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diff --git a/35756-h/35756-h.htm b/35756-h/35756-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a29918e --- /dev/null +++ b/35756-h/35756-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,19287 @@ +<?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> +The Knight of Gwynne, by Charles James Lever +</title> +<style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + +body { text-align:justify} +P { margin:15%; +margin-top: .75em; +margin-bottom: .75em; } +H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } +hr { width: 50%; } +hr.full { width: 100%; } +.foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } +.play { margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; text-align: justify; font-size: 100%; } +img {border: 0;} +HR { width: 33%; text-align: center; } +blockquote {font-size: 97%; margin-left: 30%; margin-right: 20%;} +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ +/* visibility: hidden; */ +position: absolute; +left: 1%; +font-size: smaller; +text-align: left; +color: gray; +} /* page numbers */ +.figleft {float: left; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 1%;} +.figright {float: right; margin-right: 10%; margin-left: 1%;} +.mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; +margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} +.toc { margin-left: 5%; margin-bottom: .75em; font-size: 110%;} +.toc2 { margin-left: 5%;} +.indent {font-style: italic; font-size: 100%; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} +CENTER { padding: 10px;} +PRE { font-family: Times; font-style: italic; font-size: 100%; margin-left: 25%;} + +</style> +</head> +<body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Knight Of Gwynne, Vol. II (of II), by +Charles James Lever + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Knight Of Gwynne, Vol. II (of II) + +Author: Charles James Lever + +Illustrator: Phiz. + +Release Date: April 2, 2011 [EBook #35756] +Last Updated: February 28, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KNIGHT OF GWYNNE, II *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + +<p> +<br /><br /> +</p> +<h1> +THE KNIGHT OF GWYNNE +</h1> +<h2> +By Charles James Lever +</h2> +<p> +<br /> +</p> +<h3> +With Illustrations By Phiz. +</h3> +<h4> +In Two Volumes +</h4> +<h3> +Vol. II. +</h3> +<p> +Boston: Little, Brown, And Company <br /><br /> 1899. <br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <br /> <img alt="frontispiece (184K)" +src="images/frontispiece.jpg" height="785" width="768" /> <br /> <br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<blockquote> +<p class="toc"> +<big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> +</p> +<p> +<br /> <a href="#2H_4_0001"> <b>THE KNIGHT OF GWYNNE</b> </a><br /> <br /> +<a href="#2HCH0001"> CHAPTER I. </a> SOME CHARACTERS NEW TO +THE KNIGHT AND THE READER <br /><br /> <a href="#2HCH0002"> CHAPTER II. +</a> A TALE OF MR. DEMPSEY'S GRANDFATHER <br /><br /> <a +href="#2HCH0003"> CHAPTER III. </a> SOME VISITORS AT GWYNNE +ABBEY <br /><br /> <a href="#2HCH0004"> CHAPTER IV. </a> A +SCENE AT THE ASSIZES <br /><br /> <a href="#2HCH0005"> CHAPTER V. </a> MR. +HEFFERNAN'S COUNSELS <br /><br /> <a href="#2HCH0006"> CHAPTER VI. </a> AN +UNLOOKED-FOR PROMOTION <br /><br /> <a href="#2HCH0007"> CHAPTER VII. </a> A +PARTING INTERVIEW <br /><br /> <a href="#2HCH0008"> CHAPTER VIII. </a> THE +FIRE <br /><br /> <a href="#2HCH0009"> CHAPTER IX. </a> BOARDING-HOUSE +CRITICISM <br /><br /> <a href="#2HCH0010"> CHAPTER X. </a> DALY'S +FAREWELL <br /><br /> <a href="#2HCH0011"> CHAPTER XI. </a> THE +DUKE OF YORK'S LEVEE <br /><br /> <a href="#2HCH0012"> CHAPTER XII. </a> THE +TWO SIDES OF A MEDAL <br /><br /> <a href="#2HCH0013"> CHAPTER XIII. </a> AN +UNCEREMONIOUS VISIT <br /><br /> <a href="#2HCH0014"> CHAPTER XIV. </a> A +TÊTE-À-TÊTE AND A LETTER <br /><br /> <a href="#2HCH0015"> CHAPTER XV. +</a> A DINNER AT COM HEFFERNAN'S <br /><br /> <a +href="#2HCH0016"> CHAPTER XVI. </a> PAUL DEMPSEY'S WALK <br /><br /> +<a href="#2HCH0017"> CHAPTER XVII. </a> MR. ANTHONY NICKIE, +ATTORNEY-AT-LAW <br /><br /> <a href="#2HCH0018"> CHAPTER XVIII. </a> A +CONVIVIAL EVENING <br /><br /> <a href="#2HCH0019"> CHAPTER XIX. </a> MR. +DEMPSEY BEHIND THE SCENE <br /><br /> <a href="#2HCH0020"> CHAPTER XX. +</a> MR. HEFFERNAN OUT-MANOEUVRED <br /><br /> <a +href="#2HCH0021"> CHAPTER XXI. </a> A BIT OF B Y-P L A Y +<br /><br /> <a href="#2HCH0022"> CHAPTER XXII. </a> A GLANCE +AT MRS. FUMBALLY'S <br /><br /> <a href="#2HCH0023"> CHAPTER XXIII. </a> THE +COAST IN WINTER <br /><br /> <a href="#2HCH0024"> CHAPTER XXIV. </a> THE +DOCTOR'S LAST DEVICE <br /><br /> <a href="#2HCH0025"> CHAPTER XXV. </a> A +DARK CONSPIRACY <br /><br /> <a href="#2HCH0026"> CHAPTER XXVI. </a> THE +LANDING AT ABOUKIR <br /><br /> <a href="#2HCH0027"> CHAPTER XXVII. </a> THE +FRENCH RETREAT <br /><br /> <a href="#2HCH0028"> CHAPTER XXVIII. </a> TIDINGS +OF THE WOUNDED <br /><br /> <a href="#2HCH0029"> CHAPTER XXIX. </a> THE +DAWN OF CONVALESCENCE <br /><br /> <a href="#2HCH0030"> CHAPTER XXX. </a> A +BOUDOIR <br /><br /> <a href="#2HCH0031"> CHAPTER XXXI. </a> A +LESSON FOR EAVES-DROPPING <br /><br /> <a href="#2HCH0032"> CHAPTER XXXII. +</a> A LESSON IN POLITICS <br /><br /> <a href="#2HCH0033"> +CHAPTER XXXIII. </a> THE CHANCES OF TRAVEL <br /><br /> <a +href="#2HCH0034"> CHAPTER XXXIV. </a> HOME <br /><br /> <a +href="#2HCH0035"> CHAPTER XXXV. </a> AN AWKWARD DINNER-PARTY +<br /><br /> <a href="#2HCH0036"> CHAPTER XXXVI. </a> AN +UNEXPECTED PROPOSAL <br /><br /> <a href="#2HCH0037"> CHAPTER XXXVII. </a> THE +LAST STRUGGLE <br /><br /> <a href="#2HCH0038"> CHAPTER XXXVIII. </a> CONCLUSION +<br /><br /> +</p> +</blockquote> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> <a name="2H_4_0001"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h1> +THE KNIGHT OF GWYNNE +</h1> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0001"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER I. SOME CHARACTERS NEW TO THE KNIGHT AND THE READER +</h2> +<p> +Soon after breakfast the following morning the Knight set out to pay his +promised visit to Miss Daly, who had taken up her abode at a little +village on the coast, about three miles distant. Had Darcy known that her +removal thither had been in consequence of his own arrival at “The Corvy,” +the fact would have greatly added to an embarrassment sufficiently great +on other grounds. Of this, however, he was not aware; her brother Bagenal +accounting for her not inhabiting “The Corvy” as being lonely and +desolate, whereas the village of Ballintray was, after its fashion, a +little watering-place much frequented in the season by visitors from +Coleraine, and other towns still more inland. +</p> +<p> +Thither now the Knight bent his steps by a little footpath across the +fields which, from time to time, approached the seaside, and wound again +through the gently undulating surface of that ever-changing tract. +</p> +<p> +Not a human habitation was in sight; not a living thing was seen to move +over that wide expanse; it was solitude the very deepest, and well suited +the habit of his mind who now wandered there alone. Deeply lost in +thought, he moved onward, his arms folded on his breast, and his eyes +downcast; he neither bestowed a glance upon the gloomy desolation of the +land prospect, nor one look of admiring wonder at the giant cliffs, which, +straight as a wall, formed the barriers against the ocean. +</p> +<p> +“What a strange turn of fortune!” said he, at length, as relieving his +overburdened brain by speech. “I remember well the last day I ever saw +her; it was just before my departure for England for my marriage. I +remember well driving over to Castle Daly to say good-bye! Perhaps, too, I +had some lurking vanity in exhibiting that splendid team of four grays, +with two outriders. How perfect it all was! and a proud fellow I was that +day! Maria was looking very handsome; she was dressed for riding, but +ordered the horses back as I drove up. What spirits she had!—with +what zest she seized upon the enjoyments her youth, her beauty, and her +fortune gave her!—how ardently she indulged every costly caprice and +every whim, as if revelling in the pleasure of extravagance even for its +own sake! Fearless in everything, she did indeed seem like a native +princess, surrounded by all that barbaric splendor of her father's house, +the troops of servants, the equipages without number, the guests that came +and went unceasingly, all rendering homage to her beauty. 'T was a +gorgeous dream of life, and well she understood how to realize all its +enchantment. We scarcely parted good friends on that same last day,” said +he, after a pause; “her manner was almost mordant. I can recall the +cutting sarcasms she dealt around her,—strange exuberance of high +spirits carried away to the wildest flights of fancy; and after all, when, +having dropped my glove, I returned to the luncheon-room to seek it, I saw +her in a window, bathed in tears; she did not perceive me, and we never +met after. Poor girl! were those outpourings of sorrow the compensation +nature exacted for the exercise of such brilliant powers of wit and +imagination? or had she really, as some believed, a secret attachment +somewhere? Who knows? And now we are to meet again, after years of +absence,—so fallen too! If it were not for these gray hairs and this +wrinkled brow, I could believe it all a dream;—and what is it but a +dream, if we are not fashioned to act differently because of our +calamities? Events are but shadows if they move us not.” +</p> +<p> +From thoughts like these he passed on to others,—as to how he should +be received, and what changes time might have wrought in her. +</p> +<p> +“She was so lovely, and might have been so much more so, had she but +curbed that ever-rising spirit of mockery that made the sparkling lustre +of her eyes seem like the scathing flash of lightning rather than the soft +beam of tranquil beauty. How we quarrelled and made up again! what +everlasting treaties ratified and broken! and now to look back on this +with a heart and a spirit weary, how sad it seems! Poor Maria! her destiny +has been less happy than mine. She is alone in the world; I have +affectionate hearts around me to make a home beneath the humble roof of a +cabin.” +</p> +<p> +The Knight was aroused from his musings by suddenly finding himself on the +brow of a hill, from which the gorge descended abruptly into a little +cove, around which the village of Ballintray was built. A row of +whitewashed cottages, in winter inhabited by the fishermen and their +families, became in the summer season the residence of the visitors, many +of whom deserted spacious and well-furnished mansions to pass their days +in the squalid discomfort of a cabin. If beauty of situation and +picturesque charms of scenery could ever atone for so many inconveniences +incurred, this little village might certainly have done so. Landlocked by +two jutting promontories, the bay was sheltered both east and westward, +while the rising ground behind defended it from the sweeping storms which +the south brings in its seasons of rain; in front the distant island of +Isla could be seen, and the Scottish coast was always discernible in the +clear atmosphere of the evening. +</p> +<p> +While Darcy stood admiring the well-chosen spot, his eye rested upon a +semicircular panel of wood, which, covering over a short and gravelled +avenue, displayed in very striking capitals the words “Fumbally's +Boarding-House.” The edifice itself, more pretentious in extent and +character than the cabins around, was ornamented with green jalousies to +the windows, and a dazzling brass knocker surmounting a plate of the same +metal, whereupon the name “Mrs. Jones Fumbally” was legible, even from the +road. Some efforts at planting had been made in the two square plots of +yellowish grass in front, but they had been lamentable failures; and, as +if to show that the demerit was of the soil and not of the proprietors, +the dead shrubs were suffered to stand where they had been stuck down, +while, in default of leaves or buds, they put forth a plentiful covering +of stockings, nightcaps, and other wearables, which flaunted as gayly in +the breeze as the owners were doing on the beach. +</p> +<p> +Across the high-road and on the beach, which was scarcely more than fifty +yards distant, stood a large wooden edifice on wheels, whose make +suggested some secret of its original destination, had not that fact been +otherwise revealed, since, from beneath the significant name of +“Fumbally,” an acute decipherer might read the still unerased inscription +of “A Panther with only two spots from the head to the tail,” an unhappy +collocation which fixed upon the estimable lady the epithet of the animal +in question. +</p> +<p> +Various garden-seats and rustic benches were scattered about, some of +which were occupied by lounging figures of gentlemen, in costumes +ingeniously a cross between the sporting world and the naval service; +while the ladies displayed a no less elegant neglige, half sea-nymph, half +shepherdess. +</p> +<p> +So much for the prospect landward, while towards the waves themselves +there was a party of bathers, whose flowing hair and lengthened drapery +indicated their sex. These maintained through all their sprightly gambols +an animated conversation with a party of gentlemen on the rocks, who +seemed, by the telescopes and spy-glasses which lay around them, to be +equally prepared for the inspection of near and distant objects, and +alternately turned from the criticism of a fair naiad beneath to a Scotch +collier working “north about” in the distance. +</p> +<p> +Darcy could not help feeling that if the cockneyism of a boarding-house +and the blinds and the brass knocker were sadly repugnant to the sense of +admiration the scene itself would excite, there was an ample compensation +in the primitive simplicity of the worthy inhabitants, who seemed to revel +in all the unsuspecting freedom of our first parents themselves; for while +some stood on little promontories of the rocks in most Canova-like +drapery, little frescos of naked children flitted around and about, +without concern to themselves or astonishment to the beholders. +</p> +<p> +Never was the good Knight more convinced of his own prudence in paying his +first visit alone, and he stood for some time in patient admiration of the +scene, until his eye rested on a figure who, seated at some distance off +on a little eminence of the rocky coast, was as coolly surveying Darcy +through his telescope. The mutual inspection continued for several +minutes, when the stranger, deliberately shutting up his glass, advanced +towards the Knight. +</p> +<p> +The gentleman was short, but stoutly knit, with a walk and a carriage of +his head that, to Darcy's observant eye, bespoke an innate sense of +self-importance; his dress was a greatcoat, cut jockey fashion, and +ornamented with very large buttons, displaying heads of stags, foxes, and +badgers, and other emblems of the chase, short Russia duck trousers, a +wide-leaved straw hat, and a very loose cravat, knotted sailor-fashion on +his breast. As he approached the Knight, he came to a full stop about half +a dozen paces in front, and putting his hand to his hat, held it straight +above his head, pretty much in the way stage imitators of Napoleon were +wont to perform the salutation. +</p> +<p> +“A stranger, sir, I presume?” said he, with an insinuating smile and an +air of dignity at the same moment. Darcy bowed a courteous assent, and the +other went on: “Sweet scene, sir,—lovely nature,—animated and +grand.” +</p> +<p> +“Most impressive, I confess,” said Darcy, with difficulty repressing a +smile. +</p> +<p> +“Never here before, I take it?” +</p> +<p> +“Never, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“Came from Coleraine, possibly? Walked all the way, eh?” +</p> +<p> +“I came on foot, as you have divined,” said Darcy, dryly. +</p> +<p> +“Not going to make any stay, probably; a mere glance, and go on again. Is +n't that so?” +</p> +<p> +“I believe you are quite correct; but may I, in return for your +considerate inquiries, ask one question on my own part? You are, perhaps, +sufficiently acquainted with the locality to inform me if a Miss Daly +resides in this village, and where.” +</p> +<p> +“Miss Daly, sir, did inhabit that cottage yonder, where you see the oars +on the thatch, but it has been let to the Moors of Ballymena; they pay +two-ten a week for the three rooms and the use of the kitchen; smart that, +ain't it?” +</p> +<p> +“And Miss Daly resides at present—” +</p> +<p> +“She 's one of us,” said the little man, with a significant jerk of his +thumb to the blue board with the gilt letters; “not much of that, after +all; but she lives under the sway of 'Mother Fum,' though, from one +caprice or another, she don't mix with the other boarders. Do you know her +yourself?” +</p> +<p> +“I had that honor some years ago.” +</p> +<p> +“Much altered, I take it, since that; down in the world too! She was an +heiress in those days, I 've heard, and a beauty. Has some of the good +looks still, but lost all the shiners.” +</p> +<p> +“Am I likely to find her at home at this hour?” said Darcy, moving away, +and anxious for an opportunity to escape his communicative friend. +</p> +<p> +“No, not now; never shows in the morning. Just comes down to dinner, and +disappears again. Never takes a hand at whist—penny points tell up, +you know—seem a trifle at first, but hang me if they don't make a +figure in the budget afterwards. There, do you see that fat lady with the +black bathing-cap?—no, I mean the one with the blue baize patched on +the shoulder, the Widow Mackie,—she makes a nice thing of it,—won +twelve and fourpence since the first of the month. Pretty creature that +yonder, with one stocking on,—Miss Boyle, of Carrick-maclash.” +</p> +<p> +“I must own,” said Darcy, dryly, “that, not having the privilege of +knowing these ladies, I do not conceive myself at liberty to regard them +with due attention.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh! they never mind that here; no secrets among us.” +</p> +<p> +“Very primitive, and doubtless very delightful; but I have trespassed too +long on your politeness. Permit me to wish you a very good morning.” +</p> +<p> +“Not at all; having nothing in the world to do. Paul Dempsey—that's +my name—was always an idle man; Paul Dempsey, sir, nephew of old +Paul Dempsey, of Dempsey Grove, in the county of Kilkenny; a snug place, +that I wish the proprietor felt he had enjoyed sufficiently long. And your +name, if I might make bold, is—” +</p> +<p> +“I call myself Gwynne,” said Darcy, after a slight hesitation. +</p> +<p> +“Gwynne—Gwynne—there was a Gwynne, a tailor, in Ballyragget; a +connection, probably?” +</p> +<p> +“I 'm not aware of any relationship,” said Darcy, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm glad of it; I owe your brother or your cousin there—that is, +if he was either—a sum of seven-and-nine for these ducks. There are +Gwynnes in Ross besides, and Quins; are you sure it is not Quin? Very +common name Quin.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="image-0001" id="image-0001"> +<!-- IMG --></a> <img src="images/024.jpg" height="652" width="897" alt="024 " /> +</p> +<p> +“I believe we spell our name as I have pronounced it.” “Well, if you come +to spend a little time here, I 'll give you a hint or two. Don't join +Leonard—that blue-nosed fellow, yonder, in whiskey. He 'll be asking +you, but don't—at it all day.” Here Mr. Dempsey pantomimed the +action of tossing off a dram. “No whist with the widow; if you were +younger, I 'd say no small plays with Bess Boyle,—has a brother in +the Antrim militia, a very quarrelsome fellow.” +</p> +<p> +“I thank you sincerely for your kind counsel, although not destined to +profit by it. I have one favor to ask: could you procure me the means to +enclose my card for Miss Daly, as I must relinquish the hope of seeing her +on this occasion?” +</p> +<p> +“No, no,—stop and dine. Capital cod and oysters,—always good. +The mutton <i>rayther</i> scraggy, but with a good will and good teeth +manageable enough; and excellent malt-” +</p> +<p> +“I thank you for your hospitable proposal, but cannot accept it.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I 'll take care of your card; you 'll probably come over again +soon. You 're at M'Grotty's, ain't you?” +</p> +<p> +“Not at present; and as to the card, with your permission I'll enclose +it.” This Darcy was obliged to insist upon; as, if he left his name as +Gwynne, Miss Daly might have failed to recognize him, while he desired to +avoid being known as Mr. Darcy. +</p> +<p> +“Well, come in here; I 'll find you the requisites. But I wish you 'd stop +and see the 'Panther.'” +</p> +<p> +Had the Knight overheard this latter portion of Mr. +</p> +<p> +Dempsey's invitation, he might have been somewhat surprised; but it +chanced that the words were lost, and, preceded by honest Paul, he entered +the little garden in front of the house. +</p> +<p> +When Darcy had enclosed his card and committed it to the hands of Mr. +Dempsey, that gentleman was far too deeply impressed with the importance +of his mission to delay a moment in executing it, and then the Knight was +at last left at liberty to retrace his steps unmolested towards home. If +he had smiled at the persevering curiosity and eccentric communicativeness +of Mr. Dempsey, Darcy sorrowed deeply over the fallen fortunes which +condemned one he had known so courted and so flattered once, to +companionship like this. The words of the classic satirist came full upon +his memory, and never did a sentiment meet more ready acceptance than the +bitter, heart-wrung confession, “Unhappy poverty! you have no heavier +misery in your train than that you make men seem ridiculous.” A hundred +times he wished he had never made the excursion; he would have given +anything to be able to think of her as she had been, without the +detracting influence of these vulgar associations. “And yet,” said he, +half aloud, “a year or so more, if I am still living, I shall probably +have forgotten my former position, and shall have conformed myself to the +new and narrow limits of my lot, doubtless as she does.” +</p> +<p> +The quick tramp of feet on the heather behind him roused him, and, in +turning, he saw a person coming towards and evidently endeavouring to +overtake him. As he came nearer, the Knight perceived it was the gentleman +already alluded to by Dempsey as one disposed to certain little traits of +conviviality,—a fact which a nose of a deep copper color, and two +bloodshot, bleary eyes, corroborated. His dress was a blue frock with a +standing collar, military fashion, and dark trousers; and, although +bearing palpable marks of long wear, were still neat and clean-looking. +His age, as well as appearances might be trusted, was probably between +fifty and sixty. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Gwynne, I believe, sir,” said the stranger, touching his cap as he +spoke. “Miss Daly begged of me to say that she has just received your +card, and will be happy to see you.” +</p> +<p> +Darcy stared at the speaker fixedly, and appeared, while unmindful of his +words, to be occupied with some deep emotion within him. The other, who +had delivered his message in a tone of easy unconcern, now fixed his eyes +on the Knight, and they continued for some seconds to regard each other. +Gradually, however, the stranger's face changed; a sickly pallor crept +over the features stained by long intemperance, his lip trembled, and two +heavy tears gushed out and rolled down his seared cheeks. +</p> +<p> +“My G—d! can it be? It surely is not!” said Darcy, with almost +tremulous earnestness. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Colonel, it is the man you once remembered in your regiment as Jack +Leonard; the same who led a forlorn hope at Quebec,—the man broke +with disgrace and dismissed the service for cowardice at Trois Rivières.” +</p> +<p> +“Poor fellow!” said Darcy, taking his hand; “I heard you were dead.” +</p> +<p> +“No, sir, it's very hard to kill a man by mere shame: though if suffering +could do it, I might have died.” +</p> +<p> +“I have often doubted about that sentence, Leonard,” said Darcy, eagerly. +“I wrote to the commander-in-chief to have inquiry made, suspecting that +nothing short of some affection of the mind or some serious derangement of +health could make a brave man behave badly.” +</p> +<p> +“You were right, sir; I was a drunkard, not a coward. I was unworthy of +the service; I merited my disgrace, but not on the grounds for which I met +it.” +</p> +<p> +“Good Heaven! then I was right,” said Darcy, in a burst of passionate +grief; “my letter to the War Office was unanswered. I wrote again, and +received for reply that an example was necessary, and Lieutenant Leonard's +conduct pointed him out as the most suitable case for heavy punishment.” +</p> +<p> +“It was but just, Colonel; I was a poltroon when I took more than half a +bottle of wine. If I were not sober now, I could not have the courage to +face you here where I stand.” +</p> +<p> +“Poor Jack!” said Darcy, wringing his hand cordially; “and what have you +done since?” +</p> +<p> +Leonard threw his eyes down upon his threadbare garments, his patched +boots, and the white-worn seams of his old frock, but not a word escaped +his lips. They walked on for some time side by side without speaking, when +Leonard said,— +</p> +<p> +“They know nothing of me here, Colonel. I need not ask you to be—cautious.” +There was a hesitation before he uttered the last word. +</p> +<p> +“I do not desire to be recognized, either,” said Darcy, “and prefer being +called Mr. Gwynne to the name of my family; and here, if I mistake not, +comes a gentleman most eager to learn anything of anybody.” +</p> +<p> +Mr. Dempsey came up at this moment with a lady leaning on each of his +arms. +</p> +<p> +“Glad to see you again, sir; hope you 've thought better of your plans, +and are going to try Mother Fum's fare. Mrs. M'Quirk, Mr. Gwynne—Mr. +Gwynne, Miss Drew. Leonard will do the honors till we come back.” So +saying, and with a princely wave of his straw hat, Mr. Dempsey resumed his +walk with the step of a conqueror. +</p> +<p> +“That fellow must be a confounded annoyance to you,” said Darcy, as he +looked after him. +</p> +<p> +“Not now, sir,” said the other, submissively; “I 'm used to him; besides, +since Miss Daly's arrival he is far quieter than he used to be, he seems +afraid of her. But I 'll leave you now, Colonel.” He touched his cap +respectfully, and was about to move away, when Darcy, pitying the +confusion which overwhelmed him, caught his hand cordially, and said,— +</p> +<p> +“Well, Jack, for the moment, good-bye; but come over and see me. I live at +the little cottage called 'The Corvy.'” +</p> +<p> +“Good Heaven, sir! and it is true what I read in the newspaper about your +misfortunes?” +</p> +<p> +“I conclude it is, Jack, though I have not read it; they could scarcely +have exaggerated.” +</p> +<p> +“And you bear it like this!” said the other, with a stare of amazement; +then added, in a broken voice, “Though, to be sure, there 's a wide +difference between loss of fortune and ruined character.” +</p> +<p> +“Come, Jack, I see you are not so good a philosopher as I thought you. +Come and dine with me to-morrow at five.” +</p> +<p> +“Dine with <i>you</i>, Colonel!” said Leonard, blushing deeply. +</p> +<p> +“And why not, man? I see you have not forgotten the injustice I once did +you, and I am happier this day to know it was I was in the wrong than that +a British officer was a coward.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Colonel Darcy, I did not think this poor broken heart could ever +throb again with gratitude, but you have made it do so; you have kindled +the flame of pride where the ashes were almost cold.” And with a burning +blush upon his face he turned away. Darcy looked after him for a second, +and then entered the house. +</p> +<p> +Darcy had barely time to throw one glance around the scanty furniture of +the modest parlor into which he was ushered, when Miss Daly entered. She +stopped suddenly short, and for a few seconds each regarded the other +without speaking. Time had, indeed, worked many changes in the appearance +of each for which they were unprepared; but no less were they unprepared +for the emotions this sudden meeting was to call up. +</p> +<p> +Miss Daly was plainly but handsomely dressed, and wore her silvery hair +beneath a cap in two long bands on either cheek, with something of an +imitation of a mode she followed in youth; the tones of her voice, too, +were wonderfully little changed, and fell upon Darcy's ears with a +strange, melancholy meaning. +</p> +<p> +“We little thought, Knight,” said she, “when we parted last, that our next +meeting would have been as this, so many years and many sorrows have +passed over us since that day!” +</p> +<p> +“And a large measure of happiness, too, Maria,” said Darcy, as, taking her +hand, he led her to a seat; “let us never forget, amid all our troubles, +how many blessings we have enjoyed.” +</p> +<p> +Whether it was the words themselves that agitated her, or something in his +manner of uttering them, Miss Daly blushed deeply and was silent. Darcy +was not slow to see her confusion, and suddenly remembering how +inapplicable his remark was to her fortunes, though not to his own, added +hastily, “I, at least, would be very ungrateful if I could not look back +with thankfulness to a long life of prosperity and happiness; and if I +bear my present reverses with less repining, it is, I hope and trust, from +the sincerity of this feeling.” +</p> +<p> +“You have enjoyed the sunny path in life,” said Miss Daly, in a low, faint +voice, “and it is, perhaps, as you say, reason for enduring altered +fortunes better.” She paused, and then, with a more hurried voice, added: +“One does not bear calamity better from habit; that is all a mistake. When +the temper is soured by disappointment, the spirit of endurance loses its +firmest ally. Your misfortunes will, however, be short-lived, I hope; my +brother writes me he has great confidence in some legal opinions, and +certain steps he has already taken in chancery.” +</p> +<p> +“The warm-hearted and the generous are always sanguine,” said Darcy, with +a sad smile; “Bagenal would not be your brother if he could see a friend +in difficulty without venturing on everything to rescue him. What an old +friendship ours has been! class fellows at school, companions in youth, we +have run our race together, to end with fortune how similar! I was +thinking, Maria, as I came along, of Castle Daly, and remembering how I +passed my holidays with you there. Is your memory as good as mine?” +</p> +<p> +“I scarcely like to think of Castle Daly,” said she, almost pettishly, “it +reminds me so much of that wasteful, reckless life which laid the +foundation of our ruin. Tell me how Lady Eleanor Darcy bears up, and your +daughter, of whom I have heard so much, and desire so ardently to see; is +she more English or Irish?” +</p> +<p> +“A thorough Darcy,” said the Knight, smiling, “but yet with traits of soft +submission and patient trust our family has been but rarely gifted with; +her virtues are all the mother's, every blemish of her character has come +from the other side.” +</p> +<p> +“Is she rash and headstrong? for those are Darcy failings.” +</p> +<p> +“Not more daring or courageous than I love her to be,” said Darcy, +proudly, “not a whit more impetuous in sustaining the right or denouncing +the wrong than I glory to see her; but too ardent, perhaps, too easily +carried away by first impressions, than is either fashionable or frequent +in the colder world.” +</p> +<p> +“It is a dangerous temper,” said Miss Daly, thoughtfully. +</p> +<p> +“You are right, Maria; such people are for the most part like the gamester +who has but one throw for his fortune, if he loses which, all is lost with +it.” +</p> +<p> +“Too true, too true!” said she, in an accent whose melancholy sadness +seemed to come from the heart. “You must guard her carefully from any rash +attachment; a character like hers is strong to endure, but not less +certain to sink under calamity.” +</p> +<p> +“I know it, I feel it,” said Darcy; “but my dear child is still too young +to have mixed in that world which is already closed against her; her +affections could never have strayed beyond the limits of our little home +circle; she has kept all her love for those who need it most.” +</p> +<p> +“And Lady Eleanor?” said Miss Daly, as if suddenly desirous to change the +theme: “Bagenal tells me her health has been but indifferent; how does she +bear our less genial climate here?” +</p> +<p> +“She 's better than for many years past; I could even say she 's happier. +Strange it is, Maria, but the course of prosperity, like the calms in the +ocean, too frequently steep the faculties in an apathy that becomes +weariness; but when the clouds are drifted along faster, and the waves +rustle at the prow, the energies of life are again excited, and the very +occasion of danger begets the courage to confront it. We cannot be happy +when devoid of self-esteem, and there is but little opportunity to indulge +this honest pride when the world goes fairly with us, without any effort +of our own; reverses of fortune—” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, reverses of fortune!” interrupted Miss Daly, rapidly, “people think +much more about them than they merit; it is the world itself makes them so +difficult to bear; one can think and act as freely beneath the thatch of a +cabin as the gilded roof of a palace. It is the mock sympathy, the +affected condolence for your fallen estate, that tortures you; the +never-ending recurrence to what you once were, contrasted with what you +are; the cruelty of that friendship that is never content save when +reminding you of a station lost forever, and seeking to unfit you for your +humble path in the valley because your step was once proudly on the +mountain-top.” +</p> +<p> +“I will not concede all this,” said the Knight, mildly; “my fall has been +too recent not to remind me of many kindnesses.” +</p> +<p> +“I hate pity,” said Miss Daly; “it is like a recommendation to mercy after +the sentence of an unjust judge. Now tell me of Lionel.” +</p> +<p> +“A fine, high-spirited soldier, as little affected by his loss as though +it touched him not; and yet, poor boy! to all appearance a bright career +was about to open before him,—well received by the world, honored by +the personal notice of his Prince.” +</p> +<p> +“Ha! now I think of it, why did you not vote against the Minister?” +</p> +<p> +“It was on that evening,” said Darcy, sorrowfully,—“on that very +evening—I heard of Gleeson's flight.” +</p> +<p> +“Well,”—then suddenly correcting herself, and restraining the +question that almost trembled on her lip, she added, “And you were, +doubtless, too much shocked to appear in the House?” +</p> +<p> +“I was ill,” said Darcy, faintly; “indeed, I believe I can say with truth, +my own ruin preyed less upon my mind than the perfidy of one so long +confided in.” +</p> +<p> +“And they made this accidental illness the ground of a great attack +against your character, and sought to discover in your absence the secret +of your corruption. How basely minded men must be, when they will invent +not only actions, but motives to calumniate!” She paused, and then +muttered to herself, “I wish you had voted against that Bill.” +</p> +<p> +“It would have done little good,” said the Knight, answering her +soliloquy; “my vote could neither retard nor prevent the measure, and as +for myself, personally, I am proud enough to think I have given sufficient +guarantees by a long life of independent action, not to need this crowning +test of honesty. Now to matters nearer to us both: when will you come and +visit my wife and daughter? or shall I bring them here to you?” +</p> +<p> +“No, no, not here. I am not ashamed of this place for myself, though I +should be so if they were once to see it.” +</p> +<p> +“But you feel less lonely,” said Darcy, in a gentle tone, as if +anticipating the reason of her choice of residence. +</p> +<p> +“Less lonely!” replied she, with a haughty laugh; “what companionship or +society have I with people like these? It is not that,—it is my +poverty compels me to live here. Of them and of their habits I know +nothing; from me and from mine they take good care to keep aloof. No, with +your leave I will visit Lady Eleanor at your cottage,—that is, if +she has no objection to receive me.” +</p> +<p> +“She will be but too happy,” said Darcy, “to know and value one of her +husband's oldest and warmest friends.” +</p> +<p> +“You must not expect me soon, however,” said she, hastily; “I have grown +capricious in everything, and never can answer for performing a pledge at +any stated time, and therefore never make one.” +</p> +<p> +Abrupt and sudden as had been the changes of her voice and manner through +this interview, there was a tone of unusual harshness in the way this +speech was uttered; and as Darcy rose to take his leave, a feeling of +sadness came over him to think that this frame of mind must have been the +slow result of years of heart-consuming sorrow. +</p> +<p> +“Whenever you come, Maria,” said he, as he took her hand in his, “you will +be most welcome to us.” +</p> +<p> +“Have you heard any tidings of Forester?” said Miss Daly, as if suddenly +recalling a subject she wished to speak on. +</p> +<p> +“Forester of the Guards? Lionel's friend, do you mean?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes; you know that he has left the army, thrown up his commission, and +gone no one knows where?” +</p> +<p> +“I did not know of that before. I am sincerely sorry for it. Is the cause +surmised?” +</p> +<p> +Miss Daly made no answer, but stood with her eyes bent on the ground, and +apparently in deep thought; then looking up suddenly, she said, with more +composure than ordinary, “Make my compliments to Lady Eleanor, and say +that at the first favorable moment I will pay my personal respects to her—kiss +Helen for me—good-bye.” And, without waiting for Darcy to take his +leave, she walked hastily by, and closed the door after her. +</p> +<p> +“This wayward manner,” said Darcy, sorrowfully, to himself, “has a deeper +root than mere capriciousness; the heart has suffered so long that the +mind begins to partake of the decay.” And with this sad reflection he left +the village, and turned his solitary steps towards home. +</p> +<p> +If Darcy was grieved to find Miss Daly surrounded by such unsuitable +companionship, he was more thau recompensed at finding that her taste +rejected nearer intimacy with Mrs. Fumbally's household. More than once +the fear crossed his mind that, with diminished circumstances, she might +have lapsed into habits so different from her former life, and he could +better look upon her struggling as she did against her adverse fortune +than assimilating herself to those as much below her in sentiment as in +station. He was happy to have seen his old friend once more, he was glad +to refresh his memory of long-forgotten scenes by the sight of her who had +been his playfellow and his companion, but he was not free of a certain +dread that Miss Daly would scarcely be acceptable to his wife, while her +wayward, uncertain temper would form no safe companionship for his +daughter. As he pondered on these things, he began to feel how altered +circumstances beget suspicion, and how he, who had never known the feeling +of distrust, now found himself hesitating and doubting, where formerly he +had acted without fear or reserve. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said he, aloud, “when wealth and station were mine, the +consciousness of power gave energy to my thoughts, but now I am to learn +how narrow means can fetter a man's courage.” +</p> +<p> +“Some truth in that,” said a voice behind him; “would cut a very different +figure myself if old Bob Dempsey, of Dempsey Grove, were to betake himself +to a better world.” +</p> +<p> +Darcy's cheek reddened between shame and anger to find himself overheard +by his obtrusive companion, and, with a cold salute, he passed on. Mr. +Dempsey, however, was not a man to be so easily got rid of; he possessed +that happy temper that renders its owner insensible to shame and +unconscious of rebuke; besides that, he was always “going your way,” quite +content to submit to any amount of rebuff rather than be alone. If you +talked, it was well; if you listened, it was better; but if you affected +open indifference to him, and neither exchanged a word nor vouchsafed the +slightest attention, even that was supportable, for he could give the +conversation a character of monologue or anecdote, which occupied himself +at least. +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0002"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER II. A TALE OF MR. DEMPSEY'S GRANDFATHER +</h2> +<p> +The Knight of Gwynne was far too much occupied in his own reflections to +attend to his companion, and exhibited a total unconcern to several +piquant little narratives of Mrs. Mackie's dexterity in dealing the cards, +of Mrs. Fumbally's parsimony in domestic arrangements, of Miss Boyle's +effrontery, of Leonard's intemperance, and even of Miss Daly's assumed +superiority. +</p> +<p> +“You 're taking the wrong path,” said Mr. Dempsey, suddenly interrupting +one of his own narratives, at a spot where the two roads diverged,—one +proceeding inland, while the other followed the line of the coast. +</p> +<p> +“With your leave, sir,” said Darcy, coldly, “I will take this way, and if +you 'll kindly permit it, I will do so alone.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, certainly!” said Dempsey, without the slightest sign of umbrage; +“would never have thought of joining you had it not been from overhearing +an expression so exactly pat to my own condition, that I thought we were +brothers in misfortune; you scarcely bear up as well as I do, though.” +</p> +<p> +Darcy turned abruptly round, as the fear flashed across him, and he +muttered to himself, “This fellow knows me; if so, the whole county will +soon be as wise as himself, and the place become intolerable.” Oppressed +with this unpleasant reflection, the Knight moved on, nor was it till +after a considerable interval that he was conscious of his companion's +presence; for Mr. Dempsey still accompanied him, though at the distance of +several paces, and as if following a path of his own choosing. +</p> +<p> +Darcy laughed good-humoredly at the pertinacity of his tormentor; and half +amused by the man, and half ashamed of his own rudeness to him, he made +some casual observation on the scenery to open a reconciliation. +</p> +<p> +“The coast is much finer,” said Dempsey, “close to your cottage.” +</p> +<p> +This was a home-thrust for the Knight, to show him that concealment was of +no use against so subtle an adversary. +</p> +<p> +“'The Corvy' is, as you observe, very happily situated,” replied Darcy, +calmly; “I scarcely know which to prefer,—the coast-line towards +Dunluce, or the bold cliffs that stretch away to Bengore.” +</p> +<p> +“When the wind comes north-by-west,” said Dempsey, with a shrewd glance of +his greenish gray eyes, “there 's always a wreck or two between the +Skerries and Portrush.” +</p> +<p> +“Indeed! Is the shore so unsafe as that?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, yes. You may expect a very busy winter here when the homeward-bound +Americans are coming northward.” +</p> +<p> +“D——n the fellow! does he take me for a wrecker?” said Darcy +to himself, not knowing whether to laugh or be angry. +</p> +<p> +“Such a curiosity that old 'Corvy' is, they tell me,” said Dempsey, +emboldened by his success; “every species of weapon and arm in the world, +they say, gathered together there.” +</p> +<p> +“A few swords and muskets,” said the Knight, carelessly; “a stray dirk or +two, and some harpoons, furnish the greater part of the armory.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, perhaps so! The story goes, however, that old Daly—brother, I +believe, of our friend at Mother Fum's—could arm twenty fellows at a +moment's warning, and did so on more than one occasion too.” +</p> +<p> +“With what object, in Heaven's name?” +</p> +<p> +“Buccaneering, piracy, wrecking, and so on,” said Dempsey, with all the +unconcern with which he would have enumerated so many pursuits of the +chase. +</p> +<p> +A hearty roar of laughter broke from the Knight; and when it ceased he +said, “I would be sincerely sorry to stand in your shoes, Mr. Dempsey, so +near to yonder cliff, if you made that same remark in Mr. Daly's hearing.” +</p> +<p> +“He 'd gain very little by me,” said Mr. Dempsey; “one and eightpence, an +old watch, an oyster-knife, and my spectacles, are all the property in my +possession—except, when, indeed,” added he, after a pause, “Bob +remits the quarter's allowance.” +</p> +<p> +“It is only just,” said Darcy, gravely, “to a gentleman who takes such +pains to inform himself on the affairs of his neighbors, that I should +tell you that Mr. Bagenal Daly is not a pirate, nor am I a wrecker. I am +sure you will be generous enough for this unasked information not to +require of me a more lengthened account either of my friend or myself.” +</p> +<p> +“You 're in the Revenue, perhaps?” interrupted the undaunted Dempsey; “I +thought so when I saw you first.” +</p> +<p> +Darcy shook his head in dissent. +</p> +<p> +“Wrong again. Ah! I see it all; the old story. Saw better days—you +have just come down here to lie snug and quiet, out of the way of writs +and latitats—went too fast—by Jove, that touches myself too! +If I hadn't happened to have a grandfather, I 'd have been a rich man this +day. Did you ever chance to hear of Dodd and Dempsey, the great +wine-merchants? My father was son of Dodd and Dempsey,—that is +Dempsey, you know; and it was his father-Sam Dempsey—ruined him.” +</p> +<p> +“No very uncommon circumstance,” said the Knight, sorrowfully, “for an +Irish father.” +</p> +<p> +“You 've heard the story, I suppose?—of course you have; every one +knows it.” +</p> +<p> +“I rather think not,” said the Knight, who was by no means sorry to turn +Mr. Dempsey from cross-examination into mere narrative. +</p> +<p> +“I 'll tell it to you; I am sure I ought to know it well, I 've heard my +father relate it something like a hundred times.” +</p> +<p> +“I fear I must decline so pleasant a proposal,” said Darcy, smiling. “At +this moment I have an engagement.” +</p> +<p> +“Never mind. To-morrow will do just as well,” interrupted the inexorable +Dempsey. “Come over and take your mutton-chop with me at five, and you +shall have the story into the bargain.” +</p> +<p> +“I regret that I cannot accept so very tempting an invitation,” said +Darcy, struggling between his sense of pride and a feeling of astonishment +at his companion's coolness. +</p> +<p> +“Not come to dinner!” exclaimed Dempsey, as if the thing was scarcely +credible. “Oh, very well, only remember”—and here he put an unusual +gravity into his words—“only remember the <i>onus</i> is now on +you.” +</p> +<p> +The Knight burst into a hearty laugh at this subtle retort, and, willing +as he ever was to go with the humor of the moment, replied,— +</p> +<p> +“I am ready to accept it, sir, and beg that you will dine with me.” +</p> +<p> +“When and where?” said Dempsey. +</p> +<p> +“To-morrow, at that cottage yonder: five is your hour, I believe—we +shall say five.” +</p> +<p> +“Booked!” exclaimed Dempsey, with an air of triumph; while he muttered, +with a scarcely subdued voice, “Knew I'd do it!—never failed in my +life!” +</p> +<p> +“Till then, Mr. Dempsey,” said Darcy, removing his hat courteously, as he +bowed to him,—“till then—” +</p> +<p> +“Your most obedient,” replied Dempsey, returning the salute; and so they +parted. +</p> +<p> +“The Corvy,” on the day after the Knight's visit to Port Ballintray, was a +scene of rather amusing bustle; the Knight's dinner-party, as Helen +quizzingly called it, affording occupation for every member of the +household. In former times, the only difficult details of an entertainment +were in the selection of the guests,—bringing together a company +likely to be suitable to each other, and endowed with those various +qualities which make up the success of society; now, however, the question +was the more material one,—the dinner itself. +</p> +<p> +It is always a fortunate thing when whatever absurdity our calamities in +life excite should be apparent only to ourselves. The laugh which is so +difficult to bear from the world is then an actual relief from our +troubles. The Darcys felt this truth, as each little embarrassment that +arose was food for mirth; and Lady Eleanor, who least of all could adapt +herself to such contingencies, became as eager as the rest about the +little preparations of the day. +</p> +<p> +While the Knight hurried hither and thither, giving directions here and +instructions there, he explained to Lady Eleanor some few circumstances +respecting the character of his guests. It was, indeed, a new kind of +company he was about to present to his wife and daughter; but while +conscious of the disparity in every respect, he was not the less eager to +do the hospitalities of his humble house with all becoming honor. It is +true his invitation to Mr. Dempsey was rather forced from him than +willingly accorded; he was about the very last kind of person Darcy would +have asked to his table, if perfectly free to choose; but, of all men +living, the Knight knew least how to escape from a difficulty the outlet +to which should cost him any sacrifice of feeling. +</p> +<p> +“Well, well, it is but once and away; and, after all, the talkativeness of +our little friend Dempsey will be so far a relief to poor Leonard, that he +will be brought less prominently forward himself, and be suffered to +escape unremarked,—a circumstance which, from all that I can see, +will afford him sincere pleasure.” +</p> +<p> +At length all the preparations were happily accomplished: the emissary +despatched to Kilrush at daybreak had returned with a much-coveted turkey; +the fisherman had succeeded in capturing a lordly salmon; oysters and +lobsters poured in abundantly; and Mrs. M'Kerrigan, who had been left as a +fixture at “The Corvy,” found her only embarrassment in selection from +that profusion of “God's gifts,” as she phrased it, that now surrounded +her. The hour of five drew near, and the ladies were seated in the hall, +the doors of which lay open, as the two guests were seen making their way +towards the cottage. +</p> +<p> +“Here they come, papa,” said Helen; “and now for a guess. Is not the short +man with the straw hat Mr. Dempsey, and his tall companion Mr. Leonard?” +</p> +<p> +“Of course it is,” said Lady Eleanor; “who could mistake the garrulous +pertinacity of that little thing that gesticulates at every step, or the +plodding patience of his melancholy associate?” +</p> +<p> +The next moment the Knight was welcoming them in front of the cottage. The +ceremony of introduction to the ladies being over, Mr. Dempsey, who +probably was aware that the demands upon his descriptive powers would not +be inconsiderable when he returned to “Mother Fum's,” put his glass to his +eye, and commenced a very close scrutiny of the apartment and its +contents. +</p> +<p> +<a name="image-0002" id="image-0002"> +<!-- IMG --></a> <img src="images/042.jpg" height="737" width="717" alt="042 " /> +</p> +<p> +“Quite a show-box, by Jove!” said he, at last, as he peered through a +glass cabinet, where Chinese slippers, with models in ivory and carvings +in box, were heaped promiscuously together; “upon my word, sir, you have a +very remarkable collection. And who may be our friend in the boat here?” +added he, turning to the grim visage of Bagenal Daly himself, who stared +with a bold effrontery that would not have disgraced the original. +</p> +<p> +“The gentleman you see there,” said the Knight, “is the collector himself, +and the other is his servant. They are represented in the costumes in +which they made their escape from a captivity among the red men.” +</p> +<p> +“Begad!” said Dempsey, “that fellow with the tortoise painted on his +forehead has a look of our old friend, Miss Daly; should n't wonder if he +was a member of her family.” +</p> +<p> +“You have well guessed it; he is the lady's brother.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, ah!” muttered Dempsey to himself, “always thought there was something +odd about her,—never suspected Indian blood, however. How Mother Fum +will stare when I tell her she's a Squaw! Didn't they show these things at +the Rooms in Mary's Street? I think I saw them advertised in the papers.” +</p> +<p> +“I think you must mistake,” said the Knight; “they are the private +collection of my friend.” +</p> +<p> +“And where may Woc-woc—confound his name!—the 'Howling Wind,' +as he is pleased to call himself, be passing his leisure hours just now?” +</p> +<p> +“He is at present in Dublin, sir; and if you desire, he shall be made +aware of your polite inquiries.” +</p> +<p> +“No, no—hang it, no!—don't like the look of him. Should have +no objection, though, if he 'd pay old Bob Dempsey a visit, and frighten +him out of this world for me.” +</p> +<p> +“Dinner, my lady,” said old Tate, as he threw open the doors into the +dining-room, and bowed with all his accustomed solemnity. +</p> +<p> +“Hum!” muttered Dempsey, “my lady won't go down with me,-too old a soldier +for that!” +</p> +<p> +“Will you give my daughter your arm?” said the Knight to the little man, +for already Lady Eleanor had passed on with Mr. Leonard. +</p> +<p> +As Mr. Dempsey arranged his napkin on his knee, he endeavored to catch +Leonard's eye, and telegraph to him his astonishment at the elegance of +the table equipage which graced the board. Poor Leonard, however, seldom +looked up; a deep sense of shame, the agonizing memory of what he once +was, recalled vividly by the sight of those objects, and the appearance of +persons which reminded him of his past condition, almost stunned him. The +whole seemed like a dream; even though intemperance had degraded him, +there were intervals in which his mind, clear to see and reflect, sorrowed +deeply over his fallen state. Had the Knight met him with a cold and +repulsive deportment, or had he refused to acknowledge him altogether, he +could better have borne it than all the kindness of his present manner. It +was evident, too, from Lady Eleanor's tone to him, that she knew nothing +of his unhappy fortune, or that if she did, the delicacy with which she +treated him was only the more benevolent. Oppressed by such emotions, he +sat endeavoring to eat, and trying to listen and interest himself in the +conversation around him; but the effort was too much for his strength, and +a vague, half-whispered assent, or a dull, unmeaning smile, were about as +much as he could contribute to what was passing. +</p> +<p> +The Knight, whose tact was rarely at fault, saw every straggle that was +passing in Leonard's mind, and adroitly contrived that the conversation +should be carried on without any demand upon him, either as talker or +listener. If Lady Eleanor and Helen contributed their aid to this end, Mr. +Dempsey was not backward on his part, for he talked unceasingly. The good +things of the table, to which he did ample justice, afforded an +opportunity for catechizing the ladies in their skill in household +matters; and Miss Darcy, who seemed immensely amused by the novelty of +such a character, sustained her part to admiration, entering deeply into +culinary details, and communicating receipts invented for the occasion. At +another time, perhaps, the Knight would have checked the spirit of <i>persiflage</i> +in which his daughter indulged; but he suffered it now to take its course, +well pleased that the mark of her ridicule was not only worthy of the +sarcasm, but insensible to its arrow. +</p> +<p> +“Quite right,-quite right not to try Mother Fum's when you can get up a +little thing like this,-and such capital sherry; look how Tom takes it +in,-slips like oil over his lip!” +</p> +<p> +Leonard looked up. An expression of rebuking severity for a moment crossed +his features; but his eyes fell the next instant, and a low, faint sigh +escaped him. +</p> +<p> +“I ought to know what sherry is,—'Dodd and Dempsey's' was the great +house for sherry.” +</p> +<p> +“By the way,” said the Knight, “did not you promise me a little narrative +of Dodd and Dempsey, when we parted yesterday?” +</p> +<p> +“To be sure, I did. Will you have it now?” +</p> +<p> +Lady Eleanor and Helen rose to withdraw; but Mr. Dempsey, who took the +movement as significant, immediately interposed, by saying,— +</p> +<p> +“Don't stir, ma'am,-sit down, ladies, I beg; there's nothing broad in the +story,—it might be told before the maids of honor.