old +cliffs over us.” + </p> +<p> +While Cave concurred, and strained his eyes to catch some object out +seaward, Trafford, for almost the first time, found courage to address +Lucy. He had asked something about whether she liked the island as well as +that sweet cottage where first he saw her, and by this they were led to +talk of that meeting, and of the long happy day they had passed at Holy +Island. +</p> +<p> +“How I 'd like to go back to it!” said Lucy, earnestly. +</p> +<p> +“To the time, or to the place? To which would you wish to go back?” + </p> +<p> +“To the Nest,” said Lucy, blushing slightly; “they were about the happiest +days I ever knew, and dear papa was with us then.” + </p> +<p> +“And is it not possible that you may all meet together there one of these +days? He'll not remain at the Cape, will he?” + </p> +<p> +“I was forgetting that you knew him,” said she, warmly; “you met papa +since I saw you last: he wrote about you, and told how kindly and tenderly +you had nursed him on his voyage.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, did he? Did he indeed speak of me?” cried Trafford, with intense +emotion. +</p> +<p> +“He not only spoke warmly about his affection for you, but he showed pain +and jealousy when he thought that some newer friends had robbed him of you—but +perhaps you forget the Cape and all about it.” + </p> +<p> +Trafford's face became crimson, and what answer he might have made to this +speech there is no knowing, when Tom cried out, “We are going to have our +coffee and cigar on the rocks, Lucy, but you will come with us.” + </p> +<p> +“Of course; I have had three long days of my own company, and am quite +wearied of it.” + </p> +<p> +In the little cleft to which they repaired, a small stream divided the +space, leaving only room for two people on the rocks at either side; and +after some little jesting as to who was to have the coffee-pot, and who +the brandy-flask, Tom and Cave nestled in one corner, while Lucy and +Trafford, with more caution as to proximity, seated themselves on the rock +opposite. +</p> +<p> +“We were talking about the Cape, Major Trafford, I think,” said Lucy, +determined to bring him back to the dreaded theme. +</p> +<p> +“Were we? I think not; I think we were remembering all the pleasant days +beside the Shannon.” + </p> +<p> +“If you please, more sugar and no brandy; and now for the Cape.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll just hand them the coffee,” said he, rising and crossing over to +the others. +</p> +<p> +“Won't she let you smoke, Trafford?” said Tom, seeing the unlighted cigar +in the other's fingers; “come over here, then, and escape the tyranny.” + </p> +<p> +“I was just saying,” cried Cave, “I wish our Government would establish a +protectorate, as they call it, over these islands, and send us out here to +garrison them; I call this downright paradise.” + </p> +<p> +“You may smoke, Major Trafford,” said Lucy, as he returned; “I am very +tolerant about tobacco.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't care for it—at least not now.” + </p> +<p> +“You'd rather tell me about the Cape,” said she, with a sly laugh. “Well, +I 'm all attention.” + </p> +<p> +“There's really nothing to tell,” said he, in confusion. “Your father will +have told you already what a routine sort of thing life is,—always +meeting the same people,—made ever more uniform by their official +stations. It's always the Governor, and the Chief-Justice, and the Bishop, +and the Attorney-General.” + </p> +<p> +“But they have wives and daughters?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; but official people's wives and daughters are always of the same +pattern. They are only females of the species.” + </p> +<p> +“So that you were terribly bored?” + </p> +<p> +“Just so,—terribly bored.” + </p> +<p> +“What a boon from heaven it must have been then to have met the Sewells!” + said she, with a well-put-on carelessness. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, your father mentioned the Sewells, did he?” asked Trafford, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“I should think he did mention them! Why, they were the people he was so +jealous of. He said that you were constantly with him till they came,—his +companion, in fact,—and that he grieved heavily over your desertion +of him.” + </p> +<p> +“There was nothing like desertion; besides,” added he, after a moment, “I +never suspected he attached any value to my society.” + </p> +<p> +“Very modest, certainly; and probably, as the Sewells did attach this +value, you gave it where it was fully appreciated.” + </p> +<p> +“I wish I had never met them,” muttered Trafford; and though the words +were mumbled beneath his breath, she heard them. +</p> +<p> +“That sounds very ungratefully,” said she, with a smile, “if but one half +of what we hear be true.” + </p> +<p> +“What is it you have heard?” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm keeping Major Trafford from his cigar, Tom; he's too punctilious to +smoke in my company, and so I shall leave him to you;” and so saying, she +arose, and turned towards the cottage. +</p> +<p> +Trafford followed her on the instant, and overtook her at the porch. +</p> +<p> +“One word,—only one,” cried he, eagerly. “I see how I have been +misrepresented to you. I see what you must think of me; but will you only +hear me?” + </p> +<p> +“I have no right to hear you,” said she, coldly. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, do not say so, Lucy,” cried he, trying to take her hand, but which +she quickly withdrew from him. “Do not say that you withdraw from me the +only interest that attaches me to life. If you knew how friendless I am, +you would not leave me.” + </p> +<p> +“He upon whom fortune smiles so pleasantly very seldom wants for any +blandishments the world has to give; at least, I have always heard that +people are invariably courteous to the prosperous.” + </p> +<p> +“And do you talk of me as prosperous?” + </p> +<p> +“Why, you are my brother's type of all that is luckiest in life. Only hear +Tom on the subject! Hear him talk of his friend Trafford, and you will +hear of one on whom all the good fairies showered their fairest gifts.” + </p> +<p> +“The fairies have grown capricious, then. Has Tom told you nothing—I +mean since he came back?” + </p> +<p> +“No; nothing.” + </p> +<p> +“Then let me tell it.” + </p> +<p> +In very few words, and with wonderfully little emotion, Trafford told the +tale of his altered fortunes. Of course he did not reveal the reasons for +which he had been disinherited, but loosely implied that his conduct had +displeased his father, and with his mother he had never been a favorite. +“Mine,” said he, “is the vulgar story that almost every family has its +instance of,—the younger son, who goes into the world with the +pretensions of a good house, and forgets that he himself is as poor as the +neediest man in the regiment. They grew weary of my extravagance, and, +indeed, they began to get weary of myself, and I am not surprised at it! +and the end has come at last. They have cast me off, and, except my +commission, I have now nothing in the world. I told Tom all this, and his +generous reply was, 'Your poverty only draws you nearer to us.' Yes, Lucy, +these were his words. Do you think that his sister could have spoken +them?” + </p> +<p> +“'Before she could do so, she certainly should be satisfied on other +grounds than those that touch your fortune,” said Lucy, gravely. +</p> +<p> +“And it was to give her that same satisfaction I came here,” cried he, +eagerly. “I accepted Tom's invitation on the sole pledge that I could +vindicate myself to you. I know what is laid to my charge, and I know too +how hard it will be to clear myself without appearing like a coxcomb.” He +grew crimson as he said this, and the shame that overwhelmed him was a +better advocate than all his words. “But,” added he, “you shall think me +vain, conceited,—a puppy, if you will,—but you shall not +believe me false. Will you listen to me?” + </p> +<p> +“On one condition I will,” said she, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“Name your condition. What is it?” + </p> +<p> +“My condition is this: that when I have heard you out,—heard all +that you care to tell me—if it should turn out that I am not +satisfied—I mean, if it appear to me a case in which I ought not to +be satisfied—you will pledge your word that this conversation will +be our last together.” + </p> +<p> +“But, Lucy, in what spirit will you judge me? If you can approach the +theme thus coldly, it gives me little hope that you will wish to acquit +me.” + </p> +<p> +A deep blush covered her face as she turned away her head, but made no +answer. +</p> +<p> +“Be only fair, however,” cried he, eagerly. “I ask for nothing more.” He +drew her arm within his as he spoke, and they turned towards the beach +where a little sweep of the bay lay hemmed in between lofty rocks. “Here +goes my last throw for fortune,” said Trafford, after they had strolled +along some minutes in silence. “And oh, Lucy, if you knew how I would like +to prolong these minutes before, as it may be, they are lost to me +forever! If you knew how I would like to give this day to happiness and +hope!” + </p> +<p> +She said nothing, but walked along with her head down, her face slightly +averted from him. +</p> +<p> +“I have not told you of my visit to the Priory,” said he, suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“No; how came you to go there?” + </p> +<p> +“I went to see the place where you had lived, to see the garden you had +tended, and the flowers you loved, Lucy. I took away this bit of jasmine +from a tree that overhung a little rustic seat. It may be, for aught I +know, all that may remain to me of you ere this day closes.” + </p> +<p> +“My dear little garden! I was so fond of it!” she said, concealing her +emotion as well as she could. +</p> +<p> +“I am such a coward,” said he, angrily; “I declare I grow ashamed of +myself. If any one had told me I would have skulked danger in this wise, I +'d have scouted the idea! Take this, Lucy,” said he, giving her the sprig +of withered jasmine; “if what I shall tell you exculpate me—if you +are satisfied that I am not unworthy of your love,—you will give it +back to me; if I fail—” He could not go on, and another silence of +some seconds ensued. +</p> +<p> +“You know the compact now?” asked he, after a moment. She nodded assent. +</p> +<p> +For full five minutes they walked along without a word, and then Trafford, +at first timidly, but by degrees more boldly, began a narrative of his +visit to the Sewells' house. It is not—nor need it be—our task +to follow him through a long narrative, broken, irregular, and unconnected +as it was. Hampered by the difficulties which on each side beset him of +disparaging those of whom he desired to say no word of blame, and of still +vindicating himself from all charge of dishonor, he was often, it must be +owned, entangled, and sometimes scarcely intelligible. He owned to have +been led into high play against his will, and equally against his will +induced to form an intimacy with Mrs. Sewell, which, beginning in a +confidence, wandered away into Heaven knows what of sentimentality, and +the like. Trafford talked of Lucy Lendrick and his love, and Mrs. Sewell +talked of her cruel husband and her misery; and they ended by making a +little stock-fund of affection, where they came in common to make their +deposits and draw their cheques on fortune. +</p> +<p> +All this intercourse was the more dangerous that he never knew its danger; +and though, on looking back, he was astonished to think what intimate +relations subsisted between them, yet, at the time, these had not seemed +in the least strange to him. To her sad complaints of neglect, ill-usage, +and insult, he offered such consolations as occurred to him: nor did it +seem to him that there was any peril in his path, till his mother burst +forth with that atrocious charge against Mrs. Sewell for having seduced +her son, and which, so far from repelling with the indignation it might +have evoked, she appeared rather to bend under, and actually seek his +protection to shelter her. Weak and broken by his accident at the race, +these difficulties almost overcame his reason; never was there, to his +thinking, such a web of entanglement. The hospitality of the house he was +enjoying outraged and violated by the outbreaks of his mother's temper; +Sewell's confidence in him betrayed by the confessions he daily listened +to from his wife; her sorrows and griefs all tending to a dependence on +his counsels which gave him a partnership in her conduct. “With all these +upon me,” said he, “I don't think I was actually mad, but very often I +felt terribly close to it. A dozen times a day I would willingly have +fought Sewell; as willingly would I have given all I ever hoped to possess +in the world to enable his wife to fly his tyranny, and live apart from +him. I so far resented my mother's outrageous conduct, that I left her +without a good-bye.” + </p> +<p> +I can no more trace him through this wandering explanation than I dare ask +my reader to follow. It was wild, broken, and discursive. Now interrupted +by protestations of innocence, now dashed by acknowledgments of sorrow, +who knows if his unartistic story did not serve him better than a more +connected narrative,—there was such palpable truth in it! +</p> +<p> +Nor was Lucy less disposed to leniency that he who pleaded before her was +no longer the rich heir of a great estate, with a fair future before him, +but one poor and portionless as herself. In the reserve with which he +shrouded his quarrel with his family, she fancied she could see the +original cause,—his love for her; and if this were so, what more had +she need of to prove his truth and fidelity? Who knows if her woman's +instinct had not revealed this to her? Who knows if, in that finer +intelligence of the female mind, she had not traced out the secret of the +reserve that hampered him, of the delicate forbearance with which he +avoided the theme of his estrangement from his family? And if so, what a +plea was it for him! Poor fellow, thought she, what has he not given up +for me! +</p> +<p> +Rich men make love with great advantages on their side. There is no doubt +that he who can confer demesnes and diamonds has much in his favor. The +power that abides in wealth adds marvellous force to the suitor's tale; +but there is, be it owned, that in poverty which, when allied with a +sturdy self-dependence, appeals wonderfully to a woman's mind. She feels +all the devotion that is offered her, and she will not be outdone in +generosity. It is so fine of him, when others care for nothing but wealth +and riches, to be satisfied with humble fortune, and with <i>me!</i> There +is the summing up, and none need be more conclusive. +</p> +<p> +How long Trafford might have gone on strengthening his case, and calling +up fresh evidence to his credit,—by what force of words he might +still have sustained his character for fidelity,—there is no saying; +but his eloquence was suddenly arrested by the sight of Cave and Tom +coming to meet them. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Lucy,” cried he, “do not quit my arm till you tell me my fate. For +very pity's sake, do not leave me in the misery of this anxiety,” said he, +as she disengaged herself, affecting to arrange her shawl. +</p> +<p> +“I have a word to say to my brother,” said she, hurriedly; “keep this +sprig of jasmine for me. I mean to plant it somewhere;” and without +another word she hastened away and made for the house. +</p> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img alt="399 (71K)" src="images/399.jpg" width="100%" /> +</div> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<p> +“So we shall have to sail at once, Trafford,” said Cave. “The Admiral has +sent over the 'Gondomar' to fetch us; and here's a lieutenant with a +despatch waiting for us at the cottage.” + </p> +<p> +“The service may go—No, I don't mean that; but if you sail to-morrow +you sail without me.” + </p> +<p> +“Have you made it all right?” whispered Tom in his ear. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm the happiest fellow in Europe,” said he, throwing his arm round the +other's shoulder. “Come here, Tom, and let me tell you all—all.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER VI. HOW CHANGED +</h2> +<p> +We are once more at the Priory; but how changed is it all! Billy Haire +himself scarcely recognizes the old spot, and indeed comes now but seldom +to visit it; for the Chief has launched out into the gay world, and +entertains largely at dinner, and even gives <i>déjeuners dansants</i>,—foreign +innovations at which he was wont to inveigh with vehemence. +</p> +<p> +The old elm under whose shade Avonmore and the wits used to sit of an +evening, beneath whose leafy canopy Curran had jested and Moore had sung, +was cut down, and a large tent of gaudy blue and white spread its vulgar +wings over innumerable breakfast-tables, set forth with what the +newspapers call every delicacy of the season. +</p> +<p> +The Horatian garden, and the Roman house—conceits of an old Lord +Chancellor in former times, and once objects of almost veneration in Sir +William's eyes—have been swept away, with all their attendant +details of good or bad taste, and in their place a fountain has been +erected, for whose aquatic displays, be it noted in parenthesis, two +horses and as many men are kept in full employ. Of the wild old woodland +walks—shady and cool, redolent of sweet-brier and honeysuckle—not +a trace remains; driving-roads, wide enough for a pony-carriage, have been +substituted for these, and ruthless gaps in the dense wood open long +vistas to the eye, in a spot where once it was the sense of enclosure and +seclusion that imparted the chief charm. For so it is, coming out of the +din and bustle of a great city, there is no attraction which can vie with +whatever breathes of tranquillity, and seems to impart peace by an air of +unbroken quiet. It was for this very quality the Priory had gained its +fame. Within doors the change was as great as without. New, and, be it +admitted, more comfortable furniture had replaced the old ponderous +objects which, in every form of ugliness, had made the former decorations +of the rooms. All was now light, tasteful, elegant. All invited to ease of +intercourse, and suggested that pleasant union of social enjoyment with +self-indulgence which our age seems to cultivate. But of all the changes +and mutations which a short time had effected, none could compete with +that in the old Chief himself. Through life he had been studiously +attentive to neatness and care in his dress; it was with something of +pride that he exhibited little traits of costume that revived bygone +memories; and his long white hak, brushed rigidly back, and worn as a +queue behind, and his lace ruffles, recalled a time when these were +distinctive signs of class and condition. +</p> +<p> +His sharply cut and handsome features were well served by the well-marked +temples and lofty head that surmounted them, and which the drawn-back hair +displayed to full advantage; and what a terrible contrast did the +expression present when a light-brown wig covered his head, and a lock of +childlike innocence graced his forehead! The large massive eyebrows, so +impressive in their venerable whiteness, were now dyed of a dark hue; and +to prevent the semblance of ghastliness which this strong color might +impart to the rest of the face, a faint tinge of rouge was given to the +cheek, thus lending to the whole features an expression of mingled smirk +and severity as little like the former look of dignified intelligence as +might be. +</p> +<p> +A tightly fitting frock-coat and a colored cravat, fastened with a massive +jewelled pin, completed a travesty which, strange to say, imparted its +character to his gait, and made itself evident in his carriage. +</p> +<p> +His manner, too,—that admirable courtesy of a bygone day, of which, +when unprovoked by a personal encounter, he was a master,—was now +replaced by an assumed softness,—an ill-put-on submission that +seemed to require all his watchfulness never to forget. +</p> +<p> +If his friends deplored and his enemies exulted over this unbecoming +change in one who, whatever his defects, had ever displayed the force and +power of a commanding intellect, the secret was known to few. A violent +and unseemly attack had been made in the “House” against him by some +political partisan, who alleged that his advanced age and failing +faculties urgently demanded his retirement from the Bench, and calling +loudly on the Government to enforce a step which nothing but the tenacity +and obstinacy of age would have refused to accept voluntarily and even +gratefully. +</p> +<p> +In the discussion—it was not debate—that the subject gave rise +to, the year of his birth was quoted, the time he had been first called, +and the long period he had served on the Bench; and if his friends were +strong in their evidences of his unfailing powers and unclouded faculties, +his assailants adduced instances in which he had mistaken the suitors and +misstated the case. His temper, too, imperious even to insult, had, it was +said, driven many barristers from his court, where few liked to plead +except such as were his abject and devoted followers. +</p> +<p> +When the attack appeared in the morning papers, Beattie drove out in all +haste to the Priory to entreat that the newspapers should be withheld from +him, and all mention of the offensive subject be carefully avoided. The +doctor was shown into the room where the Sewells were at breakfast, and at +once eagerly announced the reason for his early visit. +</p> +<p> +“You are too late, doctor,” said Sewell; “he had read every line of it +before we came downstairs. He made me listen to it, too, before I could go +to breakfast.” + </p> +<p> +“And how did he bear it?” + </p> +<p> +“On the whole, I think well. He said they were incorrect about the year he +was called, and also as to the time he entered Parliament. With regard to +the man who made the attack, he said, 'It is my turn to be biographer now; +let us see if the honorable member will call the victory his.'” + </p> +<p> +“He must do nothing of the kind. I will not answer for his life if he +gives way to these bursts of temper.” + </p> +<p> +“I declare I think I'd not interfere with him,” drawled out Sewell, as he +broke an egg. “I suspect it's better to let those high-pressure people +blow off their steam.” + </p> +<p> +“I'm sure Dr. Beattie is right,” interposed Mrs. Sewell, who saw in the +doctor's face an unmistakable look of disgust at the Colonel's speech. +</p> +<p> +“I repeat, sir,” said Beattie, gravely, “that it is a question of Sir +William's life; he cannot survive another attack like his last one.” + </p> +<p> +“It has always been a matter of wonder to me how he has lived so long. To +go on existing, and be so sensitive to public opinion, is something quite +beyond my comprehension.” + </p> +<p> +“You would not mind such attacks, then?” said Beattie, with a very slight +sneer. +</p> +<p> +“I should think not! A man must be a fool if he does n't know there are +scores of fellows who don't like him; and he must be an unlucky dog if +there are not others who envy him for something or other, though it only +be his horse or his dog, his waistcoat or his wife.” + </p> +<p> +In the look of malevolence he threw across the table as he spoke this, +might be read the concentrated hate of one who loved to insult his victim. +The doctor saw it, and rose to leave, disgusted and angry. “I suppose Sir +William knows I am here?” said he, coldly. +</p> +<p> +“I suspect not,” said Sewell. “If you 'll talk to my wife, or look over +the 'Times,' I'll go and tell him.” + </p> +<p> +The Chief Baron was seated at his writing-table when Sewell entered, and +angrily cried out, “Who is there?” + </p> +<p> +“Sewell, my Lord. May I come in?” + </p> +<p> +“Sir, you have taken that liberty in anticipation of the request. What do +you want?” + </p> +<p> +“I came to say, my Lord, that Dr. Beattie is here.” + </p> +<p> +“Who sent for him, sir?” + </p> +<p> +“Not I, my Lord, certainly.” + </p> +<p> +“I repeat my question, sir, and expect a direct answer.” + </p> +<p> +“I can only repeat my answer, my Lord. He was not sent for by me or with +my knowledge.” + </p> +<p> +“So that I am to understand that his presence here is not the result of +any active solicitude of my family for the consequences of this new +outrage upon my feelings;” and he clutched the newspaper as he spoke, and +shook it with passion. +</p> +<p> +“I assure you, my Lord, Beattie has come here of his own accord.” + </p> +<p> +“But on account of this!” and the words came from him with a hissing sound +that denoted intense anger. Sewell made a gesture to imply that it might +be so, but that he himself knew nothing of it. “Tell him, then, sir, that +the Chief Baron regrets he cannot see him; that he is at this moment +engaged with the reply to a late attack in the House of Commons, which he +desires to finish before post hour; and add, sir, that he is in the best +of health and in excellent spirits,—facts which will afford him +increased enjoyment, if Dr. Beattie will only be kind enough to mention +them widely in the course of his visits.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm delighted, my Lord, to be charged with such a message,” said Sewell, +with a well-assumed joy. +</p> +<p> +“I am glad, sir, to have pleased you, at the same time that I have gained +your approbation.” + </p> +<p> +There was a haughty tone in the way these words were delivered that for an +instant made Sewell doubt whether they meant approval or reprimand; but he +thought he saw a look of self-satisfied vanity in the old man's face, and +he merely bowed his thanks for the speech. +</p> +<p> +“What do you think, sir, they have had the hardihood to say in the House +of Commons?” cried the Chief, while his cheek grew crimson and his eye +flashed fire. “They say that, looking to the perilous condition of +Ireland, with a widespread conspiracy through the land, and rebellion in +most daring form bearding the authorities of the Crown, it is no time to +see one of the chief seats of justice occupied by one whose achievements +in Crown prosecutions date from the state trials of '98! In which +capacity, sir, am I assailed? Is it as Patriarch or Patriot? Am I held up +to obloquy because I came into the world at a certain year, or because I +was one of the counsel for Wolfe Tone? From whom, too, come these +slanderous assaults? Do these puny slanderers not yet know that it is with +men as with plants, and that though the dockweed is rotten within a few +weeks, the oak takes centuries to reach maturity? +</p> +<p> +“There were men in the Administration once, sir, in whom I had that +confidence I could have placed my office in their hands with the full +conviction it would have been worthily conferred,—men above the +passions of party, and who saw in public life other ambitions than the +struggles for place. I see these men no longer. They who now compose the +Cabinet inspire no trust; with them I will not treat.” + </p> +<p> +Exhausted by this outburst of passion, he lay back in his chair, breathing +heavily, and to all seeming overcome. +</p> +<p> +“Shall I get you anything, my Lord?” whispered Sewell. +</p> +<p> +The old man smiled faintly, and whispered, “Nothing.” + </p> +<p> +“I wish, my Lord,” said Sewell, as he bent over his chair,—“I wish I +could dare to speak what is passing in my mind; and that I had that place +in your Lordship's esteem which might give my words any weight.” + </p> +<p> +“Speak—say on,” said he, faintly. +</p> +<p> +“What I would say is this, my Lord,” said Sewell, with increased force, +“that these attacks on your Lordship are in a great measure provoked by +yourself.” + </p> +<p> +“Provoked by me! and how, sir?” cried the Chief, angrily. +</p> +<p> +“In this wise, my Lord. You have always held your libellers so cheap that +you actually encourage their assaults. You, in the full vigor of your +faculties, alive to the latest events, interested in all that science +discovers or invention develops, persist in maintaining, both in your mode +of living and your companionship, a continued reference to the past. With +a wit that could keep pace with the brightest, and an imagination more +alive than the youngest men can boast, you vote yourself old, and live +with the old. Why, my Lord, is it any wonder that they try you on the +indictment you have yourself drawn up? I have only to ask you to look +across the Channel and see the men—your own contemporaries, your +colleagues too—who escape these slanders, simply because they keep +up with the modes and habits of the day. Their equipages their retinues, +their dress, are all such as fashion sanctions. Nothing in their +appearance reminds the world that they lived with the grandfathers of +those around them; and I say, my Lord, if these men can do this, how much +easier would it be for you to do it? You, whose quick intellect the +youngest in vain try to cope with; you who are readier in repartee,—younger, +in fact, in all the freshness of originality and in all the play of fancy, +than the smartest wits of the day. +</p> +<p> +“My Lord, it has not been without a great effort of courage I have dared +to speak thus boldly; but I have so often talked the subject over with my +wife, and she, with a woman's wit, has so thoroughly entered into the +theme, that I felt, even at the hazard of your displeasure, I ought to +risk the telling you.” After a pause, he added: “It was but yesterday my +wife said, 'If papa,'—you know, my Lord, it is so she calls you in +secret,—'if papa will only cease to dress like a church dignitary, +he will not look above fifty,—fifty four or five at most.'” + </p> +<p> +“I own,” said the Judge, slowly, “it has often struck me as strange how +little animadversion the Press bestowed upon my English colleagues for +their advanced years, and how persistently they commented on mine; and yet +the history of Ireland does not point to the early decline of intellectual +power. They are fond of showing the characteristics that separate us, but +they have never adduced this one.” + </p> +<p> +“I hope I have your Lordship's forgiveness for my boldness,” said Sewell, +with humility. +</p> +<p> +“You have more, sir,—you have my gratitude for an affectionate +solicitude. I will think over what you have said when I am alone.” + </p> +<p> +“It will make me a very proud man if I find that my words have had weight +with you. I am to tell Beattie, my Lord, that you are engaged, and cannot +see him?” said he, moving towards the door. +</p> +<p> +“Yes. Say that I am occupied with my reply to this slander. Tell him if he +likes to dine with me at six—” + </p> +<p> +“I beg pardon, my Lord—but my wife hoped you would dine with us +to-day. We have a few young soldiers, and two or three pretty women coming +to us—” + </p> +<p> +“Make my compliments to Mrs. Sewell, and say I am charmed to accept her +invitation.” + </p> +<p> +Sewell took his leave with every token of respectful gratitude. But no +sooner had he reached the stairs than he burst into a fit of laughter. +“Would any one have believed that the old fool would have swallowed the +bait? I was so terrified at my own temerity, I 'd have given the world to +be out of the scrape! I declare, if my mother could be got rid of, we 'd +have him leading something of sixteen to the altar. Well, if this acute +attack of youth does n't finish him, he must have the constitution of an +elephant.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER VII. HOW TO MEET A SCANDAL +</h2> +<p> +When the Government of the day had found that all their efforts to induce +the Chief Baron to retire from the Bench were failures,—when they +saw him firmly decided to accept nothing less than that price which they +would not pay,—with a littleness which, it is but fair to own, took +its origin from Mr. Cholmondely Balfour, they determined to pass upon him +a slight which he could not but feel most painfully. +</p> +<p> +It happened in this wise. At the time I speak of Ireland was suffering +from one of those spasmodic attacks of rebellion which every now and then +occur through the chronic disaffection of the country, just as certain +eruptions are thrown out over the body to relieve, as is supposed, some +feverish tendencies of the system. +</p> +<p> +Now, although the native thinks no more of these passing troubles than +would an old Indian of an attack of the “prickly heat,” to the English +mind they always suggest danger, tend to increase the military force of +the kingdom, and bring on in Parliament one of those Irish debates—a +political sham fight—where, though there is a good deal of smoke, +bustle, and confusion, nobody is hurt, nor, if the truth be told, is any +one the better when it is over. +</p> +<p> +Through such a paroxysm was Ireland now passing. It matters little to our +purpose to give it a specific name, for the Whiteboy or the Rockite, the +Terry-alt, the Ribbonman, or the Fenian are the same; there being only one +character in this dreary drama, however acute Viceroys and energetic +secretaries may affect to think they are “assisting” at the representation +of a perfectly new piece, with new scenery, dresses, and decorations. +</p> +<p> +In ordinary disturbances in Ireland, whenever they rose above the dignity +of local mischief, the assistance and sympathy of France was always used +as a sort of menace to England. It was a threat very certain to irritate, +if it did no more. As, however, by course of time, we grew to form closer +relations with France,—to believe, or affect to believe,—I am +not very sure which,—that we had outlived old grudges, and had +become rather ashamed of old rivalries, France could not be employed as +the bugbear it had once been. Fortunately for Irish rebellion, America was +quite prepared to take the vacant post, and with this immense additional +gain, that the use of our own language enabled our disaffected in the +States to revile us with a freedom and a vigor which, if there be that +benefit which is said to exist in “seeing ourselves as others see us,” + ought unquestionably to redound to our future good. +</p> +<p> +The present movement had gone so far as to fill the public mind with +terror, and our jails with suspected traitors. To try these men a special +commission had been named by the Government, from which, contrary to +custom, the Chief Baron had been omitted. Nor was this all. The various +newspapers supposed to be organs, or at least advocates, of the Ministry, +kept up a continuous stream of comment on the grave injury to a country, +at a crisis like that then present, to have one of its chief judicial +seats occupied by one whose age and infirmities totally disabled him from +rendering those services which the Crown and the nation alike had a right +to expect from him. +</p> +<p> +Stories, for the most part untrue, of the Chief Baron's mistakes on the +Bench appeared daily. Imaginary suitors, angry solicitors, and such-like—the +Bar was too dignified to join in the cry—wrote letters averring +this, that, or the other cruel wrong inflicted upon them through the +“senile incapacity of this obstructive and vain old man.” + </p> +<p> +Never was there a less adroit tactic. Every insult they hurled at him only +suggested a fresh resolve to hold his ground. To attack such a man was to +evoke every spark of vigorous resistance in his nature, to stimulate +energies which nothing short of outrage could awaken, and to call into +activity powers which, in the ordinary course of events, would have fallen +into decline and decay. As he expressed it, “in trying to extinguish the +lamp they have only trimmed the wick.” When, through Sewell's pernicious +counsels, the old Judge determined to convince the world of his judicial +fitness by coming out a young man, dressed in the latest fashion, and +affecting in his gait and manner the last fopperies of the day, all the +reserve which respect for his great abilities had imposed was thrown +aside, and the papers now assailed him with a ridicule that was downright +indecent. The print shops, too, took up the theme, and the windows were +filled with caricatures of every imaginable degree of absurdity. +</p> +<p> +There was one man to whom these offensive attacks gave pain only inferior +to what they inflicted on the Chief himself,—this was his friend +Haire. To have lived to see the great object of all his homage thus +treated by an ungrateful country, seemed to him the direst of all +calamities. Over and over did he ponder with himself whether such +depravity of public feeling portended the coming decline of the nation, +and whether such gross forgetfulness of great services was not to be taken +as a sign of approaching dissolution. +</p> +<p> +It was true that since the Sewells had taken up their residence at the +Priory he had seen but little of his distinguished friend. All the habits, +the hours, and the associations of the house had been changed. The old +butler, who used to receive Haire when he arrived on terms of humble +friendship, telling him in confidence, before he went in, the temper in +which he should find the Judge, what crosses or worries had recently +befallen him, and what themes it might be discreet to avoid,—he was +pensioned off, and in his place a smart Englishman, Mr. Cheetor, now +figured,—a gentleman whose every accent, not to speak of his dress, +would have awed poor Haire into downright subjection. The large back hall, +through which you passed into the garden,—a favorite stroll of +Haire's in olden times,—was now a billiard room, and generally +filled with fine ladies and gentlemen engaged in playing; the very sight +of a lady with a billiard cue, and not impossibly a cigarette, being +shocks to the old man's notions only short of seeing the fair delinquent +led off to the watchhouse. The drowsy quietude of the place, so grateful +after the crush and tumult of a city, was gone; and there was the clang of +a pianoforte, the rattle of the billiard balls, the loud talk and loud +laughter of morning visitors, in its stead. The quaint old gray liveries +were changed for coats of brilliant claret color. Even to the time-honored +glass of brandy-and-water which welcomed Haire as he walked out from town +there was revolution; and the measure of the old man's discomfiture was +complete as the silvery-tongued butler offered him his choice of hock and +seltzer or claret-cup! +</p> +<p> +“Does the Chief like all this? Is it possible that at his age these +changes can please him?” muttered Haire, as he sauntered one day homeward, +sad and dispirited; and it would not have been easy to resolve the +question. +</p> +<p> +There was so much that flattered the old Judge's vanity,—so much +that addressed itself to that consciousness that his years were no barrier +to his sentiments, that into all that went on in life, whatever of new +that men introduced into their ways or habits, he was just as capable of +entering as the youngest amongst them; and this avidity to be behind in +nothing showed itself in the way he would read the sporting papers, and +make himself up in the odds at Newmarket and the last news of the +Cambridge Eleven. It is true, never was there a more ready-money payment +than the admiration he reaped from all this; and enthusiastic cornets went +so far as to lament how the genius that might have done great things at +Doncaster had been buried in a Court of Exchequer. “I wish he 'd tell us +who 'll win the Riggles-worth”—“I 'd give a fifty to know what he +thinks of Polly Perkins for the cup,” were the dropping utterances of +mustachioed youths who would have turned away inattentive on any mention +of his triumphs in the Senate or at the Bar. +</p> +<p> +“I declare, mother,” said Sewell, in one of those morning calls at Merrion +Square in which he kept her alive to the events of the Priory,—“I +declare, mother, if we could get <i>you</i> out of the way, I think he 'd +marry again. He 's uncommonly tender towards one of those Lascelles girls, +nieces of the Viceroy, and I am certain he would propose for her.” + </p> +<p> +“I'm sure I'm very sorry I should be an obstacle to him, especially as it +prevents him from crowning the whole folly of his life.” + </p> +<p> +“She's a great horsewoman, and he has given me a commission to get him a +saddle-horse to ride with her.” + </p> +<p> +“Which of course you will not.” + </p> +<p> +“Which of course I will, though. I'm going about it now. He has been very +intractable about stable matters hitherto; the utmost we could do was to +exchange the old long-tailed coach-horses, and get rid of that vile old +chariot; but if we get him once launched into riding hacks, we 'll have +something to mount us.” + </p> +<p> +“And when his granddaughter returns, will not all go back to the former +state?” + </p> +<p> +“First of all, she's not coming. There's a split in that quarter, and in +all likelihood an irremediable one.” + </p> +<p> +“How so? What has she done?” + </p> +<p> +“She has fallen in love with a young fellow as poor as herself; and her +brother Tom has written to the Chief to know if he sees any reason why +they should not marry. The very idea of an act of such insubordination as +falling in love of course outraged him. He took my wife into his counsels +besides, and she, it would appear, gave a most unfavorable character of +the suitor,—said he was a gambler,—and we all know what a +hopeless thing that is!—that his family had thrown him off; that he +had gone through the whole of his patrimony, and was, in short, just as +bad 'a lot' as could well be found.” + </p> +<p> +“She was quite right to say so,” burst in Lady Lendrick. “I really do not +see how she could have done otherwise.” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps not; the only possible objection was, that there was no truth in +it all.” + </p> +<p> +“Not true!” + </p> +<p> +“Not a word of it, except what relates to his quarrel with his family. As +for the rest, he is pretty much like other fellows of his age and time of +life. He has done the sort of things they all do, and hitherto has come +fairly enough out of them.” + </p> +<p> +“But what motive could she have had for blackening him?” + </p> +<p> +“Ask her, mother,” said he, with a grin of devilish spite-fulness,—“just +ask her; and even if she won't tell you, your woman's wit will find out +the reason without her aid.” + </p> +<p> +“I declare, Dudley, you are too bad,—too bad,” said she, coloring +with anger as she spoke. +</p> +<p> +“I should say, Too good,—too good by half, mother; at least, if +endurance be any virtue. The world is beautifully generous towards us +husbands. We are either monsters of cruelty, or we come into that category +the French call 'complaisant.' I can't say I have any fancy for either +class; but if I am driven to a choice, I accept the part which meets the +natural easiness of my disposition, the general kindliness of my +character.” + </p> +<p> +For an instant Lady Lendrick's eyes flashed with a fiery indignation, and +she seemed about to reply with anger; but with an effort she controlled +her passion, and took a turn or two in the room without speaking. At last, +having recovered her calm, she said, “Is the marriage project then broken +off?” + </p> +<p> +“So far as the Chief is concerned, it is. He has written a furious letter +to his granddaughter,—dwelt forcibly on the ingratitude of her +conduct. There is nothing old people so constantly refer to ingratitude as +young folks falling in love. It is strange what a close tie would seem to +connect this sin of ingratitude with the tender passion. He has reminded +her of all the good precepts and wise examples that were placed before her +at the Priory, and how shamefully she would seem to have forgotten them. +He asks her, Did she ever see him fall in love? Did she ever see any +weakness of this kind in Mrs. Beales the housekeeper, or Joe the +gardener?” + </p> +<p> +“What stuff and nonsense!” said Lady Lendrick, turning angrily away from +him. “Sir William is not an angel, but as certainly he is not a fool.” + </p> +<p> +“There I differ from you altogether. He may be the craftiest lawyer, the +wisest judge, the neatest scholar, and the best talker of his day,—these +are all claims I cannot adjudicate on,—they are far and away above +me. But I <i>do</i> pretend to know something about life and the world we +live in, and I tell you that your all-accomplished Chief Baron is, in +whatever relates to these, as consummate an ass as ever I met with. It is +not that he is sometimes wrong; it is that he is never right.” + </p> +<p> +“I can imagine he is not very clever at billiards, and it is possible that +there may be persons more conversant than <i>he</i> with the odds at +Tattersall's,” said she, with a sneer. +</p> +<p> +“Not bad things to know something about, either of them,” said he, +quietly; “but not exactly what I was alluding to. It is, however, somewhat +amusing, mother, to see you come out as his defender. I assure you, +honestly, when I counselled him on that new wig, and advised him to the +choice of that dark velvet paletot, I never contemplated his making a +conquest of you.” + </p> +<p> +“He <i>has</i> done some unwise things in life,” said she, with a fierce +energy; “but I do not know if he has ever done so foolish a one as +inviting you to come to live under his roof.” + </p> +<p> +“No, mother; the mistake was his not having done it earlier,—done it +when he might have fallen in more readily with the wise changes I have +introduced into his household, and when—most important element—he +had a better balance at his banker's. You can't imagine what sums of money +he has gone through.” + </p> +<p> +“I know nothing—I do not desire to know anything—of Sir +William's money matters.” + </p> +<p> +Not heeding in the slightest degree the tone of reproof she spoke in, he +went on, in the train of his own thoughts: “Yes! It would have made a +considerable difference to each of us had we met somewhat earlier. It was +a sort of backing I always wanted in life.” + </p> +<p> +“There was something else that you needed far more,” said she, with a +sarcastic sternness. +</p> +<p> +“I know what you mean, mother,—I know what it is. Your politeness +will not permit you to mention it. You would hint that I might not have +been the worse of a little honesty,—is n't that it? I was certain of +it. Well, do you know, mother, there's nothing in it,—positively +nothing. I 've met fellows who have tried it,—clever fellows too, +some of them,—and they have universally admitted it was as great a +sham as the other thing. As St. John said, Honesty is a sort of balloon +jib, that will bowl you along splendidly with fair weather; but when it +comes on to blow, you'll soon find it better to shift your canvas and bend +a very different sail. Now, men like myself are out in all kinds of +weather; we want a handy rig and light tackle.” + </p> +<p> +“Is Lucy coming to luncheon?” said Lady Lendrick, most unmistakably +showing how little palatable to her was his discourse. +</p> +<p> +“Not she. She's performing devoted mother up at the Priory, teaching Regy +his catechism, or Cary her scales, or, what has an infinitely finer effect +on the surrounders, dining with the children. Only dine with the children, +and you may run a-muck through the Decalogue all the evening after.” + </p> +<p> +And with this profound piece of morality he adjusted his hat before the +glass, trimmed his whiskers, gave himself a friendly nod, and walked away. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER VIII. TWO MEN WELL MET +</h2> +<p> +Sewell had long coveted the suite of rooms known at the Priory as “Miss +Lucy's.” They were on the ground-floor; they opened on a small enclosed +garden of their own; they had a delicious aspect; and it was a thousand +pities they should be consigned to darkness and spiders while he wanted so +much a snuggery of his own,—a little territory which could be +approached without coming through the great entrance, and where he could +receive his familiars, and a variety of other creatures whose externals +alone would have denied them admittance to any decent household. +</p> +<p> +Now, although Sir William's letter to Lucy was the sort of document which, +admitting no species of reply, usually closes a correspondence, Sewell had +not courage to ask the Chief for the rooms in question. It would be too +like peremptory action to be prudent. It might lead the old man to +reconsider his judgment. Who knows what tender memories the thought might +call up? Indeed, as Sewell himself remembered, he had seen fellows in +India show great emotion at the sale of a comrade's kit, though they had +read the news of his death with comparative composure. “If the old fellow +were to toddle in here, and see her chair and her writing-table and her +easel, it might undo everything,” said he; so that he wisely resolved it +would be better to occupy the premises without a title than endeavor to +obtain them legitimately. +</p> +<p> +By a slight effort of diplomacy with Mrs. Beales, he obtained possession +of the key, and as speedily installed himself in occupancy. Indeed, when +the venerable housekeeper came round to see what the Colonel could +possibly want to do with the rooms, she scarcely recognized them. A +pipe-rack covered one wall, furnished with every imaginable engine for +smoke; a stand for rifles and fowling-pieces occupied a corner; some +select prints of Derby winners and ballet celebrities were scattered +about; while a small African monkey, of that color they call green, sat in +a small arm-chair, of his own, near the window, apparently sunk in deep +reflection. This creature, whom his master called Dundas—I am unable +to say after what other representative of the name—was gifted with +an instinctive appreciation of duns, and flew at the man who presented a +bill as unerringly as ever a bull rushed at the bearer of a red rag. +</p> +<p> +How he learned to know tailors, shoemakers, and tobacconists, and +distinguish them from the rest of mankind, and how he recognized them as +natural enemies, I cannot say. As for Se well, he always spoke of the gift +as the very strongest evidence in favor of the Darwinian theory, and +declared it was the prospective sense of troubles to come that suggested +the instinct. The chalk head, the portrait Lucy had made of Sir Brook, +still hung over the fireplace. It would be a curious subject of inquiry to +know why Sewell suffered it still to hold its place there. If there was a +man in the world whom he thoroughly hated, it was Fossbrooke. If there was +one to injure whom he would have bartered fortune and benefit to himself, +it was he. And how came it that he could bear to have this reminder of him +so perpetually before his eyes?—that the stern features should be +ever bent upon him,—darkly, reproachfully lowering, as he had often +seen them in life? If it were simply that his tenure of the place was +insecure, what so easy as to replace the picture, and why should he endure +the insult of its presence there? No, there was some other reason,—some +sentiment stronger than a reason,—some sense of danger in meddling +with that man in any shape. Over and over again he vowed to himself he +would hang it against a tree, and make a pistol-mark of it. Again and +again he swore that he would destroy it; he even drew out his penknife to +sever the head from the neck, significant sign of how he would like to +treat the original; but yet he had replaced his knife, and repressed his +resolve, and sat down again to brood over his anger inoperative. +</p> +<p> +To frown at the “old rascal,” as he loved to call him,—to menace him +with his fist as he passed,—to scowl at him as he sat before the +fire, were, after all, the limits of his wrath; but still the picture +exerted a certain influence over him, and actually inspired a sense of +fear as well as a sense of hatred. +</p> +<p> +Am I imposing too much on my reader's memory by asking him to recall a +certain Mr. O'Reardon, in whose humble dwelling at Cullen's Wood Sir Brook +Fossbrooke was at one time a lodger? Mr. O'Reardon, though an official of +one of the law courts, and a patriot by profession, may not have made that +amount of impression necessary to retain a place in the reader's +recollection, nor indeed is it my desire to be exacting on this head. He +is not the very best of company, and we shall not see much of him. +</p> +<p> +When Sewell succeeded to the office of Registrar, which the old Judge +carried against the Castle with a high hand, he found Mr. O'Reardon there; +he had just been promoted to the rank of keeper of the waiting-room. In +the same quick glance with which the shrewd Colonel was wont to single out +a horse, and knew the exact sort of quality he possessed, he read this +man, and saw with rapid intelligence the stuff he was made of, and the +sort of service he could render. +</p> +<p> +He called him into his office, and, closing the door, asked him a few +questions about his former life. O'Reardon, long accustomed to regard the +man who spoke with an English accent as an easy dupe, launched out on his +devoted loyalty, the perils it had cost him, the hate to which his English +attachment exposed him from his countrymen, and the little reward all his +long-proved fidelity had ever won him; but Sewell cut him suddenly short +with: “Don't try any of this sort of balderdash upon <i>me</i>, old +fellow,—it's only lost time: I've been dealing with blackguards of +your stamp all my life, and I read them like print.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh! your honor, them's hard words,—blackguard, blackguard! to a +decent man that always had a good name and a good character.” + </p> +<p> +“What I want you to understand is this,” said Sewell, scanning him keenly +while he spoke, “and to understand it well: that if you intend to serve +me, and make yourself useful in whatever way I see fit to employ you, +there must be no humbug about it. The first lesson you have to learn is, +never to imagine you can take me in. As I have just told you, I have had +my education amongst fellows more than your masters in craft,—so +don't lose your time in trying to outrogue me.” + </p> +<p> +“Your honor's practical,—I always like to serve a gentleman that's +practical,” said the fellow, with a totally changed voice. +</p> +<p> +“That will do,—speak that way,—drop your infernal whine,—turn +out your patriotic sentiments to grass, and we'll get on comfortably.” + </p> +<p> +“Be gorra! that's practical,—practical, every word of it.” + </p> +<p> +“Now the first thing I want is to know who are the people who come here. I +shall require to be able to distinguish those who are accustomed to +frequent the office from strangers; I suppose you know the attorneys and +solicitors, all of them?” + </p> +<p> +“Every man of them, sir; there's not a man in Dublin with a pair of black +trousers that I could n't give you the history of.” + </p> +<p> +“That's practical, certainly,” said Sewell, adopting his phrase; and the +other laughed pleasantly at the employment of it. “Whenever you have to +announce persons that are strangers to you, and whose business you can't +find out, mention that I am most busily engaged,—that persons of +consequence are with me,—delay them, in short, and put them off for +another day—” + </p> +<p> +“Till I can find out all about them?” broke in O'Reardon. +</p> +<p> +“Exactly.” + </p> +<p> +“And that's what I can do as well as any man in Ireland,” said the fellow, +overjoyed at the thought of such congenial labor. +</p> +<p> +“I suppose you know a dun by the look of him?” asked Sewell, with a low, +quiet laugh. +</p> +<p> +“Don't I, then?” was the reply. +</p> +<p> +“I 'll have none of them hanging about here,—mind that; you may tell +them what you please, but take care that my orders are obeyed.” + </p> +<p> +“I will, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“I shall probably not come down every day to the office; it may chance +that I may be absent a week at a time; but remember, I am always here,—you +understand,—I am here, or I am at the Chief Baron's chambers,—somewhere, +in short, about the Court.” + </p> +<p> +“Up in one of the arbitration rooms, maybe,” added O'Rear-don, to show he +perfectly comprehended his instructions. +</p> +<p> +“But whether I come to the office or not, I shall expect you every morning +at the Priory, to report to me whatever I ought to know,—who has +called,—what rumors are afloat; and mind you tell everything as it +reaches you. If you put on any embroidery of your own, I 'll detect it at +once, and out you go, Master O'Reardon, notwithstanding all your long +services and all your loyalty.” + </p> +<p> +“Practical, upon my conscience,—always practical,” said the fellow, +with a grin of keen approval. +</p> +<p> +“One caution more; I'm a tolerably good friend to the man who serves me +faithfully. When things go well, I reward liberally; but if a fellow +doubles on me, if he plays me false, I 'll back myself to be the worst +enemy he ever met with. That's practical, isn't it?” + </p> +<p> +“It is indeed, sir,—nothing more so.” + </p> +<p> +“I'll expect you to begin your visits on Thursday, then. Don't come to the +hall-door, but pass round by the end of the house and into the little +garden. I 'll leave the gate open, and you 'll find my room easily. It +opens on the garden. Be with me by eleven.” + </p> +<p> +Colonel Sewell was not more than just to himself when he affirmed that he +read men very quickly. As the practised cashier never hesitates about the +genuineness of a note, but detects the forgery at a glance, this man had +an instinctive appreciation of a scoundrel. Who knows if there be not some +magnetic affinity between such natures, that saves them the process of +thought and reason? He was right in the present case. O'Reardon was the +very man he wanted. The fellow liked the life of a spy and an informer. To +track, trace, connect this with that, and seek out the missing link which +gave connection to the chain, had for him the fascination of a game, and +until now his qualities had never been fairly appreciated. It was with +pride too that he showed his patron that his gifts could be more widely +exercised than within the narrow limits of an antechamber; for he brought +him the name of the man who wrote in “The Starlight” the last abusive +article on the Chief Baron, and had date and place for the visit of the +same man to the under-secretary, Mr. Cholmondely Balfour. He gave him the +latest news of the Curragh, and how Faunus had cut his frog in a training +gallop, and that it was totally impossible he could be “placed” for his +race. There were various delicate little scandals in the life of society +too, which, however piquant to Sewell's ears, would have no interest for +us; while of the sums lost at play, and the costly devices to raise the +payments, even Sewell himself was amazed at the accuracy and extent of his +information. +</p> +<p> +Mr. O'Reardon was one of a small knot of choice spirits who met every +night and exchanged notes. Doubtless each had certain “reserves” which he +kept strictly to himself; but otherwise they dealt very frankly and +loyally with each other, well aware that it was only on such a foundation +their system could be built; and the training-groom, and the butler, and +the club-waiter, the office messenger, and the penny-postman became very +active and potent agents in that strange drama we call life. +</p> +<p> +Now, though Mr. O'Reardon had presented himself each morning with due +punctuality at the little garden, in which he was wont to make his report +while Sewell smoked his morning cigar, for some days back the Colonel had +not appeared. He had gone down to the country to a pigeon-match, from +which he returned vexed and disappointed. He had shot badly, lost his +money, lost his time, and lost his temper,—even to the extent of +quarrelling with a young fellow whom he had long been speculating on +“rooking,” and from whom he had now parted on terms that excluded further +acquaintance. +</p> +<p> +Although it was a lovely morning, and the garden looking its very +brightest and best,—the birds singing sweetly on the trees, and the +air balmy with the jasmine and the sweet-brier,—Sewell strolled out +upon the velvety sward in anything but a mood of kindred enjoyment. His +bills were flying about on all sides, renewals upon renewals swelling up +to formidable sums, for which he had not made any provision. Though his +residence at the Priory, and his confident assurance to his creditors that +the old Judge had made him his heir, obtained a certain credit for him, +there were “small-minded scoundrels,” as he called them, who would n't +wait for their fifty per cent. In his desperation to stave off the demands +he could not satisfy, he had been driven to very ruinous expedients. He +sold timber off the lawn without the old Judge's knowledge, and only +hesitated about forging Sir William's name through the conviction that the +document to which he would have to append it would itself suggest +suspicion of the fraud. His increasing necessities had so far impaired his +temper that men began to decline to play with him. Nobody was sure of him, +and this cause augmented the difficulties of his position. Formerly his +two or three hours at the club before dinner, or his evening at mess, were +certain to keep him in current cash. He could hold out his handful of +sovereigns, and offer to bet them in that reckless carelessness which, +amongst very young men, is accepted as something akin to generosity. Now +his supply was almost stopped, not to say that he found, what many have +found, the rising generation endowed with an amount of acuteness that +formerly none attained to without sore experiences and sharp lessons. +</p> +<p> +“Confound them,” he would say, “there are curs without fluff on their +chins that know the odds at Newmarket as well as John Day! What chance has +a man with youngsters that understand the 'call for trumps'?” + </p> +<p> +It was thus moralizing over a world in decline that he strolled through +the garden, his unlit cigar held firm between his teeth, and his hands +deep sunk in his trousers' pockets. As he turned an angle of a walk, he +was arrested by a very silky voice saying, “Your honor's welcome home. I +hope your honor's well, and enjoyed yourself when you were away.” + </p> +<p> +“Ah, O'Reardon, that you! pretty well, thank you; quite well, I believe; +at least, as well as any man can be who is in want of money, and does not +know where to find it.” + </p> +<p> +Mr. O'Reardon grinned, as if <i>that</i>, at least, was one of the +contingencies his affluent chief could never have had any experience of. +“Moses is to run after all, sir,” said he, after a pause; “the bandages +was all a sham,—he never broke down.” + </p> +<p> +“So much the worse for me. I took the heavy odds against him on your fine +information,” said Sewell, savagely. +</p> +<p> +“You 'll not be hurt this time. He 'll have a tongue as big as three on +the day of the race; and there will be no putting a bridle on him.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't believe in that trick, O'Reardon.” + </p> +<p> +“I do, sir; and I'm laying the only ten-pound note I have on it,” said the +other, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“What about Mary Draper? is she coughing still?” + </p> +<p> +“She is, sir, and won't feed besides; but Mr. Harman is in such trouble +about his wife going off with Captain Peters, that he never thinks of the +mare. Any one goes into the stable that likes.” + </p> +<p> +“Confounded fool he must be! He stood heavily on that mare. When did Lady +Jane bolt?” + </p> +<p> +“On Tuesday night, sir. She was here at the Priory at luncheon with +Captain Peters that morning. She and Mrs. Sewell were walking more than an +hour together in the back garden.” + </p> +<p> +“Did you overhear anything they said?” + </p> +<p> +“Only once, sir, for they spoke low; but one time your Lady said aloud, +'If any one blames you, dear, it won't be me.' I think the other was +crying when she said it.” + </p> +<p> +“Stuff and nonsense!” said Sewell, angrily. +</p> +<p> +“She's gone away, at all events, sir; and Mr. Harman 's out of his mind +about it. Cross told me this morning that he would n't be surprised if his +master cut his throat or went to live on the Continent.” + </p> +<p> +“Do you happen to know anybody would lend me a thousand pounds on no +particular security, O'Reardon?” + </p> +<p> +“Not just at the minute,—perhaps if I had a day or two to think of +it.” + </p> +<p> +“I could give you a week,—a fortnight if it was any use, but it is +not; and you know it's not, Master O'Reardon, as well as any man +breathing.” + </p> +<p> +There was a silence of some minutes now between them; and while Sewell +brooded over his hard fortune, O'Reardon seemed to be reviewing in his +mind the state of the share market, and taking a sweeping view of the +course of the exchanges. +</p> +<p> +“Well, indeed, sir, money is tight,—mighty tight, at this time. Old +M'Cabe of the lottery office wouldn't advance three hundred to Lord Arthur +St. Aubin without the family plate, and I saw the covered dishes going in +myself.” + </p> +<p> +“I wish <i>I</i> had family plate,” sighed Sewell. +</p> +<p> +“So you will yet, please God,” said the other, piously. “His Lordship +can't live forever! But jewels is as good,” resumed he, after a slight +pause. +</p> +<p> +“I have just as much of the one as the other, O'Reardon. They were a sort +of scrip I never invested in.” + </p> +<p> +“It is n't a bad thing to do, after all. I remember poor Mr. Giles Morony +saying one day, 'I dined yesterday, Tom,' says he, 'off one of my wife's +ear-rings, and I never ate a better dinner in my life; and with the +blessing of Providence I'll go drunk to bed off the other to-night.'” + </p> +<p> +“Was n't he hanged afterwards for a murder?” + </p> +<p> +“No, sir,—sentenced, but never hanged. Mr. Wallace got him off on a +writ of error. He was a most agreeable man. Has Mrs. Sewell any trinkets +of value, sir?” + </p> +<p> +“I believe not—I don't know—I don't care,” said he, angrily; +for the subject, as an apropos, was scarcely pleasant. “Any one at the +office since I left?” asked he, with a twang of irritation still in his +tone. +</p> +<p> +“That ould man I tould your honor about called three times.” + </p> +<p> +“You told me nothing of any old man.” + </p> +<p> +“I wrote it twice to your honor since I saw you, and left the letters here +myself.” + </p> +<p> +“You don't think I break open letters in such handwriting as yours, do +you? Why, man, my table is covered with them. Who is the old man you speak +of?” + </p> +<p> +“Well, sir, that's more than I know yet; but I 'll be well acquainted with +all about him before a week ends, for I knew him before and he puzzled me +too.” + </p> +<p> +“What's his business with me?” + </p> +<p> +“He would not tell. Indeed, he's not much given to talk. He just says, 'Is +Colonel Sewell here?' and when I answer, 'No, sir,' he goes on, 'Can you +tell the day or the hour when I may find him here?' Of course I say that +your honor might come at any moment,—that your time is uncertain, +and such-like,—that you 're greatly occupied with the Chief Baron.” + </p> +<p> +“What is he like? Is he a gentleman?” + </p> +<p> +“I think he is,—at least he was once; for though his clothes is not +new and his boots are patched, there's a look about him that common people +never have.” + </p> +<p> +“Is he short or tall? What is he like?” Just as Sewell had put this +question they had gained the door of the little sitting-room, which lay +wide open, admitting a full view of the interior. “Give me some notion of +his appearance, if you can.” + </p> +<p> +“There he is, then,” cried O'Reardon, pointing to the chalk head over the +chimney. “That's himself, and as like as life.” + </p> +<p> +“What? that!” exclaimed Sewell, clutching the man's arm, and actually +shaking him in his eagerness. “Do you mean that he is the same man you see +here?” + </p> +<p> +“I do indeed, sir. There's no mistaking him. His beard's a little longer +than the picture, and he's thinner, perhaps; but that's the man.” + </p> +<p> +Sewell sat down on the chair nearest him, sick and faint; a cold clammy +sweat broke over his face and temples, and he felt the horrible nausea of +intense weakness. “Tell me,” said he at last, with a great effort to seem +calm, “just the words he said, as nearly as you can recall them.” + </p> +<p> +“It was what I told your honor. 'Is Colonel Sewell here? Is there no means +of knowing when he may be found here?' And then when I'd say, 'What name +am I to give? who is it I 'm to say called?' his answer would be, 'That is +no concern of yours. It is for me to leave my name or not, as it pleases +me.' I was going to remind him that he once lodged in my house at Cullen's +Wood, but I thought better of it, and said nothing.” + </p> +<p> +“Did he speak of calling again?” + </p> +<p> +“No, but he came yesterday; and whether he thought I was denying your +honor or not I don't know, but he sat down in the waiting-room and smoked +a cigar there, and heard two or three come in and ask for you and get the +same answer.” + </p> +<p> +Sewell groaned heavily, and covered his face with his hands. +</p> +<p> +“I think,” said O'Reardon, with a half-hesitating, timid manner, as though +it was a case where any blunder would be very awkward, “that if it was how +that this man was any trouble,—I mean any sort of an inconvenience +to your honor,—and that it was displeasing to your honor to have any +dealings with him, I think I could find a way to make him cut his stick +and leave the country; or if he would n't do that, come to worse luck +here.” + </p> +<p> +“What do you mean,—have you anything against him?” cried Sewell, +with a wild eagerness. +</p> +<p> +“If I 'm not much mistaken, I can soon have against him as much as his +life 's worth.” + </p> +<p> +“If you could,” said Sewell, clutching both his arms, and staring him +fixedly in the face,—“if you could! I mean, if you could rid me of +him, now and forever,—I don't care how, and I 'll not ask how,—only +do it; and I 'll swear to you there 's nothing in my power to serve you I +'ll refuse doing,—nothing!” + </p> +<p> +“What 's between your honor and him?” said O'Reardon, with an assurance +that his present power suggested. +</p> +<p> +“How dare you ask me, sir? Do you imagine that when I take such a fellow +as you into my service, I make him my confidant and my friend?” + </p> +<p> +“That's true, sir,” said the other, whose face only grew paler under this +insult, while his manner regained all its former subserviency,—“that's +true, sir. My interest about your honor made me forget myself; and I was +thinking how I could be most use to you. But, as your honor says, it's no +business of mine at all.” + </p> +<p> +“None whatever,” said Sewell, sternly; for a sudden suspicion had crossed +him of what such a fellow as this might become if once intrusted with the +power of a secret. +</p> +<p> +“Then it's better, your honor,” said he, with a slavish whine, “that I 'd +keep to what I 'm fit for,—sweeping out the office, and taking the +messages, and the like, and not try things that 's above me.” + </p> +<p> +“You 'll just do whatever my service requires, and whenever I find that +you do it ill, do it unfaithfully, or even unwillingly, we part company, +Master O'Reardon. Is that intelligible?” + </p> +<p> +“Then, sir, the sooner you fill up my place the better. I 'll give notice +now, and your honor has fifteen days to get one that will suit him +better.” + </p> +<p> +Sewell turned on him a look of savage hatred. He read, through all the +assumed humility of the fellow's manner, the determined insolence of his +stand. +</p> +<p> +“Go now, and go to the devil, if you like, so that I never see your +hang-dog face again; that 's all I bargain for.” + </p> +<p> +“Good-morning, sir; there's the key of the office, and that's the key of +the small safe; Mr. Simmes has the other. There 's a little account I +have,—it's only a few shillings is coming to me. I 'll leave it here +to-morrow; and if your honor would like me to tell the new man about the +people that come after your honor—who 's to be let in and who 's not—” + </p> +<p> +Sewell made a haughty gesture with his arm as though to say that he need +not trouble himself on that head. +</p> +<p> +“Here's them cigars your honor gave me last week. I suppose I ought to +hand them back, now that I 'm discharged and turned away.” + </p> +<p> +“You have discharged yourself, my good friend. With a civil tongue in your +head, and ordinary prudence, you might have held on to your place till it +was time to pension you out of it.” + </p> +<p> +“Then I crave your honor's pardon, and you 'll never have to find the same +fault with me again. It was just breaking my heart, it was,—the +thought of leaving your honor.” + </p> +<p> +“That's enough about it; go back to your duty. Mind <i>your</i> business; +and take good care you never meddle with mine.” + </p> +<p> +“Has your honor any orders?” said O'Reardon, with his ordinary tone of +respectful attention. +</p> +<p> +“Find out if Hughes is well enough to ride; they tell me he was worse +yesterday. Don't bother me any more about that fellow that writes the +attacks on the Chief Baron. They do the thing better now in the English +papers, and ask nothing for it. Look out for some one who will advance me +a little money,—even a couple of hundreds; and above all, track the +old fellow who called at the office; find out what he 's in Ireland for, +and how long he stays. I intend to go to the country this evening, so that +you 'll have to write your report,—the post-town is Killaloe.” + </p> +<p> +“And if the ould man presses me hard,” said O'Reardon, with one eye +knowingly closed, “your honor's gone over to England, and won't be back +till the cock-shooting.” + </p> +<p> +Sewell nodded, and with a gesture dismissed the fellow, half ashamed at +the familiarity that not only seemed to read his thoughts, but to follow +them out to their conclusions. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER IX. A SURPRISE +</h2> +<p> +In a little cabin standing on the extreme point of the promontory of +Howth, which its fisherman owner usually let to lodgers in the +bathing-season, Sir Brook Fossbrooke had taken up his abode. The view was +glorious from the window where he generally sat, and took in the whole +sweep of the bay, from Killiney, with the background of the Wicklow +mountains, to the very cliffs at his feet; and when the weather was +favorable,—an event, I grieve to say, not of every-day occurrence,—leading +him often to doubt whether in its graceful outline and varied color he did +not prefer it to Cagliari, with its waving orange groves and vine-clad +slopes. +</p> +<p> +He made a little water-color drawing to enclose in a letter to Lucy; and +now, as he sat gazing on the scene, he saw some effect of light on the +landscape which made him half disposed to destroy his sketch and begin +another. +</p> +<p> +“Tell your sister, Tom,” wrote he, “that if my letter to her goes without +the picture I promised her, it is because the sun has just got behind a +sort of tattered broken cloud, and is streaming down long slips of light +over the Wicklow hills and the woods at their feet, which are driving me +crazy with envy; but if I look on it any longer, I shall only lose another +post, so now to my task. +</p> +<p> +“Although I remained a day in the neighborhood, I was not received at +Holt. Sir Hugh was ill, and most probably never heard of my vicinity. Lady +Trafford sent me a polite—a very polite—note of regrets, &c., +for not being able to ask me to the house, which she called a veritable +hospital, the younger son having just returned from Madeira dangerously +ill. She expressed a hope, more courteous possibly than sincere, that my +stay in England would allow my returning and passing some days there, to +which I sent a civil answer and went my way. The young fellow, I hear, +cannot recover, so that Lionel will be the heir after all; that is, if Sir +Hugh's temper should not carry him to the extent of disinheriting his son +for a stranger. I was spared my trip to Cornwall; spared it by meeting in +London with a knot of mining-people, 'Craig, Pears, and Denk,' who +examined our ore, and pronounced it the finest ever brought to England. As +the material for the white-lead of commerce, they say it is unrivalled; +and when I told them that our supply might be called inexhaustible, they +began to regard me as a sort of Croesus. I dined with them at a City club, +called, I think, the Gresham, a very grand entertainment,—turtle and +blackcock in abundance, and a deal of talk,—very bumptious talk of +all the money we were all going to make, and how our shares, for we are to +be a company, must run up within a week to eight or ten premium. They are, +I doubt not, very honest fine fellows, but they are vulgar dogs, Tom, I +may say it to you in confidence, and use freedoms with each other in +intercourse that are scarcely pleasing. To myself personally there was no +lack of courtesy, nor can I complain that there was any forgetful-ness of +due respect. I could not accept their invitation to a second dinner at +Greenwich, but deferred it till my return from Ireland. +</p> +<p> +“I came on here on Wednesday last, and if you ask me what I have done, my +answer is, Nothing—absolutely nothing. I have been four several +times at the office where Sewell presides, but always to meet the same +reply, 'Not in town to-day;' and now I learn that he is hunting somewhere +in Cheshire. I am averse to going after him to the Chief Baron's house, +where he resides, and am yet uncertain how to act. It is just possible he +may have learned that I am in Ireland, and is keeping out of my way, +though I have neglected no precaution of secrecy, have taken a humble +lodging some miles from town, and have my letters addressed to the +post-office to be called for. Up to this I have not met one who knows me. +The Viceroy is away in England, and in broken health,—indeed, so ill +that his return to Ireland is more than doubtful; and Balfour, who might +have recognized me, is happily so much occupied with the 'Celts,' as the +latest rebels call themselves, that he has no time to go much abroad. +</p> +<p> +“The papers which I have sent you regularly since my arrival will inform +you about this absurd movement. You will also see the debate on your +grandfather. He will not retire, do all that they may; and now, as a +measure of insult, they have named a special commission and omitted his +name. +</p> +<p> +“They went so far as to accuse him of senile weakness and incapacity; but +the letter which has been published with his name is one of the most +terrific pieces of invective I ever read: I will try and get a copy to +send you. +</p> +<p> +“I am anxious to call and see Beattie; but until I have met Sewell, and +got this troublesome task off my mind, I have no heart for anything. From +chance travellers in the train, as I go up to town, I hear that the Chief +Baron is living at a most expensive rate,—large dinners every week, +and costly morning parties, of a style Dublin has not seen before. They +say, too, that he dresses now like a man of five-and-thirty, rides a blood +horse, and is seen joining in all the festivities of the capital. Of +myself, of course, I can confirm none of these stories. There comes the +rain again. It is now dashing like hail against the windows; and of the +beautiful bay and the rocky islands, the leafy shore and the indented +coast-line I can see nothing,—nothing but the dense downpour that, +thickening at every moment, shuts out all view, so that even the spars of +the little pinnace in the bay beneath are now lost to me. A few minutes +ago I was ready to declare that Europe had nothing to compare with this +island, and now I 'd rather take rocky Ischia, with its scraggy cliffs, +sunlit and scorching, than live here watery and bloated like a slug on a +garden-wall. Perhaps my temper is not improved by the reflection that I +'ll have to walk to the post, about two miles off, with this letter, and +then come back to my own sad company for the rest of the evening. +</p> +<p> +“I had half a mind to run down and look at the 'Nest,' but I am told I +should not know it again, it has been so changed in every way. I have +spared myself, therefore, the pain the sight would have given me, and kept +my memory of it as I saw it on my first visit, when Lucy met me at the +door. Tell her from me, that when—” + </p> +<p> +The letter broke off here, and was continued lower down the page in a more +hurried hand, thus:— +</p> +<p> +“In their ardor to suppress the insurrection here, some one has denounced +<i>me</i>; and my pistols and my packet of lead, and my bullet-mould, have +so far confirmed suspicion against me, that I am to go forthwith before a +magistrate. It is so far provoking that my name will probably figure in +the newspapers, and I have no fancy to furnish a laugh to the town on such +grounds. The chief of the party (there are three of them, and evidently +came prepared to expect resistance) is very polite, and permits me to add +these few lines to explain my abrupt conclusion. Tell Lucy I shall keep +back my letter to her, and finish it to-morrow. I do not know well whether +to laugh or be angry at this incident. If a mere mistake, it is of course +absurd, but the warrant seems correct in every respect. The officer +assures me that any respectable bail will be at once accepted by the +magistrate; and I have not the courage to tell him that I do not possess a +single friend or acquaintance in this city whom I could ask to be my +surety. +</p> +<p> +“After all, I take it, the best way is to laugh at the incident. It was +only last night, as I walked home here in the dark, I was thinking I had +grown too old for adventures, and here comes one—at least it may +prove so—to contradict me. +</p> +<p> +“The car to convey me to town has arrived; and with loves to dear Lu and +yourself, I am, as ever, yours, +</p> +<p> +“Bk. Fossbrooke. +</p> +<p> +“It is a great relief to me—it will be also to you—to learn +that the magistrate can, if he please, examine me in private.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER X. THE CHIEF AND HIS FRIEND +</h2> +<p> +A few days after the conversation just related in the chapter before the +last, while the Chief Baron was undergoing the somewhat protracted process +of a morning toilet,—for it needed a nice hand and a critical eye to +give the curls of that wig their fitting wave, and not to “charge” those +shrunken cheeks with any redundant color,—Mr. Haire was announced. +</p> +<p> +“Say I shall be down immediately,—I am in my bath,” said the Chief, +who had hitherto admitted his old friend at all times and seasons. +</p> +<p> +While Haire was pacing the long dinner-room with solemn steps, wondering +at the change from those days when the Chief would never have thought of +making him wait for an interview, Sir William, attired in a long dark-blue +silk dressing-gown, and with a gold-tasselled cap to match, entered the +room, bringing with him a perfumed atmosphere, so loaded with bergamot +that his old friend almost sneezed at it. “I hurried my dressing, Haire, +when they told me you were here. It is a rare event to have a visit from +you of late,” said the old man, as he sat down and disposed with graceful +care the folds of his rich drapery. +</p> +<p> +“No,” muttered the other, in some confusion. “I have grown lazy,—getting +old, I suppose, and the walk is not so easy as it used to be +five-and-twenty years ago.” + </p> +<p> +“Then drive, sir, and don't walk. The querulous tone men employ about +their age is the measure of their obstinate refusal to accommodate +themselves to inevitable change. As for me, I accept the altered +condition, but I defy it to crush me.” + </p> +<p> +“Every one has not your pluck and your stamina,” said Haire, with a +half-suppressed sigh. +</p> +<p> +“My example, sir, might encourage many who are weaker.” + </p> +<p> +“Any news of Lucy lately?” asked Haire, after a pause. +</p> +<p> +“Miss Lendrick, sir, has, through her brother, communicated to me her +attachment to a young fellow in some marching regiment, and asked my +permission to marry him. No, I am incorrect. Had she done this, there had +been deference and respect; she asks me to forward a letter to her father, +with this prayer, and to support it by my influence.” + </p> +<p> +“And why not, if he 's a good fellow, and likely to be worthy of her?” + </p> +<p> +“A good fellow! Why, sir, you are a good fellow, an excellent fellow; but +it would never occur to me to recommend you for a position of high +responsibility or commanding power.” + </p> +<p> +“Heaven forbid!—or, if you should, Heaven forbid I might be fool +enough to accept it. But what has all this to do with marriage?” + </p> +<p> +“Explain yourself more fully, sir; you have assumed to call in question +the parallelism I would establish between the tie of marriage and the +obligation of a solemn trust; state your plea.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll do nothing of the kind. I came here this morning to—to—I'll +be shot if I remember what I came about; but I know I had something to +tell you; let me try and collect myself.” + </p> +<p> +“Do, sir, if that be the name you give the painful process.” + </p> +<p> +“There, there; you'll not make me better by ridiculing me. What could it +have been that I wanted to tell you?” + </p> +<p> +“Not, impossibly, some recent impertinence of the press towards myself.” + </p> +<p> +“I think not,—I think not,” said the other, musingly. “I suppose you +'ve seen that squib in the 'Banner.'” + </p> +<p> +“It is a paper, sir, I would not condescend to touch.” + </p> +<p> +“The fellow says that a Chief Baron without a court,—he means this +in allusion to the Crown not bringing those cases of treason-felony into +the Exchequer,—a Chief without a court is like one of those bishops +<i>in partibus</i>, and that it would n't be an unwise thing to make the +resemblance complete and stop the salary. And then another observes—” + </p> +<p> +“Sir, I do not know which most to deplore,—your forgetfulness or +your memory; try to guide your conversation without any demand upon +either.” + </p> +<p> +“And it was about those Celts, as they call these rascals, that I wanted +to say something. What could it have been?” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps you may have joined them. Are you a head-centre, or only +empowered to administer oaths and affirmations?” + </p> +<p> +“Oh! I have it now,” cried Haire, triumphantly. “You remember, one day we +were in the shrubbery after breakfast, you remarked that this insurrection +was especially characterized by the fact that no man of education, nor, +indeed, of any rank above the lowest, had joined it. You said something +about the French Revolution, too; and how, in the Reign of Terror, the +principles of the Girondists had filtered down, and were to be seen +glittering like—” + </p> +<p> +“Spare me, Haire,—spare me, and do not ask me to recognize the +bruised and battered coinage, without effigy or legend, as the medal of my +own mint.” + </p> +<p> +“At all events, you remember what I'm referring to.” + </p> +<p> +“With all your efforts to efface my handwriting I can detect something of +my signature,—go on.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, they have at last caught a man of some mark and station. I saw +Spencer, of the head office, this morning, and he told me that he had just +committed to Newgate a man of title and consideration. He would not +mention his name; indeed, the investigation was as private as possible, as +it was felt that the importance of such a person being involved in the +project would give a very dangerous impulse to the movement.” + </p> +<p> +“They are wrong, sir. The insurrection that is guided by men of condition +will, however dangerous, be a game with recognized rules and laws. The +rebellion of the ignorant masses will be a chaos to defy calculation. You +may discuss measures, but there is no arguing with murder!” + </p> +<p> +“That's not the way Spencer regarded it. He says the whole thing must be +kept dark; and as they have refused to accept his bail, it's clear enough +they think the case a very important one.” + </p> +<p> +“If I was not on the Bench I would defend these men! Ay, sir, defend them! +They have not the shadow of a case to show for this rebellion. It is the +most causeless attempt to subvert a country that ever was conceived; but +there is that amount of stupidity,—of ignorance, not alone of +statecraft, but of actual human nature, on the part of those who rule us, +that it would have been the triumph of my life to assail and expose them. +Why, sir, it was the very plebeian character of this insurrection that +should have warned them against their plan of nursing and encouraging it. +Had the movement been guided by gentlemen, it might have been politic to +have affected ignorance of their intentions till they had committed +themselves beyond retreat; but with this rabble—this rebellion in +rags—to tamper was to foster. You had no need to dig pitfalls for +such people; they never emerged from the depths of their own ignominious +condition. You should have suppressed them at once,—stopped them +before the rebel press had disseminated a catechism of treason, and +instilled the notion through the land that the first duty of patriotism +was assassination.” + </p> +<p> +“And you would have defended these men?” + </p> +<p> +“I would have arraigned their accusers, and charged them as accomplices. I +would have told those Castle officials to come down and stand in the dock +with their confederates. What, sir! will you tell me that it was just or +moral, or even politic, to treat these unlettered men as though they were +crafty lawyers, skilled in all the arts to evade the provisions of a +statute? This policy was not unfitted towards <i>him</i> who boasted he +could drive a coach-and-six through any Act of Parliament; but how could +it apply to creatures more ready to commit themselves than even you were +to entrap them? who wanted no seduction to sedition, and who were far more +eager to play traitor than you yourself to play prosecutor? I say again, I +wish I had my youth and my stuff-gown, and they should have a defender.” + </p> +<p> +“I am just as well pleased it is as we see it,” muttered Haire. +</p> +<p> +“Of course you are, sir. There are men who imagine it to be loyal to be +always on the side that is to be strongest.” He took a few turns up and +down the room, his nostrils dilated, and his lips trembling with +excitement. “Do me a favor, Haire,” said he at last, as he approached and +laid his hand on the other's arm. “Go and learn who this gentleman they +have just arrested is. Ascertain whatever you can of the charge against +him,—the refusal of bail implies it is a grave case; and inquire if +you might be permitted to see and speak with him.” + </p> +<p> +“But I don't want to speak with him. I'd infinitely rather not meet him at +all.” + </p> +<p> +“Sir, if you go, you go as an emissary from me,” said the Chief, +naughtily, and by a look recalling Haire to all his habitual deference. +</p> +<p> +“But only imagine if it got abroad—if the papers got hold of it; +think of what a scandal it would be, that the Chief Baron of the Exchequer +was actually in direct communication with a man charged with +treason-felony. I would n't take a thousand pounds, and be accessory to +such an allegation.” + </p> +<p> +“You shall do it for less, sir. Yes, I repeat it, Haire, for less. Five +shillings' car-hire will amply cover the cost. You shall drive over to the +head-office and ask Mr. Spencer if—of course with the prisoner's +permission—you may be admitted to see him. When I have the reply I +will give you your instructions.” + </p> +<p> +“I protest I don't see—I mean, I cannot imagine—it's not +possible—in fact, I know, that when you reflect a little over it, +you will be satisfied that this would be a most improper thing to do.” + </p> +<p> +“And what is this improper thing I am about to do? Let us hear, sir, what +you condemn so decidedly! I declare my libellers must have more reason +than I ever conceded to them. I am growing very, very old! There must be +the blight of age upon my faculties, or you would not have ventured to +administer this lesson to me! this lesson on discretion and propriety. I +would, however, warn you to be cautious. The wounded tiger is dangerous, +though the ball should have penetrated his vitals. I would counsel you to +keep out of reach of his spring, even in his dying moments.” + </p> +<p> +He actually shook with passion as he said this, and his hands closed and +opened with a convulsive movement that showed the anger that possessed +him. +</p> +<p> +“I have never lectured any one; least of all would it occur to me to +lecture you,” said Haire, with much dignity. “In all our intercourse I +have never forgotten the difference between us,—I mean +intellectually; for I hope, as to birth and condition, there is no +inequality.” + </p> +<p> +Though he spoke this slowly and impressively, the Chief Baron heard +nothing of it. He was so overwhelmed by the strong passions of his own +mind that he could not attend to another. “I shall soon be called +incorrigible as well as incompetent,” uttered he, “if the wise counsels of +my ablest friends are powerless to admonish me.” + </p> +<p> +“I must be moving,” said Haire, rising and taking his hat. “I promised to +dine with Beattie at the Rock.” + </p> +<p> +“Say nothing of what has taken place here to-day; or if you mention me at +all, say you found me in my usual health.” Haire nodded. +</p> +<p> +“My usual health and spirits,” continued the Chief. “I was going to say +temper, but it would seem an epigram. Tell Beattie to look in here as he +goes home; there 's one of the children slightly ailing. And so, Haire,” + cried he, suddenly, in a louder voice, “you would insinuate that my power +of judgment is impaired, and that neither in the case of my granddaughter +nor in that larger field of opinion—the state of Ireland—am I +displaying that wisdom or that acuteness on which it was one time the +habit to compliment me.” + </p> +<p> +“You may be quite right. I won't presume to say you 're not. I only +declare that I don't agree with you.” + </p> +<p> +“In either case?” + </p> +<p> +“No; not in either case.” + </p> +<p> +“I think I shall ride to-day,” said the Chief; for they had now reached +the hall-door, and were looking out over the grassy lawn and the swelling +woods that enclosed it. “You lose much, Haire, in not being a horseman. +What would my critics say if they saw me following the hounds, eh?” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll be shot if it would surprise me to see it,” muttered Haire to +himself. “Good-bye.” + </p> +<p> +“Good-bye, Haire. Come out and see me soon again. I 'll be better tempered +when you come next. You 're not angry with me, I know.” + </p> +<p> +Haire grasped the hand that was held out to him, and shook it cordially. +“Of course I 'm not. I know well you have scores of things to vex and +irritate you that never touch fellows like myself. I shall never feel +annoyed at anything you may <i>say</i> to <i>me</i>. What would really +distress me would be that you should do anything to lower your own +reputation.” + </p> +<p> +The old Judge stood on the doorstep pondering over these last words of his +friend long after his departure. “A good creature—a true-hearted +fellow,” muttered he to himself; “but how limited in intelligence! It is +the law of compensation carried out. Where nature gives integrity she +often grudges intellect. The finer, subtler minds play with right and +wrong till they detect their affinities.—Who are you, my good +fellow? What brings you here?” cried he to a fellow who was lounging in +the copse at the end of the house. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm a carman, your honor. I 'm going to drive the Colonel to the railway +at Stoneybatter.” + </p> +<p> +“I never heard that he was about to leave town,” muttered the old Judge. +“I thought he had been confined to bed with a cold these days back. +Cheetor, go and tell Colonel Sewell that I should be much obliged if he +would come over to my study at his earliest convenience.” + </p> +<p> +“The Colonel will be with you, my Lord, in five minutes,” was the prompt +reply. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XI. A LEAP IN THE DARK +</h2> +<p> +Colonel Sewell received the Chief Baron's message with a smothered +expression of no benevolent meaning. +</p> +<p> +“Who said I was here? How did he know I had arrived?” cried he, angrily. +</p> +<p> +“He saw the carman, sir; and asked for whom he was waiting.” + </p> +<p> +Another and not less energetic benediction was invoked on the rascally +car-driver, whom he had enjoined to avoid venturing in front of the house. +</p> +<p> +“Say I'm coming; I'll be with him in an instant,” said be, as he hurriedly +pitched some clothes into his portmanteau. +</p> +<p> +Now it is but fair to own that this demand upon his time came at an +inconvenient moment; he had run up to town by an early train, and was bent +on going back by the next departure. During his absence, no letter of any +kind from his agent O'Reardon had reached him, and, growing uneasy and +impatient at this silence, he had come up to learn the reason. At the +office he heard that O'Reardon had not been there for the last few days. +It was supposed he was ill, but there was no means of ascertaining the +fact; none knew his address, as, they said, “he was seldom in the same +place for more than a week or two.” Sewell had a profound distrust of his +friend; indeed, the only reason for confiding in him at all was, that it +was less O'Reardon's interest to be false than true. Since Fossbrooke's +arrival, however, matters might have changed. They might have met and +talked together. Had Sir Brook seduced the fellow to take service under +him? Had he wormed out of him certain secrets of his (Sewell's) life, and +thus shown how useful he might be in running him to earth? This was far +from unlikely. It seemed the easiest and most natural way of explaining +the fellow's absence. At the same time, if such were the case, would he +not have taken care to write to him? Would not his letters, calling for +some sort of reply, some answer to this or that query, have given him a +better standing-ground with his new master, showing how far he possessed +Sewell's confidence, and how able he was to make his treason to him +effective? Harassed by these doubts, and fearing he knew not what of fresh +troubles, he had passed a miserable week in the country. Debt and all its +wretched consequences were familiar enough to him. His whole life had been +one long struggle with narrow means, and with the expedients to meet +expenses he should never have indulged in. He had acquired, together with +a recklessness, a sort of self-reliance in these emergencies which +positively seemed to afford him a species of pleasure, and made him a hero +to himself by his successes; but there were graver troubles than these on +his heart, and with the memory of these Fossbrooke was so interwoven that +to recall them was to bring him up before him. +</p> +<p> +Besides these terrors, he had learned, during his short stay at the Nest, +a most unwelcome piece of intelligence. The vicar, Mr. Mills, had shown +him a letter from Dr. Lendrick, in which he said that the climate +disagreed with him, and his isolation and loneliness preyed upon him so +heavily that he had all but determined to resign his place and return +home. He added that he had given no intimation of this to his children, +lest by any change of plan he might inflict disappointment upon them; nor +had he spoken of it to his father, in the fear that if the Chief Baron +should offer any strenuous objection, he might be unable to carry out his +project; while to his old friend the vicar he owned that his heart yearned +after a home, and if it could only be that home where he had lived so +contentedly, the Nest! “If I could promise myself to get back there +again,” he wrote, “nothing would keep me here a month longer.” Now, as +Sewell had advertised the place to be let, Mills at once showed him this +letter, believing that the arrangement was such as would suit each of +them. +</p> +<p> +It needed all Sewell's habitual self-command not to show the uneasiness +these tidings occasioned him. Lendrick's return to Ireland might undo—it +was almost certain to undo—all the influence he had obtained over +the Chief Baron. The old Judge was never to be relied upon from one day to +the next. Now it was some impulse of vindictive passion, now of +benevolence. Who was to say when some parental paroxysm might not seize +him, and he might begin to care for his son? +</p> +<p> +Here was a new peril,—one he had never so much as imagined might +befall him. “I 'll have to consult my wife,” said he, hastily, in reply to +Mills's question. “She is not at all pleased at the notion of giving up +the place; the children were healthier here: in fact,” added he, in some +confusion, “I suspect we shall be back here one of these days.” + </p> +<p> +“I told him I'd have to consult <i>you</i>,” said Sewell, with an insolent +sneer, as he told his wife this piece of news. “I said you were so fond of +the country, so domestic, and so devoted to your children, that I scarcely +thought you 'd like to give up a place so suited to all your tastes;—wasn't +I right?” + </p> +<p> +She continued to look steadily at the book she had been reading, and made +no reply. +</p> +<p> +“I did n't say, though I might, that the spot was endeared to you by a +softer, more tender reminiscence; because, being a parson, there 's no +saying how he 'd have taken it.” + </p> +<p> +She raised her book higher, so as to conceal her face, but still said +nothing. +</p> +<p> +“At all events,” said he, in a more careless tone, “we are not going to +add to the inducements which attract this gentleman to return home, and we +must not forget that our host here may turn us out at any moment.” + </p> +<p> +“I think it will be our fault whenever he does so,” said she, quietly. +</p> +<p> +“Fault and misfortune are pretty much alike, to my thinking. There is one +thing, however, I have made up my mind on,—I 'll bolt. When he gives +notice to quit, he shall be obliged to provide for you and the brats out +of sheer necessity. He cannot turn you out on the streets, he can't send +you to the Union; you have no friends to whom he can pack you off; so let +him storm as he likes: something he must do.” + </p> +<p> +To this speech she seemed to give no attention whatever. Whether the +threat was an oft-repeated one, or that she was inured to coarseness of +this nature, or that silence was the best line to take in these +emergencies, she never appeared to notice his words. +</p> +<p> +“What about that money he promised you? Has he given it?” said he +suddenly, when about to leave the room. +</p> +<p> +“No; he said something about selling out some mining-shares,—scrip +he called it. I forget exactly what he said, but the purport was that he +was pressed just now.” + </p> +<p> +“I take it he is. My mother's allowance is in arrear, and she is not one +to bear the delay very patiently. So you 've got nothing?” + </p> +<p> +“Nothing, except ten pounds he gave Cary yesterday for her birthday.” + </p> +<p> +“Where is it?” + </p> +<p> +“In that work-box,—no, in the upper part. Do you want it?” + </p> +<p> +“What a question! Of course I want it, somewhat more than Gary does, I +promise you. I was going off to-day with just five sovereigns in my +pocket. By-bye. I shall be late if I don't hurry myself.” As he reached +the door he turned round. “What was it I had to tell you,—some piece +of news or other,—what could it have been?” + </p> +<p> +“Nothing pleasant, I 'm sure, so it's as well unremembered.” + </p> +<p> +“Polite, certainly,” said he, walking slowly back while he seemed trying +to recall something. “Oh, I have it. The transport that took out the—th +has been wrecked somewhere off Sardinia. Engine broken down, paddle-wheels +carried away, quarter-boats smashed, and, in fact, total wreck. I have no +time to tell you more;” and so saying, he hurried away, but, opening the +door noiselessly, he peeped in, and saw her with her head buried in her +hands, leaning on the table; and, stealing stealthily down the corridor, +he hastened to his room to pack up for his journey; and it was while thus +occupied the Chief's message reached him. +</p> +<p> +When the Chief Baron asked Haire to call at the Police Office and inquire +if he might not be permitted to see the person who had been arrested that +morning at Howth, he had not the very vaguest idea what step he should +next take, nor what proceedings institute, if his demand might be acceded +to. The indignant anger he felt at the slight put upon him by the +Government in passing him over on the Commission, had got such entire +possession of him that he only thought of a reprisal without considering +how it was to be effected. “I am not one to be insulted with impunity. Are +these men such ignorant naturalists as not to know that there is one +species of whale that the boldest never harpoons? Swift was a Dean, but he +never suffered his cassock to impede the free use of his limbs. I am a +Judge, but they shall see that the ermine embarrasses me just as little. +They have provoked the conflict, and it is not for me to decline it. They +are doing scores of things every day in Ireland that, if there was one man +of ability and courage opposed to them, would shake the Cabinet to its +centre. I will make Pemberton's law a proverb and a byword. The public +will soon come to suspect that the reason I am not on the Bench at these +trials is not to be looked for in the spiteful malignity of the Castle, +but in the conscientious scruples of one who warned the Crown against +these prosecutions. They were not satisfied with native disaffection, and +they have invented a new crime for Ireland, which they call +treason-felony; but they have forgotten to apprise the people, who go on +blunderingly into treason as of old, too stupid to be taught by a statute! +The Act is a new one. It would give me scant labor to show that it cannot +be made law, that its clauses are contradictory, its provisions erroneous, +its penalties evasive. What is to prevent me introducing, as a digression, +into my next charge to a grand jury, my regrets or sorrows over such +bungling legislation? Who is to convict me for arraigning the wisdom of +Parliament, or telling the country, You are legislated for by ignorance! +your statutes are made by incompetence! The public press is always open, +and it will soon be bruited about that the letter signed 'Lycurgus' was +written by William Lendrick. I will take Barnewell or Perrin, or some +other promising young fellow of the junior bar, and instruct him for the +defence. I will give him law enough to confute, and he shall furnish the +insolence to confront this Attorney-General. There never was a case better +suited to carry the issue out of the Queen's Bench and arraign the Queen's +advisers. Let them turn upon me if they dare: I was a citizen before I was +a lawyer, I was an Irishman before I became a judge. There was a bishop +who braved the Government in the days of the volunteers. They shall find +that high station in Ireland is but another guarantee for patriotism.” By +such bursts of angry denunciation had he excited himself to such a degree +that when Sewell entered the room the old man's face was flushed, his eye +flashing, and his lip quivering with passion. +</p> +<p> +“I was not aware of your absence, sir!” said he, sternly; “and a mere +accident informed me that you were going away again.” + </p> +<p> +“A sudden call required my presence at Killaloe, my Lord; and I found when +I had got there I had left some papers behind here.” + </p> +<p> +“The explanation would be unexceptionable, sir, if this house were an inn +to which a man comes and returns as he pleases; but if I err not, you are +my guest here, and I hope if a host has duties he has rights.” + </p> +<p> +“My Lord, I attached so very little importance to my presence that I never +flattered myself by thinking I should be missed.” + </p> +<p> +“I seldom flatter, sir, and I never do so where I intend to censure!” + Sewell bowed submissively, but the effort to control his temper cost him a +sharp pang and a terrible struggle. “Enough of this, at least for the +present; though I may mention, passingly, that we must take an early +opportunity of placing our relations towards each other on some basis that +may be easily understood by each of us. The law of contracts will guide us +to the right course. My object in sending for you now is to ask a service +at your hands, if your other engagements will leave you at liberty to +render it.” + </p> +<p> +“I am entirely at your Lordship's orders.