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Eleanor and Helen were thunderstruck at the explanation, and the +Knight laughed till the tears came. +</p> +<p> +“My dear Eleanor,” said he, “you really must accept Mr. Dempsey's +assurance, and listen to his story now.” +</p> +<p> +The ladies took their seats once more, and Mr. Dempsey, having filled his +glass, drank off a bumper; but whether it was that the narrative itself +demanded a greater exertion at his hands, or that the cold quietude of +Lady Eleanor's manner abashed him, but he found a second bumper necessary +before he commenced his task. +</p> +<p> +“I say,” whispered he to the Knight, “couldn't you get that decanter out +of Leonard's reach before I begin? He'll not leave a drop in it while I am +talking.” +</p> +<p> +As if he felt that, after his explanation, the tale should be more +particularly addressed to Lady Eleanor, he turned his chair round so as to +face her, and thus began:— +</p> +<p> +“There was once upon a time, ma'am, a Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland who was a +Duke. Whether he was Duke of Rutland, or Bedford, or Portland, or any +other title it was he had, my memory does n't serve me; it is enough, +however, if I say he was immensely rich, and, like many other people in +the same way, immensely in debt. The story goes that he never travelled +through England, and caught sight of a handsome place, or fine domain, or +a beautiful cottage, that he did n't go straightway to the owner and buy +it down out of the face, as a body might say, whether he would or no. And +so in time it came to pass that there was scarcely a county in England +without some magnificent house belonging to him. In many parts of Scotland +he had them too, and in all probability he would have done the same in +Ireland, if he could. Well, ma'am, there never was such rejoicings as +Dublin saw the night his Grace arrived to be our Viceroy. To know that we +had got a man with one hundred and fifty thousand a year, and a spirit to +spend double the money, was a downright blessing from Providence, and +there was no saying what might not be the prosperity of Ireland under so +auspicious a ruler. +</p> +<p> +“To do him justice, he did n't balk public expectation. Open house at the +Castle, ditto at the Lodge in the Park, a mansion full of guests in the +county Wicklow, a pack of hounds in Kildare, twelve horses training at the +Curragh, a yacht like a little man-of-war in Dunleary harbor, large +subscriptions to everything like sport, and a pension for life to every +man that could sing a jolly song, or write a witty bit of poetry. Well, +ma'am, they say, who remember those days, that they saw the best of +Ireland; and surely I believe, if his Grace had only lived, and had his +own way, the peerage would have been as pleasant, and the bench of bishops +as droll, and the ladies of honor as—Well, never mind, I 'll pass +on.” Here Mr. Dempsey, to console himself for the abruptness of his pause, +poured out and drank another bumper of sherry. “Pleasant times they were.” +said he, smacking his lips; “and faith, if Tom Leonard himself was alive +then, the color of his nose might have made him Commander of the Forces; +but, to continue, it was Dodd and Dempsey's house supplied the +sherry,-only the sherry, ma'am; old Stewart, of Belfast, had the port, and +Kinnahan the claret and lighter liquors. I may mention, by the way, that +my grandfather's contract included brandy, and that he would n't have +given it up for either of the other two. It was just about this time that +Dodd died, and my grandfather was left alone in the firm; but whether it +was out of respect for his late partner, or that he might have felt +himself lonely, but he always kept up the name of Dodd on the brass plate, +and signed the name along with his own; indeed, they say that he once +saluted his wife by the name of Mrs. Dodd and Dempsey. But, as I was +saying, it was one of those days when my grandfather was seated on a high +stool in the back office of his house in Abbey Street, that a fine, tall +young fellow, with a blue frock-coat, all braided with gold, and an +elegant cocked-hat, with a plume of feathers in it, came tramping into the +room, his spurs jingling, and his brass sabre clinking, and his sabretash +banging at his legs. +</p> +<p> +“'Mr. Dempsey?' said he. +</p> +<p> +“'D. and D.,' said my grandfather,—'that is, Dodd and Dempsey, your +Grace,' for he half suspected it was the Duke himself. +</p> +<p> +“'I am Captain M'Claverty, of the Scots Greys,' said he, 'first +aide-de-camp to his Excellency.' +</p> +<p> +“'I hope you may live to be colonel of the regiment,' said my grandfather, +for he was as polite and well-bred as any man in Ireland. +</p> +<p> +“'That's too good a sentiment,' said the captain, 'not to be pledged in a +glass of your own sherry.' +</p> +<p> +“'And we'll do it too,' said old Dempsey. And he opened the desk, and took +out a bottle he had for his own private drinking, and uncorked it with a +little pocket corkscrew he always carried about with him, and he produced +two glasses, and he and the captain hobnobbed and drank to each other. +</p> +<p> +“'Begad!' said the captain, 'his Grace sent me to thank you for the +delicious wine you supplied him with, but it's nothing to this,—-not +to be compared to it.' +</p> +<p> +“'I 've better again,' said my grandfather. 'I 've wine that would bring +the tears into your eyes when you saw the decanter getting low.' +</p> +<p> +“The captain stared at him, and maybe it was that the speech was too much +for his nerves, but he drank off two glasses one after the other as quick +as he could fill them out. +</p> +<p> +“'Dempsey,' said he, looking round cautiously, 'are we alone?' +</p> +<p> +“'We are,' said my grandfather. +</p> +<p> +“'Tell me, then,' said M'Claverty, 'how could his Grace get a taste of +this real sherry—for himself alone, I mean? Of course, I never +thought of his giving it to the Judges, and old Lord Dunboyne, and such +like.' +</p> +<p> +“'Does he ever take a little sup in his own room, of an evening?' +</p> +<p> +“'I am afraid not, but I 'll tell you how I think it might be managed. You +'re a snug fellow, Dempsey, you 've plenty of money muddling away in the +bank at three-and-a-half per cent; could n't you contrive, some way or +other, to get into his Excellency's confidence, and lend him ten or +fifteen thousand or so?' +</p> +<p> +“'Ay, or twenty,' said my grandfather,—'or twenty, if he likes it' +</p> +<p> +“'I doubt if he would accept such a sum,' said the captain, shaking his +head; 'he has bags of money rolling in upon him every week or fortnight; +sometimes we don't know where to put them.' +</p> +<p> +“'Oh, of course,' said my grandfather; 'I meant no offence, I only said +twenty, because, if his Grace would condescend, it is n't twenty, but a +fifty thousand I could give him, and on the nail too.' +</p> +<p> +“'You're a fine fellow, Dempsey, a devilish fine fellow; you 're the very +kind of fellow the Duke likes,—open-handed, frank, and generous.' +</p> +<p> +“'Do you really think he'd like me?' said my grandfather; and he rocked on +the high stool, so that it nearly came down. +</p> +<p> +“'Like you! I'll tell you what it is,' said he, laying his hand on my +grandfather's knee, 'before one week was over, he could n't do without +you. You 'd be there morning, noon, and night; your knife and fork always +ready for you, just like one of the family.' +</p> +<p> +“'Blood alive!' said my grandfather, 'do you tell me so?' +</p> +<p> +“'I 'll bet you a hundred pounds on it, sir.' +</p> +<p> +“'Done,' said my grandfather, 'and you must hold the stakes;' and with +that he opened his black pocket-book, and put a note for the amount into +the captain's hand. +</p> +<p> +“'This is the 31st of March,' said the captain, taking out his pencil and +tablets. 'I 'll just book the bet.' +</p> +<p> +“And, indeed,” added Mr. Dempsey, “for that matter, if it was a day later +it would have been only more suitable. +</p> +<p> +“Well, ma'am, what passed between them afterwards I never heard said; but +the captain took his leave, and left my grandfather so delighted and +overjoyed that he finished all the sherry in the drawer, and when the head +clerk came in to ask for an invoice, or a thing of the kind, he found old +Mr. Dempsey with his wig on the high stool, and he bowing round it, and +calling it your Grace. There 's no denying it, ma'am, he was blind drunk. +</p> +<p> +“About ten days or a fortnight after this time, my grandfather received a +note from Teesum and Twist, the solicitors, stating that the draft or the +bond was already drawn up for the loan he was about to make his Grace, and +begging to know to whom it was to be submitted. +</p> +<p> +“'The captain will win his bet, devil a lie in it,' said my grandfather; +'he's going to bring the Duke and myself together.' +</p> +<p> +“Well, ma'am, I won't bother you with the law business, though if my +father was telling the story he would not spare you one item of it all,—who +read this, and who signed the other, and the objections that was made by +them thieving attorneys! and how the Solicitor-General struck out this and +put in that clause; but to tell you the truth, ma'am, I think that all the +details spoil, what we may call, the poetry of the narrative; it is finer +to say he paid the money, and the Duke pocketed it. +</p> +<p> +“Well, weeks went over and months long, and not a bit of the Duke did my +grandfather see, nor M'Claverty either; he never came near him. To be +sure, his Grace drank as much sherry as ever; indeed, I believe out of +love to my grandfather they drank little else. From the bishops and the +chaplain, down to the battle-axe guards, it was sherry, morning, noon, and +night; and though this was very pleasing to my grandfather, he was always +wishing for the time when he was to be presented to his Grace, and their +friendship was to begin. My grandfather could think of nothing else, +daylight and dark. When he walked, he was always repeating to himself what +his Grace might say to him, and what he would say to his Grace; and he was +perpetually going up at eleven o'clock, when the guard was relieved in the +Castle-yard, suspecting that every now and then a footman in blue and +silver would come out, and, touching his elbow, whisper in his ear, 'Mr. +Dempsey, the Duke 's waiting for you.' But, my dear ma'am, he might have +waited till now, if Providence had spared him, and the devil a taste of +the same message would ever have come near him, or a sight of the same +footman in blue! It was neither more nor less than a delusion, or an +illusion, or a confusion, or whatever the name of it is. At last, ma'am, +in one of his prowlings about the Phoenix Park, who does he come on but +M'Claverty? He was riding past in a great hurry; but he pulled up when he +saw my grandfather, and called out, 'Hang it! who's this? I ought to know +<i>you</i>.' +</p> +<p> +“'Indeed you ought,' said my grandfather. 'I 'm Dodd and Dempsey, and by +the same token there's a little bet between us, and I 'd like to know who +won and who lost.' +</p> +<p> +“'I think there's small doubt about that,' said the captain. 'Did n't his +Grace borrow twenty thousand of you?' +</p> +<p> +“'He did, no doubt of it.' +</p> +<p> +“'And was n't it <i>my</i> doing?' +</p> +<p> +“'Upon my conscience, I can't deny it.' +</p> +<p> +“'Well, then, I won the wager, that's clear.' +</p> +<p> +“'Oh! I see now,' said my grandfather; 'that was the wager, was it? Oh, +bedad! I think you might have given me odds, if that was our bet.' +</p> +<p> +“'Why, what did you think it was?' +</p> +<p> +“'Oh, nothing at all, sir. It's no matter now; it was another thing was +passing in my mind. I was hoping to have the honor of making his +acquaintance, nattered as I was by all you told me about him.' +</p> +<p> +“'Ah! that's difficult, I confess,' said the captain; 'but still one might +do something. He wants a little money just now. If you could make interest +to be the lender, I would n't say that what you suggest is impossible.' +</p> +<p> +“Well, ma'am, it was just as it happened before; the old story,—more +parchment, more comparing of deeds, a heavy check on the bank for the +amount. +</p> +<p> +“When it was all done, M'Claverty came in one morning and in plain clothes +to my grandfather's back office. +</p> +<p> +“'Dodd and Dempsey,' said he, 'I 've been thinking over your business, and +I'll tell you what my plan is. Old Vereker, the chamberlain, is little +better than a beast, thinks nothing of anybody that is n't a lord or a +viscount, and, in fact, if he had his will, the Lodge in the Phoenix would +be more like Pekin in Tartary than anything else? but I 'll tell you, if +he won't present you at the levee, which he flatly refuses at present, I +'ll do the thing in a way of my own. His Grace is going to spend a week up +at Ballyriggan House, in the county of Wicklow, and I 'll contrive it, +when he 's taking his morning walk through the shrubbery, to present you. +All you 've to do is to be ready at a turn of the walk. I 'll show you the +place, you 'll hear his foot on the gravel, and you 'll slip out, just +this way. Leave the rest to me.' +</p> +<p> +“'It's beautiful,' said my grandfather. 'Begad, that's elegant.' +</p> +<p> +“'There 's one difficulty,' said M'Claverty,—'one infernal +difficulty.' +</p> +<p> +“'What's that?' asked my grandfather. +</p> +<p> +“'I may be obliged to be out of the way. I lost five fifties at Daly's the +other night, and I may have to cross the water for a few weeks.' +</p> +<p> +“'Don't let that trouble you,' said my grandfather; 'there's the paper.' +And he put the little bit of music into his hand; and sure enough a +pleasanter sound than the same crisp squeak of a new note no man ever +listened to. +</p> +<p> +“'It 's agreed upon now?' said my grandfather. +</p> +<p> +“'All right,' said M'Claverty; and with a jolly slap on the shoulder, he +said, 'Good-morning, D. and D. and away he went. +</p> +<p> +“He was true to his word. That day three weeks my grandfather received a +note in pencil; it was signed J. M'C, and ran thus: 'Be up at Ballyriggan +at eleven o'clock on Wednesday, and wait at the foot of the hill, near the +birch copse, beside the wooden bridge. Keep the left of the path, and lie +still.' Begad, ma'am, it's well nobody saw it but himself, or they might +have thought that Dodd and Dempsey was turned highwayman. +</p> +<p> +“My grandfather was prouder of the same note, and happier that morning, +than if it was an order for fifty butts of sherry. He read it over and +over, and he walked up and down the little back office, picturing out the +whole scene, settling the chairs till he made a little avenue between +them, and practising the way he 'd slip out slyly and surprise his Grace. +No doubt, it would have been as good as a play to have looked at him. +</p> +<p> +“One difficulty preyed upon his mind,—what dress ought he to wear? +Should he be in a court suit, or ought he rather to go in his robes as an +alderman? It would never do to appear in a black coat, a light gray +spencer, punch-colored shorts and gaiters, white hat with a strip of black +crape on it,—mere Dodd and Dempsey! That wasn't to be thought of. If +he could only ask his friend M'Hale, the fishmonger, who was knighted last +year, he could tell all about it. M'Hale, however, would blab. He 'd tell +it to the whole livery; every alderman of Skinner's Alley would know it in +a week. No, no, the whole must be managed discreetly; it was a mutual +confidence between the Duke and 'D. and D.' 'At all events,' said my +grandfather, 'a court dress is a safe thing;' and out he went and bespoke +one, to be sent home that evening, for he could n't rest till he tried it +on, and felt how he could move his head in the straight collar, and bow, +without the sword tripping him up and pitching him into the Duke. I 've +heard my father say that in the days that elapsed till the time mentioned +for the interview, my grandfather lost two stone in weight. He walked half +over the county Dublin, lying in ambush in every little wood he could see, +and jumping out whenever he could see or hear any one coming,—little +surprises which were sometimes taken as practical jokes, very unbecoming a +man of his age and appearance. +</p> +<p> +“Well, ma'am, Wednesday morning came, and at six o'clock my grandfather +was on the way to Ballyriggan, and at nine he was in the wood, posted at +the very spot M'Claverty told him, as happy as any man could be whose +expectations were so overwhelming. A long hour passed over, and another; +nobody passed but a baker's boy with a bull-dog after him, and an old +woman that was stealing brushwood in the shrubbery. My grandfather +remarked her well, and determined to tell his Grace of it; but his own +business soon drove that out of his head, for eleven o'clock came, and now +there was no knowing the moment the Duke might appear. With his watch in +his hand, he counted the minutes, ay, even the seconds; if he was a thief +going to be hanged, and looking out over the heads of the crowd for a +fellow to gallop in with a reprieve, he could n't have suffered more: his +heart was in his mouth. At last, it might be about half-past eleven, he +heard a footstep on the gravel, and then a loud, deep cough,—'a fine +kind of cough,' my grandfather afterwards called it. He peeped out; and +there, sure enough, at about sixty paces, coming down the walk, was a +large, grand-looking man,—not that he was dressed as became him, +for, strange as you may think it, the Lord-Lieutenant had on a +shooting-jacket, and a pair of plaid trousers, and cloth boots, and a big +lump of a stick in his hand,—and lucky it was that my grandfather +knew him, for he bought a picture of him. On he came nearer and nearer; +every step on the gravel-walk drove out of my grandfather's head half a +dozen of the fine things he had got off by heart to say during the +interview, until at last he was so overcome by joy, anxiety, and a kind of +terror, that he could n't tell where he was, or what was going to happen +to him, but he had a kind of instinct that reminded him he was to jump out +when the Duke was near him; and 'pon my conscience so he did, clean and +clever, into the middle of the walk, right in front of his Grace. My +grandfather used to say, in telling the story, that he verily believed his +feelings at that moment would have made him burst a blood-vessel if it +wasn't that the Duke put his hands to his sides and laughed till the woods +rang again; but, between shame and fright, my grandfather did n't join in +the laugh. +</p> +<p> +“'In Heaven's name!' said his Grace, 'who or what are you?—this +isn't May-day.' +</p> +<p> +“My grandfather took this speech as a rebuke for standing so bold in his +Grace's presence; and being a shrewd man, and never deficient in tact, +what does he do but drops down on his two knees before him? 'My Lord,' +said he, 'I am only Dodd and Dempsey.' +</p> +<p> +“Whatever there was droll about the same house of Dodd and Dempsey I never +heard, but his Grace laughed now till he had to lean against a tree. +'Well, Dodd and Dempsey, if that's your name, get up. I don't mean you any +harm. Take courage, man; I am not going to knight you. By the way, are you +not the worthy gentleman who lent me a trifle of twenty thousand more than +once?' +</p> +<p> +“My grandfather could n't speak, but he moved his lips, and he moved his +bands, this way, as though to say the honor was too great for him, but it +was all true. +</p> +<p> +“'Well, Dodd and Dempsey, I 've a very high respect for you,' said his +Grace; 'I intend, some of these fine days, when business permits, to go +over and eat an oyster at your villa on the coast.' +</p> +<p> +“My grandfather remembers no more; indeed, ma'am, I believe that at that +instant his Grace's condescension had so much overwhelmed him that he had +a kind of vision before his eyes of a whole wood full of Lord-Lieutenants, +with about thirty thousand people opening oysters for them as fast as they +could eat, and he himself running about with a pepper-caster, pressing +them to eat another 'black fin.' It was something of that kind; for when +he got on his legs a considerable time must have elapsed, as he found all +silent around him, and a smart rheumatic pain in his knee-joints from the +cold of the ground. +</p> +<p> +“The first thing my grandfather did when he got back to town was to +remember that he had no villa on the sea-coast, nor any more suitable +place to eat an oyster than his house in Abbey Street, for he could n't +ask his Grace to go to 'Killeen's.' Accordingly he set out the next day in +search of a villa, and before a week was over he had as beautiful a place +about a mile below Howth as ever was looked at; and that he mightn't be +taken short, he took a lease of two oyster-beds, and made every +preparation in life for the Duke's visit. He might have spared himself the +trouble. Whether it was that somebody had said something of him behind his +back, or that politics were weighing on the Duke's mind,—the +Catholics were mighty troublesome then,—or, indeed, that he forgot +it altogether, clean, but so it was, my grandfather never heard more of +the visit, and if the oysters waited for his Grace to come and eat them, +they might have filled up Howth harbor. +</p> +<p> +“A year passed over, and my grandfather was taking his solitary walk in +the Park, very nearly in the same place as before,—for you see, +ma'am, he could n't bear the sight of the seacoast, and the very smell of +shell-fish made him ill,—when somebody called out his name. He +looked up, and there was M'Claverty in a gig. +</p> +<p> +“'Well, D. and D., how goes the world with you?' +</p> +<p> +“'Very badly indeed,' says my grandfather; his heart was full, and he just +told him the whole story. +</p> +<p> +“'I'll settle it all,' said the captain; 'leave it to me. There 's to be a +review to-morrow in the Park; get on the back of the best horse you can +find,—the Duke is a capital judge of a nag,—ride him briskly +about the field; he 'll notice you, never fear; the whole thing will come +up before his memory, and you 'll have him to breakfast before the week's +over.' +</p> +<p> +“'Do you think so?—do you really think so?' +</p> +<p> +“'I 'll take my oath of it. I say, D. and D., could you do a little thing +at a short date just now?' +</p> +<p> +“'If it was n't too heavy,' said my grandfather, with a faint sigh. +</p> +<p> +“'Only a hundred.' +</p> +<p> +“'Well,' said he, 'you may send it down to the office. Good-bye.' And with +that he turned back towards town again; not to go home, however, for he +knew well there was no time to lose, but straight he goes to Dycer's,—it +was old Tom was alive in those days, and a shrewder man than Tom Dycer +there never lived. They tell you, ma'am, there 's chaps in London that if +you send them your height, and your width, and your girth round the waist, +they 'll make you a suit of clothes that will fit you like your own skin; +but, 'pon my conscience, I believe if you 'd give your age and the color +of your hair to old Tom Dycer, he could provide you a horse the very thing +to carry you. Whenever a stranger used to come into the yard, Tom would +throw a look at him, out of the corner of his eye,—for he had only +one, there was a feather on the other,—Tom would throw a look at +him, and he'd shout out, 'Bring out 42; take out that brown mare with the +white fetlocks.' That's the way he had of doing business, and the odds +were five to one but the gentleman rode out half an hour after on the +beast Tom intended for him. This suited my grandfather's knuckle well; for +when he told him that it was a horse to ride before the Lord-Lieutenant he +wanted, 'Bedad,' says Tom, 'I'll give you one you might ride before the +Emperor of Chaney.—Here, Dennis, trot out 176.' To all appearance, +ma'am, 176 was no common beast, for every man in the yard, big and little, +set off, when they heard the order, down to the stall where he stood, and +at last two doors were flung wide open, and out he came with a man leading +him. He was seventeen hands two if he was an inch, bright gray, with +flea-bitten marks all over him; he held his head up so high at one end, +and his tail at the other, that my grandfather said he 'd have frightened +the stoutest fox-hunter to look at him; besides, my dear, he went with his +knees in his mouth when he trotted, and gave a skelp of his hind legs at +every stride, that it was n't safe to be within four yards of him. +</p> +<p> +“'There's action!' says Tom,—'there 's bone and figure! Quiet as a +lamb, without stain or blemish, warranted in every harness, and to carry a +lady.' +</p> +<p> +“'I wish he 'd carry a wine-merchant safe for about one hour and a half,' +said my grandfather to himself. 'What's his price?' +</p> +<p> +“But Tom would n't mind him, for he was going on reciting the animal's +perfections, and telling him how he was bred out of Kick the Moon, by Moll +Flanders, and that Lord Dunraile himself only parted with him because he +did n't think him showy enough for a charger. 'Though, to be sure,' said +Tom, 'he's greatly improved since that. Will you try him in the school, +Mr. Dempsey?' said he; 'not but I tell you that you 'll find him a little +mettlesome or so there; take him on the grass, and he's gentleness itself,—he's +a kid, that's what he is.' +</p> +<p> +“'And his price?' said my grandfather. +</p> +<p> +“Dycer whispered something in his ear. +</p> +<p> +“'Blood alive!' said my grandfather. +</p> +<p> +“'Devil a farthing less. Do you think you 're to get beauty and action, +ay, and gentle temper, for nothing?' +</p> +<p> +“My dear, the last words, 'gentle temper,' wasn't well out of his mouth +when 'the kid' put his two hind-legs into the little pulpit where the +auctioneer was sitting, and sent him flying through the window behind him +into the stall. +</p> +<p> +“'That comes of tickling him,' said Tom; 'them blackguards never will let +a horse alone.' +</p> +<p> +“'I hope you don't let any of them go out to the reviews in the Park, for +I declare to Heaven, if I was on his back then, Dodd and Dempsey would be +D. D. sure enough.' +</p> +<p> +“'With a large snaffle, and the saddle well back,' says Tom, 'he's a +lamb.' +</p> +<p> +“'God grant it,' says my grandfather; 'send him over to me to-morrow, +about eleven.' He gave a check for the money,—we never heard how +much it was,—and away he went. +</p> +<p> +“That must have been a melancholy evening for him, for he sent for old +Rogers, the attorney, and after he was measured for breeches and boots, he +made his will and disposed of his effects, 'For there's no knowing,' said +he, 'what 176 may do for me.' Rogers did his best to persuade him off the +excursion,— +</p> +<p> +“'Dress up one of Dycer's fellows like you; let him go by the +Lord-Lieutenant prancing and rearing, and then you yourself can appear on +the ground, all splashed and spurred, half an hour after.' +</p> +<p> +“'No,' says my grandfather, 'I 'll go myself.' +</p> +<p> +“For so it is, there 's no denying, when a man has got ambition in his +heart it puts pluck there. Well, eleven o'clock came, and the whole of +Abbey Street was on foot to see my grandfather; there was n't a window had +n't five or six faces in it, and every blackguard in the town was there to +see him go off, just as if it was a show. +</p> +<p> +“'Bad luck to them,' says my grandfather; 'I wish they had brought the +horse round to the stable-yard, and let me get up in peace.' +</p> +<p> +“And he was right there,—for the stirrup, when my grandfather stood +beside the horse, was exactly even with his chin; but somehow, with the +help of the two clerks and the book-keeper and the office stool, he got up +on his back with as merry a cheer as ever rung out to welcome him, while a +dirty blackguard, with two old pocket-handkerchiefs for a pair of +breeches, shouted out, 'Old Dempsey's going to get an appetite for the +oysters!' +</p> +<p> +“Considering everything, 176 behaved very well; he did n't plunge, and he +did n't kick, and my grandfather said, 'Providence was kind enough not to +let him rear!' but somehow he wouldn't go straight but sideways, and kept +lashing his long tail on my grandfather's legs and sometimes round his +body, in a way that terrified him greatly, till he became used to it. +</p> +<p> +“'Well, if riding be a pleasure,' says my grandfather, 'people must be +made different from me.' +</p> +<p> +“For, saving your favor, ma'am, he was as raw as a griskin, and there was +n't a bit of him the size of a half-crown he could sit on without a +cry-out; and no other pace would the beast go but this little jig-jig, +from side to side, while he was tossing his head and flinging his mane +about, just as if to say, 'Could n't I pitch you sky-high if I liked? +Could n't I make a Congreve-rocket of you, Dodd and Dempsey?' +</p> +<p> +“When he got on the 'Fifteen Acres,' it was only the position he found +himself in that destroyed the grandeur of the scene; for there were fifty +thousand people assembled at least, and there was a line of infantry of +two miles long, and the artillery was drawn up at one end, and the cavalry +stood beyond them, stretching away towards Knockmaroon. +</p> +<p> +“My grandfather was now getting accustomed to his sufferings, and he felt +that, if 176 did no more, with God's help he could bear it for one day; +and so he rode on quietly outside the crowd, attracting, of course, a fair +share of observation, for he wasn't always in the saddle, but sometimes a +little behind or before it. Well, at last there came a cloud of dust, +rising at the far end of the field, and it got thicker and thicker, and +then it broke, and there were white plumes dancing, and gold glittering, +and horses all shaking their gorgeous trappings, for it was the staff was +galloping up, and then there burst out a great cheer, so loud that nothing +seemed possible to be louder, until bang—bang—bang, eighteen +large guns went thundering together, and the whole line of infantry let +off a clattering volley, till you 'd think the earth was crashing open. +</p> +<p> +“'Devil's luck to ye all! couldn't you be quiet a little longer?' says D. +and D., for he was trying to get an easy posture to sit in; but just at +this moment 176 pricked up his ears, made three bounds in the air, as if +something lifted him up, shook his head like a fish, and away he went: +wasn't it wonderful that my grandfather kept his seat? He remembers, he +says, that at each bound he was a yard over his back; but as he was a +heavy man, and kept his legs open, he had the luck to come down in the +same place, and a sore place it must have been! for he let a screech out +of him each time that would have pierced the heart of a stone. He knew +very little more what happened, except that he was galloping away +somewhere, until at last he found himself in a crowd of people, half dead +with fatigue and fright, and the horse thick with foam. +</p> +<p> +“'Where am I?' says my grandfather. +</p> +<p> +“'You 're in Lucan, sir,' says a man. +</p> +<p> +“'And where 's the review?' says my grandfather. +</p> +<p> +“'Five miles behind you, sir.' +</p> +<p> +“'Blessed Heaven!' says he; 'and where 's the Duke?' +</p> +<p> +“'God knows,' said the man, giving a wink to the crowd, for they thought +he was mad. +</p> +<p> +“'Won't you get off and take some refreshment?' says the man, for he was +the owner of a little public. +</p> +<p> +“'Get off!' says my grandfather; 'it's easy talking! I found it hard +enough to get on. Bring me a pint of porter where I am.' And so he drained +off the liquor, and he wiped his face, and he turned the beast's head once +more towards town. +</p> +<p> +“When my grandfather reached the Park again, he was, as you may well +believe, a tired and a weary man; and, indeed, for that matter, the beast +did n't seem much fresher than himself, for he lashed his sides more +rarely, and he condescended to go straight, and he didn't carry his head +higher than his rider's. At last they wound their way up through the fir +copse at the end of the field, and caught sight of the review, and, to be +sure, if poor D. and D. left the ground before under a grand salute of +artillery and small arms, another of the same kind welcomed him back +again. It was an honor he 'd have been right glad to have dispensed with, +for when 176 heard it, he looked about him to see which way he 'd take, +gave a loud neigh, and, with a shake that my grandfather said he 'd never +forget, he plunged forward, and went straight at the thick of the crowd; +it must have been a cruel sight to have seen the people running for their +lives. The soldiers that kept the line laughed heartily at the mob; but +they hadn't the joke long to themselves, for my grandfather went slap at +them into the middle of the field; and he did that day what I hear has +been very seldom done by cavalry,—he broke a square of the +Seventy-ninth Highlanders, and scattered them over the field. +</p> +<p> +<a name="image-0003" id="image-0003"> +<!-- IMG --></a> <img src="images/061.jpg" height="746" width="662" alt="061 " /> +</p> +<p> +In truth, the beast must have been the devil himself; for wherever he saw +most people, it was there he always went. There were at this time three +heavy dragoons and four of the horse-police, with drawn swords, in pursuit +of my grandfather; and if he were the enemy of the human race, the cries +of the multitude could not have been louder, as one universal shout arose +of 'Cut him down! Cleave him in two!' And, do you know, he said, +afterwards, he 'd have taken it as a mercy of Providence if they had. +Well, my dear, when he had broke through the Highlanders, scattered the +mob, dispersed the band, and left a hole in the big drum you could have +put your head through, 176 made for the staff, who, I may remark, were all +this time enjoying the confusion immensely. When, however, they saw my +grandfather heading towards them, there was a general cry of 'Here he +comes! here he comes! Take care, your Grace!' And there arose among the +group around the Duke a scene of plunging, kicking, and rearing, in the +midst of which in dashed my grandfather. Down went an aide-de-camp on one +side; 176 plunged, and off went the town-major at the other; while a +stroke of a sabre, kindly intended for my grandfather's skull, came down +on the horse's back and made him give plunge the third, which shot his +rider out of the saddle, and sent him flying through the air like a shell, +till he alighted under the leaders of a carriage where the Duchess and the +Ladies of Honor were seated. +</p> +<p> +“Twenty people jumped from their horses now to finish him; if they were +bunting a rat, they could not have been more venomous. +</p> +<p> +“'Stop! stop!' said the Duke; 'he's a capital fellow, don't hurt him. Who +are you, my brave little man? You ride like Chifney for the Derby.' +</p> +<p> +“'God knows who I am!' says my grandfather, creeping out, and wiping his +face. 'I was Dodd and Dempsey when I left home this morning; but I 'm +bewitched, devil a lie in it.' +</p> +<p> +“'Dempsey, my Lord Duke,' said M'Claverty, coming up at the moment. 'Don't +you know him?' And he whispered a few words in his Grace's ear. +</p> +<p> +“'Oh, yes, to be sure,' said the Viceroy. 'They tell me you have a capital +pack of hounds, Dempsey. What do you hunt?' +</p> +<p> +“'Horse, foot, and dragoons, my Lord,' said my grandfather; and, to be +sure, there was a jolly roar of laughter after the words, for poor D. and +D. was just telling his mind, without meaning anything more. +</p> +<p> +“'Well, then,' said the Duke, 'if you 've always as good sport as to-day, +you 've capital fun of it.' +</p> +<p> +“'Oh, delightful, indeed!' said my grandfather; 'never enjoyed myself more +in my life.' +</p> +<p> +“'Where 's his horse?' said his Grace. +</p> +<p> +“'He jumped down into the sand-quarry and broke his neck, my Lord Duke.' +</p> +<p> +“'The heavens be praised!' said my grandfather; 'if it's true, I am as +glad as if I got fifty pounds.' +</p> +<p> +“The trumpets now sounded for the cavalry to march past, and the Duke was +about to move away, when M'Claverty again whispered something in his ear. +</p> +<p> +“'Very true,' said he; 'well thought of. I say, Dempsey, I 'll go over +some of these mornings and have a run with your hounds.' +</p> +<p> +“My grandfather rubbed his eyes and looked up, but all he saw was about +twenty staff-officers with their hats off; for every man of them saluted +my father as they passed, and the crowd made way for him with as much +respect as if it was the Duke himself. He soon got a car to bring him +home, and notwithstanding all his sufferings that day, and the great +escape he had of his life, there wasn't as proud a man in Dublin as +himself. +</p> +<p> +“'He's coming to hunt with my hounds!' said he; ''t is n't to take an +oyster and a glass of wine, and be off again!—no, he's coming down +to spend the whole day with me.' +</p> +<p> +“The thought was ecstasy; it only had one drawback. Dodd and Dempsey's +house had never kept hounds. Well, ma'am, I needn't detain you long about +what happened; it's enough if I say that in less than six weeks my +grandfather had bought up Lord Tyrawley's pack, and his hunting-box and +horses, and I believe his grooms; and though he never ventured on the back +of a beast himself, he did nothing from morning to night but listen and +talk about hunting, and try to get the names of the dogs by heart, and +practise to cry 'Tally-ho!' and 'Stole away!' and 'Ho-ith! ho-ith!' with +which, indeed, he used to start out of his sleep at night, so full he was +of the sport. From the 1st of September he never had a red coat off his +back. 'Pon my conscience, I believe he went to bed in his spurs, for he +did n't know what moment the Duke might be on him, and that's the way the +time went on till spring; but not a sign of his Grace, not a word, not a +hint that he ever thought more of his promise! Well, one morning my +grandfather was walking very sorrowfully down near the Curragh, where his +hunting-lodge was, when he saw them roping-in the course for the races, +and he heard the men talking of the magnificent cup the Duke was to give +for the winner of the three-year-old stakes, and the thought flashed on +him, 'I'll bring myself to his memory that way.' And what does he do, but +he goes back to the house and tells his trainer to go over to the +racing-stables, and buy, not one, nor two, but the three best horses that +were entered for the race. Well, ma'am, their engagements were very heavy, +and he had to take them all on himself, and it cost him a sight of money. +It happened that this time he was on the right scent, for down comes +M'Claverty the same day with orders from the Duke to take the odds, right +and left, on one of the three, a little mare called +Let-Me-Alone-Before-the-People; she was one of his own breeding, and he +had a conceit out of her. Well, M'Claverty laid on the money here and +there, till he stood what between the Duke's bets and all the officers of +the staff and his own the heaviest winner or loser on that race. +</p> +<p> +“'She's Martin's mare, is n't she?' said M'Claverty. +</p> +<p> +“'No, sir, she was bought this morning by Mr. Dempsey, of Tear Fox Lodge.' +</p> +<p> +“'The devil she is,' said M'Claverty; and he jumped on his horse, and he +cantered over to the Lodge. +</p> +<p> +“'Mr. Dempsey at home?' says he. +</p> +<p> +“'Yes, sir.' +</p> +<p> +“'Give him this card, and say, I beg the favor of seeing him for a few +moments.' +</p> +<p> +“The man went off, and came back in a few minutes, with the answer, 'Mr. +Dempsey is very sorry, but he 's engaged.' +</p> +<p> +“'Oh, oh! that's it!' says M'Claverty to himself; 'I see how the wind +blows. I say, my man, tell him I 've a message from his Grace the +Lord-Lieutenant.' +</p> +<p> +“Well, the answer came for the captain to send the message in, for my +grandfather could n't come out. +</p> +<p> +“'Say, it's impossible,' said M'Claverty; 'it's for his own private ear.' +</p> +<p> +“Dodd and Dempsey was strong in my grandfather that day: he would listen +to no terms. +</p> +<p> +“'No,' says he, 'if the goods are worth anything, they never come without +an invoice. I 'll have nothing to say to him.' +</p> +<p> +“But the captain wasn't to be balked; for, in spite of everything, he +passed the servant, and came at once into the room where my grandfather +was sitting,—ay, and before he could help it, was shaking him by +both hands as if he was his brother. +</p> +<p> +“'Why the devil didn't you let me in?' said he; 'I came from the Duke with +a message for you.' +</p> +<p> +“'Bother!' says my grandfather. +</p> +<p> +“'I did, though,' says he; 'he's got a heavy book on your little mare, and +he wants you to make your boy ride a waiting race, and not win the first +beat,—you understand?' +</p> +<p> +“'I do,' says my grandfather, 'perfectly; and he's got a deal of money on +her, has he?' +</p> +<p> +“'He has,' said the captain; 'and every one at the Castle, too, high and +low, from the chief secretary down to the second coachman,—we are +all backing her.' +</p> +<p> +“'I am glad of it,—I am sincerely glad of it,' said my grandfather, +rubbing his hands. +</p> +<p> +“'I knew you would be, old boy!' cried the captain, joyfully. +</p> +<p> +“'Ah, but you don't know why; you 'd never guess.' +</p> +<p> +“M'Claverty stared at him, but said nothing. +</p> +<p> +“'Well, I'll tell you,' resumed my grandfather; 'the reason is this: I 'll +not let her run,—no, divil a step! I 'll bring her up to the ground, +and you may look at her, and see that she 's all sound and safe, in top +condition, and with a skin like a looking-glass, and then I 'll walk her +back again! And do you know why I 'll do this?' said he, while his eyes +flashed fire, and his lip trembled; 'just because I won't suffer the house +of Dodd and Dempsey to be humbugged as if we were greengrocers! Two years +ago, it was to “eat an oyster with me;” last year it was a “day with my +hounds;” maybe now his Grace would join the race dinner; but that's all +past and gone,—I 'll stand it no longer.' +</p> +<p> +“'Confound it, man,' said the captain, 'the Duke must have forgotten it. +You never reminded him of his engagement. He 'd have been delighted to +have come to you if he only recollected.' +</p> +<p> +“'I am sorry my memory was better than his,' said my grandfather, 'and I +wish you a very good morning.' +</p> +<p> +“'Oh, don't go; wait a moment; let us see if we can't put this matter +straight. You want the Duke to dine with you?' +</p> +<p> +“'No, I don't; I tell you I 've given it up.' +</p> +<p> +“'Well, well, perhaps so; will it do if you dine with him?' +</p> +<p> +“My grandfather had his hand on the lock,—he was just going,—he +turned round, and fixed his eyes on the captain. +</p> +<p> +“'Are you in earnest, or is this only more of the same game?' said he, +sternly. +</p> +<p> +“'I'll make that very easy to you,' said the captain; 'I 'll bring the +invitation to you this night; the mare doesn't run till to-morrow; if you +don't receive the card, the rest is in your own power.' +</p> +<p> +“Well, ma'am, my story is now soon told; that night, about nine o'clock, +there comes a footman, all splashed and muddy, in a Castle livery, up to +the door of the Lodge, and he gave a violent pull at the bell, and when +the servant opened the door, he called out in a loud voice, 'From his +Excellency the Lord-Lieutenant,' and into the saddle he jumped, and away +he was like lightning; and, sure enough, it was a large card, all printed, +except a word here and there, and it went something this way:— +</p> +<p> +“'I am commanded by his Excellency the Lord-Lieutenant to request the +pleasure of Mr. Dempsey's company at dinner on Friday, the 23d instant, at +the Lodge, Phoenix Park, at seven o'clock. +</p> +<p> +“'Granville Vereker, <i>Chamberlain</i>. +</p> +<p> +“'Swords and Bags.' +</p> +<p> +“'At last!' said my grandfather, and he wiped the tears from his eyes; for +to say the truth, ma'am, it was a long chase without ever getting once a +'good view.' I must hurry on; the remainder is easy told. +Let-Me-Alone-Before-the-People won the cup, my grandfather was chaired +home from the course in the evening, and kept open house at the Lodge for +all comers while the races lasted; and at length the eventful day drew +near on which he was to realize all his long-coveted ambition. It was on +the very morning before, however, that he put on his Court suit for about +the twentieth time, and the tailor was standing trembling before him while +my grandfather complained of a wrinkle here or a pucker there. +</p> +<p> +“'You see,' said he, 'you've run yourself so close that you 've no time +now to alter these things before the dinner.' +</p> +<p> +“'I 'll have time enough, sir,' says the man, 'if the news is true.' +</p> +<p> +“'What news?' says my grandfather, with a choking in his throat, for a +sudden fear came over him. +</p> +<p> +“'The news they have in town this morning.' +</p> +<p> +“'What is it?—speak it out, man!' +</p> +<p> +“'They say— But sure you 've heard it, sir?' +</p> +<p> +“'Go on!' says my grandfather; and he got him by the shoulders and shook +him. 'Go on, or I'll strangle you!' +</p> +<p> +“'They say, sir, that the Ministry is out, and—' +</p> +<p> +“'And, well—' +</p> +<p> +“'And that the Lord-Lieutenant has resigned, and the yacht is coming round +to Dunleary to take him away this evening, for he won't stay longer than +the time to swear in the Lords Justices,—he's so glad to be out of +Ireland.' +</p> +<p> +“My grandfather sat down on the chair, and began to cry, and well he +might, for not only was the news true, but he was ruined besides. Every +farthing of the great fortune that Dodd and Dempsey made was lost and +gone,—scattered to the winds; and when his affairs were wound up, he +that was thought one of the richest men in Dublin was found to be +something like nine thousand pounds worse than nothing. Happily for him, +his mind was gone too, and though he lived a few years after, near +Finglass, he was always an innocent, didn't remember anybody, nor who he +was, but used to go about asking the people if they knew whether his Grace +the Lord-Lieutenant had put off his dinner-party for the 23d; and then he +'d pull out the old card to show them, for he kept it in a little case, +and put it under his pillow every night till he died.” +</p> +<p> +While Mr. Dempsey's narrative continued, Tom Leonard indulged freely and +without restraint in the delights of the Knight's sherry, forgetting not +only all his griefs, but the very circumstances and people around him. Had +the party maintained a conversational tone, it is probable that he would +have been able to adhere to the wise resolutions he had planned for his +guidance on leaving home; unhappily, the length of the tale, the prosy +monotony of the speaker's voice, the deepening twilight which stole on ere +the story drew to a close, were influences too strong for prudence so +frail; an instinct told him that the decanter was close by, and every +glass he drained either drowned a care or stifled a compunction. +</p> +<p> +The pleasant buzz of voices which succeeded to the anecdote of Dodd and +Dempsey aroused Leonard from his dreary stupor. Wine and laughter and +merry voices were adjuncts he had not met for many a day before; and, +strangely enough, the only emotions they could call up were some vague, +visionary sorrowings over his fallen and degraded condition. +</p> +<p> +“By Jove!” said Dempsey, in a whisper to Darcy, “the lieutenant has more +sympathy for my grandfather than I have myself,—I 'll be hanged if +he is n't wiping his eyes! So you see, ma'am,” added he, aloud, “it was a +taste for grandeur ruined the Dempseys; the same ambition that has +destroyed states and kingdoms has brought your humble servant to a trifle +of thirty-eight pounds four and nine per annum for all worldly comforts +and virtuous enjoyments; but, as the old ballad says,— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +'Though classic 't is to show one's grief, +And cry like Carthaginian Marius, +I 'll not do this, nor ask relief, +Like that ould beggar Belisarius.' +</pre> +<p> +No, ma'am, 'Never give in while there's a score behind the door,'—that's +the motto of the Dempseys. If it's not on their coat-of-arms, it's written +in their hearts.” +</p> +<p> +“Your grandfather, however, did not seem to possess the family courage,” +said the Knight, slyly. +</p> +<p> +“Well, and what would you have? Wasn't he brave enough for a +wine-merchant?” +</p> +<p> +“The ladies will give us some tea, Leonard,” said the Knight, as Lady +Eleanor and her daughter had, some time before, slipped unobserved from +the room. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, Colonel, always ready.” +</p> +<p> +“That's the way with him,” whispered Dempsey; “he'd swear black and blue +this minute that you commanded the regiment he served in. He very often +calls me the quartermaster.” +</p> +<p> +The party rose to join the ladies; and while Leonard maintained his former +silence, Dempsey once more took on himself the burden of the conversation +by various little anecdotes of the Fumbally household, and sketches of +life and manners at Port Ballintray. +</p> +<p> +So perfectly at ease did he find himself, so inspired by the happy +impression he felt convinced he was making, that he volunteered a song, +“if the young lady would only vouchsafe few chords on the piano” by way of +accompaniment,—a proposition Helen acceded to. +</p> +<p> +Thus passed the evening,—a period in which Lady +</p> +<p> +Eleanor more than once doubted if the whole were not a dream, and the +persons before her the mere creations of disordered fancy; an impression +certainly not lessened as Mr. Dempsey's last words at parting conveyed a +pressing invitation to a “little thing he 'd get up for them at Mother +Finn's.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0003"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER III. SOME VISITORS AT GWYNNE ABBEY +</h2> +<p> +It is a fact not only well worthy of mention, but pregnant with its own +instruction, that persons who have long enjoyed all the advantages of an +elevated social position better support the reverses which condemned them +to humble and narrow fortunes, than do the vulgar-minded, when, by any +sudden caprice of the goddess, they are raised to a conspicuous and +distinguished elevation. +</p> +<p> +There is in the gentleman, and still more in the gentlewoman,—as the +very word itself announces,—an element of placidity and quietude +that suggests a spirit of accommodation to whatever may arise to ruffle +the temper or disturb the equanimity. Self-respect and consideration for +others are a combination not inconsistent or unfrequent, and there are few +who have not seen, some time or other, a reduced gentleman dispensing in a +lowly station the mild graces and accomplishments of his order, and, while +elevating others, sustaining himself. +</p> +<p> +The upstart, on the other hand, like a mariner in some unknown sea without +chart or compass, has nothing to guide him; impelled hither or thither as +caprice or passion dictate, he is neither restrained by a due sense of +decorum, nor admonished by a conscientious feeling of good breeding. With +the power that rank and wealth bestow he becomes not distinguished, but +eccentric; unsustained by the companionship of his equals, he tries to +assimilate himself to them rather by their follies than their virtues, and +thus presents to the world that mockery of rank and station which makes +good men sad, and bad men triumphant. +</p> +<p> +To these observations we have been led by the altered fortunes of those +two families of whom our story treats. If the Darcys suddenly found +themselves brought down to a close acquaintanceship with poverty and its +fellows, they bore the change with that noble resignation that springs +from true regard for others at the sacrifice of ourselves. The little +shifts and straits of narrowed means were ever treated jestingly, the +trials that a gloomy spirit had converted into sorrows made matters of +merriment and laughter; and as the traveller sees the Arab tent in the +desert spread beside the ruined temple of ancient grandeur, and happy +faces and kind looks beneath the shade of ever-vanished splendor, so did +this little group maintain in their fall the kindly affection and the +high-souled courage that made of that humble cottage a home of happiness +and enjoyment. +</p> +<p> +Let us now turn to the west, where another and very different picture +presented itself. Although certain weighty questions remained to be tried +at law between the Darcys and the Hickmans, Bicknell could not advise the +Knight to contest the mortgage under which the Hickmans had now taken +possession of the abbey. +</p> +<p> +The reputation for patriotism and independence so fortunately acquired by +that family came at a most opportune moment. In no country of Europe are +the associations connected with the proprietorship of land more regarded +than in Ireland; this feeling, like most others truly Irish, has the +double property of being either a great blessing or a great curse, for +while it can suggest a noble attachment to country, it can also, as we see +it in our own day, be the fertile source of the most atrocious crime. +</p> +<p> +Had Hickman O'Reilly succeeded to the estate of the Darcys at any other +moment than when popular opinion called the one a “patriot” and the other +a “traitor,” the consequences would have been serious; all the disposable +force, civil and military, would scarcely have been sufficient to secure +possession. The thought of the “ould ancient family” deposed and exiled by +the men of yesterday, would have excited a depth of feeling enough to stir +the country far and near. Every trait that adorned the one, for +generations, would be remembered, while the humble origin of the other +would be offered as the bitterest reproach, by those who thought in +embodying the picture of themselves and their fortune they were actually +summing up the largest amount of obloquy and disgrace. Such is mob +principle in everything! Aristocracy has no such admirers as the lowly +born, just as the liberty of the press is inexpressibly dear to that part +of the population who know not how to read. +</p> +<p> +When last we saw Gwynne Abbey, the scene was one of mourning, the parting +hour of those whose affections clung to the old walls, and who were to +leave it forever. We must now return there for a brief space under +different auspices, and when Mr. Hickman O'Reilly, the high sheriff of the +county, was entertaining a large and distinguished company in his new and +princely residence. +</p> +<p> +It was the assize week, and the judges, as well as the leading officers of +the Crown, were his guests; many of the gentry were also there,—some +from indifference to whom their host might be, others from curiosity to +see how the upstart, Bob Hickman, would do the honors; and there were many +who felt far more at their ease in the abbey now than when they had the +fears of Lady Eleanor Darcy's quietude and coldness of manner before them. +</p> +<p> +No expense was spared to rival the style and retinue of the abbey under +its former owners. O'Reilly well knew the value of first impressions in +such matters, and how the report that would soon gain currency would +decide the matter for or against him. So profusely, and with such +disregard to money, was everything done, that, as a mere question of cost, +there was no doubt that never in the Knight's palmiest days had anything +been seen more magnificent than the preparations. Luxuries, brought at an +immense cost, and by contraband, from abroad; wines, of the rarest +excellence, abounded at every entertainment; equipages, more splendid than +any ever seen there before, appeared each morning; and troops of servants +without number moved hither and thither, displaying the gorgeous liveries +of the O'Reillys. +</p> +<p> +The guests were for the most part the neighboring gentry, the military, +and the members of the bar; but there were others also, selected with +peculiar care, and whose presence was secured at no inconsiderable pains. +These were the leading “diners-out” of Dublin, and recognized “men about +town,” whose names were seen on club committees, and whose word was law on +all questions of society. Among them, the chief was Con Heffernan; and he +now saw himself for the first time a guest at Gwynne Abbey. The invitation +was made and accepted with a certain coquetting that gave it the character +of a reconciliation; there were political differences to be got over, +mutual recriminations to be forgotten; but as each felt, for his own +reasons, not indisposed to renew friendly relations, the matter presented +little difficulty, and when Mr. O'Reilly received his guest, on his +arrival, with a shake of both hands, the action was meant and taken as a +receipt in full for all past misunderstanding, and both had too much tact +ever to go back on “bygones.” +</p> +<p> +There had been a little correspondence between the parties, the early +portions of which were marked “Confidential,” and the latter “Strictly +confidential and private.” This related to a request made by O'Reilly to +Heffernan to entreat his influence in behalf of Lionel Darcy. Nothing +could exceed the delicacy of the negotiation; for after professing that +the friendship which had subsisted between his own son and young Darcy was +the active motive for the request, he went on to say that in the course of +certain necessary legal investigations it was discovered that young +Lionel, in the unguarded carelessness of a young and extravagant man, had +put his name to bills of a large amount, and even hinted that he had not +stopped there, but had actually gone the length of signing his father's +name to documents for the sale of property. To obtain an appointment for +him in some regiment serving in India would at once withdraw him from the +likelihood of any exposure in these matters. To interest Heffernan in the +affair was the object of O'Reilly's correspondence; and Heffernan was only +too glad, at so ready an opportunity, to renew their raptured relations. +</p> +<p> +Lions were not as fashionable in those days as at present; but still the +party had its share in the person of Counsellor O'Halloran, the great +orator of the bar, and the great speaker at public meetings, the rising +patriot, who, not being deemed of importance enough to be bought, was +looked on as incorruptible. He had come down special to defend O'Reilly in +a record of Darcy <i>versus</i> Hickman,—the first case submitted +for trial by Bicknell, and one which, small in itself, would yet, if +determined in the Knight's favor, form a rule of great importance +respecting those that were to follow. +</p> +<p> +It was in the first burst of Hickman O'Reilly's indignation against +Government that he had secured O'Halloran as his counsel, never +anticipating that any conjuncture would bring him once more into relations +with the Ministry. His appointment of high sheriff, however, and his +subsequent correspondence with Heffernan, ending with the invitation to +the abbey, had greatly altered his sentiments, and he more than once +regretted the precipitancy with which he had selected his advocate. +</p> +<p> +Whether “the Counsellor” did or did not perceive that his reception was +one of less cordiality and more embarrassment than might be expected, it +is not easy to say, for he was one of those persons who live too much out +of themselves to betray their own feelings to the world. He was a large +and well-looking man, but whose features would have been coarse in their +expression were it not for the animated intelligence of his eye, and the +quaint humor that played about the angles of his mouth, and added to the +peculiar drollery of an accent to which Kerry had lent all its native +archness. His gestures were bold, striking, and original; his manner of +speaking, even in private, impressive,—from the deliberate slowness +of his utterance, and the air of truthfulness sustained by every agency of +look, voice, and expression. The least observant could not fail to remark +in him a conscious power, a sense of his own great gifts either in +argument or invective; for he was no less skilful in unravelling the +tangled tissue of a knotted statement than in overwhelming his adversary +with a torrent of abusive eloquence. The habits of his profession, but in +particular the practice of cross-examination, had given him an immense +insight into the darker recesses of the human heart, and made him master +of all the subtleties and evasions of inferior capacities. This knowledge +he brought with him into society, where his powers of conversation had +already established for him a high repute. He abounded in anecdote, which +he introduced so easily and naturally that the <i>à propos</i> had as much +merit as the story itself. Yet with all these qualities, and in a time +when the members of his profession were more than ever esteemed and +courted, he himself was not received, save on sufferance, into the better +society of the capital. The stamp of a “low tone,” and the assertion of +democratic opinions, were two insurmountable obstacles to his social +acceptance; and he was rarely, if ever, seen in those circles which +arrogated to themselves the title of best. Whether it was a conscious +sense of what was “in him” powerful enough to break down such barriers as +these, and that, like Nelson, he felt the day would come when he would +have a “<i>Gazette of his own</i>,” but his manner at times displayed a +spirit of haughty daring and effrontery that formed a singular contrast +with the slippery and insinuating softness of his <i>nisi prius</i> tone +and gesture. +</p> +<p> +If we seem to dwell longer on this picture than the place the original +occupies in our story would warrant, it is because the character is not +fictitious, and there is always an interest to those who have seen the +broad current of a mighty river rolling onward in its mighty strength, to +stand beside the little streamlet which, first rising from the mountain, +gave it origin,—to mark the first obstacles that opposed its course,—and +to watch the strong impulses that moulded its destiny to overcome them. +</p> +<p> +Whatever fears Hickman O'Reilly might have felt as to how his counsel, +learned in the law, would be received by the Government agent, Mr. +Heffernan, were speedily allayed. The gentlemen had never met before, and +yet, ere the first day went over, they were as intimate as old +acquaintances, each, apparently, well pleased with the strong good sense +and natural humor of the other. And so, indeed, it may be remarked in the +world, that when two shrewd, far-reaching individuals are brought +together, the attraction of quick intelligence and craft is sufficient to +draw them into intimate relations at once. There is something wonderfully +fraternal in roguery. +</p> +<p> +This was the only social difficulty O'Reilly dreaded, and happily it was +soon dispelled, and the general enjoyment was unclouded by even the +slightest accident. The judges were <i>bon vivants</i>, who enjoyed good +living and good wine; he of the Common Pleas, too, was an excellent shot, +and always exchanged his robes for a shooting-jacket on entering the park, +and despatched hares and woodcocks as he walked along, with as much +unconcern as he had done Whiteboys half an hour before. The +Solicitor-General was passionately fond of hunting, and would rather any +day have drawn a cover than an indictment; and so with the rest,—they +seemed all of them sporting-gentlemen of wit and pleasure, who did a +little business at law by way of “distraction.” Nor did O'Halloran form an +exception; he was as ready as the others to snatch an interval of pleasure +amid the fatigues of his laborious day. But, somehow, he contrived that no +amount of business should be too much for him; and while his ruddy cheek +and bright eye bespoke perfect health and renewed enjoyment, it was +remarked that the lamp burned the whole night long unextinguished in his +chamber, and that no morning found him ever unprepared to defend the +interest of his client. +</p> +<p> +There was, as we have said, nothing to throw a damper on the general joy. +Fortune was bent on dealing kindly with Mr. O'Reilly; for while he was +surrounded with distinguished and delighted guests, his father, the +doctor, the only one whose presence could have brought a blush to his +cheek, was confined to his room by a severe cold, and unable to join the +party. +</p> +<p> +The assize calendar was a long one, and the town the last in the circuit, +so that the judges were in no hurry to move on; besides, Gwynne Abbey was +a quarter which it was very unlikely would soon be equalled in style of +living and resources. For all these several reasons the business of the +law went on with an easy and measured pace, the Court opening each day at +ten, and closing about three or four, when a magnificent procession of +carriages and saddle-horses drew up in the main street to convey the +guests back to the abbey. +</p> +<p> +While the other trials formed the daily subject of table-talk, suggesting +those stories of fun, anecdote, and incident with which no other +profession can enter into rivalry, the case of Darcy <i>versus</i> Hickman +was never alluded to, and, being adroitly left last on the list for trial, +could not possibly interfere with the freedom so essential to pleasant +intercourse. +</p> +<p> +The day fixed on for this record was a Saturday. It was positively the +last day the judges could remain, and having accepted an engagement to a +distant part of the country for that very day at dinner, the Court was to +sit early, and there being no other cause for trial, it was supposed the +cause would be concluded in time to permit their departure. Up to this +morning the high sheriff had never omitted, as in duty bound, to accompany +the judges to the court-house, displaying in the number and splendor of +his equipages a costliness and magnificence that excited the wonder of the +assembled gentry. On this day, however, he deemed it would be more +delicate on his part to be absent, as the matter in litigation so nearly +concerned himself. And half seriously and half in jest he made his +apologies to the learned baron who was to try the cause, and begged for +permission to remain at the abbey. The request was most natural, and at +once acceded to; and although Heffer-nan had expressed the greatest desire +to hear the Counsellor, he determined to pass the morning, at least, with +O'Reilly, and endeavor afterwards to be in time for the address to the +jury. +</p> +<p> +At last the procession moved off; several country gentlemen, who had come +over to breakfast, joining the party, and making the cavalcade, as it +entered the town, a very imposing body. It was the market-day, too; and +thus the square in front of the court-house was crowded with a +frieze-coated and red-cloaked population, earnestly gesticulating and +discussing the approaching trial, for to the Irish peasant the excitement +of a law process has the most intense and fascinating interest. All the +ordinary traffic of the day was either neglected or carelessly performed, +in the anxiety to see those who dispensed the dread forms of justice, but +more particularly to obtain a sight of the young “Counsellor,” who for the +first time had appeared on this circuit, but whose name as a patriot and +an orator was widely renowned. +</p> +<p> +“Here he comes! Here he comes! Make way there!” went from mouth to mouth, +as O'Halloran, who had entered the inn for a moment, now issued forth in +wig and gown, and carrying a heavily laden bag in his hand. The crowd +opened for him respectfully and in dead silence, and then a hearty cheer +burst forth, that echoed through the wide square, and was taken up by +hundreds of voices in the neighboring streets. +</p> +<p> +It needed not the reverend companionship of Father John M'Enerty, the +parish priest of Curraghglass, who walked at his side, to secure him this +hearty burst of welcome, although of a truth the circumstance had its +merit also, and many favorable comments were passed upon O'Halloran for +the familiar way he leaned on the priest's arm, and the kindly +intelligence that subsisted between them. +</p> +<p> +If anything could have added to the pleasure of the assembled crowd at the +instant, it was an announcement by Father John, who, turning round on the +steps of the courthouse, informed them in a kind of confidential whisper +that was heard over the square, that “if they were good boys, and did n't +make any disturbance in the town,” the Counsellor would give them a speech +when the trial was over. +</p> +<p> +The most deafening shout of applause followed this declaration, and +whatever interest the questions of law had possessed for them before was +now merged in the higher anxiety to hear the great Counsellor himself +discuss the “veto,” that long-agitated question each had taught himself to +believe of nearest importance to himself. +</p> +<p> +“When last I visited this town,” said Bicknell to the senior counsel +employed in the Knight's behalf, “I witnessed a very different scene. Then +we had triumphal arches, and bonfire illuminations, and addresses. It was +young Darcy's birthday, and a more enthusiastic reception it is impossible +to conceive than he met in these very streets from these very people.” +</p> +<p> +“There is only one species of interest felt for dethroned monarchs,” said +the other, caustically,—“how they bear their misfortunes.” +</p> +<p> +“The man you see yonder waving his hat to young O'Reilly was one of a +deputation to congratulate the heir of Gwynne Abbey! I remember him well,—his +name is Mitchell.” +</p> +<p> +“I hope not the same I see upon our jury-list here,” said the Counsellor, +as he unfolded a written paper, and perused it attentively. +</p> +<p> +“The same man; he holds his house under the Darcys, and has received many +and deep favors at their hands.” +</p> +<p> +“So much the worse, if we should find him in the jury-box. But have we any +chance of young Darcy yet? Do you give up all hope of his arrival?” +</p> +<p> +“The last tidings I received from my clerk were, that he was to follow him +down to Plymouth by that night's mail, and still hoped to be in time to +catch him ere the transport sailed.” +</p> +<p> +“What a rash and reckless fellow he must be, that would leave a country +where he has such interests at stake!” +</p> +<p> +“If he felt that a point of honor or duty was involved, I don't believe he +'d sacrifice a jot of either to gain this cause, and I 'm certain that +some such plea has been made use of on the present occasion.” +</p> +<p> +“How they cheer! What's the source of their enthusiasm at this moment? +There it goes, that carriage with the green liveries and the Irish motto +round the crest. Look at O'Halloran, too! how he shakes hands with the +townsfolk; canvassing for a verdict already! Now, Bicknell, let us move +on; but, for my part, I feel our cause is decided outside the court-house. +If I 'm not very much mistaken, we are about to have an era of 'popular +justice' in Ireland, and our enemies could not wish us worse luck.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0004"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER IV. A SCENE AT THE ASSIZES +</h2> +<p> +Although Mr. Hickman O'Reilly affected an easy unconcern regarding the +issue of the trial, he received during the morning more than one despatch +from the court-house narrating its progress. They were brief but +significant; and when Hefferuan, with his own tact, inquired if the news +were satisfactory, the reply was made by putting into his hands a slip of +paper with a few words written in pencil: “They are beaten,-the verdict is +certain.” +</p> +<p> +“I concluded,” said Heffernan, as he handed back the paper, “that the case +was not deemed by you a very doubtful matter.” +</p> +<p> +“Neither doubtful nor important,” said Hickman, calmly; “it was an effort, +in all probability suggested by some crafty lawyer, to break several +leases on the ground of forgery in the signatures. I am sure nothing short +of Mr. Darcy's great difficulties would ever have permitted him to approve +of such a proceeding.” +</p> +<p> +“The shipwrecked sailor will cling to a hen-coop,” said Heffernan. “By the +way, where are these Darcys? What has become of them?” +</p> +<p> +“Living in Wales, or in Scotland, some say.” +</p> +<p> +“Are they utterly ruined?” +</p> +<p> +“Utterly, irretrievably. A course of extravagance maintained for years at +a rate of about double his income, loans obtained at any sacrifice, sales +of property effected without regard to loss, have overwhelmed him; and the +worst of it is, the little remnant of fortune left is likely to be +squandered in vain attempts to recover at law what he has lost by +recklessness.” +</p> +<p> +Heffernan walked on for some moments in silence, and, as if pondering over +Hickman's words, repeated several times, half aloud: “No doubt of it,—no +doubt of it.” Then added, in a louder tone: “The whole history of this +family, Mr. O'Reilly, is a striking confirmation of a remark I heard made, +a few days since, by a distinguished individual,—to <i>you</i> I may +say it was Lord Cornwallis. 'Heffernan,' said he, 'this country is in a +state of rapid transition; everything progresses but the old gentry of the +land; they alone seem rooted to ancient prejudices, and fast confirmed in +bygone barbarisms.' I ventured to ask him if he could suggest a remedy for +the evil, and I 'll never forget the tone with which he whispered in my +ear, 'Yes; supersede them!' And that, sir,” said Heffernan, laying his +hand confidentially on O'Reilly's arm,—“that is and must be the +future policy regarding Ireland.” +</p> +<p> +Mr. Heffernan did not permit himself to risk the success of his stroke by +a word more, nor did he even dare to cast a look at his companion and +watch how his spell was working. As the marksman feels when he has shot +his bolt that no after-thought can amend the aim, so did he wait quietly +for the result, without a single effort on his part. “The remark is a new +one to me,” said O'Reilly, at length; “but so completely does it accord +with my own sentiments, I feel as if I either had or might have made it +myself. The old school you speak of were little calculated to advance the +prosperity of the country; the attachment of the people to them was fast +wearing out.” +</p> +<p> +“Nay,” interposed Heffernan, “it was that very same attachment, that rude +remnant of feudalism, made the greatest barrier against improvement. The +law of the land was powerless in comparison with the obligations of this +clanship. It is time, full time, that the people should become English in +feeling, as they are in law and in language; and to make them so, the +first step is, to work the reformation in the gentry. Now, at the hazard +of a liberty which you may deem an impertinence, I will tell you frankly, +Mr. O'Reilly, that you, you yourself, are admirably calculated to lead the +van of this great movement. It is all very natural, and perhaps very just, +that in a moment of chagrin with a minister or his party, a man should +feel indignant, and, although acting under a misconception, throw himself +into a direct opposition; yet a little reflection will show that such a +line involves a false position. Popularity with the masses could never +recompense a man like you for the loss of that higher esteem you must +sacrifice for it; the <i>devoirs</i> of your station impose a very +different class of duties from what this false patriotism suggests; +besides, if from indignation—a causeless indignation I am ready to +prove it—you separate yourself from the Government, you are +virtually suffering your own momentary anger to decide the whole question +of your son's career. You are shutting the door of advancement against a +young man with every adventitious aid of fortune in his favor; handsome, +accomplished, wealthy,-what limit need there be to his ambition? And +finally, some fellow, like our friend the Counsellor, without family, +friends, or fortune, but with lungs of leather and a ready tongue, will +beat you hollow in the race, and secure a wider influence over the mass of +the people than a hundred gentlemen like you. You will deem it, probably, +enough to spend ten or fifteen thousand on a contested election, and to +give a vote for your party in Parliament; he, on the other hand, will +write letters, draw up petitions, frame societies, meetings, resolutions, +and make speeches, every word of which will sink deeply into the hearts of +men whose feelings are his own. You, and others in your station, will be +little better than tools in his hands; and powerful as you think +yourselves to-day, with your broad acres and your cottier freeholders, the +time may come when these men will be less at <i>your</i> bidding than <i>his</i>, +and for this simple reason,—the man of nothing will always be ready +to bid higher for mob support than he who has a fortune to lose.” +</p> +<p> +“You have put a very strong case,” said O'Reilly; “perhaps I should think +it stronger, if I had not heard most of the arguments before, from +yourself, and know by this time how their application to me has not +sustained your prophecy.” +</p> +<p> +“I am ready to discuss that with you, too,” said Heffer-nan. “I know how +it all happened: had I been with you the day you dined with Castlereagh, +the misunderstanding never could have occurred; but there was a fatality +in it all. Come,” said he, familiarly, and he slipped his arm, as he +spoke, within O'Reilly's, “I am the worst diplomatist in the world, and I +fear I never should have risen to high rank in the distinguished corps of +engineers if such had been my destination. I can lay down the parallels +and the trenches patiently enough, I can even bring up my artillery and my +battering-train, but, hang it! somehow, I never can wait for a breach to +storm through. The truth is, if it were not for a very strong feeling on +the subject I have just spoken of, you never would have seen me here this +day. No man is happier or prouder to enjoy your hospitality than I am, but +I acknowledge it was a higher sentiment induced me to accept your +invitation. When your note reached me, I showed it to Castlereagh. +</p> +<p> +“'What answer have you sent?' said he. +</p> +<p> +“'Declined, of course,' said I. +</p> +<p> +“'You are wrong, Heffernan,' said his Lordship, as he took from me the +note which I held ready sealed in my hand; 'in my opinion, Heffernan, you +are quite wrong.' +</p> +<p> +“'I may be so, my Lord; but I confess to you I always act from the first +impulse, and if it suggests regret afterwards, it at least saves trouble +at the time.' +</p> +<p> +“'Heffernan,' said the Secretary, as he calmly read over the lines of your +letter, 'there are many reasons why you should go: in the first place, +O'Reilly has really a fair grudge against us, and this note shows that he +has the manliness to forget it. Every line of it bespeaks the gentleman, +and I 'll not feel contented with myself until you convey to him my own +sorrow for what is past, and the high sense I entertain of his character +and conduct.' +</p> +<p> +“He said a great deal more; enough, if I tell you he induced me to rescind +my first intention, and to become your guest; and I may say that I never +followed advice the consequences of which have so thoroughly sustained my +expectations.” +</p> +<p> +“This is very flattering,” said O'Reilly; “it is, indeed, more than I +looked for; but, as you have been candid with me, I will be as open with +you: I had already made up my mind to retire, for a season at least, from +politics. My father, you know, is a very old man, and not without the +prejudices that attach to his age; he was always averse to those ambitious +views a public career would open, and a degree of coldness had begun to +grow up between us in consequence. This estrangement is now happily at an +end; and in his consenting to our present mode of life and its +expenditure, he is, in reality, paying the recompense of his former +opposition. I will not say what changes time may work in my opinion or my +line of acting; but I will pledge myself that, if I do resume the path of +public life, you are the very first man I will apprise of the intention.” +</p> +<p> +A cordial shake-hands ratified this compact; and Heffer-nan, who now saw +that the fortress had capitulated, only stipulating for the honors of war, +was about to add something very complimentary, when Beecham O'Reilly +galloped up, with his horse splashed and covered with foam. +</p> +<p> +“Don't you want to hear O'Halloran, Mr. Heffernan?” cried he. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, by all means.” +</p> +<p> +“Come along, then; don't lose a moment; there's a phaeton ready for you at +the door, and if we make haste, we'll be in good time.” +</p> +<p> +O'Reilly whispered a few words in his son's ear, to which the other +replied, aloud,— +</p> +<p> +“Oh! quite safe, perfectly safe. He was obliged to join his regiment, and +sail at a moment's notice.” +</p> +<p> +“Young Darcy, I presume?” said Heffernan, with a look of malicious +intelligence. But no answer was returned, and O'Reilly continued to +converse eagerly in Beecham's ear. +</p> +<p> +“Here comes the carriage, Mr. Heffernan,” said the young man; “so slip in, +and let's be off.” And, giving his horse to a servant, he took his seat +beside Heffernan, and drove off at a rapid pace towards the town. +</p> +<p> +After a quick drive of some miles, they entered the town, and had no +necessity to ask if O'Halloran had begun his address to the jury. The +streets which led to the square before the court-house, and the square +itself, was actually crammed with country-people, of all sexes and ages; +some standing with hats off, or holding their hands close to their ears, +but all, in breathless silence, listening to the words of the Counsellor, +which were not less audible to those without than within the building. +</p> +<p> +Nothing short of Beecham O'Reilly's present position in the county, and +the fact that the gratification they were then deriving was of his +family's procuring for them, could have enabled him to force a passage +through that dense crowd, which wedged up all the approaches. As it was, +he could only advance step by step, the horses and even the pole of the +carriage actually forcing the way through the throng. +</p> +<p> +As they went thus slowly, the rich tones of the speaker swelled on the air +with a clear, distinct, and yet so soft and even musical intonation that +they fell deeply into the hearts of the listeners. He was evidently bent +as much on appealing to those outside the court as to the jury, for his +speech was less addressed to the legal question at issue than to the +social condition of the peasantry; the all but absolutism of a landlord,—the +serf-like slavery of a tenantry, dependent on the will or the caprice of +the owners of the soil! With the consummate art of a rhetorician, he first +drew the picture of an estate happily circumstanced, a benevolent landlord +surrounded by a contented tenantry, the blessings of the poor man, “rising +like the dews of the earth, and descending again in rain to refresh and +fertilize the source it sprang from.” Not vaguely nor unskilfully, but +with thorough knowledge, of his subject, he descanted on the condition of +the peasant, his toils, his struggles against poverty and sickness borne +with long-suffering and patience, from the firm trust that, even in this +world, his destinies were committed to no cruel or unfeeling taskmaster. +Although generally a studied plainness and even homeliness of language +pervaded all he said, yet at times some bold figure, some striking and +brilliant metaphor, would escape him, and then, far from soaring—as +it might be suspected he had—above the comprehension of the hearers, +a subdued murmur of delight would follow the words, and swelling louder +and louder, burst forth at last into one great roar of applause. If a +critical ear might cavil at the incompleteness or inaptitude of his +similes, to the warm imagination and excited fancy of the Irish peasant +they had no such blemishes. +</p> +<p> +It was at the close of a brilliant peroration on this theme, that +Heffernan and Beecham O'Reilly reached the courthouse, and with difficulty +forcing their way, obtained standing-room near the bar. +</p> +<p> +The orator had paused, and turning round he caught Beecham's eye: the +glance exchanged was but of a second's duration, but, brief as it was, it +did not escape Heffernan's notice, and with a readiness he knew well how +to profit by, he assumed a quiet smile, as though to say that he, too, had +read its meaning. The young man blushed deeply; whatever his secret +thoughts were, he felt ashamed that another should seem to know them, and +in a hesitating whisper, said,— +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps my father has told you—” +</p> +<p> +A short nod from Heffernan—a gesture to imply anything or nothing—was +all his reply, and Beecham went on,— +</p> +<p> +“He's going to do it, now.” +</p> +<p> +Heffernan made no answer, but, leaning forward on the rail, settled +himself to listen attentively to the speaker. +</p> +<p> +“Gentlemen of the jury,” said O'Halloran, in a low and deliberate tone, +“if the only question I was interested in bringing before you this day was +the cause you sit there to try, I would conclude here. Assured as I feel +what your verdict will and must be, I would not add a word more, nor +weaken the honest merit of your convictions by anything like an appeal to +your feelings. But I cannot do this. The law of the land, in the plenitude +of its liberty, throws wide the door of justice, that all may enter and +seek redress for wrong, and with such evident anxiety that he who believes +himself aggrieved should find no obstacle to his right, and that even he +who frivolously and maliciously advances a charge against another suffers +no heavier penalty for his offence than the costs of the suit. No, my +Lords, for the valuable moments lost in a vexatious cause, for the public +time consumed, for insult and outrage cast upon the immutable principles +of right and wrong, you have nothing more severe to inflict than the costs +of the action!—a pecuniary fine, seldom a heavy one, and not +unfrequently to be levied upon insolvency! What encouragement to the +spirit of revengeful litigation! How suggestive of injury is the system! +How deplorable would it be if the temple could not be opened without the +risk of its altar being desecrated! But, happily, there is a remedy—a +great and noble remedy—for an evil like this. The same glorious +institutions that have built up for our protection the bulwark of the law, +have created another barrier against wrong,—grander, more expansive, +and more enduring still; one neither founded on the variable basis of +nationality or of language, nor propped by the artifices of learned, or +the subtleties of crafty men; not following the changeful fortunes of a +political condition, or tempered by the tone of the judgment-seat, but of +all lands, of every tongue and nation and people, great, enduring, and +immutable,—the law of Public Opinion. To the bar of this +judgment-seat, one higher and greater than even your Lordships, I would +now summon the plaintiff in this action. There is no need that I should +detail the charge against him; the accusation he has brought this day is +our indictment,—his allegation is his crime.” +</p> +<p> +The reader, by this time, may partake of Mr. Heffernan's prescience, and +divine what the secret intelligence between the Counsellor and Beecham +portended, and that a long-meditated attack on the Knight of Gwynne, in +all the relations of his public and private life, was the chief duty of +Mr. O'Halloran in the action. Taking a lesson from the great and +illustrious chief of a neighboring state, O'Reilly felt that Usurpation +can never be successful till Legitimacy becomes odious. The “prestige” of +the “old family” clung too powerfully to every class in the county to make +his succession respected. His low origin was too recent, his moneyed +dealings too notorious, to gain him acceptance, except on the ruins of the +Darcys. The new edifice of his own fame must be erected out of the +scattered and broken materials of his rival's house. If any one was well +calculated to assist in such an emergency, it was O'Halloran. +</p> +<p> +It was by—to use his own expression—“weeding the country of +such men” that the field would be opened for that new class of politicians +who were to issue their edicts in newspapers, and hold their parliaments +in public meetings. Against exclusive or exaggerated loyalty the struggle +would be violent, but not difficult; while against moderation, sound sense +and character, the Counsellor well knew the victory was not so easy of +attainment. He himself, therefore, had a direct personal object in this +attack on the Knight of Gwynne, and gladly accepted the special retainer +that secured his services. +</p> +<p> +By a series of artful devices, he so arranged his case that the Knight of +Gwynne did not appear as an injured individual seeking redress against the +collusive guilt of his agent and his tenantry, but as a ruined gambler, +endeavoring to break the leases he had himself granted and guaranteed, +and, by an act of perfidy, involve hundreds of innocent families in +hopeless beggary. To the succor of these unprotected people Mr. Hickman +O'Reilly was represented as coming forward, this noble act of devotion +being the first pledge he had offered of what might be expected from him +as the future leader of a great county. +</p> +<p> +He sketched with a masterly but diabolical ingenuity the whole career of +the Knight, representing him at every stage of life as the pampered +voluptuary seeking means for fresh enjoyment without a thought of the +consequences; he exhibited him dispensing, not the graceful duties of +hospitality, but the reckless waste of a tasteless household, to +counterbalance by profusion the insolent hauteur of his wife, “that same +Lady Eleanor who would not deign to associate with the wives and daughters +of his neighbors!” “I know not,” cried the orator, “whether you were more +crushed by <i>his</i> gold or by <i>her</i> insolence: it was time that +you should weary of both. You took the wealth on trust, and the rank on +guess,—what now remains of either?” +</p> +<p> +He drew a frightful picture of a suffering and poverty-enslaved tenantry, +sinking fast into barbarism from hopelessness,—unhappily, no +Irishman need depend upon his imagination for the sketch. He contrasted +the hours of toil and sickness with the wanton spendthrift in his +pleasures,—the gambler setting the fate of families on the die, +reserving for his last hope the consolation that he might still betray +those whom he had ruined, land that when he had dissipated the last +shilling of his fortune, he still had the resource of putting his honor up +to auction! “And who is there will deny that he did this?” cried +O'Halloran. “Is there any man in the kingdom has not heard of his conduct +in Parliament—that foul act of treachery which the justice of Heaven +stigmatized by his ruin! How on the very night of the debate he was +actually on his way to inflict the last wound upon his country, when the +news came of his own overwhelming destruction! And, like as you have seen +sometime in our unhappy land the hired informer transferred from the +witness-table to the dock, this man stands now forth to answer for his own +offences! +</p> +<p> +“It was full time that the rotten edifice of this feudalist gentry should +fall; honor to you on whom the duty devolves to roll away the first +stone!” +</p> +<p> +A slight movement in the crowd behind the bar disturbed the silence in +which the Court listened to the speaker, and a murmur of disapprobation +was heard, when a hand, stretched forth, threw a little slip of paper on +the table before O'Halloran. It was addressed to him; and believing it +came from the attorney in the cause, he paused to read it. Suddenly his +features became of an ashy paleness, his lip trembled convulsively, and in +a voice scarcely audible from emotion, he addressed the bench,— +</p> +<p> +“My Lords, I ask the protection of this Court. I implore your Lordships to +see that an advocate, in the discharge of his duty, is not the mark of an +assassin. I have just received this note—” He attempted to read it, +but after a pause of a second or two, unable to utter a word, he handed +the paper to the bench. +</p> +<p> +The judge perused the paper, and immediately whispered an order that the +writer, or at least the bearer, of the note should be taken into custody. +</p> +<p> +“You may rest assured, sir,” said the senior judge, addressing O'Halloran, +“that we will punish the offender, if he be discovered, with the utmost +penalty the law permits. Mr. Sheriff, let the court be searched.” +</p> +<p> +The sub-sheriff was already, with the aid of a strong police force, +engaged in the effort to discover the individual who had thus dared to +interfere with the administration of justice; but all in vain. The court +and the galleries were searched without eliciting anything that could lead +to detection; and although several were taken up on suspicion, they were +immediately afterwards liberated on being recognized as persons well known +and in repute. Meanwhile the business of the trial stood still, and +O'Halloran, with his arms folded, and his brows bent in a sullen frown, +sat without speaking, or noticing any one around him. +</p> +<p> +The curiosity to know the exact words the paper contained was meanwhile +extreme, and a thousand absurd versions gained currency; for, in the +absence of all fact, invention was had recourse to. “Young Darcy is here,—he +was seen this morning on the mail,—it was he himself gave the +letter.” Such were among the rumors around; while Con Hefferman, coolly +tapping his snuff-box, asked one of the lawyers near him, but in a voice +plainly audible on either side, “I hope our friend Bagenal Daly is well; +have you seen him lately?” +</p> +<p> +From that moment an indistinct murmur ran through the crowd that it was +Daly had come back to “the West” to challenge the bar, and the whole +bench, if necessary. Many added that there could no longer be any doubt of +the fact, as Mr. Heffernan had seen and spoken to him. +</p> +<p> +Order was at last restored; but so completely had this new incident +absorbed all the interest of the trial, that already the galleries began +to thin, and of the great crowd that filled the body of the court, many +had taken their departure. The Counsellor arose, agitated and evidently +disconcerted, to finish his task: he spoke, indeed, indignantly of the +late attempt to coerce the free expression of the advocate “by a brutal +threat;” but the theme seemed one he felt no pleasure in dwelling upon, +and he once more addressed himself to the facts of the case. +</p> +<p> +The judge charged briefly; and the jury, without retiring from the box, +brought in a verdict for Hickman O'Reilly. +</p> +<p> +When the judges retired to unrobe, a messenger of the court summoned +O'Halloran to their chamber. His absence was very brief; but when he +returned his face was paler, and his manner more disturbed than ever, +notwithstanding an evident effort to seem at ease and unconcerned. By this +time Hickman O'Reilly had arrived in the town, and Heffernan was +complimenting the Counsellor on the admirable display of his speech. +</p> +<p> +“I regret sincerely that the delicate nature of the position in which I +stood prevented my hearing you,” said O'Reilly, shaking his hand. +</p> +<p> +“You have indeed had a great loss,” said Heffernan; “a more brilliant +display I never listened to.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, sir,” interposed the little priest of Curraghglass, who, not +altogether to the Counsellor's satisfaction, had now slipped an arm inside +of his, “I hope the evil admits of remedy; Mr. O'Halloran intends to +address a few words to the people before he leaves the town.” +</p> +<p> +Whether it was the blank look that suddenly O'Reilly's features assumed, +or the sly malice that twinkled in Heffernan's gray eyes, or that his own +feelings suggested the course, but the Counsellor hastily whispered a few +words in the priest's ear, the only audible portion of which was the +conclusion: “Be that as it may, I 'll not do it.” +</p> +<p> +“I 'm ready now, Mr. O'Reilly,” said he, turning abruptly round. +</p> +<p> +“My father has gone over to say good-bye to the judges,” said Beecham; +“but I'll drive you back to the abbey,—the carriage is now at the +door.” +</p> +<p> +With a few more words in a whisper to the priest, O'Halloran moved on with +young O'Reilly towards the door. +</p> +<p> +“Only think, sir,” said Father John, dropping behind with Heffernan, from +whose apparent intimacy with O'Halloran he augured a similarity of +politics, “it is the first time the Counsellor was ever in our town, the +people have been waiting since two o'clock to hear him on the 'veto,'—sorra +one of them knows what the same 'veto' is,—but it will be a cruel +disappointment to see him leave the place without so much as saying a +word.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you think a short address from <i>me</i> would do instead?” said +Heffernan, slyly; “I know pretty well what's doing up in Dublin.” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing could be better, sir,” said Father John, in ecstasy; “if the +Counsellor would just introduce you in a few words, and say that, from +great fatigue, or a sore throat, or anything that way, he deputed his +friend Mr.—” +</p> +<p> +“Heffernan's my name.” +</p> +<p> +“His friend Mr. Heffernan to state his views about the 'veto,'—mind, +it must be the 'veto,'-you can touch on the reform in Parliament, the +oppression of the penal laws, but the 'veto' will bring a cheer that will +beat them all.” +</p> +<p> +“You had better hint the thing to the Counsellor,” said Heffernan; “I am +ready whenever you want me.” +</p> +<p> +As the priest stepped forward to make the communication to O'Halloran, +that gentleman, leaning on Beecham O'Reilly's arm, had just reached the +steps of the courthouse, where now a considerable police-force was +stationed,—a measure possibly suggested by O'Reilly himself. +</p> +<p> +The crowd, on catching sight of the Counsellor, cheered vociferously; and, +although they were not without fears that he intended to depart without +speaking, many averred that he would address them from the carriage. +Before Father John could make known his request, a young man, dressed in a +riding-costume, burst through the line of police, and, springing up the +steps, seized O'Halloran by the collar. +</p> +<p> +“I gave you a choice, sir,” said he, “and you made it;” and at the same +instant, with a heavy horsewhip, struck him several times across the +shoulders, and even the face. So sudden was the movement, and so violent +the assault, that, although a man of great personal strength, O'Halloran +had received several blows almost before he could defend himself, and when +he had rallied, his adversary, though much lighter and less muscular, +showed in skill, at least, he was his superior. The struggle, however, was +not to end here; for the mob, now seeing their favorite champion attacked, +with a savage howl of vengeance dashed forward, and the police, well aware +that the youth would be torn limb from limb, formed a line in front of him +with fixed bayonets. For a few moments the result was doubtful; nor was it +until more than one retired into the crowd bleeding and wounded, that the +mob desisted, or limited their rage to yells of vengeance. +</p> +<p> +<a name="image-0004" id="image-0004"> +<!-- IMG --></a> <img src="images/098.jpg" height="809" width="699" alt="098 " /> +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile the Counsellor was pulled back within the court-house by his +companions, and the young man secured by two policemen,—a +circumstance which went far to allay the angry tempest of the people +without. +</p> +<p> +As, pale and powerless from passion, his livid cheek marked with a deep +blue welt, O'Halloran sat in one of the waiting-rooms of the court, +O'Reilly and his son endeavored, as well as they could, to calm down his +rage; expressing, from time to time, their abhorrence of the indignity +offered, and the certain penalty that awaited the offender. O'Halloran +never spoke; he tried twice to utter something, but the words died away +without sound, and he could only point to his cheek with a trembling +finger, while his eyes glared like the red orbs of a tiger. +</p> +<p> +As they stood thus, Heffernan slipped noiselessly behind O'Reilly, and +said in his ear,— +</p> +<p> +“Get him off to the abbey; your son will take care of him. I have +something for yourself to hear.” +</p> +<p> +O'Reilly nodded significantly, and then, turning, said a few words in a +low, persuasive tone to O'Halloran, concluding thus: “Yes, by all means, +leave the whole affair in my hands. I 'll have no difficulty in making a +bench. The town is full of my brother magistrates.” +</p> +<p> +“On every account I would recommend this course, sir,” said Heffernan, +with one of those peculiarly meaning looks by which he so well knew how to +assume a further insight into any circumstance than his neighbors +possessed. +</p> +<p> +“I will address the people,” cried O'Halloran, breaking his long silence +with a deep and passionate utterance of the words; “they shall see in me +the strong evidence of the insolent oppression of that faction that rules +this country; I 'll make the land ring with the tyranny that would stifle +the voice of justice, and make the profession of the bar a forlorn hope to +every man of independent feeling.” +</p> +<p> +“The people have dispersed already,” said Beecham, as he came back from +the door of the court; “the square is quite empty.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I did that,” whispered Heffernan in O'Reilly's ear; “I made the +servant put on the Counsellor's greatcoat, and drive rapidly off towards +the abbey. The carriage is now, however, at the back entrance to the +court-house; so, by all means, persuade him to return.” +</p> +<p> +“When do you propose bringing the fellow up for examination, Mr. +O'Reilly?” said O'Halloran, as he arose from his seat. +</p> +<p> +“To-morrow morning. I have given orders to summon a full bench of +magistrates, and the affair shall be sifted to the bottom.” +</p> +<p> +“You may depend upon that, sir,” said the Counsellor, sternly. “Now I 'll +go back with you, Mr. Beecham O'Reilly.” So saying, he moved towards a +private door of the building, where the phaeton was in waiting, and, +before any attention was drawn to the spot, he was seated in the carriage, +and the horses stepping out at a fast pace towards home. +</p> +<p> +“It's not Bagenal Daly?” said O'Reilly, the very moment he saw the +carriage drive off. +</p> +<p> +“No, no!” said Heffernan, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“Nor the young Darcy,—the captain?” +</p> +<p> +“Nor him either. It's a young fellow we have been seeking for in vain the +last month. His name is Forester.” +</p> +<p> +“Not Lord Castlereagh's Forester?” +</p> +<p> +“The very man. You may have met him here as Darcy's guest?” +</p> +<p> +O'Reilly nodded. +</p> +<p> +“What makes the affair worse is that the relationship with Castlereagh +will be taken up as a party matter by O'Halloran's friends in the press; +they will see a Castle plot, where, in reality, there is nothing to blame +save the rash folly of a hot-headed boy.” +</p> +<p> +“What is to be done?” said O'Reilly, putting his hand to his forehead, in +his embarrassment to think of some escape from the difficulty. +</p> +<p> +“I see but one safe issue,—always enough to any question, if men +have resolution to adopt it.” +</p> +<p> +“Let me hear what you counsel,” said O'Reilly, as he cast a searching +glance at his astute companion. +</p> +<p> +“Get him off as fast as you can.” +</p> +<p> +“O'Halloran! You mistake him, Mr. Heffernan; he'll prosecute the business +to the end.” +</p> +<p> +“I'm speaking of Forester,” said Heffernan, dryly; “it is <i>his</i> +absence is the important matter at this moment.” +</p> +<p> +“I confess I am myself unable to appreciate your view of the case,” said +O'Reilly, with a cunning smile; “the policy is a new one to me which +teaches that a magistrate should favor the escape of a prisoner who has +just insulted one of his own friends.” +</p> +<p> +“I may be able to explain my meaning to your satisfaction,” said +Heffernan, as, taking O'Reilly's arm, he spoke for some time in a low but +earnest manner. “Yes,” said he, aloud, “your son Beecham was the object of +this young man's vengeance; chance alone turned his anger on the +Counsellor. His sole purpose in 'the West' was to provoke your son to a +duel, and I know well what the result of your proceedings to-morrow would +effect. Forester would not accept of his liberty on bail, nor would he +enter into a security on his part to keep the peace. You will be forced, +actually forced, to commit a young man of family and high position to a +gaol; and what will the world say? That in seeking satisfaction for a very +gross outrage on the character of his friend, a young Englishman of high +family was sent to prison! In Ireland, the tale will tell badly; <i>we</i> +always have more sympathy than censure for such offenders. In England, how +many will know of his friends and connections, who never heard of your +respectable bench of magistrates,—will it be very wonderful if they +side with their countryman against the stranger?” +</p> +<p> +“How am I to face O'Halloran if I follow this counsel?” said O'Reilly, +with a thoughtful but embarrassed air. “Then, as to Lord Castlereagh,” +continued Heffernan, not heeding the question, “he will take your +interference as a personal and particular favor. There never was a more +favorable opportunity for you to disconnect yourself with the whole +affair. The hired advocate may calumniate as he will, but he can show no +collusion or connivance on your part. I may tell you, in confidence, that +a more indecent and gross attack was never uttered than this same speech. +I heard it, and from the beginning to the end it was a tissue of vulgarity +and falsehood. Oh! I know what you would say: I complimented the speaker +on his success, and all that; so I did, perfectly true, and he understood +me, too,—there is no greater impertinence, perhaps, than in telling +a man that you mistook his bad cider for champagne! But enough of him. You +may have all the benefit, if there be such, of the treason, and yet never +rub shoulders with the traitor. You see I am eager on this point, and I +confess I am very much so. Your son Beecham could not have a worse enemy +in the world of Club and Fashion than this same Forester; he knows and is +known to everybody.” +</p> +<p> +“But I cannot perceive how the thing is to be done,” broke in O'Reilly, +pettishly; “you seem to forget that O'Halloran is not the man to be put +off with any lame, disjointed story.” +</p> +<p> +“Easily enough,” said Heffernan, coolly; “there is no difficulty whatever. +You can blunder in the warrant of his committal; you can designate him by +a wrong Christian name; call him Robert, not Richard; he may be admitted +to bail, and the sum a low one. The rest follows naturally; or, better +than all, let some other magistrate-you surely know more than one to aid +in such a pinch—take the case upon himself, and make all the +necessary errors; that's the best plan.” +</p> +<p> +“Conolly, perhaps,” said O'Reilly, musingly; “he is a great friend of +Darcy's, and would risk something to assist this young fellow.” +</p> +<p> +“Well thought of,” cried Heffernan, slapping him on the shoulder; “just +give me a line of introduction to Mr. Conolly on one of your +visiting-cards, and leave the rest to me.” +</p> +<p> +“If I yield to you in this business, Mr. Heffernan,” said O'Reilly, as he +sat down to write, “I assure you it is far more from my implicit +confidence in your skill to conduct it safely to the end, than from any +power of persuasion in your arguments. O'Halloran is a formidable enemy.” +</p> +<p> +“You never were more mistaken in your life,” said Heffernan, laughing, +“such men are only noxious by the terror they inspire; they are the +rattlesnakes of the world of mankind, always giving notice of their +approach, and never dangerous to the prudent. He alone is to be dreaded +who, tiger-like, utters no cry till his victim is in his fangs.” +</p> +<p> +There was a savage malignity in the way these words were uttered that made +O'Reilly almost shudder. Heffernan saw the emotion he had unguardedly +evoked, and, laughing, said,— +</p> +<p> +“Well, am I to hold over the remainder of my visit to the abbey as a debt +unpaid? for I really have no fancy to let you off so cheaply.” +</p> +<p> +“But you are coming back with me, are you not?” +</p> +<p> +“Impossible! I must take charge of this foolish boy, and bring him up to +Dublin; I only trust I have a vested right to come back and see you at a +future day.” +</p> +<p> +O'Reilly responded to the proposition with courteous warmth; and with +mutual pledges, perhaps of not dissimilar sincerity, they parted,—the +one to his own home, the other to negotiate in a different quarter and in +a very different spirit of diplomacy. +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0005"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER V. MR. HEFFERNAN'S COUNSELS +</h2> +<p> +Mr. Heffernan possessed many worldly gifts and excellences, but upon none +did he so much pride himself, in the secret recesses of his heart,—he +was too cunning to indulge in more public vauntings,—as in the power +he wielded over the passions of men much younger than himself. Thoroughly +versed in their habits of life, tastes, and predilections, he knew how +much always to concede to the warm and generous temperament of their age, +and to maintain his influence over them less by the ascendancy of ability +than by a more intimate acquaintance with all the follies and +extravagances of fashionable existence. +</p> +<p> +Whether he had or had not been a principal actor in the scenes he related +with so much humor, it was difficult to say; for he would gloss over his +own personal adventures so artfully that it was not easy to discover +whether the motive were cunning or delicacy. He seemed, at least, to have +done everything that wildness and eccentricity had ever devised, to have +known intimately every man renowned for such exploits, and to have gone +through a career of extravagance and dissipation quite sufficient to make +him an unimpeachable authority in every similar case. The reserve which +young men feel with regard to those older than themselves was never +experienced in Con Heffernan's company; they would venture to tell him +anything, well aware that, however absurd the story or embarrassing the +scrape, Hefferuan was certain to cap it by another twice as extravagant in +every respect. +</p> +<p> +Although Forester was by no means free from the faults of his age and +class, the better principles of his nature had received no severe or +lasting injury, and his estimation for Heffernan proceeded from a very +different view of his character from that which we have just alluded to. +He knew him to be the tried and trusted agent of his cousin, Lord +Castlereagh, one for whose abilities he entertained the greatest respect; +he saw him consulted and advised with on every question of difficulty, his +opinions asked, his suggestions followed; and if, occasionally, the policy +was somewhat tortuous, he was taught to believe that the course of +politics, like that “of true love, never did run smooth.” In this way, +then, did he learn to look up to Heffernan, who was too shrewd a judge of +motives to risk a greater ascendancy by any hazardous appeal to the weaker +points of his character. +</p> +<p> +Fortune could not have presented a more welcome visitor to Forester's eyes +than Heffernau, as he entered the room of the inn where the youth had been +conducted by the sergeant of police, and where he sat bewildered by the +difficulties in which his own rashness had involved him. The first moments +of meeting were occupied by a perfect shower of questions, as to how +Heffernan came to be in that quarter of the world, when he had arrived, +and with whom he was staying. All questions which Heffernan answered by +the laughing subterfuge of saying, “Your good genius, I suppose, sent me +to get you out of your scrape; and fortunately I am able to do so. But +what in the name of everything ridiculous could have induced you to insult +this man, O'Halloran? You ought to have known that men like him cannot +fight; they would be made riddles of if they once consented to back by +personal daring the insolence of their tongues. They set out by +establishing for themselves a kind of outlawry from honor, they +acknowledge no debts within the jurisdiction of that court, otherwise they +would soon be bankrupt.” +</p> +<p> +“They should be treated like all others without the pale of law, then,” +said Forester, indignantly. +</p> +<p> +“Or, like Sackville,” added Heffernan, laughing, “when they put their +swords 'on the peace establishment,' they should put their tongues on the +'civil list.' Well, well, there are new discoveries made every day; some +men succeed better in life by the practice of cowardice than others ever +did, or ever will do, by the exercise of valor.” +</p> +<p> +“What can I do here? Is there anything serious in the difficulty?” said +Forester, hurriedly; for he was in no humor to enjoy the abstract +speculations in which Heffernan indulged. +</p> +<p> +“It might have been a very troublesome business,” replied Heffernan, +quietly: “the judge might have issued a bench warrant against you, if he +did not want your cousin to make him chief baron; and Justice Conolly +might have been much more technically accurate, if he was not desirous of +seeing his son in an infantry regiment. It's all arranged now, however; +there is only one point for your compliance,—you must get out of +Ireland as fast as may be. O'Halloran will apply for a rule in the King's +Bench, but the proceedings will not extend to England.” +</p> +<p> +“I am indifferent where I go to,” said Forester, turning away; “and +provided this foolish affair does not get abroad, I am well content.