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, sir, I will be very brief. I must needs be so, for I have fatigued +myself by much talking already. The papers will have informed you that I +am not to sit on this Commission. The Ministers who cannot persuade me by +their blandishments are endeavoring to disgust me by insult. They have +read the fable of the sun and the wind backwards, and inverted the moral. +It had been whispered abroad that if I tried these men there would have +been no convictions. They raked up some early speeches of mine—youthful +triumphs they were—in defence of Wolfe Tone, and Jackson, and +others; and they argued—no, I am wrong—they did not argue, +they imagined, that the enthusiasm of the advocate might have twined +itself around the wisdom of the Judge. They have quoted, too, in capital +letters,—it is there on the table,—the peroration of my speech +in Neilson's case, where I implored the jury to be cautious and +circumspect, for so deeply had the Crown advisers compromised themselves +in the pursuit of rebellion, it needed the most careful sifting not to +include the law-officers of the Castle, and to avoid placing the +Attorney-General side by side with his victim.” + </p> +<p> +“How sarcastic! how cutting!” muttered Sewell, in praise. +</p> +<p> +“It was more than sarcastic, sir. It stung the Orange jury to the quick; +and though they convicted my client, they trembled at the daring of his +defender. +</p> +<p> +“But I turn from the past to the present,” said he, after a pause. “They +have arrested this morning, at Howth, a man who is said to be of rank and +station. The examination, conducted in secret, has concealed his name; and +all that we know is that bail has not been accepted, if offered, for him. +So long as these arrests concerned the vulgar fellows who take to +rebellion for its robberies, no case can be made. With the creatures of +rusty pikes and ruffian natures I have no sympathy. It matters little +whether they be transported for treason or for theft. With the gentleman +it is otherwise. Some speculative hope, some imaginative aspiration of +serving his country, some wild dream begotten of the great Revolution of +France, dashed not impossibly with some personal wrong, drives men from +their ordinary course in life, and makes them felons where they meant to +be philanthropists. I have often thought if this movement now at work +should throw up to the surface one of this stamp, what a fine occasion it +might afford to test the wisdom of those who rule us, to examine the +machinery by which they govern, and to consider the advantage of that +system,—such a favorite system in Ireland, by which rebellion is +fostered as a means of subsequent concession, as though it were necessary +to manure the loyalty of the land by the blood of traitors. +</p> +<p> +“I weary you, sir, and I am sorry for it. No, no, make no protestations. +It is a theme cannot have the same interest for <i>you</i> as for <i>me</i>. +What I would ask of you is, to go down to the head-office and see Mr. +Spencer, and learn from him if you might have an order to see the +prisoner,—your pretext being the suspicion that he is personally +known to you. If you succeed in getting the order, you will proceed to the +Richmond Bridewell and have an interview with him. You are a man of the +world, sir, and I need not give you any instructions how to ascertain his +condition, his belongings, and his means of defence. If he be a gentleman, +in the sense we use that term when applying its best attributes to it, you +will be frank and outspoken, and will tell him candidly that your object +is to make his case the groundwork of an attack on the Government, and the +means by which all the snares that have led men to rebellion may be +thoroughly exposed, and the craft of the Crown lawyer be arraigned beside +the less cold-blooded cruelty of the traitor. Do you fully comprehend me, +sir?” + </p> +<p> +“I think so, my Lord, Your intention is, if I take you correctly, to make +the case, if it be suitable, the groundwork for an attack on the +Government of Ireland.” + </p> +<p> +“In which I am not to appear.” + </p> +<p> +“Of course, my Lord; though possibly with no objection that it should be +known how far your sympathy is with a free discussion of the whole state +of Ireland?” + </p> +<p> +“You apprehend me aright, sir,—a free discussion of the whole state +of Ireland.” + </p> +<p> +“I go, therefore, without any concert with your Lordship at present. I +take this step entirely at my own instance?” + </p> +<p> +“You do, sir. If matters eventually should take the turn which admits of +any intervention on my part—any expression of opinion—any +elucidation of sentiments attributed to me—I will be free to make +such in the manner I deem suitable.” + </p> +<p> +“In case this person should prove one, either from his character or the +degree in which he has implicated himself, unfitted for your Lordship's +object, I am to drop the negotiation?” + </p> +<p> +“Rather, I should say, sir, you are not to open it.” + </p> +<p> +“I meant as much,” said Sewell, with some irritation. +</p> +<p> +“It is an occasion, sir, for careful action and precise expression. I have +no doubt you will acquit yourself creditably in each of these respects. +Are you already acquainted with Mr. Spencer?” + </p> +<p> +“We have met at the Club, my Lord; he at least knows who I am.” + </p> +<p> +“That will be quite sufficient. One point more—I have no need to +caution you as to secrecy—this is a matter which cannot be talked +of.” + </p> +<p> +“That you may rely on, my Lord; reserve is so natural to me, that I have +to put no strain upon my manner to remember it.” + </p> +<p> +“I shall be curious to hear the result of your visit,—that is, if +you be permitted to visit the Bridewell. Will you do me the favor to come +to me at once?” + </p> +<p> +Sewell promised this faithfully, and withdrew. +</p> +<p> +“If ever an old fool wanted to run his head into a noose,” muttered he, +“here is one; the slightest blunder on my part, intentional or not, and +this great Baron of the Exchequer might be shown up as abetting treason. +To be sure, he has given me nothing under his hand—nothing in +writing—I wonder was that designedly or not; he is so crafty in the +middle of all his passion.” Thus meditating, he went on his mission. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XII. SOME OF SEWELL'S OPINIONS +</h2> +<p> +Sewell was well received by the magistrate, and promised that he should be +admitted to see the prisoner on the next morning; having communicated +which tidings to the Chief Baron, he went off to dine with his mother in +Merrion Square. +</p> +<p> +“Isn't Lucy coming?” said Lady Lendrick, as he entered the drawing-room +alone. +</p> +<p> +“No. I told her I wanted a long confidential talk with you; I hinted that +she might find it awkward if one of the subjects discussed should happen +to be herself, and advised her to stay at home, and she concurred with +me.” + </p> +<p> +“You are a great fool, Dudley, to treat her in that fashion. I tell you +there never was a woman in the world who could forgive it.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't want her to forgive it, mother; there 's the mistake you are +always making. The way she baffles me is by non-resistance. If I could +once get her to resent something—anything—I could win the +game.” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps some one might resent for her,” said she, dryly. +</p> +<p> +“I ask nothing better. I have tried to bring it to that scores of times, +but men have grown very cautious latterly. In the old days of duelling a +fellow knew the cost of what he was doing; now that we have got juries and +damages, a man thinks twice about an entanglement, without he be a very +young fellow.” + </p> +<p> +“It is no wonder that she hates you,” said she, fiercely. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps not,” said he, languidly; “but here comes dinner.” + </p> +<p> +For a while the duties of the table occupied them, and they chatted away +about indifferent matters; but when the servants left the room, Sewell +took up the theme where they had left it, and said: “It's no use to either +of us, mother, to get what is called judicial separation. It's the chain +still, only that the links are a little longer—and it's the chain we +<i>hate!</i> We began to hate it before we were a month tied to each +other, and time, somehow, does not smooth down these asperities. As to any +other separation, the lawyers tell me it is hopeless. There's a +functionary called the 'Queen's' something or other, who always intervenes +in the interests of morality, and compels people who have proved their +incompatibility by years of dissension to go back and quarrel more.” + </p> +<p> +“I think if it were only for the children's sake—” + </p> +<p> +“For the children's sake!” broke he in. “What can it possibly matter +whether they be brought up by their mother alone, or in a house where +their father and mother are always quarrelling? At all events, they form +no element in the question so far as I am concerned.” + </p> +<p> +“I think your best hold on the Chief Baron is his liking for the children; +he is very fond of Reginald.” + </p> +<p> +“What's the use of a hold on an old man who has more caprices than he has +years? He has made eight wills to my own knowledge since May last. You may +fancy how far afield he strays in his testamentary dispositions when in +one of them he makes <i>you</i> residuary legatee.” + </p> +<p> +“Me! Me!” + </p> +<p> +“You; and what's more, calls you his faithful and devoted wife, 'who—for +five-and-twenty years that we lived apart—contributed mainly to the +happiness of my life.'” + </p> +<p> +“The parenthesis, at least, is like him,” said she, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“To the children he has bequeathed I don't know what, sometimes with Lucy +as their guardian, sometimes myself. The Lendrick girl was always +handsomely provided for till lately, when he scratched her out completely; +and in the last document which I saw there were the words, 'To my +immediate family I bequeath my forgiveness for their desertion of me, and +this free of all legacy duty and other charges.' I am sure, mother, he's a +little mad.” + </p> +<p> +“Nothing of the kind,—no more than you are.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't know that. I always suspect 'that the marvellous vigor' of old +age gets its prime stimulus from an overexcited brain. He sat up a whole +night last week—I know it to my cost, for I had to copy it out—writing +a letter to the 'Times' on the Land Tenure Bill, and he nearly went out of +his mind on seeing it in small type.” + </p> +<p> +“He is vain, if you like; but not mad certainly.” + </p> +<p> +“For a while I thought one of his fits of passion would do for him,—he +gets crimson, and then lividly pale, and then flushed again, and his nails +are driven into his palms, and he froths at the mouth; but somehow the +whole subsides at last, and his voice grows gentle, and his manner +courteous,—you 'd think him a lamb, if you had never seen him as a +tiger. In these moods he becomes actually humble, so that the other night +he sat down and wrote his resignation to the Home Office, stating, amidst +a good deal of bombast, that the increasing burden of years and infirmity +left him no other choice than that of descending from the Bench he had +occupied so long and so unworthily, and begging her Majesty would +graciously accord a retreat to one 'who had outlived everything but his +loyalty.'” + </p> +<p> +“What became of this?” + </p> +<p> +“He asked me about it next morning, but I said I had burned it by his +orders; but I have it this moment in my desk.” + </p> +<p> +“You have no right to keep it. I insist on your destroying it.” + </p> +<p> +“Pardon me, mother. I'd be a rich man to-day if I had n't given way to +that foolish habit of making away with papers supposed to be worthless. +The three lines of a man's writing, that the old Judge said he could hang +any man on, might, it strikes me, be often used to better purpose.” + </p> +<p> +“I wish you would keep your sharp practices for others and spare <i>him</i>,” + said she, severely. +</p> +<p> +“It's very generous of you to say so, mother, considering the way he +treats you and talks of you.” + </p> +<p> +“Sir William and I were ill-met and ill-matched, but that is not any +reason that I should like to see him treacherously dealt with.” + </p> +<p> +“There's no talk of treachery here. I was merely uttering an abstract +truth about the value of old papers, and regretting how late I came to the +knowledge. There's that bundle of letters of that fool Trafford, for +instance, to Lucy. I can't get a divorce on them, it's true; but I hope to +squeeze a thousand pounds out of him before he has them back again.” + </p> +<p> +“I hope in my heart that the world does not know you!” said she, bitterly. +</p> +<p> +“Do you know, mother, I rather suspect it does? The world is aware that a +great many men, some of whom it could ill spare, live by what is called +their wits,—that is to say, that they play the game entitled 'Life' +with what Yankees call 'the advantages;' and the world no more resents <i>my</i> +living by the sharp practice long experience has taught me, than it is +angry with this man for being a lawyer, and that one for being a doctor.” + </p> +<p> +“You know in your heart that Trafford never thought of stealing Lucy's +affections.” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps I do; but I don't know what were Lucy's intentions towards +Trafford.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, fie, fie!” + </p> +<p> +“Be shocked if you like. It's very proper, perhaps, that you should be +shocked; but nature has endowed me with strong nerves or coarse feelings, +whichever you like to call them, and consequently I can talk of these +things with as little intermixture of sentiment as I would employ in +discussing a protested bill. Lucy herself is not deficient in this cool +quality, and we have discussed the social contract styled Marriage with a +charming unanimity of opinion. Indeed, when I have thought over the +marvellous agreement of our sentiments, I have been actually amazed why we +could not live together without hating each other.” + </p> +<p> +“I pity her—from the bottom of my heart I pity her.” + </p> +<p> +“So do I, mother. I pity her, because I pity myself. It was a stupid +bargain for each of us. I thought I was marrying an angel with sixty +thousand pounds. She fancied she was getting a hero, with a peerage in the +distance. Each made a 'bad book.' It is deuced hard, however,” continued +he, in a fiercer strain, “if one must go on backing the horse that you +know will lose, staking your money where you see you cannot win. My wife +and myself awoke from our illusions years ago; but to please the world, to +gratify that amiable thing called Society, we must go on still, just as if +we believed all that we know and have proved to be rotten falsehoods. Now +I ask you, mother, is not this rather hard? Would n't it be hard for a +good-tempered, easy-going fellow? And is it not more than hard for a +hasty, peevish, irritable dog like myself? We know and see that we are bad +company for each other, but you—I mean the world—you insist +that we should go on quarrelling to the end, as if there was anything +edifying in the spectacle of our mutual dislike.” + </p> +<p> +“Too much of this. I beseech you, drop the subject, and talk of something +else.” + </p> +<p> +“I declare, mother, if there was any one I could be frank and outspoken +with on this theme, I believed it to be yourself. You have had 'your +losses' too, and know what it is to be unhappily mated.” + </p> +<p> +“Whatever I may have suffered, I have not lost self-respect,” said she, +haughtily. +</p> +<p> +“Heigho!” cried he, wearily, “I always find that my opinions place me in a +minority, and so it must ever be while the world is the hypocritical thing +we see it. Oh dear, if people could only vote by ballot, I'd like to see +marriage put to the test.” + </p> +<p> +“What did Sir William say about my going to the picnic?” asked she, +suddenly. +</p> +<p> +“He said you were quite right to obtain as many attentions as you could +from the Castle, on the same principle that the vicar's wife stipulated +for the sheep in the picture,—'as many as the painter would put in +for nothing.'” + </p> +<p> +“So that he is firmly determined not to resign?” + </p> +<p> +“Most firmly; nor will he be warned by the example of the well-bred dog, +for he sees, or he might see, all the preparations on foot for kicking him +out.” + </p> +<p> +“You don't think they would compel him to resign?” + </p> +<p> +“No; but they'll compel him to go, which amounts to the same. Balfour says +they mean to move an address to the Queen, praying her Majesty to +superannuate him.” + </p> +<p> +“It would kill him,—he 'd not survive it.” + </p> +<p> +“So it is generally believed,—all the more because it is a course he +has ever declared to be impossible,—I mean constitutionally +impossible.” + </p> +<p> +“I hope he may be spared this insult.” + </p> +<p> +“He might escape it by dying first, mother; and really, under the +circumstances, it would be more dignified.” + </p> +<p> +“Your morals were not, at any time, to boast of, but your manners used to +be those of a gentleman,” said she, in a voice thick with passion. +</p> +<p> +“I am afraid, mother, that both morals and manners, like this hat of mine, +are a little the worse for wear; but, as in the case of the hat too, use +has made them pleasanter to me than spick-and-span new ones, with all the +gloss on. At all events, I never dreamed of offending when I suggested the +possibility of your being a widow. Indeed, I fancied it was feminine for +widower, which I imagined to be no such bad thing.” + </p> +<p> +“If the Chief Baron should be compelled to leave the Bench, will it affect +your tenure of the Registrarship?” + </p> +<p> +“That is what nobody seems to know. Some opine one way, some another; and +though all ask me what does the Chief himself say on the matter, I have +never had the courage to ask the question.” + </p> +<p> +“You are quite right It would be most indiscreet to do so.” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed, if I were rash enough to risk the step, it would redound to +nothing, since I am quite persuaded that he believes that whenever he +retires from public life or quits this world altogether, a general chaos +will ensue, and that all sorts of ignorant and incompetent people will +jostle the clever fellows out of the way, just because the one great +directing mind of the age has left the scene and departed.” + </p> +<p> +“All his favors to you have certainly not bought your gratitude, Dudley.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't suspect it is a quality I ever laid up a large stock of, mother,—not +to say that I have always deemed it a somewhat unworthy thing to swallow +the bad qualities of a man simply because he was civil to you personally.” + </p> +<p> +“His kindness might at least secure your silence.” + </p> +<p> +“Then it would be a very craven silence. But I 'll join issue with you on +the other counts. What is this great kindness for which I am not to speak +my mind about him? He has housed and fed me: very good things in their +way, but benefits which never cost him anything but his money. Now, what +have I repaid him with? My society, my time, my temper, I might say my +health, for he has worried me to that degree some days that I have been +actually on the verge of a fever. And if his overbearing insolence was +hard to endure, still harder was it to stand his inordinate vanity without +laughter. I ask you frankly, isn't he the vainest man, not that you ever +met, but that you ever heard of?” + </p> +<p> +“Vain he is, but not without some reason. He has had great triumphs, great +distinctions in life.” + </p> +<p> +“So he has told me. I have listened for hours long to descriptions of the +sensation he created in the House—it was always the Irish House, by +the way—by his speech on the Regency Bill, or some other obsolete +question; and how Flood had asked the House to adjourn and recover their +calm and composure, after the overwhelming power of the speech they had +just listened to; and how, at the Bar, Plunkett once said to a jury, +'Short of actual guilt, there is no such misfortune can befall a man as to +have Sergeant Lendrick against him.' I wish I was independent,—I +mean, rich enough, to tell him what I think of him; that I had just five +minutes—I 'd not ask more—to convey my impression of his great +and brilliant qualities! and to show him that, between the impulses of his +temper and his vanity together, he is, in matters of the world, little +better than a fool! What do you think he is going to do at this very +moment? I had not intended speaking of it, but you have pushed me to it. +In revenge for the Government having passed him over on the Commission, he +is going to supply some of these 'Celt' rascals with means to employ +counsel, and raise certain questions of legality, which he thinks will +puzzle Pemberton to meet. Of course, rash and indiscreet as he is, this is +not to be done openly. It is to be accomplished in secret, and through <i>me!</i> +I am to go to-morrow morning at eleven o'clock to the Richmond Jail. I +have the order for my admission in my pocket. I am there to visit Heaven +knows whom; some scoundrel or other,—just as likely a Government spy +as a rebel, who will publish the whole scheme to the world. At all events, +I am to see and have speech of the fellow, and ascertain on what evidence +he was committed to prison, and what kind of case he can make as to his +innocence. He is said to be a gentleman,—the very last reason, to my +thinking, for taking him up; for whenever a gentleman is found in any +predicament beneath him, the presumption is that he ought to be lower +still. The wise judge, however, thinks otherwise, and says, 'Here is the +very opportunity I wanted.'” + </p> +<p> +“It is a most disagreeable mission, Dudley. I wish sincerely you could +have declined it.” + </p> +<p> +“Not at all. I stand to win, no matter how it comes off: if all goes +right, the Chief must make me some acknowledgment on my success; if it be +a failure, I 'll take care to be so compromised that I must get away out +of the country, and I leave to yourself to say what recompense will be +enough to repay a man for the loss of his home, and of his wife and his +children.” + </p> +<p> +The laugh with which he concluded this speech rang out with something so +devilish in its cadence that she turned away sickened and disgusted. +</p> +<p> +“If I thought you as base as your words bespeak you, I'd never see you +again,” said she, rising and moving towards the door. +</p> +<p> +“I'll have one cigar, mother, before I join you in the drawing-room,” said +he, taking it out as he spoke. “I'd not have indulged if you had not left +me. May I order a little more sherry?” + </p> +<p> +“Ring for whatever you want,” said she, coldly, and quitted the room. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XIII. THE VISIT TO THE JAIL. +</h2> +<p> +Colonel Sewell was well known in the city, and when he presented himself +at the jail, was received by the deputy-governor with all fitting +courtesy. “Your house is pretty full, I believe, Mr. Bland,” said Sewell, +jocularly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir; I never remember to have had so many prisoners in charge; and +the Mountjoy Prison has sent off two drafts this morning to England, to +make room for the new committals. The order is all right, sir,” said he, +looking at the paper Sewell extended towards him. “The governor has given +him a small room in his own house. It would have been hard to put him with +the others, who are so inferior to him.” + </p> +<p> +“A man of station and rank, then?” asked Sewell. +</p> +<p> +“So they say, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“And his name?” + </p> +<p> +“You must excuse me, Colonel. It is a case for great caution; and we have +been strictly enjoined not to let his name get abroad at present. Mr. +Spencer's note—for he wrote to us last night—said, 'If it +should turn out that Colonel Sewell is acquainted with the prisoner, as he +opines, you will repeat the caution I already impressed upon him, not to +divulge his name.' The fact is, sir,” said he, lowering his voice to a +confidential tone, “I may venture to tell you that his diary contains so +many names of men in high position, that it is all-important we should +proceed with great secrecy, for we find persons involved whom nobody could +possibly have suspected could be engaged in such a scheme.” + </p> +<p> +“It is not easy to believe men could be such asses,” said Sewell, +contemptuously. “Is this gentleman Irish?” + </p> +<p> +“Not at liberty to say, sir. My orders are peremptory on the subject of +his personality.” + </p> +<p> +“You are a miracle of discretion, Mr. Bland.” + </p> +<p> +“Charmed to hear you say so, Colonel Se well. There 's no one whose good +word I 'd be more proud of.” + </p> +<p> +“And why is n't he bailed?” said Sewell, returning to the charge. “Had he +no one to be his surety?” + </p> +<p> +“That 's strange enough, sir. Mr. Spencer put it to him that he 'd better +have some legal adviser; and though he would n't go so far as to say they +'d take bail for him, he hinted that probably he would like to confer with +some friend, and all the answer he got was, 'It's all a mistake from +beginning to end. I 'm not the man you 're looking for; but if it gives +the poor devil time to make his escape, perhaps he'll live to learn +better; and so I'm at your orders.'” + </p> +<p> +“I suppose that pretext did not impose upon the magistrate?” + </p> +<p> +“Not for a moment, sir. Mr. Spencer is an old bird, and not to be caught +by such chaff. He sent him off here at once. He tried the same dodge, +though, when he came in. 'If I could have a quiet room for the few days I +shall be here, it would be a great comfort to me,' said he to the +governor. 'I have a number of letters to write; and if you could manage to +give me one with a north light, it would oblige me immensely, for I'm fond +of painting.' Not bad that, sir, for a man suspected of treason-felony,—a +north light to paint by!” + </p> +<p> +“You need not announce me by name, Mr. Bland, for it's just as likely I +shall discover that this gentleman and I are strangers to each other; but +simply say, 'A gentleman who wishes to see you.'” + </p> +<p> +“Take Colonel Sewell up to the governor's corridor,” said he to a turnkey, +“and show him to the small room next the chapel.” + </p> +<p> +Musing over what Mr. Bland had told him, Sewell ascended the stairs. His +mission had not been much to his taste from the beginning. If it at first +seemed to offer the probability of placing the old Judge in his power by +some act of indiscretion, by some rash step or other, a little reflection +showed that to employ the pressure such a weakness might expose him to, +would necessitate the taking of other people into confidence. “I will have +no accomplices!” muttered Sewell; “no fellows to dictate the terms on +which they will not betray me! If I cannot get this old man into my power +by myself alone, I 'll not do it by the help of another.” + </p> +<p> +“I shall have to lock you in, sir,” said the man, apologetically, as he +proceeded to open the door. +</p> +<p> +“I suppose you will let me out again?” said Sewell, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“Certainly, sir. I'll return in half an hour.” + </p> +<p> +“I think you'd better wait and see if five minutes will not suffice.” + </p> +<p> +“Very well, sir. You 'll knock whenever you wish me to open the door.” + </p> +<p> +When Sewell entered the room, the stranger was seated at the window, with +his back towards the door, and apparently so absorbed in his thoughts that +he had not heard his approach. The noise of the door being slammed to and +locked, however, aroused him, and he turned suddenly round, and almost as +suddenly sprang to his feet. “What! Sir Brook Fossbrooke!” cried Sewell, +falling back towards the door. +</p> +<p> +<a name="linkimage-0002" id="linkimage-0002"> +<!-- IMG --></a> +</p> +<div class="fig" style="width:80%;"> +<img src="images/512.jpg" width="100%" alt="512 " /> +</div> +<p> +“Your surprise is not greater than mine, sir, at this meeting. I have no +need to be told, however, that you did not come here to see me.” + </p> +<p> +“No; it was a mistake. The man brought me to the wrong room. My visit was +intended for another,” muttered Sewell, hastily. +</p> +<p> +“Pray, sir, be seated,” said Fossbrooke, presenting a chair. “Chance will +occasionally do more for us than our best endeavors. Since I have arrived +in Ireland I have made many attempts to meet you, but without success. +Accident, however, has favored me, and I rejoice to profit by my good +luck.” + </p> +<p> +“I have explained, Sir Brook, that I was on my way to see a gentleman to +whom my visit is of great consequence. I hope you will allow me to take +another opportunity of conferring with you.” + </p> +<p> +“I think my condition as a prisoner ought to be the best answer to your +request. No, sir. The few words we need say to each other must be said +now. Sit there, if you please;” and as he placed a chair for Sewell +towards the window, he took his own place with his back to the door. +</p> +<p> +“This is very like imprisonment,” said Sewell, with an attempt at a laugh. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps, sir, if each of us had his due, you have as good a right to be +here as myself; but let us not lose time in an exchange of compliments. My +visit to this country was made entirely on your account.” + </p> +<p> +“On mine! How upon mine?” + </p> +<p> +“On yours, Colonel Sewell. You may remember at our last conversation—it +was at the Chief Baron's country-house—you made me a promise with +regard to Miss Lendrick—” + </p> +<p> +“I remember,” broke in Sewell, hastily, for he saw in the flush of the +other's cheek how the difficulty of what he had to say was already giving +him a most painful emotion. “You stipulated something about keeping my +wife apart from that young lady. You expressed certain fears about +contamination—” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, sir, you wrong me deeply,” said the old man, with broken utterance. +</p> +<p> +“I'd be happy to think I had misunderstood you,” said Sewell, still +pursuing his advantage. “Of course, it was very painful to me at the time. +My wife, too, felt it bitterly.” + </p> +<p> +Fossbrooke started at this as if stung, and his brow darkened and his eyes +flashed as he said: “Enough of this, sir. It is not the first time I have +been calumniated in the same quarter. Let us talk of something else. You +hold in your hand certain letters of Major Trafford,—Lionel +Trafford,—and you make them the ground of a threat against him. Is +it not so?” + </p> +<p> +“I declare, Sir Brook, the interest you take in what relates to my wife +somewhat passes the bounds of delicacy.” + </p> +<p> +“I know what you mean. I know the advantage you would take of me, and +which you took awhile ago; but I will not suffer it. I want these letters,—what's +their price?” + </p> +<p> +“They are in the hands of my solicitors, Kane & Kincaid; and I think +it very unlikely they will stay the proceedings they have taken on them by +any demand of yours.” + </p> +<p> +“I want them, and must have them.” + </p> +<p> +Sewell shrugged his shoulders, and made a gesture to imply that he had +already given him his answer. +</p> +<p> +“And what suit would you pretend—But why do I ask you? What is it to +me by what schemes you prosecute your plans? Look here, sir; I was once on +a time possessed of a document which would have subjected you to the fate +of a felon; it was the forgery of my name—” + </p> +<p> +“My dear Sir Brook, if your memory were a little better you would remember +that you had once to apologize for that charge, and avow it was totally +unfounded.” + </p> +<p> +“It is untrue, sir; and you know it is untrue. I declared I would produce +a document before three or four of your brother officers, and it was +stolen from me on the night before the meeting.” + </p> +<p> +“I remember that explanation, and the painful impression your position +excited at the time; but really I have no taste for going back over a +long-past period. I 'm not old enough, I suppose, to care for these +reminiscences. Will you allow me to take my leave of you?” + </p> +<p> +“No, sir; you shall hear me out: It may possibly be to your own advantage +to bestow a little time upon me. You are fond of compromises,—as you +ought to be, for your life has been a series of them: now I have one to +propose to you. Let Trafford have back his letters, and you shall hear of +this charge no more.” + </p> +<p> +“Really, sir, you must form a very low estimate of my intelligence, or you +would not have made such a proposition; or probably,” added he, with a +sneer, “you have been led away by the eminence of the position you occupy +at this moment to make this demand.” + </p> +<p> +Fossbrooke started at the boldness of this speech, and looked about him, +and probably remembered for the first time since the interview began that +he was a prisoner. “A few days—a few hours, perhaps—will see +me free,” said the old man, haughtily. “I know too well the difficulties +that surround men in times like these to be angry or impatient at a +mistake whose worst consequences are a little inconvenience.” + </p> +<p> +“I own, sir, I was grieved to think you could have involved yourself in +such a scheme.” + </p> +<p> +“Nothing of the kind, sir. You were only grieved to think that there could +be no solid foundation for the charge against me. It would be the best +tidings you could hear to learn that I was to leave this for the dock, +with the convict hulk in the distance; but I forget I had promised myself +not to discuss my own affairs with you. What say you to what I have +proposed?” + </p> +<p> +“You have proposed nothing, Sir Brook,—at least nothing serious, +since I can scarcely regard as a proposition the offer not to renew a +charge which broke down once before for want of evidence.” + </p> +<p> +“What if I have that evidence? What if I am prepared to produce it? Ay, +sir, you may look incredulous if you like. It is not to a man of <i>your</i> +stamp I appeal to be believed on my word; but you shall see the document,—you +shall see it on the same day that a jury shall see it.” + </p> +<p> +“I perceive, Sir Brook, that it is useless to prolong this conversation. +Your old grudge against me is too much even for your good sense. Your +dislike surmounts your reason. Yes, open the door at once. I am tired +waiting for you,” cried he, impatiently, as the turnkey's voice was heard +without. +</p> +<p> +“Once more I make you this offer,” said Fossbrooke, rising from his seat. +“Think well ere you refuse it.” + </p> +<p> +“You have no such document as you say.” + </p> +<p> +“If I have not, the failure is mine.” + </p> +<p> +The door was now open, and the turnkey standing at it. +</p> +<p> +“They will accept bail, won't they?” said Sewell, adroitly turning the +conversation. “I think,” continued he, “this matter can be easily +arranged. I will go at once to the Head Office and return here at once.” + </p> +<p> +“We are agreed, then?” said Fossbrooke, in a low voice. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said Sewell, hastily, as he passed out and left him. +</p> +<p> +The turnkey closed and locked the door, and overtook Sewell as he walked +along the corridor. “They are taking information this moment, sir, about +the prisoner. The informer is in the room.” + </p> +<p> +“Who is he? What's his name?” + </p> +<p> +“O'Reardon, sir; a fellow of great 'cuteness. He's in the pay of the +Castle these thirty years.” + </p> +<p> +“Might I be present at the examination? Would you ask if I might hear the +case?” + </p> +<p> +The man assured him that this was impossible; and Sewell stood with his +hand on the balustrade, deeply revolving what he had just heard. +</p> +<p> +“And is O'Reardon a prisoner here?” + </p> +<p> +“Not exactly, sir; but partly for his own safety, partly to be sure he 's +not tampered with, we often keep the men in confinement till a case is +finished.” + </p> +<p> +“How long will this morning's examination last? At what hour will it +probably be over?” + </p> +<p> +“By four, sir, or half-past, they'll be coming out.” + </p> +<p> +“I'll return by that time. I 'd like to speak to him.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XIV. A GRAND DINNER AT THE PRIORY +</h2> +<p> +The examination was still proceeding when Sewell returned at five o'clock; +and although he waited above an hour in the hope of its being concluded, +the case was still under consideration; and as the Chief Baron had a large +dinner-party on that day, from which the Colonel could not absent himself, +he was obliged to hasten back in all speed to dress. +</p> +<p> +“His Lordship has sent three times to know if you had come in, sir,” said +his servant, as he entered his room. +</p> +<p> +And while he was yet speaking came another messenger to say that the Chief +Baron wanted to see the Colonel immediately. With a gesture of impatience +Sewell put on again the coat he had just thrown off, and followed the man +to the Chief's dressing-room. +</p> +<p> +“I have been expecting you since three o'clock, sir,” said the old man, +after motioning to his valet to leave the room. +</p> +<p> +“I feared I was late, my Lord, and was going to dress when I got your +message.” + </p> +<p> +“But you have been away seven hours, sir.” + </p> +<p> +The tone and manner of this speech, and the words themselves, calling him +to account in a way a servant would scarcely have brooked, so overcame +Sewell that only by an immense effort of self-control could he restrain +his temper, and avoid bursting forth with the long-pent-up passion that +was consuming him. +</p> +<p> +“I was detained, my Lord,—unavoidably detained,” said he, with a +voice thick and husky with anger. What added to his passion was the +confusion he felt; for he had not determined, when he entered the room, +whether to avow that the prisoner was Fossbrooke or not, resolving to be +guided by the Chief's manner and temper as to the line he should take. Now +this outburst completely routed his judgment, and left him uncertain and +vacillating. +</p> +<p> +“And now, sir, for your report,” said the old man, seating himself and +folding his arms on his chest. +</p> +<p> +“I have little to report, my Lord. They affect a degree of mystery about +this person, both at the Head Office and at the jail, which is perfectly +absurd; and will neither give his name nor his belongings. The pretence +is, of course, to enable them to ensnare others with whom he is in +correspondence. I believe, however, the truth to be, he is a very vulgar +criminal,—a gauger, it is said, from Loughrea, and no such prize as +the Castle people fancied. His passion for notoriety, it seems, has +involved him in scores of things of this kind; and his ambition is always +to be his own lawyer and defend himself.” + </p> +<p> +“Enough, sir; a gauger and self-confident prating rascal combine the two +things which I most heartily detest. Pem-berton may take his will of him +for me; he may make him illustrate every blunder of his bad law, and I 'll +not say him nay. You will take Lady Ecclesfield in to dinner to-day, and +place her opposite me at table. Your wife speaks French well,—let +her sit next Count de Lanoy, but give her arm to the Bishop of Down. Let +us have no politics over our wine; I cannot trust myself with the +law-officers before me, and at my own table they must not be sacrificed.” + </p> +<p> +“Is Pemberton coming, my Lord?” + </p> +<p> +“He is, sir,—he is coming on a tour of inspection,—he wants to +see from my dietary how soon he may calculate on my demise; and the +Attorney-General will be here on the like errand. My hearse, sir, it is, +that stops the way, and I have not ordered it up yet. Can you tell me is +Lady Lendrick coming to dinner, for she has not favored me with a reply to +my invitation?” + </p> +<p> +“I am unable to say, my Lord; I have not seen her; she has, however, been +slightly indisposed of late.” + </p> +<p> +“I am distressed to hear it. At all events, I have kept her place for her, +as well as one for Mr. Balfour, who is expected from England to-day. If +Lady Lendrick should come, Lord Kilgobbin will take her in.” + </p> +<p> +“I think I hear an arrival. I 'd better finish my dressing. I scarcely +thought it was so late.” + </p> +<p> +“Take care that the topic of India be avoided, or we shall have Colonel +Kimberley and his tiger stories.” + </p> +<p> +“I'll look to it,” said Sewell, moving towards the door. +</p> +<p> +“You have given orders about decanting the champagne?” + </p> +<p> +“About everything, my Lord. There comes another carriage, I must make +haste;” and so saying, he fled from the room before the Chief could add +another question. +</p> +<p> +Sewell had but little time to think over the step he had just taken, but +in that little time he satisfied himself that he had acted wisely. It was +a rare thing for the Chief to return to any theme he had once dismissed. +Indeed, it would have implied a doubt of his former judgment, which was +the very last thing that could occur to him. “My decisions are not +reversed,” was his favorite expression; so that nothing was less probable +than that he would again revert to the prisoner or his case. As for +Fossbrooke himself and how to deal with him, that was a weightier +question, and demanded more thought than he could now give it. +</p> +<p> +As he descended to the drawing-room, the last of the company had just +entered, and dinner was announced. Lady Lendrick and Mr. Balfour were both +absent. It was a grand dinner on that day, in the fullest sense of that +formidable expression. It was very tedious, very splendid, very costly, +and intolerably wearisome and stupid. The guests were overlaid by the +endless round of dishes and the variety of wines, and such as had not sunk +into a drowsy repletion occupied themselves in criticising the taste of a +banquet, which was, after all, a travesty of a foreign dinner without that +perfection of cookery and graceful lightness in the detail which gives all +the elegance and charm to such entertainments. The more fastidious part of +the company saw all the defects; the homelier ones regretted the absence +of meats that they knew, and wines they were accustomed to. None were +pleased,—none at their ease but the host himself. As for him, seated +in the centre of the table, overshadowed almost by a towering epergne, he +felt like a king on his throne. All around him breathed that air of +newness that smacked of youth; and the table spread with flowers, and an +ornamental dessert, seemed to emblematize that modern civilization which +had enabled himself to throw off the old man and come out into the world +crimped, curled, and carmined, be-wigged and be-waistcoated. +</p> +<p> +“Eighty-seven! my father and he were contemporaries,” said Lord Kilgobbin, +as they assembled in the drawing-room; “a wonderful man,—a really +wonderful man for his age.” + </p> +<p> +The Bishop muttered something in concurrence, only adding “Providence” to +the clause; while Pemberton whispered the Attorney-General that it was the +most painful attack of acute youth he had ever witnessed. As for Colonel +Kimberley, he thought nothing of the Chiefs age, for he had shot a brown +bear up at Rhumnuggher, “the natives knew to be upwards of two hundred +years old, some said three hundred.” + </p> +<p> +As they took their coffee in groups or knots, Sewell drew his arm within +Pemberton's and led him through the open sash-door into the garden. “I +know you want a cigar,” said he, “and so do I. Let us take a turn here and +enjoy ourselves. What a bore is a big dinner! I 'd as soon assemble all my +duns as I 'd get together all the dreary people of my acquaintance. It's a +great mistake,—don't you think so?” said Sewell, who, for the first +time in his life, accosted Pemberton in this tone of easy familiarity. +</p> +<p> +“I fancy, however, the Chief likes it,” said the other, cautiously; “he +was particularly lively and witty to-day.” + </p> +<p> +“These displays cost him dearly. You should see him after the thing was +over. With the paint washed off, palpitating on a sofa steeped with +sulphuric ether, and stimulated with ammonia, one wouldn't say he'd get +through the night.” + </p> +<p> +“What a constitution he must have!” + </p> +<p> +“It's not that; at least, that's not the way I read him. My theory is, it +is his temper—that violent, irascible, fervid temper—burning +like a red-hot coal within him, sustains the heat that gives life and +vigor to his nature. If he has a good-humored day,—it's not a very +frequent occurrence, but it happens now and then,—he grows ten years +older. I made that discovery lately. It seems as though if he could n't +spite the world, he 'd have no objection to taking leave of it.” + </p> +<p> +“That sounds rather severe,” said Pemberton, cautiously; for though he +liked the tone of the other's conversation, he was not exactly sure it was +quite safe to show his concurrence. +</p> +<p> +“It's the fact, however, severe or not. There's nothing in our relations +to each other that should prevent my speaking my mind about him. My mother +had the bad luck to marry him, and being gifted with a temper not very +unlike his own, they discovered the singular fact that two people who +resemble each other can become perfectly incompatible. I used to think +that she could n't be matched. I recant, however, and acknowledge candidly +he could 'give her a distance.'” + </p> +<p> +Pemberton gave a little laugh, as it were of encouragement to go on, and +the other proceeded. +</p> +<p> +“My wife understands him best of all. She gives way in everything; all he +says is right, all he opines is wisdom, and it's astonishing how this +yielding, compliant, submissive spirit breaks him down; he pines under it, +just as a man accustomed to sharp exercise would waste and decay by a life +of confinement. I declare there was one week here we had got him to a +degree of gentleness that was quite edifying, but my mother came and paid +a visit when we were out, and when we returned there he was! violent, +flaring, and vigorous as ever, wild with vanity, and mad to match himself +with the first men of the day.” + </p> +<p> +While Sewell talked in this open and indiscreet way of the old Judge, his +meaning was to show with what perfect confidence he treated his companion, +and at the same time how fair and natural it would be to expect frankness +in return. The crafty lawyer, however, trained in the school where all +these feints and false parries are the commonest tricks of fence, never +ventured beyond an expression of well-got-up astonishment, or a laugh of +enjoyment at some of Sewell's smartnesses. +</p> +<p> +“You want a light?” said Sewell, seeing that the other held his cigar +still unlit in his fingers. +</p> +<p> +“Thanks. I was forgetting it. The fact is, you kept me so much amused, I +never thought of smoking; nor am I much of a smoker at any time.” + </p> +<p> +“It 's the vice of the idle man, and you are not in that category. By the +way, what a busy time you must have of it now, with all these +commitments?” + </p> +<p> +“Not so much as one might think. The cases are numerous, but they are all +the same. Indeed, the informations are identical in nearly every instance. +Tim Branegan had two numbers of the 'Green Flag' newspaper, some loose +powder in his waistcoat-pocket, and an American drill-book in the crown of +his hat.” + </p> +<p> +“And is that treason-felony?” + </p> +<p> +“With a little filling-up it becomes so. In the rank of life these men +belong to, it's as easy to find a rebel as it would be in Africa to +discover a man with a woolly head.” + </p> +<p> +“And this present movement is entirely limited to that class?” said +Sewell, carelessly. +</p> +<p> +“So we thought till a couple of days ago, but we have now arrested one +whose condition is that of a gentleman.” + </p> +<p> +“With anything like strong evidence against him?” + </p> +<p> +“I have not seen the informations myself, but Burrowes, who has read them, +calls them highly important; not alone as regards the prisoner, but a +number of people whose loyalty was never so much as suspected. Now the +Viceroy is away, the Chief Secretary on the Continent, and even Balfour, +who can always find out what the Cabinet wishes,—Balfour absent, we +are actually puzzled whether the publicity attending the prosecution of +such a man would not serve rather than damage the rebel cause, displaying, +as it would, that there is a sympathy for this movement in a quarter far +removed from the peasant.” + </p> +<p> +“Is n't it strange that the Chief Baron should have, the other evening, in +the course of talk, hit upon such a possibility as this, and said, 'I +wonder would the Castle lawyers be crafty enough to see that such a case +should not be brought to trial? One man of education, and whose motives +might be ascribed to an exalted, however misdirected, patriotism,' said +he, 'would lift this rabble out of the slough of their vulgar movement, +and give it the character of a national rising.'” + </p> +<p> +“But what would he do? Did he say how he would act?” + </p> +<p> +“He said something about 'bail,' and he used a word I wasn't familiar with—like +estreating: is there such a word?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, yes, there is; but I don't see how it's to be done. Would it be +possible to have a talk with him on the matter—informally, of +course?” “That would betray me, and he would never forgive my having told +you his opinion already,” said Sewell. “No, that is out of the question; +but if you would confide to me the points you want his judgment on, I 'd +manage to obtain it.” + </p> +<p> +Pemberton seemed to reflect over this, and walked along some paces in +silence. +</p> +<p> +“He mentioned a curious thing,” said Sewell, laughingly; “he said that in +Emmett's affair there were three or four men compromised, whom the +Government were very unwilling to bring to trial, and that they actually +provided the bail for them,—secretly, of course,—and +indemnified the men for their losses on the forfeiture.” + </p> +<p> +“It couldn't be done now,” said Pemberton. +</p> +<p> +“That's what the Chief said. They could n't do it now, for they have not +got M'Nally,—whoever M'Nally was.” + </p> +<p> +Pemberton colored crimson, for M'Nally was the name of the +Solicitor-General of that day, and he knew well that the sarcasm was in +the comparison between that clever lawyer and himself. +</p> +<p> +“What I meant was, that Crown lawyers have a very different public to +account to in the present day from what they had in those lawless times,” + said Pemberton, with irritation. “I 'm afraid the Chief Baron, with all +his learning and all his wit, likes to go back to that period for every +one of his illustrations. You heard how he capped the Archbishop's +allusion to the Prodigal Son to-day?—I don't think his Grace liked +it—that it requires more tact to provide an escape for a criminal +than to prosecute a guilty man to conviction.” + </p> +<p> +“That's so like him!” said Sewell, with a bitter laugh. “Perhaps the great +charm that attaches him to public life is to be able to utter his flippant +impertinences <i>ex cathedra</i>. If you could hit upon some position from +which he could fulminate his bolts of sarcasm with effect, I fancy he 'd +not object to resign the Bench. I heard him once say, 'I cannot go to +church without a transgression, for I envy the preacher, who has the +congregation at his mercy for an hour.'” + </p> +<p> +“Ah, he 'll not resign,” sighed Pemberton, deeply. +</p> +<p> +“<i>I</i> don't know that.” + </p> +<p> +“At least he 'll not do so on any terms they 'll make with him.” + </p> +<p> +“Nor am I so sure of that,” repeated the other, gravely. Sewell waited for +some rejoinder to this speech, of which he hoped his companion would ask +the explanation; but the cautious lawyer said not a word. +</p> +<p> +“No man with a sensitive, irascible, and vain disposition is to be turned +from his course, whatever it be, by menace or bully,” said Sewell. “The +weak side of these people is their vanity, and to approach them by that +you ought to know and to cultivate those who are about them. Now, I have +no hesitation in saying there were moments—ay, there were hours—in +which, if it had been any interest to me, I could have got him to resign. +He is eminently a man of his word, and, once pledged, nothing would make +him retire from his promise.” + </p> +<p> +“I declare, after all,” said Pemberton, “if he feels equal to the hard +work of the Court, and likes it, I don't see why all this pressure should +be put upon him. Do <i>you?