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh! as to that, you must expect your share of notoriety. O'Halloran will +take care to display his martyrdom for the people! It will bring him +briefs now; Heaven knows what greater rewards the future may have in store +from it!” +</p> +<p> +“You heard the provocation,” said Forester, with an unsuccessful attempt +to speak calmly,—“the gross and most unpardonable provocation?” +</p> +<p> +“I was present,” replied Heffernan, quietly. +</p> +<p> +“Well, what say you? Was there ever uttered an attack more false and foul? +Was there ever conceived a more fiendish and malignant slander?” +</p> +<p> +“I never heard anything worse.” +</p> +<p> +“Not anything worse! No, nor ever one half so bad.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, if you like it, I will agree with you; not one half so bad. It was +untrue in all its details, unmanly in spirit. But, let me add, that such +philippics have no lasting effect,—they are like unskilful mines, +that in their explosion only damage the contrivers. O'Reilly, who was the +real deviser of this same attack, whose heart suggested, whose head +invented, and whose coffers paid for it, will reap all the obloquy he +hoped to heap upon another. Take myself, for instance, an old time-worn +man of the world, who has lived long enough never to be sudden in my +friendships or my resentments, who thinks that liking and disliking are +slow processes,—well, even I was shocked, outraged at this affair; +and although having no more intimacy with Darcy than the ordinary +intercourse of social life, confess I could not avoid acting promptly and +decisively on the subject. It was a question, perhaps, more of feeling +than actual judgment,—a case in which the first impulse may +generally be deemed the right one.” Here Heffernan paused, and drew +himself up with an air that seemed to say, “If I am confessing to a +weakness in my character, it is at least one that leans to virtue's side.” +</p> +<p> +Forester awaited with impatience for the explanation, and, not perceiving +it to come, said, “Well, what did you do in the affair?” +</p> +<p> +“My part was a very simple one,” said Heffernan; “I was Mr. O'Reilly's +guest, one of a large party, asked to meet the judges and the +Attorney-General. I came in, with many others, to hear O'Halloran; but if +I did, I took the liberty of not returning again. I told Mr. O'Reilly +frankly that, in point of fact, the thing was false, and, as policy, it +was a mistake. Party contests are all very well, they are necessary, +because without them there is no banner to fight under; and the man of +mock liberality to either side would take precedence of those more honest +but less cautious than himself; but these things are great evils when they +enlist libellous attacks on character in their train. If the courtesies of +life are left at the door of our popular assemblies, they ought at least +to be resumed when passing out again into the world.” +</p> +<p> +“And so you actually refused to go back to his house?” said Forester, who +felt far more interested in this simple fact than in all the abstract +speculation that accompanied it. +</p> +<p> +“I did so: I even begged of him to send my servant and my carriage after +me; and, had it not been for your business, before this time I had been +some miles on my way towards Dublin.” +</p> +<p> +Forester never spoke, but he grasped Heffernan's hand, and shook it with +earnest cordiality. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes,” said Heffernan, as he returned the pressure; “men can be +strong partisans, anxious and eager for their own side, but there is +something higher and nobler than party.” He arose as he spoke, and walked +towards the window, and then, suddenly turning round, and with an apparent +desire to change the theme, asked, “But how came you here? What good or +evil fortune prompted you to be present at this scene?” +</p> +<p> +“I fear you must allow me to keep that a secret,” said Forester, in some +confusion. +</p> +<p> +“Scarcely fair, that, my young friend,” said Heffernan, laughing, “after +hearing my confession in full.” +</p> +<p> +Forester seemed to feel the force of the observation, but, uncertain how +to act, he maintained a silence for several minutes. +</p> +<p> +“If the affair were altogether my own, I should not hesitate,” said he at +length, “but it is not so. However, we are in confidence here, and so I +will tell you. I came to this part of the country at the earnest desire of +Lionel Darcy. I don't know whether you are aware of his sudden departure +for India. He had asked for leave of absence to give evidence on this +trial; the application was made a few days after a memorial he sent in for +a change of regiment. The demand for leave was unheeded, but he received a +peremptory order to repair to Portsmouth, and take charge of a detachment +under sailing-orders for India; they consisted of men belonging to the +Eleventh Light Dragoons, of which he was gazetted to a troop. I was with +him at Chatham when the letter reached him, and he explained the entire +difficulty to me, showing that he had no alternative, save neglecting the +interest of his family, on the one hand, or refusing that offer of active +service he had so urgently solicited on the other. We talked the thing +over one entire night through, and at last, right or wrong, persuaded +ourselves that any evidence he could give would be of comparatively little +value; and that the refusal to join would be deemed a stain upon him as an +officer, and probably be the cause of greater grief to the Knight himself +than his absence at the trial. Poor fellow! he felt for more deeply for +quitting England without saying good-bye to his family than for all the +rest.” +</p> +<p> +“And so he actually sailed in the transport?” said Heffernan. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, and without time for more than a few lines to his father, and a +parting request to me to come over to Ireland and be present at the trial. +Whether he anticipated any attack of this kind or not, I cannot say, but +he expressed the desire so strongly I half suspect as much.” +</p> +<p> +“Very cleverly done, faith!” muttered Heffernan, who seemed far more +occupied with his own reflections than attending to Forester's words; “a +deep and subtle stroke, Master O'Reilly, ably planned and as ably +executed.” +</p> +<p> +“I am rejoiced that Lionel escaped this scene, at all events,” said +Forester. +</p> +<p> +“I must say, it was neatly done,” continued Heffernan, still following out +his own train of thought; “'Non contigit cuique,' as the Roman says; it is +not every man can take in Con Heffernan,—I did not expect Hickman +O'Reilly would try it.” He leaned his head on his hand for some minutes, +then said aloud, “The best thing for you will be to join your regiment.” +</p> +<p> +“I have left the army,” said Forester, with a flush, half of shame, half +of anger. +</p> +<p> +“I think you were right,” replied Heffernan, calmly, while he avoided +noticing the confusion in the young man's manner. “Soldiering is no career +for any man of abilities like yours; the lounging life of a barrack-yard, +the mock duties of parade, the tiresome dissipations of the mess, suit +small capacities and minds of mere routine. But you have better stuff in +you, and, with your connections and family interest, there are higher +prizes to strive for in the wheel of fortune.” +</p> +<p> +“You mistake me,” said Forester, hastily; “it was with no disparaging +opinion of the service I left it. My reasons had nothing in common with +such an estimate of the army.” +</p> +<p> +“There's diplomacy, for instance,” said Heffernan, not minding the youth's +remark; “your brother has influence with the Foreign Office.” +</p> +<p> +“I have no fancy for the career.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, there are Government situations in abundance. A man must do +something in our work-a-day world, if only to be companionable to those +who do. Idleness begets ennui and falling in love; and although the first +only wearies for the time, the latter lays its impress on all a man's +after-life, fills him with false notions of happiness, instils wrong +motives for exertion, and limits the exercise of capacity to the small and +valueless accomplishments that find favor beside the work-table and the +piano.” +</p> +<p> +Forester received somewhat haughtily the unasked counsels of Mr. Heffernan +respecting his future mode of life, nor was it improbable that he might +himself have conveyed his opinion thereupon in words, had not the +appearance of the waiter to prepare the table for dinner interposed a +barrier. +</p> +<p> +“At what hour shall I order the horses, sir?” asked the man of Heffernan. +</p> +<p> +“Shall we say eight o'clock, or is that too early?” +</p> +<p> +“Not a minute too early for me,” said Forester; “I am longing to leave +this place, where I hope never again to set foot.” +</p> +<p> +“At eight, then, let them be at the door; and whenever your cook is ready, +we dine.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0006"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER VI. AN UNLOOKED-FOR PROMOTION +</h2> +<p> +The same post that brought the Knight the tidings of his lost suit +conveyed the intelligence of his son's departure for India; and although +the latter event was one over which, if in his power, he would have +exercised no control, yet was it by far the more saddening of the two +announcements. +</p> +<p> +Unable to apply any more consolatory counsels, his invariable reply to +Lady Eleanor was, “It was a point of duty; the boy could not have done +otherwise; I have too often expressed my opinion to him about the <i>devoirs</i> +of a soldier to permit of his hesitating here. And as for our suit, Mr. +Bicknell says the jury did not deliberate ten minutes on their verdict; +whatever right we might have on our side, it was pretty clear we had no +law. Poor Lionel is spared the pain of knowing this, at least.” He sighed +heavily, and was silent. Lady Eleanor and Helen spoke not either; and +except their long-drawn breathings nothing was heard in the room. +</p> +<p> +Lady Eleanor was the first to speak. “Might not Lionel's evidence have +given a very different coloring to our cause if he had been there?” +</p> +<p> +“It is hard to say. I am not aware whether we failed upon a point of fact +or law. Mr. Bicknell writes like a man who felt his words were costly +matters, and that he should not put his client to unnecessary expense. He +limits himself to the simple announcement of the result, and that the +charge of the bench was very pointedly unfavorable. He says something +about a motion for a new trial, and regrets Daly's having prevented his +engaging Mr. O'Halloran, and refers us to the newspapers for detail.” +</p> +<p> +“I never heard a question of this O'Halloran,” said Lady Eleanor, “nor of +Mr. Daly's opposition to him before.” +</p> +<p> +“Nor did I, either; though, in all likelihood, if I had, I should have +been of Bagenal's mind myself. Employing such men has always appeared to +me on a par with the barbarism of engaging the services of savage nations +in a war against civilized ones; and the practice is defended by the very +same arguments,—if they are not with you, they are against you.” +</p> +<p> +“You are right, my dear father,” said Helen, while her countenance glowed +with unusual animation; “leave such allies to the enemy if he will, no +good cause shall be stained by the scalping-knife and the tomahawk.” +</p> +<p> +“Quite right, my dearest child,” said he, fondly; “no defeat is so bad as +such a victory.” +</p> +<p> +“And where was Mr. Daly? He does not seem to have been at the trial?” +</p> +<p> +“No; it would appear as if he were detained by some pressing necessity in +Dublin. This letter is in his handwriting; let us see what he says.” +</p> +<p> +Before the Knight could execute his intention, old Tate appeared at the +door, and announced the name of Mr. Dempsey. +</p> +<p> +“You must present our compliments,” said Darcy, hastily, “and say that a +very particular engagement will prevent our having the pleasure of +receiving his visit this evening.” +</p> +<p> +“This is really intolerable,” said Lady Eleanor, who, never much disposed +to look favorably on that gentleman, felt his present appearance anything +but agreeable. +</p> +<p> +“You hear what your master says,” said Helen to the old man, who, never +having in his whole life received a similar order, felt proportionately +astonished and confused. +</p> +<p> +“Tell Mr. Dempsey we are very sorry; but—” +</p> +<p> +“For all that, he won't be denied,” said Paul, himself finishing the +sentence, while, passing unceremoniously in front of Tate, he walked +boldly into the middle of the room. His face was flushed, his forehead +covered with perspiration, and his clothes, stained with dust, showed that +he had come off a very long and fast walk. He wiped his forehead with a +flaring cotton handkerchief, and then, with a long-drawn puff, threw +himself back into an arm-chair. +</p> +<p> +There was something so actually comic in the cool assurance of the little +man, that Darcy lost all sense of annoyance at the interruption, while he +surveyed him and enjoyed the dignified coolness of Lady Eleanor's +reception. +</p> +<p> +“That's the devil's own bit of a road,” said Paul, as he fanned himself +with a music-book, “between this and Coleraine. Whenever it 's not going +up a hill, it's down one. Do you ever walk that way, ma'am?” +</p> +<p> +“Very seldom indeed, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“Faith, and I 'd wager, when you do, that it gives you a pain just here +below the calf of the leg, and a stitch in the small of the back.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Eleanor took no notice of this remark, but addressed some observation +to Helen, at which the young girl smiled, and said, in a whisper,— +</p> +<p> +“Oh, he will not stay long.” +</p> +<p> +“I am afraid, Mr. Dempsey,” said the Knight, “that. I must be uncourteous +enough to say that we are unprepared for a visitor this evening. Some +letters of importance have just arrived; and as they will demand all our +attention, you will, I am sure, excuse the frankness of my telling you +that we desire to be alone.” +</p> +<p> +“So you shall in a few minutes more,” said Paul, coolly. “Let me have a +glass of sherry and water, or, if wine is not convenient, ditto of brandy, +and I 'm off. I did n't come to stop. It was a letter that you forgot at +the post-office, marked 'with speed,' on the outside, that brought me +here; for I was spending a few days at Coleraine with old Hewson.” +</p> +<p> +The kindness of this thoughtful act at once eradicated every memory of the +vulgarity that accompanied it; and as the Knight took the letter from his +hands, he hastened to apologize for what he said by adding his thanks for +the service. +</p> +<p> +“I offered a fellow a shilling to bring it, but being harvest-time he +wouldn't come,” said Dempsey. “Phew! what a state the roads are in! dust +up to your ankles!” +</p> +<p> +“Come now, pray help yourself to some wine and water,” said the Knight; +“and while you do so, I 'll ask permission to open my letter.” +</p> +<p> +“There 's a short cut down by Port-na-happle mill, they tell me, ma'am,” +said Dempsey, who now found a much more complaisant listener than at +first; “but, to tell you the truth, I don't think it would suit you or me; +there are stone walls to climb over and ditches to cross. Miss Helen, +there, might get over them, she has a kind of a thoroughbred stride of her +own, but fencing destroys me outright.” +</p> +<p> +“It was a very great politeness to think of bringing us the letter, and I +trust your fatigues will not be injurious to you,” said Lady Eleanor, +smiling faintly. +</p> +<p> +“Worse than the damage to a pair of very old shoes, ma'am, I don't +anticipate; I begin to suspect they've taken their last walk this +evening.” +</p> +<p> +While Mr. Dempsey contemplated the coverings of his feet with a very sad +expression, the Knight continued to read the letter he held in his hand +with an air of extreme intentness. +</p> +<p> +“Eleanor, my dear,” said he, as he retired into the deep recess of a +window, “come here for a moment.” +</p> +<p> +“I guessed there would be something of consequence in that,” said Dempsey, +with a sly glance from Helen to the two figures beside the window. “The +envelope was a thin one, and I read 'War Office' in the corner of the +inside cover.” +</p> +<p> +Not heeding the delicacy of this announcement, but only thinking of the +fact, which she at once connected with Lionel's fortunes, Helen turned an +anxious and searching glance towards the window; but the Knight and Lady +Eleanor had entered a small room adjoining, and were already concealed +from view. +</p> +<p> +“Was he ever in the militia, miss?” asked Dempsey, with a gesture of his +thumb to indicate of whom he spoke. +</p> +<p> +“I believe not,” said Helen, smiling at the pertinacity of his curiosity. +</p> +<p> +“Well, well,” resumed Dempsey, with a sigh, “I would not wish him a hotter +march than I had this day, and little notion I had of the same tramp only +ten minutes before. I was reading the 'Saunders' of Tuesday last, with an +account of that business done at Mayo between O'Halloran and the young +officer-you know what I mean?” +</p> +<p> +“No, I have not heard it; pray tell me,” said she, with an eagerness very +different from her former manner. +</p> +<p> +“It was a horsewhipping, miss, that a young fellow in the Guards gave +O'Halloran, just as he was coming out of court; something the Counsellor +said about somebody in the trial,—names never stay in my head, but I +remember it was a great trial at the Westport assizes, and that O'Halloran +came down special, and faith, so did the young captain too; and if the +lawyer laid it on very heavily within the court, the red-coat made up for +it outside. But I believe I have the paper in my pocket, and, if you like, +I'll read it out for you.” +</p> +<p> +“Pray do,” said Helen, whose anxiety was now intense. +</p> +<p> +“Well, here goes,” said Mr. Dempsey; “but with your permission I 'll just +wet my lips again. That 's elegant sherry!” +</p> +<p> +Having sipped and tasted often enough to try the young lady's patience to +its last limit, he unfolded the paper, and read aloud,— +</p> +<p> +“'When Counsellor O'Halloran had concluded his eloquent speech in the +trial of Darcy v. Hickman,—for a full report of which see our early +columns,—a young gentleman, pushing his way through the circle of +congratulating friends, accosted him with the most insulting and +opprobrious epithets, and failing to elicit from the learned gentleman a +reciprocity,'-that means, miss, that O'Halloran did n't show fight,—'struck +him repeatedly across the shoulders, and even the face, with a horsewhip. +He was immediately committed under a bench warrant, but was liberated +almost at once. Perhaps our readers may understand these proceedings more +clearly when we inform them that Captain Forester, the aggressor in this +case, is a near relative of our Irish Secretary, Lord Castlereagh.' That +'s very neatly put, miss, isn't it?” said Mr. Dempsey, with a sly twinkle +of the eye; “it's as much as to say that the Castle chaps may do what they +please. But it won't end there, depend upon it; the Counsellor will see it +out.” +</p> +<p> +Helen paid little attention to the observation, for, having taken up the +paper as Mr. Dempsey laid it down, she was deeply engaged in the report of +the trial and O'Halloran's speech. +</p> +<p> +“Wasn't that a touching-up the old Knight of Gwynne got?” said Dempsey, +as, with his glass to his eye, he peered over her shoulder at the +newspaper. “Faith, O'Halloran flayed him alive! He 's the boy can do it!” +</p> +<p> +Helen scarce seemed to breathe, as, with a heart almost bursting with +indignant anger, she read the lines before her. +</p> +<p> +<a name="image-0005" id="image-0005"> +<!-- IMG --></a> <img src="images/118.jpg" height="588" width="684" alt="118 " /> +</p> +<p> +“Strike him!” cried she, at length, unable longer to control the passion +that worked within her; “had he trampled him beneath his feet, it had not +been too much?” +</p> +<p> +The little man started, and stared with amazement at the young girl, as, +with flashing eyes and flushed cheek, she arose from her seat, and, +tearing the paper into fragments, stamped upon them with her foot. +</p> +<p> +“Blood alive, miss, don't destroy the paper! I only got a loan of it from +Mrs. Kennedy, of the Post-office; she slipped it out of the cover, though +it was addressed to Lord O'Neil. Oh dear! oh dear! it's a nice article +now!” +</p> +<p> +These words were uttered in the very depth of despair, as, kneeling down +on the carpet, Mr. Dempsey attempted to collect and arrange the scattered +fragments. +</p> +<p> +“It's no use in life! Here's the Widow Wallace's pills in the middle of +the Counsellor's speech! and the last day's drawing of the lottery mixed +up with that elegant account of old Darcy's—” +</p> +<p> +A hand which, if of the gentlest mould, now made a gesture to enforce +silence, arrested Mr. Dempsey's words, and at the same moment the Knight +entered with Lady Eleanor. Darcy started as he gazed on the excited looks +and the air of defiance of his daughter, and for a second a deep flush +suffused his features, as with an angry frown he asked of Dempsey, “What +does this mean, sir?” +</p> +<p> +“D-n me if I know what it means!” exclaimed Paul, in utter despair at the +confusion of his own faculties. “My brain is in a whirl.” +</p> +<p> +“It was a little political dispute between Mr. Dempsey and myself, sir,” +said Helen, with a faint smile. “He was reading for me an article from the +newspaper, whose views were so very opposite to mine, and his advocacy of +them so very animated, that—in short, we both became warm.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, that's it,” cried Dempsey, glad to accept any explanation of a case +in which he had no precise idea wherein lay the difficulty,—“that's +it; I 'll take my oath it was.” +</p> +<p> +“He is a fierce Unionist,” said Helen, speaking rapidly to cover her +increasing confusion, “and has all the conventional cant by heart, +'old-fashioned opinions,' 'musty prejudices,' and so on.” +</p> +<p> +“I did not suspect you were so eager a politician, my dear Helen,” said +the Knight, as, half chidingly, he threw his eyes towards the scattered +fragments of the torn newspaper. +</p> +<p> +The young girl blushed till her neck became crimson: shame, at the +imputation of having so far given way to passion; sorrow, at the reproof, +whose injustice she did not dare to expose; and regret, at the necessity +of dissimulation, all overwhelming her at the same moment. +</p> +<p> +“I am not angry, my sweet girl,” said the Knight, as he drew his arm +around her, and spoke in a low, fond accent. “I may be sorry—sincerely +sorry—at the social condition that has suffered political feeling to +approach our homes and our firesides, and thus agitate hearts as gentle as +yours by these rude themes. For your sentiments on these subjects I can +scarcely be a severe critic, for I believe they are all my own.” +</p> +<p> +“Let us forget it all,” said Helen, eagerly; for she saw-that Mr. Dempsey, +having collected once more the torn scraps, was busy in arranging them +into something like order. In fact, his senses were gradually recovering +from the mystification into which they had been thrown, and he was anxious +to vindicate himself before the party. “All the magnanimity, however, must +not be mine,” continued she; “and until that odious paper is consumed, I +'ll sign no treaty of peace.” So saying, and before Dempsey could +interfere to prevent it, she snatched up the fragments, and threw them +into the fire. “Now, Mr. Dempsey, we are friends again,” said she, +laughing. +</p> +<p> +“The Lord grant it!” ejaculated Paul, who really felt no ambition for so +energetic an enemy. “I 'll never tell a bit of news in your company again, +so long as my name is Paul Dempsey. Every officer of the Guards may +horsewhip the Irish bar—I was forgetting—not a syllable more.” +</p> +<p> +The Knight, fortunately, did not hear the last few words, for he was +busily engaged in reading the letter he still held in his hands; at length +he said,— +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Dempsey has conferred one great favor on us by bringing us this +letter; and as its contents are of a nature not to admit of any delay—” +</p> +<p> +“He will increase the obligation by taking his leave,” added Paul, rising, +and, for once in his life, really well pleased at an opportunity of +retiring. +</p> +<p> +“I did not say that,” said Darcy, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“No, no, Mr. Dempsey,” added Lady Eleanor, with more than her wonted +cordiality; “you will, I hope, remain for tea.” +</p> +<p> +“No, ma'am, I thank you; I have a little engagement,—I made a +promise. If I get safe out of the house without some infernal blunder or +other, it 's only the mercy of Providence.” And with this burst of honest +feeling, Paul snatched up his hat, and without waiting for the ceremony of +leave-taking, rushed out of the room, and was soon seen crossing the wide +common at a brisk pace. +</p> +<p> +“Our little friend has lost his reason,” said the Knight, laughing. “What +have you been doing to him, Helen?” +</p> +<p> +A gesture to express innocence of all interference was the only reply, and +the party became suddenly silent. +</p> +<p> +“Has Helen seen that letter?” said Lady Eleanor, faintly, and Darcy handed +the epistle to his daughter. “Read it aloud, my dear,” continued Lady +Eleanor; “for, up to this, my impressions are so confused, I know not +which is reality, which mere apprehension.” +</p> +<p> +Helen's eyes glanced to the top of the letter, and saw the words “War +Office;” she then proceeded to read:— +</p> +<p> +“'Sir,—In reply to the application made to the Commander-in-Chief of +the forces in your behalf, expressing your desire for an active +employment, I have the honor to inform you that his Royal Highness, having +graciously taken into consideration the eminent services rendered by you +in former years, and the distinguished character of that corps which, +raised by your exertions, still bears your name, has desired me to convey +his approval of your claim, and his desire, should a favorable opportunity +present itself, of complying with your wish. I have the honor to remain, +your most humble and obedient servant, +</p> +<p> +“'Harry Greville, +</p> +<p> +“<i>Private Secretary</i>.” +</p> +<p> +On an enclosed slip of paper was the single line in pencil:— +</p> +<p> +“H. G. begs to intimate to Colonel Darcy the propriety of attending the +next levee of H. R. H., which will take place on the 14th.” +</p> +<p> +“Now, you, who read riddles, my dearest Helen, explain this one to us. I +made no application of the kind alluded to, nor am I aware of any one +having ever done so for me. The thought never once occurred to me, that +his Majesty or his Royal Highness would accept the services of an old and +shattered hulk, while many a glorious three-decker lies ready to be +launched from the stocks. I could not have presumed to ask such a favor, +nor do I well know how to acknowledge it.” +</p> +<p> +“But is there anything so very strange,” said Helen, proudly, “that those +highly placed by station should be as highly gifted by nature, and that +his Royal Highness, having heard of your unmerited calumnies, should have +seen that this was the fitting moment to remember the services you have +rendered the Crown? I have heard that there are several posts of high +trust and honor conferred on those who, like yourself, have won +distinction in the service.” +</p> +<p> +“Helen is right,” said Lady Eleanor, drawing a long breath, and as if +released of a weighty load of doubt and uncertainty; “this is the real +explanation; the phrases of official life may give it another coloring to +our eyes, but such, I feel assured, is the true solution.” +</p> +<p> +“I should like to think it so,” said Darcy, feelingly; “it would be a +great source of pride to me at this moment, when my fortunes are lower +than ever they were,—lower than ever I anticipated they might be,—to +know that my benefactor was the Monarch. In any case I must lose no time +in acknowledging this mark of favor. It is now the 4th of the month; to be +in London by the 14th, I should leave this to-morrow.” +</p> +<p> +“It is better to do so,” said Lady Eleanor, with an utterance from which a +great effort had banished all agitation; “Helen and I are safe and well +here, and as happy as we can be when away from you and Lionel.” +</p> +<p> +“Poor Lionel!” said the Knight, tenderly; “what good news for him it would +be were they to give me some staff appointment,—I might have him +near us. Come, Eleanor,” added he, with more gayety of manner, “I feel a +kind of presentiment of good tidings. But we are forgetting Bagenal Daly +all this time; perhaps this letter of his may throw some light on the +matter.” +</p> +<p> +Darcy now broke the seal of Daly's note, which, even for him, was one of +the briefest. This was so far fortunate, since his writing was in his very +worst style, blotted and half erased in many places, scarcely legible +anywhere. It was only by assembling a “committee of the whole house” that +the Darcys were enabled to decipher even a portion of this unhappy +document. As well as it could be rendered, it ran somewhat thus:— +</p> +<p> +“The verdict is against us; old Bretson never forgave you carrying away +the medal from him in Trinity some fifty years back; he charged dead +against you; I always said he would. <i>Summum jus, summa injuria</i>—The +Chief Justice—the greatest wrong! and the jury the fellows who lived +under you, in your own town, and their fathers and grandfathers! at least, +as many of the rascals as had such.—Never mind, Bicknell has moved +for a new trial; they have gained the 'Habere' this time, and so has +O'Halloran—you heard of the thrashing—” +</p> +<p> +Here two tremendous patches of ink left some words that followed quite +unreadable. +</p> +<p> +“What can this mean?” said Darcy, repeating the passage over three or four +times, while Helen made no effort to enlighten him in the difficulty. +Battled in all his attempts, he read on: “'I saw him in his way through +Dublin last night,' Who can he possibly mean?” said Darcy, laying down the +letter, and pondering for several minutes. +</p> +<p> +“O'Halloran, perhaps,” said Lady Eleanor, in vain seeking a better +elucidation. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, not him, of course!” cried Darcy; “he goes on to say, that 'he is a +devilish high-spirited young fellow, and for an Englishman a warm-blooded +animal.' Really this is too provoking; at such a time as this he might +have taken pains to be a little clearer,” exclaimed Darcy. +</p> +<p> +The letter concluded with some mysterious hints about intelligence that a +few days might disclose, but from what quarter or on what subject nothing +was said, and it was actually with a sense of relief Darcy read the words, +“Yours ever, Bagenal Daly,” at the foot of the letter, and thus spared +himself the torment of further doubts and guesses. +</p> +<p> +Helen was restrained from at once conveying the solution of the mystery by +recollecting the energy she had displayed in her scene with Mr. Dempsey, +and of which the shame still lingered on her flushed cheek. +</p> +<p> +“He adds something here about writing by the next post,” said Lady +Eleanor. +</p> +<p> +“But before that arrives I shall be away,” said the Knight; and the train +of thought thus evoked soon erased all memory of other matters. And now +the little group gathered together to discuss the coming journey, and talk +over all the plans by which anxiety was to be beguiled and hope cherished +till they met again. +</p> +<p> +“Miss Daly will not be a very importunate visitor,” said Lady Eleanor, +dryly, “judging at least from the past; she has made one call here since +we came, and then only to leave her card.” +</p> +<p> +“And if Helen does not cultivate a more conciliating manner, I scarce +think that Mr. Dempsey will venture on coming either,” said the Knight, +laughing. +</p> +<p> +“I can readily forgive all the neglect,” said Helen, haughtily, “in +compensation for the tranquillity.” +</p> +<p> +“And yet, my dear Helen,” said Darcy, “there is a danger in that same +compact. We should watch carefully to see whether, in the isolation of a +life apart from others, we are not really indulging the most refined +selfishness, and dignifying with the name of philosophy a solitude we love +for the indulgence of our own egotism. If we are to have our hearts +stirred and our sympathies strongly moved, let the themes be great ones, +but above all things let us avoid magnifying the petty incidents of daily +occurrence into much consequence: this is what the life of monasteries and +convents teaches, and a worse lesson there need not be.” +</p> +<p> +Darcy spoke with more than usual seriousness, for he had observed some +time past how Helen had imbibed much of Lady Eleanor's distance towards +her humble neighbors, and was disposed to retain a stronger memory of +their failings in manner than of their better and heartier traits of +character. +</p> +<p> +The young girl felt the remark less as a reproof than a warning, and said,— +</p> +<p> +“I will not forget it.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0007"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER VII. A PARTING INTERVIEW +</h2> +<p> +When Heffernan, with his charge, Forester, reached Dublin, he drove +straight to Castlereagh's house, affectedly to place the young man under +the protection of his distinguished relative, but in reality burning with +eager impatience to recount his last stroke of address, and to display the +cunning artifice by which he had embroiled O'Reilly with the great popular +leader. Mr. Heffernan had a more than ordinary desire to exhibit his skill +on this occasion; he was still smarting under the conscious sense of +having been duped by O'Reilly, and could not rest tranquilly until +revenged. Under the mask of a most benevolent purpose, O'Reilly had +induced Heffernan to procure Lionel Darcy an appointment to a regiment in +India. Heffernan undertook the task, not, indeed, moved by any kindliness +of feeling towards the youth, but as a means of reopening once more +negotiations with O'Reilly; and now to discover that he had interested +himself simply to withdraw a troublesome witness in a suit—that he +had been, in his own phrase, “jockeyed”—was an insult to his +cleverness he could not endure. +</p> +<p> +As Heffernan and Forester drove up to the door, they perceived that a +travelling-carriage, ready packed and loaded, stood in waiting, while the +bustle and movement of servants indicated a hurried departure. +</p> +<p> +“What's the matter, Hutton?” asked Heffernan of the valet who appeared at +the moment; “is his Lordship at home?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir, in the drawing-room; but my Lord is just leaving for England. +He is now a Cabinet Minister.” +</p> +<p> +Heffernan smiled, and affected to hear the tidings with delight, while he +hastily desired the servant to announce him. +</p> +<p> +The drawing-room was crowded by a strange and anomalous-looking +assemblage, whose loud talking and laughing entirely prevented the +announcement of Con Heffernan's name from reaching Lord Castlereagh's +ears. Groups of personal friends come to say good-bye, deputations eager +to have the last word in the ear of the departing Secretary, tradesmen +begging recommendations to his successor, with here and there a +disappointed suitor, earnestly imploring future consideration, were mixed +up with hurrying servants, collecting the various minor articles which lay +scattered through the apartment. +</p> +<p> +The time which it cost Heffernan to wedge his way through the dense crowd +was not wholly profitless, since it enabled him to assume that look of +cordial satisfaction at the noble Secretary's promotion which he was so +very far from really feeling. Like most men who cultivate mere cunning, he +underrated all who do not place the greatest reliance upon it, and in this +way conceived a very depreciating estimate of Lord Castlereagh's ability. +Knowing how deeply he had himself been trusted, and how much employed in +state transactions, he speculated on a long career of political influence, +and that, while his Lordship remained as Secretary, his own skill and +dexterity would never be dispensed with. This pleasant illusion was now +suddenly dispelled, and he saw all his speculations scattered to the wind +at once; in fact, to borrow his own sagacious illustration, “he had to +submit to a new deal with his hand full of trumps.” +</p> +<p> +He was still endeavoring to disentangle himself from the throng, when Lord +Castlereagh's quick eye discovered him. +</p> +<p> +“And here comes Heffernan,” cried he, laughingly; “the only man wanting to +fill up the measure of congratulations. Pray, my Lord, move one step and +rescue our poor friend from suffocation.” +</p> +<p> +“By Jove! my Lord, one would imagine you were the rising and not the +setting sun, from all this adulating assemblage,” said Heffernan, as he +shook the proffered hand of the Secretary, and held it most ostentatiously +in his cordial pressure. “This was a complete surprise for me,” added he. +“I only arrived this evening with Forester.” +</p> +<p> +“With Dick? Indeed! I'm very glad the truant has turned up again. Where is +he?” +</p> +<p> +“He passed me on the stairs, I fancy to his room, for he muttered +something about going over in the packet along with you.” +</p> +<p> +“And where have you been, Heffernan, and what doing?” asked Lord +Castlereagh, with that easy smile that so well became his features. +</p> +<p> +“That I can scarcely tell you here,” said Heffernan, dropping his voice to +a whisper, “though I fancy the news would interest you.” He made a motion +towards the recess of a window, and Lord Castlereagh accepted the +suggestion, but with an indolence and half-apathy which did not escape +Heffernan's shrewd perception. Partly piqued by this, and partly +stimulated by his own personal interest in the matter, Heffernan related, +with unwonted eagerness, the details of his visit to the West, narrating +with all his own skill the most striking characteristics of the O'Reilly +household, and endeavoring to interest his hearer by those little touches +of native archness in description of which he was no mean master. +</p> +<p> +But often as they had before sufficed to amuse his Lordship, they seemed a +failure now; for he listened, if not with impatience, yet with actual +indifference, and seemed more than once as if about to stop the narrative +by the abrupt question, “How can this possibly interest <i>me?</i>” +</p> +<p> +Heffernan read the expression, and felt it as plainly as though it were +spoken. +</p> +<p> +“I am tedious, my Lord,” said he, whilst a slight flush colored the middle +of his cheek; “perhaps I only weary you.” +</p> +<p> +“He must be a fastidious hearer who could weary of Mr. Heffernan's +company,” said his Lordship, with a smile so ambiguous that Heffernan +resumed with even greater embarrassment,— +</p> +<p> +“I was about to observe, my Lord, that this same member for Mayo has +become much more tractable. He evidently sees the necessity of confirming +his new position, and, I am confident, with very little notice, might be +con-verted into a stanch Government supporter.” +</p> +<p> +“Your old favorite theory, Heffernan,” said the Secretary, laughing; “to +warm these Popish grubs into Protestant butterflies by the sunshine of +kingly favor, forgetting the while that 'the winter of their discontent' +is never far distant. But please to remember, besides, that gold mines +will not last forever,—the fountain of honor will at last run dry; +and if—” +</p> +<p> +“I ask pardon, my Lord,” interrupted Heffernan. “I only alluded to those +favors which cost the Minister little, and the Crown still less,—that +social acceptance from the Court here upon which some of your Irish +friends set great store. If you could find an opportunity of suggesting +something of this kind, or if your Lordship's successor—” +</p> +<p> +“Heaven pity him!” exclaimed Lord Castlereagh. “He will have enough on his +hands, without petty embarrassments of this sort. Without you have +promised, Heffernan,” added he, hastily. “If you have already made any +pledge, of course we must sustain your credit.” +</p> +<p> +“I, my Lord! I trust you know my discretion better than to suspect me. I +merely threw out the suggestion from supposing that your Lordship's +interest in our poor concerns here might outlive your translation to a +more distinguished position.” +</p> +<p> +There was a tone of covert impertinence in the accent, as well as the +words, which, while Lord Castlereagh was quick enough to perceive, he was +too shrewd to mark by any notice. +</p> +<p> +“And so,” said he, abruptly changing the topic, “this affair of Forester's +shortened your visit?” +</p> +<p> +“Of course. Having cut the knot, I left O'Reilly and Conolly to the tender +mercies of O'Halloran, who, I perceive by to-day's paper, has denounced +his late client in round terms. Another reason, my Lord, for looking after +O'Reilly at this moment. It is so easy to secure a prize deserted by her +crew.” +</p> +<p> +“I wish Dick had waited a day or two,” said Lord Castlereagh, not heeding +Heffernan's concluding remark, “and then I should have been off. As it is, +he would have done better to adjourn the horse-whipping sine die, His +lady-mother will scarcely distinguish between the two parties in such a +conflict, and probably deem the indignity pretty equally shared by both +parties.” +</p> +<p> +“A very English judgment on an Irish quarrel,” observed Heffernan. +</p> +<p> +“And you yourself, Heffernan,—when are we to see you in London?” +</p> +<p> +“Heaven knows, my Lord. Sometimes I fancy that I ought not to quit my post +here, even for a day; then again I begin to fear lest the new officials +may see things in a different light, and that I may be thrown aside as the +propagator of antiquated notions.” +</p> +<p> +“Mere modesty, Heffernan,” said Lord Castlereagh, with a look of the most +comic gravity. “You ought to know by this time that no government can go +on without you. You are the fly-wheel that regulates motion and +perpetuates impulse to the entire machine. I 'd venture almost to declare +that you stand in the inventory of articles transmitted from one viceroy +to another; and as we read of 'one throne covered with crimson velvet, and +one state couch with gilt supporters,' so we might chance to fall upon the +item of 'one Con Heffernan, Kildare Place.'” +</p> +<p> +“In what capacity, my Lord?” said Heffernan, endeavoring to conceal his +anger by a smile. +</p> +<p> +“Your gifts are too numerous for mention. They might better be summed up +under the title of 'State Judas.'” +</p> +<p> +“You forget, my Lord, that he carried the bag. Now I was never +purse-bearer even to the Lord Chancellor. But I can pardon the simile, +coming, as I see it does, from certain home convictions. Your Lordship was +doubtless assimilating yourself to another historical character of the +same period, and, would, like him, accept the iniquity, but 'wash your +hands' of its consequences.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you hear that, my Lord?” said Lord Castlereagh, turning round, and +addressing the Bishop of Kilmore. “Mr. Heffernan has discovered a parallel +between my character and that of Pontius Pilate.” A look of rebuking +severity from the prelate was directed towards Heffernan, who meekly said,— +</p> +<p> +“I was only reproving his Lordship for permitting me to discharge <i>all</i> +the duties of Secretary for Ireland, and yet receive none of the +emoluments.” +</p> +<p> +“But you refused office in every shape and form,” said Lord Castlereagh, +hastily. “Yes, gentlemen, as the last act of my official life amongst +you,”—here he raised his voice, and moved into the centre of the +room,—“I desire to make this public declaration, that as often as I +have solicited Mr. Heffernan to accept some situation of trust and profit +under the Crown, he has as uniformly declined; not, it is needless to say, +from any discrepancy in our political views, for I believe we are agreed +on every point, but upon the ground of maintaining his own freedom of +acting and judging.” +</p> +<p> +The declamatory tone in which he spoke these words, and the glances of +quiet intelligence that were exchanged through the assembly, were in +strong contrast with the forced calmness of Heffernan, who, pale and red +by turns, could barely suppress the rage that worked within him; nor was +it without an immense effort he could mutter a feigned expression of +gratitude for his Lordship's panegyric, while he muttered to himself,— +</p> +<p> +“You shall rue this yet!” +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0008"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER VIII. THE FIRE. +</h2> +<p> +It was late in the evening as the Knight of Gwynne entered Dublin, and +took up his abode for the night in an obscure inn at the north side of the +city. However occupied his thoughts up to that time by the approaching +event in his own fortune, he could not help feeling a sudden pang as he +saw once more the well-known landmarks that reminded him of former days of +happiness and triumph. Strange as it may now sound, there was a time when +Irish gentlemen were proud of their native city; when they regarded its +University with feelings of affectionate memory, as the scene of early +efforts and ambitions, and could look on its Parliament House as the proud +evidence of their national independence! Socially, too, they considered +Dublin—and with reason—second to no city of Europe; for there +was a period, brief but glorious, when the highest breeding of the +courtier mingled with the most polished wit and refined conversation, and +when the splendor of wealth, freely displayed as it was, was only inferior +to the more brilliant lustre of a society richer in genius and in beauty +than any capital of the world. +</p> +<p> +None had been a more favored participator in these scenes than Darcy +himself: his personal gifts, added to the claims of his family and +fortune, secured him early acceptance in the highest circles; and if his +abilities had not won the very highest distinctions, it seemed rather from +his own indifference than from their deficiency. +</p> +<p> +In those days his arrival in town was the signal for a throng of visitors +to call, all eagerly asking on what day they might secure him to dine or +sup, to meet this one or that. The thousand flatteries society stores up +for her favorites, all awaited him. Parties whose fulfilment hung +listlessly in doubt were now hastily determined on, as “Darcy has come” +got whispered abroad; and many a scheme of pleasure but half planned found +a ready advocacy when the prospect of obtaining him as a guest presented +itself. +</p> +<p> +The consciousness of social success is a great element in the victory. +Darcy had this, but without the slightest taint of vain boastfulness or +egotism; his sense of his own distinction was merely sufficient to +heighten his enjoyment of the world, without detracting ever so little +from the manly and unassuming features of his character. It is true he +endeavored, and even gave himself pains, to be an agreeable companion; but +he belonged to a school and a time when conversation was cultivated as an +art, and when men preferred making the dinner-table and the drawing-room +the arena of their powers, to indicting verses for an “Annual,” or +composing tales for a fashionable “Miscellany.” +</p> +<p> +We have said enough, perhaps, to show what Dublin was to him once. How +very different it seemed to his eyes now! The season was late summer, and +the city dusty and deserted,—few persons in the streets, scarcely a +carriage to be seen; an air of listlessness and apathy was over +everything, for it was the period when the country was just awakening +after the intoxicating excitement of the Parliamentary straggle,—awakening +to discover that it had been betrayed and deserted! +</p> +<p> +As soon as Darcy had taken some slight refreshment, he set out in search +of Daly. His first visit was to Henrietta Street, to his own house, or +rather what had been his, for it was already let, and a flaring +brass-plate on the door proclaimed it the office of a fashionable +solicitor. He knocked, and inquired if any one “knew where Mr. Bagenal +Daly now resided;” but the name seemed perfectly unknown. He next tried +Bicknell's; but that gentleman had not returned since the circuit: he was +repairing the fatigues of his profession by a week or two's relaxation at +a watering-place. +</p> +<p> +He did not like himself to call at the club, but he despatched a messenger +from the inn, who brought word back that Mr. Daly had not been there for +several weeks, and that his present address was unknown. Worried and +annoyed, Darcy tried in turn each place where Daly had been wont to +frequent, but all in vain. Some had seen him, but not lately; others +suggested that he did not appear much in public on account of his moneyed +difficulties; and one or two limited themselves to a cautious declaration +of ignorance, with a certain assumed shrewdness, as though to say that +they could tell more if they would. +</p> +<p> +It was near midnight when Darcy returned to the inn, tired and worn out by +his unsuccessful search. The packet in which he was to sail for England +was to leave the port early in the morning, and he sat down in the +travellers' room, exhausted and fatigued, till his chamber should be got +ready for him. +</p> +<p> +The inn stood in one of the narrow streets leading out of Smithfield, and +was generally resorted to by small farmers and cattle-dealers repairing to +the weekly market. Of these, three or four still lingered in the public +room, conning over their accounts and discussing the prices of +“short-horns and black faces” with much interest, and anticipating all the +possible changes the new political condition of the country might be +likely to induce. +</p> +<p> +Darcy could scarcely avoid smiling as he overheard some of these +speculations, wherein the prospect of a greater export trade was deemed +the most certain indication of national misfortune. His attention was, +however, suddenly withdrawn from the conversation by a confused murmur of +voices, and the tramp of many feet in the street without The noise +gradually increased, and attracted the notice of the others, and suddenly +the words “Fire! fire!” repeated from mouth to mouth, explained the +tumult. +</p> +<p> +As the tide of men was borne onward, the din grew louder, and at length +the narrow street in front of the inn became densely crowded by a mob +hurrying eagerly forward, and talking in loud, excited voices. +</p> +<p> +“They say that Newgate is on fire, sir,” said the landlord, as, hastily +entering, he addressed Darcy; “but if you 'll come with me to the top of +the house, we 'll soon see for ourselves.” +</p> +<p> +Darcy followed the man to the upper story, whence, by a small ladder, they +obtained an exit on the roof. The night was calm and starlight, and the +air was still. What a contrast—that spangled heaven in all its +tranquil beauty—to the dark streets below, where, in tumultuous +uproar, the commingled mass was seen by the uncertain glimmer of the +lamps, few and dim as they were. Darcy could mark that the crowd consisted +of the very lowest and most miserable-looking class of the capital, the +dwellers in the dark alleys and purlieus of the ill-favored region. By +their excited gestures and wild accents, it was clear to see how much more +of pleasure than of sorrow they felt at the occasion that now roused them +from their dreary garrets and damp cellars. Shouts of mad triumph and +cries of menace burst from them as they went. The Knight was roused from a +moody contemplation of the throng by the landlord saying aloud,— +</p> +<p> +“True enough, the jail is on fire: see, yonder, where the dark smoke is +rolling up, that is Newgate.” +</p> +<p> +“But the building is of stone, almost entirely of stone, with little or no +wood in its construction,” said Darcy; “I cannot imagine how it could take +fire.” +</p> +<p> +“The floors, the window-frames, the rafters are of wood, sir,” said the +other; “and then,” added he, with a cunning leer, “remember what the +inhabitants are!” +</p> +<p> +The Knight little minded the remark, for his whole gaze was fixed on the +cloud of smoke, dense and black as night, that rolled forth, as if from +the ground, and soon enveloped the jail and all the surrounding buildings +in darkness. +</p> +<p> +“What can that mean?” said he, in amazement. +</p> +<p> +“It means that this is no accident, sir,” said the man, shrewdly; “it's +only damp straw and soot can produce the effect you see yonder; it is done +by the prisoners—see, it is increasing! and here come the +fire-engines!” +</p> +<p> +As he spoke, a heavy, cavernous sound was heard rising from the street, +where now a body of horse-police were seen escorting the fire-engines. The +service was not without difficulty, for the mob offered every obstacle +short of open resistance; and once it was discovered that the traces were +cut, and considerable delay thereby occasioned. +</p> +<p> +“The smoke is spreading; see, sir, how it rolls this way, blacker and +heavier than before!” +</p> +<p> +“It is but smoke, after all,” said Darcy; but although the words were +uttered half contemptuously, his heart beat anxiously as the dense volume +hung suspended in the air, growing each moment blacker as fresh masses +arose. The cries and yells of the excited mob were now wilder and more +frantic, and seemed to issue from the black, ill-omened mass that filled +the atmosphere. +</p> +<p> +“That's not smoke, sir; look yonder!” said the man, seizing Darcy's arm, +and pointing to a reddish glare that seemed trying to force a passage +through the smoke, and came not from the jail, but from some building at +the side or in front of it. +</p> +<p> +“There again!” cried he, “that is fire!” +</p> +<p> +The words were scarcely uttered, when a cheer burst from the mob beneath. +A yell more dissonant and appalling could not have broken from demons than +was that shout of exultation, as the red flame leaped up and flashed +towards the sky. As the strong host of a battle will rout and scatter the +weaker enemy, so did the fierce element dispel the less powerful; and now +the lurid glow of a great fire lit up the air, and marked out with +terrible distinctness the waving crowd that jammed up the streets,—the +windows filled with terrified faces, and the very house-tops crowded by +terror-stricken and distracted groups. +</p> +<p> +The scene was truly an awful one; the fire raged in some houses exactly in +front of the jail, pouring with unceasing violence its flood of flame +through every door and window, and now sending bright jets through the +roofs, which, rent with a report like thunder, soon became one +undistinguish-able mass of flame. The cries for succor, the shouts of the +firemen, the screams of those not yet rescued, and the still increasing +excitement of the mob, mingling their hellish yells of triumph through all +the dread disaster, made up a discord the most horrible; while, ever and +anon, the police and the crowd were in collision, vain efforts being made +to keep the mob back from the front of the jail, whither they had fled as +a refuge from the heat of the burning houses. +</p> +<p> +The fire seemed to spread, defying all the efforts of the engines. From +house to house the lazy smoke was seen to issue for a moment, and then, +almost immediately after, a new cry would announce that another building +was in flames. Meanwhile the smoke, which in the commencement had spread +from the courtyard and windows of the jail, was again perceived to thicken +in the same quarter, and suddenly, as if from a preconcerted signal, it +rolled out from every barred casement and loopholed aperture,—from +every narrow and deep cell within the lofty walls; and the agonized yell +of the prisoners burst forth at the same moment, and the air seemed to +vibrate with shrieks and cries. +</p> +<p> +“Break open the jail!” resounded on every side. “Don't let the prisoners +be burned alive!” was uttered in accents whose humanity was far inferior +to their menace; and, as if with one accord, a rush was made at the +strongly barred gates of the dark building. The movement, although made +with the full force of a mighty multitude, was in vain. In vain the stones +resounded upon the thickly studded door, in vain the strength of hundreds +pressed down upon the oaken barrier. They might as well have tried to +force the strong masonry at either side of it! +</p> +<p> +“Climb the walls!” was now the cry; and the prisoners re-echoed the call +in tones of shrieking entreaty. The mob, savage from their recent repulse +at the gate, now seized the ladders employed by the firemen, and planted +them against the great enclosure-wall of the jail. The police endeavored +to charge, but, jammed up by the crowd, their bridles in many instances +cut, their weapons wrested from them, they were almost at the mercy of the +mob. Orders had been despatched for troops; but as yet they had not +appeared, and the narrow streets, being actually choked up with people, +would necessarily delay their progress. If there were any persons in that +vast mass disposed to repel the violence of the mob, they did not dare to +avow it, the odds were so fearfully on the side of the multitude. +</p> +<p> +The sentry who guarded the gate was trampled down. Some averred he was +killed in the first rush upon the gate; certain it was his cap and coat +were paraded on a pole, as a warning of what awaited his comrades within +the jail, should they dare to fire on the people. This horrible banner was +waved to and fro above the stormy multitude. Darcy had but time to mark +it, when he saw the crowd open, as if cleft asunder by some giant band, +and at the same instant a man rode through the open space, and, tearing +down the pole, felled him who carried it to the earth by a stroke of his +whip. The red glare of the burning houses made the scene distinct as +daylight; but the next moment a rolling cloud of black smoke hid all from +view, and left him to doubt the evidence of his eyesight. +</p> +<p> +“Did you see the horseman?” asked Darcy, in eager curiosity, for he did +not dare to trust his uncorroborated sense. +</p> +<p> +“There he is!” cried the other. “I know him by a white band on his arm. +See, he mounts one of the ladders!—there!—he is near the top!” +</p> +<p> +A cheer that seemed to shake the very atmosphere now rent the air, as, +pressing on like soldiers to a breach, the mob approached the walls. Some +shots were fired by the guard, and their effect might be noted by the more +savage yells of the mob, whose exasperation was now like madness. +</p> +<p> +“The shots have told,—see!” cried the man. “Now the people are +gathering in close groups, here and there.” +</p> +<p> +But Darcy's eyes were fixed on the walls, which were already crowded with +the mob, the dark figures looking like spectres as they passed and +repassed through the dense canopy of smoke. +</p> +<p> +“The soldiers! the soldiers!” screamed the populace from below; and at the +instant a heavy lumbering sound crept on, and the head of a cavalry +squadron wheeled into the square before the jail. The remainder of the +troop soon defiled; but instead of advancing, as was expected, they opened +their ranks, and displayed the formidable appearance of two +eight-pounders, from which the limbers were removed with lightning speed, +and their mouths turned full upon the crowd. Meanwhile an infantry force +was seen entering the opposite side of the square, thus showing the mob +that they were taken in front and rear, no escape being open save by the +small alleys which led off from the street before the prison. The military +preparations took scarcely more time to effect than we have employed to +relate; and now began a scene of tumult and terror the most dreadful to +witness. The order to prime and load, followed by the clanking crash of +four hundred muskets; the close ranks of the cavalry, as if with +difficulty restrained from charging down upon them; and the lighted fuses +of the artillery,—all combined to augment the momentary dread, and +the shouts of vengeance so lately heard were at once changed into piercing +cries for mercy. The blazing houses, from which the red fire shot up +unrestrained, no longer attracted notice,—the jail itself had no +interest for those whose danger was become so imminent. +</p> +<p> +An indiscriminate rush was made towards the narrow lanes for escape, and +from these arose the most piercing and agonizing cries,—for while +pressed down and trampled, many were trodden under foot never again to +rise; others were wounded or burned by the falling timbers of the blazing +buildings; and the fearful cry of “The soldiers! the soldiers!” still +goaded them on by those behind. +</p> +<p> +“Look yonder,” cried Darcy's companion, seizing him by the arm,—“look +there,—near the corner of the market! See, the troops have not +perceived that ladder, and there are two fellows now descending it.” +</p> +<p> +True enough. At a remote angle of the jail, not concealed from view by the +smoke, stood the ladder in question. +</p> +<p> +“How slowly they move!” cried Darcy, his eyes fixed upon the figures with +that strange anxiety so inseparable from the fate of all who are engaged +in hazardous enterprise. “They will certainly be taken.” +</p> +<p> +“They must be wounded,” cried the other; “they seem to creep rather than +step—I know the reason, they are in fetters.” +</p> +<p> +Scarcely was the explanation uttered when the ladder was seen to be +violently moved as if from above, and the next moment was hurled back from +the wall, on which several soldiers were now perceived firing on those +below. +</p> +<p> +“They are lost!” said the Knight; “they are either captured or cut down by +this time.” +</p> +<p> +“The square is cleared already,” said the other; “how quietly the troops +have done their work! And the fire begins to yield to the engines.” +</p> +<p> +The square was indeed cleared; save the groups beside the fire-engines, +and here and there a knot gathered around some wounded man, the space was +empty, the troops having drawn off to the sides, around which they stood +in double file. A dark cloud rested over the jail itself, but no longer +did any smoke issue from the windows; and already the fire, its rage in +part expended, in part subdued, showed signs of decline. +</p> +<p> +“If the wind was from the west,” said the landlord, “there 's no saying +where that might have stopped this night!” +</p> +<p> +“It is a strange occurrence altogether,” said the Knight, musingly. +</p> +<p> +“Not a bit strange, sir,” replied the other, whose neighborhood made him +acquainted with classes and varieties of men of whom Darcy knew nothing; +“it was an attempt by the prisoners.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you think so?” asked Darcy. +</p> +<p> +“Ay, to be sure, sir; there's scarcely a year goes over without one +contrivance or another for escape. Last autumn two fellows got away by +following the course of the sewers and gaining the Liffey; they must have +passed two days underground, and up to their necks in water a great part +of the time.” +</p> +<p> +“Ay, and besides that,” observed another,-for already some ten or twelve +persons were assembled on the roof as well as Darcy and the landlord,—“they +had to wade the river at the ebb-tide, when the mud is at least eight or +ten feet deep.” +</p> +<p> +“How that was done, I cannot guess,” said Darcy. +</p> +<p> +“A man will do many a thing for liberty, sir,” remarked another, who was +buttoned up in a frieze coat, although the night was hot and sultry; +“these poor devils there were willing to risk being roasted alive for the +chance of it.” +</p> +<p> +“Quite true,” said Darcy; “fellows that have a taste for breaking the law +need not be supposed desirous of observing it as to their mode of death; +and yet they must have been daring rascals to have made such an attempt as +this.” +</p> +<p> +“Maybe you know the old song, sir,” said the other, laughing,— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“There s many a man no bolts can keep, +No chains be made to bind them, +And tho' the fetters be heavy, and cells be deep, +He 'll fling them far behind them.” +</pre> +<p> +“I have heard the ditty,” answered the Knight; “and if my memory serves +me, the last lines run thus,— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Though iron bolts may rust and rot, +And stone and mortar crumble, +Freney, beware! for well I wot +Your pride may have a tumble.” +</pre> +<p> +“Devil a lie in that, anyhow, sir,” said the other, laughing heartily; +“and an uglier tumble a man needn't have than to slip through Tom Galvin's +fingers. But I see the fire is out now; so I 'll be jogging homeward. +Good-night, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“Good-night,” said Darcy; and then, as the other moved away, turning to +the landlord, he asked if he knew the stranger. +</p> +<p> +“No, sir,” was the reply; “he came up with some others to have a look at +the fire.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I 'll to my bed,” said Darcy; “let me be awakened at four o'clock. +I see I shall have but a short sleep; the day is breaking already.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0009"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER IX. BOARDING-HOUSE CRITICISM. +</h2> +<p> +It was not until after the lapse of several days that Darcy's departure +was made known to the denizens of Port Ballintray. +</p> +<p> +If the event was slow of announcement, they endeavored to compensate for +the tardiness of the tidings by the freedom of their commentary on all its +possible and impossible reasons. There was not a casualty, in the whole +catalogue of human vicissitudes, unquoted; deaths, births, and marriages +were ransacked in newspapers; all sudden and unexpected turns of fortune +were well weighed, accidents and offences scanned with cunning eyes, and +the various paragraphs to which editorial mysteriousness gave an equivocal +interpretation were commented on with a perseverance and an ingenuity +worthy of a higher theme. +</p> +<p> +It may be remarked that no class of persons are viewed more suspiciously, +or excite more sharp criticism from their neighbors, than those who, with +evidently narrow means, prefer retirement and estrangement from the world +to mixing in the small circle of some petty locality. A hundred schemes +are put in motion to ascertain by what right such superiority is asserted,—why, +and on what grounds, they affect to be better than their neighbors, and so +on; the only offence all the while consisting of an isolation which cannot +with truth imply any such imputation. +</p> +<p> +When the Knight of Gwynne found himself by an unexpected turn of fortune +condemned to a station so different from his previous life, he addressed +himself at once to the difficulties of his lot; and, well aware that all +reserve on his part would be set down as the cloak of some deep mystery, +he affected an air of easy cordiality with such of the boarding-house +party as he ever met, and endeavored, by a tone of well-assumed +familiarity, to avoid all detection of the difference between him and his +new associates. +</p> +<p> +It was in this spirit that he admitted Mr. Dempsey to his acquaintance, +and even asked him to his cottage. In this diplomacy he met with little +assistance from Lady Eleanor and his daughter; the former, from a natural +coldness of manner and an instinctive horror of everything low and +underbred. Helen's perceptions of such things were just as acute, but, +inheriting the gay and lively temperament of her father's house, she +better liked to laugh at the absurdities of vulgar people than indulge a +mere sense of dislike to their society. Such allies were too dangerous to +depend on, and hence the Knight conducted his plans unaided and +unsupported. +</p> +<p> +Whether Mr. Dempsey was bought off by the flattering exception made in his +favor, and that he felt an implied superiority on being deemed their +advocate, he certainly assumed that position in the circle of Mrs. +Fumbally's household, and on the present occasion sustained his part with +a certain mysterious demeanor that imposed on many. +</p> +<p> +“Well, he's gone, at all events!” said a thin old lady with a green shade +over a pair of greener eyes; “that can't be denied, I hope! Went off like +a shot on Tuesday morning. Sandy M'Shane brought him into Coleraine, for +the Dublin coach; and, by the same token, it was an outside place he took—” +</p> +<p> +“I beg your pardon, ma'am,” interposed a fat little woman, with a choleric +red face and a tremulous underlip,—she was an authoress in the +provincial papers, and occasionally invented her English as well as her +incidents,—“it was the Derry mail he went by. Archy M'Clure trod on +his toe, and asked pardon for it, just to get him into conversation; but +he seemed very much dejected, and wouldn't interlocute.” +</p> +<p> +“Very strange indeed!” rejoined the lady of the shade, “because I had my +information from Williams, the guard of the coach.” +</p> +<p> +“And I mine from Archy M'Clure himself.” +</p> +<p> +“And both were wrong,” interposed Paul Dempsey, triumphantly. +</p> +<p> +“It's not very polite to tell us so, Mr. Dempsey,” said the thin old lady, +bridling. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps the politeness may equal the voracity,” said the fat lady, who +was almost boiling over with wrath. +</p> +<p> +“This Gwynne wasn't all right, depend upon it,” interposed a certain +little man in powder; “I have my own suspicions about him.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, now, Mr. Dunlop, what's your opinion? I'd like to hear it.” +</p> +<p> +“What does Mrs. M'Caudlish say?” rejoined the little gentleman, turning to +the authoress,—for in the boarding-house they both presided +judicially in all domestic inquisitions regarding conduct and character,—“what +does Mrs. M'Caudlish say?” +</p> +<p> +“I prefer letting Mr. Dunlop expose himself before me.” +</p> +<p> +“The case is doubtful—dark—mysterious,” said Dunlop, with a +solemn pause after each word. +</p> +<p> +“The more beyond my conjunctions,” said the lady. “You remember what the +young gentleman says in the Latin poet, 'Sum Davy, non sum Euripides.'” +</p> +<p> +“I 'll tell you my opinion, then,” said Mr. Dunlop, who was evidently +mollified by the classical allusion; and with firm and solemn gesture he +crossed over to where she sat, and whispered a few words in her ear. +</p> +<p> +A slight scream, and a long-drawn “Oh!” was all the answer. +</p> +<p> +“Upon my soul, I believe so,” said Mr. Dunlop, thrusting both hands into +the furthest depths of his coat-pockets; “nay, more, I'll maintain it!” +</p> +<p> +“I know what you are driving at,” said Dempsey, laughing; “you think he's +the gauger that went off with Mrs. Murdoch of Ballyquirk—” +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Dempsey! Mr. Dempsey! the ladies, sir! the ladies!” called out two or +three reproving voices from the male portion of the assembly; while, as if +to corroborate the justice of the appeal, the thin lady drew her shade +down two inches lower, and Mr. Dunlop's face became what painters call “of +a warm tint.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh! never talk of a rope where a man's father was hanged,” muttered Paul +to himself, for he felt all the severity of his condemnation, though he +knew that the point of law was against him. +</p> +<p> +“There 's a rule in this establishment, Mr. Dempsey,” said Mr. Dunlop, +with all the gravity of a judge delivering a charge,—“a rule devised +to protect the purity, the innocence,”—here the ladies held down +their heads,—“the beauty—” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir, and I will add, the helplessness of that sex—” +</p> +<p> +“Paul 's right, by Jove!” hiccuped Jack Leonard, whose faculties, far +immersed in the effects of strong whiskey-and-water, suddenly flashed out +into momentary intelligence,—“I say he's right! Who says the +reverse?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Captain Leonard! oh dear, Mr. Dunlop!” screamed three or four female +voices in concert, “don't let it proceed further.” +</p> +<p> +A faint and an anxious group were gathered around the little gentleman, +whose warlike indications grew stronger as pacific entreaties increased. +</p> +<p> +“He shall explain his words,” said he, with a cautious glance to see that +his observation was not overheard; then, seeing that his adversary had +relapsed into oblivion, he added, “he shall withdraw them;” and finally, +emboldened by success, he vociferated, “or' he shall eat them. I 'll teach +him,” said the now triumphant victor, “that it is not in Mark Dunlop's +presence ladies are to be insulted with impunity. Let the attempt be made +by whom it will,—he may be a lieutenant on half pay or on full pay!—I +tell him, I don't care a rush.” +</p> +<p> +“Of course not!” “Why would you?” and so on, were uttered in ready chorus +around him; and he resumed,— +</p> +<p> +“And as for this Gwynne, or Quin, who lives up at 'The Corvy' yonder, for +all the airs he gives himself, and his fine ladies too, my simple belief +is he 's a Government spy!” +</p> +<p> +“Is that your opinion, sir?” said a deep and almost solemn voice; and at +the same instant Miss Daly appeared at the open window. She leaned her arm +on the sill, and calmly stared at the now terrified speaker, while she +repeated the words, “Is that your opinion, sir?” +</p> +<p> +Before the surprise her words had excited subsided, she stood at the door +of the apartment. She was dressed in her riding-habit, for she had that +moment returned from an excursion along the coast. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Dunlop,” said the lady, advancing towards him, “I never play the +eavesdropper; but you spoke so loud, doubtless purposely, that nothing +short of deafness could escape hearing you. You were pleased to express a +belief respecting the position of a gentleman with whom I have the honor +to claim some friendship.” +</p> +<p> +“I always hold myself ready, madam, to render an account to any individual +of whom I express an opinion,—to himself, personally, I mean.” +</p> +<p> +“Of course you do, sir. It is a very laudable habit,” said she, dryly; +“but in this case—don't interrupt me—in the present case it +cannot apply, because the person traduced is absent. Yes, sir, I said +traduced.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, madam, I must say the word would better suit one more able to sustain +it. I shall take the liberty to withdraw.” And so saying, he moved towards +the door; but Miss Daly interposed, and, by a gesture of her hand, in +which she held a formidable horsewhip, gave a very unmistakable sign that +the passage was not free. +</p> +<p> +“You 'll not go yet, sir. I have not done with you,” said she, in a voice +every accent of which vibrated in the little man's heart. “You affect to +regret, sir, that I am not of the sex that exacts satisfaction, as it is +called; but I tell you, I come of a family that never gave long scores to +a debt of honor. You have presumed—in a company, certainly, where +the hazard of contradiction was small—to asperse a gentleman of whom +you know nothing,—not one single fact,—not one iota of his +life, character, or fortune. You have dared to call him by words every +letter of which would have left a welt on your shoulders if uttered in his +hearing. Now, as I am certain he would pay any little debts I might have +perchance forgotten in leaving a place where I had resided, so will I do +likewise by him; and here, on this spot, and in this fair company, I call +upon you to unsay your falsehood, or—” Here she made one step +forward, with an air and gesture that made Mr. Dunlop retire with a most +comic alacrity. “Don't be afraid, sir,” continued she, laughing. “My +brother, Mr. Bagenal Daly, will arrive here soon. He 's no new name to +your ears. In any case, I promise you that whatever you find objectionable +in my proceedings towards you he will be most happy to sustain. Now, sir, +the hand wants four minutes to six. If the hour strike before you call +yourself a wanton, gratuitous calumniator, I 'll flog you round the room.” +</p> +<p> +A cry of horror burst from the female portion of the assembly at a threat +the utterance of which was really not less terrific than the meaning. +</p> +<p> +“Such a spectacle,” continued Miss Daly, sarcastically, “I should scruple +to inflict on this fair company; but the taste that could find pleasure in +witless, pointless slander may not, it is possible, dislike to see a +little castigation. Now, sir, you have just one minute and a quarter.” +</p> +<p> +“I protest against this conduct, madam. I here declare—” +</p> +<p> +<a name="image-0006" id="image-0006"> +<!-- IMG --></a> <img src="images/146.jpg" height="576" width="709" alt="146 " /> +</p> +<p> +“Declare nothing, sir, till you have avowed yourself by your real name and +character. If you cannot restrain your tongue, I 'll very soon convince +you that its consequences are far from agreeable. Is what you have spoken +false?” +</p> +<p> +“There may come a heavy reckoning for all this, madam,” said Dunlop, +trembling between fear and passion. +</p> +<p> +“I ask you again, and for the last time, are your words untrue? Very well, +sir. You held a commission in Germany, they say; and probably, as a +military man, you may think it undignified to surrender, except on +compulsion.” +</p> +<p> +With these words Miss Daly advanced towards him with a firm and determined +air, while a cry of horror arose through the room, and the fairer portion +intrepidly threw themselves in front of their champion, while Dempsey and +the others only restrained their laughter for fear of personal +consequences. Pushing fiercely on, Miss Daly was almost at his side, when +the door of the room was opened, and a deep and well-known voice called +out to her,— +</p> +<p> +“Maria, what the devil is all this?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Bagenal,” cried she, as she held out her hand, “I scarcely expected +you before eight o'clock.” +</p> +<p> +“But in the name of everything ridiculous, what has happened? Were you +about to horsewhip this pleasant company?” +</p> +<p> +“Only one of its members,” said Miss Daly, coolly,—“a little +gentleman who has thought proper to be more lavish of his calumny than his +courage. I hand him over to you now; and, faith, though I don't think that +he had any fancy for me, he 'll gain by the exchange! You 'll find him +yonder,” said she, pointing to a corner where already the majority of the +party were gathered together. +</p> +<p> +Miss Daly was mistaken, however, for Mr. Dunlop had made his escape during +the brief interchange of greetings between the brother and sister. “Come, +Bagenal,” said she, smiling, “it's all for the best. I have given him a +lesson he 'll not readily forget,—had you been the teacher, he might +not have lived to remember it.” +</p> +<p> +“What a place for <i>you!</i>” said Bagenal, as he threw his eye +superciliously around the apartment and its occupants; then taking her arm +within his own, he led her forth, and closed the door after them. +</p> +<p> +Once more alone, Daly learned with surprise, not unmixed with sorrow, that +his sister had never seen the Darcys, and save by a single call, when she +left her name, had made no advances towards their acquaintance. She showed +a degree of repugnance, too, to allude to the subject, and rather +endeavored to dismiss it by saying shortly,—“Lady Eleanor is a fine +lady, and her daughter a wit What could there be in common between us?” +</p> +<p> +“But for Darcy's sake?” +</p> +<p> +“For <i>his</i> sake I stayed away,” rejoined she, hastily; “they would +have thought me a bore, and perhaps have told him as much. In a word, +Bagenal, I did n't like it, and that's enough. Neither of us were trained +to put much constraint on our inclinations. I doubt if the lesson would be +easily learned at our present time of life.” +</p> +<p> +Daly muttered some half-intelligible bitterness about female obstinacy and +wrong-headedness, and walked slowly to and fro. “I must see Maurice at +once,” said he, at length. +</p> +<p> +“That will be no easy task; he left this for Dublin on Tuesday last.” +</p> +<p> +“And has not returned? When does he come back?” +</p> +<p> +“His old butler, who brought me the news, says not for some weeks.” +</p> +<p> +“Confusion and misery!” exclaimed Daly, “was there ever anything so +ill-timed! And he's in Dublin?” +</p> +<p> +“He went thither, but there would seem some mystery about his ultimate +destination; the old man binted at London.” +</p> +<p> +“London!” said he, with a heavy sigh. “It's now the 18th, and on Saturday +she sails.” +</p> +<p> +“Who sails?” asked Miss Daly, with more of eagerness than she yet +exhibited. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I forgot, Molly, I had n't told you, I 'm about to take a voyage,—not +a very long one, but still distant enough to make me wish to say good-bye +ere we separate. If God wills it, I shall be back early in the spring.” +</p> +<p> +“What new freak is this, Bagenal?” said she, almost sternly; “I thought +that time and the world's crosses might have taught you to care for +quietness, if not for home.” +</p> +<p> +“Home!” repeated he, in an accent the sorrow of which sank into her very +heart; “when had I ever a home? I had a house and lands, and equipages, +horses, and liveried servants,—all that wealth could command, or, my +own reckless vanity could prompt,—but these did not make a home!” +</p> +<p> +“You often promised we should have such one day, Bagenal,” said she, +tenderly, while she stole her hand within his; “you often told me that the +time would come when we should enjoy poverty with a better grace than ever +we dispensed riches.” +</p> +<p> +“We surely are poor enough to make the trial now,” said he, with a +bitterness of almost savage energy. +</p> +<p> +“And if we are, Bagenal,” replied she, “there is the more need to draw +more closely to each other; let us begin at once.” +</p> +<p> +“Not yet, Molly, not yet,” said he, passing his hand across his eyes. “I +would grasp such a refuge as eagerly as yourself, for,” added he, with +deep emotion, “I am to the full as weary; but I cannot do it yet.” +</p> +<p> +Miss Daly knew her brother's temper too long and too well either to offer +a continued opposition to any strongly expressed resolve, or to question +him about a subject on which he showed any desire of reserve. +</p> +<p> +“Have you no Dublin news for me?” she said, as if willing to suggest some +less touching subject for conversation. +</p> +<p> +“No, Molly; Dublin is deserted. The few who still linger in town seem only +half awake to the new condition of events. The Government party are away +to England; they feel, doubtless, bound in honor to dispense their gold in +the land it came from; and the Patriots—Heaven bless the mark!—they +look as rueful as if they began to suspect that Patriotism was too dear a +luxury after all.” +</p> +<p> +“And this burning of Newgate,-what did it mean? Was there, as the +newspaper makes out, anything like a political plot connected with it?” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing of the kind, Molly. The whole affair was contrived among the +prisoners. Freney, the well-known highwayman, was in the jail, and, +although not tried, his conviction was certain.” +</p> +<p> +“And they say he has escaped. Can it be possible that some persons of +influence, as the journals hint, actually interested themselves for the +escape of a man like this?” +</p> +<p> +“Everything is possible in a state of society like ours, Molly.” +</p> +<p> +“But a highwayman—a robber—a fellow that made the roads unsafe +to travel!” +</p> +<p> +“All true,” said Daly, laughing. “Nobody ever kept a hawk for a +singing-bird; but he 's a bold villain to pounce upon another.” +</p> +<p> +“I like not such appliances; they scarcely serve a good name, and they +make a bad one worse.” +</p> +<p> +“I'm quite of your mind, Molly,” said Daly, thoughtfully; “and if honest +men were plenty, he would be but a fool who held any dealings with the +knaves. But here comes the car to convey me to 'The Corvy.' I will make a +hasty visit to Lady Eleanor, and be back with you by supper-time.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0010"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER X. DALY'S FAREWELL. +</h2> +<p> +Neither of the ladies were at home when Bagenal Daly, followed by his +servant Sandy, reached “The Corvy,” and sat down in the porch to await +their return. Busied with his own reflections, which, to judge from the +deep abstraction of his manner, seemed weighty and important, Daly never +looked up from the ground, while Sandy leisurely walked round the building +to note the changes made in his absence, and comment, in no flattering +sense, on the art by which the builder had concealed so many traits of +“The Corvy's” origin. +</p> +<p> +“Ye 'd no ken she was a ship ava!” said he to himself, as he examined the +walls over which the trellised creepers were trained, and the latticed +windows festooned by the honeysuckle and the clematis, and gazed in +sadness over the altered building. “She's no a bit like the auld Corvy!” +</p> +<p> +“Of course she 's not!” said Daly, testily, for the remark had suddenly +aroused him from his musings. “What the devil would you have? Are <i>you</i> +like the raw and ragged fellow I took from this bleak coast, and led over +more than half the world?” +</p> +<p> +“Troth, I am no the same man noo that I was sax-and-forty years agane, and +sorry I am to say it.” +</p> +<p> +“Sorry,—sorry! not to be half-starved and less than half-clad; +hauling a net one day, and being dragged for yourself the next—sorry!” +</p> +<p> +“Even sae, sore sorry. Eight-and-sixty may be aye sorry not to be +twa-and-twenty. I ken nae rise in life can pay off that score. It 's na +ower pleasant to think on, but I'm no the man I was then. No, nor, for +that matter, yerself neither.” +</p> +<p> +Daly was too long accustomed to the familiarity of Sandy's manner to feel +offended at the remark, though he did not seem by any means to relish its +application. Without making any reply, he arose and entered the hall. On +every side were objects reminding him of the past, strange and sad +commentary on the words of his servant. Sandy appeared to feel the force +of such allies, and, as he stood near, watched the effect the various +articles produced on his master's countenance. +</p> +<p> +“A bonnie rifle she is,” said he, as if interpreting the admiring look +Daly bestowed upon a richly ornamented gun. “Do you mind the day yer honor +shot the corbie at the Tegern See?” +</p> +<p> +“Where the Tyrol fellows set on us, on the road to Innspruck, and I +brought down the bird to show them that they had to deal with a marksman +as good at least as themselves.” +</p> +<p> +“Just sae; it was a bra' shot; your hand was as firm, and your eye as +steady then as any man's.” +</p> +<p> +“I could do the feat this minute,” said Daly, angrily, as turning away he +detached a heavy broadsword from the wall. +</p> +<p> +“She was aye over weighty in the hilt,” said Sandy, with a dry malice. +</p> +<p> +“You used to draw that bowstring to your ear,” said Daly, sternly, as he +pointed to a Swiss bow of portentous size. +</p> +<p> +“I had twa hands in those days,” said the other, calmly, and without the +slightest change of either voice or manner. +</p> +<p> +Not so with him to whom they were addressed. A flood of feelings seemed to +pour across his memory, and, laying his hand on Sandy's shoulder, he said, +in an accent of very unusual emotion, “You are right, Sandy, I must be +changed from what I used to be.” +</p> +<p> +“Let us awa to the auld life we led in those days,” said the other, +impetuously, “and we 'll soon be ourselves again! Does n't that remind yer +honor of the dark night on the Ottawa, when you sent the canoe, with the +pine-torch burning in her bow, down the stream, and drew all the fire of +the Indian fellows on her?” +</p> +<p> +“It was a grand sight,” cried Daly, rapturously, “to see the dark river +glittering with its torchlight, and the chiefs, as they stood rifle in +hand, peering into the dense pine copse, and making the echoes ring with +their war-cries.” +</p> +<p> +“It was unco near at one time,” said Sandy, as he took up the fold of the +blanket with which his effigy in the canoe was costumed. “There 's the twa +bullet-holes, and here the arrow-bead in the plank, where I had my bead! +If ye had missed the Delaware chap wi' the yellow cloth on his forehead—” +</p> +<p> +“I soon changed its color for him,” said Daly, savagely. +</p> +<p> +“Troth did ye; ye gied him a bonny war-paint. How he sprang into the air! +I think I see him noo; many a night when I 'm lying awake, I think I can +hear the dreadful screech he gave, as he plunged into the river.” +</p> +<p> +“It was not a cry of pain, it was baffled vengeance,” said Daly. +</p> +<p> +“He never forgave the day ye gripped him by the twa hands in yer ain one, +and made the squaws laugh at him. Eh, how that auld deevil they cau'd +Black Buffalo yelled! Her greasy cheeks shook and swelled over her dark +eyes, till the face looked like nothing but a tar lake in Demerara when +there 's a hurricane blowin' over it.” +</p> +<p> +“You had rather a tenderness in that quarter, if I remember aright,” said +Daly, dryly. +</p> +<p> +“I 'll no deny she was a bra sauncie woman, and kenned weel to make a +haggis wi' an ape's head and shoulders.” Sandy smacked his lips, as if the +thought had brought up pleasant memories. +</p> +<p> +“How I escaped that bullet is more than I can guess,” said Daly, as he +inspected the blanket where it was pierced by a shot; and as he spoke, he +threw its wide folds over his shoulders, the better to judge of the +position. +</p> +<p> +“Ye aye wore it more on this side,” said Sandy, arranging the folds with +tasteful pride; “an', troth, it becomes you well. Tak the bit tomahawk in +your hand, noo. Ech! but yer like yoursel once more.” +</p> +<p> +“We may have to don this gear again, and sooner than you think,” said +Daly, thoughtfully. +</p> +<p> +“Nae a bit sooner than I 'd like,” said Sandy. “The salvages, as they ca' +them, hae neither baillies nor policemen, they hae nae cranks about +lawyers and 'tornies; a grip o' a man's hair and a sharp knife is even as +mickle a reason as a hempen cord and a gallows tree! Ech, it warms my +bluid again to see you stridin' up and doon,—if you had but a smudge +o' yellow ochre, or a bit o' red round your eyes, ye 'd look awful well.” +</p> +<p> +“What are you staring at?” said Daly, as Sandy opened a door stealthily, +and gazed down the passage towards the kitchen. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm thinking that as there is naebody in the house but the twa lasses, +maybe your honor would try a war-cry,—ye ken ye could do it bra'ly +once.” +</p> +<p> +“I may need the craft soon again,” said Daly, thoughtfully. +</p> +<p> +“Mercy upon us! here 's the leddies!” cried Sandy. But before Daly could +disencumber himself of his weapons and costume, Helen entered the hall. +</p> +<p> +<a name="image-0007" id="image-0007"> +<!-- IMG --></a> <img src="images/154.jpg" height="698" width="705" alt="154 " /> +</p> +<p> +If Lady Eleanor started at the strange apparition before her, and +involuntarily turned her eye towards the canoe, to see that its occupant +was still there, it is not much to be wondered at, so strongly did the +real and the counterfeit man resemble each other. The first surprise over, +he was welcomed with sincere pleasure. All the eccentricities of character +which in former days were commented on so sharply were forgotten, or their +memory replaced by the proofs of his ardent devotion. +</p> +<p> +“How well you are looking!” was his first exclamation, as he gazed at Lady +Eleanor and Helen alternately, with that steady stare which is one of the +prerogatives of age towards beauty. +</p> +<p> +“There is no such tonic as necessity,” said Lady Eleanor, smiling, “and it +would seem as if health were too jealous to visit us when we have every +other blessing.” +</p> +<p> +“It is worth them all, madam. I am an old man, and have seen much of the +world, and I can safely aver that what are called its trials lie chiefly +in our weaknesses. We can all of us carry a heavier load than fortune lays +on us—” He suddenly checked himself, as if having unwittingly lapsed +into something like rebuke, and then said, “I find you alone; is it not +so?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes; Darcy has left us, suddenly and almost mysteriously, without you can +help us to a clearer insight. A letter from the War Office arrived here on +Tuesday, acknowledging, in most complimentary terms, the fairness of his +claim for military employment, and requesting his presence in London. This +was evidently in reply to an application, although the Knight made none +such.” +</p> +<p> +“But he has friends, mamma,—warm-hearted and affectionate ones,-who +might have done so,” said Helen, as she fixed her gaze steadily on Daly. +</p> +<p> +“And you, madam, have relatives of high and commanding influence,” said +he, avoiding to return Helen's glance,—“men of rank and station, who +might well feel proud of such a <i>protégé</i> as Maurice Darcy. And what +have they given him?” +</p> +<p> +“We can tell you nothing; the official letter may explain more to your +clear-sightedness, and I will fetch it.” So saying, Lady Eleanor arose and +left the room. Scarcely had the door closed, when Daly stood up, and, +walking over, leaned his arm on the back of Helen's chair. +</p> +<p> +“You received my letter, did you not?” said he, hurriedly. “You know the +result of the trial?” +</p> +<p> +Helen nodded assent, while a secret emotion covered her face with crimson, +as Daly resumed,— +</p> +<p> +“There was ill-luck everywhere: the case badly stated; Lionel absent; I +myself detained in Dublin, by an unavoidable necessity,—everything +unfortunate even to the last incident. Had I been there, matters would +have taken another course. Still, Helen, Forester was right; and, depend +upon it, there is no scanty store of generous warmth in a heart that can +throb so strongly beneath the aiguiletted coat of an aide-de-camp. The +holiday habits of that tinsel life teach few lessons of self-devotion, and +the poor fellow has paid the penalty heavily.” +</p> +<p> +“What has happened?” said Helen, in a voice scarcely audible. +</p> +<p> +“He is disinherited, I hear. All his prospects depended on his mother; she +has cast him off, and, as the story goes, is about to marry. Marriage is +always the last vengeance of a widow.” +</p> +<p> +“Here is the letter,” said Lady Eleanor, entering; “let us hope you can +read its intentions better than we have.” +</p> +<p> +“Flattering, certainly,” muttered Daly, as he conned over the lines to +himself. “It's quite plain they mean to do something generous. I trust I +may learn it before I sail.” +</p> +<p> +“Sail! you are not about to travel, are you?” asked Lady Eleanor, in a +voice that betrayed her dread of being deprived of such support. +</p> +<p> +“Oh! I forgot I had n't told you. Yes, madam, another of those strange +riddles which have beset my life compels me to take a long voyage—to +America.” +</p> +<p> +“To America!” echoed Helen; and her eye glanced as she spoke to the Indian +war-cloak and the weapons that lay beside his chair. +</p> +<p> +“Not so, Helen,” said Daly, smiling, as if replying to the insinuated +remark; “I am too old for such follies now. Not in heart, indeed, but in +limb,” added he, sternly; “for I own I could ask nothing better than the +prairie or the pine-forest. I know of no cruelty in savage life that has +not its counterpart amid our civilization; and for the rude virtues that +are nurtured there, they are never warmed into existence by the hotbed of +selfishness.” +</p> +<p> +“But why leave your friends,—your sister?” +</p> +<p> +“My sister!” He paused, and a tinge of red came to his cheek as he +remembered how she had failed in all attention to the Darcys. “My sister, +madam, is self-willed and headstrong as myself. She acknowledges none of +the restraints or influence by which the social world consents to be bound +and regulated; her path has ever been wild and erratic as my own. We +sometimes cross, we never contradict, each other.” He paused, and then +muttered to himself, “Poor Molly! how different I knew you once! And so,” +added he, aloud, “I must leave without seeing Darcy! and there stands +Sandy, admonishing me that my time is already up. Good-bye, Lady Eleanor; +good-bye, Helen.” He turned his head away for a second, and then, in a +voice of unusual feeling, said: “Farewell is always a sad word, and doubly +sad when spoken by one old as I am; but if my heart is heavy at this +moment, it is the selfish sorrow of him who parts from those so near. As +for you, madam, and your fortunes, I am full of good hope. When people +talk of suffering virtue, believe me, the element of courage must be +wanting; but where the stout heart unites with the good cause, success +will come at last.” +</p> +<p> +He pressed his lips to the hands he held within his own, and hurried, +before they could reply, from the room. +</p> +<p> +“Our last friend gone!” exclaimed Lady Eleanor, as she sank into a chair. +</p> +<p> +Helen's heart was too full for utterance, and she sat down silently, and +watched the retiring figure of Daly and his servant till they disappeared +in the distance. +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0011"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XI. THE DUKE OF YORK'S LEVEE. +</h2> +<p> +When Darcy arrived in London, he found a degree of political excitement +for which he was little prepared. In Ireland the Union had absorbed all +interest and anxiety, and with the fate of that measure were extinguished +the hopes of those who had speculated on national independence. Not so in +England; the real importance of the annexation was never thoroughly +considered till the fact was accomplished, nor, until then, were the great +advantages and the possible evils well and maturely weighed. Then, for the +first time, came the anxious question, What next? Was the Union to be the +compensation for large concessions to the Irish people, or was it rather +the seal of their incorporation with a more powerful nation, who by this +great stroke of policy would annihilate forever all dream of +self-existence? Mr. Pitt inclined to the former opinion, and believed the +moment propitious to award the Roman Catholic claims, and to a general +remission of those laws which pressed so heavily upon them. To this +opinion the King was firmly and, as it proved, insurmountably opposed; he +regarded the Act of Union as the final settlement of all possible +disagreements between the two countries, as the means of uniting the two +Churches, and, finally, of excluding at once and forever the admission of +Roman Catholics to Parliament. This wide difference led to the retirement +of Mr. Pitt, and subsequently to the return of the dangerous indisposition +of the King, an attack brought on by the anxiety and agitation this +question induced. +</p> +<p> +The hopes of the Whig party stood high; the Prince's friends, as they were +styled, again rallied around Carlton House, where, already, the +possibility of a long Regency was discussed. Besides these causes of +excitement were others of not less powerful interest,—the growing +power of Bonaparte, the war in Egypt, and the possibility of open +hostilities with Russia, who had now thrown herself so avowedly into the +alliance of France. +</p> +<p> +Such were the stirring themes Darcy found agitating the public mind, and +he could not help contrasting the mighty interests they involved with the +narrow circle of consequences a purely local legislature could discuss or +decide upon. He felt at once that he trod the soil of a more powerful and +more ambitious people, and he remembered with a sigh his own +anticipations, that in the English Parliament the Irish members would be +but the camp-followers of the Crown or the Opposition. +</p> +<p> +If he was English in his pride of government and his sense of national +power and greatness, he was Irish in his tastes, his habits, and his +affections. If he gloried in the name of Briton as the type of national +honor and truth throughout the globe, he was still more ardently attached +to that land where, under the reflected grandeur of the monarchy, grew up +the social affections of a poorer people. There is a sense of freedom and +independence in the habits of semi-civilization very fascinating to +certain minds, and all the advantages of more polished communities are +deemed shallow compensation for the ready compliance and cordial impulses +of the less cultivated. +</p> +<p> +With all his own high acquirements the Knight was of this mind; and if he +did not love England less, he loved Ireland more. +</p> +<p> +Meditating on the great changes of fortune Ireland had undergone even +within his own memory, he moved along through the crowded thoroughfares of +the mighty city, when he heard his name called out, and at the same +instant a carriage drew up close by him. +</p> +<p> +“How do you do, Knight?” said a friendly voice, as a hand was stretched +forth to greet him. It was Lord Castle-reagh, who had only a few weeks +previous exchanged his office of Irish Secretary for a post at the Board +of Trade. The meeting was a cordial one on both sides, and ended in an +invitation to dine on the following day, which Darcy accepted with +willingness, as a gage of mutual good feeling and esteem. +</p> +<p> +“I was talking about you to Lord Netherby only yesterday,” said Lord +Castlereagh, “and, from some hints he dropped, I suspect the time is come +that I may offer you any little influence I possess, without it taking the +odious shape of a bargain; if so, pray remember that I have as much pride +as yourself on such a score, and will be offended if you accept from +another what might come equally well through <i>me</i>.” +</p> +<p> +The Knight acknowledged this kind speech with a grateful smile and a +pressure of the hand, and was about to move on, when Lord Castlereagh +asked if he could not drop him in his carriage at his destination, and +thus enjoy, a few moments longer, his society. +</p> +<p> +“I scarcely can tell you, my Lord,” said Darcy, laughing, “which way I was +bent on following. I came up to town to present myself at the Duke of +York's levée, and it is only a few moments since I remembered that I was +not provided with a uniform.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, step in then,” cried Lord Castlereagh, hastily; “I think I can manage +that difficulty for you. There is a levée this very morning; some pressing +intelligence has arrived from Egypt, and his Royal Highness has issued a +notice for a reception for eleven o'clock. You are not afraid,” said Lord +Castlereagh, laughing, as Darcy took his seat beside him,—“you are +not afraid of being seen in such company now.” +</p> +<p> +“If I am not, my Lord, set my courage down to my principle; for I never +felt your kindness so dangerous,” said the Knight, with something of +emotion. +</p> +<p> +A few moments of rapid driving brought them in front of the Duke's +residence, where several carriages and led horses were now standing, and +officers in full dress were seen to pass in and out, with signs of haste +and eagerness. +</p> +<p> +“I told you we should find them astir here,” said Lord Castlereagh. +“Holloa, Fane, have you heard anything new to-day?” +</p> +<p> +The officer thus addressed touched his hat respectfully, and approaching +the window of the carriage, whispered a few words in Lord Castlereagh's +ear. +</p> +<p> +“Is the news confirmed?” said his Lordship, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“I believe so, my Lord; at least, Edgecumbe says he heard it from Dundas, +who got it from Pitt himself.” +</p> +<p> +“Bad tidings these, Knight,” said Lord Castlereagh, as the aide-de-camp +moved away; “Pulteney's expedition against Ferrol has failed. These +conjoint movements of army and navy seem to have a most unlucky fortune.” +</p> +<p> +“What can you expect, my Lord, from an ill-assorted 'Union'?” said Darcy, +slyly. +</p> +<p> +“They 'll work better after a time,” said Lord Castlereagh, smiling +good-humoredly at the hit; “for the present, I acknowledge the success is +not flattering. The general always discovers that the land batteries can +only be attacked in the very spot where the admiral pronounces the +anchorage impossible; each feels compromised by the other; hence envy and +every manner of uncharitableness.” +</p> +<p> +“And what has been the result here? Is it a repulse?” +</p> +<p> +“You can scarcely call it that, since they never attacked. They looked at +the place, sailed round it, and, like the King of France in the story, +they marched away again. But here we are at length at the door; let us try +if we cannot accomplish a landing better than Lord Keith and General +Moore.” +</p> +<p> +Through a crowd of anxious faces, whose troubled looks tallied with the +evil tidings, Lord Castlereagh and Darcy ascended the stairs and reached +the antechamber, now densely thronged by officers of every grade of the +service. His Lordship was immediately recognized and surrounded by many of +the company, eager to hear his opinion. +</p> +<p> +“You don't appear to credit the report, my Lord,” said Darcy, who had +watched with some interest the air of quiet incredulity which he assumed. +</p> +<p> +“It is all true, notwithstanding,” said he, in a whisper; “I heard it +early this morning at the Council, and came here to see how it would be +received. They say that war will be soon as unpopular with the red-coats +as with the no-coats; and really, to look at these sombre faces, one would +say there was some truth in the rumor. But here comes Taylor.” And so +saying, Lord Castlereagh moved forward, and laid his hand on the arm of an +officer in a staff uniform. +</p> +<p> +“I don't think so, my Lord,” said he, in reply to some question from Lord +Castlereagh; “I 'll endeavor to manage it, but I 'm afraid I shall not +succeed. Have you heard of Elliot's death? The news has just arrived.” +</p> +<p> +“Indeed! So then the government of Chelsea is to give away. Oh, that fact +explains the presence of so many veteran generals! I really was puzzled to +conceive what martial ardor stirred them.” +</p> +<p> +“You are severe, my Lord,” said Darcy; “I hope you are unjust.” +</p> +<p> +“One is rarely so in attributing a selfish motive anywhere,” said the +young nobleman, sarcastically. “But, Taylor, can't you arrange this +affair? Let me present my friend meanwhile: The Knight of Gwynne—Colonel +Taylor.” +</p> +<p> +Before Taylor could more than return the Knight's salutation he was +summoned to attend his Royal Highness; and at the same moment the +folding-doors at the end of the apartment were thrown open, and the +reception began. +</p> +<p> +Whether the sarcasm of Lord Castlereagh was correct, or that a nobler +motive was in operation, the number of officers was very great; and +although the Duke rarely addressed more than a word or two to each, a +considerable time elapsed before Lord Castlereagh, with the Knight +following, had entered the room. +</p> +<p> +“It is against a positive order of his Royal Highness, my Lord,” said an +aide-de-camp, barring the passage; “none but field-officers, and in full +uniform, are received by his Royal Highness.” +</p> +<p> +Lord Castlereagh whispered something, and endeavored to move on; but again +the other interposed, saying, “Indeed, my Lord, I'm deeply grieved at it, +but I cannot—I dare not transgress my orders.” +</p> +<p> +The Duke, who had been up to this moment engaged in conversing with a +group, suddenly turned, and perceiving that the presentations were not +followed up, said, “Well, gentlemen, I am waiting.” Then recognizing Lord +Castlereagh, he added, “Another time, my Lord, another time: this morning +belongs to the service, and the color of your coat excludes you.” +</p> +<p> +“I ask your Royal Highness's pardon,” said Lord Castlereagh, in a tone of +great deference, while he made the apology an excuse for advancing a step +into the room. “I have but just left the Council, and was anxious to +inform you that your Royal Highness's suggestions have been fully +adopted.” +</p> +<p> +“Indeed! is that the case?” said the Duke, with an elated look, while he +drew his Lordship into the recess of a window. The intelligence, to judge +from the Duke's expression, must have been both important and +satisfactory, for he looked intensely eager and pleased by turns. +</p> +<p> +“And so,” said he, aloud, “they really have determined on Egypt? Well, my +Lord, you have brought me the best tidings I 've heard for many a day.” +</p> +<p> +“And like all bearers of good despatches,” said Lord Castlereagh, catching +up the tone of the Duke, “I prefer a claim to your Royal Highness's +patronage.” +</p> +<p> +“If you look for Chelsea, my Lord, you are just five minutes too late. Old +Sir Harry Belmore has this instant got it.” +</p> +<p> +“I could have named as old and perhaps a not less distinguished soldier to +your Royal Highness, with this additional claim,—a claim I must say, +your Royal Highness never disregards”— +</p> +<p> +“That he has been unfortunate with the unlucky,” said the Duke, laughing, +and good-naturedly alluding to his own failure in the expedition to the +Netherlands; “but who is your friend?” +</p> +<p> +“The Knight of Gwynne,—an Irish gentleman.” +</p> +<p> +“One of your late supporters, eh, Castlereagh?” said the Duke, laughing. +“How came he to be forgotten till this hour? Or did you pass him a bill of +gratitude payable at nine months after date?” +</p> +<p> +“No, my Lord, he was an opponent; he was a man that I never could buy, +when his influence and power were such as to make the price of his own +dictating. Since that day, fortune has changed with him.” +</p> +<p> +“And what do you want with him now?” said the Duke, while his eyes +twinkled with a sly malice; “are you imitating the man that bowed down +before statues of Hercules and Apollo at Rome, not knowing when the time +of those fellows might come up again? Is that your game?” +</p> +<p> +“Not exactly, your Royal Highness; but I really feel some scruples of +conscience that, having assisted so many unworthy candidates to pensions +and peerages, I should have done nothing for the most upright man I met in +Ireland.” +</p> +<p> +“If we could make him a Commissary-General,” said the Duke, laughing, “the +qualities you speak of would be of service now: there never was such a set +of rascals as we have got in that department! But come, what can we do +with him? What 's his rank in the army? Where did he serve?” +</p> +<p> +“If I dare present him to your Royal Highness without a uniform,” said +Lord Castlereagh, hesitatingly, “he could answer these queries better than +I can.