</i>” + </p> +<p> +“I am the last man probably to see it,” said Sewell, with an easy laugh. +“His abdication would, of course, not suit <i>me</i>, I suppose we had +better stroll back into the house,—they 'll miss us.” There was an +evident coldness in the way these last words were spoken, and Sewell meant +that the lawyer should see his irritation. +</p> +<p> +“Have you ever said anything to Balfour about what we have been talking +of?” said Pemberton, as they moved towards the house. +</p> +<p> +“I may or I may not. I talk pretty freely on all sorts of things—and, +unfortunately, with an incaution, too, that is not always profitable.” + </p> +<p> +“Because if you were to show <i>him</i> as clearly as awhile ago you +showed <i>me</i>, the mode in which this matter might be negotiated, I +have little doubt—that is, I have reason to suppose—or I might +go farther and say that I know—” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll tell you what <i>I</i> know, Mr. Solicitor, that I would n't give +that end of a cigar,” and he pitched it from him as he spoke, “to decide +the question either way.” And with this they passed on and mingled with +the company in the drawing-room. “I have hooked you at last, my shrewd +friend; and if I know anything of mankind, I 'll see you, or hear from +you, before twelve hours are over.” + </p> +<p> +“Where have you been, Colonel, with my friend the Solicitor-General?” said +the Chief Baron. +</p> +<p> +“Cabinet-making, my Lord,” said Sewell, laughingly. +</p> +<p> +“Take care, sir,” said the Chief, sternly,—“take care of that +pastime. It has led more than one man to become a Joiner and a Turner!” + And a buzz went through the room as men repeated this <i>mot</i>, and +people asked each other, “Is this the man we are calling on to retire as +worn-out, effete, and exhausted?” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XV. CHIEF SECRETARY BALFOUR +</h2> +<p> +Mr. Balfour returned to Ireland a greater man than he left it. He had been +advanced to the post of Chief Secretary, and had taken his seat in the +House as member for Muddle-port. Political life was, therefore, dawning +very graciously upon him, and his ambition was budding with every prospect +of success. +</p> +<p> +The Secretary's lodge in the Phoenix Park is somewhat of a pretty +residence, and with its gardens, its shrubberies, and conservatory, seen +on a summer's day when broad cloud-shadows lie sleeping on the Dublin +mountains, and the fragrant white thorn scents the air, must certainly be +a pleasant change from the din, the crush, and the turmoil of “town” at +the fag end of a season. English officials call it damp. Indeed, they have +a trick of ascribing this quality to all things Irish; and national +energy, national common-sense, and national loyalty seem to them to be +ever in a diluted form. Even our drollery is not as dry as our neighbors'. +</p> +<p> +In this official residence Mr. Balfour was now installed, and while +Fortune seemed to shower her favors so lavishly upon him, the <i>quid +amarum</i> was still there,—his tenure was insecure. The party to +which he belonged had contrived to offend some of its followers and +alienate others, and, without adopting any such decided line as might +imply a change of policy, had excited a general sense of distrust in those +who had once followed it implicitly. In the emergencies of party life, the +manouvre known to soldiers as a “change of front” is often required. The +present Cabinet were in this position. They had been for some sessions +trading on their Protestantism. They had been Churchmen <i>pur sang</i>. +Their bishops, their deans, their colonial appointments, had all been of +that orthodox kind that defied slander; and as it is said that a man with +a broad-brimmed hat and drab gaiters may indulge unsuspected in vices +which a more smartly got-up neighbor would bring down reprobation upon his +head for practising, so may a Ministry under the shadow of Exeter Hall do +a variety of things denied to less sacred individuals. “The Protestant +ticket” had carried them safely over two sessions, but there came now a +hitch in which they needed that strange section called “the Irish party,” + a sort of political flying column, sufficiently uncertain always to need +watching, and if not very compact or highly disciplined, rash and bold +enough to be very damaging in moments of difficulty. Now, as Private +Secretary, Balfour had snubbed this party repeatedly. They had been passed +over in promotion, and their claims to advancement coldly received. The +amenities of the Castle—that social Paradise of all Irish men and +women—had been denied them. For them were no dinners, no mornings at +the Lodge, and great were the murmurs of discontent thereat. A change, +however, had come; an English defection had rendered Irish support of +consequence, and Balfour was sent over to, what in the slang of party is +called, conciliate, but which, in less euphuistic phrase, might be termed +to employ a system of general and outrageous corruption. +</p> +<p> +Some averred that the Viceroy, indignantly refusing to be a party to this +policy, feigned illness and stayed away; others declared that his +resignation had been tendered and accepted, but that measures of state +required secrecy on the subject; while a third section of guessers +suggested that, when the coarse work of corruption had been accomplished +by the Secretary, his Excellency would arrive to crown the edifice. +</p> +<p> +At all events, the Ministry stood in need of these “free lances,” and +Cholmondely Balfour was sent over to secure them. Before all governmental +changes there is a sort of “ground swell” amongst the knowing men of party +that presages the storm; and so, now, scarcely had Balfour reached the +Lodge than a rumor ran that some new turn of policy was about to be tried, +and that what is called the “Irish difficulty” was going to be discounted +into the English necessity. +</p> +<p> +The first arrival at the Lodge was Pemberton. He had just been defeated at +his election for Mallow, and ascribed his failure to the lukewarmness of +the Government, and the indifference with which they had treated his +demands for some small patronage for his supporters. Nor was it mere +indifference; there was actual reason to believe that favor was shown to +his opponent, and that Mr. Heffernan, the Catholic barrister of extreme +views, had met the support of more than one of those known to be under +Government influence. There was a story of a letter from the Irish Office +to Father O'Hea, the parish priest. Some averred they had read it, +declaring that the Cabinet only desired to know “the real sentiments of +Ireland, what Irishmen actually wished and wanted,” to meet them. Now, +when a Government official writes to a priest, his party is always <i>in +extremis</i>. +</p> +<p> +Pemberton reached the Lodge feverish, irritated, and uneasy. He had, not +very willingly, surrendered a great practice at the Bar to enter life as a +politician, and now what if the reward of his services should turn out to +be treachery and betrayal? Over and over again had he been told he was to +have the Bench; but the Chief Baron would neither die nor retire, nor was +there any vacancy amongst the other courts. Nor had he done very well in +Parliament; he was hasty and irritable in reply, too discursive in +statement, and, worse than these, not plodding enough nor sufficiently +given to repetition to please the House; for the “assembled wisdom” is +fond of its ease, and very often listens with a drowsy consciousness that +if it did not catch what the orator said aright, it was sure to hear him +say it again later on. He had made no “hit” with the House, and he was not +patient enough nor young enough to toil quietly on to gain that estimation +which he had hoped to snatch at starting. +</p> +<p> +Besides all these grounds of discontent, he was vexed at the careless way +in which his party defended him against the attacks of the Opposition. +Nothing, probably, teaches a man his value to his own set so thoroughly as +this test; and he who is ill defended in his absence generally knows that +he may retire without cause of regret. He came out, therefore, that +morning, to see Balfour, and, as the phrase is, “have it out with him.” + Balfour's instructions from the “other side,” as Irishmen playfully +denominate England, were to get rid of Pemberton as soon as possible; but, +at the same time, with all the caution required, not to convert an old +adherent into an enemy. +</p> +<p> +Balfour was at breakfast, with an Italian greyhound on a chair beside him, +and a Maltese terrier seated on the table, when Pemberton was announced. +He lounged over his meal, alternating tea with the “Times,” and now and +then reading scraps of the letters which lay in heaps around him. +</p> +<p> +After inviting his guest to partake of something, and hearing that he had +already breakfasted three hours before, Balfour began to give him all the +political gossip of town. This, for the most part, related to changes and +promotions,—how Griffith was to go to the Colonial, and Haughton to +the Foreign Office; that Forbes was to have the Bath, and make way for +Betmore, who was to be Under-Secretary. “Chadwick, you see, gets nothing. +He asked for a com-missionership, and we offered him the governorship of +Bermuda; hence has he gone down below the gangway, and sits on the seat of +the scornful.” + </p> +<p> +“Your majority was smaller than I looked for on Tuesday night. Couldn't +you have made a stronger muster?” said Pemberton. +</p> +<p> +“I don't know: twenty-eight is not bad. There are so many of our people in +abeyance. There are five fighting petitions against their return, and as +many more seeking re-election, and a few more, like yourself, Pem, 'out in +the cold.'” + </p> +<p> +“For which gracious situation I have to thank my friends.” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed! how is that?” + </p> +<p> +“It is somewhat cool to ask me. Have you not seen the papers lately? Have +you not read the letter that Sir Gray Chadwell addressed to Father O'Hea +of Mallow?” + </p> +<p> +“Of course I have read it—an admirable letter—a capital +letter. I don't know where the case of Ireland has been treated with such +masterly knowledge and discrimination.” + </p> +<p> +“And why have my instructions been always in an opposite sense? Why have I +been given to believe that the Ministry distrusted that party and feared +their bad faith?” + </p> +<p> +“Have you ever seen Grünzenhoff's account of the battle of Leipsic?” + </p> +<p> +“No; nor have I the slightest curiosity to hear how it applies to what we +are talking of.” + </p> +<p> +“But it does apply. It's the very neatest apropos I could cite for you. +There was a moment, he says, in that history, when Schwarzenberg was about +to outflank the Saxons, and open a terrific fire of artillery upon them; +and either they saw what fate impended over them, or that the hour they +wished for had come, but they all deserted the ranks of the French and +went over to the Allies.” + </p> +<p> +“And you fancy that the Catholics are going to side with you?” said +Pemberton, with a sneer. +</p> +<p> +“It suits both parties to believe it, Pem.” + </p> +<p> +“The credulity will be all your own, Mr. Balfour. I know my countrymen +better than you do.” + </p> +<p> +“That's exactly what they won't credit at Downing Street, Pem; and I +assure you that my heart is broken defending you in the House. They are +eternally asking about what happened at such an assize, and why the Crown +was not better prepared in such a prosecution; and though I <i>am</i> +accounted a ready fellow in reply, it becomes a bore at last. I 'm sorry +to say it, Pem, but it is a bore.” + </p> +<p> +“I am glad, Mr. Balfour, exceedingly glad, you should put the issue +between us so clearly; though I own to you that coming here this morning +as the plaintiff, it is not without surprise I find myself on my defence.” + </p> +<p> +“What's this, Banks?” asked Balfour, hastily, as his private secretary +entered with a despatch. “From Crew, sir; it must be his Excellency sends +it.” + </p> +<p> +Balfour broke it open, and exclaimed: “In cipher too! Go and have it +transcribed at once; you have the key here.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir; I am familiar with the character, too, and can do it quickly.” + Thus saying, he left the room. +</p> +<p> +While this brief dialogue was taking place, Pemberton walked up and down +the room, pale and agitated in features, but with a compressed lip and +bent brow, like one nerving himself for coming conflict. +</p> +<p> +“I hope we 're not out,” said Balfour, with a laugh of assumed +indifference. “He rarely employs a cipher; and it must be something of +moment, or he would not do so now.” + </p> +<p> +“It is a matter of perfect indifference to <i>me</i>,” said Pemberton. +“Treated as I have been, I could scarcely say I should regret it.” + </p> +<p> +“By Jove! the ship must be in a bad way when the officers are taking to +the boats,” said Balfour. “Why, Pem, you don't really believe we are going +to founder?” + </p> +<p> +“I told you, sir,” said he, haughtily, “that it was a matter of the most +perfect indifference to me whether you should sink or swim.” + </p> +<p> +“You are one of the crew, I hope, a'n't you?” + </p> +<p> +Pemberton made no reply, and the other went on: “To be sure, it may be +said that an able seaman never has long to look for a ship; and in these +political disasters, it's only the captains that are really wrecked.” + </p> +<p> +“One thing is certainly clear,” said Pemberton, with energy, “you have not +much confidence in the craft you sail in.” + </p> +<p> +“Who has, Pem? Show me the man that has, and I 'll show you a consummate +ass. Parliamentary life is a roadstead with shifting sands, and there's no +going a step without the lead-line; and that's one reason why the nation +never likes to see one of your countrymen as the pilot,—you won't +take soundings.” + </p> +<p> +“There are other reasons, too,” said Pemberton, sternly, “but I have not +come here to discuss this subject. I want to know, once for all, is it the +wish of your party that I should be in the House?” + </p> +<p> +“Of course it is; how can you doubt it?” + </p> +<p> +“That being the case, what steps have you taken, or what steps can you +take, to secure me a seat?” + </p> +<p> +“Why, Pem, don't you know enough of public life to know that when a +Minister makes an Attorney-General, it is tacitly understood that the man +can secure his return to Parliament? When I order out a chaise and pair, I +don't expect the innkeeper to tell me I must buy breeches and boots for +the postilion.” + </p> +<p> +“You deluge me with figures, Mr. Balfour, but they only confuse me. I am +neither a sailor nor a postboy; but I see Mr. Banks wishes to confer with +you—I will retire.” + </p> +<p> +“Take a turn in the garden, Pern, and I will be with you in a moment. Are +you a smoker?” + </p> +<p> +“Not in the morning,” said the other, stiffly, and withdrew. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Heffernan is here, sir; will you see him?” asked the Secretary. +</p> +<p> +“Let him wait; whenever I ring the bell you can come and announce him. I +will give my answer then. What of the despatch?” + </p> +<p> +“It is nearly all copied out, sir. It was longer than I thought.” + </p> +<p> +“Let me see it now; I will read it at once.” + </p> +<p> +The Secretary left the room, and soon returned with several sheets of +note-paper in his hand. +</p> +<p> +“Not all that, Banks?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir. It was two hundred and eighty-eight signs,—as long as the +Queen's Speech. It seems very important too.” + </p> +<p> +“Read,” said Balfour, lighting his cigar. +</p> +<p> +“To Chief Secretary Balfour, Castle, Dublin.—What are your people +about? What new stupidity is this they have just accomplished? Are there +law advisers at the Castle, or are the cases for prosecution submitted to +the members of the police force? Are you aware, or is it from me you are +to learn, that there is now in the Richmond Jail, under accusation of +“Celtism,” a gentleman of a loyalty the equal of my own? Some blunder, if +not some private personal malignity, procured his arrest, which, out of +regard for me as an old personal friend, he neither resisted nor disputed, +withholding his name to avoid the publicity which could only have damaged +the Government. I am too ill to leave my room, or would go over at once to +rectify this gross and most painful blunder. If Pemberton is too fine a +gentleman for his office, where was Hacket, or, if not Hacket, Burrowes? +Should this case get abroad and reach the Opposition, there will be a +storm in the House you will scarcely like to face. Take measures—immediate +measures—for his release, by bail or otherwise, remembering, above +all, to observe secrecy. I will send you by post to-night the letter in +which F. communicates to me the story of his capture and imprisonment. Had +the mischance befallen any other than a true gentleman and an old friend, +it would have cost us dearly. Nothing equally painful has occurred to me +in my whole official life. +</p> +<p> +“'Let the case be a warning to you in more ways than one. Your system of +private information is degenerating into private persecution, and would at +last establish a state of things perfectly intolerable. Beg F. as a great +favor to me, to come over and see me here, and repeat that I am too ill to +travel, or would not have delayed an hour in going to him. There are few +men, if there be one, who would in such a predicament have postponed all +consideration of self to thoughts about his friends and their interest, +and in all this we have had better luck than we deserved. +</p> +<p> +“'Wilmington'” + </p> +<p> +“Go over it again,” said Balfour, as he lit a cigar, and, placing a chair +for his legs, gave himself up to a patient rehearing of the despatch. “I +wonder who F. can be that he is so anxious about. It <i>is</i> a +confounded mess, there's no doubt of it; and if the papers get hold of it, +we're done for. Beg Pemberton to come here, and leave us to talk +together.” + </p> +<p> +“Read that, Pem,” said Balfour, as he smoked on, now and then puffing a +whiff of tobacco at his terrier's face,—“read that, and tell me what +you say to it.” + </p> +<p> +Though the lawyer made a great effort to seem calm and self-possessed, +Balfour could see that the hand that held the paper shook as he read it. +As he finished, he laid the document on the table without uttering a word. +</p> +<p> +“Well?” cried Balfour, interrogatively,—“well?” + </p> +<p> +“I take it, if all be as his Excellency says, that this is not the first +case in which an innocent man has been sent to jail. Such things occur now +and then in the model England, and I have never heard that they formed +matter to impeach a Ministry.” + </p> +<p> +“You heard of this committal, then?” + </p> +<p> +“No, not till now.” + </p> +<p> +“Not till now?” + </p> +<p> +“Not till now. His Excellency, and indeed yourself, Mr. Balfour, seem to +fall into the delusion that a Solicitor-General is a detective officer. +Now, he is not,—nor any more is he a police magistrate. This arrest, +I suppose,—I know nothing about it, but I suppose,—was made on +certain sworn information. The law took its ordinary course; and the man +who would neither tell his name nor give the clew to any one who would +answer for him went to prison. It is unfortunate, certainly; but they who +made this statute forgot to insert a clause that none of the enumerated +penalties should apply to any one who knew or had acquaintance with the +Viceroy for the time being.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, as you remark, that was a stupid omission; and now, what 's to be +done here?” + </p> +<p> +“I opine his Excellency gives you ample instructions. You are to repair to +the jail, make your apologies to F.—whoever F. may be,—induce +him to let himself be bailed, and persuade him to go over and pass a +fortnight at Crew Keep. Pray tell him, however, before he goes, that his +being in prison was not in any way owing to the Solicitor-Genera's being a +fine gentleman.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll send for the informations,” said Balfour, and rang his bell. “Mr. +Heffernan, sir, by appointment,” said the private secretary, entering with +a card in his hand. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I had forgotten. It completely escaped me,” said Balfour, with a +pretended confusion. “Will you once more take a turn in the garden, Pem?—five +minutes will do all I want.” + </p> +<p> +“If my retirement is to facilitate Mr. Heffernan's advance, it would be +ungracious to defer it; but give me till to-morrow to think of it.” + </p> +<p> +“I only spoke of going into the garden, my dear Pem.” + </p> +<p> +“I will do more,—I will take my leave. Indeed, I have important +business in the Rolls Court.” + </p> +<p> +“I shall want to see you about this business,” said the other, touching +the despatch. +</p> +<p> +“I'll look in on you about five-at the office, and by that time you'll +have seen Mr. F.” + </p> +<p> +“Mr. Heffernan could not wait, sir,—he has to open a Record case in +the Queen's Bench,” said the Secretary, entering, “but he says he will +write to you this evening.” + </p> +<p> +The Solicitor-General grinned. He fancied that the whole incident had been +a most unfortunate <i>malapropos</i>, and that Balfour was sinking under +shame and confusion. +</p> +<p> +“How I wish Baron Lendrick could be induced to retire!” said Balfour; “it +would save us a world of trouble.” + </p> +<p> +“The matter has little interest for me personally.” + </p> +<p> +“Little interest for <i>you?</i>—how so?” + </p> +<p> +“I mean what I say; but I mean also not to be questioned upon the matter,” + said he, proudly. “If, however, you are so very eager about it, there is a +way I believe it might be done.” + </p> +<p> +“How is that?” + </p> +<p> +“I had a talk, a half-confidential talk, last night with Sewell on the +subject, and he distinctly gave me to understand it could be negotiated +through <i>him</i>.” + </p> +<p> +“And you believed him?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, I believed him. It was the sort of tortuous, crooked transaction +such a man might well move in. Had he told me of something very fine, very +generous or self-devoting, he was about to do, I 'd have hesitated to +accord him my trustfulness.” + </p> +<p> +“What it is to be a lawyer!” said Balfour, with affected horror. +</p> +<p> +“What it must be if a Secretary of State recoils from his perfidy! Oh, Mr. +Balfour, for the short time our official connection may last let us play +fair! I am not so coldblooded, nor are you as crafty, as you imagine. We +are both of us better than we seem.” + </p> +<p> +“Will you dine here to-day, Pem?” + </p> +<p> +“Thanks, no; I am engaged.” + </p> +<p> +“To-morrow, then?—I'll have Branley and Keppel to meet you.” + </p> +<p> +“I always get out of town on Saturday night. Pray excuse me.” + </p> +<p> +“No tempting you, eh?” + </p> +<p> +“Not in that way, certainly. Good-bye till five o'clock.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XVI. A STARLIT NIGHT +</h2> +<p> +Late at night of the same day on which the conversation of last chapter +occurred, Sewell was returning to the Priory: he was on foot, having +failed to find a carriage at that late hour, and was depressed and +wretched in mind, for he had lost a large sum at the Club, which he had no +means whatever to meet on the coming morning. +</p> +<p> +It was a rare event with him to take a retrospect of his life; and his +theory was that he owed any success he had ever won to the fact that he +brought to the present—to the actual casualty before him—an +amount of concentration which men who look back or look forward never can +command. Now, however, the past would force itself upon him, and his whole +career, with all its faults and its failures, was before him. +</p> +<p> +It was a bitter memory, the very bitterest one can imagine, not in its +self-accusation or reproach, but in the thought of all the grand +opportunities he had thrown away, the reckless way in which he had treated +Fortune, believing that she never would fail him. All his regrets were for +the occasions he had suffered to slip by him unprofitably. He did not +waste a thought on those he had ruined, many of them young fellows +starting hopefully, joyously in life. His mind only dwelt on such as had +escaped his snares. Ay, the very fellows to whom he had lost largely that +night, had once been in his power! He remembered them when they “joined;” + he had met them when they landed at Calcutta, in all their raw +inexperience of life, pressing their petty wagers upon him, and eagerly, +almost ignominiously courting acquaintance with the favored aide-de-camp +of the Governor-General. +</p> +<p> +And there they were now, bronzed, hard-featured, shrewd men of the world, +who had paid for their experience, and knew its worth. +</p> +<p> +Nothing to be done with <i>them!</i> Indeed, there was little now “to be +done” anywhere. The whole machinery of life was changed. Formerly, when +fellows started in life, they were trustful, uncalculating, and careless. +Now, on the contrary, they were wary, cautious, and suspectful. Instead of +attaching themselves to older men as safe guides and counsellors, they +hung back from them as too skilful and too crafty to be dealt with. Except +Trafford he had not seen one—not one, for many a day—who could +be “chaffed” into a bet, or laughed into play against his inclination. And +what had he made of Trafford? A few hundred pounds in hand, and those +letters which now Fossbrooke had insisted on his giving up. How invariably +it was that same man who came up at every crisis of his life to thwart and +defeat him. And it was a hard, a cruelly hard, thing to remember that this +very man who had been the dupe of hundreds, who had been rogued and +swindled out of all he had, should still have brought all his faculties to +the task of persecuting <i>him!</i> +</p> +<p> +“One might have thought,” said he, with a bitter laugh, “that he had +troubles enough of his own not to have spare time to bestow upon me and my +affairs. He was once, I own indeed, a rich man, with station and +influence, and now he is a beggar. There was a time no society refused him +<i>entrée</i>; now it is thought a very gracious thing to know him. Why +will these things occupy him? And this stupid rebellion! I wonder how far +he is compromised, or how far one could manage to have him compromised, by +it? It is doubtless some personal consideration, some liking for this or +that man, that has entangled him in it. If Pemberton were not so close, he +could tell this; but these lawyers are so reserved, so crafty, they will +not even tell what a few hours later the whole world will read in the +public papers. +</p> +<p> +“If I were to have my choice, it would puzzle me sorely to determine +whether I'd rather be left a fine estate,—four or five thousand a +year,—or be able to send old Fossbrooke to a penal settlement. I am +afraid, sorely afraid, my disinterestedness would gain the day, and that I +'d sacrifice my enjoyment to my vengeance! He has done me such a long list +of wrongs, I 'd like to square the account. It would be a moment worth +living for,—that instant when the word Guilty would drop from the +jury-box, and that I could lean over the dock and exchange a look with +him. I 'm not so sure he 'd quail, though; but the shame,—the shame +might unman him!” + </p> +<p> +He had reached the gate of the avenue as he thus mused, and was about to +insert the key in the lock, when a man arose from a little bench beside +the lodge, and said,—“A fine night, sir; I 'm glad you 're come.” + </p> +<p> +“Who are you? Stand off!” cried Se well, drawing his revolver, as he +spoke, from his breast-pocket. +</p> +<p> +“O'Reardon, your honor,—only O'Reardon,” said the fellow, in his +well-known whine. +</p> +<p> +“And where the devil have you been this fortnight? What rascally treachery +have you been hatching since I saw you? No long stories, my friend, and no +lies. What have you been at?” + </p> +<p> +“I was never on any other errand than your honor's service, so help me—” + </p> +<p> +“Don't swear, old fellow, if you want me to believe you. Perjury has a +sort of bird-lime attraction for scoundrels like you; so just keep away +from an oath.” + </p> +<p> +O'Reardon laughed. “His honor was droll,—he was always droll,—and +though not an Irishman himself, sorrow man living knew them better;” and +with this double compliment to his patron and his country, the fellow went +on to show that he had been on “the tracks of the ould man” since the day +they parted. He had got a “case against him,”—the finest and fullest +ever was seen. Mr. Spencer declared that “better informations never was +sworn;” and on this they arrested him, together with his diary, his traps, +his drawings, his arms, and his bullet-mould. There were grave reasons for +secrecy in the case, and great secrecy was observed. The examination was +in private, and the prisoner was sent to the Richmond Jail, with a blank +for his name. +</p> +<p> +To the very circumstantial and prolix detail which O'Reardon gave with all +the “onction” of a genuine informer, Sewell listened with a forced +patience. Perhaps the thought of all the indignities that were heaped upon +his enemy compensated him for the wearisomeness of the narrative. At last +he stopped him in his story, and said, “And how much of this accusation do +you believe?” + </p> +<p> +“All of it,—every word.” + </p> +<p> +“You mean to say that he is engaged in this rebellion, and a sworn member +of the Celt association?” + </p> +<p> +“I do. There 's more than thirty already off to transportation not so deep +in it as him.” + </p> +<p> +“And if it should turn out that he is a man of station, and who once had a +great fortune, and that in his whole life he never meddled with politics,—that +he has friends amongst the first families of England, and has only to ask +to have men of rank and position his sureties,—what then?” + </p> +<p> +“He 'll have to show what he was 'at' a year ago when he lodged in my +house at Cullen's Wood, and would n't give his name, nor the name of the +young man that was with him, nor ever went out till it was dark night, and +stole away at last with all sorts of tools and combustibles. He 'll have +to show that I did n't give his description up at the Castle, and get Mr. +Balfour's orders to watch him close; and what's more, that he did n't get +a private visit one night from the Lord-Lieutenant himself, warning him to +be off as quick as he could. I heard their words as I listened at the +door.” + </p> +<p> +“So that, according to your veracious story, Mr. O'Rear-don, the Viceroy +himself is a Celt and a rebel, eh?” + </p> +<p> +“It's none of my business to put the things together, and say what shows +this, and what disproves that; that's for Mr. Hacket and the people up at +the Castle. I 'm to get the facts,—nothing but the facts,—and +them's facts that I tell you.” + </p> +<p> +“You 're on a wrong scent this time, O'Reardon; he is no rebel. I wish he +was. I 'd be better pleased than yourself if we could keep him fast where +he is, and never let him leave it.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, he's out now, and it'll not be so easy to get him 'in' again.” + </p> +<p> +“How do you mean?—out!” + </p> +<p> +“I mean he's free. Mr. Balfour came himself with two other gentlemen, and +they took him away in a coach.” + </p> +<p> +“Where to?” + </p> +<p> +“That's more than I know.” + </p> +<p> +“And why was I not kept informed on these matters? My last orders to you +were to write to me daily.” + </p> +<p> +“I was shut up myself the morning your honor left town. When I swore the +informations they took me off, and never liberated me till this evening at +eight o'clock.” + </p> +<p> +“You 'll soon find out where he is, won't you?” + </p> +<p> +“That I will. I 'll know before your honor's up in the morning.” + </p> +<p> +“And you 'll be able to tell what he's after,—why he is here at all; +for, mind me, O'Reardon, I tell you again, it's not rebellion he's +thinking of.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll do that too, sir.” + </p> +<p> +“If we could only get him out of the country,—persuade him that his +best course was to be off. If we could manage to get rid of him, +O'Reardon,—to get rid of him!” and he gave a fierce energy to the +last words. +</p> +<p> +“<i>That</i> would be easier than the other,” said the fellow, slyly. +</p> +<p> +“<i>What</i> would be easier?” cried Sewell, hurriedly. +</p> +<p> +“What your honor said last,” said the fellow, with a knowing leer, as +though the words were better not repeated. +</p> +<p> +“I don't think I understand you,—speak out. What is it you mean?” + </p> +<p> +“Just this, then, that if it was that he was a trouble to any one, or that +he 'd be better out of the way, it would be the easiest thing in life to +make some of the boys believe he was an informer and they 'd soon do for +him.” + </p> +<p> +“Murder him, eh?” + </p> +<p> +“I would n't call it murdering if a man was a traitor; nobody could call +that murder.” + </p> +<p> +“We'll not discuss that point now;” and as he spoke, they came out from +the shade of the avenue into the open space before the door, at which, +late as it was, a carriage was now standing. “Who can be here at this +hour?” muttered Sewell. +</p> +<p> +“That's a doctor's coach, but I forget his name.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh! to be sure. It is Dr. Beattie's carriage. You may leave me now, +O'Reardon; but come up here early to-morrow,—come to my room, and be +sure to bring me some news of what we were talking about.” As the man +moved away, Sewell stood for a moment or two to listen,—he thought +he heard voices in the hall, which, being large and vaulted, had a +peculiar echo. Yes, he heard them now plainly enough, and had barely time +to conceal himself in the copse when Dr. Beattie and Mrs. Sewell descended +the steps, and walked out upon the gravel. They passed so close to where +Sewell stood that he could hear the very rustle of her silk dress as she +walked. It was Beattie spoke, and his voice sounded stern and severe. “I +knew he could not stand it. I said so over and over again. It is not at +his age that men can assume new modes of life, new associates, and new +hours. Instead of augmenting, the wise course would have been to have +diminished the sources of excitement to him. In the society of his +granddaughter, and with the few old friends whose companionship pleased +him, and for whom he exerted himself to make those little harmless +displays of his personal vanity, he might have gone on for years in +comparative health.” + </p> +<p> +“It was not I that devised these changes, doctor,” broke she in. “I never +asked for these gayeties that you are condemning.” + </p> +<p> +“These new-fangled fopperies, too!” went on Beattie, as though not heeding +her apology. “I declare to you that they gave me more pain, more true +pain, to witness than any of his wild outbursts of passion. In the one, +the man was real; and in the other, a mere mockery. And what 's the +consequence?” added he, fiercely; “he himself feels the unworthy part he +has been playing; instead of being overjoyed at the prospect of seeing his +son again, the thought of it overwhelms him with confusion. He knows well +how he would appear to the honest eyes of poor simple-hearted Tom +Lendrick, whose one only pride in life was his father's greatness.” + </p> +<p> +“And he is certainly coming?” + </p> +<p> +“He has made an exchange for Malta, and will pass through here to see the +Chief,—so he says in his short letter. He expects, too, to find Lucy +here, and to take her out with him. I believe you don't know Tom +Lendrick?” + </p> +<p> +“I met him at the Cape. He dined with us twice, if I remember aright; but +he was shy and awkward, and we thought at the time that he had not taken +to us.” + </p> +<p> +“First acquaintance always chilled him, and his deep humility ever +prevented him making those efforts in conversation which would have +established his true value. Poor fellow, how little he was always +understood! Well, well! I am keeping you out in the night air all this +time—” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, it is perfectly delicious, doctor. It is like a night in the tropics, +so balmy and so bright.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't like to offer rude counsels, but my art sometimes gives a man +scant choice,” said he, after a brief pause. “I'd say, take your husband +away, get him down to that place on the Shannon,—you have it still? +Well, get him down there; he can always amuse himself; he's fond of +field-sports, and people are sure to be attentive to him in the +neighborhood; and leave the old Judge to fall back into the well-worn +groove of his former life. He'll soon send for Tom and his daughter, and +they 'll fall into his ways, or, what 's better, <i>he</i> will fall into +<i>theirs</i>,—without either ruining his health or his fortune; +plain speaking all this, Mrs. Sewell, but you asked for frankness, and +told me it would not be ill taken.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't think Colonel Sewell would consent to this plan.” + </p> +<p> +“Would <i>you?</i>” asked he, bluntly. +</p> +<p> +“My consent would not be asked; there's no need to discuss it.” + </p> +<p> +“I meant, do you sufficiently concur in it to advise it?” + </p> +<p> +“I can advise nothing. I advance nothing. I oppose nothing. I had thought, +Dr. Beattie, that your visits to this house might have taught you the +place I occupy, and the consideration I am held in.” + </p> +<p> +This was ground the doctor would not enter upon, and he adroitly said: “I +think it will be the saving of Colonel Sewell himself. Club gossip says +that he loses heavily every night; and though his means may be +considerable—” + </p> +<p> +“But they are not,—he has nothing,—not a shilling, except what +this place brings in.” + </p> +<p> +“All the more reason not to play; but I must not keep you out here all +night. I 'll come early in the morning, and hope to find him better. +Remember how essential quiet is to him; let him not be disturbed; no +talking by way of amusing him; pure rest—mind that.” + </p> +<p> +“If he wishes to see my husband, or asks for him—” “I'd make some +excuse; say he is out. Colonel Se well excites him; he never fully +understood Sir William; and I fear, besides, that he now and then took a +humoristic pleasure in those bursts of temper which it is always only too +easy to provoke.” + </p> +<p> +“He is very fond of my little boy,—might he go in?” “I think not. +I'd say downright repose and isolation. You yourself can step in +noiselessly from time to time, and only speak if you see that he wishes +it; but on no account mention anything that could awaken interest,—nothing +to arouse or to excite. You saw the fearful state that letter threw him +into to-night, and the paroxysm of rage with which he called for his will +to erase Tom Lendrick's name. Now in all probability he will have totally +forgotten the whole incident by to-morrow. Good-night.” + </p> +<p> +After he drove off, she still lingered about the spot where they had been +talking. Whatever interest the subject might have had for her, it was not +through her affections that interest worked, for she hummed an opera air, +“Bianca Luna,” and tried to recall some lines of Alfred de Musset's to the +“timid planet,” and then sat down upon the steps and gazed at the stars. +</p> +<p> +Sewell moved out into the avenue, and, whistling carelessly to announce +his approach, walked up to where she was sitting. “Romantic, certainly!” + said he. “Whose carriage was that I met driving out?” + </p> +<p> +“Dr. Beattie's. He has been here to see Sir William.” “Will he die this +time, or is it only another false start?” “He is seriously ill. Some news +he received from his son gave him a severe shock, and brought on one of +his worst attacks. He has been raving since six o'clock.” + </p> +<p> +“I should like to know when he has done anything else. I should like to +see the man who ever heard from his lips other than the wildest, crudest +nonsense. The question is, is he going to die?” + </p> +<p> +“Beattie's opinion is very unfavorable.” + </p> +<p> +“Unfavorable! To whom? To <i>him</i> or to <i>us?</i>” + </p> +<p> +“His death could scarcely be favorable to us.” + </p> +<p> +“That 's as it might be. We stand to win on one or two of these twenty +wills he has made; and if he should recover and live on, I don't think—indeed +I 'm full sure—I couldn't bear it much longer; so that, take it +either way, I'd rather he'd die.” + </p> +<p> +“Beattie wishes his granddaughter were here.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, send for her. Though, if he is as ill as you say, it won't be of +much use.” + </p> +<p> +“He has come through so many of these attacks, and has such great power of +constitution, the doctor still thinks he might rally.” + </p> +<p> +“And so he will, I'll be sworn. There's a vitality in those people who +plague and torment others that ought to get insurance offices to take them +at half premium. Has he asked for <i>me?</i>” + </p> +<p> +“Only in his ravings. He rang his bell violently, and inquired if you had +been at the prison, and asked what tidings you had brought him; and then +he went off to say that all this Celt affair was no rebellion at all, and +that he would prove it. Then he talked of quitting the Bench and putting +on his stuff gown to defend these men against the Government.” + </p> +<p> +“Sick or well, sane or insane, it's always the same story. His only theme +is himself.” + </p> +<p> +“Beattie was struck with the profound things and the witty things he said +throughout all his rambling. He said that the intellect was never actually +overthrown, that it only tottered.” + </p> +<p> +“What rot! as if he knew anything about it! These fellows talk of a man's +brain as if it was the ankle-joint. Was there any question of a will?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes. He made Beattie take a will out of his writing-desk; and he erased +the name of Lendrick in every part of it. Beattie and he had some angry +words together, but that was before he was raving; and I heard Sir William +tell him, 'Sir, you are neither my priest nor my lawyer; and if your skill +as a doctor be only on a par with your tact as a friend, my recovery is +all but hopeless.'” + </p> +<p> +“That probably was one of the profound or witty things the doctor was so +delighted with.” + </p> +<p> +“Dr. Beattie took nothing addressed to himself in ill part.” + </p> +<p> +“No; that's part of medical education. These fellows begin life as such +'cads,' they never attain to the feeling of being gentlemen.” + </p> +<p> +There was not light enough for Sewell to see the scornful curl of his +wife's lip at this speech; but in the little short cough by which she +suppressed her temptation to reply, he noted her indignation. +</p> +<p> +“I know he's one of your especial favorites, Madam,” said he, harshly; +“but even <i>that</i> gives him no immunity with me.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm sure I could never think it would.” + </p> +<p> +“No; not even from being aware that one of his chief claims upon the wife +was the unhandsome way he spoke of the husband.” + </p> +<p> +“He seldom mentions you,” said she, superciliously. +</p> +<p> +“I am not so scrupulous about him, then; I have not forgotten his conduct +when that fellow got his skull cracked at the Nest. I saw it all, Madam; +but I have a trick of seeing and saying nothing that might have suggested +some alarm to you ere this.” + </p> +<p> +“You have many tricks, but not one that alarms me,” said she, coldly; “the +wholesome fear of consequences will always be enough to keep you +harmless.” + </p> +<p> +He almost sprang at her at these words; indeed, he came so close that his +hot breath brushed her face. “It is a favorite taunt of yours to sneer at +my courage,” said he, fiercely; “you may do it once too often.” + </p> +<p> +She shrugged her shoulders contemptuously, and slowly arose from where she +sat. +</p> +<p> +“Where are you going?” asked he, roughly. +</p> +<p> +“Going in.” + </p> +<p> +“I have many things to say yet; I want to hear more, too, about the old +man's illness.” + </p> +<p> +“I have told you all I know. Good-night.” + </p> +<p> +He turned away without acknowledging her salutation, and strolled into the +grass. What a web of troubles he was involved in, and how hopelessly he +turned from this or that expedient to extricate himself! It was but a +short time before that, as a member of the committee of his Club, he had +succeeded in passing a law by which all play debts should be discharged +within twenty-four hours, on penalty of the defaulter being declared +excluded from the Club. He was a winner at the time; but now luck had +changed: he had lost heavily, and had not the slightest prospect of being +able to meet his losses. “How like my fate!” muttered he, in intense +passion,—“how like my fate! my whole life has been a game I have +played against myself. And that woman, too,”—it was of his wife he +spoke,—“who once helped me through many a strait, assumes now to be +too pure and too virtuous to be my associate, and stands quietly aloof to +see me ruined.” + </p> +<p> +A long thin streak of light crossed his path as he went; he looked up, and +saw it came from between the shutters of the Chief's room. “I wonder how +it fares with him!” muttered he. He pondered for some time over the old +man's case, his chances of recovery, and the spirit in which convalescence +would find him; and then entering the house, he slowly mounted the stairs, +one by one, his heart feeling like a load almost too heavy to carry. The +unbroken stillness of the house seemed to whisper caution, and he moved +along the corridor with noiseless tread till he came to the door of the +Judge's room. There he stooped and listened. There were the long-drawn +breathings of a heavy sleeper plainly to be heard, but they sounded +stronger and fuller than the respirations of a sick man. Sewell gently +turned the handle of the door and entered. The suspicion was right. The +breathings were those of the hospital nurse, who, seated in a deep +arm-chair, slept profoundly. Sewell stood several minutes at the door +before he ventured further; at last he crept stealthily forward to the +foot of the bed, and, separating the curtains cautiously, he peeped in. +The old man lay with his eyes closed, and his long shrivelled arms outside +the clothes. He continued to talk rapidly, and by degrees his voice grew +stronger and dearer, and had all that resonance of one speaking in a large +assembly. “I have now,” said he, “shown the inexpediency of this course. I +have pointed out where you have been impolitic; I will next explain where +you are illegal. This Act was made in the 23d year of Henry VI., and +although intended only to apply to cases of action personal, or indictment +of trespass—What is the meaning of this interruption? Let there be +silence in the Court. I will have the tribunal in which I preside +respected. The public shall learn—the representatives of the press—and +if there be, as I am told there are—” His voice grew weaker and +weaker, and the last audible words that escaped him were “judgment for the +plaintiff.” + </p> +<p> +Though his lips still moved rapidly, no sound came forth, but his hands +were continually in motion, and his lean arms twitched with short +convulsive jerks. Sewell now crept quietly round towards the side of the +bed, on which several sheets of paper and writing-materials lay. One of +the sheets alone was written on; it was in the large bold hand of the old +Judge, who even at his advanced age wrote in a vigorous and legible +character. It was headed, “Directions for my funeral,” and began thus: “As +Irishmen may desire to testify their respect for one who, while he lived, +maintained with equal energy the supremacy of the law and the +inviolability of the man, and as my obsequies may in some sort become an +act of national homage, I write these lines to convey my last wishes, +legacies of which my country will be the true executors. +</p> +<p> +“First, I desire that I may be buried within the nave of St. Patrick's +Cathedral. The spot I have selected is to the right of Swift's monument, +under the fifth window, and for this purpose that hideous monument to Sir +Hugh Brabazon may be removed, and my interment will, in this way, confer a +double benefit upon my country. Secondly, as by my will, dated this +twenty-eighth day of October, 18—, I have bequeathed, with exception +of certain small legacies, all my estate, real and personal, to Dudley +Sewell, Esq., late Colonel in her Majesty's service, it is my wish that he +alone should—” Here the writing finished. +</p> +<p> +Three several times Sewell read over the lines, and what a thrill of +delight ran through him! It was like a reprieve to a man on the very steps +of the scaffold! The Judge was not rich, probably, but a considerable sum +of money he still might have, and it was money,—cash. It was not +invested in lands or houses or ships; it was all available for that life +that Sewell led, and which alone he liked. +</p> +<p> +If he could but see this will,—it must be close at hand somewhere,—what +a satisfaction it would be to read over the details by which at last—at +last!—he was to be lifted above the casualties of a life of +struggle! He tried three or four drawers of the large ebony cabinet in +which the Chief used to throw his papers, with the negligence of a man who +could generally rewrite as easily as he could search for a missing +document. There were bills and receipts, notes of trials, and letters in +abundance—but no will. The cumbrous old writing-desk, which Sir +William rarely used, was not in its accustomed place, but stood on the +table in the centre of the room, and the keys beside it. The will might +possibly be there. He drew nigh the bed to assure himself that the old man +was still sleeping, and then he turned towards the nurse, whose breathings +were honest vouchers for insensibility; and thus fortified, he selected +the key—he knew it well—and opened the desk. The very first +paper he chanced upon was the will. It was a large sheet of strong +post-paper, labelled “My last Will and Testament.—W. L.” While +Sewell stood examining the writing, the door creaked gently, and his wife +moved softly and noiselessly into the room. If the sentiment that overcame +him was not shame, it was something in which shame blended with anger. It +was true she knew him well: she knew all the tortuous windings of his +plotting, scheming nature; she knew that no sense of honor, no scruple of +any kind, could ever stand between him and his object. He had done those +things which, worse than deep crimes, lower a man in the eyes of a woman, +and that woman his wife, and that she thus knew and read him he was well +aware; but, strangely enough, there is a world of space between being +discovered through the results of a long inquiry, and being detected <i>flagrante +delicto</i>,—taken in the very act, red-handed in iniquity; and so +did this cold-hearted, callous man now feel it. +</p> +<p> +“What are you doing here?” said she, calmly and slowly, as she came +forward. +</p> +<p> +“I wanted to see this. I was curious to know how he treated us,” said he, +trembling as he spoke. +</p> +<p> +She took the paper from his hand, replaced it in the desk, and locked it +up, with the calm determination of one who could not be gainsaid. +</p> +<p> +“But I have not read it,” whispered he, in a hissing voice. +</p> +<p> +“Nor need you,” said she, placing the keys under the old man's pillow. “I +heard you coming here,—I heard you enter the room. I am thankful it +is no worse.” + </p> +<p> +“What do you mean by no worse?” cried he, seizing her by the wrist, and +staring savagely at her,—“say what you mean, woman!” She made no +reply; but the scornful curl of her lip, and the steady unflinching stare +of her eyes showed that neither his words nor his gesture had terrified +her. +</p> +<p> +“You shall hear more of this to-morrow,” said he, bending on her a look of +intense hate; and he stole slowly away, while she seated herself at the +bedside, and hid her face in the curtain. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XVII. AN UNGRACIOUS ADIEU +</h2> +<p> +When Dr. Beattie came at seven o'clock in the morning, he found his +patient better. The nurse gave her account, as nurses know well how to do, +of a most favorable night,—told how calmly he slept, how sensibly he +talked, and with what enjoyment he ate the jelly which he had never +tasted. +</p> +<p> +At all events, he was better; not stronger, perhaps,—there was no +time for that,—but calmer and more composed. +</p> +<p> +“You must not talk, nor be talked to yet awhile,” said Beattie; “and I +will station Haire here as a sentinel to enforce my orders.