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, by Jove! it is too late for scruples now,—introduce him at +once.” +</p> +<p> +Lord Castlereagh waited for no more formal permission, but, hastening to +the antechamber, took Darcy's hand, and led him forward. +</p> +<p> +“If I don't mistake, sir,” said the Duke, as the old man raised his head +after a deep and courteous salutation, “this is not the first time we have +met. Am I correct in calling you Colonel Darcy?” +</p> +<p> +The Knight bowed low in acquiescence. +</p> +<p> +“The same officer who raised the Twenty-eighth Light Dragoons, known as +Darcy's Light Horse?” +</p> +<p> +The Knight bowed once more. +</p> +<p> +“A very proud officer in command,” said the Duke, turning to Lord +Castlereagh with a stern expression on his features; “a colonel who +threatened a prince of the blood with arrest for breach of duty.” +</p> +<p> +“He had good reason, your Royal Highness, to be proud,” said the Knight, +firmly; “first, to have a prince to serve under his command; and, +secondly, to have held that station and character in the service to have +rendered so unbecoming a threat pardonable.” +</p> +<p> +“And who said it was?” replied the Duke, hastily. +</p> +<p> +“Your Royal Highness has just done so.” +</p> +<p> +“How do you mean?” +</p> +<p> +“I mean, my Lord Duke,” said Darcy, with a calm and unmoved look, “that +your Royal Highness would never have recurred to the theme to one humbled +as I am, if you had not forgiven it.” +</p> +<p> +“As freely as I trust you forgive me, Colonel Darcy,” said the Duke, +grasping his hand and shaking it with warmth. “Now for <i>my</i> part: +what can I do for you?—what do you wish?” +</p> +<p> +“I can scarcely ask your Royal Highness; I find that some kind friend has +already applied on my behalf. I could not have presumed, old and useless +as I am, to prefer a claim myself.” +</p> +<p> +“There's your own regiment vacant,” said the Duke, musing. “No, by Jove! I +remember Lord Netherby asking me for it the other day for some relative of +his own. Taylor, is the colonelcy of the Twenty-eighth promised?” +</p> +<p> +“Your Royal Highness signed it yesterday.” +</p> +<p> +“I feared as much. Who is it?—perhaps he'd exchange.” +</p> +<p> +“Colonel Maurice Darcy, your Royal Highness, unattached.” +</p> +<p> +“What! have I been doing good by stealth? Is this really so?” +</p> +<p> +“If it be, your Royal Highness,” said Darcy, smiling, “I can only assure +you that the officer promoted will not exchange.” +</p> +<p> +“The depot is at Gosport, your Royal Highness,” said Taylor, in reply to a +question from the Duke. +</p> +<p> +“Well, station it in Ireland, Colonel Darcy may prefer it,” said the duke; +“for, as the regiment forms part of the expedition to Egypt, the depot +need not be moved for some time to come.” +</p> +<p> +“Your Royal Highness can increase the favor by only one concession—dare +I ask it?—to permit me to take the command on service.” +</p> +<p> +The Duke gazed with astonishment at the old man, and gradually his +expression became one of deep interest, as he said,— +</p> +<p> +“Colonel Darcy could claim as a right what I feel so proud to accord him +as a favor. Make a note of that, Taylor,” said the Duke, raising his voice +so as to be heard through the room: “'Colonel Darcy to take the command on +service at his own special request.' Yes, gentlemen,” added he, louder, +“these are times when the exigencies of the service demand alike the +energy of youth and the experience of age; it is, indeed, a happy +conjuncture that finds them united. My Lord Castlereagh and Colonel Darcy, +are you disengaged for Wednesday?” +</p> +<p> +They both bowed respectfully. +</p> +<p> +“Then on Wednesday I'll have some of your brother officers to meet you, +Colonel. Now, Taylor, let us get through our list.” +</p> +<p> +So saying, the Duke bowed graciously; and Lord Castlereagh and the Knight +retired, each too full of pleasure to utter a word as he went. +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0012"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XII. THE TWO SIDES OF A MEDAL +</h2> +<p> +Although the Knight lost not an hour in writing to Lady Eleanor, informing +her of his appointment, the letter, hastily written, and intrusted to a +waiter to be posted, was never forwarded, and the first intelligence of +the event reached her in a letter from her courtly relative, Lord +Netherby. +</p> +<p> +So much depends upon the peculiar tact and skill of the writer, and so +much upon our own frame of mind at the time of reading, that it is +difficult to say whether we do not bear up better under the announcement +of any sudden and sorrowful event from the hand of one less cared for than +from those nearest and dearest to our hearts. The consolations that look +like the special pleadings of affection become, as it were, the mere +expressions of impartiality. The points of view, being so different, give +a different aspect to the picture, and gleams of light fall where, seen +from another quarter, all was shadow and gloom. So it was here. What, if +the tidings had come from her husband, had been regarded in the one +painful light of separation and long absence, assumed, under Lord +Netherby's style, the semblance of a most gratifying event, with, of +course, that alloy of discomfort from which no human felicity is +altogether free: so very artfully was this done, that Lady Eleanor half +felt as if, in indulging in her own sorrow, she were merely giving way to +a selfish regret; and as Helen, the better to sustain her mother's +courage, affected a degree of pleasure she was really far from feeling, +this added to the conviction that she ought, if she could, to regard her +husband's appointment as a happy event. +</p> +<p> +“Truly, mamma,” said Helen, as she sat with the letter before her, “Me +style c'est l'homme.' His Lordship is quite heroic when describing all the +fêtes and dinners of London; all the honors showered on papa in +visiting-cards and invitations; how excellencies called, and royal +highnesses shook hands: he even chronicles the distinguishing favor of the +gracious Prince, who took wine with him. But listen to him when the theme +is really one that might evoke some trait, if not of enthusiasm, at least +of national pride: 'As for the expedition, my dear cousin, though nobody +knows exactly for what place it is destined, everybody is aware that it is +not intended to be a fighting one. Demonstrations are now the vogue, and +it is become just as bad taste for our army to shed blood as it would be +for a well-bred man to mention a certain ill-conducted individual before +ears polite. Modern war is like a game at whist between first-rate +players; when either party has four by honors, he shows his hand, and +saves the trouble of a contest. The Naval Service is, I grieve to say, +rooted to its ancient prejudices, and continues its abominable pastime of +broadsides and boardings; hence its mob popularity at this moment! The +army will, however, always be the gentlemanlike cloth, and I thank my +stars I don't believe we have a single relative afloat. Guy Herries was +the last; he was shot or piked, I forget which, in boarding a Spanish +galliot off Cape Verde. “Que diable allait-il faire dans cette galère?” +Rest satisfied, therefore, if the gallant Knight has little glory, he will +have no dangers; our expeditions never land. Jekyll says they are only +intended to give the service an appetite for fresh meat and soft bread, +after four months' biscuit and salt beef. At all events, my dear cousin, +reckon on seeing my friend the Knight gazetted as major-general on the +very next promotions. The Prince is delighted with him; and I carried a +message from his Royal Highness yesterday to the War Office in his behalf. +You would not come to see me, despite all the seductions I threw out, and +now the season is nigh over. May I hope better things for the next year, +when perhaps I can promise an inducement the more, and make your welcome +more graceful by dividing its cares with one far more competent than +myself to fulfil them.'—What does he mean, mamma?” +</p> +<p> +“Read on, my dear; I believe I can guess the riddle.” +</p> +<p> +“'The person I allude to was, in former days, if not actually a friend, a +favored intimate of yours; indeed, I say that this fact is but another +claim to my regard.'—Is it possible, mamma, his Lordship thinks of +marrying?” +</p> +<p> +“Even so, Helen,” said Lady Eleanor, sighing, for she remembered how, in +his very last interview with her at Gwynne Abbey, he spoke of his resolve +on making Lionel his heir; but then, those were the days of their +prosperous fortune, the time when, to all seeming, they needed no increase +of wealth. +</p> +<p> +If Helen was disposed to laugh at the notion of Lord Netherby's marrying, +a glance at the troubled expression of her mother's features would have +checked the emotion. The heritage was a last hope, which was not the less +cherished that she had never imparted it to another. +</p> +<p> +“Shall I read on?” said Helen, timidly; and at a signal from Lady Eleanor +she resumed: “'I know how much “badinage” a man at my time of life must +expect from his acquaintances, and how much of kind remonstrance from his +friends, when he announces his determination to marry. A good deal of this +must be set down to the score of envy, some of it proceeds from mere habit +on these occasions, and lastly, one's bachelor friends very naturally are +averse to the closure against them of a house “où on dîne.” I have thought +of all this, and, <i>per contra</i>, I have set down the isolation of one, +if not deserted, at least somewhat neglected by his relatives, and fancied +that if not exactly of that age when people marry for love, I am not yet +quite so old but I may become the object of true and disinterested +affection. +</p> +<p> +“'Lady———(I have pledged my honor not to write her name, +even to you) is, in rank and fortune, fully my equal, in every other +quality my superior. The idlers at “Boodle's” can neither sneer at a +“mésalliance,” nor hint at the “faiblesse” of an “elderly gentleman.” It +is a marriage founded on mutual esteem, and, so far as station is +concerned, on equality; and when I say that his Royal Highness has +expressed his unqualified approval of the step, I believe I can add no +more. I owe you, my dear cousin, this early and full explanation of my +motives on many accounts: if the result should change the dispositions I +once believed unalterable, I beg it may be understood as proceeding far +more from necessity than the sincere wish of your very affectionate +relative, +</p> +<p> +“'Netherby. +</p> +<p> +“'My regret at not seeing Helen here this season is, in a measure, +alleviated by Lady————- telling me that brunettes +were more the rage; her Ladyship, who is no common arbiter, says that no +“blonde” attracted any notice: even Lady Georgiana Maydew drew no +admiration. My fair cousin is, happily, very young, <i>et les beaux jours +viendront</i>, even before hers have lost their brilliancy. +</p> +<p> +“'I am sorry Lionel left the Coldstreams; with economy he could very well +have managed to hold his ground, and we might have obtained something for +him in the Household. As for India, the only influential person I know is +my wine-merchant; he is, I am told, a Director of the Honorable Company, +but he 'd certainly adulterate my Madeira if I condescended to ask him a +favor.'” +</p> +<p> +“Well, Helen, I think you will agree with me, selfishness is the most +candid of all the vices; how delightfully unembarrassed is his Lordship's +style, how frank, honest, and straightforward!” +</p> +<p> +“After his verdict upon 'blondes', mamma,” said Helen, laughing, “I dare +not record my opinion of him,—I cannot come into court an impartial +evidence. This, however, I will say, that if his Lordship be not an +unhappy instance of the school, I am sincerely rejoiced that Lionel is not +being trained up a courtier; better a soldier's life with all its hazards +and its dangers, than a career so certain to kill every manly sentiment.” +</p> +<p> +“I agree with you fully, Helen; life cannot be circumscribed within petty +limits and occupied by petty cares without reducing the mind to the same +miniature dimensions; until at last so immeasurably greater are our own +passions and feelings than the miserable interests around us, we end by +self-worship and egotism, and fancy ourselves leviathans because we swim +in a fish-pond. But who can that be crossing the grass-plot yonder? I +thought our neighbors of Port Ballintray had all left the coast?” +</p> +<p> +“It is the gentleman who dined here, mamma, the man that never spoke—I +forget his name—” +</p> +<p> +Helen had not time to finish, when a modest tap was heard at the door, and +the next moment Mr. Leonard presented himself. He was dressed with more +than his wonted care, but the effort to make poverty respectable was +everywhere apparent; the blue frock was brushed to the very verge of its +frail existence, the gloves were drawn on at the hazard of their +integrity, and his hat, long inured to every vicissitude of weather, had +been cocked into a strange counterfeit of modish smartness. With all these +signs of unusual attention to appearances, his manner was modest even to +humility, and he took a chair with the diffidence of one who seemed to +doubt the propriety of being seated in such a presence. +</p> +<p> +Notwithstanding Lady Eleanor's efforts at conversation, aided by Helen, +who tried in many ways to relieve the embarrassment of their visitor, this +difficulty seemed every moment greater, and he seemed, as he really felt, +to have summoned up all his courage for an undertaking, and in the very +nick of the enterprise, to have left himself beggared of his energy. A +vague assent, a look of doubt and uncertainty, a half-muttered expression +of acquiescence in whatever was said, was all that could be obtained from +him; but still, while his embarrassment appeared each instant greater, he +evinced no disposition to take his leave. Lady Eleanor, who, like many +persons whose ordinary manner is deemed cold and haughty, could exert at +will considerable powers of pleasing, did her utmost to put her visitor at +his ease, and by changing her topics from time to time, detect, if +possible, some clew to his coming. It was all in vain: he followed her, it +is true, as well as he was able, and with a bewildered look of constrained +attention, seemed endeavoring to interest himself in what she said, but it +was perfectly apparent, all the while, that his mind was preoccupied, and +by very different thoughts. +</p> +<p> +At length she remained silent, and resuming the work she was engaged on +when he entered, sat for some time without uttering a word, or even +looking up. Mr. Leonard coughed slightly, but, as if terrified at his own +rashness, soon became mute and still. At last, after a long pause, so long +that Lady Eleanor and Helen, forgetful of their visitor, had become deeply +immersed in their own reflections, Mr. Leonard arose slowly, and with a +voice not free from a certain tremor, said, “Well, madam, then I suppose I +may venture to say that I saw you and Miss Darcy both well.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Eleanor looked up with astonishment, for she could not conceive the +meaning of the words, nor in what quarter they were to be reported. +</p> +<p> +“I mean, madam,” said Leonard, “that when I present myself to the Colonel, +I may take the liberty to mention having seen you.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you speak of my husband, sir,—Colonel Darcy?” said Lady Eleanor, +with a very different degree of interest in her look and accent. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, madam,” said Leonard, with a kind of forced courage in his manner. +“I hope to be under his command in a few days.” +</p> +<p> +“Indeed, sir!” said Lady Eleanor, with animation; “I did not know that you +had served, still less that you were about to join the army once more.” +</p> +<p> +Leonard blushed deeply, and he suddenly grew deadly pale, while, in a +voice scarcely louder than a mere whisper, he muttered, “So then, madam, +Colonel Darcy has never spoken of me to you?” +</p> +<p> +Lady Eleanor, who misunderstood the meaning of the question, seemed +slightly confused as she replied, “I have no recollection of it, sir,—I +cannot call up at this moment having heard your name from my husband.” +</p> +<p> +“I ought to have known it,—I ought to have been certain of it,” said +Leonard, in a voice bursting from emotion, while the tears gushed from his +eyes; “he could not have asked me to his house to sit down at his table as +a mere object of your pity and contempt; and yet I am nothing else.” +</p> +<p> +The passionate vehemence in which he now spoke seemed so different from +his recent manner, that both Lady Eleanor and Helen had some doubts as to +his sanity, when he quickly resumed: “I was broke for cowardice,—dismissed +the service with disgrace,—degraded! Well may I call it so, to be +what I became. I would tell you that I was not guilty,—that Colonel +Darcy knows,—but I dare not choose between the character of a coward +and—a drunkard. I had no other prospect before me than a life of +poverty and repining,—maybe of worse,—of shame and ignominy! +when, last night, I received these letters; I scarcely thought they could +be for me, even when I read my name on them. Yes, madam, this letter from +the War Office permits me to serve as a volunteer with the Eighth Regiment +of Foot; and this, which is without signature, encloses me fifty pounds to +buy my outfit and join the regiment. It does not need a name; there is but +one man living could stoop to help such as I am, and not feel dishonored +by the contact; there is but one man brave enough to protect him branded +as a coward.” +</p> +<p> +“You are right, sir,” cried Helen; “this must be my father's doing.” +</p> +<p> +Leonard tried to speak, but could not; a trembling motion of his lips, and +a faint sound issued, but nothing articulate. Lady Eleanor stopped him as +he moved towards the door, and taking his hand pressed it cordially, while +she said, “Be of good heart, sir; my husband is not less quick to perceive +than he is ever ready to befriend. Be assured he would not now be your +ally if he had not a well-grounded hope that you would merit it. Farewell, +then; remember you have a double tie to duty, and that <i>his</i> credit +as well as <i>your own</i> is on the issue.” +</p> +<p> +Leonard muttered a faint “I will,” and departed. +</p> +<p> +“How happily timed is this little incident, Helen,” said Lady Eleanor, as +she drew her daughter to her side; “how full of pleasant hope it fills the +heart, at a moment when the worldly selfishness of the courtier's letter +had left us low and sorrow-struck! These are indeed the sunny spots in +life, that never look so brilliant as when seen amid lowering skies and +darkening storms.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0013"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XIII. AN UNCEREMONIOUS VISIT +</h2> +<p> +As winter drew near, with its dark and leaden skies, and days and nights +of storm and hurricane, so did the worldly prospect of Lady Eleanor and +her daughter grow hourly more gloomy. Bicknell's letters detailed new +difficulties and embarrassments on every hand. Sums of money supposed to +have been long since paid and acknowledged by Gleeson, were now demanded +with all the accruing interest; rights hitherto unquestioned were now +threatened with dispute, as Hickman O'Reilly's success emboldened others +to try their fortune. Of the little property that still remained to them, +the rents were withheld until their claim to them should be once more +established by law. Disaster followed disaster, till at length the last +drop filled up the measure of their misery, as they learned that the +Knight's personal liberty was at stake, and more than one writ was issued +for his arrest. +</p> +<p> +The same post that brought this dreadful intelligence brought also a few +lines from Darcy, the first that had reached them since his departure. +</p> +<p> +His note was dated from the “'Hermione' frigate, off the Needles,” and +contained little more than an affectionate farewell. He wrote in health, +and apparently in spirits, full of the assurance of a speedy and happy +meeting; nor was there any allusion to their embarrassments, save in the +vague mention of a letter he had written to Bicknell, and who would +himself write to Lady Eleanor. +</p> +<p> +“It is not, dearest Eleanor,” wrote he, “the time we would have selected +for a separation, when troubles thicken around us; yet who knows if the +incident may not fall happily, and turn our thoughts from the loss of +fortune to the many blessings we enjoy in mutual affection and in our +children's love, all to thicken around us at our meeting? I confess, too, +I have a pride in being thought worthy to serve my country still, not in +the tiresome monotony of a depot, but in the field,—among the young, +the gallant, and the brave! Is it not enough to take off half this load of +years, and make me fancy myself the gay colonel you may remember cantering +beside your carriage in the Park—I shame to say how long ago! I +wonder what the French will think of us, for nearly every officer in +command might be superannuated, and Abercrombie is as venerable in white +hairs as myself! There are, however, plenty of young and dashing fellows +to replace us, and the spirit of the whole army is admirable. +</p> +<p> +“Whither we are destined, what will be our collective force, and what the +nature of the expedition, are profound secrets, with which even the +generals of brigades are not intrusted; so that all I can tell you is, +that some seven hundred and fifty of us are now sailing southward, under a +steady breeze from the north-northwest; that the land is each moment +growing fainter to my eyes, while the pilot is eagerly pressing me to +conclude this last expression of my love to yourself and dearest Helen. +Adieu. +</p> +<p> +“Ever yours, +</p> +<p> +“Maurice Darcy.” +</p> +<p> +As with eyes half dimmed by tears Lady Eleanor read these lines, she could +not help muttering a thanksgiving that her husband was at least beyond the +risk of that danger of which Bicknell spoke,—an indignity, she +feared, he never could have survived. +</p> +<p> +“And better still,” cried Helen, “if a season of struggle and privation +awaits us, that we should bear it alone,' and not before <i>his</i> eyes, +for whom such a prospect would be torture. Now let us see how to meet the +evil.” So saying, she once more opened Bicknell's letter, and began to +peruse it carefully; while Lady Eleanor sat, pale and in silence, nor even +by a gesture showing any consciousness of the scene. +</p> +<p> +“What miserable trifling do all these legal subtleties seem!” said the +young girl, after she had read for some time; “how trying to patience to +canvass the petty details by which a clear and honest cause must be +asserted! Here are fees to counsel, briefs, statements, learned opinions, +and wise consultations multiplied to show that we are the rightful owners +of what our ancestors have held for centuries, while every step of +usurpation by these Hickmans would appear almost unassailable. With what +intensity of purpose, too, does that family persecute us! All these +actions are instituted by them; these bonds are all in their hands. What +means this hate?” +</p> +<p> +Lady Eleanor looked up; and as her eyes met Helen's, a faint flush colored +her cheek, for she thought of her interview with the old doctor, and that +proposal by which their conflicting interests were to be satisfied. +</p> +<p> +“We surely never injured them,” resumed the young girl, eagerly; “they +were always well and hospitably received by us. Lionel even liked Beecham, +when they were boys together,-a mild and quiet youth he was.” +</p> +<p> +“So I thought him, too,” said Lady Eleanor, stealing a cautious glance at +her daughter. “We saw them,” continued she, more boldly, “under +circumstances of no common difficulty,—struggling under the +embarrassment of a false social position, with such a grandfather!” +</p> +<p> +“And such a father! Nay, mamma, of the two you must confess the doctor was +our favorite. The old man's selfishness was not half so vulgar as his +son's ambition.” +</p> +<p> +“And yet, Helen,” said Lady Eleanor, calmly, “such are the essential +transitions by which families are formed; wealthy in one generation, +aspiring in the next, recognized gentry—mayhap titled—in the +third. It is but rarely that the whole series unfolds itself before our +eyes at once, as in the present instance, and consequently it is but +rarely that we detect so palpably all its incongruities and absurdities. A +few years more,” added she, with a deep sigh, “and these O'Reillys will be +regarded as the rightful owners of Gwynne Abbey by centuries of descent; +and if an antiquary detect the old leopards of the Darcys frowning from +some sculptured keystone, it will be to weave an ingenious theory of +intermarriage between the houses.” +</p> +<p> +“An indignity they might well have spared us,” said Helen, proudly. +</p> +<p> +“Such are the world's changes,” continued Lady Eleanor, pursuing her own +train of thought. “How very few remember the origin of our proudest +houses, and how little does it matter whether the foundations have been +laid by the rude courage of some lawless baron of the tenth century, or +the crafty shrewdness of some Hickman O'Reilly of the nineteenth!” +</p> +<p> +If there was a tone of bitter mockery in Lady Eleanor's words, there was +also a secret meaning which, even to her own heart, she would not have +ventured to avow. By one of those strange and most inexplicable mysteries +of our nature, she was endeavoring to elicit from her daughter some +expression of dissent to her own recorded opinion of the O'Reillys and +seeking for some chance word which might show that Helen regarded an +alliance with that family with more tolerant feelings than she did +herself. +</p> +<p> +Her intentions on this head were uot destined to be successful. Helen's +prejudices on the score of birth and station were rather strengthened than +shaken by the changes of fortune; she cherished the prestige of their good +blood as a source of proud consolation that no adversity could detract +from. Before, however, she could reply, the tramp of a horse's feet—a +most unusual sound—was heard on the gravel without; and immediately +after the heavy foot of some one, as if feeling his way in the dark +towards the door. Without actual fear, but not without intense anxiety, +both mother and daughter heard the heavy knocking of a loaded horsewhip on +the door; nor was it until old Tate had twice repeated his question that a +sign replied he might open the door. +</p> +<p> +“Look to the pony there!” cried a voice, as the old man peered out into +the dark night. And before he could reply or resist, the speaker pushed +past him and entered the room. “I crave your pardon, my Lady Eleanor,” +said she,—for it was Miss Daly, who, drenched with rain and all +splashed with mud, now stood before them,—“I crave your pardon for +this visit of so scant ceremony. Has the Knight returned yet?” +</p> +<p> +The strong resemblance to her brother Bagenal, increased by her gesture +and the tones of her voice, at once proclaimed to Lady Eleanor who her +visitor was; and as she rose graciously to receive her, she replied that +“the Knight, so far from having returned, had already sailed with the +expedition under General Abercrombie.” +</p> +<p> +Miss Daly listened with breathless eagerness to the words, and as they +concluded, she exclaimed aloud, “Thank God!” and threw herself into a +chair. A pause, which, if brief, was not devoid of embarrassment, +followed; and while Lady Eleanor was about to break it, Miss Daly again +spoke, but with a voice and manner very different from before: “You will +pardon, I am certain, the rudeness of my intrusion, Lady Eleanor, and you, +too, Miss Darcy, when I tell you that my heart was too full of anxiety to +leave any room for courtesy. It was only this afternoon that an accident +informed me that a person had arrived in this neighborhood with a writ to +arrest the Knight of Gwynne. I was five-and-twenty miles from this when I +heard the news, and although I commissioned my informant to hasten thither +with the tidings, I grew too full of dread, and had too many fears of a +mischance, to await the result, so that I resolved to come myself.” +</p> +<p> +“How full of kindness!” exclaimed Lady Eleanor, while Helen took Miss +Daly's hand and pressed it to her lips. “Let our benefactress not suffer +too much in our cause. Helen, dearest, assist Miss Daly to a change of +dress. You are actually wet through.” +</p> +<p> +“Nay, nay, Lady Eleanor, you must not teach me fastidiousness. It has been +my custom for many a year not to care for weather, and in the kind of life +I lead such training is indispensable.” Miss Daly removed her hat as she +spoke, and, pushing back her dripping hair, seemed really insensible to +the discomforts which caused her hosts so much uneasiness. +</p> +<p> +“I see clearly,” resumed she, laughing, “I was right in not making myself +known to you before; for though you may forgive the eccentricities that +come under the mask of good intentions, you 'd never pardon the thousand +offences against good breeding and the world's prescription which spring +from the wayward fancies of an old maid who has lived so much beyond the +pale of affection she has forgotten all the arts that win it.” +</p> +<p> +“If you are unjust to yourself, Miss Daly, pray be not so to us; nor think +that we can be insensible to friendship like yours.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, as for this trifling service, you esteem it far too highly; besides, +when you hear the story, you'll see how much more you have to thank your +own hospitality than my promptitude.” +</p> +<p> +“This is, indeed, puzzling me,” exclaimed Lady Eleanor. +</p> +<p> +“Do you remember having met and received at your house a certain Mr. +Dempsey?” +</p> +<p> +“Certainly, he dined with us on one occasion, and paid us some three or +four visits. A tiresome little vulgar man, with a most intense curiosity +devouring him to know everything of everybody.” +</p> +<p> +“To this gift, or infirmity, whichever it be, we are now indebted. Since +the breaking-up of the boarding-house at Port Ballintray, which this year +was somewhat earlier than usual,”—here Miss Daly smiled slightly, as +though there lay more in the words than they seemed to imply,—“Mr. +Dempsey betook himself to a little village near Glenarm, where I have been +staying, and where the chief recommendation as a residence lay possibly in +the fact that the weekly mail-car to Derry changed horses there. Hence an +opportunity of communing with the world he valued at its just price. It so +chanced that the only traveller who came for three weeks, arrived the +night before last, drenched to the skin, and so ill from cold, hunger, and +exhaustion that, unable to prosecute his journey farther, he was carried +from the car to his bed. Mr. Dempsey, whose heart is really as kind as +inquisitive, at once tendered his services to the stranger, who after some +brief intercourse commissioned him to open his portmanteau, and taking out +writing-materials, to inform his friends in Dublin of his sudden +indisposition, and his fears that his illness might delay, or perhaps +render totally abortive, his mission to the north. Here was a most +provoking mystery for Mr. Dempsey. The very allusion to a matter of +importance, in this dubious half-light, was something more than human +nature should be tried with; and if the patient burned with the fever of +the body, Mr. Dempsey suffered under the less tolerable agony of mental +torment,—imagining every possible contingency that should bring a +stranger down into a lonely neighborhood, and canvassing every imaginable +inducement, from seduction to highway robbery. Whether the sick man's +sleep was merely the heavy debt of exhausted nature, or whether Mr. +Dempsey aided his repose by adding a few drops to the laudanum prescribed +by the doctor, true it is, he lay in a deep slumber, and never awoke till +late the following day; meanwhile Mr. Dempsey recompensed his Samaritanism +by a careful inspection of the stranger's trunk and its contents, and, in +particular, made a patient examination of two parchment documents, which, +fortunately for his curiosity, were not sealed, but simply tied with red +tape. +</p> +<p> +<a name="image-0008" id="image-0008"> +<!-- IMG --></a> <img src="images/180.jpg" height="627" width="716" alt="180 " /> +</p> +<p> +Great was his surprise to discover that one of these was a writ to arrest +a certain Paul Dempsey, and the other directed against the resident of +'The Corvy,' whom he now, for the first time, learned was the Knight of +Gwynne. +</p> +<p> +“Self-interest, the very instinct of safety itself, weighed less with him +than his old passion for gossip; and no sooner had he learned the +important fact of who his neighbor was, than he set off straight to +communicate the news to me. I must do him the justice to say, that when I +proposed his hastening off to you with the tidings, the little man acceded +with the utmost promptitude; but as his journey was to be performed on +foot, and by certain mountain paths not always easily discovered in our +misty climate, it is probable he could not reach this for some hours.” +</p> +<p> +When Miss Daly concluded, Lady Eleanor and her daughter renewed their +grateful acknowledgments for her thoughtful kindness. “These are sad +themes by which to open our acquaintance,” said Lady Eleanor; “but it is +among the prerogatives of friendship to share the pressure of misfortune, +and Mr. Daly's sister can be no stranger to ours.” +</p> +<p> +“Nor how undeserved they were,” added Miss Daly, gravely. +</p> +<p> +“Nay, which of us can dare say so much?” interrupted Lady Eleanor; “we may +well have forgotten ourselves in that long career of prosperity we +enjoyed,—for ours was, indeed, a happy lot! I need not speak of my +husband to one who knew him once so well. Generous, frank, and +noble-hearted as he always was,-his only failing the excessive confidence +that would go on believing in the honesty of others, from the prompting of +a spirit that stooped to nothing low or unworthy,—he never knew +suspicion.” “True,” echoed Miss Daly, “he never did suspect!” There was +such a plaintive sadness in her voice that it drew Helen's eyes towards +her; nor could all her efforts conceal a tear that trickled along her +cheek. +</p> +<p> +“And to what an alternative are we now reduced!” continued Lady Eleanor, +who, with all the selfishness of sorrow, loved to linger on the painful +theme,—“to rejoice at separation, and to feel relieved in thinking +that he is gone to peril life itself rather than endure the lingering +death of a broken heart!” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, young lady,” said Miss Daly, turning towards Helen, “such are the +recompenses of the most endearing affection, such the penalties of loving. +Would you not almost say, 'It were better to be such as I am, unloved, +uncared for, without one to share a joy or grief with?' I half think so +myself,” added she, suddenly rising from her chair. “I can almost persuade +myself that this load of life is easier borne when all its pressure is +one's own.” +</p> +<p> +“You are not about to leave us?” said Lady Eleanor, taking her hand +affectionately. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” replied she, smiling sadly, “when my heart has disburdened itself +of an immediate care, I become but sorry company, and sometimes think +aloud. How fortunate I have no secrets!—Bring my pony to the door,” +said she, as Tate answered the summons of the bell. +</p> +<p> +“But wait at least for daylight,” said Helen, eagerly; “the storm is +increasing, and the night is dark and starless. Remember what a road you +'ve come.” +</p> +<p> +“I often ride at this hour and with no better weather,” said she, +adjusting the folds of her habit; “and as to the road, Puck knows it too +well to wander from the track, daylight or dark.” +</p> +<p> +“For our sakes, I entreat you not to venture till morning,” cried Lady +Eleanor. +</p> +<p> +“I could not if I would,” said Miss Daly, steadily. “By to-morrow, at +noon, I have an engagement at some distance hence, and much to arrange in +the mean time. Pray do not ask me again. I cannot bear to refuse you, even +in such a trifle; and as to me or my safety, waste not another thought +about it. They who have so little to live for are wondrous secure from +accident.” +</p> +<p> +“When shall we see you? Soon, I hope and trust!” exclaimed both mother and +daughter together. +</p> +<p> +Miss Daly shook her head; then added hastily, “I never promise anything. I +was a great castle-builder once, but time has cured me of the habit, and I +do not like, even by a pledge, to forestall the morrow. Farewell, Lady +Eleanor. It is better to see but little of me, and think the better, than +grow weary of my waywardness on nearer acquaintance. Adieu, Miss Darcy; I +am glad to have seen you; don't forget me.” So saying, she pressed Helen's +hands to her lips; but ere she let them drop, she squeezed a letter into +her grasp; the moment after, she was gone. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, then, I remember her the beauty wonst!” said Tate, as he closed the +door, after peering out for some seconds into the dark night: “and proud +she was too,—riding a white Arabian, with two servants in scarlet +liveries after her! The world has quare changes; but hers is the greatest +ever I knew!” +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0014"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XIV. A TÊTE-À-TÊTE AND A LETTER +</h2> +<p> +Long after Miss Daly's departure, Lady Eleanor continued to discuss the +eccentricity of her manners and the wilful abruptness of her address; for +although deeply sensible and grateful for her kindness, she dwelt on +every' peculiarity of her appearance with a pertinacity that more than +once surprised her daughter. Helen, indeed, was very far from being a +patient listener, not only because she was more tolerant in her estimate +of their visitor, but because she was eager to read the letter so secretly +intrusted to her hands. A dread of some unknown calamity, some sad tidings +of her father or Lionel, was ever uppermost in her thoughts, nor could she +banish the impression that Miss Daly's visit had another and very +different object than that which she alleged to Lady Eleanor. +</p> +<p> +It may be reckoned among the well-known contrarieties of life, that our +friends are never more disposed to be long-winded and discursive than at +the very time we would give the world to be alone and to ourselves. With a +most malicious intensity they seem to select that moment for indulging in +all those speculations by which people while away the weary hours. In such +a mood was Lady Eleanor Darcy. Not only did she canvass and criticise Miss +Daly, as she appeared before them, but went off into long rambling +reminiscences of all she had formerly heard about her; for although they +had never met before, Miss Daly had been the reigning Belle of the West +before her own arrival in Ireland. +</p> +<p> +“She must have been handsome, Helen, don't you think so?” said she, at the +end of a long enumeration of the various eccentricities imputed to her. +</p> +<p> +“I should say very handsome,” replied Helen. +</p> +<p> +“Scarcely feminine enough, perhaps,” resumed Lady Eleanor,—“the +features too bold, the expression too decided; but this may have been the +fault of a social tone, which required everything in exaggeration, and +would tolerate nothing save in excess.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, mamma,” said Helen, vaguely assenting to a remark she had not +attended to. +</p> +<p> +“I never fancied that style, either in beauty or in manner,” continued +Lady Eleanor. “It wants, in the first place, the great element of +pleasing; it is not natural.” +</p> +<p> +“No, mamma!” rejoined Helen, mechanically as before. +</p> +<p> +“Besides,” continued Lady Eleanor, gratified at her daughter's ready +assent, “for one person to whom these mannerisms are becoming, there are +at least a hundred slavish imitators ready to adopt without taste, and +follow without discrimination. Now, Miss Daly was the fashion once. Who +can say to what heresies she has given origin, to what absurdities in +dress, in manner, and in bearing?” +</p> +<p> +Helen smiled, and nodded an acquiescence without knowing to what. +</p> +<p> +“There is one evil attendant on all this,” said Lady Eleanor, who, with +the merciless ingenuity of a thorough poser, went on ratiocinating from +her own thoughts; “one can rarely rely upon even the kindest intentions of +people of this sort, so often are their best offices but mere passing, +fitful impulses; don't you think so?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, mamma,” said Helen, roused by this sudden appeal to a more than +usual acquiescence, while totally ignorant as to what. +</p> +<p> +“Then, they have seldom any discretion, even when they mean well.” +</p> +<p> +“No, mamma.” +</p> +<p> +“While they expect the most implicit compliance on your part with every +scheme they have devised for your benefit.” +</p> +<p> +“Very true,” chimed in Helen, who assented at random. +</p> +<p> +“Sad alternative,” sighed Lady Eleanor, “between such rash friendship and +the lukewarm kindness of our courtly cousin.” +</p> +<p> +“I think not!” said Helen, who fancied she was still following the current +of her mother's reflections. +</p> +<p> +“Indeed!” exclaimed Lady Eleanor, iu astonishment, while she looked at her +daughter for an explanation. +</p> +<p> +“I quite agree with you, mamma,” cried Helen, blushing as she spoke, for +she was suddenly recalled to herself. +</p> +<p> +“The more fortunate is the acquiescence, my dear,” said Lady Eleanor, +dryly, “since it seems perfectly instinctive. I find, Helen, you have not +been a very attentive listener, and as I conclude I must have been a very +unamusing companion, I'll even say good-night; nay, my sweet child, it is +late enough not to seek excuse for weariness—goodnight.” +</p> +<p> +Helen blushed deeply; dissimulation was a very difficult task to her, and +for a moment seemed more than her strength could bear. She had resolved to +place the letter in her mother's hands, when the thought flashed across +her, that if its contents might occasion any sudden or severe shock, she +would never forgive herself. This mental struggle, brief as it was, +brought the tears to her eyes,—an emotion Lady Eleanor attributed to +a different cause, as she said,— +</p> +<p> +“You do not suppose, my dearest Helen, that I am angry because your +thoughts took a pleasanter path than my owu.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, no,-no!” cried Helen, eagerly, “I know you are not. It is my own—” +She stopped; another word would have revealed everything, and with an +affectionate embrace she hurried from the room. +</p> +<p> +“Poor child!” exclaimed her mother; “the courage that sustained us both so +long is beginning to fail her now; and yet I feel as if our trials were +but commencing.” +</p> +<p> +While Lady Eleanor dwelt on these sad thoughts, Helen sat beside her bed +weeping bitterly. +</p> +<p> +“How shall I bear up,” thought she, “if deprived of that confiding trust a +mother's love has ever supplied,—without one to counsel or direct +me?” +</p> +<p> +Half fearing to open the letter, lest all her resolves should be altered +by its contents, she remained a long time balancing one difficulty against +another. Wearied and undecided, she turned at last to the letter itself, +as if for advice. It was a strange hand, and addressed to “Miss Daly.” +With trembling fingers she unfolded the paper, and read the writer's name,—“Richard +Forester.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="image-0009" id="image-0009"> +<!-- IMG --></a> <img src="images/186.jpg" height="659" width="701" alt="186 " /> +</p> +<p> +A flood of grateful tears burst forth as she read the words; a sense of +relief from impending calamity stole over her mind, while she said, “Thank +God! my father and Lionel—” She could say no more, for sobbing +choked her utterance. The emotions, if violent, passed rapidly off; and as +she wiped away her tears, a smile of hope lit up her features. At any +other time she would have speculated long and carefully over the causes +which made Forester correspond with Miss Daly, and by what right she +herself should be intrusted with his letter. Now her thoughts were hurried +along too rapidly for reflection. The vague dread of misfortune, so +suddenly removed, suggested a sense of gratitude that thrilled through her +heart like joy. In such a frame of mind she read the following lines:— +</p> +<p> +At Sea. My dear Miss Daly,-I cannot thank you enough for your letter, so +full of kindness, of encouragement, and of hope. How much I stand in need +of them! I have strictly followed every portion of your counsel,—would +that I could tell you as successfully as implicitly! The address of this +letter will, however, be the shortest reply to that question. I write +these lines from the “Hermione” frigate. Yes, I am a volunteer in the +expedition to the Mediterranean; and only think who is my commanding +officer,—the Knight himself. I had enrolled myself under the name of +Conway; but when called up on deck this morning for inspection, such was +my surprise on seeing the Knight of Gwynne, or, as he is now called, +Colonel Darcy, I almost betrayed myself. Fortunately, however, I escaped +unnoticed,—a circumstance I believe I owe chiefly to the fact that +several young men of family are also volunteers, so that my position +attracted no unusual attention. It was a most anxious moment for me as the +colonel came down the line, addressing a word here and there as he went; +he stopped within one of me, and spoke for some seconds to a young fellow +whose appearance indicated delicate health. How full of gentleness and +benevolence were his words! But when he turned and fixed his eyes on me, +my heart beat so quick, my head grew so dizzy, I thought I should have +fainted. He remained at least half a minute in front of me, and then asked +the orderly for my name—“Conway! Conway!” repeated he more than +once. “A very old name. I hope you'll do it credit, sir,” added he, and +moved on,—how much to my relief I need not say. What a strange +rencontre! Often as I wonder at the singular necessity that has made me a +private soldier, all my astonishment is lost in thinking of the Knight of +Gwynne's presence amongst us; and yet he looks the soldier even as much as +he did the country gentleman when I first saw him, and, strangely too, +seems younger and more active than before. To see him here, chatting with +the officers under his command, moving about, taking interest in +everything that goes on, who would suspect the change of fortune that has +befallen him! Not a vestige of discontent, not even a passing look of +impatience on his handsome features; and yet, with this example before me, +and the consciousness that my altered condition is nothing in comparison +with his, I am low-spirited and void of hope! But a few weeks ago I would +have thought myself the luckiest fellow breathing, if told that I were to +serve under Colonel Darcy, and now I feel ashamed and abashed, and dread a +recognition every time I see him. In good truth, I cannot forget the +presumption that led me first to his acquaintance. My mind dwells on that +unhappy mission to the West, and its consequences. My foolish vanity in +supposing that I, a mere boy, uninformed, and without reflection, should +be able to influence a man so much my superior in every way! and this, bad +as it is, is the most favorable view of my conduct, for I dare not recall +the dishonorable means by which I was to buy his support. Then, I think of +my heedless and disreputable quarrel. What motives and what actions in the +eyes of her whose affection I sought! How worthily am I punished for my +presumption! +</p> +<p> +I told you that I strictly followed the advice of your last letter. +Immediately on receiving it I wrote a few lines to my mother, entreating +her permission to see and speak with her, and expressing an earnest hope +that our interview would end in restoring me to the place I so long +enjoyed in her affection. A very formal note, appointing the following +day, was all the reply. +</p> +<p> +On arriving at Berkeley Square, and entering the drawing-room, I found, to +my great astonishment, I will not say more, that a gentleman, a stranger +to me, was already there, seated at the fire, opposite my mother, and with +that easy air that bespoke his visit was not merely accidental, but a +matter of pre-arrangement. +</p> +<p> +Whatever my looks might have conveyed, I know not, but I was not given the +opportunity for a more explicit inquiry, when my mother, in her stateliest +of manners, arose and said,— +</p> +<p> +“Richard, I wish to present you to my esteemed friend, Lord Netherby; a +gentleman to whose kindness you are indebted for any favorable +construction I can put upon your folly, and who has induced me to receive +you here to-day.” +</p> +<p> +“If I knew, madam, that such influence had been necessary, I should have +hesitated before I laid myself under so deep an obligation to his +Lordship, to whose name and merits I confess myself a stranger.” +</p> +<p> +“I am but too happy, Captain Forester,” interposed the Earl, “if any +little interest I possess in Lady Wallincourt's esteem enables me to +contribute to your reconciliation. I know the great delicacy of an +interference, in a case like the present, and how officious and +impertinent the most respectful suggestions must appear, when offered by +one who can lay no claim, at least to <i>your</i> good opinion.” +</p> +<p> +A very significant emphasis on the word “your,” a look towards my mother, +and a very meaning smile from her in reply, at once revealed to me what, +till then, I had not suspected,—that his Lordship meditated a deeper +influence over her Ladyship's heart than the mere reconciliation of a +truant son to her esteem. +</p> +<p> +“I believe, my Lord,” said I, hastily, and I fear not without some anger,—“I +believe I should not have dared to decline your kind influence in my +behalf, had I suspected the terms on which you would exert it. I really +was not aware before that you possessed, so fully, her Ladyship's +confidence.” +</p> +<p> +“If you read the morning papers, Captain Forester,” said he, with the +blandest smile, “you could scarcely avoid learning that my presence here +is neither an intrusion nor an impertinence.” +</p> +<p> +“My dear mother,” cried I, forgetting all, save the long-continued grief +by which my father's memory was hallowed, “is this really the case?” +</p> +<p> +“I can forgive your astonishment,” replied she, with a look of anger, +“that the qualities you hold so highly in your esteem should have met +favor from one so placed and gifted as the Earl of Netherby.” +</p> +<p> +“Nay, madam; on the contrary. My difficulty is to think how any new +proffer of attachment could find reception in a heart I fondly thought +closed against such appeals; too full of its own memories of the past to +profane the recollection by—” +</p> +<p> +I hesitated and stopped. Another moment, and I would have uttered a word +which for worlds I would not have spoken. +</p> +<p> +My mother became suddenly pale as marble, and lay back in her chair as if +faint and sick. His Lordship adjusted his neckcloth and his watch-chain, +and walked towards the window, with an air of as much awkwardness as so +very courtly a personage could exhibit. +</p> +<p> +“You see, my Lord,” said my mother,—and her voice trembled at every +word,—“you see, I was right: I told you how much this interview +would agitate and distress me.” +</p> +<p> +“But it need not, madam,” interposed I; “or, at all events, it may be +rendered very brief. I sought an opportunity of speaking to you, in the +hope that whatever impressions you may have received of my conduct in +Ireland were either exaggerated or unjust; that I might convince you, +however I may have erred in prudence or judgment, I have transgressed +neither in honor nor good faith.” +</p> +<p> +“Vindications,” said my mother, “are very weak things in the face of +direct facts. Did you, or did you not, resign your appointment on the +viceroy's staff—I stop not to ask with what scant courtesy—that +you might be free to rove over the country, on some knight-errant +absurdity? Did you, after having one disreputable quarrel in the same +neighborhood, again involve yourself and your name in an affair with a +notorious mob-orator and disturber, and thus become the 'celebrity' of the +newspapers for at least a fortnight? And lastly, when I hoped, by absence +from England, and foreign service, to erase the memory of these follies—to +give them no harsher name,—did you not refuse the appointment, and +without advice or permission sell out of the army altogether?” +</p> +<p> +“Without adverting to the motives, madam, you have so kindly attributed to +me, I beg to say 'yes' to all your questions. I am no longer an officer in +his Majesty's service.” +</p> +<p> +“Nor any longer a member of <i>my</i> family, sir,” said my mother, +passionately; “at least so far as the will rests with me. A gentleman so +very independent in his principles is doubtless not less so in his +circumstances. You are entitled to five thousand pounds only, by your +father's will: this, if I mistake not, you have received and spent many a +day ago. I will not advert to what my original intentions in your behalf +were; they are recorded, however, in this paper, which you, my Lord, have +read.” Here her Ladyship drew forth a document, like a law-paper, while +the Earl bowed a deep acquiescence, and muttered something like—“Very +generous and noble-minded, indeed!” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir,” resumed my mother, “I had no other thought or object, save in +establishing you in a position suitable to your name and family; you have +thought fit to oppose my wishes on every point, and here I end the vain +struggle.” So saying, she tore the paper in pieces, and threw the +fragments into the fire. +</p> +<p> +A deep silence ensued, which I, for many reasons, had no inducement to +break. The Earl coughed and hemmed three or four times, as though +endeavoring to hit upon something that might relieve the general +embarrassment, but my mother was again the first to speak. +</p> +<p> +“I have no doubt, sir, you have determined on some future career. I am not +indiscreet enough to inquire what; but that you may not enter upon it +quite unprovided, I have settled upon you the sum of four hundred pounds +yearly. Do not mistake me, nor suppose that this act proceeds from any +lingering hope on my part that you will attempt to retrace your false +steps, and recover the lost place in my affection. I am too well +acquainted with the family gift of determination, as it is flatteringly +styled, to think so. You owe this consideration entirely to the kind +interference of the Earl of Netherby. Nay, my Lord, it is but fair that +you should have any merit the act confers, where you have incurred all the +responsibility.” +</p> +<p> +“I will relieve his Lordship of both,” said I. “I beg to decline your +Ladyship's generosity and his Lordship's kindness, with the self-same +feeling of respect.” +</p> +<p> +“My dear Captain Forester, wait one moment,” said Lord Netherby, taking my +arm. “Let me speak to you, even for a few moments.” +</p> +<p> +“You mistake him, my Lord,” said my mother, with a scornful smile, while +she arose to leave the room,—“you mistake him much.” +</p> +<p> +“Pray hear me out,” said Lord Netherby, taking my hand in both his own. +“It is no time, nor a case for any rash resolves,” whispered he; “Lady +Wallincourt has been misinformed,—her mind has been warped by +stories of one kind or other. Go to her, explain fully and openly +everything.” +</p> +<p> +“Her Ladyship is gone, my Lord,” exclaimed I, stopping him. +</p> +<p> +Yes, she had left the room while we were yet speaking. This was my last +adieu from my mother! I remember little more, though Lord Netherby +detained me still some time, and spoke with much kindness; indeed, +throughout, his conduct was graceful and good-natured. +</p> +<p> +Why should I weary you longer? Why speak of the long dreary night, and the +longer day that followed this scene,—swayed by different +impulses,-now hoping and fearing alternately,—not daring to seek +counsel from my friends, because I well knew what worldly advice would be +given,—I was wretched. In the very depth of my despondency, like a +ray of sunlight darting through some crevice of a prisoner's cell, came +your own words to me, “Be a soldier in more than garb or name, be one in +the generous ardor of a bold career. Let it be your boast that you started +fairly in the race, and so distanced your competitors.” I caught at the +suggestion with avidity. I was no more depressed or down-hearted. I felt +as if, throwing off my load of care, a better and a brighter day was about +to break for me; the same evening I left London for Plymouth, and became a +volunteer. +</p> +<p> +Before concluding these lines, I would ask why you tell me no more of Miss +Darcy than that “she is well, and, the reverse of her fortune considered, +in spirits.” Am I to learn no more than that? Will you not say if my name +is ever spoken by or before her? How am I remembered? Has time-have my +changed fortunes softened her stern determination towards me? Would that I +could know this,—would that I could divine what may lurk in her +heart of compassionate pity for one who resigned all for her love, and +lost! With all my gratitude for your kindness, when I well-nigh believed +none remained in the world for me, +</p> +<p> +I am, yours in sincere affection, +</p> +<p> +Richard Forester. +</p> +<p> +I forgot to ask if you can read one strange mystery of this business, at +least so the words seem to imply. Lord Netherby said, when endeavoring to +dissuade me from leaving my mother's house, “Remember, Captain Forester, +that Lady Wallincourt's prejudices regarding your Irish friends have +something stronger than mere caprice to strengthen them. You must not ask +her to forget as well as forgive, all at once.” Can you interpret this +riddle for me? for although at the time it made little impression, it +recurs to my mind now twenty times a day. +</p> +<p> +Here concluded Forester's letter. A single line in pencil was written at +the foot, and signed “M. D. “: “I am a bad prophet, or the volunteer will +turn out better than the aide-de-camp.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0015"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XV. A DINNER AT COM HEFFERNAN'S +</h2> +<p> +When the Union was carried, and the new order of affairs in Ireland +assumed an appearance of permanence, a general feeling of discontent began +to exhibit itself in every class in the capital. The patriots saw +themselves neglected by the Government, without having reaped in +popularity a recompense for their independence. The mercantile interest +perceived, even already, the falling off in trade from the removal of a +wealthy aristocracy; and the supporters of the Minister, or such few as +still lingered in Dublin, began to suspect how much higher terms they +might have exacted for their adhesion, had they only anticipated the +immensity of the sacrifice to which they contributed. +</p> +<p> +Save that comparatively small number who had bargained for English +peerages and English rank, and had thereby bartered their nationality, +none were satisfied. +</p> +<p> +Even the moderate men—that intelligent fraction who believe that no +changes are fraught with one half the good or evil their advocates or +opponents imagine—even they were disappointed on finding that the +incorporation of the Irish Parliament with that of England was the chief +element of the new measure, and no more intimate or solid Union +contemplated. The shrewd men of every party saw not only how difficult +would be the future government of the country, but that the critical +moment was come which should decide into whose hands the chief influence +would fall. Among these speculators on the future, Mr. Heffernan held a +prominent place. No man knew better the secret machinery of office, none +had seen more of that game, half fair, half foul, by which an +administration is sustained. He knew, moreover, the character and +capability of every public man in Ireland, had been privy to their +waverings and hesitations, and even their bargains with the Crown; he knew +where gratified ambition had rendered a new peer indifferent to a future +temptation, and also where abortive negotiations had sowed the seeds of a +lingering disaffection. +</p> +<p> +To construct a new party from these scattered elements—a party +which, possessing wealth and station, had not yet tasted any of the sweets +of patronage—was the task he now proposed to himself. By this party, +of whom he himself was to be the organ, he hoped to control the Minister, +and support him by turns. Of those already purchased by the Government, +few would care to involve themselves once more in the fatigues of a public +life. Many would gladly repose on the rewards of their victory; many would +shrink from the obloquy their reappearance would inevitably excite. Mr. +Heffernan had then to choose his friends either from that moderate section +of politicians whom scruples of conscience or inferiority of ability had +left un-bought, or the more energetic faction, suddenly called into +existence by the success of the French Revolution, and of which O'Halloran +was the leader. For many reasons his choice fell on the former. Not only +because they possessed that standing and influence which, derived from +property, would be most regarded in England, but that their direction and +guidance would be an easier task; whereas the others, more numerous and +more needy, could only be purchased by actual place or pension, while in +O'Halloran Heffernan would always have a dangerous rival, who, if he +played subordinate for a while, it would only be at the price of absolute +rule hereafter. +</p> +<p> +From the moment Lord Castlereagh withdrew from Ireland, Mr. Heffernan +commenced his intrigue,—at first by a tour of visits through the +country, in which he contrived to sound the opinions of a great number of +persons, and subsequently by correspondence, so artfully sustained as to +induce many to commit themselves to a direct line of action which, when +discussing, they had never speculated on seeing realized. +</p> +<p> +With a subtlety of no common kind, and an indefatigable industry, +Heffernan labored in the cause during the summer and autumn, and with such +success that there was scarcely a county in Ireland where he had not +secured some leading adherent, while for many of the boroughs he had +already entered into plans for the support of new candidates of his own +opinions. +</p> +<p> +The views he put forward were simply these: Ireland can no longer be +governed by an oligarchy, however powerful. It must be ruled either by the +weight and influence of the country gentlemen, or left to the mercy of the +demagogue. The gentry must be rewarded for their adhesion, and enabled to +maintain their pre-eminence, by handing over to them the patronage, not in +part or in fractions, but wholly and solely. Every civil appointment must +be filled up by them,—the Church, the law, the revenue, the police, +must all be theirs. “The great aristocracy,” said he, “have obtained the +marquisates and earldoms; bishoprics and governments have rewarded their +services. It is now <i>our</i> turn; and if our prizes be less splendid +and showy, they are not devoid of some sterling qualities. +</p> +<p> +“To make Ireland ungovernable without us must be our aim and object,—to +embarrass and confound every administration, to oppose the ministers, +pervert their good objects, and exaggerate their bad. Pledged to no +distinct line of acting, we can be patriotic when it suits us, and declaim +on popular rights when nothing better offers. Acting in concert, and +diffusing an influence in every county and town and corporation, what +ministry can long resist us, or what government anxious for office would +refuse to make terms with us? With station to influence society, wealth to +buy the press, activity to watch and counteract our enemies, I see nothing +which can arrest our progress. We must and will succeed.” +</p> +<p> +Such was the conclusion of a letter he wrote to one of his most trusted +allies,—a letter written to invite his presence in Dublin, where a +meeting of the leading men of the new party was to be held, and their +engagements for the future determined upon. +</p> +<p> +For this meeting Heffernan made the greatest exertions, not only that it +might include a great portion of the wealth and influence of the land, but +that a degree of <i>éclat</i> and splendor should attend it, the more +likely to attract notice from the secrecy maintained as to its object and +intention. Many were invited on the consideration of the display their +presence would make in the capital; and not a few were tempted by the +opportunity for exhibiting their equipages and their liveries at a season +when the recognized leaders of fashion were absent. +</p> +<p> +It is no part of our object to dwell on this well-known intrigue, one +which at the time occupied no small share of public attention, and even +excited the curiosity and the fears of the Government. Enough when we say +that Mr. Heffernan's disappointments were numerous and severe. Letters of +apology, some couched in terms of ambiguous cordiality, others less +equivocally cold, came pouring in for the last fortnight. The noble lord +destined to fill the chair regretted deeply that domestic affairs of a +most pressing nature would not permit of his presence. The baronet who +should move the first resolution would be compelled to be absent from +Ireland; the seconder was laid up with the gout. Scarcely a single person +of influence had promised his attendance: the greater number had given +vague and conditional replies, evidently to gain time and consult the +feeling of their country neighbors. +</p> +<p> +These refusals and subterfuges were a sad damper to Mr. Heffernan's hopes. +To any one less sanguine, they would have led to a total abandonment of +the enterprise. He, however, was made of sterner stuff, and resolved, if +the demonstration could effect no more, it could at least be used as a +threat to the Government,—a threat of not less power because its +terrors were involved in mystery. With all these disappointments time sped +on, the important day arrived, and the great room of the Rotunda, hired +specially for the occasion, was crowded by a numerous assemblage, to whose +proceedings no member of the public press was admitted. Notice was given +that in due time a declaration, drawn up by a committee, would be +published; but until then the most profound secrecy wrapped their objects +and intentions. +</p> +<p> +The meeting, convened for one o'clock, separated at five; and, save the +unusual concourse of carriages, and the spectacle of some liveries new to +the capital, there seemed nothing to excite the public attention. No +loud-tongued orator was heard from without, nor did a single cheer mark +the reception of any welcome sentiment; and as the members withdrew, the +sarcastic allusions of the mob intimated that they were supposed to be a +new sect of “Quakers.” Heffernan's carriage was the last to leave the +door; and it was remarked, as he entered it, that he looked agitated and +ill,—signs which few had ever remarked in him before. He drove +rapidly home, where a small and select party of friends had been invited +by him to dinner. +</p> +<p> +He made a hasty toilet, and entered the drawing-room a few moments after +the first knock at the street-door announced the earliest guest. It was an +old and intimate friend, Sir Giles St. George, a south-country baronet of +old family, but small fortune, who for many years had speculated on +Heffernan's interest in his behalf. He was a shrewd, coarse man, who from +eccentricity and age had obtained a species of moral “writ of ease,” +absolving him from all observance of the usages in common among all +well-bred people,—a privilege he certainly did not seem disposed to +let rust from disuse. +</p> +<p> +“Well, Con,” said he, as he stood with his back to the fire, and his hands +deeply thrust into his breeches-pockets,—“well, Con, your Convention +has been a damnable failure. Where the devil did you get up such a rabble +of briefless barristers, ungowned attorneys, dissenting ministers, and +illegitimate sons? I'd swear, out of your seven hundred, there were not +five-and-twenty possessed of a fifty-pound freehold,—not five who +could defy the sheriff in their own county.” +</p> +<p> +Heffernan made no reply, but with arms crossed, and his head leaned +forward, walked slowly up and down the room, while the other resumed,— +</p> +<p> +“As for old Killowen, who filled the chair, that was enough to damn the +whole thing. One of King James's lords, forsooth!—why, man, what +country gentleman of any pretension could give precedence to a fellow like +that, who neither reads, writes, nor speaks the King's English—and +your great gun, Mr. Hickman O'Reilly—” +</p> +<p> +“False-hearted scoundrel!” muttered Heffernan, half aloud. +</p> +<p> +“Faith he may be, but he's the cleverest of the pack. I liked his speech +well. There was good common sense in his asking for some explicit plan of +proceeding,—what you meant to do, and how to do it. Eh, Con, that +was to the point.” +</p> +<p> +“To the point!” repeated Heffernan, scornfully; “yes, as the declaration +of an informer, that he will betray his colleagues, is to the point.” +</p> +<p> +“And then his motion to admit the reporters,” said St. George, as with a +malignant pleasure he continued to suggest matter of annoyance. +</p> +<p> +“He 's mistaken, however,” said Heffernan, with a sarcastic bitterness +that came from his heart. “The day for rewards is gone by. He 'll never +get the baronetcy by supporting the Government in this way. It is the +precarious, uncertain ally they look more after. There is consummate +wisdom, Giles, in not saying one's last word. O'Reilly does not seem aware +of that. Here come Godfrey and Hume,” said he, as he looked out of the +window. “Burton has sent an apology.” +</p> +<p> +“And who is our sixth?” +</p> +<p> +“O'Reilly—and here's his carriage. See how the people stare +admiringly at his green liveries; they scarcely guess that the owner is +meditating a change of color. Well, Godfrey, in time for once. Why, +Robert, you seem quite fagged with your day's exertion. Ah! Mr. O'Reilly, +delighted to find you punctual. Let me present you to my old friend Sir +Giles St. George. I believe, gentlemen, you need no introduction to each +other. Burton has disappointed us; so we may order dinner at once.” +</p> +<p> +As Mr. Heffernan took the head of the table, not a sign of his former +chagrin remained to be seen. An air of easy conviviality had entirely +replaced his previous look of irritation, and in his laughing eye and +mellow voice there seemed the clearest evidence of a mind perfectly at +ease, and a spirit well disposed to enjoy the pleasures of the board. Of +his guests, Godfrey was a leading member of the Irish bar, a man of good +private fortune and a large practice, who, out of whim rather than from +any great principle, had placed himself in contiuual opposition to the +Government, and felt grievously injured and affronted when the minister, +affecting to overlook his enmity, offered him a silk gown. Hume was a +Commissioner of Customs, and had been so for some thirty years; his only +ambition in life being to retire on his full salary, having previously +filled his department with his sons and grandsons. The gentle +remonstrances of the Secretary against his plan had made him one of the +disaffected, but without courage to avow or influence to direct his +animosity. Of Mr. O'Reilly the reader needs no further mention. Such was +the party who now sat at a table most luxuriously supplied; for although +Heffeman was very far from a frequent inviter, yet his dinners were +admirably arranged, and the excellence of his wine was actually a mystery +among the <i>bons vivants</i> of the capital. The conversation turned of +course upon the great event of the day; but so artfully was the subject +managed by Heffeman that the discussion took rather the shape of criticism +on the several speakers, and their styles of delivery, than on the matter +of the meeting itself. +</p> +<p> +“How eager the Castle folks will be to know all about it!” said Godfrey. +“Cooke is, I hear, in a sad taking to learn the meaning of the gathering.” +</p> +<p> +“I fancy, sir,” said St. George, “they are more indifferent than you +suppose. A meeting held by individuals of a certain rank and property, and +convened with a certain degree of ostentation, can scarcely ever be +formidable to a government.” +</p> +<p> +“You forget the Volunteers,” said Heffernan. +</p> +<p> +“No, I remember their assembling well enough, and a very absurd business +they made of it. The Bishop of Downe was the only man of nerve amongst +them; and as for Lord Charlemont, the thought of an attainder was never +out of his head till the whole association was disbanded.” +</p> +<p> +“They were very formidable, indeed,” said Heffernan, gravely. “I can +assure you that the Government were far more afraid of their defenders +than of the French.” +</p> +<p> +“A government that is ungrateful enough to neglect its supporters,” chimed +in Hume, “men that have spent their best years in <i>its</i> service, can +scarcely esteem itself very secure. In the department I belong to myself, +for instance—” +</p> +<p> +“Yours is a very gross case,” interrupted Heffernan, who from old +experience knew what was coming, and wished to arrest it. +</p> +<p> +“Thirty-four years, come November next, have I toiled as a commissioner.” +</p> +<p> +“Unpaid!” exclaimed St. George, with a well-simulated horror,—“unpaid!” +</p> +<p> +“No, sir; not without my salary, of course. I never heard of any man +holding an office in the Revenue for the amusement it might afford him. +Did you, Godfrey?” +</p> +<p> +“As for me,” said the lawyer, “I spurn their patronage. I well know the +price men pay for such favors.” +</p> +<p> +“What object could it be to <i>you</i>,” said Heffernan, “to be made +Attorney-General or placed on the bench, a man independent in every seuse? +So I said to Castlereagh, when he spoke on the subject: 'Never mind +Godfrey,' said I, 'he'll refuse your offers; you'll only offend him by +solicitation;' and when he mentioned the 'Rolls'—” +</p> +<p> +Here Heffernan paused, and filled his glass leisurely. An interruption +contrived to stimulate Godfrey's curiosity, and which perfectly succeeded, +as he asked in a voice of tremulous eagerness,— +</p> +<p> +“Well, what did you say?” +</p> +<p> +“Just as I replied before,—'he 'll refuse you.'” +</p> +<p> +“Quite right, perfectly right; you have my unbounded gratitude for the +answer,” said Godfrey, swallowing two bumpers as rapidly as he could fill +them. +</p> +<p> +“Very different treatment from what I met,—an old and tried +supporter of the party,” said Hume, turning to O'Reilly and opening upon +him the whole narrative of his long-suffering neglect. +</p> +<p> +“It's quite clear, then,” said St. George, “that we are agreed,—the +best thing for us would be a change of Ministry.” +</p> +<p> +“I don't think so at all,” interposed Heffernan. +</p> +<p> +“Why, Con,” interrupted the baronet, “they should have <i>you</i> at any +price,—however these fellows have learned the trick,—the +others know nothing about it You 'd be in office before twenty-four +hours.” +</p> +<p> +“So I might to-morrow,” said Heffernan. “There's scarcely a single post of +high emolument and trust that I have not been offered and refused. The +only things I ever stipulated for in all my connection with the Government +were certain favors for my personal friends.” Here he looked significantly +towards O'Reilly; but the glance was intercepted by the commissioner, who +cried out,—“Well, could they say I had no claim? Could they deny +thirty-four years of toil and slavery?” +</p> +<p> +“And in the case for which I was most interested,” resumed Heffernan, not +heeding the interruption, “the favor I sought would have been more justly +bestowed from the rank and merits of the party than as a recompense for +any sen-ices of mine.” +</p> +<p> +“I won't say that, Heffernan,” said Hume, with a look of modesty, who with +the most implicit good faith supposed he was the party alluded to; “I +won't go that far; but I will and must say, that after four-and-thirty +years as a commissioner—” +</p> +<p> +“A man must have laid by a devilish pretty thing for the rest of his +life,” said St. George, who felt all the bitterness of a narrow income +augmented by the croaking complaints of the well-salaried official. +</p> +<p> +“Well, I hope better days are coming for all of us,” said Heffernan, +desirous of concluding the subject ere it should take an untoward turn. +</p> +<p> +“You have got a very magnificent seat in the west, sir,” said St. George, +addressing O'Reilly, who during the whole evening had done little more +than assent or smile concurrence with the several speakers. +</p> +<p> +“The finest thing in Ireland,” interrupted Heffernan. +</p> +<p> +“Nay, that is saying too much,” said O'Reilly, with a look of half-real, +half-affected bashfulness. “The abbey certainly stands well, and the +timber is well grown.” +</p> +<p> +“Are you able to see Clew Bay from the small drawing-room still?—for +I remember remarking that the larches on the side of the glen would +eventually intercept the prospect.” +</p> +<p> +“You know the Abbey, then?” asked O'Reilly, forgetting to answer the +question addressed to him. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I knew it well. My family is connected-distantly, I believe—with +the Darcys, and in former days we were intimate. A very sweet place it +was; I am speaking of thirty years ago, and of course it must have +improved since that.” +</p> +<p> +“My friend here has given it every possible opportunity,” said Heffernan, +with a courteous inclination of the head. +</p> +<p> +“I've no doubt of it,” said St. George; “but neither money nor bank +securities will make trees grow sixty feet in a twelvemonth. The +improvements I allude to were made by Maurice Darcy's father; he sunk +forty thousand pounds in draining, planting, subsoiling, and what not. He +left a rent-charge in his will to continue his plans; and Maurice and his +son—what's the young fellow called?—Lionel, isn't it?—well, +they are, or rather they were, bound to expend a very heavy sum annually +on the property.” +</p> +<p> +A theme less agreeable to O'Reilly's feelings could scarcely have been +started; and though Heffernan saw as much, he did not dare to interrupt it +suddenly, for fear of any unpalatable remark from St. George. Whether from +feeling that the subject was a painful one, or that he liked to indulge +his loquacity in detailing various particulars of the Darcys and their +family circumstances, the old man went on without ceasing,—now +narrating some strange caprice of an ancestor in one century, now some +piece of good fortune that occurred to another. “You know the old prophecy +in the family, I suppose, Mr. O'Reilly?” said he, “though, to be sure, you +are not very likely to give it credence.” +</p> +<p> +“I scarcely can say I remember what you allude to.” +</p> +<p> +“By Jove, I thought every old woman in the west would have told it to you. +How is this the doggerel runs—ay, here it is,— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +'A new name in this house shall never begin +Till twenty-one Darcys have died in Gwynne.' +</pre> +<p> +Now, they say that, taking into account all of the family who have fallen +in battle, been lost at sea, and so on, only eleven of the stock died at +the Abbey.” +</p> +<p> +Although O'Reilly affected to smile at the old rhyme, his cheek became +deadly pale, and his hand shook as he lifted the glass to his lips. It was +no vulgar sense of fear, no superstitious dread that moved his cold and +calculating spirit, but an emotion of suppressed anger that the ancient +splendor of the Darcys should be thus placed side by side with his own +unhonored and unknown family. +</p> +<p> +“I don't think I ever knew one of these good legends have even so much of +truth,—though the credit is now at an end,” said Heffernau, gayly. +</p> +<p> +“I'll engage old Darcy's butler wouldn't agree with you,” replied St. +George. “Ay, and Maurice himself had a great dash of old Irish +superstition in him, for a clever, sensible fellow as he was.” +</p> +<p> +“It only remains for my friend here, then, to fit up a room for the Darcys +and invite them to die there at their several conveniences,” said Con, +laughing. “I see no other mode of fulfilling the destiny.” +</p> +<p> +“There never was a man played his game worse,” resumed St. George, who +with a pertinacious persistence continued the topic. “He came of age with +a large unencumbered estate, great family influence, and a very fair share +of abilities. It was the fashion to say he had more, but I never thought +so; and now, look at him!” +</p> +<p> +“He had very heavy losses at play,” said Heffernan, “certainly.” +</p> +<p> +“What if he had? They never could have materially affected a fortune like +his. No, no. I believe 'Honest Tom' finished him,—raising money to +pay off old debts, and then never clearing away the liabilities. What a +stale trick, and how invariably it succeeds!” +</p> +<p> +“You do not seem, sir, to take into account an habitually expensive mode +of living,” insinuated O'Reilly, quietly. +</p> +<p> +“An item, of course, but only an item in the sum total,” replied St. +George. “No man can eat and drink above ten thousand a year, and Darcy had +considerably more. No; he might have lived as he pleased, had he escaped +the acquaintance of honest Tom Gleeson. By the by, Con, is there any truth +in the story they tell about this fellow, and that he really was more +actuated by a feeling of revenge towards Darcy than a desire for money?” +</p> +<p> +“I never heard the story. Did you, Mr. O'Reilly?” asked Heffernan. +</p> +<p> +“Never,” said O'Reilly, affecting an air of unconcern, very ill consorting +with his pale cheek and anxious eye. +</p> +<p> +“The tale is simply this: that, as Gleeson waxed wealthy, and began to +assume a position in life, he one day called on the Knight to request him +to put his name up for ballot at 'Daly's.' Darcy was thunderstruck, for it +was in those days when the Club was respectable; but still the Knight had +tact enough to dissemble his astonishment, and would doubtless have got +through the difficulty had it not been for Bagenal Daly, who was present, +and called out, 'Wait till Tuesday, Maurice, for I mean to propose +M'Cleery, the breeches-maker, and then the thing won't seem so +remarkable!' Gleeson smiled and slipped away, with an oath to his own +heart, to be revenged on both of them. If there be any truth in the story, +he did ruin Daly, by advising some money-lender to buy up all his +liabilities.” +</p> +<p> +“I must take the liberty to correct you, sir,” said O'Reilly, actually +trembling with anger. “If your agreeable anecdote has no better foundation +than the concluding hypothesis, its veracity is inferior to its ingenuity. +The gentleman you are pleased to call a money-lender is my father; the +conduct you allude to was simply the advance of a large sum on mortgage.” +</p> +<p> +“Foreclosed, like Darcy's, perhaps,” said St. George, his irascible face +becoming blood-red with passion. +</p> +<p> +“Come, come, Giles, you really can know nothing of the subject you are +talking of; besides, to Mr. O'Reilly the matter is a personal one.” +</p> +<p> +“So it is,” muttered St. George; “and if report speaks truly, as +unpleasant as personal.” +</p> +<p> +This insulting remark was not heard by O'Reilly, who was deeply engaged in +explaining to the lawyer beside him the minute legal details of the +circumstance. +</p> +<p> +“Shrewd a fellow as Gleeson was,” said St. George, interrupting O'Reilly, +by addressing the lawyer, “they say he has left some flaw open in the +matter, and that Darcy may recover a very large portion of the lost +estate.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes; if for instance this bond should be destroyed. He might move in +Equity—” +</p> +<p> +“He 'd move heaven and earth, sir, if it's Bagenal Daly you mean,” said +St. George, who had stimulated his excitement by drinking freely. “Some +will tell you that he is a steadfast, firm friend; but I 'll vouch for it, +a more determined enemy never drew breath.” +</p> +<p> +“Very happily for the world we live in, sir,” said O'Reilly, “there are +agencies more powerful than the revengeful and violent natures of such men +as Mr. Daly.” +</p> +<p> +“He's every jot as quick-sighted as he's determined; and when he wagered a +hogshead of claret that Darcy would one day sit again at the head of his +table in Gwynne Abbey—” +</p> +<p> +“Did he make such a bet?” asked O'Reilly, with a faint laugh. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; he walked down the club-room, and offered it to any one present, and +none seemed to fancy it; but young Kelly, of Kildare, who, being a new +member just come in, perhaps thought there might be some <i>éclat</i> in +booking a bet with Bagenal Daly.” +</p> +<p> +“Would you like to back his opinion, sir?” said O'Reilly, with a simulated +softness of voice; “or although I rarely wager, I should have no objection +to convenience you here, leaving the amount entirely at your option.” +</p> +<p> +“Which means,” said St. George, as his eyes sparkled with wine and +passion, “that the weight of <i>your</i> purse is to tilt the beam against +that of <i>my</i> opinion. Now, I beg leave to tell you—” +</p> +<p> +“Let me interrupt you, Giles; I never knew my Burgundy disagree with any +man before, but I d smash every bottle of it to-morrow if I thought it +could make so pleasant a fellow so wrong-headed and unreasonable. What say +you if we qualify it with some cognac and water?” +</p> +<p> +“Maurice Darcy is my relative,” said St. George, pushing his glass rudely +from him, “and I have yet to learn the unreasonableness of wishing well to +a member of one's own family. His father and mine were like brothers! Ay, +by Jove! I wonder what either of them would think of the changes time has +wrought in their sons' fortunes.” His voice dropped into a low, muttering +sound, while he mumbled on, “One a beggar and an exile, the other”—here +his eye twinkled with a malicious intelligence as he glanced around the +board—“the other the guest of Con Heffernan.” He arose as he spoke, +and fortunately the noise thus created prevented his words being +overheard. “You 're right, Con,” said he, “that Burgundy has been too much +for me. The wine is unimpeachable, notwithstanding.” +</p> +<p> +The others rose also; although pressed in all the customary hospitality of +the period to have “one bottle more,” they were resolute in taking leave, +doubtless not sorry to escape the risk of any unpleasant termination to +the evening's entertainment. +</p> +<p> +The lawyer and the commissioner agreed to see St. George home; for +although long seasoned to excesses, age had begun to tell upon him, and +his limbs were scarcely more under control than his tongue. O'Reilly had +dropped his handkerchief, he was not sure whether in the drawing or the +dinner room, and this delayed him a few moments behind the rest; and +although he declared, at each moment, the loss of no consequence, and +repeated his “good-night,” Heffernan held his hand and would not suffer +him to leave. +</p> +<p> +“Try under Mr. O'Reilly's chair, Thomas.—Singular specimen of a +by-gone day, the worthy baronet!” said he, with a shrug of his shoulders. +“Would you believe it, he and Darcy have not been on speaking terms for +thirty years, and yet how irritable be showed himself in his behalf!” +</p> +<p> +“He seems to know something of the family affairs, however,” said +O'Reilly, cautiously. +</p> +<p> +“Not more than club gossip; all that about Daly and his wager is a week +old.” +</p> +<p> +“I hope my father may never hear it,” said O'Reilly, compassionately; “he +has all the irritability of age, and these reports invariably urge him on +to harsh measures, which, by the least concession, he would never have +pursued. The Darcys, indeed, have to thank themselves for any severity +they have experienced at our hands. Teasing litigation and injurious +reports of us have met all our efforts at conciliation.” +</p> +<p> +“A compromise would have been much better, and more reputable for all +parties,” said Heffernan, as he turned to stir the fire, and thus +purposely averted his face while making the remark. +</p> +<p> +“So it would,” said O'Reilly, hurriedly; then stopping abruptly short, he +stammered out, “I don't exactly know what you mean by the word, but if it +implies a more amicable settlement of all disputed points between us, I +perfectly agree with you.” +</p> +<p> +Heffernan never spoke: a look of cool self-possession and significance was +all his reply. It seemed to say, “Don't hope to cheat <i>me</i>; however, +you may rely on my discretion.” +</p> +<p> +“I declare my handkerchief is in my pocket all this while,” said O'Reilly, +trying to conceal his rising confusion with a laugh. “Good-night, once +more—you 're thinking of going over to England to-morrow evening?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, if the weather permits, I 'll sail at seven. Can I be of any service +to you?” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps so: I may trouble you with a commission. Good-night.” +</p> +<p> +“So, Mr. Hickman, you begin to feel the hook! Now let us see if we cannot +play the fish without letting him know the weakness of the tackle!” said +Heffernan, as he looked after him, and then slowly retraced his steps to +the now deserted drawing-room. +</p> +<p> +“How frequently will chance play the game more skilfully for us than all +our cleverness!” said he, while he paced the room alone. “That old bear, +St. George, who might have ruined everything, has done me good service. +O'Reilly's suspicions are awakened, his fears are aroused; could I only +find a clew to his terror, I could hold him as fast by his fears as by +this same baronetcy. This baronetcy,” added he, with a sneering laugh, +“that I am to negotiate for, and—be refused!” +</p> +<p> +With this sentiment of honest intentions on his lips, Mr. Heffernan +retired to rest, and, if this true history is to be credited, to sleep +soundly till morning. +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0016"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XVI. PAUL DEMPSEY'S WALK +</h2> +<p> +With the most eager desire to accomplish his mission, Paul Dempsey did not +succeed in reaching “The Corvy” until late on the day after Miss Daly's +visit. He set out originally by paths so secret and circuitous that he +lost his way, and was obliged to pass his night among the hills, where, +warned by the deep thundering of the sea that the cliffs were near, he was +fain to await daybreak ere he ventured farther. The trackless waste over +which his way led was no bad emblem of poor Paul's mind, as, cowering +beneath a sand-hill, he shivered through the long hours of night. Swayed +by various impulses, he could determine on no definite line of action, and +wavered and doubted and hesitated, till his very brain was addled by its +operations. +</p> +<p> +At one moment he was disposed, like good Launcelot Gobbo, to “run for it,” +and, leaving Darcy and all belonging to him to their several fates, to +provide for his own safety; when suddenly a dim vision of meeting Maria +Daly in this world or the next, and being called to account for his +delinquency, routed such determinations. Then he revelled in the glorious +opportunity for gossip afforded by the whole adventure. How he should +astonish Coleraine and its neighborhood by his revelations of the Knight +and his family! Gossip in all its moods and tenses, from the vague +indicative of mere innuendo, to the full subjunctive of open defamation! +Not indeed that Mr. Dempsey loved slander for itself; on the contrary, his +temperament was far more akin to kindliness than its opposite; but the +passion for retailing one's neighbor's foibles or misfortunes is an +impulse that admits no guidance; and as the gambler would ruin his best +friend at play, so would the professed gossip calumniate the very nearest +and dearest to him on earth. There are in the social as in the mercantile +world characters who never deal in the honest article of commerce, but +have a store of damaged, injured, or smuggled goods, to be hawked about +surreptitiously, and always to be sold in the “strictest secrecy.” Mr. +Dempsey was a pedler in this wise, and, if truth must be told, he did not +dislike his trade. +</p> +<p> +And yet, at moments, thoughts of another and more tender kind were wafted +across Paul's mind, not resting indeed long enough to make any deep +impression, but still leaving behind them, as pleasant thoughts always +will, little twilights of happiness. Paul had been touched—a mere +graze, skin deep, but still touched—by Helen Darcy's beauty and +fascinations. She had accompanied him more than once on the piano while he +sang, and whether the long-fringed eyelashes and the dimpled cheek had +done the mischief, or that the thoughtful tact with which she displayed +Paul's good notes and glossed over his false ones had won his gratitude, +certain is it he had already felt a very sensible regard for the young +lady, and more than once caught himself, when thinking about her, +speculating on the speedy demise of Bob Dempsey, of Dempsey's Grove, and +all the consequences that might ensue therefrom. +</p> +<p> +If the enjoyment Mr. Dempsey's various peculiarities afforded Helen +suggested on her part the semblance of pleasure in his society, Paul took +these indications all in his own favor, and even catechized himself how +far he might be deemed culpable in winning the affections of a charming +young lady, so long as his precarious condition forbid all thought of +matrimony. Now, however, that he knew who the family really were, such +doubts were much allayed; for, as he wisely remarked to himself, “Though +they are ruined, there 's always nice picking in the wreck of an +Indiaman!” Such were the thoughts by which his way was beguiled, when late +in the afternoon he reached “The Corvy.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Eleanor and her daughter were out walking when Mr. Dempsey arrived, +and, having cautiously reconnoitred the premises, ventured to approach the +door. All was quiet and tranquil about the cottage; so, reassured by this, +he peered through the window into the large hall, where a cheerful fire +now blazed and shed a mellow glow over the strange decorations of the +chamber. Mr. Dempsey had often desired an opportunity of examining these +curiosities at his leisure. Not indeed prompted thereto by any antiquarian +taste, but, from a casual glance at the inscriptions, he calculated on the +amount of private history of the Dalys he should obtain. Stray and +independent facts, it is true, but to be arranged by the hand of a +competent and clever commentator. +</p> +<p> +With cautious hand he turned the handle of the door and entered. +</p> +<p> +There he stood, in the very midst of the coveted objects; and never did +humble bookworm gaze on the rich titles of an ample library with more +enthusiastic pleasure. He drew a long breath to relieve his overburdened +heart, and glutted his eyes in ecstasy on every side. Enthusiasm takes its +tone from individuality, and doubtless Mr. Dempsey felt at that moment +something as Belzoni might, when, unexpectedly admitted within some tomb +of the Pyramids, he found himself about to unravel some secret history of +the Pharaohs. +</p> +<p> +“Now for it,” said he, half aloud; “let us do the thing in order; and +first of all, what have we here?” He stooped and read an inscription +attached to a velvet coat embroidered with silver,— +</p> +<p> +“Coat worn by B. D. in his duel with Colonel Matthews,—62,—the +puncture under the sword-arm being a tierce outside the guard; a very rare +point, and which cost the giver seriously.” +</p> +<p> +“He killed Matthews, of course,” added Dempsey; “the passage can mean +nothing else, so let us be accurate as to fact and date.” +</p> +<p> +So saying, he proceeded to note down the circumstance in a little +memorandum-book. “So!” added he, as he read his note over; “now for the +next. What can this misshapen lump of metal mean?” +</p> +<p> +“A piece of brute gold, presented with twelve female slaves by the chiefs +of Doolawochyeekeka on B. D.'s assuming the sovereignty of the island.” +</p> +<p> +“Brute gold,” said Mr. Dempsey; “devilish little of the real thing about +it, I'll be sworn! I suppose the ladies were about equally refined and +valuable.” +</p> +<p> +“Glove dropped by the Infanta Donna Isidore within the arena at Madrid, a +few moments after Ruy Peres da Castres was gored to death.” +</p> +<p> +A prolonged low whistle from Mr. Dempsey was the only comment he made on +this inscription; while he stooped to examine the fragment of a bull's +horn, from which a rag of scarlet cloth was hanging. The inscription ran, +“Portion of horn broken as the bull fell against the barrier of the +circus. The cloth was part of Da Castres' vest.” +</p> +<p> +A massive antique helmet, of immense size and weight, lay on the floor +beside this. It was labelled, “Casque of Rudolf v. Hapsbourg, presented to +B. D. after the tilt at Regensburg by Edric Conrad Wilhelm Kur Furst von +Bavera, a.d. 1750.” +</p> +<p> +A splendid goblet of silver gilt, beautifully chased and ornamented, was +inscribed on the metal as being the gift of the Doge of Venice to his +friend Bagenal Daly; and underneath was written on a card, “This cup was +drained to the bottom at a draught by B. D. after a long and deep carouse, +the liquor strong 'Vino di Cypro.' The Doge tried it and failed; the mark +within shows how far he drank.” +</p> +<p> +“By Jove! what a pull!” exclaimed Dempsey, who, as he peered into the +capacious vessel, looked as if he would not object to try his own prowess +at the feat. +</p> +<p> +Wonderment at this last achievement seemed completely to have taken +possession of Mr. Dempsey; for while his eyes ranged over weapons of every +strange form and shape,—armor, idols, stuffed beasts and birds,—they +invariably came back to the huge goblet with an admiring wonder that +showed that here at least there was an exploit whose merits he could +thoroughly appreciate. +</p> +<p> +“A half-gallon can is nothing to it!” muttered he, as he replaced it on +its bracket. +</p> +<p> +The reflection was scarcely uttered, when the quick tramp of a horse and +the sound of wheels without startled him. He hastened to the window just +in time to perceive a jaunting-car drive up to the wicket, from which +three men descended. Two were common-looking fellows in dark upper coats +and glazed hats; the third, better dressed, and with a half-gentlemanlike +air, seemed the superior. He threw off a loose travelling-coat, and +discovered, to Mr. Dempsey's horror, the features of his late patient at +Larne, the sheriff's officer from Dublin. Yes, there was no doubt about +it. That smart, conceited look, the sharp and turned-up nose, the scrubby +whisker, proclaimed him as the terrible Anthony Nickie, of Jervas Street, +a name which Mr. Dempsey had read on his portmanteau before guessing how +its owner was concerned in his own interests. +</p> +<p> +What a multitude of terrors jostled each other in his mind as the men +approached the door, and what resolves did he form and abandon in the same +moment! To escape by the rear of the house while the enemy was assailing +the front, to barricade the premises and stand a siege, to arm himself—and +there was a choice of weapons—and give battle, were all rapid +impulses no sooner conceived than given up. A loud summons of the +door-bell announced his presence; and ere the sounds died away, Tate's +creaking footstep and winter cough resounded along the corridor. Mr. +Dempsey threw a last despairing glance around, and the thought flashed +across him, how happily would he exchange his existence with any of the +grim images and uncouth shapes that grinned and glared on every side, ay, +even with that saw-mouthed crocodile that surmounted the chimney! Quick as +his eye traversed the chamber, he fancied that the savage animals were +actually enjoying his misery, and Sandy's counterpart appeared to show a +diabolical glee at his wretched predicament. It was at this instant he +caught sight of the loose folds of the Indian blanket, which enveloped +Bagenal Daly's image. The danger was too pressing for hesitation; he +stepped into the canoe, and cowering down under the warlike figure, +awaited his destiny. Scarcely had the drapery closed around him when Tate +admitted the new arrival. +</p> +<p> +“'The Corvy? '” said Mr. Nickie to the old butler, who with decorous +ceremony bowed low before him. “'The Corvy,' ain't it?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir,” replied Tate. +</p> +<p> +“All right, Mac,” resumed Nickie, turning to the elder of his two +followers, who had closely dogged him to the door. “Bring that carpet-bag +and the small box off the car, and tell the fellow he 'll have time to +feed his horse at that cabin on the road-side.” +</p> +<p> +He added something in a whisper, too low for Tate to hear, and then, +taking the carpet-bag, he flung it carelessly in a corner, while he walked +forward and deposited the box on the table before the fire. +</p> +<p> +“His honor is coming to dine, maybe?” asked Tate, respectfully; for old +habit of his master's hospitality had made the question almost a matter of +course, while age had so dimmed his eyesight that even Anthony Nickie +passed with him for a gentleman. +</p> +<p> +“Coming to dine,” repeated Nickie, with a coarse laugh; “that's a bargain +there 's always two words to, my old boy. I suppose you 've heard it is +manners to wait to be asked, eh?—without,” added he, after a +second's pause,—“without I 'm to take this as an invitation.” +</p> +<p> +“I believe your honor might, then,” said Tate, with a smile. “'Tis many a +one I kept again the family came home for dinner, and sorrow word of it +they knew till they seen them dressed in the drawing-room! And the +dinner-table!” said Tate, with a sigh, half in regret over the past, half +preparing himself with a sufficiency of breath for a lengthened +oration,-“the dinner-table! it's wishing it I am still! After laying for +ten, or maybe twelve, his honor would come in and say, 'Tate, we 'll be +rather crowded here, for here 's Sir Gore Molony and his family. You 'll +have to make room for five more.' Then Miss Helen would come springing in +with, 'Tate, I forgot to say Colonel Martin and his officers are to be +here at dinner.' After that it would be my lady herself, in her own quiet +way, 'Mr. Sullivan,'-she nearly always called me that,—'could n't +you contrive a little space here for Lady Burke and Miss MacDonnel? But +the captain beat all, for he 'd come in after the soup was removed, with +five or six gentlemen from the hunt, splashed and wet up to their necks; +over he 'd go to the side-table, where I 'd have my knives and forks, all +beautiful, and may I never but he 'd fling some here, others there, till +he 'd clear a space away, and then he'd cry, 'Tate, bring back the soup, +and set some sherry here.' Maybe that wasn't the table for noise, drinking +wine with every one at the big table, and telling such wonderful stories +that the servants did n't know what they were doing, listening to them. +And the master—the heavens be about him!—sending me over to +get the names of the gentlemen, that he might ask them to take wine with +him. Oh, dear—oh, dear, I 'm sure I used to think my heart was broke +with it; but sure it's nigher breaking now that it's all past and over.” +</p> +<p> +“You seem to have had very jolly times of it in those days,” said Nickie. +</p> +<p> +“Faix, your honor might say so if you saw forty-eight sitting down to +dinner every day in the parlor for seven weeks running; and Master Lionel—the +captain that is—at the head of another table in the library, with +twelve or fourteen more,—nice youths they wor!” +</p> +<p> +While Tate continued his retrospections, Mr. Nickie had unlocked his box, +and cursorily throwing a glance over some papers, he muttered to himself a +few words, and then added aloud,—“Now for business.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0017"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XVII. MR. ANTHONY NICKIE, ATTORNEY-AT-LAW. +</h2> +<p> +We have said that Mr. Dempsey had barely time to conceal himself when the +door was opened,—so narrow indeed was his escape, that had the new +arrival been a second sooner, discovery would have been inevitable; as it +was, the pictorial Daly and Sandy rocked violently to and fro, making +their natural ferocity and grimness something even more terrible than +usual. Mr. Nickie remarked nothing of this. His first care was to divest +himself of certain travelling encumbrances, like one who proposes to make +a visit of some duration, and then, casting a searching look around the +premises, he proceeded,— +</p> +<p> +“Now for Mr. Darcy—” +</p> +<p> +“If ye 'r maning the Knight of Gwynne, sir, his honor—” +</p> +<p> +“Well, is his honor at home?” said the other, interrupting with a saucy +laugh. +</p> +<p> +“No, sir,” said Tate, almost overpowered at the irreverence of his +questioner. +</p> +<p> +“When do you expect him, then,—in an hour or two hours?” +</p> +<p> +“He 's in England,” said Tate, drawing a long breath. +</p> +<p> +“In England! What do you mean, old fellow? He has surely not left this +lately?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir, 'twas the King sent for him, I heerd the mistress say.” +</p> +<p> +A burst of downright laughter from the stranger stopped poor Tate's +explanation. +</p> +<p> +“Why, it's <i>you</i> his Majesty ought to have invited,” cried Mr. +Nickie, wiping his eyes, “<i>you yourself</i>, man; devilish fit company +for each other you 'd be.” +</p> +<p> +Poor Tate had not the slightest idea of the grounds on which the stranger +suggested his companionship for royalty, but he was not the less insulted +at the disparagement of his master thus implied. +</p> +<p> +“'T is little I know about kings or queens,” growled out the old man, “but +they must be made of better clay than ever I seen yet, or they 're not too +good company for the Knight of Gwynne.” +</p> +<p> +After a stare for some seconds, half surprise, half insolence, Nickie +said, “You can tell me, perhaps, if this cottage is called 'The Corvy'?” +</p> +<p> +“Ay, that's the name of it.” +</p> +<p> +“The property of one Bagenal Daly, Esquire, isn't it?” +</p> +<p> +Tate nodded an assent. +</p> +<p> +“Maybe he is in England too,” continued Nickie. “Perhaps it was the Queen +sent for him,—he 's a handsome man, I suppose?” +</p> +<p> +“Faix, you can judge for yourself,” said Tate, “for there he is, looking +at you this minute.” +</p> +<p> +Nickie turned about hastily, while a terrible fear shot through him that +his remarks might have been heard by the individual himself; for, though a +stranger to Daly personally, he was not so to his reputation for +hare-brained daring and rashness, nor was it till he had stared at the +wooden representative for some seconds that he could dispel his dread of +the original. +</p> +<p> +“Is that like him?” asked he, affecting a sneer. +</p> +<p> +“As like as two pays,” said Tate, “barring about the eyes; Mr. Daly's is +brighter and more wild-looking. The Blessed Joseph be near us!” exclaimed +the old man, crossing himself devoutly, “one would think the crayture knew +what we were saying. Sorra lie in 't, there 's neither luck nor grace in +talking about you!” +</p> +<p> +This last sentiment, uttered in a faint voice, was called forth by an +involuntary shuddering of poor Mr. Dempsey, who, feeling that the whole +scrutiny of the party was directed towards his hiding-place, trembled so +violently that the plumes nodded, and the bone necklace jingled with the +motion. +</p> +<p> +While Mr. Nickie attributed these signs to the wind, he at the same time +conceived a very low estimate of poor Tate's understanding,—an +impression not altogether un-warranted by the sidelong and stealthy looks +which he threw at the canoe and its occupants. +</p> +<p> +“You seem rather afraid of Mr. Daly,” said he, with a sneering laugh. +</p> +<p> +“And so would you be, too, if he was as near you as that chap is,” replied +Tate, sternly. “I 've known braver-looking men than either of us not like +to stand before him. I mind the day—” +</p> +<p> +Tate-s reminiscences were brought to a sudden stop by perceiving his +mistress and Miss Darcy approaching the cottage; and hastening forward, he +threw open the door, while by way of introduction he said,— +</p> +<p> +“A gentleman for the master, my Lady.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Eleanor flushed up, and as suddenly grew pale. She guessed at once +the man and his errand. +</p> +<p> +“The Knight of Gwynne is from home, sir,” said she, in a voice her efforts +could not render firm. +</p> +<p> +“I understand as much, madam,” said Nickie, who was struggling to recover +the easy self-possession of his manner with the butler, but whose +awkwardness increased at every instant. “I believe you expect him in a day +or two?” +</p> +<p> +This was said to elicit if there might be some variance in the statement +of Lady Eleanor and her servant. +</p> +<p> +“You are misinformed, sir. He is not in the kingdom, nor do I anticipate +his speedy return.” +</p> +<p> +“So I told him, my Lady,” broke in the old butler. “I said the King wanted +him—” +</p> +<p> +“You may leave the room, Tate,” said Lady Eleanor, who perceived with +annoyance the sneering expression old Tate's simplicity had called up in +the stranger's face. “Now, sir,” said she, turning towards him, “may I ask +if your business with the Knight of Gwynne is of that nature that cannot +be transacted in his absence or through his law agent?” +</p> +<p> +“Scarcely, madam,” said Nickie, with a sententious gravity, who, in the +vantage-ground his power gave him, seemed rather desirous of prolonging +the interview. “Mr. Darcy's part can scarcely be performed by deputy, even +if he found any one friendly enough to undertake it.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Eleanor never spoke, but her hand grasped her daughter's more +closely, and they both stood pale and trembling with agitation. Helen was +the first to rally from this access of terror, and with an assured voice +she said,— +</p> +<p> +“You have heard, sir, that the Knight of Gwynne is absent; and as you say +your business is with him alone, is there any further reason for your +presence here?” +</p> +<p> +Mr. Nickie seemed for a moment taken aback by this unexpected speech, and +for a few seconds made no answer; his nature and his calling, however, +soon supplied presence of mind, and with an air of almost insolent +familiarity he answered,— +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps there may be, young lady.” He turned, and opening the door, gave +a sharp whistle, which was immediately responded to by a cry of “Here we +are, sir,” and the two followers already mentioned entered the cottage. +</p> +<p> +“You may have heard of such a thing as an execution, ma'am,” said Nickie, +addressing Lady Eleanor, in a voice of mock civility, “the attachment of +property for debt. This is part of my business at the present moment.