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, I would like Haire,” whispered the old man, softly. “Let him come +and sit by me.” + </p> +<p> +“Can I see Mrs. Sewell? or is it too early to ask for her?” inquired the +doctor of a maid. +</p> +<p> +“She has been up all night, sir, and only just lain down.” + </p> +<p> +“Don't disturb her, then. I will write a line to her, and you can give it +when she awakes.” + </p> +<p> +He went into the library, and wrote: “Sir William is better, but not out +of danger. It is even more important now than before that he have perfect +quiet. I will change the nurse, and meanwhile I desire that you alone +should enter the room till I return.” + </p> +<p> +“What letter was that the doctor gave you as he went away?” said Sewell, +who during Beattie's visit had been secretly on the watch over all that +occurred. +</p> +<p> +“For my mistress, sir,” said the girl, showing the note. +</p> +<p> +Sewell snatched it impatiently, threw his eyes over it, and gave it back. +“Tell your mistress I want to see her when she is dressed. It's nothing to +hurry for, but to come down to my room at her own convenience.” + </p> +<p> +“Better, but not out of danger! I should think not,” muttered he, as he +strolled out into the garden. +</p> +<p> +“What is the meaning of stationing old Haire at the bedside? Does Beattie +suspect? But what could he suspect? It would be a very, convenient thing +for me, no doubt, if he would die; but I 'd scarcely risk my neck to help +him on the way. These things are invariably discovered; and it would make +no difference with the law whether it was the strong cord of a vigorous +life were snapped, or the frail thread of a wasted existence unravelled. +Just so; mere unravelling would do it here. No need of bold measures. A +good vigorous contradiction,—a rude denial of something he said,—with +a sneer at his shattered intellect, and I 'd stake my life on it his +passion would do the rest. The blood mounts to his head at the slightest +insinuation. I 'd like to see him tried with a good round insult. Give me +ten minutes alone with him, and I 'll let Beattie come after me with all +his bottles; and certainly no law could make this murder. Bad-tempered men +are not to be more carefully guarded by the State than better-natured +ones. It would be a strange statute that made it penal to anger an irascible +fellow. I wonder if some suspicion of this kind has crossed Beattie's +mind? Is it for that Haire has been called to keep the watch on deck,—and +if so, who is to replace him? He'll tire at last,—he must sleep some +time; and what are they to do then? My wife, perhaps. Yes; she would play +their game willingly enough. If she has heard of this will, it will alarm +her. She has always tried to have the children provided for. She dreads—she +'s not so wrong there—she dreads leaving everything in my power. And +of late she has dared to oppose me openly. My threat of suing for a +divorce, that used to keep her so submissive once, is failing now. Some +one has told her that I could not succeed. I can see in her manner that +her mind is reassured on this score. She could have no difficulty in +filching an opinion,—this house is always full of lawyers; and +certainly nothing in the habits of the place would have imposed any +restraint in discussing it.” And he laughed—actually laughed—at +the conceit thus evoked. “If I had but a little time before me now, I +should work through all my difficulties. Only to think of it! One +fortnight, less perhaps, to arrange my plans, and I might defy the world. +This is Tuesday. By Thursday I shall have to meet those two acceptances +for three hundred and two hundred and fifty. The last, at all events, I +must pay, since Walcott's name was not in his own handwriting. How +conscientiously a man meets a bill when he has forged the endorsement!” + And again he laughed at the droll thought. “These troubles swarm around +me,” muttered he, impatiently. “There is Fossbrooke, too. Malevolent old +fool, that will not see how needless it is to ruin me. Can't he wait,—can't +he wait? It's his own prediction that I'm a fellow who needs no enemy; my +own nature will always be Nemesis enough. Who's that?—who is there?” + cried he, as he heard a rustling in the copse at his side. +</p> +<p> +“It's me, your honor. I came out to get sight of your honor before I went +away,” said O'Reardon, in a sort of slavish cringing tone. +</p> +<p> +“Away! and where to?” + </p> +<p> +“They 're sending me out of the way, your honor, for a week or two, to +prevent that ould man I arrested charging me with parjury. That's what +they purtend, sir,” said he, in a lower voice. “But the truth is, that I +know more than they like, ay, and more than they think; for it was in my +house at Cullen's Wood that the Lord-Liftenant himself came down, one +evening, and sat two hours with this ould man.” + </p> +<p> +“Keep these sort of tales for other people, Master O'Reardon; they have no +success with me. You are a capital terrier for rat-hunting, but you cut a +sorry figure when you come out as a boar-hound. Do you understand me?” + </p> +<p> +“I do, sir, right well. Your honor means that I ought to keep to +informations against common people, and not try my hand against the +gentlemen.” + </p> +<p> +“You 've hit it perfectly. It's strange enough how sharp you can be in +some things, and what a cursed fool in others.” + </p> +<p> +“You never was more right in your life, sir. That's my character in one +sentence;” and he gave a little plaintive sigh, as though the thought were +a painful one. +</p> +<p> +“And how do you mean to employ your leisure, Mr. O'Reardon? Men of your +stamp are never thoroughly idle. Will you write your memoirs?” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed, no, your honor; it might hurt people's feelings the names I 'd +have to bring in; and I 'm just going over to France for the present.” + </p> +<p> +“To France?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir; Mr. Harman's tuk heart o' grace, and is going to sue for a +divorce, and he 's sending me over to a place called Boulogne to get up +evidence against the Captain.” + </p> +<p> +“You like that sort of thing?” + </p> +<p> +“I neither like it nor dislike it,” said O'Reardon, while his eye kindled +angrily, for he thought that he who scoffed at him should stand on higher +moral ground than Sewell's. +</p> +<p> +“You once lived with Captain Peters, I think?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir; I was his valet for four years. I was with him at Malta and +Corfu when he was in the Rifles.” + </p> +<p> +“And he treated you well?” + </p> +<p> +“No man better, that I 'll say for him if he was in the dock to-morrow. He +gave me a trunk of his clothes—mufti he called them—and ten +pounds the day I left him.” + </p> +<p> +“It's somewhat hard, isn't it, to go against a man after that? Doesn't +your fine nature rather revolt at the ingratitude?” + </p> +<p> +“Well, then, to tell your honor the truth, my 'fine nature' never was rich +enough to afford itself that thing your honor calls gratitude. It's a sort +of thing for my betters.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm sorry to hear you say so, O'Reardon. You almost shock me with such +principles.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, that's the way it is, sir. When a man 's poor, he has no more right +to fine feelin's than to fine feeding.” + </p> +<p> +“Why, you go from bad to worse, O'Reardon. I declare you are positively +corrupting this morning.” + </p> +<p> +“Am I, sir?” said the fellow, who now eyed him with a calm and steady +defiance, as though he had submitted to all he meant to bear. Sewell felt +this, and though he returned the stare, it was with a far less courageous +spirit. “Well?” cried he at last, as though, no longer able to endure the +situation, he desired to end it at any cost,—“well?” + </p> +<p> +“I suppose your honor wouldn't have time to settle with me now?” + </p> +<p> +“To settle with you! What do you call settle, my good fellow? Our +reckonings are very short ones, or I'm much mistaken. What 's this +settlement you talk of?” + </p> +<p> +“It's down here in black and white,” said the other, producing a folded +sheet of paper as he spoke. “I put down the payments as I made them, and +the car-hire and a trifle for refreshment; and if your honor objects to +anything, it's easy to take it off; though, considering I was often on the +watch till daybreak, and had to come in from Howth on foot before the +train started of a morning, a bit to eat and to drink was only +reasonable.” + </p> +<p> +“Make an end of this long story. What do you call the amount?” + </p> +<p> +“It's nothing to be afeard of, your honor, for the whole business,—the +tracking him out, the false keys I had made for his trunk and +writing-case, eight journeys back and forwards, two men to swear that he +asked them to take the Celts' oath, and the other expenses as set down in +the account. It's only twenty-seven pound four and eightpence.” + </p> +<p> +“What?” + </p> +<p> +“Twenty-seven, four and eight; neither more nor less.” + </p> +<p> +A very prolonged whistle was Sewell's sole reply. +</p> +<p> +“Do you know, O'Reardon,” said he at last, “it gives me a painfully low +opinion of myself to see that, after so many months of close acquaintance, +I should still appear to you to be little short of an idiot? It is very +distressing—I give you my word, it is—very distressing.” + </p> +<p> +“Make your mind easy, sir; it is not <i>that</i> I think you at all;” and +the fellow lent an emphasis to the “that” which gave it a most insulting +significance. +</p> +<p> +“I 'd like to know,” cried Sewell, as his face crimsoned with anger, “if +you could have dared to offer such a document as this to any man you +didn't believe to be a fool.” + </p> +<p> +“The devil a drop of fool's blood is in either of us,” said O'Reardon, +with an easy air and a low laugh of quiet assurance. +</p> +<p> +“I am flattered by the companionship, certainly. It almost restores me to +self-esteem to hear your words. I'd like to pay you a compliment in turn +if I only knew how.” + </p> +<p> +“Just pay me my little bill, your honor, and it will be all mask.” + </p> +<p> +“I'm not over-much in a joking mood this morning, and I 'd advise you to +talk of something else. There 's a five-pound note for you;” and he flung +the money contemptuously towards him. “Take it, and think yourself +devilish lucky that I don't have you up for perjury in this business.” + </p> +<p> +O'Reardon never moved, nor made any sign to show that he noticed the money +at his feet; but, crossing his arms on his chest, he drew himself +haughtily up, and said: “So, then, it's defying me you 'd try now? You 'd +have me up for perjury! Well, then, I begin to believe you <i>are</i> a +fool, after all. No, sir, you need n't put your hand in your waistcoat. If +you have a pistol there, I have another; and, what's more, I have a +witness in that clump of trees, that only needs the word to stand beside +me. There, now, Colonel, you see you 're beat, and beat at your own game +too.” + </p> +<p> +“D—n you!” cried Sewell, savagely. “Can't you see that I 've got no +money?” + </p> +<p> +“If I have n't money, I 'll have money's worth. Short of twenty pounds I +'ll not leave this.” + </p> +<p> +“I tell you again, you might as well ask me for two hundred or two +thousand. I 'll be in cash, I hope, by the end of the week—” + </p> +<p> +“Ay, but I'll be in France,” broke in O'Reardon. +</p> +<p> +“I wish you were in———,” mumbled Sewell, as he believed, +to himself; but the other heard him, and dryly said, “No, sir, not yet; +it's manners to let <i>you</i> go first.” + </p> +<p> +“I lost heavily two nights ago at the Club,—that's why I 'm so hard +up; but I know I must have money by Saturday. By Saturday's post I 'll +send you an order for twenty pounds. Will that content you?” + </p> +<p> +“No, sir, it will not. I had a bad bout of it last night myself, and lost +every ha'penny Mr. Harman gave me for the journey,—that's the reason +I 'm here.” + </p> +<p> +“But if I have not got it? There, so help me! is every farthing I can call +my own this minute,”—and he drew from his pocket some silver, in +which a single gold coin or two mingled,—“take it, if you like.” + </p> +<p> +“No, sir; it's no good to me. Short of twenty pounds, I could n't start on +the journey.” + </p> +<p> +“And if I haven't got it! Am I to go out and rob for you?” cried Sewell, +as his eyes flashed indignantly at him. +</p> +<p> +“I don't want you to rob; but it isn't a house like this hasn't twenty +pounds in it.” + </p> +<p> +“You mean,” said Sewell, with a sneering laugh, “that if there 's not +cash, there must be plate, jewels, and such-like, and so I 'm to lay an +embargo on the spoons; but you forget there is a butler who looks after +these things.” + </p> +<p> +“There might be many a loose thing on your Lady's table that would do as +well,—a ring or two, or a bracelet that she's tired of.” + </p> +<p> +Sewell started,—a sudden thought flashed across him; if he were to +kill the fellow as he stood there, how should he conceal the murder and +hide the corpse? It was quick as a lightning flash, this thought, but the +horror of the consequences so overcame him that a cold sweat broke out +over his body, and he staggered back to a seat, and sank into it exhausted +and almost fainting. +</p> +<p> +“Don't take it to heart that way, sir,” said the fellow, gazing at him. +“Will I get you a glass of water?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes. No—no; I'll do without it. It's passing off. Wait here for a +moment; I 'll be back presently.” He arose as he spoke, and moved slowly +away. Entering the house, he ascended the stairs and made for his wife's +room. As he reached the door, he stopped to listen. There was not a sound +to be heard. He turned the handle gently, and looked in. One shutter was +partly open, and a gleam of the breaking daylight crossed the floor and +fell upon the bed on which she lay, dressed, and fast asleep,—so +soundly, indeed, that though the door creaked loudly as he pushed it +wider, she never heard the noise. She had evidently been sitting up with a +sick man, and was now overcome by fatigue. His intention had been to +consult with her,—at least to ask her to assist him with whatever +money she had by her,—and he had entered thus stealthily not to +startle her; for somehow, in the revulsion of his mind from the late scene +of outrage and insult, a sense of respect, if not of regard, moved him +towards her, who, in his cruelest moments, had never ceased to have a +certain influence over him. He looked at her as she slept; her fine +features, at rest, were still beautiful, though deep traces of sorrow were +seen in the darkened orbits and the lines about that mouth, while three or +four glistening white hairs showed themselves in the brown braid over her +temple. Sewell sat down beside the bed, and, as he looked at her, a whole +life passed in review before him, from the first hour he met her to that +sad moment of the present. How badly they had played their game! how +recklessly misused every opportunity that might have secured their +fortune! What had <i>he</i> made of all his shrewdness and ready wit? And +what had <i>she</i> done with all her beauty, and a fascination as great +as even her beauty? It was an evil day that had brought them together. +Each, alone, without the other, might have achieved any success. There had +been no trust, no accord between them. They wanted the same things, it is +true, but they never agreed upon the road that led to them. As to +principles, she had no more of them than he had; but she had scruples—scruples +of delicacy, scruples of womanhood—which often thwarted and worried +him, and ended by making them enemies; and here was now the end of it! <i>Her</i> +beauty was wasted, and <i>his</i> luck played out, and only ruin before +them. +</p> +<p> +And yet it calmed him to sit there; her softly drawn breathing soothed his +ruffled spirit. He felt it as the fevered man feels the ice-cold water on +his brow,—a transient sense of what it would be to be well again. Is +there that in the contemplation of sleep—image as it is of the great +sleep of all—that subdues all rancor of heart,—all that spirit +of conflict and jar by which men make their lives a very hell of undying +hates, undying regrets? +</p> +<p> +His heart, that a few moments ago had almost burst with passion, now felt +almost at ease; and in the half-darkened room, the stillness, and the +calm, there stole over him a feeling of repose that was almost +peacefulness. As he bent over her to look at her, her lips moved. She was +dreaming; very softly, indeed, came the sounds, but they seemed as if +entreating. “Yes,” she said,—“yes—all—everything—I +consent. I agree to all, only—Cary—let me have Cary, and I +will go.” + </p> +<p> +Sewell started. His face became crimson in a moment. How was it that these +words scattered all his late musings, as the hurricane tears and severs +the cloud-masses, and sends them riven and shattered through the sky? He +arose and walked over to the table; a gold comb and two jewelled hair-pins +lay on the glass; he clutched them coarsely in his hand, and moved away. +Cautiously and noiselessly he crept down the stairs, and out into the +garden. “Take these, and make your money of them; they are worth more than +your claim; and mind, my good fellow,—mind it well, I say, or it +will be worse for you,—our dealings end here. This is our last +transaction, and our last meeting. I 'll never harm you, if you keep only +out of my way. But take care that you never claim me, nor assume to know +me; for I warn you I'll disown you, if it should bring you to the gallows. +That's plain speaking, and you understand it.” + </p> +<p> +“I do, every word of it,” said the fellow, as he buttoned up his coat and +drew his hat over his eyes. “I 'm taking the 'fiver,' too, as it's to be +our last meetin'. I suppose your honor will shake hands with me and wish +me luck. Well, if you won't, there's no harm done. It's a quare world, +where the people that's doin' the same things can't be friends, just +because one wears fine cloth and the other can only afford corduroy. +Good-bye, sir,—good-bye, any-<i>how</i>;” and there was a strange +cadence in the last words no description can well convey. +</p> +<p> +Sewell stood and looked after him for a moment, then turned into the +house, and threw himself on a sofa, exhausted and worn out. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XVIII. A PLEASANT MEETING +</h2> +<p> +No sooner did Sir Brook find himself once more at liberty than he went to +the post-office for his letters, of which a goodly stock had accumulated +during his absence. A telegram, too, was amongst the number, despatched by +Tom in great haste eight days before. It ran thus:— +</p> +<p> +“Great news! We have struck silver in the new shaft. Do not sell, do not +even treat till you hear from me. I write by this post. +</p> +<p> +“Lendrick.” + </p> +<p> +Had Tom but seen the unmoved calm with which Foss-brooke read this +astounding tidings,—had he only seen the easy indifference with +which the old man threw down the slip of paper after once reading it, and +passed on to a letter of Lord Wilmington from Crew Keep,—his +patience would certainly have been sorely tried. Nor was it from any +indifference to good fortune, still as little from any distrust of the +tidings. It was simply because he had never doubted that the day was +coming that was to see him once more rich., It might be a little later or +a little earlier. It might be that wealth should shower itself upon him in +a gradually increasing measure, or come down in a very deluge of +prosperity. These were things he did not, could not know; but of the fact—the +great Fact itself—he had as firm a belief as he had of his own +existence; and had he died before realizing it, he would have bequeathed +his vast fortune, with blanks for the amount, as conscientiously as though +it were bank stock for which he held the vouchers. +</p> +<p> +When most men build castles in the air, they know on what foundations +their edifices are based, and through all their imaginative ardor there +pierces the sharp pang of unreality. Not so with Fossbrooke. It was simply +a question of time with him when the costly palace might become fit for +habitation, and this great faith in himself rescued him from all that +vacillation so common to those who keep a debtor and creditor account +between their hopes and fears. Neither was he at all impatient because +Destiny did not bestir herself and work quicker. The world was always +pleasant, always interesting; and when to-morrow or next day Fortune might +call him to a higher station and other modes of life, he almost felt he +should regret the loss of that amusing existence he now enjoyed, amongst +people all new and all strange to him. +</p> +<p> +At last he came to Tom Lendrick's letter,—four closely written +pages, all glowing with triumph. On the day week after Sir B.'s departure, +he wrote:— +</p> +<p> +“They had come upon a vein of lead so charged with silver as to seem as +though the whole mass were of the more precious metal. All Cagliari came +down to see a block of ore upwards of two hundred-weight, entirely crusted +with silver, and containing in the mass forty per cent. We had to get a +guard from the Podesta, merely to keep off the curious, for there was no +outrage nor any threat of outrage. Indeed, your kind treatment of our +workpeople now begins to bear its fruit, and there was nothing but +good-will and kind feeling for our lucky fortune. The two Jews, Heenwitz +and Voss, of the Contrada Keale, were amongst the first visitors, and had +actually gone down into the shaft before I knew of it. They at once +offered me a large sum for a share in the mine; and when I told them it +was with you they must treat, they proposed to open a credit of three +hundred thousand francs with their house in my favor, to go on with the +working till I heard from you and learned your intentions. This offer, +too, I have declined, till I get your letter. +</p> +<p> +“This was on Tuesday, but on Thursday we struck pure silver without a +trace of lead, the only alloy being a thin vein of cobalt, like a ribbon, +running through the ore; and which Chiusani says—for he has worked +in Mexico and the Brazils—is proof of a strong vein. The news spread +like wildfire at Cagliari; and I have had such levees of the money folk! +all offering me millions at any, or indeed at no interest, and actually +entreating me to put my hand in their pockets, while they look away or +close their eyes. As for the presents that pour in, we have no room for +them; and you know how dangerous it would be to refuse these people. It is +only a short step with them from a sworn friendship to the stiletto. The +only disturbing element in all this joy is a sort of official protest from +the Delegate of the province against our working what the Crown may claim +as a royalty; but I am instructed that Sardinia once acquired all royal +rights by a fixed payment, and Lucy thinks she read somewhere the details +of the cession. At any rate, she and Contini, the lawyer, are hard at work +making out the reply; and the English version, which Lucy does, will be +forwarded to our Minister at Turin to-morrow. You 'd laugh if you saw how +she has familiarized herself with not only all the legal terms, but with +all our mining phraseology, and how acutely she marks the difference +between intact royalties and the claims of the Crown to certain +percentages on exempted mines. Contini is a bachelor, and I am fully +persuaded intends to make her an offer of his legal hand and heart,—that +is, if he finds that we are likely to beat the Crown lawyers. I cannot +help thinking he's a lucky fellow that you are not here, nor like to be, +on the day he makes his proposal. +</p> +<p> +“As much for peace's sake as for convenience, I have accepted twenty +thousand francs on loan. I have taken it from the four principal bankers +in Cagliari, in equal sums from each, to prevent jealousy. I hope this was +not wrong. I send you herewith bills for fifteen thousand, remembering, if +I be right, that you borrowed some hundred pounds on the security of the +mine, which you might like now to pay off.” [After some business details, +given at length, and with a degree of amplification that somewhat wearied +Sir Brook to read, he summed up thus: ] “Write to me therefore at once, +and say what course we ought to take regarding our rights. Could our home +lawyers afford you no information of value? Shall we oppose or shall we +compromise? I suspect they wish the latter. +</p> +<p> +“Are you satisfied that I accepted this loan? I have my own misgivings, +not about the fact, for we wanted money to go on, but as to your +concurrence. +</p> +<p> +“And when are you coming back? I cannot say how impatient I am for your +return, all the more that you have only written that hurried note from +Dover since you left us. Lucy is in great spirits, takes immense interest +in all we are doing, and does all the Italian correspondence for me. She +wears a little silver hammer, the miner's hammer, in her hat; and her +popularity with the people is unbounded. You will be amused, on your +return, to find that your sketch on the wall of the splendid palace that +was to crown our successes has acquired two wings and a great tower; and a +third figure, a lady, has been added to the riding-party that are +cantering up the avenue. Lucy says that nothing but humility (!) could +have devised such a house for people so rich as we are. It certainly was +not the sentiment with which hitherto I have regarded this edifice. I have +come to the end of my paper, but I will not close this till I see if the +post should not bring us news of you. +</p> +<p> +“Your letter has just come. The latter part of it has given us great +uneasiness. It is precisely such a time as a private enemy—if you +have one—would choose to work out a personal grudge. No matter how +totally you feel yourself free from implication in these Irish troubles, +do nothing—positively nothing—without legal advice. It will +save you a world of trouble; not to speak of the comfort you will feel in +knowing that your interests are matter of care and thought to another. +Above all, keep us informed daily by telegraph how and where you are, and +what doing. +</p> +<p> +“Lucy wants to go off to you to-night, but I have had a slight return of +my fever, a very slight one, and she half fears to leave me. If your next +gives us good news, we shall soon forget this unpleasantness; but, I +repeat, let no day pass without tidings of you. +</p> +<p> +“The evening report has just come in from the mine,—one hundred and +seventy-eight pounds of pure silver in the last twenty-four hours! I have +taken on forty additional men, and the new smelting-house will be in full +work within a week. If you only were here, I 'd have nothing more to wish +for. +</p> +<p> +“I suppose Trafford has written to you. In the short note I got from him +yesterday there is nothing but gratitude to you. He says he owes +everything to your friendship. He means to be in England in a few days, +and of course will go over to you; but write, or rather telegraph. +</p> +<p> +“Yours ever, T. L. +</p> +<p> +“I wrote to Colonel Cave this morning to tell him his small venture with +us would not turn out so badly. Our first dividend will be at least cent, +per cent., so that he cannot lose by us. It's downright jolly to be able +to send off such a despatch.” + </p> +<p> +The last letter of the heap was from Lady Trafford, and served in a +measure to explain that paragraph in Tom's epistle which spoke of young +Trafford's gratitude. It appeared that Lady Trafford's youngest son, on +whom Sir Hugh had fixed to make the head of the family, had gone to winter +at Madeira, and while there had fallen in love with and married a +Portuguese girl, the daughter of his landlady. The news of this <i>mésalliance</i> +had nearly killed his father, who was only recovering from a bad attack of +gout when the tidings reached him. By good luck, however, on the very same +day came a letter from Fossbrooke, declaring that no matter what treatment +young Trafford might meet with from his own family, he, Sir Brook, would +stand firmly by him, so long as his honorable and manly conduct and his +fidelity to his word to the girl he loved entitled him to regard and +affection. +</p> +<p> +“In a worldly point of view,” wrote he, “such friendship as mine is a poor +thing. I am a man of nothing, it is true; but I have lived long enough to +know that there are other successes besides wealth and station. There are +such things as self-respect, contentment, and the love of friends; and I +do think my experiences will help him to secure some share of these. +</p> +<p> +“There is, however, one entreaty I would prefer, and if there be in your +memory any kind thought of me, you will not refuse my prayer. Your boy is +eager to see you, and shake your hand. Let him come. If you cannot or will +not approve, do not at least condemn what he is about to do. In his +anxiety to obtain your sanction, he has shown all deference to your +authority. This shows he is worthy of your esteem; and if he were to +palter between the hope of all your fortune and the love of this girl, he +would only deserve your contempt. Be proud of him, then, even if you +disinherit him to-morrow. If these be the sentiments of a man who has +nothing, remember, Trafford, that I was not always a beggar; and if I +thought that being rich would alter these opinions, I can only say I hope +I may die as poor as now I write myself. +</p> +<p> +“There's a strong prejudice, I know, against being guided by men who have +made such a sorry hand of their own fortunes as I have; but many a fellow +who has been shipwrecked has proved a good sailor; at all events, he knows +what it is to be buffeted by the waves and torn on the rocks. Now, I have +told your son not to be afraid of these, and I think he trusts me. +</p> +<p> +“Once more, then, I ask, let me tell Lionel you will receive him; and +believe me faithfully your old friend, +</p> +<p> +“Bk. Fossbrooke.” + </p> +<p> +Lady Trafford's note was short:— +</p> +<p> +“My dear Sir Brook,—I suppose there is nothing for it but what you +say, and Lionel may come here. We have had nothing but disasters with our +sons. I wish I could dare to hope that this was to be the end of the +calamities. Sir Hugh desires much that you could be here when L. arrives. +Could you conveniently arrange this? His brother's shocking marriage, the +terrible disappointment to our hopes, and other worries have almost proved +too much for me. +</p> +<p> +“Is there any truth in the story that Miss L.'s grandfather was +negotiating for a peerage as the condition of his retirement from the +Bench? If so, and that the object could be compassed, it would go far +towards removing some of our objections to the connection. Sir Hugh's +influence with 'the Party' would unquestionably be of use; and though a +law lord does not mean much, it is something. Inform me fully on this +head. It is very strange that Lionel should never have mentioned the +matter, and, indeed, strongly indicates how little trouble he took, or +cared to take, to obviate our natural objections to the match. I suppose +her father is not a practising physician. At all events, he need not be +styled doctor. Oh dear I when I think of it all, and think what an end my +ambitions have come to, I could cry my eyes out. It often strikes me that +people who make most sacrifices for their children are ever repaid in this +fashion. The Dean says these are mysterious dispensations, and that we +must submit to them. I suppose we must, but it certainly is not without +reluctance. +</p> +<p> +“I thought of asking you to write to Lionel, but I will do so myself, +painful as it is. I feel I am very forgiving to write you in this strain, +seeing how great was the share you took in involving us all in this +unhappy business. At one moment I positively detested—I don't +suspect yet that I entirely pardon—you, though I may when you come +here, especially if you bring me any good news of this peerage business, +which I look to as our last refuge. Lendrick is a very odd name,—are +there many of them? Of course, it will be well understood that we only +know the immediate relations,—father and brother, I mean. We stand +no cousins, still less uncles or aunts. +</p> +<p> +“Sir Hugh thinks I ought to write to the old Judge. I opine he would be +flattered by the attention, but I have not yet made up my mind upon it. +Give me some advice on this, and believe me sincerely yours.” + </p> +<p> +After despatching a telegram to Cagliari, to say he was well and at large, +and would soon be on his way back again, Fossbrooke wrote a few lines to +Lord Wilmington of regret that he could not afford time to go over and see +him, and assuring him that the late incident that had befallen him was not +worth a thought. “He must be a more irritable fellow than I am,” he wrote, +“who would make a personal grievance of a mere accident, against which, in +a time of trouble, it would be hard to provide. While I say this, I must +add that I think the spy system is a mistake,—that there is an +over-eagerness in your officials to procure committals; and I declare to +you I have often had more difficulty to get out of a crowded evening party +than I should have felt in making my escape from your jail or bridewell, +whichever be its name. I don't suspect your law-officers are marvels of +wisdom, and your Chief Secretary is an ass.” + </p> +<p> +To Lady Trafford he wrote a very brief reply. He scarcely thought his +engagements would enable him to make a visit to Holt. “I will, however, +come if I can, chiefly to obtain your full and free pardon, though for +what, beyond rendering you an invaluable service, I am puzzled to +understand; and I repeat, if your son obtain this young lady in marriage, +he will be, after Sir Hugh, the luckiest man of his name and family. +</p> +<p> +“As to the peerage, I can tell you nothing. I believe there is rather a +prejudice against sending Irishmen up to the Lords; and it is scarcely +ever done with lawyers. In regard to writing to Baron Lendrick, I hardly +know what to say. He is a man of great ability, but of even greater +vanity, and it should be a cleverly worded epistle that would not ruffle +some one of his thousand sensibilities. If you feel, however, adroit +enough to open the negotiation, do so by 'all means;' but don't make me +responsible for what may come of it if the rejoinder be not to your taste. +For myself, I 'd rather poke up a grizzly bear with my umbrella than I 'd +provoke such a man to an exchange of letters.” + </p> +<p> +To get back to Cagliari as soon as possible, and relieve Tom of that +responsibility which seemed to weigh so heavily upon him, was Fossbrooke's +first resolve. He must see Sewell at once, and finish the business; and +however unpleasant the step might be, he must seek him at the Priory, if +he could not meet him elsewhere. He wished also to see Beattie,—he +wanted to repay the loan he had made him. The doctor, too, could tell him +how he could obtain an interview with Sewell without any intrusion upon +the Chief Baron. +</p> +<p> +It was evening before Fossbrooke could make his visit to Beattie, and the +doctor had just sat down to dinner with a gentleman who had arrived by the +mail-packet from England, giving orders that he was not to be disturbed on +any score. +</p> +<p> +“Will you merely take in my name,” said Sir Brook, “and beg, with my +respects, to learn at what hour to-morrow Dr. Beattie would accord me a +few minutes.” The butler's hesitation was mildly overcome by the +persuasive touch of a sovereign, and he retired with the message. +</p> +<p> +Before a minute elapsed, Dr. Beattie came out, napkin in hand, and his +face beaming with delight. “If there was a man in Europe I was wishing for +this moment, it was yourself, Sir Brook,” said he. “Do you know who is +dining with me? Come in and see.—No, no, I 'll not be denied.” + </p> +<p> +A sudden terror crossed Fossbrooke's mind that his guest might be Colonel +Sewell, and he hung back, muttering some words of apology. +</p> +<p> +“I tell you,” repeated the doctor, “I'll take no refusal. It's the rarest +piece of luck ever befell, to have chanced upon you. Poor Lendrick is +dying for some news of his son and daughter.” + </p> +<p> +“Lendrick! Dr. Lendrick?” + </p> +<p> +“To be sure,—who else? When your knock came to the door, I was +telling him that I heard you were in Dublin, and only doubted it because +you had never called on me; but come along, we can say all these things +over our soup. Look whom I have brought you, Tom,” cried Beattie, as he +led Sir Brook into the room,—“here's Sir Brook Fossbrooke come to +join us.” And the two men grasped hands in heartiest embrace, while +Fossbrooke, not waiting for a word of question, said, “Both well and +hearty. I had a telegram from Tom this morning.” + </p> +<p> +“How much I owe you!—how much, how much!” was all that Lendrick +could say, and his eyes swam as he said it. +</p> +<p> +“It is I am the debtor, and well I know what it is worth to be so! Their +loving kindness and affection have rescued me from the one terror of my +life,—the fear of becoming a discontented, incredulous old bachelor. +Heaven bless them for it; their goodness has kept me out of that danger.” + </p> +<p> +“And how are they looking? Is Lucy—” He stopped and looked half +ashamed. +</p> +<p> +“More beautiful than ever,” broke in Fossbrooke. “I think she is taller +than when you last saw her, and perhaps a shade more thoughtful looking; +and Tom is a splendid fellow. I scarcely know what career he could not +follow, nor where he would not seem too good for whatever he was doing.” + </p> +<p> +“Ah, if I could but tell you how happy you have made me!” muttered +Lendrick. “I ought never to have left them,—never broken up my home. +I did it unwillingly, it is true; but I ought never to have done it.” + </p> +<p> +“Who knows if it may not turn out for the best, after all? You need never +be separated henceforth. Tom's last letter to me—I 'll bring it over +to you to-morrow—tells me what I well knew must befall us sooner or +later,—that we are rolling in wealth, have silver enough to pave the +streets, and more money than we shall be able to spend—though I once +had rather a knack that way.” + </p> +<p> +“That's glorious news!” said Beattie. “It's <i>our</i> mine, I suppose?” + added he, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“To be sure it is; and I have come prepared to buy you out, doctor, or pay +you your first dividend, cent. per cent., whichever you prefer.” + </p> +<p> +“Let us hear about this mine,” said Beattie. +</p> +<p> +“I 'd rather talk to you about the miners, Tom and Lucy,” said Fossbrooke. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes, tell us of <i>them</i>. Do they ever talk of the Nest? Do they +ever think of the happy days we passed there?” cried Lendrick. +</p> +<p> +“Ay, and more. We have had a project this many a day—we can realize +it now—to buy it out and out. And I 'm to build a cabin for myself +by the river-side, where the swan's hut stood, and I 'm to be asked to +dinner every Sunday.” + </p> +<p> +“By Jove, I think I'll run down by the rail for one of those dinners,” + said Beattie; “but I certainly hope the company will have better appetites +than my guests of to-day.” + </p> +<p> +“I am too happy to feel hungry,” said Lendrick. “If I only knew that my +poor dear father could live to see us all united,—all together +again, I 'd ask for no more in life.” + </p> +<p> +“And so he may, Tom; he was better this afternoon, and though weak and +low, perfectly collected and sensible. Mrs. Sewell has been his nurse +to-day, and she seems to manage him cleverly.” + </p> +<p> +“I saw her at the Cape. She was nicely mannered, and, if I remember +aright, handsome,” said Lendrick, in his half-abstracted way. +</p> +<p> +“She was beautiful—perfectly beautiful—as a girl: except your +own Lucy, I never saw any one so lovely,” said Fossbrooke, whose voice +shook with emotion as he spoke. +</p> +<p> +“I wish she had better luck in a husband,” said Beattie. “For all his +graceful address and insinuating ways, I 'm full sure he's a bad fellow.” + </p> +<p> +Fossbrooke checked himself with a great effort, and merely nodded an +assent to the other's words. +</p> +<p> +“How came it, Sir Brook,” asked Beattie, suddenly, “that you should have +been in Dublin so long without once coming to see me?” + </p> +<p> +“Are you very discreet?—may I be sure that neither of you will ever +accidentally let drop a word of what I shall tell you?” + </p> +<p> +“You may rely upon my secrecy, and upon Tom Lendrick's ignorance, for +there he is now in one of his reveries, thinking of his children in all +probability; and I 'll guarantee you to any amount, that he 'll not hear +one word you say for the next half-hour.” + </p> +<p> +“The fact is, they took me up for a rebel,—some one with more zeal +than discrimination fancied I looked like a 'Celt,' as these fellows call +themselves; and my mode of life, and my packet of lead ore, and some other +things of little value, completed the case against me, and they sent me to +jail.” + </p> +<p> +“To jail!” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; to a place called Richmond Bridewell, where I passed some seven or +eight days, by no means unpleasantly. It was very quiet, very secure +against intrusion. I had a capital room, and very fair food. Indeed I 'm +not sure that I did not leave it with a certain regret; but as I had +written to my old friend Lord Wilmington, to apprise him of the mistake, +and to warn him against the consequences such a blunder might occasion if +it befell one less well disposed towards him than myself, I had nothing +for it but to take a friendly farewell of my jailer and go.” + </p> +<p> +“I declare few men would have treated the incident so temperately.” + </p> +<p> +“Wilmington's father was my fag at Eton, let me see—no, I 'll not +see—how long ago; and Wilmington himself used to come and spend his +summer vacations with me when I had that Wiltshire place; and I was very +fond of the boy, and as he liked my partridge-shooting, we grew to be fast +friends; but why are we talking of these old histories when it is the +present that should engage us? I would only caution you once again against +letting the story get abroad: there are fellows would like to make a House +of Commons row out of it, and I 'd not stand it. Is the doctor sleeping?” + added he, in a whisper, as Lendrick sat with closed eyes and clasped +hands, mute and motionless. +</p> +<p> +“No,” said Beattie; “it is his way when he is very happy. He is going over +to himself all you have been telling him of his children, and he neither +sees nor hears aught around him.” + </p> +<p> +“I was going to tell him another piece of news that would probably please +him,” said Sir Brook, in the same low tone. “I have nearly completed +arrangements for the purchase of the Nest; by this day week I hope it will +be Lucy's.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh! do tell him that. I know of nothing that would delight him as much. +Lendrick,” said he, touching his arm, “here is something you would like to +hear.” + </p> +<p> +“No, no!” muttered he, softly. “Life is too short for these things. No +more separations,—no more; we must live together, come what may;” + and he stretched out his hands on either side of him, as though to grasp +his children. +</p> +<p> +“It is a pity to awaken him from such a dream,” said Fossbrooke, +cautiously; “let us steal over to the window and not disturb him.” + </p> +<p> +They crept cautiously away to a window-bench, and talked till late into +the night. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XIX. MAN TO MAN +</h2> +<p> +As Sewell awoke, it was already evening. Fatigue and anxiety together had +so overcome him that he slept like one drugged by a narcotic; nor did he +very quickly recall on awakening how and wherefore he had not been to bed. +His servant had left two letters on his table while he slept, and these +served to remind him of some at least of the troubles that last oppressed +him. One was from his law-agent, regretting that he could not obtain for +him the loan he solicited on any terms whatever, and mildly suggesting +that he trusted the Colonel would be prepared to meet certain acceptances +which would fall due in the coming week. The other was from a friend whom +he had often assisted in moments of difficulty, and ran:— +</p> +<p> +“Dear S.,—I lost two hundred last night at pool, and, what's worse, +can't pay it. That infernal rule of yours about prompt payment will smash +us both,—but it's so like you! You never had a run of luck yet that +you didn't do something that turned against you afterwards. Your clever +rule about the selling-stakes cost me the best mare I ever had; and now +this blessed stroke of your genius leaves me in doubt whether to blow my +brains out or start for Boulogne. As Tom Beecher said, you are a 'deuced +deal too 'cute to prosper.' If I have to cross the water, I suspect you +might as well come with me.—Yours, +</p> +<p> +“Dick Vaughan.” + </p> +<p> +Sewell tore the note up into the smallest fragments, muttering savagely to +himself the while. “I'll be bound,” said he, “the cur is half consoled for +his mishap by seeing how much worse ruin has befallen <i>me</i>,—What +is it, Watkin? What do you want?” cried he to his servant, who came +hastily into the room. +</p> +<p> +“His Lordship has taken a bad turn, sir, and Mrs. Sewell wants to see you +immediately.” + </p> +<p> +“All right! Say I'm coming. Who knows,” muttered he, “but there's a chance +for me yet?” He turned into his dressing-room and bathed his temples and +his head with cold water, and, refreshed at once, he ascended the stairs. +</p> +<p> +“Another attack has come on. He was sleeping calmly,” said Mrs. Sewell as +she met him, “when he awoke with a start, and broke out into wild raving. +I have sent for Beattie; but what is to be done meanwhile?” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm no doctor; I can't tell you.” + </p> +<p> +“Haire thinks the ice ought to be applied; the nurse says-a blister or +mustard to the back of the neck.” + </p> +<p> +“Is he really in danger?—that's the question.” + </p> +<p> +“I believe so. I never saw him so ill.” + </p> +<p> +“You think he's dying?” said he, fiercely, as though he would not brook +any sort of equivocation; but the coarseness of his manner revolted her, +and she turned away without reply. “There's no time to be lost,” muttered +Sewell, as he hastened downstairs. “Tell George I want the carriage to the +door immediately,” said he; and then, entering his own room, he opened his +writing-desk, and, after some search, came upon a packet, which he sealed +and addressed. +</p> +<p> +“Are you going for Beattie?” asked Mrs. Sewell, as she appeared at the +door; “for Haire says it would be better to fetch some one—any one—at +once.” + </p> +<p> +“I have ordered the carriage. I 'll get Lysaght or Adams-if I should not +find Beattie; and mind, if Beattie come while I am away, detain him, and +don't let him leave this till I return. Do you mind me?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; I 'll tell him what you say.” + </p> +<p> +“Ay, but you must insist upon his doing it. There will be all sorts of +stories if he should die—” + </p> +<p> +“Stories? what do you mean by stories?” cried she, in alarm. +</p> +<p> +“Rumors of neglect, of want of proper care of him, and such-like, which +would be most insulting. At all events, I am resolved Beattie should be +here at the last; and take care that he does not leave. I 'll call at my +mother's too; she ought to come back with me. We have to deal with a +scandal-loving world, and let us leave them as little to fall foul of as +may be.” All this was said hurriedly, as he bustled about the room, fussy +and impatient, and with an eagerness to be off which certainly surprised +her. +</p> +<p> +“You know where to find these doctors,—you have their addresses?” + asked she. +</p> +<p> +“George knows all about them.” + </p> +<p> +“And William does, at all events.” + </p> +<p> +“I'm not taking William. I don't want a footman with a brougham. It is a +light carriage and speedy cattle that are needed at this moment; and here +they come. Now, mind that you keep Beattie till I come back; and if there +be any inquiries, simply say the Chief Baron is the same as yesterday.” + </p> +<p> +“Had I not better consult Dr. Beattie?” + </p> +<p> +“You will do as I tell you, Madam,” said he, sternly. “You have heard my +directions; take care that you follow them. To Mr. Lysaght's, George—no, +first to Dr. Beattie's, Merrion Square,” cried he, as he stepped into the +carriage, “and drive fast.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, sir,” said the coachman, and started at once. He had not proceeded +more than half-way down the avenue, however, when Sewell, leaning out of +the window, said, “Don't go into town, George; make for the Park by the +shortest cut you can, the Secretary's Lodge.” + </p> +<p> +“All right, sir; the beasts are fresh. We 'll be there in thirty minutes.” + True to his word, within the half-hour the horses, white with sweat and +flanking like racero, stood at the door of the Secretary's Lodge. Four or +five private carriages and some cabs were also at the door, signs of a +dinner-party which had not yet broken up. +</p> +<p> +“Take this card in to Mr. Balfour, Mr. Wells,” said he to the butler, who +was an old acquaintance, “and say I want one minute in private with him,—strictly +private, mind. I 'll step into the library here and wait.” + </p> +<p> +“What's up, Sewell? Are you in a new scrape, eh?” said Balfour, entering, +slightly flushed with wine and conversation, and half put out by the +interruption. +</p> +<p> +“Not much of a scrape,—can you give me five minutes?” + </p> +<p> +“Wells said one minute, and that's why I came. The Castledowns and Eyres +and the Ashes are here, and the Langrish girls, and Dick Upton.” + </p> +<p> +“A very choice company, for robbing you of which even for a moment I owe +every apology, but still my excuse is a good one. Are you as anxious to +promote your Solicitor-General as you were a week or two ago?” + </p> +<p> +“If you mean Pemberton, I wish he was—on the Bench, or in Abraham's +bosom—I don't much care which, for he is the most confounded bore in +Christendom. Do you come to tell me that you'll poison him?” + </p> +<p> +“No; but I can promote him.” + </p> +<p> +“Why—how—in what way?” + </p> +<p> +“I told you a few days ago that I could manage to make the old man give in +his resignation; that it required some tact and address, and especially +the absence of everything like menace or compulsion.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, well, well—have you done it—is it a fact?” + </p> +<p> +“It is.” + </p> +<p> +“I mean, an indisputable, irrevocable fact,—something not to be +denied or escaped from?” + </p> +<p> +“Just so; a fact not to be denied or escaped from.” + </p> +<p> +“It must come through me, Sewell, mind that. I took charge of the +negotiation two years ago, and no one shall step in and rob me of my +credit. I have had all the worry and fatigue of the transaction, and I +insist, if there be any glory in success, it shall be mine.” + </p> +<p> +“You shall have all the glory, as you call it. What I aspire to is +infinitely less brilliant.” + </p> +<p> +“You want a place—hard enough to find one—at least to find +something worth having. You 'll want something as good as the +Registrarship, eh?” + </p> +<p> +“No; I'll not pester you with my claims. I'm not in love with official +life. I doubt if I am well fitted for it.” + </p> +<p> +“You want a seat in the House,—is that it?” + </p> +<p> +“Not exactly,” said Sewell, laughing; “though there is a good stroke of +business to be done in private bills and railway grants. My want is the +simplest of all wants,—money.” + </p> +<p> +“Money! But how am I to give you money? Out of what fund is it to come? +You don't imagine we live in the old days of secret-service funds, with +unlimited corruption to back us, do you?” + </p> +<p> +“I suspect that the source from which it is to come is a matter of perfect +indifference to me. You can easily squeeze me into the estimates as a +special envoy, or a Crown Prosecution, or a present to the Emperor of +Morocco.” + </p> +<p> +“Nothing of the kind. You are totally in error. All these fine days are +past and gone. They go over us now like a schedule in bankruptcy; and it +would be easier to make you a colonial bishop than give you fifty pounds +out of the Consolidated Fund.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, I 'd not object to the Episcopate if there was some good shooting +in the diocese.” + </p> +<p> +“I 've no time for chaff,” said Balfour, impatiently. “I am leaving my +company too long, besides. Just come over here to-morrow to breakfast, and +we 'll talk the whole thing over.” + </p> +<p> +“No, I 'll not come to breakfast; I breakfast in bed: and if we are to +come to any settlement of this matter, it shall be here and now.” + </p> +<p> +“Very peremptory all this, considering that the question is not of <i>your</i> +retirement.” + </p> +<p> +“Quite true. It is not <i>my</i> retirement we have to discuss, but it is, +whether I shall choose to hand you the Chief Baron's, which I hold here,”—and +he produced the packet as he spoke,—“or go back and induce him to +reconsider and withdraw it. Is not that a very intelligible way to put the +case, Balfour? Did you expect such a business-like tone from an idle dog +like <i>me?</i>” + </p> +<p> +“And I am to believe that the document in your hand contains the Chief +Baron's resignation?” + </p> +<p> +“You are to believe it or not,—that's at your option. It is the +fact, at all events.” + </p> +<p> +“And what power have you to withhold it, when he has determined to tender +it?” + </p> +<p> +“About the same power I have to do this,” said Sewell, as, taking up a +sheet of note-paper from the table, he tore it into fragments, and threw +them into the fire. “I think you might see that the same influence by +which I induced him to write this would serve to make him withhold it. The +Judge condescends to think me a rather shrewd man of the world, and takes +my advice occasionally.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, but—another point,” broke in Balfour, hurriedly. “What if he +should recall this to-morrow or the day after? What if he were to say that +on reconsideration he felt unwilling to retire? It is clear we could not +well coerce him.” + </p> +<p> +“You know very little of the man when you suggest such a possibility. He +'d as soon think of suicide as doubt any decision he had once formally +announced to the world. The last thing that would ever occur to him would +be to disparage his infallibility.” + </p> +<p> +“I declare I am quite ashamed of being away so long; could n't you come +down to the office to-morrow, at your own hour, and talk the whole thing +over quietly?” + </p> +<p> +“Impossible. I 'll be very frank with you. I lost a pot of money last +night to Langton, and have n't got it to pay him. I tried twenty places +during the day, and failed. I tossed over a score of so-called securities, +not worth sixpence in a time of pressure, and I came upon this, which has +been in my hands since Monday last, and I thought, Now Balfour would n't +exactly give me five hundred pounds for it, but there's no reason in life +that he might not obtain that sum for me in some quarter. Do you see?” + </p> +<p> +“I see,—that is, I see everything but the five hundred.” + </p> +<p> +“If you don't, then you'll never see this,” said Sewell, replacing it in +his pocket. +</p> +<p> +“You won't comprehend that I've no fund to go to; that there 's no bank to +back me through such a transaction. Just be a little reasonable, and you +'ll see that I can't do this out of my own pocket. It is true I could +press your claim on the party. I could say, what I am quite ready to say, +that we owe the whole arrangement to <i>you</i>, and that, especially as +it will cost you the loss of your Registrarship, you must not be +forgotten.” + </p> +<p> +“There's the mistake, my dear fellow. I don't want that. I don't want to +be made supervisor of mad-houses, or overlooker of light-ships. Until +office hours are comprised between five and six o'clock of the afternoon, +and some of the cost of sealing-wax taken out in sandwiches, I don't mean +to re-enter public life. I stand out for cash payment. I hope that's +intelligible.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, perfectly so; but as impossible as intelligible.” + </p> +<p> +“Then, in that case, there 's no more to be said. All apologies for having +taken you so long from your friends. Good-night.” + </p> +<p> +“Good-night,” said Balfour. “I 'm sorry we can't come to some arrangement. +Good-night.” + </p> +<p> +“As this document will now never see the light, and as all action in the +matter will be arrested,” said Sewell, gravely, “I rely upon your never +mentioning our present interview.” + </p> +<p> +“I declare I don't see why I am precluded from speaking of it to my +friends,—confidentially, of course.” + </p> +<p> +“You had better not.” + </p> +<p> +“Better not! better in what sense? As regards the public interests, or my +personal ones?” + </p> +<p> +“I simply repeat, you had better not.” He put on his hat as he spoke, and +without a word of leave-taking moved towards the door. +</p> +<p> +“Stop one moment,—a thought has just struck me. You like a sporting +offer. I 'll bet you twenty pounds even, you 'll not let me read the +contents of that paper; and I 'll lay you long odds—two hundred to +one, in pounds—that you don't give it to me.” + </p> +<p> +“You certainly <i>do</i> like a good thing, Balfour. In plain words, you +offer me two hundred and twenty. I 'll be shot if I see why they should +have higgled so long about letting the Jews into Parliament when fellows +like <i>you</i> have seats there.” + </p> +<p> +“Be good enough to remember,” said Balfour, with an easy smile, “that I 'm +the only bidder, and if the article be not knocked down to me there's no +auction.” + </p> +<p> +“I was certain I'd hear that from you! I never yet knew a fellow do a +stingy thing, that he had n't a shabbier reason to sustain it.” + </p> +<p> +“Come, come, there's no need of this. You can say no to my offer without a +rudeness to myself.” + </p> +<p> +“Ay, that's all true, if one only had temper for it, but I have n't; and I +have my doubts that even <i>you</i> would if you were to be tried as +sorely as I am.” + </p> +<p> +“I never do get angry; a man shows his hand when he loses his temper, and +the fellow who keeps cool can always look at the other's cards.” + </p> +<p> +“Wise precepts, and worth coming out here to listen to,” said Sewell, +whose thoughts were evidently directed elsewhere. “I take your offer; I +only make one condition,—you keep the negotiation a secret, or only +impart it where it will be kept secret.” + </p> +<p> +“I think that's all fair. I agree to that. Now for the document” + </p> +<p> +“There it is,” said Sewell, as he threw the packet on the table, while he +seated himself in a deep chair, and crossed his arms on his chest. +</p> +<p> +Balfour opened the paper and began to read, but soon burst forth with—“How +like him—how like him!—'Less oppressed, indeed, by years than +sustained by the conscious sense of long services to the State.' I think I +hear him declaiming it. +</p> +<p> +“This is not bad: 'While at times afflicted by the thought, that to the +great principles of the law, of which I had made this Court the temple and +the sanctuary, there will now succeed the vague decisions and imperfect +judgments of less learned expositors of justice, I am comforted by +remembering that I leave behind me some records worthy of memory,—traditions +that will not easily die.'” + </p> +<p> +“That's the modest note; hear him when he sounds the indignant chord,” + said Sewell. +</p> +<p> +“Ay, here we have it: 'If I have delayed, my Lord, in tendering to you +this my resignation, it is that I have waited till, the scurrilous tongues +of slander silenced, and the smaller, but not less malevolent, whisperings +of jealousy subdued, I might descend from the Bench amidst the +affectionate regrets of those who regard me as the last survivor of that +race which made Ireland a nation.' The liquor is genuine,” cried Balfour, +laughing. “There's no disputing it, you have won your money.” + </p> +<p> +“I should think so,” was Sewell's cool reply. “He has the same knack in +that sort of thing that the girl in the well-known shop in Seville has in +twisting a cigarette.” + </p> +<p> +Balfour took out his keys to open his writing-desk, and, pondering for a +moment or two, at last said, “I wish any man would tell me why I am going +to give you this money,—do you know, Sewell?” + </p> +<p> +“Because you promised it, I suppose.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; but why should I have promised it? What can it possibly signify to +me which of our lawyers presides in Her Majesty's Irish Exchequer? I 'm +sure you 'd not give ten pounds to insure this man or that, in or out of +the Cabinet.” + </p> +<p> +“Not ten shillings. They 're all dark horses to me, and if you offered me +the choice of the lot, I 'd not know which to take; but I always heard +that you political fellows cared so much for your party, and took your +successes and failures so much to heart, that there was no sacrifice you +were not ready to make to insure your winning.” + </p> +<p> +“We now and then do run a dead-heat, and one would really give something +to come in first; but what's that?—I declare there 's a carriage +driving off—some one has gone. I 'll have to swear that some +alarming news has come from the South. Good-night—I must be off.” + </p> +<p> +“Don't forget the cash before you go.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, to be sure, here you are—crisp and clean, ain't they? I got +them this morning, and certainly never intended to part with them on such +an errand.” + </p> +<p> +Sewell folded up the notes with a grim smile, and said, “I only wish I had +a few more big-wigs to dispose of,—you should have them cheap; as +Stag and Mantle say, 'articles no longer in great vogue.'” + </p> +<p> +“There's another departure!” cried Balfour. “I shall be in great +disgrace!” and hurried away without a “goodbye.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XX. ON THE DOOR-STEPS AT NIGHT +</h2> +<p> +It was late at night when Sewell arrived at the Priory. He had had another +disastrous night of play, and had scattered his “acknowledgments” for +various sums on every side. Indeed, he had not the vaguest idea of how +much he had lost. Disputes and hot discussions, too, almost verging on +personal quarrels, dashed with all their irritating influences the gloom +of his bad luck; and he felt, as he arose to go home, that he had not even +that sorry consolation of the unfortunate gambler,—the pitying +sympathy of the looker-on. +</p> +<p> +Over and over, as he went, he asked himself what Fate could possibly +intend by this persistent persecution of him? Other fellows had their +“innings” now and then. Their fortune came checkered with its bright and +dark days. He never emerged, not even passingly, from his ill-luck. “I +suppose,” muttered he, “the whole is meant to tempt me—but to what? +I need very little temptation if the bait be only money. Let me but see +gold enough, and my resistance will not be very formidable. I 'll not risk +my neck; short of that I 'm ready for anything.” Thus thinking, he plodded +onward through the dark night, vaguely wishing at times that no morning +was ever to break, and that existence might prolong itself out to one long +dark autumn night, silent and starless. +</p> +<p> +As he reached the hall-door, he found his wife seated on the steps as on a +former night. It had become a favorite spot with her to taste the cool +refreshing night-air, and rally her from the feverish closeness of the +sick-room. +</p> +<p> +“How is he? Is it over yet?” cried he, as he came up. +</p> +<p> +“He is better; he slept calmly for some hours, and woke much refreshed.” + </p> +<p> +“I could have sworn it!” burst he in, vehemently. “It is the one way Fate +could have rescued me, and it is denied me. I believe there is a curse on +me! Eh—what?” + </p> +<p> +“I did n't speak,” said she, meekly. +</p> +<p> +“You muttered, though. I heard you mumble something below your breath, as +if you agreed with what I said. Say it out, Madam, if you think it.” + </p> +<p> +She heaved a weary sigh, but said nothing. +</p> +<p> +“Has Beattie been here?” asked he, hastily. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; he stayed for above an hour, but was obliged to go at last to visit +another patient. He brought Dr. Lendrick out with him; he arrived this +evening.” + </p> +<p> +“Lendrick! Do you mean the man from the Cape?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes.” + </p> +<p> +“That completes it!” burst he, as he flung his arms wildly up. “I was just +wondering what other malignant piece of spite Fortune could play me, and +there it is! Had you any talk with this man?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; he remained with me all the time Dr. Beattie was upstairs.” + </p> +<p> +“And what was his tone? Has he come back to turn us out?—that of +course he has—but does he avow it?” + </p> +<p> +“He shows no such intentions. He asked whether you held much to the Nest, +if it was a place that you liked, or if you could relinquish it without +any regret?” + </p> +<p> +“Why so?” + </p> +<p> +“Because Sir Brook Fossbrooke has just purchased it.” + </p> +<p> +“What nonsense! you know as well as I do that he could n't purchase a +dog-kennel. That property was valued at sixteen thousand pounds four years +ago,—it is worth twenty now; and you talk to me of this beggar +buying it!” + </p> +<p> +“I tell you what he told me, and it was this: Some mine that Sir Brook +owned in Sardinia has turned out to be all silver, and in consequence he +has suddenly become immensely rich,—so rich, indeed, that he has +already determined to settle this estate on Lucy Lendrick; and intends, if +he can induce Lord Drumcarran to part with 'The Forest,' to add it to the +grounds.” + </p> +<p> +Sewell grasped his hair with both hands, and ground his teeth together +with passion as he listened. +</p> +<p> +“You believe this story, I suppose?” said he at last. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; why should I not believe it?” + </p> +<p> +“I don't believe a word of it. I see the drift—I saw the drift of it +before you had told me ten words. This tale is got up to lull us into +security, and to quiet our suspicions. Lendrick knows well the alarm his +unexpected return is likely to give us, and to allay our anxieties they +have coined this narrative, as though to imply they will be rich enough +not to care to molest us, nor stand between us and this old man's money. +Don't you see that?” + </p> +<p> +“I do not. It did not occur to me before, and I do not admit it now.” + </p> +<p> +“I ought not to have asked you. I ought to have remembered what old +Fossbrooke once called 'the beautiful trustfulness of your nature.'” + </p> +<p> +“If had it once, it has left me many a long day ago!” + </p> +<p> +“But I deny that you ever had it. You had the woman's trick of affecting +to believe, and thus making out what you assumed to think, to be a pledge +given by another,—a bit of female craft that you all trade on so +long as you are young and good-looking?” + </p> +<p> +“And what supplies the place of this ingenious device when we are neither +young nor good-looking?” + </p> +<p> +“I don't know, for the simple reason that I never much interested myself +in the sex after that period.” + </p> +<p> +“That's a very sad thing for us. I declare I never had an idea how much we +'re to be pitied before.” + </p> +<p> +“You would be to be pitied if you knew how we all think of you;” and he +spoke with a spiteful malignity almost demoniac. +</p> +<p> +“It's better, then, for each of us that we should not know this. The +trustfulness that you sneer at does us good service, after all.” + </p> +<p> +“And it was this story of the mine that induced Lendrick to come home from +the Cape, wasn't it?” + </p> +<p> +“No; he only heard of the mine since he arrived here.” + </p> +<p> +“I thought,” rejoined he, with a sneer, “that he ought to have resigned +his appointment on account of this sudden wealth, all the more because I +have known that he intended to come back this many a day. And what is +Fossbrooke going to do for you? Is there a diamond necklace ordered? or is +it one of the brats he is going to adopt?” + </p> +<p> +“By the way, I have been robbed; some one has carried off my gold comb and +some pins; they were on my dressing-table last night. Jane saw them when I +went into my room.” + </p> +<p> +“Now 's your time to replace the loss! It's the sort of tale old +Fossbrooke always responded to.” + </p> +<p> +She made no answer; and for several minutes each sat in silence. “One +thing is pretty evident,” said he at last, as he made figures with his +cane on the ground,—“we 'll have to troop off, whether the Lendricks +come here or not. The place will not be tenable once they are in the +vicinity.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't know.” + </p> +<p> +“You don't know! Do you mean that the doctor and his daughter will stand +the French cook here, and the dinners, and let the old man make a blessed +fool of himself, as he has been doing for the last eight or ten months +past? or do you pretend that if we were to go back to the leg-of-mutton +days, and old Haire for company, that it would be worth holding on to? <i>I</i> +don't; and I tell you frankly that I intend to demand my passports, as the +Ministers say, and be off.” + </p> +<p> +“But <i>I</i> can't 'be off.' I have no such alternative!” + </p> +<p> +“The worse luck yours, or rather the worse skill; for if you had played +your hand better, it would not have been thus with you. By the way, what +about Trafford? I take it he 'll marry this girl now.” + </p> +<p> +“I have not heard,” said she, pinching her lips, and speaking with a +forced composure. +</p> +<p> +“If I were you, I 'd make myself Lucy's confidante, get up the match, and +go and live with them. These are the really happy <i>ménages</i>. If there +be such a thing as bliss, perfect bliss, in this world, it is where a wife +has a dear friend in the house with her, who listens to all her sorrows, +and helps her to manage the tyrant that inflicts them. It was a great +mistake of ours not to have known this in early life. Marriage was meant +to be a triangle.” + </p> +<p> +“If you go, as you speak of going, have you any objection to my addressing +myself to Sir Brook for some assistance?” + </p> +<p> +“None whatever. I think it the most natural thing in life; he was your +guardian, and you have a right to ask what has become of your fortune.” + </p> +<p> +“He might refer me to <i>you</i> for the information.” + </p> +<p> +“Very unmannerly if he should, and very ungallant, too, for an old +admirer. I 'm certain if I were to be—what is the phrase?—removed, +yes, removed—he 'd marry you. Talk of three-volume novels and virtue +rewarded, after that.” + </p> +<p> +“You have been playing to-night,” said she, gravely. +</p> +<p> +“Yes.” + </p> +<p> +“And lost?” + </p> +<p> +“Lost heavily.” + </p> +<p> +“I thought so. Your courtesies to me have been the measure of your bad +luck for many a day. I have often felt that 'four by honors' has saved me +from a bad headache.” + </p> +<p> +“Then there has been more sympathy between us than I ever suspected,” said +he, rising, and stretching himself; and after a moment or two added, “Must +I call on this Dr. Lendrick?—will he expect me to visit him?” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps so,” said she, carelessly; “he asked after you.” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed!—did he ask after Trafford too? Do you remember the day at +the Governor's dinner he mistook you for Trafford's wife, and explained +his mistake by the familiarity of his manner to you in the garden? It was +the best bit of awkwardness I ever witnessed.” + </p> +<p> +“I suppose you felt it so?” + </p> +<p> +“<i>I</i>—<i>I</i> felt it so! I suspect not! I don't believe there +was a man at table enjoyed the blunder as heartily.” + </p> +<p> +“I wish—how I wish!” said she, clasping her hands together. +</p> +<p> +“Well—what?” + </p> +<p> +“I wish I could be a man for one brief half-hour!” cried she; and her +voice rang with a mild but clear resonance, that made it seem louder than +it really was. +</p> +<p> +“And then?” said he, mockingly. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, do not ask me more!” cried she, as she bent down and hid her face in +her hands. +</p> +<p> +“I think I <i>will</i> call on Lendrick,” said he, after a moment. “It may +not be exactly the sort of task a man would best like; but I opine, if he +is about to give his daughter in marriage to this fellow, he ought to know +more about him. Now <i>I</i> can tell him something, and my wife can tell +him more. There's no indiscretion in saying so much, is there?” + </p> +<p> +She made no reply; and after a pause he went on: “If Trafford had n't been +a shabby dog, he 'd not have higgled about buying up those letters. Cane +& Kincaid offered them to him for a thousand pounds. I suspect he 'd +like to have the offer repeated now, but he shall not. He believes, or +affects to believe, that, for my own sake, I 'll not make a public +scandal; he doesn't know his man when he thinks this. <i>You</i>, Madam, +might have taught him better, eh?” Still no reply, and he continued: +“There 's not a man living despises public opinion as I do. If you are +rich you trample on it, if poor it tramples on <i>you</i>; but so long as +a fellow braves the world, and declares that he shrinks from nothing,—evades +nothing,—neither turns right nor left to avoid its judgments,—the +coward world gives away and lets him pass. <i>I 'll</i> let them see that +I don't care a straw for my own life, when at the price of it I can blow +up a magazine.” + </p> +<p> +“No, no, no!” muttered she, in a low but clear tone. +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean by No, no?” cried he, in a voice of passion. +</p> +<p> +“I mean that you care a great deal for your own life, and a great deal for +your own personal safety; and that if your tyranny to a poor, crushed, +weak woman has any bounds, it is from your fear, your abject fear, that in +her desperation she might seek a protector, and find him.” + </p> +<p> +“I told you once before, Madam, men don't like this sort of protectorate. +The old bullying days are gone by. Modern decorum 'takes it out' in +damages.” She sat still and silent; and after waiting some time, he said, +in a calm, unmoved voice, “These little interchanges of courtesy do no +good to either of us; they haven't even the poor attraction of novelty; +so, as my friend Mr. O'Reardon says, let us 'be practical.' I had hoped +that the old gentleman upstairs was going to do the polite thing, and die; +but it appears now he has changed his mind about it. This, to say the +least of it, is very inconvenient to me. My embarrassments are such that I +shall be obliged to leave the country; my only difficulty is, I have no +money. Are you attending? Are you listening to me?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, I hear you,” said she, in a faint whisper. +</p> +<p> +“<i>You</i>, I know, cannot help me; neither can my mother. Of course the +old Judge is out of the question. As for the fellows at the Club, I am +deeply in debt to many of them; and Kincaid only reminds me of his +unsettled bill of costs when I ask for a loan. A blank look-out, on the +whole; isn't it?” + </p> +<p> +She muttered something like assent, and he went on. “I have gone through a +good many such storms before, but none fully as bad as this; because there +are certain things which in a few days must come out—ugly little +disclosures—one or two there will be. I inadvertently sold that +beech timber to two different fellows, and took the money too.” + </p> +<p> +She lifted up her face, and stared at him without speaking. +</p> +<p> +“Fact, I assure you! I have a confoundedly bad memory; it has got me into +scores of scrapes all through life. Then, this very evening, thinking that +the Chief could n't rub through, I made a stupid wager with Balfour that +the seat on the Bench would be vacant within a week; and finished my bad +run of luck by losing—I can't say how much, but very heavily, indeed—at +the Club.” + </p> +<p> +A low faint sigh escaped her, but not a word. +</p> +<p> +“As to bills renewed, protested, and to be protested,” said he, in the +same easy tone, “they are legion. These take their course, and are no +worse than any other man's bills; I don't fret myself about <i>them</i>. +As in the old days of chivalry one never cared how scurvily he treated the +'villeins,' so he behaved like a knight to his equals; so nowadays a man +must book up at Tattersall's though he cheat his tailor. I like the theory +too; it keeps 'the ball rolling,' if it does nothing else.” + </p> +<p> +All this he rattled out as though his own fluency gave him a sort of Dutch +courage; and who knows, too,—for there is a fund of vanity in these +men,—if he was not vain of showing with what levity he could treat +dangers that might have made the stoutest heart afraid? +</p> +<p> +“Taking the 'tottle of the whole' of these,—as old Joe Hume used to +say,—it's an ugly balance!” + </p> +<p> +“What do you mean to do?” said she, quietly. +</p> +<p> +“Bolt, I suppose. I see nothing else for it.” + </p> +<p> +“And will that meet the difficulty?” + </p> +<p> +“No, but it will secure <i>me</i>; secure me from arrest, and the other +unpleasant consequences that might follow arrest. To do this, however, I +need money, and I have not five pounds—no, nor, I verily believe, +five shillings—in the world.” + </p> +<p> +“There are a few trinkets of mine upstairs. I never wear them—” + </p> +<p> +“Not worth fifty pounds, the whole lot; nor would one get half fifty for +them in a moment of pressure.” + </p> +<p> +“We have some plate—” + </p> +<p> +“We had, but I sold it three weeks ago; and that reminds me there was a +rum old tea-urn got somehow mixed up with our things, and I sold it too, +though it has Lendrick's crest upon it. You 'll have to get it back some +of these days,—I told the fellow not to break it up till he heard +from you.” + </p> +<p> +“Then what is to be done?” said she, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“That's the question; travelling is the one thing that can't be done on +tick.” + </p> +<p> +“If you were to go down to the Nest—” + </p> +<p> +“But our tenure expires on the seventeenth, just one fortnight hence,—not +to say that I couldn't call myself safe there one hour. No, no; I must +manage to get abroad, and instantly, that I may escape from my present +troubles; but I must strike out some way of life,—something that +will keep me.” + </p> +<p> +She sat still and almost stupefied, trying to see an escape from these +difficulties, but actually overwhelmed by the number and the nature of +them. +</p> +<p> +“I told you awhile ago that I did not believe one word of this story of +the mine, and the untold wealth that has fallen to old Fossbrooke: <i>you</i>, +however, do believe it; you affirm the tale as if you had seen and touched +the ingots; so that you need have no reluctance to ask him to help you.” + </p> +<p> +“You do not object to this course, then?” asked she, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“How can I object? If I clutch at a plank when I'm drowning, I don't let +go because it may have nails in it. Tell him that you want to buy me off, +to get rid of me; that by a couple of hundred pounds,—I wish he 'd +make it five,—you can insure my leaving the country, and that my +debts here will prevent my coming back again. It's the sort of compact he +'ll fully concur in; and you can throw in, as if accidentally, how useless +it is for him to go on persecuting me, that his confounded memory for old +scores has kept my head under water all my life; and hint that those +letters of Trafford's he insists on having—” + </p> +<p> +“<i>He</i> insists on having!” + </p> +<p> +“To be sure he does; I thought I had told you what brought him over here! +The old meddling humbug, in his grand benevolence vein, wants to smooth +down the difficulties between Lucy Lendrick and Trafford, one of which was +thought to be the fellow's attachment to <i>you</i>. Don't blush; take it +as coolly as I do. I 'm not sure whether reading the correspondence aloud +isn't the best way to dispel this illusion. You can say that better than I +can.” + </p> +<p> +“Trafford never wrote one line to me of which I should be afraid or +ashamed to see in print.” + </p> +<p> +“These are matters of taste. There are scores of women like publicity, and +would rather be notorieties for scandal than models of unnoticed virtue, +so we 'll not discuss that. There, there; don't look so supremely +indignant and contemptuous. That expression became you well enough at +three-and-twenty; but ten years, ten long years of not the very smoothest +existence, leave their marks!” + </p> +<p> +She shook her head mournfully, but in silence. +</p> +<p> +“At all events,” resumed he, “declare that you object to the letters being +in other hands than your own; and as to a certain paper of mine,—a +perfectly worthless document, as he well knows,—let him give it to +you or burn it in your presence.” + </p> +<p> +She pushed her hair back from her temples, and pressed her hands to either +side of her head, as though endeavoring to collect her thoughts, and rally +herself to an effort of calm determination'. +</p> +<p> +“How much of this is true?” said she, at last. +</p> +<p> +“What do you mean?” said he, sternly. +</p> +<p> +“I mean this,” said she, resolutely,—“that I want to know, if you +should get this money, is it really your intention to go abroad?” + </p> +<p> +“You want a pledge from me on this?” said he, with a jeering laugh. “You +are not willing to stoop to all this humiliation without having the price +of it afterwards? Is not that your meaning?” + </p> +<p> +Her lips moved, but no sound was audible. +</p> +<p> +“All fair and reasonable,” said he, calmly. “It's not every woman in the +world would have the pluck to tell her husband how much meanness she would +submit to simply to get rid of him; but you were always courageous, that I +will say,—you have courage enough.” + </p> +<p> +“I had need of it.” + </p> +<p> +“Go on, Madam, finish your speech. I know what you would say. 'You had +need of courage for two;' that was the courteous speech that trembled on +your lip. The only thing that beats your courage is your candor! Well, I +must content myself with humbler qualities. I cannot accompany you into +these high flights of excellence, but I can go away; and that, after all, +is something. Get me this money, and I will go,—I promise you +faithfully,—go, and not come back.” + </p> +<p> +“The children,” said she, and stopped. +</p> +<p> +“Madam!” said he, with a mock-heroic air, “I am not a brute! I respect +your maternal feelings, and would no more think of robbing you of your +children—” + </p> +<p> +“There,—there, that will do. Where is Sir Brook to be found,—where +does he live?” + </p> +<p> +“I have his address written down,—here it is,” said he,—“the +last cottage on the southern side of Howth. There is a porch to the door, +which, it would seem, is distinctive, as well as three chimneys; my +informant was as descriptive as Figaro. You had better keep this piece of +paper as a reminder; and the trains deposit you at less than half a mile +from the place.” + </p> +<p> +“I will go early to-morrow morning. Shall I find you here on my return?” + </p> +<p> +“Of that you may be certain. I can't venture to leave the house all day; I +'m not sure there will not be a writ out against me.” + </p> +<p> +She arose and seemed about to say something,—hesitated for a moment +or two, and then slowly entered the house, and disappeared. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXI. GOING OUT +</h2> +<p> +In a small dinner-room of the Viceregal Lodge, in the Phoenix Park, the +Viceroy sat at dinner with Sir Brook Fossbrooke. He had arrived in great +haste, and incognito, from England, to make preparations for his final +departure from Ireland; for his party had been beaten in the House, and +expected that, in the last debate on the measure before them, they would +be driven to resign office. Lord Wilmington had no personal regrets on the +subject. With high station and a large fortune, Ireland, to him, meant +little else than estrangement from the habits and places that he liked, +with the exposure to that species of comment and remark which the Press so +unsparingly bestows on all public men in England. He had accepted office +to please his party; and though naturally sorry for their defeat, there +was a secret selfish satisfaction at being able to go back to a life more +congenial to him that more than consoled him for the ministerial reverse. +</p> +<p> +It is difficult for the small world of place-hunters and office-seekers to +understand this indifference; but I have little doubt that it exists +largely amongst men of high position and great fortune, and imparts to +their manner that seeming dignity in adversity which we humble folk are so +prone to believe the especial gift of the “order.” + </p> +<p> +Cholmondely Balfour did not take matters so coolly; he had been summoned +over by telegram to take his part in the “third reading,” and went away +with the depressing feeling that his official sun was about to set, and +all the delightful insolences of a “department” were about to be withdrawn +from him. +</p> +<p> +Balfour had a brief interview with the Viceroy before he started, and +hurriedly informed him how events stood in Ireland. Nor was it without a +sense of indignation that he saw how little his Excellency cared for the +defeat of his party, and how much more eager he seemed to see his old +friend Fossbrooke, and thank him for his conduct, than listen to the +details of the critical questions of the hour. +</p> +<p> +“And this is his address, you say?” said Lord Wilmington, as he held a +card in his hand. “I must send off to him at once.” + </p> +<p> +“It's all Bentley's fault,” said Balfour, full of the House and the +debate. “If that fellow were drowning, and had only breath for it, he 'd +move an amendment! And it's so provoking, now we had got so splendidly +through our prosecutions, and were winning the Catholics round to us +besides; not to say that I have at last managed to induce Lendrick to +resign, and we have a Judgeship to bestow.” In a few hurried words he +recounted his negotiation with Sewell, placing in the Viceroy's hand the +document of the resignation. +</p> +<p> +Lord Wilmington's thoughts were fully as much on his old friend Fossbrooke +all this time as on questions of office, and not a little disconcerted the +Secretary by muttering, “I hope the dear old fellow bears me no ill-will. +I would not for worlds that he should think me unmindful of him.” + </p> +<p> +And now they sat over their wine together, talking pleasantly of bygone +times and old friends,—many lost to them by death, and some by +distance. +</p> +<p> +“I take it,” said Fossbrooke, after a pause, “that you are not sorry to +get back to England.” + </p> +<p> +Lord Wilmington smiled, but said nothing. +</p> +<p> +“You never could have cared much for the pomp and state of this office, +and I suppose beyond these there is little in it.” + </p> +<p> +“You have hit it exactly. There is nothing to be done here,—nothing. +The shortness of the period that is given to any man to rule this country, +and the insecurity of his tenure, even for that time, compel him to govern +by a party; and the result is, we go on alternately pitting one faction +against the other, till we end by marshalling the nation into two camps +instead of massing them into one people. Then there is another difficulty. +In Ireland the question is not so much what you do as by whom you do it. +It is the men, not the measures, that are thought of. There is not an +infringement on personal freedom I could not carry out, if you only let me +employ for its enactment some popular demagogue. Give me a good patriot in +Ireland, and I 'll engage to crush every liberty in the island.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't envy you your office, then,” said Fossbrooke, gravely. +</p> +<p> +“Of course you don't; and between ourselves, Fossbrooke, I 'm not +heartbroken by the thought of laying it down. I suspect, too, that after a +spell of Irish official life every statesman ought to lie fallow for a +while: he grows so shifty and so unscrupulous here, he is not fit for home +work.” + </p> +<p> +“And how soon do you leave?” + </p> +<p> +“Let me see,” said he, pondering. “We shall be beaten to-night or +to-morrow night at farthest. They 'll take a day to talk it over, and +another to see the Queen; and allowing three days more for the +negotiations back and forward, I think I may say we shall be out by this +day week. A week of worry and annoyance it will be!” + </p> +<p> +“How so?” + </p> +<p> +“All the hungry come to be fed at the last hour. They know well that an +outgoing administration is always bent on filling up everything in their +gift. You make a clean sweep of the larder before you give up the key to +the new housekeeper; and one is scarcely so inquisitive as to the capacity +of the new office-holder as he would be if, remaining in power, he had to +avail himself of his services. For instance, Pemberton may not be the best +man for Chief Baron, but we mean to bequeath him in that condition to our +successors.” + </p> +<p> +“And what becomes of Sir William Lendrick?” + </p> +<p> +“He resigns.” + </p> +<p> +“With his peerage?” + </p> +<p> +“Nothing of the kind; he gets nothing. I 'm not quite clear how the matter +was brought about. I heard a very garbled, confused story from Balfour. As +well as I could gather, the old man intrusted his step-son, Sewell, with +the resignation, probably to enable him to make some terms for himself; +and Sewell—a shifty sort of fellow, it would seem—held it back—the +Judge being ill, and unable to act—till he found that things looked +ticklish. We might go out,—the Chief Baron might die,—Heaven +knows what might occur. At all events he closed the negotiation, and +placed the document in Balfour's hands, only pledging him not to act upon +it for eight-and-forty hours.” + </p> +<p> +“This interests me deeply. I know the man Sewell well, and I know that no +transaction in which he is mixed up can be clean-handed.” + </p> +<p> +“I have heard of him as a man of doubtful character.” + </p> +<p> +“Quite the reverse; he is the most indubitable scoundrel alive. I need not +tell you that I have seen a great deal of life, and not always of its best +or most reputable side. Well, this fellow has more bad in him, and less +good, than any one I have ever met. The world has scores, thousands, of +unprincipled dogs, who, when their own interests are served, are tolerably +indifferent about the rest of humanity. They have even, at times, their +little moods of generosity, in which they will help a fellow blackguard, +and actually do things that seem good-natured. Not so Sewell. Swimming for +his life, he 'd like to drown the fellow that swam alongside of him.” + </p> +<p> +“It is hard to believe in such a character,” said the other. +</p> +<p> +“So it is! I stood out long—ay, for years—against the +conviction; but he has brought me round to it at last, and I don't think I +can forgive the fellow for destroying in me a long-treasured belief that +no heart was so depraved as to be without its relieving trait.” + </p> +<p> +“I never heard you speak so hardly before of any one, Fossbrooke.” + </p> +<p> +“Nor shall you ever again, for I will never mention this man more. These +fellows jar upon one's nature, and set it out of tune towards all +humanity.” + </p> +<p> +“It is strange how a shrewd old lawyer like the Chief Baron could have +taken such a man into his confidence.” + </p> +<p> +“Not so strange as it seems at first blush. Your men of the world—and +Sewell is eminently one of these—wield an immense influence over +others immeasurably their superiors in intellect, just by force of that +practical skill which intercourse with life confers. Think for a moment +how often Sewell might refer some judgment or opinion of the old Chief to +that tribunal they call 'Society,' of whose ways of thought, or whose +prejudices, Lendrick knows as much as he knows of the domestic habits of +the Tonga Islanders. Now Sewell was made to acquire this influence, and to +employ it.” + </p> +<p> +“That would account for his being intrusted with this,” said the Viceroy, +drawing from his breast-pocket the packet Balfour had given him. “This is +Sir William's long-waited-for resignation.” + </p> +<p> +“The address is in Sewell's writing. I know the hand well.” + </p> +<p> +“Balfour assured me that he was well acquainted with the Chief Baron's +writing, and could vouch for the authenticity of the document. Here it +is.” As he said this, he opened the envelope, and drew forth a half-sheet +of post paper, and handed it to Fossbrooke. +</p> +<p> +“Ay, this is veritable. I know the hand, too, and the style confirms it.” + He pondered for some seconds over the paper, turned it, looked at the back +of it, examining it all closely and carefully, and then, holding it out at +arm's length, he said, “You know these things far better than I do, and +you can say if this be the sort of document a man would send on such an +occasion.” + </p> +<p> +“You don't mean that it is a forgery” + </p> +<p> +“No, not that; nor is it because a forgery would be an act Sewell would +hold back from, I merely ask if this looks like what it purports to be? +Would Sir William Lendrick, in performing so solemn an act, take a half +sheet of paper,—the first that offered, it would seem,—for +see, here are some words scribbled on the back,—and send in his +resignation blurred, blotted, and corrected like this?” + </p> +<p> +“I read it very hurriedly. Balfour gave it to me as I landed, and I only +ran my eyes over it; let me see it again. Yes, yes,” muttered he, “there +is much in what you say; all these smudges and alterations are suspicious. +It looks like a draft of a despatch.” + </p> +<p> +“And so it is. I 'll wager my head on it,—just a draft.” + </p> +<p> +“I see what you mean. It was a draft abstracted by Sewell, and forwarded +under this envelope.” + </p> +<p> +“Precisely. The Chief Baron, I am told, is a hot, hasty, passionate man, +with moments of rash, impetuous action; in one of these he sat down and +wrote this, as Italians say, 'per sfogarsi.' Warm-tempered men blow off +their extra steam in this wise, and then go on their way like the rest of +us. He wrote this, and, having written it, felt he had acquitted a debt he +owed his own indignation.” + </p> +<p> +“It looks amazingly like it; and now I remember in a confused sort of way +something about a bet Balfour lost; a hundred—I am not sure it was +not two hundred—” + </p> +<p> +“There, there,” said Fossbrooke, laughing, “I recognize my honorable +friend at once. I see the whole, as if it were revealed to me. He grows +bolder as he goes on. Formerly his rascalities were what brokers call +'time bargains,' and not to be settled for till the end of the month, but +now he only asks a day's immunity.” + </p> +<p> +“A man must be a consummate scoundrel who would do this.” + </p> +<p> +“And so he is,—a fellow who stops at nothing. Oh, if the world only +knew how many brigands wore diamond shirt-buttons, there would be as much +terror in going into a drawing-room as people now feel about a tour in +Greece. You will let me have this document for a few hours?” + </p> +<p> +“To be sure, Fossbrooke. I know well I may rely on your discretion; but +what do you mean to do with it?” + </p> +<p> +“Let the Chief Baron see it, if he's well enough; if not, I 'll show it to +Beattie, his doctor, and ask his opinion of it. Dr. Lendrick, Sir +William's son, is also here, and he will probably be able to say if my +suspicions are well founded.” + </p> +<p> +“It seems odd enough to me, Fossy, to hear <i>you</i> talk of your +suspicions! How hardly the world must have gone with you since we met to +inflict you with suspicions! You never had one long ago.” + </p> +<p> +“And shall I tell you how I came by them, Wilmington?” said he, laughing. +“I have grown rich again,—there 's the whole secret. There's no such +corrupter as affluence. My mine has turned out a perfect Potosi, and here +am I ready to think every man a knave and a rascal, and the whole world in +a conspiracy to cheat me!” + </p> +<p> +“And is this fact about the mine?—tell me all about it.” + </p> +<p> +And Fossbrooke now related the story of his good fortune, dwelling +passingly on the days of hardship that preceded it; but frankly avowing +that it was a consummation of which he never for a moment doubted. “I knew +it,” said he; “and I was not impatient. The world is always an amusing +drama, and though one may not be 'cast' for a high part, he can still +'come on' occasionally, and at all events he can enjoy the performance.” + </p> +<p> +“And is this fortune to go like the others, Fossy?” said the Viceroy, +laughing. +</p> +<p> +“Have I not told you how much wiser I have grown, that I trust no one? I +'m not sure that I 'll not set up as a moneylender.” + </p> +<p> +“So you were forty years ago, Fossy, to my own knowledge; but I don't +suspect you found it very profitable.” + </p> +<p> +“Have I not had my fifty—ay, my five hundred—per cent in my +racy enjoyment of life? One cannot be paid in meal and malt too; and <i>I</i> +have 'commuted,' as they call it, and 'taken out' in cordiality what +others prefer in cash. I do not believe there is a corner of the globe +where I could not find some one to give me a cordial welcome.” + </p> +<p> +“And what are your plans?” + </p> +<p> +“I have fully a thousand; my first, however, is to purchase that place on +the Shannon, where, if you remember, we met once,—the Swan's Nest. I +want to settle my friends the Lendricks in their old home. I shall have to +build myself a crib near them. But before I turn squatter I 'll have a run +over to Canada. I have a large tract there near Huron, and they have built +a village on me, and now are asking me for a church and a schoolhouse and +an hospital. It was but a week ago they might as well have asked me for +the moon! I must see Ceylon too, and my coffee-fields. I am dying to be +'bon Prince' again and lower my rents. 'There's arrant snobbery,' some one +told me t' other day, 'in that same love of popularity;' but they 'll have +to give it even a worse name before they disgust me with it. I shall have +to visit Cagliari also, and relieve Tom Lendrick, who would like, I have +no doubt, to take that 'three months in Paris' which young fellows call +'going over to see their friends.'” + </p> +<p> +“You are a happy fellow, Brook; perhaps the happiest I ever knew.” + </p> +<p> +“I'll sell my secret for it cheap,” said Fossbrooke, laughing. “It is, +never to go grubbing for mean motives in this life; never tormenting +yourself what this might mean or that other might portend, but take the +world for what it seems, or what it wishes you to believe it. Take it with +its company face on, and never ask to see any one in <i>déshabille</i> but +old and dear friends. Life has two sides, and some men spin the coin so as +always to make the wrong face of the medal come uppermost. I learned the +opposite plan when I was very young, and I have not forgotten it. +Good-night now; I promised Beattie to look in on him before midnight, and +it's not far off, I see.” + </p> +<p> +“We shall have a day or two of you, I hope, at Crew before you leave +England.” + </p> +<p> +“When I have purchased my estate and married off my young people, I 'll +certainly make you a visit.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXII. AT HOWTH +</h2> +<p> +On the same evening that Fossbrooke was dining with the Viceroy, Trafford +arrived in Dublin, and set out at once for the little cottage at Howth to +surprise his old friend by his sudden appearance. Tom Lendrick had given +him so accurate a description of the spot that he had no difficulty in +finding it. If somewhat disappointed at first on learning that Sir Brook +had dined in town, and might not return till a late hour, his mind was so +full of all he had to say and to do that he was not sorry to have some few +hours to himself for quiet and tranquil thought. He had come direct from +Malta without going to Holt, and therefore was still mainly ignorant of +the sentiments of his family towards him, knowing nothing beyond the fact +that Sir Brook had induced his father to see him. Even that was something. +He did not look to be restored to his place as the future head of the +house, but he wanted recognition and forgiveness,—the first for +Lucy's sake more than his own. The thought was too painful that his wife—and +he was determined she should be his wife—should not be kindly +received and welcomed by his family. “I ask nothing beyond this,” would he +say over and over to himself. “Let us be as poor as we may, but let them +treat us as kindred, and not regard us as outcasts. I bargain for no +more.” He believed himself thoroughly and implicitly when he said this. He +was not conscious with what force two other and very different influences +swayed him. He wished his father, and still more his mother, should see +Lucy,—not alone see her beauty and gracefulness, but should see the +charm of her manner, the fascination which her bright temperament threw +around her. “Why, her very voice is a spell!” cried he, aloud, as he +pictured her before him. And then, too, he nourished a sense of pride in +thinking how Lucy would be struck by the sight of Holt,—one of the +most perfect specimens of old Saxon architecture in the kingdom; for +though a long line of descendants had added largely, and incongruously +too, to the building, the stern and squat old towers, the low broad +battlements and square casements, were there, better blazons of birth and +blood than all the gilded decorations of a herald's college. +</p> +<p> +He honestly believed he would have liked to show her Holt as a true type +of an ancient keep, bold, bluff, and stern-looking, but with an +unmistakable look of power, recalling a time when there were lords and +serfs, and when a Trafford was as much a despot as the Czar himself. He +positively was not aware how far personal pride and vanity influenced this +desire on his part, nor how far he was moved by the secret pleasure his +heart would feel at Lucy's wondering admiration. +</p> +<p> +“If I cannot say, This is your home, this is your own, I can at least say, +It is from the race who have lived here for centuries he who loves you is +descended. We are no 'new rich,' who have to fall back upon our wealth for +the consideration we count upon. We were men of mark before the Normans +were even heard of.” All these, I say, he felt, but knew not. That Lucy +was one to care for such things he was well aware. She was intensely Irish +in her reverence for birth and descent, and had that love of the +traditionary which is at once the charm and the weakness of the Celtic +nature. Trafford sat thinking over these things, and thinking over what +might be his future. It was clear enough he could not remain in the army; +his pay, barely sufficient for his support at present, would never suffice +when he had a wife. He had some debts too; not very heavy, indeed, but +onerous enough when their payment must be made out of the sale of his +commission. How often had he done over that weary sum of subtraction! Not +that repetition made matters better to him; for somehow, though he never +could manage to make more of the sale of his majority, he could still, +unhappily for him, continually go on recalling some debt or other that he +had omitted to jot down,—an unlucky “fifty” to Jones which had +escaped him till now; and then there was Sewell! The power of the unknown +is incommensurable; and so it is, there is that in a vague threat that +terrifies the stoutest heart. Just before he left Malta he had received a +letter from a man whose name was not known to him in these terms:— +</p> +<p> +“Sir,—It has come to my knowledge professionally, that proceedings +will shortly be instituted against you in the Divorce Court at the suit of +Colonel Sewell, on the ground of certain letters written by you. These +letters, now in the hands of Messrs. Cane & Kincaid, solicitors, +Dominick Street, Dublin, may be obtained by you on payment of one thousand +pounds, and the costs incurred up to this date. If it be your desire to +escape the scandal and publicity of this action, and the much heavier +damages that will inevitably result, you may do so by addressing yourself +to +</p> +<p> +“Your very obedient and faithful servant, +</p> +<p> +“James Maher, +</p> +<p> +“Attorney-at-Law, Kildare Place.” + </p> +<p> +He had had no time to reply to this unpleasant epistle before he started, +even had he known what reply to make, all that he resolved on being to do +nothing till he saw Sir Brook. He had opened his writing-desk to find +Lucy's last letter to him, and by ill luck it was this ill-omened document +first came to his hand. Fortune will play us these pranks. She will change +the glass we meant to drink out of, and give us a bitter draught at the +moment that we dreamed of nectar! “If I 'm to give this thousand pounds,” + muttered he, moodily, “I may find myself with about eight hundred in the +world! for I take it these costs he speaks of will be no trifle! I shall +need some boldness to go and tell this to Sir William Lendrick when I ask +him for his granddaughter.” Here again he bethought him of Sir Brook, and +reassured himself that with his aid even this difficulty might be +conquered. He arose to ask if it were certain that Sir Brook would return +home that night, and discovered that he was alone in the cottage, the +fisherman and his wife who lived there having gone down to the shore to +gather the seaweed left by the retreating tide. Trafford knew nothing of +Fossbrooke's recent good fortune. The letters which conveyed that news +reached Malta after he had left, and his journey to England was prompted +by impatience to decide his fate at once, either by some arrangement with +his family which might enable him to remain in the army, or, failing all +hope of that, by the sale of his commission. “If Tom Lendrick can face the +hard life of a miner, why should not I?” would he say. “I am as well able +to rough it as any man. Fellows as tenderly nurtured as myself go out to +the gold-diggings and smash quartz, and what is there in me that I should +shrink from this labor?” There was a grim sort of humor in the way he +repeated to himself the imaginary calls of his comrades. “Where 's Sir +Lionel Traf-ford? Will some one send the distinguished baronet down here +with his shovel?” “Lucy, too, has seen the life of hard work and stern +privation. She showed no faintheartedness at its hardships; far from it. I +never saw her look happier nor cheerier. To look at her, one would say +that she liked its wild adventure, its very uncommonness. I 'll be sworn +if we 'll not be as happy—happier, perhaps, than if we had rank and +riches. As Sir Brook says, it all depends upon himself in what spirit a +man meets his fortune. Whether you confront life or death, there are but +two ways,—that of the brave man or the coward. +</p> +<p> +“How I wish he were come! How impatient I am to know what success he has +had with my father! My own mind is made up. The question is, Shall I be +able to persuade others to regard the future as I do? Will Lucy's friends +let her accept a beggar? No, not that! He who is able and willing to work +need not be a beggar. Was that a tap at the door? Come in.” As he spoke, +the door slowly opened, and a lady entered; her veil, closely drawn and +folded, completely concealed her face, and a large shawl wrapped her +figure from shoulders to feet. +</p> +<p> +As she stood for an instant silent, Trafford arose and said, “I suppose +you wished to see Sir Brook Fossbrooke; but he is from home, and will not +return till a late hour.” + </p> +<p> +“Don't you remember me, Lionel?” said she, drawing back her veil, while +she leaned against the wall for support. +</p> +<p> +“Good heavens! Mrs. Sewell!” and he sprang forward and led her to a seat. +“I never thought to see you here,” said he, merely uttering words at +random in his astonishment. +</p> +<p> +“When did you come?” asked she, faintly. +</p> +<p> +“About an hour ago.” + </p> +<p> +“True? Is this true?” + </p> +<p> +“On my honor. Why do you ask? Why should you doubt it?” + </p> +<p> +“Simply to know how long you could have been here without coming to me.” + These words were uttered in a voice slightly tremulous, and full of a +tender significance. Trafford's cheeks grew scarlet, and for a moment he +seemed unable to reply. At last he said, in a confused way: “I came by the +mail-packet, and at once drove out here. I was anxious to see Sir Brook. +And you?” + </p> +<p> +“I came here also to see him.” + </p> +<p> +“He has been in some trouble lately,” said Trafford, trying to lead the +conversation into an indifferent channel. “By some absurd mistake they +arrested him as a Celt.” + </p> +<p> +“How long do you remain here, Lionel?” asked she, totally unmindful of his +speech. +</p> +<p> +“My leave is for a month, but the journey takes off half of it.” + </p> +<p> +“Am I much changed, Lionel, since you saw me last? You can scarcely know. +Come over and sit beside me.” + </p> +<p> +Trafford drew his chair close to hers. “Well,” said she, pushing back her +bonnet, and by the action letting her rich and glossy hair fall in great +masses over her back, “you have not answered me? How am I looking?” + </p> +<p> +“You were always beautiful, and fully as much so now as ever.” + </p> +<p> +“But I am thinner, Lionel. See my poor hands, how they are wasted. These +are not the plump fingers you used to hold for hours in your own,—all +that dreary time you were so ill;” and as she spoke, she laid her hand, as +if unconsciously, over his. +</p> +<p> +“You were so good to me,” muttered he,—“so good and so kind.” + </p> +<p> +“And you have wellnigh forgotten it all,” said she, sighing heavily. +</p> +<p> +“Forgotten it! far from it. I never think of you but with gratitude.” + </p> +<p> +She drew her hand hastily away, and averted her head at the same time with +a quick movement. +</p> +<p> +“Were it not for your tender care and watchfulness, I know well I could +never have recovered from that severe illness. I cannot forget, I do not +want to forget, the thousand little ways in which you assuaged my +suffering, nor the still more touching kindness with which you bore my +impatience. I often live it all over again, believe me, Mrs. Sewell.” + </p> +<p> +“You used to call me Lucy,” said she, in a faint whisper. +</p> +<p> +“Did I—did I dare?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, you dared. You dared even more than that, Lionel. You dared to speak +to me, to write to me, as only he can write or speak who offers a woman +his whole heart. I know the manly code on these matters is that when a +married woman listens even once to such addresses, she admits the plea on +which her love is sought; but I believed—yes, Lionel, I believed—that +yours was a different nature. I knew—my heart told me—that you +pitied me.” + </p> +<p> +“That I did,” said he, with a quivering lip. +</p> +<p> +“You pitied me because you saw the whole sad story of my life. You saw the +cruel outrages, the insults I was exposed to! Poor Lionel'!” and she +caught his hand as she spoke, “how severely did it often try your temper +to endure what you witnessed!” + </p> +<p> +Trafford bit his lip in silence, and she went on more eagerly: “I needed +not defenders. I could have had scores of them. There was not a man who +came to the house would not have been proud to be my champion. You know if +this be a boast. You know how I was surrounded. For the very least of +those caresess I bestowed upon you on your sick-bed, there was not one who +would not have risked his life. Is this true?” + </p> +<p> +“I believe it,” muttered he. +</p> +<p> +“And why did I bear all this,” cried she, wildly,—“why did I endure, +not alone and in the secrecy of my own home, but before the world,—in +the crowd of a drawing-room,—outrage that wounds a woman's pride +worse than a brought-home crime? Why did I live under it all? Just for +this, that the one man who should have avenged me was sick, if not dying; +and that if <i>he</i> could not defend me, I would have no other. You said +you pitied me,” said she, leaning her head against his shoulder. “Do you +pity me still?” + </p> +<p> +“With all my heart I pity you.” + </p> +<p> +“I knew it,—I was sure of it!” said she, with a voice vibrating with +a sort of triumph. “I always said you would come back,—that you had +not, could not, forget me,—that you would no more desert me than a +man deserts the comrade that has been shipwrecked with him. You see that I +did not wrong you, Lionel.” + </p> +<p> +Trafford covered his face with both his hands, but never uttered a word, +while she went on: “Your friends, indeed, if that be the name for them, +insisted that I was mistaken in you! How often have I had to hear such +speeches as 'Trafford always looks to himself.' 'Trafford will never +entangle himself deeply for any one;' and then they would recount some +little story of a heartless desertion here, or some betrayal there, as +though your life—your whole life—was made up of these +treacheries; and I had to listen to these as to the idle gossip one hears +in the world and takes no account of! Would you believe it, Lionel, it was +only last week I was making a morning call at my mother-in-law's, and I +heard that you were coming home to England to be married! Perhaps I was +ill that day—I had enough to have made me ill—perhaps more +wretched than usual—perhaps, who knows, the startling suddenness of +the news—I cannot say how, but so overcome was I by indignation that +I cried out, 'It is untrue,—every syllable of it untrue.' I meant to +have stopped there, but somehow I went on to say—Heaven knows what—that +I would not sit by and hear you slandered—that you were a man of +unblemished honor—in a word, Lionel, I silenced your detractors; but +in doing so, I sacrificed myself; and as one by one each visitor rose to +withdraw,—they were all women,—they made me some little +apology for whatever pain they had given me, and in such a tone of mock +sorrow and real sarcasm that as the last left the room, I fell into a fit +of hysterics that lasted for hours. 'Oh, Lucy, what have you done!' were +the first words I heard, and it was <i>his</i> mother who spoke them. Ay, +Lionel, they were bitter words to hear! Not but that she pitied me. Yes, +women have pity on each other in such miseries. She was very kind to me, +and came back with me to the Priory, and stayed all the evening with me, +and we talked of <i>you!</i> Yes, Lionel, she forgave me. She said she had +long foreseen what it must come to—that no woman had ever borne what +I had—that over and over again she had warned him, conjuring him, if +not for his own sake, for the children's—Oh, Lionel, I cannot go +on!” burst she out, sobbing bitterly, as she fell at his feet, and rested +her head on his knees. He carried her tenderly in his arms and placed her +on a sofa, and she lay there to all seeming insensible and unconscious. He +was bending anxiously over her as she lifted her eyelids and gazed at him,—a +long steadfast look it was, as though it would read his very heart within +him. “Well,” asked she,—“well?” + </p> +<p> +“Are you better?” asked he, in a kind voice. +</p> +<p> +“When you have answered <i>my</i> question, I will answer yours,” said +she, in a tone almost stern. +</p> +<p> +“You have not asked me anything, Lucy,” said he, tremulously. +</p> +<p> +“And do you want me to say I doubt you?” cried she, with almost a scream. +“Do you want me to humble myself to ask, Am I to be forsaken?—in +plain words, Is there one word of truth in this story of the marriage? Why +don't you answer me? Speak out, sir, and deny it, as you would deny the +charge that called you a swindler or a coward. What! are you silent? Is it +the fear of what is to come after that appalls you? But I absolve you from +the charge, Trafford. You shall not be burdened by me. My mother-in-law +will take me. She has offered me a home, and I have accepted it. There, +now, you are released of that terror. Say that this tale of the marriage +is a lie,—a foul lie,—a lie invented to outrage and insult me; +say that, Lionel—just bow your head, my own—What! It is not a +lie, then?” said she, in a low, distinct voice,—“and it is I that +have been deceived, and you are—all that they called you.” + </p> +<p> +“Listen to me, Lucy.” + </p> +<p> +“How dare you, sir?—by what right do you presume to call me Lucy? +Are you such a coward as to take this freedom because my husband is not +here to resent it? Do not touch me, sir. That old man, in whose house I +am, would strike you to the ground if you insulted me. It was to see him I +came here,—to see him, and not you. I came here with a message from +my husband to Sir Brook Fossbrooke—and not to listen to the +insulting addresses of Major Trafford. Let me go, sir; and at your peril +touch me with a finger. Look at yourself in that glass yonder,—look +at yourself, and you will see why I despise you.” And with this she arose +and passed out, while with a warning gesture of her hand she motioned that +he should not follow her. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXIII. TO REPORT +</h2> +<p> +It was long after midnight when Mrs. Sewell reached the Priory. She +dismissed her cab at the gate lodge, and was slowly walking up the avenue +when Sewell met her. +</p> +<p> +“I was beginning to think you did n't mean to come back at all,” cried he, +in a voice of mingled taunt and irritation,—“it is close on one +o'clock.” + </p> +<p> +“He had dined in town, and I had to wait till he returned,” said she, in a +low, faint tone. +</p> +<p> +“You saw him, however?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, we met at the station.” + </p> +<p> +“Well, what success?” + </p> +<p> +“He gave me some money,—he promised me more.” + </p> +<p> +“How much has he given you?” cried he, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Two hundred, I think; at least I thought he said there was two hundred,—he +gave me his pocket-book. Let me reach the house, and have a glass of water +before you question me more. I am tired,—very tired.” + </p> +<p> +“You seem weak, too; have you eaten nothing?” + </p> +<p> +“No, nothing.” + </p> +<p> +“There is some supper on the table. We have had guests here. Old Lendrick +and his daughter came up with Beattie. They are not above half an hour +gone. They thought to see the old man, but Beattie found him so excited +and irritable he advised them to defer the visit.” + </p> +<p> +“Did you see them?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; I passed the evening with them most amicably. The girl is +wonderfully good-looking; and she has got rid of that shy, half-furtive +way she had formerly, and looks at one steadfastly, and with such a pair +of eyes too! I had no notion she was so beautiful.” + </p> +<p> +“Were they cordial in manner,—friendly?” + </p> +<p> +“I suppose they were. Dr. Lendrick was embarrassed and timid, and with +that fidgety uneasiness as if he wanted to be anywhere else than where he +was; but she was affable enough,—asked affectionately about you and +the children, and hoped to see you to-morrow.” + </p> +<p> +She made no reply, but, hastening her steps, walked on till she entered +the house, when, passing into a small room off the hall, she threw off her +bonnet, and, with a deep-drawn sigh, said, “I am dead tired; get me some +water.” + </p> +<p> +“You had better have wine.” + </p> +<p> +“No, water. I am feverish. My head is throbbing painfully.” + </p> +<p> +“You want food and support. Come into the dining-room and eat something. I +'ll keep you company, too, for I could n't eat while those people were +here. I felt, all the time, that they had come to turn us out; and, +indeed, Beat-tie, with a delicate tact quite his own, half avowed it, as +he said, 'It is a pity there is not light enough for you to see your old +flower-garden, Lucy, for I know you are impatient to be back in it +again.'” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll try and eat something,” said Mrs. Sewell, rising, and with weary +steps moving into the dining-room. +</p> +<p> +Sewell placed a chair for her at the table, helped her, and filled her +glass, and, telling the servant that he need not wait, sat down opposite +her. “From what Beattie said I gather,” said he, “that the Chief is out of +danger, the crisis of the attack is over, and he has only to be cautious +to come through. Is n't it like our luck?” + </p> +<p> +“Hush!—take care.” + </p> +<p> +“No fear. They can't hear even when they try; these double doors puzzle +them. You are not eating.” + </p> +<p> +“I cannot eat; give me another glass of wine.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, that will do you good; it's the old thirty-four. I took it out in +honor of Lendrick, but he is a water-drinker. I 'm sure I wish Beattie +were. I grudged the rascal every glass of that glorious claret which he +threw down with such gusto, telling me the while that it was infinitely +finer than when he last tasted it.” + </p> +<p> +“I feel better now, but I want rest and sleep. You can wait for all I have +to tell you till to-morrow,—can't you?” + </p> +<p> +“If I must, there 's no help for it; but considering that my whole future +in a measure hangs upon it, I 'd rather hear it now.” + </p> +<p> +“I am well nigh worn out,” said she, plaintively; and she held out her +glass to be filled once more; “but I 'll try and tell you.” + </p> +<p> +Supporting her head on both her hands, and with her eyes half closed, she +went on in a low monotonous tone, like that of one reading from a book: +“We met at the station, and had but a few minutes to confer together. I +told him I had been at his house; that I came to see him, and ask his +assistance; that you had got into trouble, and would have to leave the +country, and were without means to go. He seemed, I thought, to be aware +of all this, and asked me, 'Was it only now that I had learned or knew of +this necessity?' He also asked if it were at your instance, and by your +wish, that I had come to him? I said, Yes; you had sent me.” Sewell +started as if something sharp had pierced him, and she went on: “There was +nothing for it but the truth; and, besides, I know him well, and if he had +once detected me in an attempt to deceive him, he would not have forgiven +it. He then said, 'It is not to the wife I will speak harshly of the +husband, but what assurance have I that he will go out of the country?' I +said, 'You had no choice between that and jail. 'He nodded assent, and +muttered, 'A jail—and worse; and <i>you</i>,' said he, 'what is to +become of you?' I told him 'I did not know; that perhaps Lady Lendrick +would take me and the children.'” + </p> +<p> +“He did not offer you a home with himself?” said Sewell, with a diabolical +grin. +</p> +<p> +“No,” said she, calmly; “but he objected to our being separated. He said +that it was to sacrifice our children, and we had no right to do this; and +that, come what might, we ought to live together. He spoke much on this, +and asked me more than once if our hard-bought experiences had not taught +us to be more patient, more forgiving towards each other.” + </p> +<p> +“I hope you told him that I was a miracle of tolerance, and that I bore +with a saintly submission what more irritable mortals were wont to go half +mad about,—did you tell him this?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; I said you had a very practical way of dealing with life, and never +resented an unprofitable insult.” + </p> +<p> +“How safe a man's honor always is in a good wife's keeping!” said he, with +a savage laugh. “I hope your candor encouraged him to more frankness; he +must have felt at ease after that?” + </p> +<p> +“Still he persisted in saying there must be no separation.” + </p> +<p> +“That was hard upon you; did you not tell him that was hard upon <i>you?</i>” + </p> +<p> +“No; I avoided mixing myself up in the discussion. I had come to treat for +you, and you alone.” + </p> +<p> +“But you might have said that he had no right to impose upon you a life of—what +shall I call it?—incompatibility or cruelty.” + </p> +<p> +“I did not; I told him I would repeat to you whatever he told me as nearly +as I could. He then said: 'Go abroad and live together in some cheap +place, where you can find means to educate the children. I,' said he, +'will take the cost of that, and allow you five hundred a year for your +own expenses. If I am satisfied with your husband's conduct, and well +assured of his reformation, I will increase this allowance. '” + </p> +<p> +“He said nothing about you nor <i>your</i> reformation,—did he?” + </p> +<p> +“Not a word.” + </p> +<p> +“How much will he make it if we separate?” + </p> +<p> +“He did not say. Indeed, he seemed to make our living together the +condition of aiding us.” + </p> +<p> +“And if he knew of anything harder or harsher he 'd have added it. Why, he +has gone about the world these dozen years back telling every one what a +brute and blackguard you had for a husband; that, short of murder, I had +gone through every crime towards you. Where was it I beat you with a +hunting-whip?” + </p> +<p> +“At Rangoon,” said she, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“And where did I turn you into the streets at midnight?” + </p> +<p> +“At Winchester.” + </p> +<p> +“Exactly; these were the very lies—the infernal lies—he has +been circulating for years; and now he says, 'If you have not yet found +out how suited you are to each other, how admirably your tastes and +dispositions agree, it's quite time you should do so. Go back and live +together, and if one of you does not poison the other, I 'll give you a +small annuity.'” + </p> +<p> +“Five hundred a year is very liberal,” said she, coldly. +</p> +<p> +“I could manage on it for myself alone, but it 's meant to support a +family. It 's beggary, neither more nor less.” + </p> +<p> +“We have no claim upon him.” + </p> +<p> +“No claim! What! no claim on your godfather, your guardian, not to say the +impassioned and devoted admirer who followed you over India just to look +at you, and spent a little fortune in getting portraits of you! Why, the +man must be a downright impostor if he does not put half his fortune at +your feet!” + </p> +<p> +“I ought to tell you that he annexed certain conditions to any help he +tendered us. 'They were matters,' he said, 'could best be treated between +you and himself; that I did not, nor need not, know any of them.'” + </p> +<p> +“I know what he alluded to.” + </p> +<p> +“Last of all, he said you must give him your answer promptly, for he would +not be long in this country.” + </p> +<p> +“As to that, time is fully as pressing to me as to him. The only question +is, Can we make no better terms with him?” + </p> +<p> +“You mean more money?”. +</p> +<p> +“Of course I mean more money. Could you make him say one thousand, or at +least eight hundred, instead of five?” + </p> +<p> +“It would not be a pleasant mission,” said she, with a bitter smile. +</p> +<p> +“I suppose not; a ruined man's wife need not look for many 'pleasant +missions,' as you call them. This same one of to-day was not +over-gratifying.” + </p> +<p> +“Less even than you are aware,” said she, slowly. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I can very well imagine the tone and manner of the old fellow; how +much of rebuke and severity he could throw into his voice; and how +minutely and painstakingly he would dwell upon all that could humiliate +you.” + </p> +<p> +“No; you are quite wrong. There was not a word of reproach, not a syllable +of blame; his manner was full of gentle and pitying kindness, and when he +tried to comfort and cheer me, it was like the affection of a father.” + </p> +<p> +“Where, then, was this great trial and suffering of which you have just +said I could take no full measure?” + </p> +<p> +“I was thinking of what occurred before I met Sir Brook,” said she, +looking up, and with her eyes now widely opened, and a nostril distended +as she spoke. “I was thinking of an incident of the morning. I have told +you that when I reached the cottage where Sir Brook lived, I found that he +was absent, and would not return till a late hour. Tired with my long walk +from the station, I wished to sit down and rest before I had determined +what to do, whether to await his arrival or go back to town. I saw the +door open, I entered the little sitting-room, and found myself face to +face with Major Trafford.” + </p> +<p> +“Lionel Trafford?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; he had come by that morning's packet from England, and gone straight +out to see his friend.” + </p> +<p> +“He was alone, was he?” + </p> +<p> +“Alone! there was no one in the house but ourselves.” + </p> +<p> +Sewell shrugged his shoulders, and said, “Go on.” + </p> +<p> +The insult of his gesture sent the blood to her face and forehead, and for +an instant she seemed too much overcome by anger to speak. +</p> +<p> +“Am I to tell you what this man said to me? Is <i>that</i> what you mean?” + said she, in a voice that almost hissed with passion. +</p> +<p> +“Better not, perhaps,” replied he, calmly, “if the very recollection +overcame you so completely.” + </p> +<p> +“That is to say, it is better I should bear the insult how I may than +reveal it to one who will not resent it.” + </p> +<p> +“When you say resent, do you intend I should call him out?—fight +him?” + </p> +<p> +“If I were the husband instead of the wife, it is what I should do,—ay,” + cried she, wildly, “and thank Fortune that gave me the chance.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't think I'm going to show any such gratitude,” said he, with a cold +grin. “If he made love to you, I take it he fancied you had given him some +encouragement When you showed him that he was mistaken, he met his +punishment. A woman always knows how to make a man look like a confounded +fool at such a moment.” + </p> +<p> +“And is that enough?” + </p> +<p> +“Is <i>what</i> enough?” + </p> +<p> +“I ask, is it enough to make him look like a confounded fool? Will <i>that</i> +soothe a wife's insulted pride, or avenge a husband's injured honor?” + </p> +<p> +“I don't know much of the wife's part; but as to the husband's share in +the matter, if I had to fight every fellow who made up to you, my wedding +garment ought to have been a suit of chain-armor.” + </p> +<p> +“A husband need not fight for his wife's flirtations; be-. sides, he can +make her give these up if he likes. There are insults, however, that a +man”—; and she said the word with a fierce emphasis—“resents +with the same instinct that makes him defend his life.” + </p> +<p> +“I know well enough what he 'd say; he 'd say that there was nothing +serious in it, that he was merely indulging in that sort of larking talk +one offers to a pretty woman who does not seem to dislike it. The chances +are he 'd turn the tables a bit, and say that you rather led him on than +repressed him.” + </p> +<p> +“And would these pleas diminish your desire to have his heart's blood?” + cried she, wild with passion and indignation together. +</p> +<p> +“Having his heart's blood is very fine, if I was sure—quite sure—he +might not have mine. The fellow is a splendid shot.” + </p> +<p> +“I thought so. I could have sworn it,” cried she, with a taunting laugh. +</p> +<p> +“I admit no man my superior with a pistol,” said Sewell, stung far more by +her laughter than her words; “but what have I to gain if I shoot him? His +family would prosecute me to a certainty; and it went devilish close with +that last fellow who was tried at Newgate.” + </p> +<p> +“If you care so little for my honor, sir, I 'll show you how cheaply I can +regard yours. I will go back to Sir Brook to-morrow, and return him his +money. I will tell him, besides, that I am married to one so hopelessly +lost to every sentiment and feeling, not merely of the gentleman, but of +the man, that it is needless to try to help him; and that I will accept +nothing for him,—not a shilling; that he may deal with you on those +other matters he spoke of as he pleases; that it will be no favor shown me +when he spares you. There, sir, I leave you now to compute whether a +little courage would not have served you better than all your cunning.” + </p> +<p> +“You do not leave this room till you give me that pocket-book,” said he, +rising, and placing his back to the door. +</p> +<p> +“I foresaw this, sir,” said she, laughing quietly, “and took care to +deposit the money in a safe place before I came here. You are welcome to +every farthing I have about me.” + </p> +<p> +“Your scheme is too glaring, too palpable by half. There is a vulgar +shamelessness in the way you 'make your book,' standing to win whichever +of us should kill the other. I read it at a glance,” said he, as he threw +himself into a chair; “but I 'll not help to make you an interesting +widow. Are you going? Good-night.” + </p> +<p> +She moved towards the door? and just as she reached it he arose and said, +“On what pretext could I ask this man to meet me? What do I charge him +with? How could I word my note to him?” + </p> +<p> +“Let <i>me</i> write it,” said she, with a bitter laugh. “You will only +have to copy it.” + </p> +<p> +“And if I consent will you do all the rest? Will you go to Fossbrooke and +ask him for the increased allowance?” + </p> +<p> +“I will.” + </p> +<p> +“Will you do your best—your very best—to obtain it? Will you +use all the power and influence you have over him to dissuade him from any +act that might injure <i>me?</i> Will you get his pledge that he will not +molest me in any way?” + </p> +<p> +“I will promise to do all that I can with him.” “And when must this come +off,—this meeting, I mean?” + </p> +<p> +“At once, of course. You ought to leave this by the early packet for +Bangor. Harding or Vaughan—any one—will go with you. Trafford +can follow you by the midday mail, as your note will have reached him +early.” + </p> +<p> +“You seem to have a capital head for these sort of things; you arrange all +to perfection,” said he, with a sneer. +</p> +<p> +“I had need of it, as I have to think for two;” and the sarcasm stung him +to the quick. “I will go to your room and write the note. I shall find +paper and ink there?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; everything. I'll carry these candles for you;” and he arose and +preceded her to his study. “I wish he would not mix old Fossbrooke in the +affair. I hope he'll not name him as his friend.” + </p> +<p> +“I have already thought of that,” said she, as she sat down at the table +and began to write. After a few seconds she said, “This will do, I think:— +</p> +<p> +“'Sir,—I have just learned from my wife how grossly insulting was +your conduct towards her yesterday, on the occasion of her calling at Sir +Brook Fossbrooke's house. The shame and distress in which she returned +here would fully warrant any chastisement I might inflict upon you; but +for the sake of the cloth you wear, I offer you the alternative which I +would extend to a man of honor, and desire you will meet me at once with a +friend. I shall leave by the morning packet for Holyhead, and be found at +the chief hotel, Bangor, where, waiting your pleasure, I am your obedient +servant. +</p> +<p> +“'I hope it is needless to say that my wife's former guardian, Sir B. F., +should not be chosen to act for you on this occasion.'” + </p> +<p> +“I don't think I'd say that about personal chastisement. People don't +horsewhip nowadays.” + </p> +<p> +“So much the worse. I would leave it there, however. It will insult him +like a blow.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, he's ready enough,—he'll not need poking to rouse his pluck. +I'll say that for him.” + </p> +<p> +“And yet I half suspect he 'll write some blundering sort of apology; some +attempt to show that I was mistaken. I know—I know it as well as if +I saw it—he 'll not fire at you.” + </p> +<p> +“What makes you think that?” “He could n't. It would be impossible for +him.” “I 'm not so sure of that. There's something very provocative in the +sight of a pistol muzzle staring at one a few paces off. <i>I'd</i> fire +at my father if I saw him going to shoot at me.” + </p> +<p> +“I think <i>you</i> would,” said she, dryly. “Sit down and copy that note. +We must send it by a messenger at once.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't think you put it strongly enough about old Foss-brooke. I 'd have +said distinctly,—I object to his acting on account of his close and +intimate connection with my wife's family.” + </p> +<p> +“No, no; leave it all as it stands. If we begin to change, we shall never +have an end of the alterations.” + </p> +<p> +“If I believed he would not fire at me, I'd not shoot him,” said Sewell, +biting the end of his pen. +</p> +<p> +“He 'll not fire the first time; but if you go on to a second shot, I'm +certain he will aim at you.” + </p> +<p> +“I'll try and not give him this chance, then,” said he, laughing. +“Remember,” added he, “I'm promising to cross the Channel, and I have not +a pound in my pocket.” + </p> +<p> +“Write that, and I 'll go fetch you the money,” said she, leaving the +room; and, passing out through the hall and the front door, she put her +arm and hand into a large marble vase, several of which stood on the +terrace, and drew forth the pocket-book which Sir Brook had given her, and +which she had secretly deposited there as she entered the house. +</p> +<p> +“There, that's done,” said he, handing her his note as she came in. +</p> +<p> +“Put it in an envelope and address it. And now, where are you to find +Harding, or whoever you mean to take with you?” + </p> +<p> +“That's easy enough; they 'll be at supper at the Club by this time. I'll +go in at once. But the money?” + </p> +<p> +“Here it is. I have not counted it; he gave me the pocket-book as you +see.” + </p> +<p> +“There's more than he said. There are two hundred and eighty-five pounds. +He must be in funds.” + </p> +<p> +“Don't lose time. It is very late already,—nigh two o'clock; these +men will have left the Club, possibly?” + </p> +<p> +“No, no; they play on till daybreak. I suppose I'd better put my traps in +a portmanteau at once, and not require to come back here.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll do all that for you.” + </p> +<p> +“How amiable a wife can be at the mere prospect of getting rid of her +husband!” + </p> +<p> +“You will send me a telegram?” + </p> +<p> +“Very likely. Good-bye. Adieu.” + </p> +<p> +“<i>Adieu et bonne chance</i>,” said she, gayly. +</p> +<p> +“That means a good aim, I suppose,” said he, laughing. +</p> +<p> +She nodded pleasantly, kissed her hand to him, and he was gone. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXIV. A MOMENT OF CONFIDENCE +</h2> +<p> +Mrs. Sewell's maid made two ineffectual efforts to awaken her mistress on +the following morning, for agitation had drugged her like a narcotic, and +she slept the dull, heavy sleep of one overpowered by opium. “Why, Jane, +it is nigh twelve o'clock,” said she, looking at her watch. “Why did you +let me sleep so late?” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed, ma'am, I did my best to rouse you. I opened the shutters, and I +splashed the water into your bath, and made noise enough, I 'm sure, but +you did n't mind it all; and I brought up the doctor to see if there was +anything the matter with you, and he felt your pulse, and put his hand on +your heart, and said, No, it was just overfatigue; that you had been +sitting up too much of late, and hadn't strength for it.” + </p> +<p> +“Where 's Colonel Sewell?” asked she, hurriedly. +</p> +<p> +“He's gone off to the country, ma'am; leastways, he went away early this +morning, and George thinks it was to Killaloe.” + </p> +<p> +“Is Dr. Beattie here?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, ma'am; they all breakfasted with the children at nine o'clock.” + </p> +<p> +“Whom do you mean by all?” + </p> +<p> +“Mr. Lendrick, ma'am, and Miss Lucy. I hear as how they are coming back to +live here. They were up all the morning in his Lordship's room, and there +was much laughing, as if it was a wedding.” + </p> +<p> +“Whose wedding? What were you saying about a wedding?” + </p> +<p> +“Nothing, ma'am; only that they were as merry,—that's all.” + </p> +<p> +“Sir William must be better, then?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, ma'am,—quite out of danger; and he 's to have a partridge for +dinner, and the doctor says he 'll be downstairs and all right before this +day week; and I 'm sure it will be a real pleasure to see him lookin' like +himself again, for he told Mr. Cheetor to take them wigs away, and all the +pomatum-pots, and that he 'd have the shower-bath that he always took long +ago. It's a fine day for Mr. Cheetor, for he has given him I don't know +how many colored scarfs, and at least a dozen new waistcoats, all good as +the day they were made; and he says he won't wear anything but black, like +long ago; and, indeed, some say that old Rives, the butler as was, will be +taken back, and the house be the way it used to be formerly. I wonder, +ma'am, if the Colonel will let it be,—they say below stairs that he +won't.” + </p> +<p> +“I'm sure Colonel Sewell cares very little on the subject. Do you know if +they are going to dine here to-day?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, ma'am, they are. Miss Lucy said the butler was to take your orders +as to what hour you 'd like dinner.” + </p> +<p> +“Considerate, certainly,” said she, with a faint smile. +</p> +<p> +“And I heard Mr. Lendrick say, 'I think you 'd better go up yourself, +Lucy, and see Mrs. Sewell, and ask if we inconvenience her in any way;' +but the doctor said, 'You need not; she will be charmed to meet you.'” + </p> +<p> +“He knows me perfectly, Jane,” said she, calmly. “Is Miss Lucy so very +handsome? Colonel Sewell called her beautiful.” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed, I don't think so, ma'am. Mr. Cheetor and me thought she was too +robusteous for a young lady; and she's freckled, too, quite dreadful. The +picture of her below in the study's a deal more pretty; but perhaps she +was delicate in health when it was done.” + </p> +<p> +“That would make a great difference, Jane.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, ma'am, it always do; every one is much genteeler-looking when they +'re poorly. Not but old Mr. Haire said she was far more beautiful than +ever.” + </p> +<p> +“And is he here too?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, ma'am. It was he that pushed Miss Lucy down into the arm-chair, and +said, 'Take your old place there, darling, and pour out the tea, and we'll +forget that you were ever away at all.'” + </p> +<p> +“How pretty and how playful! The poor children must have felt themselves +quite old in such juvenile company.” + </p> +<p> +“They was very happy, ma'am. Miss Cary sat in Miss Lucy's lap all the +time, and seemed to like her greatly.” + </p> +<p> +“There's nothing worse for children than taking them out of their daily +habits. I 'm astonished Mrs. Groves should let them go and breakfast +below-stairs without orders from me.” + </p> +<p> +“It's what Miss Lucy said, ma'am. 'Are we quite sure Mrs. Sewell would +like it?'” + </p> +<p> +“She need never have asked the question; or if she did, she might have +waited for the answer. Mrs. Sewell could have told her that she totally +disapproved of any one interfering with the habits of her children.” + </p> +<p> +“And then old Mr. Haire said, 'Even if she should not like it, when she +knows all the pleasure it has given us, she will forgive it.'” + </p> +<p> +“What a charming disposition I must have, Jane, without my knowing it!” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, ma'am,” said the girl, with a pursed-up mouth, as though she would +not trust herself to expatiate on the theme. +</p> +<p> +“Did Colonel Sewell take Capper with him?” + </p> +<p> +“No, ma'am; Mr. Capper is below. The Colonel gave him a week's leave, and +he's going a-fishing with some other gentlemen down into Wicklow.” + </p> +<p> +“I suspect, Jane, that you people below-stairs have the pleasantest life +of all. You have little to trouble you. When you take a holiday, you can +enjoy it with all your hearts.” + </p> +<p> +“The gentlemen does, I believe, ma'am; but we don't. We can't go +a-pleasuring like them; and if it a'n't a picnic, or a thing of the kind +that's arranged for us, we have nothing for it but a walk to church and +back, or a visit to one of our friends.” + </p> +<p> +“So that you know what it is to be bored!” said she, sighing drearily,—“I +mean to be very tired of life, and sick of everything and everybody.” + </p> +<p> +“Not quite so bad as that, ma'am; put out, ma'am, and provoked at times,—not +in despair, like.” + </p> +<p> +“I wish I was a housemaid.” + </p> +<p> +“A housemaid, ma'am!” cried the girl, in almost horror. +</p> +<p> +“Well, a lady's-maid. I mean, I'd like a life where my heaviest sorrow +would be a refused leave to go out, or a sharp word or two for an +ill-ironed collar. See who is that at the door; there's some one tapping +there the last two minutes.” + </p> +<p> +“It's Miss Lucy, ma'am; she wants to know if she may come in?” + </p> +<p> +Mrs. Sewell looked in the glass before which she was sitting, and as +speedily passed her hands across her brow, and by the action seeming to +chase away the stern expression of her eyes; then, rising up with a face +all smiles, she rushed to the door and clasped Lucy in her arms, kissing +her again and again, as she said, “I never dreamed of such happiness as +this; but why didn't you come and awaken me? Why did you rob me of one +precious moment of your presence?” + </p> +<p> +“I knew how tired and worn-out you were. Grandpapa has told me of all your +unwearying kindness.” + </p> +<p> +“Come over to the light, child, and let me see you well. I 'm wildly jealous +of you, I must own, but I 'll try to be fair and judge you honestly. My +husband says you are the loveliest creature he ever saw; and I declare I +'m afraid he spoke truly. What have you done with your eyes? they are far +darker than they used to be; and this hair,—you need not tell me +it's all your own, child. Gold could not buy it. Yes, Jane, you are right, +she <i>is</i> perfectly beautiful.” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, do not turn my head with vanity,” said Lucy, blushing. +</p> +<p> +“I wish I could,—I wish I could do anything to lessen any of your +fascinations. Do you know it's very hard—very hard indeed—to +forgive any one being so beautiful, and hardest of all for <i>me</i> to do +so?” + </p> +<p> +“Why for you?” said Lucy, anxiously. +</p> +<p> +“I'll tell you another time,” said she, in a half-whisper, and with a +significant glance at her maid, who, with the officiousness of her order, +was taking far more than ordinary trouble to put things to rights. “There, +Jane,” said her mistress, at last, “all that opening and shutting of +drawers is driving me distracted; leave everything as it is, and let us +have quiet. Go and fetch me a cup of chocolate.” + </p> +<p> +“Nothing else, ma'am?” + </p> +<p> +“Nothing; and ask if there are any letters for me. It's a dreadful house, +Lucy, for sending one's letters astray. The Chief used to have scores of +little scented notes sent up to him that were meant for me, and I used to +get masses of formal-looking documents that should have gone to him; but +everything is irregular here. There was no master, and, worse, no +mistress; but I 'll hope, as they tell me here, that there will soon be +one.” + </p> +<p> +“I don't know,—I have not heard.” + </p> +<p> +“What a diplomatic damsel it is! Why, child, can't you be frank, and say +if you are coming back to live here?” + </p> +<p> +“I never suspected that I was in question at all; if I had, I 'd have told +you, as I tell you now, there is not the most remote probability of such +an event. We are going back to live at the Nest. Sir Brook has bought it, +and made it over to papa or myself,—I don't know which, but it means +the same in the sense I care for, that we are to be together again.” + </p> +<p> +“How delightful! I declare, child, my envy of you goes on increasing every +minute. I never was able to captivate any man, old or young, who would buy +a beautiful house and give it to me. Of all the fortunate creatures I ever +heard or read of, you are the luckiest.” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps I am. Indeed I own as much to myself when I bethink me how little +I have contributed to my own good fortune.” + </p> +<p> +“And I,” said she, with a heavy sigh, “about the most unlucky! I suppose I +started in life with almost as fair a promise as your own. Not so +handsome, I admit. I had neither these long lashes nor that wonderful +hair, that gives you a look of one of those Venetian beauties Giorgione +used to paint; still less that lovely mouth, which I envy you more even +than your eyes or your skin; but I was good-looking enough to be admired, +and I was admired, and some of my admirers were very great folk indeed; +but I rejected them all and married Sewell! I need not tell you what came +of that. Poor papa foresaw it all. I believe it helped to break his heart; +it might have broken mine too, if I happened to have one. There, don't +look horrified, darling. I was n't born without one; but what with vanity +and distrust, a reckless ambition to make a figure in the world, and a few +other like good qualities, I made of the heart that ought to have been the +home of anything that was worthy in my nature, a scene of plot and +intrigue, till at last I imagine it wore itself out, just as people do who +have to follow uncongenial labor. It was like a lady set down to pick +oakum! Why don't you laugh, dear, at my absurd simile?” + </p> +<p> +“Because you frighten me,” said Lucy, almost shuddering. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm certain,” resumed the other, “I was very like yourself when I was +married. I had been very carefully brought up,—had excellent +governesses, and was trained in all the admirable discipline of a +well-ordered family. All I knew of life was the good side. I saw people at +church on Sundays, and fancied that they wore the same tranquil and +virtuous faces throughout the week. Above all things I was trustful and +confiding. Colonel Sewell soon uprooted such delusions. He believed in +nothing nor in any one. If he had any theory at all of life, it was that +the world consisted of wolves and lambs, and that one must make an early +choice which flock he would belong to. I 'm ashamed to own what a zest it +gave to existence to feel that the whole thing was a great game in which, +by the exercise of skill and cleverness, one might be almost sure to win. +He soon made me as impassioned a gambler as himself, as ready to risk +anything—everything—on the issue. But I have made you quite +ill, child, with this dark revelation; you are pale as death.” + </p> +<p> +“No, I am only frightened,—frightened and grieved.” + </p> +<p> +“Don't grieve for me,” said the other, haughtily. “There is nothing I +could n't more easily forgive than pity. But let me turn from my odious +self and talk of you. I want you to tell me everything about your own +fortune, where you have been all this time, what seeing and doing, and +what is the vista in front of you?” + </p> +<p> +Lucy gave a full account of Cagliari and their life there, narrating how +blank their first hopes had been, and what a glorious fortune had crowned +them at last. “I 'm afraid to say what the mine returns at present; and +they say it is a mere nothing to what it may yield when improved means of +working are employed, new shafts sunk, and steam power engaged.” + </p> +<p> +“Don't get technical, darling; I'll take your word for Sir Brook's wealth; +only tell me what he means to do with it. You know he gambled away one +large fortune already, and squandered another, nobody knows how. Has he +gained anything by these experiences to do better with the third?” + </p> +<p> +“I have only heard of his acts of munificence or generosity,” said Lucy, +gravely. +</p> +<p> +“What a reproachful face to put on, and for so little!” said the other, +laughing. “You don't think that when I said he gambled I thought the worse +of him.” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps not; but you meant that <i>I</i> should.” + </p> +<p> +“You are too sharp in your casuistry; but you have been living with only +men latterly, and the strong-minded race always impart some of their +hardness to the women who associate with them. You'll have to come down to +silly creatures like me, Lucy, to regain your softness.” + </p> +<p> +“I shall be delighted if you let me keep your company.” + </p> +<p> +“We will be sisters, darling, if you will only be frank with me.” + </p> +<p> +“Prove me if you like; ask me anything you will, and see if I will not +answer you freely.” + </p> +<p> +“Have you told me all your Cagliari life,—all?” + </p> +<p> +“I think so; all at least that was worth telling.” + </p> +<p> +“You had a shipwreck on your island, we heard here; are such events so +frequent that they make slight impression?” + </p> +<p> +“I was but speaking of ourselves and our fortunes,” said Lucy; “my +narrative was all selfish.” “Come,—I never beat about the bush,—tell +me one thing,—it's a very abrupt way to ask, but perhaps it's the +best way,—are you going to be married?” + </p> +<p> +“I don't know,” said she; and her face and neck became crimson in a +moment. +</p> +<p> +“You don't know! Do you mean that you 're like one of those young ladies +in the foreign convents who are sent for to accept a husband whenever the +papas and mammas have agreed upon the terms?” + </p> +<p> +“Not that; but I mean that I am not sure whether grandpapa will give his +consent, and without it papa will not either.” + </p> +<p> +“And why should not grandpapa say yes? Major Traf-ford,—we need n't +talk riddles to each other,—Major Trafford has a good position, a +good name, and will have a good estate; are not these the three gifts the +mothers of England go in pursuit of?” + </p> +<p> +“His family, I suspect, wish him to look higher; at all events, they don't +like the idea of an Irish daughter-in-law.” + </p> +<p> +“More fools they! Irish women of the better class are more ready to +respond to good treatment, and less given to resent bad usage, than any I +ever met.” + </p> +<p> +“Then I have just heard since I came over that Lady Trafford has written +to grandpapa in a tone of such condescension and gentle sorrow that it has +driven him half crazy. Indeed, his continual inference from the letter is, +'What must the son of such a woman be!'” + </p> +<p> +“That's most unfair!” + </p> +<p> +“So they have all told him,—papa, and Beattie, and even Mr. Haire, +who met Lionel one morning at Beattie's.” + </p> +<p> +“Perhaps I might be of service here; what a blush, child! dear me, you are +crimson, far too deep for beauty. How I have fluttered the dear little +bird! but I 'm not going to rob its nest, or steal its mate away. All I +meant was, that I could exactly contribute that sort of worldly testimony +to the goodness of the match that old people like and ask for. You must +never talk to them about affections, nor so much as allude to tastes or +tempers; never expatiate on anything that cannot be communicated by +parchment, and attested by proper witnesses. Whatever is not subject to +stamp-duty, they set down as mere moonshine.” + </p> +<p> +While she thus ran on, Lucy's thoughts never strayed from a certain letter +which had once thrown a dark shadow over her, and even yet left a gloomy +memory behind it. The rapidity with which Mrs. Sewell spoke, too, had less +the air of one carried away by the strong current of feeling than of a +speaker who was uttering everything, anything, to relieve her own +overburdened mind. +</p> +<p> +“You look very grave, Lucy,” went she on. “I suspect I know what's passing +in that little brain. You are doubting if I should be the fittest person +to employ on the negotiation; come, now, confess it.” + </p> +<p> +“You have guessed aright,” said Lucy, gravely. +</p> +<p> +“But all that 's past and over, child. The whole is a mere memory now, if +even so much. Men have a trick of thinking, once they have interested a +woman on their behalf, that the sentiment survives all changes of time and +circumstance, and that they can come back after years and claim the +deposit; but it is a great mistake, as <i>he</i> has found by this time. +But don't let this make you unhappy, dear; there never was less cause for +unhappiness. It is just of these sort of men the model husbands are made. +The male heart is a very tough piece of anatomy, and requires a good deal +of manipulation to make it tender, and, as you will learn one day, it is +far better all this should be done before marriage than after.—Well, +Jane, I did begin to think you had forgotten about the chocolate. It is +about an hour since I asked for it.” + </p> +<p> +“Indeed, ma'am, it was Mr. Cheetor's fault; he was a shooting rabbits with +another gentleman.” + </p> +<p> +“There, there, spare me Mr. Cheetor's diversions, and fetch me some +sugar.” + </p> +<p> +“Mr. Lendrick and another gentleman, ma'am, is below, and wants to see +Miss Lucy.” + </p> +<p> +“A young gentleman, Jane?” asked Mrs. Sewell, while her eyes flashed with +a sudden fierce brilliancy. +</p> +<p> +“No, ma'am, an old gentleman, with a white beard, very tall and stern to +look at.” + </p> +<p> +“We don't care for descriptions of old gentlemen, Jane. Do we, Lucy? Must +you go, darling?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; papa perhaps wants me.” + </p> +<p> +“Come back to me soon, pet. Now that we have no false barriers between us, +we can talk in fullest confidence.” + </p> +<p> +Lucy hurried away, but no sooner had she reached the corridor than she +burst into tears. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXV. THE TELEGRAM. +</h2> +<p> +When Lacy reached the drawing-room, she found her father and Sir Brook +deep in conversation in one of the window-recesses, and actually unaware +of her entrance till she stood beside them. +</p> +<p> +“No,” cried Lendrick, eagerly; “I can't follow these men in their +knaveries. I don't see the drift of them, and I lose the clew to the whole +machinery.” + </p> +<p> +“The drift is easy enough to understand,” said Foss-brooke. “A man wants +to escape from his embarrassments, and has little scruple as to the +means.” + </p> +<p> +“But the certainty of being found out—” + </p> +<p> +“There is no greater fallacy than that. Do you imagine that one-tenth of +the cheats that men practise on the world are ever brought to light? Or do +you fancy that all the rogues are in jail, and all the people who are +abroad and free are honest men? Far from it. Many an inspector that comes +to taste the prison soup and question the governor, ought to have more +than an experimental course of the dietary; and many a juryman sits on the +case of a creature far better and purer than himself. But here comes one +will give our thoughts a pleasanter channel to run in. How well you look, +Lucy! I am glad to see the sunny skies of Sardinia have n't blanched your +cheeks.” + </p> +<p> +“Such a scheme as Sir Brook has discovered!—such an ignoble plot +against my poor dear father!” said Lendrick. “Tell her—tell her the +whole of it.” + </p> +<p> +In a very few words Sir Brook recounted the story of Sewell's interview +with Balfour, and the incident of the stolen draft of the Judge's writing +bartered for money. +</p> +<p> +“It would have killed my father. The shock would have killed him,” said +Lendrick. “And it was this man,—this Sewell,—who possessed his +entire confidence of late,—actually wielded complete influence over +him. The whole time I sat with my father, he did nothing but quote him,—Sewell +said so, Sewell told me, or Sewell suspected such a thing; and always with +some little added comment on his keen sharp intellect, his clear views of +life, and his consummate knowledge of men. It was by the picture Sewell +drew of Lady Trafford that my father was led to derive his impression of +her letter. Sewell taught him to detect a covert impertinence and a sneer +where none was intended. I read the letter myself, and it was only +objectionable on the score of its vanity. She thought herself a very great +personage writing to another great personage.” + </p> +<p> +“Just so,” said Fossbrooke. “It was right royal throughout. It might have +begun '<i>Madame ma soeur</i>.' And as I knew something of the writer, I +thought it a marvel of delicacy and discretion.” + </p> +<p> +“My father, unfortunately, deemed it a piece of intolerable pretension and +offensive condescension, and he burned to be well enough to reply to it.” + </p> +<p> +“Which is exactly what we must not permit. If they once get to a regular +interchange of letters, there is nothing they will not say to each other. +No, no; my plan is the best of all. Lionel made a most favorable +impression the only time Sir William saw him. Beattie shall bring him up +here again as soon as the Chief can be about: the rest will follow +naturally. Lucy agrees with me, I see.” + </p> +<p> +How Sir Brook knew this is not so easy to say, as Lucy had turned her head +away persistently all the time he was speaking, and still continued in +that attitude. +</p> +<p> +“It cannot be to-night, however, and possibly not tomorrow night,” said +Fossbrooke, musing; and though Lucy turned quickly and eagerly towards him +to explain his words, he was silent for some minutes, when at length he +said, “Lionel started this morning by daybreak, and for England. It must +have been a sudden thought. He left me a few lines, in pencil, which went +thus,—'I take the early mail to Holyhead, but mean to be back +to-morrow, or at farthest the day after. No time for more.'” + </p> +<p> +“If the space were not brief that he assigns for his absence, I 'd say he +had certainly gone to see his father,” said Lendrick. +</p> +<p> +“It's not at all unlikely that his mother may have arranged to meet him in +Wales,” said Sir Brook. “She is a fussy, meddlesome woman, who likes to +be, or to think herself, the prime mover in everything. I remember when +Hugh Trafford—a young fellow at that time—was offered a Junior +Lordship of the Treasury, it was she who called on the Premier, Lord +Dornington, to explain why he could not accept office. Nothing but great +abilities or great vices enable a man to rise above the crushing qualities +of such a wife. Trafford had neither, and the world has always voted him a +nonentity.” + </p> +<p> +“There, Lucy,” said Lendrick, laughing,—“there at least is one +danger you must avoid in married life.” + </p> +<p> +“Lucy needs no teachings of mine,” said Sir Brook. “Her own instincts are +worth all my experiences twice told. But who is this coming up to the +door?” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, that is Mr. Haire, a dear friend of grandpapa's.” And Lucy ran to +meet him, returning soon after to the room, leaning on his arm. +</p> +<p> +Lendrick and Haire were very old friends, and esteemed each other +sincerely; and though on the one occasion on which Sir Brook and Haire had +met, Fossbrooke had been the object of the Chief's violence and passion, +his dignity and good temper had raised him highly in Haire's estimation, +and made him glad to meet him again. +</p> +<p> +“You are half surprised to see me under this roof, sir,” said Sir Brook, +referring to their former meeting; “but there are feelings with me +stronger than resentments.” + </p> +<p> +“And when my poor father knows how much he is indebted to your generous +kindness,” broke in Lendrick, “he will be the first to ask your +forgiveness.” + </p> +<p> +“That he will. Of all the men I ever met, he is the readiest to redress a +wrong he has done,” cried Haire, warmly. “If the world only knew him as I +know him! But his whole life long he has been trying to make himself +appear stern and cold-hearted and pitiless, with, all the while, a nature +overflowing with kindness.” + </p> +<p> +“The man who has attached to himself such a friendship as yours,” said +Fossbrooke, warmly, “cannot but have good qualities.” + </p> +<p> +“<i>My friendship!</i>” said Haire, blushing deeply; “what a poor tribute +to such a man as he is! Do you know, sir,” and here he lowered his voice +till it became a confidential whisper,—“do you know, sir, that since +the great days of the country,—since the time of Burke, we have had +nothing to compare with the Chief Baron. Plunkett used to wish he had his +law, and Bushe envied his scholarship, and Lysaght often declared that a +collection of Lendrick's epigrams and witty sayings would be the +pleasantest reading of the day. And such is our public press, that it is +for the quality in which he was least eminent they are readiest to praise +him. You would n't believe it, sir. They call him a 'master of sarcastic +eloquence.' Why, sir, there was a tenderness in him that would not have +let him descend to sarcasm. He could rebuke, censure, condemn if you will; +but his large heart had not room for a sneer.” + </p> +<p> +“You well deserve all the love he bears you,” said Len-drick, grasping his +hand and pressing it affectionately. +</p> +<p> +“How could I deserve it? Such a man's friendship is above all the merits +of one like me. Why, sir, it is honor and distinction before the world. I +would not barter his regard for me to have a seat beside him on the Bench. +By the way,” added he, cautiously, “let him not see the papers this +morning. They are at it again about his retirement. They say that Lord +Wilmington had actually arranged the conditions, and that the Chief had +consented to everything; and now they are beaten. You have heard, I +suppose, the Ministry are out?” + </p> +<p> +“No; were they Whigs?” asked Lendrick, innocently. +</p> +<p> +Haire and Fossbrooke laughed heartily at the poor doctor's indifference to +party, and tried to explain to him something of the struggle between rival +factions, but his mind was full of home events, and had no place for more. +“Tell Haire,” said he at last,—“tell Haire the story of the letter +of resignation; none so fit as he to break the tale to my father.” + </p> +<p> +Fossbrooke took from his pocket a piece of paper, and handed it to Haire, +saying, “Do you know that handwriting?” + </p> +<p> +“To be sure I do! It is the Chief's.” + </p> +<p> +“Does it seem a very formal document?” + </p> +<p> +Haire scanned the back of it, and then scrutinized it all over for a few +seconds. “Nothing of the kind. It's the sort of thing I have seen him +write scores of times. He is always throwing off these sketches. I have +seen him write the preamble to a fancied Act of Parliament,—a +peroration to an imaginary speech; and as to farewells to the Bar, I think +I have a dozen of them,—and one, and not the worst, is in doggerel.” + </p> +<p> +Though, wherever Haire's experiences were his guides, he could manage to +comprehend a question fairly enough, yet where these failed him, or +wherever the events introduced into the scene characters at all new or +strange, he became puzzled at once, and actually lost himself while +endeavoring to trace out motives for actions, not one of which had ever +occurred to him to perform. +</p> +<p> +Through this inability on his part, Sir Brook was not very successful in +conveying to him the details of the stolen document; nor could Haire be +brought to see that the Government officials were the dupes of Sewell's +artifice as much as, or even more than, the Chief himself. +</p> +<p> +“I think you must tell the story yourself, Sir Brook; I feel I shall make +a sad mess of it if you leave it to me,” said he, at last; “and I know, if +I began to blunder, he 'd overwhelm me with questions how this was so, and +why that had not been otherwise, till my mind would get into a helpless +confusion, and he'd send me off in utter despair.” + </p> +<p> +“I have no objection whatever, if Sir William will receive me. Indeed, +Lord Wilmington charged me to make the communication in person, if +permitted to do so.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll say that,” said Haire, in a joyful tone, for already he saw a +difficulty overcome. “I 'll say it was at his Excellency's desire you +came;” and he hurried away to fulfil his mission. He came almost +immediately in' radiant delight. “He is most eager to see you, Sir Brook; +and, just as I said, impatient to make you every <i>amende</i>, and ask +your forgiveness. He looks more like himself than I have seen him for many +a day.” + </p> +<p> +While Sir Brook accompanied Haire to the Judge's room, Lendrick took his +daughter's arm within his own, saying, “Now for a stroll through the wood, +Lucy. It has been one of my day-dreams this whole year past.” + </p> +<p> +Leaving the father and daughter to commune together undisturbed, let us +turn for a moment to Mrs. Sewell, who, with feverish anxiety, continued to +watch from her window for the arrival of a telegraph messenger. It was +already two o'clock. The mail-packet for Ireland would have reached +Holyhead by ten, and there was therefore ample time to have heard what had +occurred afterwards. +</p> +<p> +From the servant who had carried Sewell's letter to Traf-ford, she had +learned that Trafford had set out almost immediately after receiving it; +the man heard the order given to the coachman to drive to Richmond +Barracks. From this she gathered he had gone to obtain the assistance of a +friend. Her first fear was that Trafford, whose courage was beyond +question, would have refused the meeting, standing on the ground that no +just cause of quarrel existed. This he would certainly have done had he +consulted Fossbrooke, who would, besides, have seen the part her own +desire for vengeance played in the whole affair. It was with this view +that she made Sewell insert the request that Fossbrooke might not know of +the intended meeting. Her mind, therefore, was at rest on two points. +Trafford had not refused the challenge, nor had he spoken of it to +Fossbrooke. +</p> +<p> +But what had taken place since? that was the question. Had they met, and +with what result? If she did not dare to frame a wish how the event might +come off, she held fast by the thought that, happen what might, Trafford +never could marry Lucy Lendrick after such a meeting. The mere exchange of +shots would place a whole hemisphere between the two families, while the +very nature of the accusation would be enough to arouse the jealousy and +insult the pride of such a girl as Lucy. Come, therefore, what might, the +marriage is at an end. +</p> +<p> +If Sewell were to fall! She shuddered to think what the world would say of +her! One judgment there would be no gainsaying. Her husband certainly +believed her false, and with his life he paid for the conviction. But +would she be better off if Trafford were the victim? That would depend on +how Sewell behaved. She would be entirely at his mercy,—whether he +determined to separate from her or not. <i>His</i> mercy, seemed a sorry +hope to cling to. Hopeless as this alternative looked, she never relented, +even for an instant, as to what she had done; and the thought that Lucy +should not be Trafford's wife repaid her for all and everything. +</p> +<p> +While she thus waited in all the feverish torture of suspense, her mind +travelled over innumerable contingencies of the case, in every one of +which her own position was one of shame and sorrow; and she knew not +whether she would deem it worse to be regarded as the repentant wife, +taken back by a forgiving pitying husband, or the woman thrown off and +deserted! “I suppose I must accept either of those lots, and my only +consolation will be my vengeance.” + </p> +<p> +“How absurd!” broke she out, “are they who imagine that one only wants to +be avenged on those who hate us! It is the wrongs done by people who are +indifferent to us, and who in search of their own objects bestow no +thought upon us,—these are the ills that cannot be forgiven. I never +hated a human being—and there have been some who have earned my hate—as +I hate this girl; and just as I feel the injustice of the sentiment, so +does it eat deeper and deeper into my heart.” + </p> +<p> +“A despatch, ma'am,” said her maid, as she laid a paper on the table and +withdrew. Mrs. Sewell clutched it eagerly, but her hand trembled so she +could not break the envelope. To think that her whole fate lay there, +within that fold of paper, so overcame her that she actually sickened with +fear as she looked on it. +</p> +<p> +“Whatever is done, is done,” muttered she, as she broke open the cover. +There were but two lines; they ran thus:— +</p> +<p> +“Holyhead, 12 o'clock. +</p> +<p> +“Have thought better of it. It would be absurd to meet him. I start for +town at once, and shall be at Boulogne to-morrow. +</p> +<p> +“Dudley.” + </p> +<p> +She sat pondering over these words till the paper became blurred and +blotted by her tears as they rolled heavily along her cheeks, and dropped +with a distinct sound. She was not conscious that she wept. It was not +grief that moved her; it was the blankness of despair,—the sense of +hopelessness that comes over the heart when life no longer offers a plan +or a project, but presents a weariful road to be travelled, uncheered and +dreary. +</p> +<p> +Till she had read these lines it never occurred to her that such a line of +action was possible. But now that she saw them there before her, her whole +astonishment was that she had not anticipated this conduct on his part. “I +might have guessed it; I might have been sure of it,” muttered she. “The +interval was too long; there were twelve mortal hours for reflection. +Cowards think acutely,—at least, they say that in their calculations +they embrace more casualties than brave men. And so he has 'thought better +of it,'—a strange phrase. 'Absurd to meet him!' but not absurd to +run away. How oddly men reason when they are terrified! And so my great +scheme has failed, all for want of a little courage, which I could have +supplied, if called on; and now comes my hour of defeat, if not worse,—my +hour of exposure. I am not brave enough to confront it. I must leave this; +but where to go is the question. I suppose Boulogne, since it is there I +shall join my husband;” and she laughed hysterically as she said it. +</p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXVI. A FAMILY PARTY +</h2> +<p> +While the interview between Sir Brook and the Chief Baron lasted,—and +it was a long time,—the anxiety of those below-stairs was great to +know how matters were proceeding. Had the two old men, who differed so +strongly in many respects, found out that there was that in each which +could command the respect and esteem of the other, and had they gained +that common ground where it was certain there were many things they would +agree upon? +</p> +<p> +“I should say,” cried Beattie, “they have become excellent friends before +this. The Chief reads men quickly, and Fossbrooke's nature is written in a +fine bold hand, easy to read and impossible to mistake.” + </p> +<p> +“There, there,” burst in Haire,—“they are laughing, and laughing +heartily too. It does me good to hear the Chief's laugh.” + </p> +<p> +Lendrick looked gratefully at the old man whose devotion was so unvarying. +“Here comes Cheetor,—what has he to say?” + </p> +<p> +“My Lord will dine below-stairs to-day, gentlemen,” said the butler; “he +hopes you have no engagements which will prevent your meeting him at +dinner.” + </p> +<p> +“If we had, we 'd soon throw them over,” burst out Haire. “This is the +pleasantest news I have heard this half-year.” + </p> +<p> +“Fossbrooke has done it. I knew he would,” said Beattie; “he's just the +man to suit your father, Tom. While the Chief can talk of events, +Fossbrooke knows people, and they are sure to make capital company for +each other.” + </p> +<p> +“There's another laugh! Oh, if one only could hear him now,” said Haire; +“he must be in prime heart this morning. I wonder if Sir Brook will +remember the good things he is saying.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm not quite so sure about this notion of dining below-stairs,” said +Beattie, cautiously; “he may be over-taxing his strength.” + </p> +<p> +“Let him alone, Beattie; leave him to himself,” said Haire. “No man ever +knew how to make his will his ally as he does. He told me so himself.” + </p> +<p> +“And in these words?” said Beattie, slyly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, in those very words.” + </p> +<p> +“Why, Haire, you are almost as useful to him as Bozzy was to Johnson.” + </p> +<p> +Haire only caught the last name, and, thinking it referred to a judge on +the Irish bench, cried out, “Don't compare him with Johnston, sir; you +might as well liken him to <i>me!</i>” + </p> +<p> +“I must go and find Lucy,” said Lendrick. “I think she ought to go and +show Mrs. Sewell how anxious we all are to prove our respect and regard +for her in this unhappy moment; the poor thing will need it.” + </p> +<p> +“She has gone away already. She has removed to Lady Lendrick's house in +Merrion Square; and I think very wisely,” said Beattie. +</p> +<p> +“There 's some Burgundy below,—Chambertin, I think it is,—and +Cheetor won't know where to find it,” said Haire. “I'll go down to the +cellar myself; the Chief will be charmed to see it on the table.” + </p> +<p> +“So shall I,” chimed in Beattie. “It is ten years or more since I saw a +bottle of it, and I half feared it had been finished.” + </p> +<p> +“You are wrong,” broke in Haire. “It will be nineteen years on the 10th of +June next. I 'll tell you the occasion. It was when your father, Tom, had +given up the Solicitor-Generalship, and none of us knew who was going to +be made Chief Baron. Plunkett was dining here that day, and when he tasted +the Burgundy he said, 'This deserves a toast, gentlemen,' said he. 'I +cannot ask you to drink to the health of the Solicitor-General, for I +believe there is no Solicitor-General; nor can I ask you to pledge the +Chief Baron of the Exchequer, for I believe there is no Chief Baron; but I +can give you a toast about which there can be no mistake nor misgiving,—I +give you the ornament of the Irish Bar.' I think, I hear the cheers yet. +The servants caught them up, too, in the hall, and the house rang with a +hip-hurrah till it trembled.” + </p> +<p> +“Well done, Bozzy!” said Beattie. “I'm glad that my want of memory should +have recalled so glorious a recollection.” + </p> +<p> +At last Fossbrooke's heavy tread was heard descending the stairs, and they +all rushed to the door to meet him. +</p> +<p> +“It is all right!” cried he. “The Chief Baron has taken the whole event in +an admirable spirit, and, like a truly generous man, he dwells on every +proof of regard and esteem that has been shown him, and forgets the wrongs +that others would have done him.” + </p> +<p> +“The shock, then, did not harm him?” asked Lendrick, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Far from it; he said he felt revived and renovated. Yes, Beattie, he told +me I had done him more good than all your phials. His phrase was, '<i>Your</i> +bitters, sir, leave no bad flavor behind them.' I am proud to think I made +a favorable impression upon him; for he permitted me not only to state my +own views, but to correct some of his. He agrees now to everything. He +even went so far as to say that he will employ his first half-hour of +strength in writing to Lady Trafford; and he charges you, Beattie, to +invite Lionel Trafford to come and pass some days here.” + </p> +<p> +“<i>Viva!</i>” cried Haire; “this is grand news.” + </p> +<p> +“He asks, also, if Tom could not come over for the wedding, which he +trusts may not be long deferred,—as he said with a laugh, 'At <i>my</i> +time of life, Sir Brook, it is best to leave as little as possible to <i>Nisi +Prius.</i>'” + </p> +<p> +“You must tell me all these again, Sir Brook, or I shall inevitably forget +them,” whispered Haire in his ear. +</p> +<p> +“And shall I tell you, Lendrick, what I liked best in all I saw of him?” + said Sir Brook, as he slipped his arm within the other's, and drew him +towards a window. “It was the way he said to me, as I rose to leave the +room, 'One word more, Sir Brook. We are all very happy, and, in +consequence, very selfish. Let us not forget that there is one sad heart +here,—that there is one upstairs there who can take no part in all +this joy. What shall we, what can we, do for her?' I knew whom he meant at +once,—poor Mrs. Sewell; and I was glad to tell him that I had +already thought of her. 'She will join her husband,' said I, 'and I will +take care that they have wherewithal to live on.' +</p> +<p> +“'I must share in whatever you do for her, Sir Brook,' said your father; +'she has many attractive qualities; she has some lovable ones. Who is to +say what such a nature might not have been, if spared the contamination of +such a husband?' +</p> +<p> +“I'm afraid I shocked, if I did not actually hurt him, by the way I +grasped his hands in my gratitude for this speech. I know I said, 'God +bless you for those words!' and I hurried out of the room.” + </p> +<p> +“Ah, <i>you</i> know him, sir!—<i>you</i> read him aright! And how +few there are who do it!” cried Haire, warmly. +</p> +<p> +The old Judge was too weak to appear in the drawing-room; but when the +company entered the dining-room, they found him seated at the table, and, +though pale and wasted, with a bright eye and a clear, fresh look. +</p> +<p> +“I declare,” said he, as they took their places, “this repays one for +illness. No, Lucy,—opposite me, my dear. Yes, Tom, of course; that +is your place,—your old place;” and he smiled benignly as he said +it. “Is there not a place too many, Lucy?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, grandpapa. It was for Mrs. Sewell, but she sent me a line to say she +had promised Lady Lendrick to dine with her.” + </p> +<p> +The old Chief's eyes met Fossbrooke's, and in the glances they exchanged +there was much meaning. +</p> +<p> +“I cannot eat, Sir Brook, till we have had a glass of wine together. +Beattie may look as reproachfully as he likes, but it shall be a bumper. +This old room has great traditions,” he went on. “Curran and Avonmore and +Parsons, and others scarce their inferiors, held their tournaments here.” + </p> +<p> +“I have my doubts if they had a happier party round the board than we have +to-night,” said Haire. +</p> +<p> +“We only want Tom,” said Dr. Lendrick. “If we had poor Tom with us, it +would be perfect.” + </p> +<p> +“I think I know of another too,” whispered Beattie in Lucy's ear. “Don't +you?” + </p> +<p> +“What soft nonsense is Beattie saying, Lucy? It has made you blush,” said +the Chief. “It was all my fault, child, to have placed you in such bad +company. I ought to have had you at my side here; but I wanted to look at +you.” + </p> +<p> +Leaving them thus in happy pleasantry and enjoyment, let us turn for a +moment to a very different scene,—to a drawing-room in Merrion +Square, where at that same hour Lady Lendrick and Mrs. Sewell sat in close +conference. +</p> +<p> +Mrs. Sewell had related the whole story of the intended duel, and its +finale, and was now explaining to her mother-in-law how impossible it +would be for her to continue any longer to live under the Chief Baron's +roof, if even—which she deemed unlikely—he would still desire +it. +</p> +<p> +“He 'll not turn you out, dear,—of that I am quite certain. I +suspect I am the only one in the world he would treat in that fashion.” + </p> +<p> +“I must not incur the risk.” + </p> +<p> +“Dear me, have you not been running risks all your life, Lucy? Besides, +what else have you open to you?” + </p> +<p> +“Join my husband, I suppose, whenever he sends for me,—whenever he +says he has a home to receive me.” “Dudley, I 'm certain, will do his +best,” said Lady Lendrick, stiffly. “It is not very easy for a poor man to +make these arrangements in a moment. But, with all his faults,—and +even his mother must own that he has many faults,—yet I have never +known him to bear malice.” “Certainly, Madam, you are justified in your +panegyric by his conduct on the present occasion; he has, indeed, +displayed a most forgiving nature.” + </p> +<p> +“You mean by not fighting Trafford, I suppose; but come now, Lucy, we are +here alone, and can talk freely to each other; why should he fight him?” + </p> +<p> +“I will not follow you, Lady Lendrick, into that inquiry, nor give you any +pretext for saying to me what your candor is evidently eager for. I will +only repeat that the one thing I ever knew Colonel Sewell pardon was the +outrage that no gentleman ever endures.” + </p> +<p> +“He fought once before, and was greatly condemned for it.” + </p> +<p> +“I suppose you know why, Madam. I take it you have no need I should tell +you the Agra story, with all its shameful details?” + </p> +<p> +“I don't want to hear it; and if I did I would certainly hesitate to +listen to it from one so deeply and painfully implicated as yourself.” + </p> +<p> +“Lady Lendrick, I will have no insinuations,” said she, haughtily. “When I +came here, it never occurred to me I was to be insulted.” + </p> +<p> +“Sit down again, Lucy, and don't be angry with me,” said Lady Lendrick, +pressing her back into her chair. “Your position is a very painful one,—let +us not make it worse by irritation; and to avoid all possibility of this, +we will not look back at all, but only regard the future.” + </p> +<p> +“That may be more easy for <i>you</i> to do than for <i>me</i>” + </p> +<p> +“Easy or not easy, Lucy, we have no alternative; we cannot change the +past.” + </p> +<p> +“No, no, no! I know that,—I know that,” cried she, bitterly, as her +clasped hands dropped upon her knee. +</p> +<p> +“For that reason then, Lucy, forget it, ignore it. I have no need to tell +you, my dear, that my own life has not been a very happy one, and if I +venture to give advice, it is not without having had my share of sorrows. +You say you cannot go back to the Priory?” + </p> +<p> +“No; that is impossible.” + </p> +<p> +“Unpleasant it would certainly be, and all the more so with these marriage +festivities. The wedding, I suppose, will take place there?” + </p> +<p> +“I don't know; I have not heard;” and she tried to say this with an easy +indifference. +</p> +<p> +“Trafford is disinherited, is he not?—passed over in the entail, or +something or other?” + </p> +<p> +“I don't know,” she muttered out; but this time her confusion was not to +be concealed. +</p> +<p> +“And will this old man they talk of—this Sir Brook somebody—make +such a settlement on them as they can live on?” + </p> +<p> +“I know nothing about it at all.” + </p> +<p> +“I wonder, Lucy dear, it never occurred to you to fascinate Dives +yourself. What nice crumbs these would have been for Algy and Cary!” + </p> +<p> +“You forget, Madam, what a jealous husband I have!” and her eyes now +darted a glance of almost wild malignity. +</p> +<p> +“Poor Dudley, how many faults we shall find in you if we come to discuss +you!” + </p> +<p> +“Let us not discuss Colonel Sewell, Madam; it will be better for all of +us. A thought has just occurred; it was a thing I was quite forgetting. +May I send one of your servants with a note, for which he will wait the +answer?” + </p> +<p> +“Certainly. You will find paper and pens there.” + </p> +<p> +The note was barely a few lines, and addressed to George Kincaid, Esq., +Ely Place. “You are to wait for the answer, Richard,” said she, as she +gave it to the servant. +</p> +<p> +“Do you expect he will let you have some money, Lucy?” asked Lady +Lendrick, as she heard the name. +</p> +<p> +“No; it was about something else I wrote. I'm quite sure he would not have +given me money if I asked for it.” + </p> +<p> +“I wish <i>I</i> could, my dear Lucy; but I am miserably poor. Sir +William, who was once the very soul of punctuality, has grown of late most +neglectful. My last quarter is over-due two months. I must own all this +has taken place since Dudley went to live at the Priory. I hear the +expenses were something fabulous.” + </p> +<p> +“There was a great deal of waste; a great deal of mock splendor and real +discomfort.” + </p> +<p> +“Is it true the wine bill was fifteen hundred pounds for the last year?” + </p> +<p> +“I think I heard it was something to that amount.” + </p> +<p> +“And four hundred for cigars?” + </p> +<p> +“No; that included pipes, and amber mouthpieces, and meerschaums for +presents,—it rained presents!” + </p> +<p> +“And did Sir William make no remark or remonstrance about this?” + </p> +<p> +“I believe not. I rather think I heard that he liked it. They persuaded +him that all these indiscretions, like his new wigs, and his rouge, and +his embroidered waistcoats, made him quite juvenile, and that nothing made +a man so youthful as living beyond his income.” + </p> +<p> +“It is easy enough to see how I was left in arrear; and <i>you</i>, dear, +were you forgotten all this while and left without a shilling?” + </p> +<p> +“Oh, no; I could make as many debts as I pleased; and I pleased to make +them, too, as they will discover one of these days. I never asked the +price of anything, and therefore I enjoyed unlimited credit. If you +remark, shopkeepers never dun the people who simply say, 'Send that home.'—How +quickly you did your message, Richard! Have you brought an answer? Give it +to me at once.” + </p> +<p> +She broke open the note with eager impatience, but it fell from her +fingers as she read it, and she lay back almost fainting in her chair. +</p> +<p> +“Are you ill, dear,—are you faint?” asked Lady Len-drick. +</p> +<p> +“No; I 'm quite well again. I was only provoked,—put out;” and she +stooped and took up the letter. “I wrote to Mr. Kincaid to give me certain +papers which were in his hands, and which I know Colonel Sewell would wish +to have in his own keeping, and he writes me this:— +</p> +<p> +“Dear Madam,—I am sorry that it is not in my power to comply with +the request of your note, inasmuch as the letters referred to were this +morning handed over to Sir Brook Fossbrooke on his producing an order from +Colonel Sewell to that intent.—I am, Madam, your most obedient +servant, +</p> +<p> +“George Kincaid.” + </p> +<p> +“They were letters, then?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, Lady Lendrick, they were letters,” said she, dryly, as she arose and +walked to the window, to hide an agitation she could no longer subdue. +After a few minutes she turned round and said, “You will let me stay here +to-night?” + </p> +<p> +“Certainly, dear; of course I will.” + </p> +<p> +“But the children must be sent for,—I can't suffer them to remain +there. Will you send for them?” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; I 'll tell Rose to take the carriage and bring them over here.” + </p> +<p> +“This is very kind of you; I am most grateful. We shall not be a burden +beyond to-morrow.” + </p> +<p> +“What do you mean to do?” + </p> +<p> +“To join my husband, as I told you awhile ago. Sir Brook Fossbrooke made +that the condition of his assisting us.” + </p> +<p> +“What does he call assisting you?” + </p> +<p> +“Supporting us,—feeding, housing, clothing us; we shall have nothing +but what he will give us.” + </p> +<p> +“That is very generous, indeed.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; it is generous,—more generous than you dream of, for we did +not always treat him very well; but <i>that</i> also is a bygone, and I +'ll not return to it.” + </p> +<p> +“Come down and have some dinner,—it has been on the table this +half-hour; it will be nigh cold by this.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes; I am quite ready. I'd like to eat, too, if I could. What a great +resource it is to men in their dark hours that they can drink and smoke! I +think I could do both to-day if I thought they would help me to a little +insensibility.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0027" id="link2HCH0027"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXVII. PROJECTS. +</h2> +<p> +Trafford arrived from England on the evening after, and hastened off to +Howth, where he found Sir Brook deeply engaged over the maps and plans of +his new estate; for already the preliminaries had so far advanced that he +could count upon it as his own. +</p> +<p> +“Look here, Trafford,” he cried, “and see what a noble extension we shall +give to the old grounds of the Nest. The whole of this wood—eleven +hundred and seventy acres—comes in, and this mountain down to that +stream there is ours, as well as all these meadow-lands between the +mountain and the Shannon,—one of the most picturesque estates it +will be in the kingdom. If I were to have my own way, I 'd rebuild the +house. With such foliage—fine old timber much of it—there 's +nothing would look better than one of those Venetian villas, those +half-castellated buildings one sees at the foot of the mountains of +Conigliano; and they are grand spacious places to live in, with wide +stairs, and great corridors, and terraces everywhere. I see, however, +Lendrick's heart clings to his old cottage, and we must let him have his +way.” + </p> +<p> +“What is this here?” asked Trafford, drawing out from the mass of papers +the plan of a very pretty but very diminutive cottage. +</p> +<p> +“That's to be mine. This window you see here will project over the river, +and that little terrace will be carried on arches all along the river +bank. I have designed everything, even to the furniture. You shall see a +model cottage, Trafford; not one of those gingerbread things to be shown +to strangers by ticket on Tuesdays or Saturdays, with a care-taker to be +tipped, and a book to be scribbled full of vulgar praises of the +proprietor, or doggerel ecstasies over some day of picnicking. But come +and report yourself,—where have you been, and what have you done +since I saw you?” + </p> +<p> +“I have a long budget for you. First of all, read that;” and he handed Sir +Brook Sewell's letter. +</p> +<p> +“What! do you mean to say that you met him?” + </p> +<p> +“No; I rejoice to say I have escaped that mischance; but you shall hear +everything, and in as few words as I can tell it. I have already told you +of Mrs. Sewell's visit here, and I have not a word to add to that recital. +I simply would say that I pledge my honor to the strict truth of +everything I have told you. You may imagine, then, with what surprise I +was awoke from my sleep to read that note. My first impression was to +write him a full and explicit denial of what he laid to my charge; but as +I read the letter over a third and even a fourth time, I thought I saw +that he had written it on some sort of compulsion,—that, in fact, he +had been instigated to the step, which was one he but partly concurred in. +I do not like to say more on this head.” + </p> +<p> +“You need not. Go on.” + </p> +<p> +“I then deemed that the best thing to do was to let him have his shot, +after which my explanation would come more forcibly; and as I had +determined not to fire at him, he would be forced to see that he could not +persist in his quarrel.” + </p> +<p> +“There you mistook your man,” cried Sir Brook, fiercely. +</p> +<p> +“I don't think so; but you shall hear. We must have crossed over in the +same packet, but we never met. Stanhope, who went with me, thought he saw +him on the landing-slip at Holyhead, but was not quite sure. At all +events, we reached the inn at the Head, and had just sat down to luncheon, +when the waiter brought in this note, asking which of us was Major +Trafford. Here it is:— +</p> +<p> +“'Pray accept my excuses for having given you a rough sea passage; but, on +second thoughts, I have satisfied myself that there is no valid reason why +I should try to blow your brains out, “<i>et pour si peu de chose</i>.” As +I can say without any vanity that I am a better pistol-shot than you, I +have the less hesitation in taking a step which, as a man of honor and +courage, you will certainly not misconstrue. With this assurance, and the +not less strong conviction that my conduct will be safely treated in any +representation you make of this affair, I am your humble and faithful +servant, +</p> +<p> +“'Dudley Sewell.' +</p> +<p> +“I don't think I was ever so grateful to any man in the world as I felt to +him on reading his note, since, let the event take what turn it might, it +rendered my position with the Lendricks a most perilous one. I made +Stanhope drink his health, which I own he did with a very bad grace, +telling me at the same time what good luck it was for me that <i>he</i> +had been my friend on the occasion, for that any man but himself would +have thought me a regular poltroon. I was too happy to care for his +sarcasms, such a load had been removed from my heart, and such terrible +forebodings too. +</p> +<p> +“I started almost immediately for Holt, and got there by midnight. All +were in bed, and my arrival was only known when I came down to breakfast. +My welcome was all I could wish for. My father was looking well, and in +great spirits. The new Ministry have offered him his choice of a Lordship +of the Admiralty, or something else—I forget what; and just because +he has a fine independent fortune and loves his ease, he is more than +inclined to take office, one of his chief reasons being 'how useful he +could be to me.' I must own to you frankly that the prospect of all these +new honors to the family rather frightened than flattered me, for I +thought I saw in them the seeds of more strenuous opposition to my +marriage; but I was greatly relieved when my mother—who you may +remember had been all my difficulty hitherto—privately assured me +that she had brought my father round to her opinion, and that he was quite +satisfied—I am afraid her word was reconciled, but no matter—reconciled +to the match. I could see that you must have been frightening her terribly +by some menaced exposure of the family pretensions, for she said over and +over again, 'Why is Sir Brook so angry with me? Can't you manage to put +him in better temper with us? I have scarcely had courage to open his +letters of late. I never got such lectures in my life.' And what a horrid +memory you seem to have! She says she 'd be afraid to see you. At all +events, you have done me good service. They agree to everything; and we +are to go on a visit to Holt,—such, at least, I believe to be the +object of the letter which my mother has written to Lucy.” + </p> +<p> +“All this is excellent news, and we 'll announce it to-night at the +Priory. As for the Sewell episode, we must not speak of it. The old Judge +has at last found out the character of the man to whose confidence he +committed himself, but his pride will prevent his ever mentioning his +name.” + </p> +<p> +“Is there any rumor afloat as to the Chief's advancement to the Peerage?” + </p> +<p> +“None,—so far as I have heard.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll tell you why I ask. There is an old maiden aunt of mine, a sister +of my father, who told me, in strictest confidence, that my father had +brought back from town the news that Baron Lendrick was to be created a +Peer; that it was somewhat of a party move to enable the present people to +prosecute the charge against the late Government of injustice towards the +Judge, as well as of a very shameful intrigue to obtain his retirement. +Now, if the story were true, or if my mother believed it to be true, it +would perfectly account for her satisfaction with the marriage, and for my +father's 'resignation'!” + </p> +<p> +“I had hoped her consent was given on better grounds, but it may be as you +say. Since I have turned miner, Trafford,” added he, laughing, “I am +always well content if I discover a grain of silver in a bushel of dross, +and let us take the world in the same patient way.” + </p> +<p> +“When do you intend to go to the Priory?” + </p> +<p> +“I thought of going this evening. I meant to devote the morning to these +maps and drawings, so that I might master the details before I should show +them to my friends at night.” + </p> +<p> +“Couldn't that be deferred? I mean, is there anything against your going +over at once? I 'll own to you I am very uneasy lest some incorrect +version of this affair with Sewell should get abroad. Even without any +malevolence there is plenty of mischief done by mere blundering, and I +would rather anticipate than follow such disclosures.” + </p> +<p> +“I perceive,” said Sir Brook, musingly, as with longing eyes he looked +over the colored plans and charts which strewed the table, and had for him +all the charm of a romance. +</p> +<p> +“Then,” resumed Trafford, “Lucy should have my mother's letter. It might +be that she ought to reply to it at once.” + </p> +<p> +“Yes, I perceive,” mused Sir Brook again. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm sure, besides, it would be very politic in you to keep up the good +relations you have so cleverly established with the Chief; he holds so +much to every show of attention, and is so flattered by every mark of +polite consideration for him.” + </p> +<p> +“And for all these good reasons,” said Sir Brook, slowly, “you would say, +we should set out at once. Arriving there, let us say, for luncheon, and +being begged to stay and dine,—which we certainly should,—we +might remain till, not impossibly, midnight.” + </p> +<p> +Perhaps it was the pleasure of such a prospect sent the blood to +Trafford's face, for he blushed very deeply as he said, “I don't think, +sir, I have much fault to find with your arrangement.” + </p> +<p> +“And yet the real reason for the plan remains unstated,” said Fossbrooke, +looking him steadfastly in the face, “so true is what the Spanish proverb +says, 'Love has more perfidies than war.' Why not frankly say you are +impatient to see your sweetheart, sir? I would to Heaven the case were my +own, and I 'd not be afraid nor ashamed to avow it; but I yield to the +plea, and let us be off there at once.” + </p> +<p> +<a name="link2HCH0028" id="link2HCH0028"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXVIII. THE END OF ALL +</h2> +<p> +The following paragraph appeared in the Irish, and was speedily copied +into some of the English papers: “An intrigue, which involves the +character of more than one individual of rank, and whose object was to +compel the Chief Baron of her Majesty's Exchequer in Ireland to resign his +seat on the Bench, has at length been discovered, and, it is said, will +soon be made matter of Parliamentary explanation. We hope, for the +reputation of our public men, that the details which have reached us of +the transaction may not be substantiated; but the matter is one which +demands, and must have, the fullest and most searching inquiry.” + </p> +<p> +“So, sir,” said the old Chief to Haire, who had read this passage to him +aloud as they sat at breakfast, “they would make political capital of my +case, and, without any thought for me or for my feelings, convert the +conduct displayed towards me into a means of attacking a fallen party. +What says Sir Brook Fossbrooke to this? or how would he act were he in my +place?” + </p> +<p> +“Just as you mean to act now,” said Fossbrooke, promptly. +</p> +<p> +“And how may that be, sir?” + </p> +<p> +“By refusing all assistance to such party warfare; at least, my Lord Chief +Baron, it is thus that I read your character.” + </p> +<p> +“You do me justice, sir; and it is my misfortune that I have not earlier +had the inestimable benefit of your friendship. I trust,” added he, +haughtily, “I have too much pride to be made the mere tool of a party +squabble; and, fortunately, I have the means to show this. Here, sir, is a +letter I have just received from the Prime Minister. Read it,—read +it aloud, Haire and my son will like to hear its contents also.” + </p> +<p> +“Downing Street, Tuesday evening. +</p> +<p> +“My dear Lord Chief Baron,—It is with much pleasure I have to +communicate to you that my colleagues unanimously agree with me in the +propriety of submitting your name to the Queen for the Peerage. Your long +and distinguished services and your great abilities will confer honor on +any station; and your high character will give additional lustre to those +qualities which have marked you out for her Majesty's choice. I am both +proud and delighted, my Lord, that it has fallen to my lot to be the +bearer of these tidings to you; and with every assurance of my great +respect and esteem, I am, most sincerely yours, +</p> +<p> +“Ellerton.” + </p> +<p> +“At last,” cried Haire,—“at last! But I always knew that it would +come.” + </p> +<p> +“And what answer have you returned?” cried Lendrick, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Such an answer as will gladden your heart, Tom. I have declined the +proffered distinction.” + </p> +<p> +“Declined it! Great God! and why?” cried Haire. +</p> +<p> +“Because I have passed that period in which I could accommodate myself to +a new station, and show the world that I was not inferior to my acquired +dignity. This for my first reason; and for my second, I have a son whose +humility would only be afflicted if such greatness were forced upon him. +Ay, Tom, I have thought of all it would cost you, my poor fellow, and I +have spared you.” + </p> +<p> +“I thank you with my whole heart,” cried Lendrick, and he pressed the old +man's hand to his lips. +</p> +<p> +“And what says Lucy?” said the Judge. “Are you shocked at this epidemic of +humility amongst us, child? Or does your woman's heart rebel against all +our craven fears about a higher station?” + </p> +<p> +“I am content, sir; and I don't think Tom, the miner, will fret that he +wears a leather cap instead of a coronet.” + </p> +<p> +“I have no patience with any of you,” muttered Haire. “The world will +never believe you have refused such a splendid offer. The correspondence +will not get abroad.” + </p> +<p> +“I trust it will not, sir,” said the Chief. “What I have done I have done +with regard to myself and my own circumstances, neither meaning to be an +example nor a warning. The world has no more concern with the matter than +with what we shall have for dinner to-day.” + </p> +<p> +“And yet,” said Sir Brook, with a dry ripple at the angle of his mouth, “I +think it is a case where one might forgive the indiscreet friend”—here +he glanced at Haire—“who incautiously gave the details to a +newspaper.” + </p> +<p> +“Indiscreet or not, I'll do it,” said Haire, resolutely. +</p> +<p> +“What, sir!” cried the Chief, with mock sternness of eye and manner,—“what, +sir! if I even forbade you?” + </p> +<p> +“Ay, even so. If you told me you'd shut your door against me, and never +see me here again, I 'd do it.” + </p> +<p> +“Look at that man, Sir Brook,” said the Judge, with well-feigned +indignation; “he was my schoolfellow, my chum in college, my colleague at +the Bar, and my friend everywhere, and see how he turns on me in my hour +of adversity!” + </p> +<p> +“If there be adversity, it is of your own making,” said Haire. “It is that +you won't accept the prize when you have won it.” + </p> +<p> +“I see it all now,” cried the Chief, laughing, “and stupid enough of me +not to see it before. Haire has been a bully all his life; he is the very +terror of the Hall; he has bullied sergeants and silk gowns, judges and +masters in equity, and his heart is set upon bullying a peer of the realm. +Now, if I will not become a lord, he loses this chance; he stands to win +or lose on me. Out with it, Haire; make a clean confession, and own, have +I not hit the blot?” + </p> +<p> +“Well,” said Haire, with a sigh, “I have been called sly, sarcastic, +witty, and what not, but I never thought to hear that I was a bully, or +could be a terror to any one.” + </p> +<p> +The comic earnestness of this speech threw them all into a roar of +laughing, in which even Haire himself joined at last. +</p> +<p> +“Where is Lucy?” cried the old Judge. “I want her to testify how this man +has tyrannized over me.” + </p> +<p> +“Lucy has gone into the garden to read a letter Trafford brought her.” Sir +Brook did not add that Trafford had gone with her to assist in the +interpretation. +</p> +<p> +“I have told Lord Ellerton,” said the Chief, referring once more to the +Minister's letter, “that I will not lend myself in any way to the attack +on the late Government. The intrigue which they planned towards me could +not have ever succeeded if they had not found a traitor in the garrison; +but of him I will speak no more. The old Greek adage was, 'Call no man +happy till he dies.' I would say, he is nearer happiness when he has +refused some object that has been the goal of all his life, than he is +ever like to be under other circumstances.” + </p> +<p> +Tom looked at his father with wistful eyes, as though he owed him +gratitude for the speech. +</p> +<p> +“When it is the second horse claims the cup, Haire,” cried the old Judge, +with a burst of his instinctive vanity, “it is because the first is +disqualified by previous victories. And now let us talk of those whose +happiness can be promoted without the intrigues of a Cabinet or a debate +in the House. Sir Brook tells me that Lady Trafford has made her +submission. She is at last willing to see that in an alliance with us +there is no need to call condescension to her aid.” + </p> +<p> +“Trafford's account is most satisfactory,” said Foss-brooke, “and I trust +the letter of which he was the bearer from his mother will amply +corroborate all he says.” + </p> +<p> +“I like the young man,” said the Judge, with that sort of authoritative +tone that seems to say, The cause is decided,—the verdict is given. +</p> +<p> +“There's always good stuff in a fellow when he is not afraid of poverty,” + said Fossbrooke. “There are scores of men will rough it for a sporting +tour on the Prairies or a three months' lion-shooting on the Gaboon; but +let me see the fellow bred to affluence and accustomed to luxury, who will +relinquish both, and address himself to the hard work of life rather than +give up the affection of a girl he loves. That's the man for me.” + </p> +<p> +“I have great trust in him,” said Lendrick, thoughtfully. +</p> +<p> +“All the Bench has pronounced but one,” cried the Chief. “What says our +brother Haire?” + </p> +<p> +“I 'm no great judge of men. I 'm no great judge of anything,” muttered +Haire; “but I don't think one need be a sphinx to read that he is a right +good fellow, and worthy of the dearest girl in Christendom.” + </p> +<p> +“Well summed up, sir; and now call in the prisoner.” + </p> +<p> +Fossbrooke slipped from the room, but was speedily back again. “His +sentence has been already pronounced outside, my Lord, and he only begs +for a speedy execution.” + </p> +<p> +“It is always more merciful,” said the Chief, with mock solemnity; “but +could we not have Tom over here? I want to have you all around me.” + </p> +<p> +“I 'll telegraph to him to come,” said Fossbrooke. “I was thinking of it +all the morning.” + </p> +<p> +About three weeks after this, Chief Baron Lendrick opened the Commission +at Limerick, and received from the grand jury of the county a most +complimentary address on his reappearance upon the Bench, to which he made +a suitable and dignified reply. Even the newspapers which had so often +censured the tenacity with which he held to office, and inveighed against +the spectacle of an old and feeble man in the discharge of laborious and +severe duties, were now obliged to own that his speech was vigorous and +eloquent; and though allusion had been faintly made in the address to the +high honor to which the Crown had desired to advance him and the splendid +reward which was placed within his reach, yet, with a marked delicacy, had +he forborne from any reference to this passage other than his thankfulness +at being so far restored to health that he could come back again to those +functions, the discharge of which formed the pride and the happiness of +his life. +</p> +<p> +“Never,” said the journal which was once his most bitter opponent, “has +the Chief Baron exhibited his unquestionable powers of thought and +expression more favorably than on this occasion. There were no artifices +of rhetoric, no tricks of phrase, none of those conceits by which so often +he used to mar the wisdom of his very finest displays; he was natural for +once, and they who listened to him might well have regretted that it was +not in this mood he had always spoken. <i>Si sic omnia</i>,—and the +press had never registered his defects nor railed at his vanities. +</p> +<p> +“The celebrated Sir Brook Fossbrooke, so notorious in the palmy days of +the Regency, sat on the Bench beside his Lordship, and received a very +flattering share of the cheers which greeted the party as they drove away +to Killaloe, to be present at the wedding of Miss Lendrick, which takes +place to-morrow.” + </p> +<p> +Much-valued reader, has it ever occurred to you, towards the close of a +long, possibly not very interesting discourse, to experience a sort of +irreverent impatience when the preacher, appearing to take what rowing men +call “second wind,” starts off afresh, and seems to threaten you with +fully the equal of what he has already given? At such a moment it is far +from unlikely that all the best teachings of that sermon are not producing +upon you their full effect of edification, and that, even as you sat, you +meditated ignoble thoughts of stealing away. +</p> +<p> +I am far from desiring to expose either you or myself to this painful +position. I want to part good friends with you; and if there may have been +anything in my discourse worth carrying away, I would not willingly +associate it with weariness at the last. And yet I am very loath to say +good-bye. Authors are, <i>par excellence</i>, button-holders, and they +cannot relinquish their grasp on the victim whose lapel they have caught. +Now I would like to tell you of that wedding at the Swan's Nest. You 'd +read it if in the “Morning Post,” but I'm afraid you'd skip it from <i>me</i>. +I 'd like to recount the events of that breakfast, the present Sir Brook +made the bride, and the charming little speech with which the Chief +proposed her health. I 'd like to describe to you the uproar and joyous +confusion when Tom, whose costume bore little trace of a wedding garment, +fought his way through the servants into the breakfast-room. +</p> +<p> +And I 'd like to grow moral and descriptive, and a bit pathetic perhaps, +over the parting between Lucy and her father; and, last of all, I 'd like +to add a few words about him who gives his name to this story, and tell +how he set off once more on his wanderings, no one well knowing whither +bent, but how, on reaching Boulogne, he saw from the steamer's deck, as he +landed, the portly figure of Lady Lendrick walking beside her beautiful +daughter-in-law, Sewell bringing up the rear, with a little child holding +his hand on either side,—a sweet picture, combining, to Boulogne +appreciation, the united charm of fashion, beauty, and domestic felicity; +and finally, how, stealing by back streets to the hotel where these people +stopped, he deposited to their address a somewhat weighty packet, which +made them all very happy, or at least very merry, that evening as they +opened it and induced Sewell to order a bottle of Cliquot, if not, as he +said, “to drink the old buck's health,” at least to wish him many returns +of the same good dispositions of that morning. +</p> +<p> +If, however, you are disposed to accept the will for the deed, I need say +no more. They who have deserved some share of happiness in this tale are +likely to have it. They who have little merited will have to meet a world +which, neither over cruel nor over generous, has a rough justice that +generally gives people their deserts. +</p> +<p> +THE END. <br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sir Brook Fossbrooke, Volume II., by +Charles James Lever + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIR BROOK FOSSBROOKE, VOLUME II. *** + +***** This file should be named 35297-h.htm or 35297-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/2/9/35297/ + +Produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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