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you mean here, sir—in this cottage?” asked Lady Eleanor, in an +accent scarcely audible from terror. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, ma'am, just so. The law allows fourteen days for redemption, with +payment of costs, until which time these men here will remain on the +premises; and although these gimcracks will scarcely pay my client's +costs, we must only make the best of it.” +</p> +<p> +“But this property is not ours, sir. This cottage belongs to a friend.” +</p> +<p> +“I am aware of that, ma'am. And that friend is about to answer for his own +sins on the present occasion, and not yours. These chattels are attached +as the property of Bagenal Daly, Esquire, at the suit of Peter Hickman, +formerly of Loughrea, surgeon and apothecary.” +</p> +<p> +“Is Mr. Daly aware-does he know of these proceedings?” gasped Lady +Eleanor, faintly. +</p> +<p> +“In the multiplicity of similar affairs, ma'am, it is quite possible he +may have let this one escape his memory; for if I don't mistake, he has +two actions pending in the King's Bench, an answer in equity, three cases +of common assault, and a contempt ol court,—all upon his hands for +this present session, not to speak of what this may portend.” +</p> +<p> +Here he took a newspaper from his pocket, and having doubled down a +paragraph, handed it to Lady Eleanor. +</p> +<p> +Overwhelmed by grief and astonishment, she made no motion to take the +paper, and Mr. Nickie, turning to Helen, read aloud,— +</p> +<p> +'“There is a rumor prevalent in the capital this morning, to which we +cannot, in the present uncertainty as to fact, make any more than a +guarded allusion. It is indeed one of those strange reports which we can +neither credit nor reject,—the only less probable thing than its +truth being that any one could deliberately fabricate so foul a calumny. +The story in its details we forbear to repeat; the important point, +however, is to connect the name of a well-known and eccentric late M. P. +for an Irish borough with the malicious burning of Newgate, and the +subsequent escape of the robber Freney. +</p> +<p> +“'The reasons alleged for this most extraordinary act are so marvellous, +absurd, and contradictory that we will not trifle with our readers' +patience by recounting them. The most generally believed one, however, is, +that the senator and the highwayman had maintained, for years past, an +intercourse of a very confidential nature, the threat to reveal which, on +his trial, Freney used as compulsory means of procuring his escape.' +</p> +<p> +“Carrick goes further,” added Mr. Nickie, as he restored the paper to his +pocket, “and gives the name of Bagenal Daly, Esq., in full; stating, +besides, that he sailed for Halifax on Sunday last.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Eleanor and Helen exchanged looks of intelligent meaning, as he +finished the paragraph. To them Daly's hurried departure had a most +significant importance. +</p> +<p> +“This, ma'am, among other reasons,” resumed Nickie, “was another hint to +my client to press his claim; for Mr. Daly's departure once known, there +would soon be a scramble for the little remnant of his property. With your +leave, I 'll now put the keepers in possession. Perhaps you 'll not be +offended,” added he, in a lower tone, “if I remark that it's usual to +offer the men some refreshment. Come here, M'Dermot,” said he, aloud,-“a +very respectable man, and married, too,—the ladies will make you +comfortable, Mick, and I 'm sure you 'll be civil and obliging.” +</p> +<p> +A grunt and a gesture with both hands was the answer. +</p> +<p> +“Falls, we'll station you in the kitchen; mind you behave yourself. +</p> +<p> +“I 'll just take a slight inventory of the principal things,—a mere +matter of form, ma'am,—I know you 'll not remove one of them,” said +Mr. Nickie, who, like most coarsely minded people, was never more +offensive than when seeking to be complimentary. He did not notice, +however, the indignant look with which his speech was received, but +proceeded regularly in his office. +</p> +<p> +There is something insupportably offensive and revolting in the +business-like way of those who execute the severities of the law. Like the +undertaker, they can sharpen the pangs of misfortune by vulgarizing its +sorrows. Lady Eleanor gazed, in but half-consciousness, at the scene; the +self-satisfied assurance of the chief, the ruffian contented-ness of his +followers, grating on every prejudice of her mind. Not so Helen; more +quick to reason on impressions, she took in, at a glance, their sad +condition, and saw that, in a few days at furthest, they should be +houseless as well as friendless in the world,—no one near to counsel +or to succor them! Such were her thoughts as almost mechanically her eyes +followed the sheriff's officer through the chamber. +</p> +<p> +“Not that, sir,” cried she, hastily, as he stopped in front of a miniature +of her father, and was noting it down in his list, among the objects of +the apartment,—“not that, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“And why not, miss?” said Nickie, with a leer of impudent familiarity. +</p> +<p> +“It is a portrait of the Knight of Gwynne, sir, and <i>our</i> property.” +</p> +<p> +“Sorry for it, miss, but the law makes no distinction with regard to +property on the premises. You can always recover by a replevin.” +</p> +<p> +“Come, Helen, let us leave this,” said Lady Eleanor, faintly; “come away, +child.” +</p> +<p> +“You said, sir,” said Helen, turning hastily about,—“you said, sir, +that these proceedings were taken at the suit of Dr. Hickman. Was it his +desire that we should be treated thus?” +</p> +<p> +“Upon my word, young lady, he gave no special directions on the subject, +nor, if he had, would it signify much. The law, once set in motion, must +take its course; I suppose you know that.” +</p> +<p> +Helen did not hear his speech out, for, yielding to her mother, she +quitted the apartment. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Nickie stood for a few moments gazing at the door by which they had +made their exit, and then, turning towards M'Dermot, with a knowing wink +he said, “We'll be better friends before we part, I 'll engage, little as +she likes me now.” +</p> +<p> +“Faix, I never seen yer equal at getting round them,” answered the sub, in +a voice of fawning flattery, the very opposite of his former gruff tone. +</p> +<p> +“That's the way I always begin, when they take a saucy way with them,” +resumed Nickie, who felt evidently pleased at the other's admiration. “And +when they 're brought down a bit to a sense of their situation, I can just +be as kind as I was cruel.” +</p> +<p> +“Never fear ye!” said M'Dermot, with a sententious shake of the head. +“Devil a taste of her would lave the room, if it wasn't for the mother.” +</p> +<p> +“I saw that plain enough,” said Nickie, as he threw a self-approving look +at himself in a tall mirror opposite. +</p> +<p> +“She's a fine young girl, there's no denying it,” said M'Dermot, who +anticipated, as the result of his chief's attention, a more liberal scale +of treatment for himself. “But I don't know how ye 'll ever get round her, +though to be sure if <i>you</i> can't, who can?” +</p> +<p> +“This inventory will keep me till night,” said Nickie, changing the theme +quite suddenly, “and I'll miss Dempsey, I 'm afraid.” +</p> +<p> +“I hope not; sure you have his track,—haven't you?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, and I have four fellows after him, along the shore here, but they +say he 's cunning as a fox. Well, I 'll not give him up in a hurry, that's +all. Is that rain I hear against the glass, Mick?” +</p> +<p> +“Ay, and dreadful rain too!” said the other, peeping through the window, +which now rattled and shook with a sudden squall of wind. “You 'll not be +able to leave this so late.” +</p> +<p> +“So I 'm thinking, Mick,” said Nickie, laying down his writing-materials, +and turning his back to the fire; “I believe I must stay where I am.” +</p> +<p> +“'T is yourself is the boy!” cried Mick, with a look of admiration at his +master. +</p> +<p> +“You 're wrong, Mick,” said he, with a scarce repressed smile, “all wrong; +I wasn't thinking of her.” +</p> +<p> +“Maybe not,” said M'Dermot, shaking his head doubtfully; “maybe she's not +thinking of you this minute! But, afther all, I don't know how ye 'll do +it. Any one would say the vardic was again you.” +</p> +<p> +“So it is, man, but can't we move for a new trial?” So saying, he turned +suddenly about, and pulled the bell. +</p> +<p> +M'Dermot said nothing, but stood staring at his chief, with a well-feigned +expression of wonderment, as though to say, “What is he going to do next?” +</p> +<p> +The summons was speedily answered by old Tate, who stood in respectful +attention within the door. Not the slightest suspicion had crossed the +butler's mind of Mr. Nickie's calling, or of his object with the Knight, +or his manner would certainly have displayed a very different politeness. +“Didn't you ring, sir?” said he, with a bow to Nickie, who now seemed +vacillating, and uncertain how to proceed. +</p> +<p> +“Yes—I did—ring—the—bell,” replied he, hesitating +between each word of the sentence. “I was about to say that, as the night +was so severe,—a perfect hurricane it seems,—I should remain +here. Eh, did you speak?” +</p> +<p> +“No, sir,” replied Tate, respectfully. +</p> +<p> +“You can inform your mistress, then, and say, with Mr. Nickie's respectful +compliments,-mind that!—that if they have no objection, he would be +happy to join them at supper.” +</p> +<p> +Tate stood as if transfixed, not a sign of anger, not even of surprise in +his features. The shock had actually stupefied him. +</p> +<p> +“Do ye hear what the gentleman 's saying to you?” asked Mick, in a stern +voice. +</p> +<p> +“Sir?” said Tate, endeavoring to recover his routed faculties,—“sir?” +</p> +<p> +“Tell the old fool what I said,” muttered Nickie, with angry impatience; +and then, as if remembering that his message might possibly be not +over-courteously worded by Mr. M'Dennot, he approached Tate, and said, +“Give your mistress Mr. Nickie's compliments, and say that, not being able +to return to Coleraine, he hopes he may be permitted to pass the evening +with her and Miss Darcy.” This message, uttered with great rapidity, as if +the speaker dare not trust himself with more deliberation, was accompanied +by a motion of the hand, which half pushed the old butler from the room. +</p> +<p> +Neither Mr. Nickie nor his subordinate exchanged a word during Tate's +absence. The former, indeed, seemed far less confident of his success than +at first, and M'Dermot waited the issue, for his cue what part to take in +the transaction. +</p> +<p> +If Tate's countenance, when he left the room, exhibited nothing but +confusion and bewilderment, when he reentered it his looks were composed +and steadfast. +</p> +<p> +“Well?” said Nickie, as the old butler stood for a second without +speaking,—“well?” +</p> +<p> +“Her Ladyship says that you and the other men, sir, may receive any +accommodation the house affords.” He paused for a moment or two, and then +added, “Her Ladyship declines Mr. Nickie's society.” +</p> +<p> +“Did she give you that message herself?” asked Nickie, hastily; “are those +her own words?” +</p> +<p> +“Them's her words,” said Tate, dryly. +</p> +<p> +“I never heerd the likes—” +</p> +<p> +“Stop, Mick, hold your tongue!” said Nickie, to his over-zealous follower; +while he muttered to himself, “My name is n't Anthony Nickie, or I 'll +make her repent that speech! Ay, faith,” said he, aloud, as turning to the +portrait of the Knight he appeared to address it, “you shall come to the +hammer as the original did before you.” If Tate had understood the purport +of this sarcasm, it is more than probable the discussion would have taken +another form; as it was, he listened to Mr. Nickie's orders about the +supper with due decorum, and retired to make the requisite preparations. +“I will make a night of it, by———-,” exclaimed Nickie, +as with clinched fist he struck the table before him. “I hope you know how +to sing, Mick?” +</p> +<p> +“I can do a little that way, sir,” grinned the ruffian, “when the company +is pressin'. If it was n't too loud—” +</p> +<p> +“Too loud! you may drown the storm out there, if ye 're able. But wait +till we have the supper and the liquor before us, as they might cut off +the supplies.” And with this prudent counsel, they suffered Tate to +proceed in his arrangements, without uttering another word. +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0018"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XVIII. A CONVIVIAL EVENING +</h2> +<p> +While Tate busied himself in laying the table, Mr. Nickie, with bent brows +and folded arms, passed up and down the apartments, still ruminating on +the affront so openly passed upon him, and cogitating how best to avenge +it. As passing and repassing he cast his eyes on the preparations, he +halted suddenly, and said, “Lay another cover here.” Tate stood, uncertain +whether he had heard aright the words, when Nickie repeated, “Don't you +hear me? I said lay another cover. The gentleman will sup here.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh! indeed,” exclaimed Tate, as, opening his eyes to the fullest extent, +he appeared to admit a new light upon his brain; “I beg pardon, sir, I was +thinking that this gentleman might like to sup with the other gentleman, +out in the kitchen beyond!” +</p> +<p> +“I said he 'd sup here,” said Nickie, vehemently, for he felt the taunt in +all its bitterness. +</p> +<p> +“I say, old fellow,” said M'Dermot in Tate's ear, “you needn't be sparin' +of the liquor. Give us the best you have, and plenty of it. It is all the +same to yer master, you know, in a few days. I was saying, sir,” said he +to Nickie, who, overhearing him, turned sharply round,-“I was saying, sir, +that he might as well give up the ould bin with the cobweb over it. It's +the creditors suffers now, and we've many a way of doin' a civil turn.” +</p> +<p> +“His mistress has shut the door on that,” said Nickie, savagely, “and she +may take the consequences.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, never mind him,” whispered M'Dermot to Tate; “he 's the best-hearted +crayture that ever broke bread, but passionate, d' ye mind, passionate.” +</p> +<p> +Poor Tate, who had suddenly become alive to the characters and objects of +his quests, was now aware that his mistress's refusal to admit the chief +might possibly be productive of very disastrous consequences; for, like +all low Irishmen, he had a very ample notion of the elastic character of +the law, and thought that its pains and penalties were entirely at the +option of him who executed it. +</p> +<p> +“Her Ladyship never liked to see much company,” said he, apologetically. +</p> +<p> +“Well, maybe so,” rejoined M'Dennot, “but in a quiet homely sort of a way, +sure she need n't have refused Mr. Anthony; little she knows, there 's not +the like of him for stories about the Court of Conscience and the +Sessions.” +</p> +<p> +“I don't doubt it,” exclaimed Tate, who, in assenting, felt pretty certain +that his fascinations would scarcely have met appreciation in the society +of his mistress and her daughter. +</p> +<p> +“And if ye heerd him sing 'Hobson's Choice,' with a new verse of his own +at the end!” +</p> +<p> +Tate threw a full expression of wondering admiration into his features, +and went on with his arrangements in silence. +</p> +<p> +“Does he know anything of Dempsey, do you think?” said Nickie, in a +whisper to his follower. +</p> +<p> +“Not he,” muttered the other, scornfully; “the crayture seems half a +nat'ral.” Then, in a voice pitched purposely loud, he said, “Do you happen +to know one Dempsey in these parts?” +</p> +<p> +“Paul Dempsey?” added Nickie. +</p> +<p> +“A little, short man, with a turned-up nose, that walks with his shoulders +far back and his hands spread out? Ay, I know him well; he dined here one +day with the master, and sure enough he made the company laugh hearty!” +</p> +<p> +“I 'd be glad to meet him, if he 's as pleasant as you say,” said Nickie, +slyly. +</p> +<p> +“There's nothing easier, then,” said Tate; “since the boarding-house is +closed there at Ballintray, he's up in Coleraine for the winter. I hear he +waits for the Dublin mail, at M'Grotty's door, every evening, to see the +passengers, and that he has a peep at the way-bill before the agent +himself.” +</p> +<p> +“Has he so many acquaintances that he is always on the look out for one?” +</p> +<p> +“Faix, if they'd let him,” cried Tate, laughing, “I believe he 'd know +every man, woman, and child in Ireland. For curiosity, he beats all ever I +seen.” +</p> +<p> +As Tate spoke, a sudden draught of wind seemed to penetrate the chamber,—at +least the canoe and its party shook perceptibly. +</p> +<p> +“We'll have a rare night of it,” said Nickie, drawing nearer to the fire. +Then resuming, added, “And you say I'll have no difficulty to find him?” +</p> +<p> +“Not the least, bedad! It would be far harder to escape him, from all I +hear. He watches the coach, and never leaves it till he sees the fore boot +and the hind one empty; not only looking the passengers in the face, but +tumbling over the luggage, reading all the names, and where they 're +going. Oh, he's a wonderful man for knowledge!” +</p> +<p> +“Indeed,” said Nickie, with a look of attention to draw on the garrulity +of the old man. +</p> +<p> +“I've reason to remember it well,” said Tate, putting both hands to his +loins. “It was the day he dined here I got the rheumatiz in the small of +my back. When I went to open the gate without there for him, he kept me +talking for three quarters of an hour in the teeth of an east wind that +would shave a goat,—asking me about the master and the mistress and +Miss Helen, ay, and even about myself at last,—if I had any +brothers, and what their names was, and who was Mister Daly, and whether +he did n't keep a club-house. By my conscience, it's well for him ould +Bagenal did n't hear him!” +</p> +<p> +A clattering sound from the canoe suddenly interrupted Tate's narrative; +he stopped short, and muttered, in a tone of unfeigned terror,— +</p> +<p> +“That's the way always,-may I never see glory! ye can't speak of him but +he hears ye!” +</p> +<p> +A rude laugh from Nickie, chorused still more coarsely by M'Dermot, +arrested Tate's loquacity, and he finished his arrangements without +speaking, save in a few broken sentences. +</p> +<p> +If Mr. Nickie could have been conciliated by material enjoyments, he might +decidedly have confessed that the preparations for his comfort were ample +and hospitable. A hot supper diffused its savory steam on a table where +decanters and flasks of wine of different sorts and sizes attested that +the more convivial elements of a feast were not forgotten. Good humor was, +however, not to be restored by such amends. He was wounded in his +self-love, outraged in his vanity; and he sat down in a dogged silence to +the meal, a perfect contrast in appearance to the coarse delight of his +subordinate. +</p> +<p> +While Tate remained to wait on them, Nickie's manner and bearing were +unchanged. A sullen, sulky expression sat on features which, even when at +the best, conveyed little better than a look of shrewd keenness; nor could +the appetite with which he eat suggest a passing ray of satisfaction to +his face. +</p> +<p> +“I am glad we are rid of that old fellow at last,” said he, as the door +closed upon Tate. “Whether fool or knave, I saw what he was at; he would +have been disrespectful if he dared.” +</p> +<p> +“I did n't mind him much, sir,” said M'Dermot, honestly confessing that +the good cheer had absorbed his undivided attention. +</p> +<p> +“I did, then; I saw his eyes fixed effectually on us,—on you +particularly. I thought he would have laughed outright when you helped +yourself to the entire duck.” +</p> +<p> +Nickie spoke this with an honest severity, meant to express his discontent +with his companion fully as much as with the old butler. +</p> +<p> +“Well, it was an excellent supper, anyhow,” said M'Dermot, taking the +bottle which Nickie pushed towards him somewhat rudely; “and here 's +wishing health and happiness and long life to ye, Mr. Anthony. May ye +always have as plentiful a board, and better company round it.” +</p> +<p> +There was a fawning humility in the fellow's manner that seemed to gratify +the other, for he nodded a return to the sentiment, and, after a brief +pause, said,—“The servants in these grand houses,—and that old +fellow, you may remark, was with the Darcys when they were great people,—they +give themselves airs to everybody they think below the rank of their +master.” +</p> +<p> +“Faix, they might behave better to <i>you</i>, Mr. Anthony,” said +M'Dermot. +</p> +<p> +“Well, they're run their course now,” said Nickie, not heeding the remark. +“Both master and man have had their day. I 've seen more executions on +property in the last six months than ever I did in all my life before. +Creditors won't wait now as they used to do. No influence now to make +gaugers and tide-waiters and militia officers; no privilege of Parliament +to save them from arrest!” +</p> +<p> +“My blessings on them for that, anyhow,” said M'Dermot, finishing his +glass. “The Union 's a fine thing.” +</p> +<p> +“The fellows that got the bribes—and, to be sure, there was plenty +of money going—won't stay to spend it in Ireland; devil a one will +remain here, but those that are run out and ruined.” +</p> +<p> +“Bad luck to it for a Bill!” said M'Dermot, who felt obliged to sacrifice +his consistency in his desire to concur with each new sentiment of his +chief. +</p> +<p> +“The very wine we're drinking, maybe, was given for a vote. Pitt knew well +how to catch them.” +</p> +<p> +“Success attend him!” chimed in M'Dermot. +</p> +<p> +“And just think of them now,” continued Nickie, whose ruminations were +never interrupted by the running commentary,—“just think of them! +selling the country, trade, prosperity, everything, for a few hundred +pounds.” +</p> +<p> +“The blackguards!” +</p> +<p> +“Some, to be sure, made a fine thing out of it. Not like old Darcy here; +they were early in the market, and got both rank and money too.” +</p> +<p> +“Ay, that was doin' it in style!” exclaimed Mike, who expressed himself +this time somewhat equivocally, for safety's sake. +</p> +<p> +“There 's no denying it, Castlereagh was a clever fellow!” +</p> +<p> +“The best man ever I seen—I don't care who the other is.” +</p> +<p> +“He knew when to bid, and when to draw back; never became too pressing, +but never let any one feel himself neglected; watched his opportunities +slyly, and when the time came, pounced down like a hawk on his victim.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, the thieves' breed! What a hard heart he had!” muttered M'Dermot, +perfectly regardless of whom he was speaking. +</p> +<p> +Thus did Mr. Nickie ramble on, in the popular cant, over the subject of +the day; for although the Union was now carried, and its consequences—whatever +they might be—so far inevitable, the men whose influence effected +the measure were still before the bar of public opinion,—an ordeal +not a whit more just and discriminating than it usually is. While the +current of these reminiscences ran on, varied by some anecdote here or +some observation there, both master and man drank deeply. So long as good +liquor abounded, Mr. M'Dermot could have listened with pleasure, even to a +less entertaining companion; and as for Nickie, he felt a vulgar pride in +discussing, familiarly and by name, the men of rank and station who took a +leading part in Irish politics. The pamphlets and newspapers of the day +had made so many private histories public, had unveiled so many family +circumstances before the eyes of the world, that his dissertations had all +the seeming authenticity of personal knowledge. +</p> +<p> +It was at the close of a rather violent denunciation of the “Traitors”—as +the Government party was ever called—that Nickie, striking the table +with his fist, called on M'Dermot to sing. +</p> +<p> +“I say, Mac,” cried he, with a faltering tongue, and eyes red and bleared +from drink,—“the old lady—wouldn't accept my society—she +did n't think—An-tho-ny Nickie, Esquire—good enough—to +sit down—at her table. Let us show her what she has lost, my boy. +Give her 'Bob Uniake's Boots' or 'The Major's Prayer.'” +</p> +<p> +“Or what d' ye think of the new ballad to Lord Castlereagh, sir?” +suggested M'Dermot, modestly. “It was the last thing Rhoudlim had when I +left town.” +</p> +<p> +“Is it good?” hiccuped Nickie. +</p> +<p> +“If ye heerd Rhoudlim—” +</p> +<p> +“D——n Rhoudlim!—she used to sing that song Parsons made +on the attorneys. Parsons never liked us, Mac. You know what he said to +Holmes, who went to him for a subscription of five shillings, to help to +bury Mat Costegan. 'Was n't he an attorney?' says Parsons. 'He was,' says +the other. 'Well, here 's a pound,' says he; 'take it and bury four!'” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, by my conscience, that was mighty nate!” said M'Dermot, who +completely forgot himself. +</p> +<p> +Nickie frowned savagely at his companion, and for a moment seemed about to +express his anger more palpably, when he suddenly drank off his glass, and +said, “Well, the song,-let us have it now.” +</p> +<p> +“I 'm afraid—I don't know more than a verse here and there,” said +Mac, bashfully stroking down his hair, and mincing his words; “but with +the help of a chorus—” +</p> +<p> +“Trust me for that,” cried Nickie, who now drank glass after glass without +stopping; “I'm always ready for a song.” So saying he burst out into a +half-lachryinose chant,— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“An old maid had a roguish eye! +And she was call'd the great Kamshoodera! +Rich was she and poor was I! +Fol de dol de die do! +</pre> +<p> +“I forget the rest, Mickie, but it goes on about a Nabob and a bear, and—a—what's +this ye call it, a pottle of green gooseberries that Lord Clangoff sold to +Mrs. Kelfoyle.” +</p> +<p> +“To be sure; I remember it well,” said Mac, humoring the drunken +lucubrations; “but my chant is twice as aisy to sing,—the air is the +'Black Joke;' and any one can chorus.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, open the proceedings,” hiccuped Nickie; “state the case.” +</p> +<p> +And thus encouraged, Mr. M'Dermot cleared his throat, and in a voice loud +and coarse enough to be heard above the howling din, began:— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Though many a mile he's from Erin away, +Here 's health and long life to my Lord Castlereagh, +With his bag full of guineas so bright! +'T was he that made Bishops and Deans by the score, +And Peers, of the fashion of Lord Donoughmore! +And a Colonel of horse of our friend Billy Lake, +And Wallincourt a Lord,—t'other day but Joe Blake, +With his bag full of guineas so bright. + +“Come Beresford, Bingham, Luke Fox, and Tyrone, +Come Kearney, Bob Johnston, and Arthur Malone, +With your bag full of guineas so bright; +Lord Charles Fitzgerald and Kit Fortescue, +And Henry Deane Grady,—we 'll not forget you, +Come Cuffe, Isaac Corry, and General Dunne, +And you Jemmy Vandeleur,—come every one, +With your bag full of guineas so bright. + +Come Talbot and Townsend, Come Toler and Trench, +Tho' made for the gallows, ye 're now on the Bench, +With your bag full of guineas so bright +But if ever again this black list I 'll begin, +The first name I 'll take is the ould Knight of Gwynne, +Who, robb'd of his property, stripped of his pelf, +Would be glad to see Erin as poor as himself. +With no bag full of guineas so bright. + +“If the Parliament 's gone, and the world it has scoffed us, +What a blessing to think that we 've Tottenham Loftus, +With his bag full of guineas so bright. +Oh, what consolation through every disaster, +To know that your Lordship is made our Postmaster, +And your uncle a Bishop, your aunt—but why mention, +Two thousand a year, 'of a long service pension' +Of a bag full of guineas so bright. + +“But what is the change, since your Lordship appears! +You found us all Paupers, you left us all Peers, +With your bag full of guineas so bright. +Not a man in the island, however he boast, +But has a good reason to fill to the toast,— +From Cork to the Causeway, from Howth to Clue Bay, +A health and long life to my Lord Castlereagh, +With his bag full of guineas so bright.” +</pre> +<p> +The boisterous accompaniment by which Mr. Nickie testified his +satisfaction at the early verses had gradually subsided into a low droning +sound, which at length, towards the conclusion, lapsed into a prolonged +heavy snore. “Fast!” exclaimed M'Dermot, holding the candle close to his +eyes. “Fast!” Then taking up the decanter, he added, “And if ye had gone +off before, it would have been no great harm. Ye never had the bottle out +of yer grip for the last hour and half!” He heaped some wood on the grate, +refilled his glass, and then disposing himself so as to usurp a very large +share of the blazing fire, prepared to follow the good example of his +chief. Long habit had made an arm-chair to the full as comfortable as a +bed to the worthy functionary, and his arrangements were scarcely +completed, when his nose announced by a deep sound that he was a wanderer +in the land of dreams. +</p> +<p> +Poor Mr. Dempsey—for if the reader may have forgotten him all this +while, we must not—listened long and watchfully to the heavy notes, +nor was it without considerable fear that he ventured to unveil his head +and take a peep under Daly's arm at the sleepers. Reassured by the seeming +heaviness of the slumberers, he dared a step farther, and at last seated +himself bolt upright in the canoe, glad to relieve his cramped-up legs, +even by this momentary change of position. So cautious were all his +movements, so still and noiseless every gesture, that had there been a +waking eye to mark him, it would have been hard enough to distinguish +between his figure and those of his inanimate neighbors. +</p> +<p> +<a name="image-0010" id="image-0010"> +<!-- IMG --></a> <img src="images/236.jpg" height="728" width="613" alt="236 " /> +</p> +<p> +The deep and heavy breathing of the sleepers was the only sound to be +heard; they snored as if it were a contest between them; still it was long +before Dempsey could summon courage enough to issue from his hiding-place, +and with stealthy steps approach the table. Cautiously lifting the candle, +he first held it to the face of one and then of the other of the sleepers. +His next move was to inspect the supper-table, where, whatever the former +abundance, nothing remained save the veriest fragments: the bottles too +were empty, and poor Dempsey shook his head mournfully as he poured out +and drank the last half-glass of sherry in a decanter. This done, he stood +for a few minutes reflecting what step he should take next. A sudden +change of position of Nickie startled him from these deliberations, and +Dempsey cowered down beneath the table in terror. Scarcely daring to +breathe, Paul waited while the sleeper moved from side to side, muttering +some short and broken words; at length he seemed to have settled himself +to his satisfaction, for so his prolonged respiration bespoke. Just as he +had turned for the last time, a heavy roll of papers fell from his pocket +to the floor. Dempsey eyed the packet with a greedy look, but did not dare +to reach his hand towards it, till well assured that the step was safe. +</p> +<p> +Taking a candle from the table, Paul reseated himself on the floor, and +opened a large roll of documents tied with red tape; the very first he +unrolled seemed to arrest his attention strongly, and although passing on +to the examination of the remainder, he more than once recurred to it, +till at length creeping stealthily towards the fire, he placed it among +the burning embers, and stirred and poked until it became a mere mass of +blackened leaves. +</p> +<p> +“There,” muttered he, “Paul Dempsey 's his own man again. And now what can +he do for his friends? Ha, ha! 'Execution against Effects of Bagenal Daly, +Esq.,'” said he, reading half aloud; “and this lengthy affair here, +'Instructions to A. N. relative to the enclosed'-let us see what that may +be.” And so saying, he opened the scroll; a bright flash of flame burst +out from among the slumbering embers, and ere it died away Paul read a few +lines of the paper. “What scoundrels!” muttered he, as he wiped the +perspiration from his forehead, for already had honest Paul's feelings +excited him to the utmost. The flame was again flickering, in another +moment it would be out, when, stealing forth his hand, he placed an open +sheet upon it, and then, as the blaze caught, he laid the entire bundle of +papers on the top, and watched them till they were reduced to ashes. +</p> +<p> +“Maybe it's a felony—I'm sure it's a misdemeanor at least—what +I 've done now,” muttered he; “but there was no resisting it. I wish I +thought it was no heavier crime to do the same by these worthy gentlemen +here.” +</p> +<p> +Indeed, for a second or two, Paul's hesitation seemed very considerable. +Fear, or something higher in principle, got the victory at length, and +after a long silence he said,— +</p> +<p> +“Well, I 'll not harm them.” And with this benevolent sentiment he stood +up, and detaching Darcy's portrait from the wall, thrust it into his +capacious pocket. This done, he threw another glance over the table, lest +some unseen decanter might still remain; but no, except a water-jug of +pure element, nothing remained. +</p> +<p> +“Good-night, and pleasant dreams t'ye both,” muttered Paul, as, blowing +out one candle, he took the other, and slipped, without the slightest +noise, from the room. +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0019"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XIX. MR. DEMPSEY BEHIND THE SCENE +</h2> +<p> +No very precise or determined purpose guided Mr. Dempsey's footsteps as he +issued from the hall and gained the corridor, from which the various rooms +of the cottage opened. Benevolent intentions of the vaguest kind towards +Lady Eleanor were commingled with thoughts of his own safety, and perhaps +more strongly than either, an intense curiosity to inspect the domestic +arrangements of the family, not without the hope of finding something to +eat. +</p> +<p> +He had now been about twenty-four hours without food, and to a man who +habitually lived in a boarding-house, and felt it a point of honor to +consume as much as he could for his weekly pay, the abstinence was far +from agreeable. If then his best inspirations were blended with some +selfishness, he was not quite unpardonable. Mr. Dempsey tried each door as +he went along, and although they were all unlocked, the interiors +responded to none of his anticipations. The apartments were plainly but +comfortably furnished; in some books lay about, and an open piano told of +recent habitation. In one, which he judged rightly to be the Knight's +drawing-room, a table was covered over with letters and law papers,—documents +which honest Paul beheld with some feeling akin to Aladdin, when he +surveyed the inestimable treasures he had no means of carrying away with +him from the mine. A faint gleam of light shone from beneath a door at the +end of the corridor, and thither with silent footsteps he now turned. All +was still: he listened as he drew near; but except the loud ticking of a +clock, nothing was to be heard. Paul tried to reconnoitre by the keyhole, +but it was closed. He waited for some time unable to decide on the most +fitting course, and at length opened the door, and entered. Stopping short +at the threshold, Paul raised the candle, to take a better view of the +apartment. Perhaps any one save himself would have returned on discovering +it was a bedroom. A large old-fashioned bed, with a deep and massive +curtain closely drawn, stood against one wall; beside it, on the table, +was a night-lamp, from which the faint glimmer he had first noticed +proceeded. Some well-stuffed arm-chairs were disposed here and there, and +on the tables lay articles of female dress. Mr. Dempsey stood for a few +seconds, and perhaps some secret suspicion crept over him that this visit +might be thought intrusive. It might be Lady Eleanor's, or perhaps Miss +Darcy's chamber. Who was to say she was not actually that instant in bed +asleep? Were the fact even so, Mr. Dempsey only calculated on a momentary +shock of surprise at his appearance, well assured that his explanation +would be admitted as perfectly satisfactory. Thus wrapped in his good +intentions, and shrouding the light with one hand, he drew the curtain +with the other. The bed was empty, the coverings were smooth, the pillows +unpressed. The occupant, whoever it might be, had not yet taken +possession. Mr. Dempsey's fatigue was only second to his hunger, and +having failed to discover the larder, it is more than probable he would +have contented himself with the gratification of a sleep, had he not just +at that instant perceived a light flickering beside and beneath the folds +of a heavy curtain which hung over a doorway at the farthest end of the +room. His spirit of research once more encouraged, he moved towards it, +and drawing it very gently, admitted his eye in the interspace. A glass +door intervened between him and a small chamber, but permitted him to see +without being heard by those within. Flattening his features on the glass, +he stared at the scene; and truly one less inspired by the spirit of +inquiry might have felt shocked at being thus placed. Lady Eleanor sat in +her dressing-gown on a sofa, while, half kneeling, half lying at her feet, +was Helen, her head concealed in her mother's lap, and her long hair +loosely flowing over her neck and shoulders. Lady Eleanor was pale as +death, and the marks of recent tears were ou her cheeks; but still her +features wore the expression of deep tenderness and pity, rather than of +selfish sorrow. Helen's face was hidden; but her attitude, and the low +sobbing sounds that at intervals broke the stillness, told how her heart +was suffering. +</p> +<p> +<a name="image-0011" id="image-0011"> +<!-- IMG --></a> <img src="images/242.jpg" height="551" width="692" alt="242 " /> +</p> +<p> +“My dear, dear child,” said Lady Eleanor, as she laid her hand upon the +young girl's head, “be comforted. Rest assured that in making me the +partner in your sorrow, I will be the happier participator in your joy, +whenever its day may come. Yes, Helen, and it will come.” +</p> +<p> +“Had I told you earlier—” +</p> +<p> +“Had you done so,” interrupted Lady Eleanor, “you had been spared much +grief, for I could have assured you, as I now do, that you are not to +blame,—that this young man's rashness, however we may deplore it, +had no promptings from us.” +</p> +<p> +Helen replied, but in so low a tone that Mr. Dempsey could not catch the +words; he could hear, however, Lady Eleanor uttering at intervals words of +comfort and encouragement, and at last she said,— +</p> +<p> +“Nay, Helen, no half-confidence, my child. Acknowledge it fairly, that +your opinion of him is not what it was at first; or if you will not +confess it, leave it to my own judgment And why should you not?” added +she, in a stronger voice; “wiser heads may reprove his precipitancy, +criticise what would be called his folly, but you may be forgiven for +thinking that his Quixotism could deserve another and a fonder title. And +I, Helen, grown old and chilly-hearted, each day more distrustful of the +world, less sanguine in hope, more prone to suspect,—even I feel +that devotion like his has a strong claim on your affection. And shall I +own to you that on the very day he brought us that letter a kind of vague +presentiment that I should one day like him stole across me. What was the +noise? Did you not hear something stir?” Helen had heard it, but paid no +further attention, for there was no token of any one being near. +</p> +<p> +Noise, however, there really was, occasioned by Mr. Dempsey, who, in his +eagerness to hear, had pushed the door partly open. For some moments back, +honest Paul had listened with as much embarrassment as curiosity, sorely +puzzled to divine of whom the mother and daughter were speaking. The +general tenor of the conversation left the subject no matter of +difficulty. The individual was the only doubtful question. Lady Eleanor's +allusion to a letter, and her own feelings at the moment, at once reminded +him of her altered manner to himself on the evening he brought the epistle +from Coleraine, and how she, who up to that time had treated him with +unvarying distance and reserve, had as suddenly become all the reverse. +</p> +<p> +“Blood alive!” said he to himself, “I never as much as suspected it!” His +eagerness to hear further was intense; and although he had contrived to +keep the door ajar, his curiosity was doomed to disappointment, for it was +Helen who spoke, and her words were uttered in a low, faint tone, utterly +inaudible where he stood. Whatever pleasure Mr. Dempsey might have at +first derived from his contraband curiosity, was more than repaid now by +the tortures of anxiety. He suspected that Helen was making a full +confession of her feelings towards him, and yet he could not catch a +syllable. Lady Eleanor, too, when she spoke again, it was in an accent +almost equally faint; and all that Paul could gather was that the mother +was using expressions of cheerfulness and hope, ending with the words,— +</p> +<p> +“His own fortunes look now as darkly as ours; mayhap the same bright +morning will dawn for both together, Helen. We have hope to cheer us, for +him and for us.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah! true enough,” muttered Paul; “she's alluding to old Bob Dempsey, and +if the Lord would take him, we 'd all come right again.” +</p> +<p> +Helen now arose, and seated herself beside her mother, with her head +leaning ou her shoulder; and Mr. Dempsey might have been pardoned if he +thought she never looked more beautiful. The loose folds of her +night-dress less concealed than delineated the perfect symmetry of her +form; while through the heavy masses of the luxuriant hair that fell upon +her neck and shoulders, her skin seemed more than ever delicately fair. If +Paul's mind was a perfect whirl of astonishment, delight, and admiration, +his doubts were no less puzzling. What was <i>he</i> to do? Should he at +once discover himself, throw himself at Helen's feet in a rapture, +confessing that he had heard her avowal, and declare that the passion was +mutual? This, although with evident advantages on the score of dramatic +effect, had also its drawback. Lady Eleanor, who scarcely looked as well +in dishabille as her daughter, might feel offended. She might take it ill, +also, that he had been a listener. Paul had heard of people who actually +deemed eavesdropping unbecoming! Who knows, among her own eccentricities, +if this one might not find place? Paul, therefore, resolved on a more +cautious advance, and, for his guidance, applied his ear once more to the +aperture. This time, however, without success, for they spoke still lower +than before; nor, after a long and patient waiting, could he hear more +than that the subject was their present embarrassment, and the necessity +of immediately removing from “The Corvy,” but where to, and how, they +could not determine. +</p> +<p> +There was no time to ask Bicknell's advice; before an answer could arrive, +they would be exposed to all the inconvenience, perhaps insult, which Mr. +Nickie's procedure seemed to threaten. The subject appeared one to which +all their canvassing had brought no solution, and at last Lady Eleanor +said,— +</p> +<p> +“How thankful I am, Helen, that I never wrote to Lord Netherby; more than +once, when our difficulties seemed to thicken, I half made up my mind to +address him. How much would it add to my present distress of mind, if I +had yielded to the impulse! The very thought is now intolerable.” +</p> +<p> +“Pride! pride!” muttered Paul. +</p> +<p> +“And I was so near it,” ejaculated Lady Eleanor. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said Helen, sharply; “our noble cousin's kindness would be a sore +aggravation of our troubles.” +</p> +<p> +“Worse than the mother, by Jove!” exclaimed Paul. “Oh dear! if I had a +cousin a lord, maybe he'd not hear of me.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Eleanor spoke again; but Paul could only catch a stray word here and +there, and again she reverted to the necessity of leaving the cottage at +once. +</p> +<p> +“Could we even see this Mr. Dempsey,” said she, “he knows the country +well, and might be able to suggest some fitting place for the moment, at +least till we could decide on better.” +</p> +<p> +Paul scarcely breathed, that he might catch every syllable. +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said Helen, eagerly, “he would be the very person to assist us; +but, poor little man! he has his own troubles, too, at this moment.” +</p> +<p> +“She's a kind creature,” muttered Paul; “how fond I'm growing of her!” +</p> +<p> +“It is no time for the indulgence of scruples; otherwise, Helen, I 'd not +place much reliance on the gentleman's taste.” +</p> +<p> +“Proud as Lucifer,” thought Paul. +</p> +<p> +“His good-nature, mamma, is the quality we stand most in need of, and I +have a strong trust that he is not deficient there.” +</p> +<p> +“What a situation to be placed in!” sighed Lady Eleanor: “that we should +turn with a shudder from seeking protection where it is our due, and yet +ask counsel and assistance from a man like this!” +</p> +<p> +“I feel no repugnance whatever to accepting such a favor from Mr. Dempsey, +while I should deem it a great humiliation to be suitor to the Earl of +Netherby.” +</p> +<p> +“And yet he is our nearest relative living,—with vast wealth and +influence, and I believe not indisposed towards us. I go too fast, +perhaps,” said she, scornfully; “his obligations to my own father were too +great and too manifold, that I should say so.” +</p> +<p> +“What a Tartar!” murmured Paul. +</p> +<p> +“If the proud Earl could forget the services my dear father rendered him, +when, a younger son, without fortune or position, he had no other refuge +than our house,—if he could wipe away the memory of benefits once +received,—he might perhaps be better minded towards us; but +obligation is so suggestive of ill-will.” +</p> +<p> +“Dearest mamma,” said Helen, laughing, “if your hopes depend upon his +Lordship's forgetfulness of kindness, I do think we may afford to be +sanguine. I am well inclined to think that he is not weighed down by the +load of gratitude that makes men enemies. Still,” added she, more +seriously, “I am very averse to seeking his aid, or even his counsel; I +vote for Mr. Dempsey.” +</p> +<p> +“How are we to endure the prying impertinence of his curiosity? Have you +thought of that, Helen?” +</p> +<p> +Paul's cheek grew scarlet, and his very fingers' ends tingled. +</p> +<p> +“Easily enough, mamma. Nay, if our troubles were not so urgent, it would +be rather amusing than otherwise; and with all his vulgarity—” +</p> +<p> +“The little vixen!” exclaimed Paul, so much off his guard that both mother +and daughter started. +</p> +<p> +“Did you hear that, Helen? I surely heard some one speak.” +</p> +<p> +“I almost thought so,” replied Miss Darcy, taking up a candle from the +table, and proceeding towards the door. Mr. Dempsey had but time to +retreat behind the curtain of the bed, when she reached the spot where he +had been standing. “No, all is quiet in the house,” said she, opening the +door into the corridor and listening. “Even our respectable guests would +seem to be asleep.” She waited for a few seconds, and then returned to her +place on the sofa. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Dempsey had either heard enough to satisfy the immediate cravings of +his curiosity, or, more probably, felt his present position too critical; +for when he drew the curtain once more close over the glass door, he +slipped noiselessly into the corridor, and entering the first room he +could find, opened the window and sprang out. +</p> +<p> +“You shall not be disappointed in Paul Dempsey, anyhow,” said he, as he +buttoned up the collar of his coat, and pressed his hat more firmly on his +head. “No, my Lady, he may be vulgar and inquisitive, though I confess +it's the first time I ever heard of either; but he is not the man to turn +his back on a good-natured action, when it lies full in front of him. What +a climate, to be sure! it blows from the four quarters of the globe all at +once, and the rain soaks in and deluges one's very heart's blood. Paul, +Paul, you 'll have a smart twinge of rheumatism from this night's +exploit.” +</p> +<p> +It may be conjectured that Mr. Dempsey, like many other gifted people, had +a habit of compensating for the want of society by holding little +dialogues or discourses with himself,—a custom from which he derived +no small gratification, for, while it lightened the weariness of a lonely +way, it enabled him to say many more flattering and civil things to +himself than he usually heard from an ungrateful world. +</p> +<p> +“They talk of Demerara,” said he; “I back Antrim against the world for a +hurricane. The rainy season here lasts all the year round; and if practice +makes perfect—There, now I 'm wet through, I can't be worse. Ah! +Helen, Helen, if you knew how unfit Paul Dempsey is to play Paris! By the +way, who was the fellow that swam the Hellespont for love of a young lady? +Not Laertes, no—that's not it-Leander, that's the name—Leander.” +</p> +<p> +Paul muttered the name several times over, and by a train of thought which +we will not attempt to follow or unravel, began humming to himself the +well-known Irish ditty of— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Teddy, ye gander, +Yer like a Highlander.” +</pre> +<p> +He soon came to a stop in the words, but continued to sing the air, till +at last he broke out in the following version of his own:— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Paul Dempsey, ye gander, +You 're like that Leander +Who for somebody's daughter—for somebody's daughter +Did not mind it one pin +To be wet to the skin, +With a dip in salt water—a dip in salt water. + +“Were you wiser, 'tis plain, +You 'd be now in Coleraine, +A nightcap on your head—a nightcap on your head, +With a jorum of rum, +Made by old Mother Fum, +At the side of your bed—at the side of your bed. + +“For tho' love is divine, +When the weather is fine, +And a season of bliss—a season of bliss, +'Tis a different thing +For a body to sing +On a night such as this—a night such as this. + +“Paul Dempsey! remember, +On the ninth of December +You 'll be just forty-six—you 'll be just forty-six, +And the world will say +That at your time o' day +You 're too old for these tricks—you 're too old for these tricks. + +“And tho' water may show +One's love, faith, +I know I 'd rather prove mine—I 'd rather prove mine +With my feet on the fender; +'T is then I grow tender, +O'er a bumper of wine—o'er a bumper of wine! +</pre> +<p> +“A bumper of wine!” sighed he. “On my conscience, it would be an ugly +toast I 'd refuse to drink this minute, if the liquor was near. +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“Ah! when warm and snog, +With my legs on the rug, +By a turf fire red—a turf fire red— +But how can I rhyme it? +With this horrid climate, +Destroying my head—destroying my head? + +“With a coat full of holes, +And my shoes without soles, +And my hat like a teapot—my hat like a teapot— +</pre> +<p> +“Oh, murther, murther!” screamed he, aloud, as his shins came in contact +with a piece of timber, and he fell full length to the ground, sorely +bruised, and perfectly enveloped in snow. It was some minutes before he +could rally sufficiently to get up; and although he still shouted for +help, seeing a light in a window near, no one came to his assistance, +leaving poor Paul to his own devices. +</p> +<p> +It was some consolation for his sufferings to discover that the object +over which he had stumbled was the shaft of a jaunting-car, such a +conveyance being at that moment what he most desired to meet with. The +driver at last made his appearance, and informed him that he had brought +Nickie and his two companions from Larne, and was now only waiting their +summons to proceed to Coleraine. +</p> +<p> +Paul easily persuaded the man that he could earn a fare in the mean time, +for that Nickie would probably not leave “The Corvy” till late on the +following day, and that by a little exertion he could manage to drive to +Coleraine and back before he was stirring. It is but fair to add that poor +Mr. Dempsey supported his arguments by lavish promises of reward, to +redeem which he speculated on mortgaging his silver watch, and probably +his umbrella, when he reached Coleraine. +</p> +<p> +It was yet a full hour before daybreak, as Lady Eleanor, who had passed +the night in her dressing-room, was startled by a sharp tapping noise at +her window; Helen lay asleep on the sofa, and too soundly locked in +slumber to hear the sounds. Lady Eleanor listened, and while half fearing +to disturb the young girl, wearied and exhausted as she was, she drew near +to the window. The indistinct shadow of a figure was all that she could +detect through the gloom, but she fancied she could hear a weak effort to +pronounce her name. +</p> +<p> +There could be little doubt of the intentions of the visitor; whoever he +should prove, the frail barrier of a window could offer no resistance to +any one disposed to enter by force, and, reasoning thus, Lady Eleanor +unfastened the casement, and cried, “Who is there?” +</p> +<p> +A strange series of gestures, accompanied by a sound between a sneeze and +the crowing of a cock, was all the reply; and when the question was +repeated in a louder tone, a thin quivering voice muttered, “Pau-au-l +De-de-dempsey, my La-dy.” +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Dempsey, indeed!” exclaimed Lady Eleanor. “Oh! pray come round to the +door at your left hand; it is only a few steps from where you are +standing.” +</p> +<p> +Short as the distance was, Mr. Dempsey's progress was of the slowest, and +Lady Eleanor had already time to awaken Helen, ere the half-frozen Paul +had crossed the threshold. +</p> +<p> +“He has passed the night in the snow,” cried Lady Eleanor to her daughter, +as she led him towards the fire. +</p> +<p> +“No, my Lady,” stammered out Paul, “only the last hour and a half; before +that I was snug under old Daly's blanket.” +</p> +<p> +A very significant interchange of looks between mother and daughter seemed +to imply that poor Mr. Dempsey's wits were wandering. +</p> +<p> +“Call Tate; let him bring some wine here at once, Helen.” +</p> +<p> +“It's all drunk; not a glass in the decanter,” murmured Paul, whose +thoughts recurred to the supper-table. +</p> +<p> +“Poor creature, his mind is quite astray,” whispered Lady Eleanor, her +compassion not the less strongly moved, because she attributed his +misfortune to the exertions he had made in their behalf. By this time the +group was increased by the arrival of old Tate, who, in a flannel nightcap +fastened under the chin, and a very ancient dressing-gown of undyed wool, +presented a lively contrast to the shivering condition of Mr. Dempsey. +</p> +<p> +“It's only Mr. Dempsey!” said Lady Eleanor, sharply, as the old butler +stood back, crossing himself and staring with sleepy terror at the white +figure. +</p> +<p> +“May I never! But so it is,” exclaimed Tate, in return to an attempt at a +bow on Dempsey's part, which he accomplished with a brackling noise like +creaking glass. +</p> +<p> +“Some warm wine at once,” said Helen, while she heaped two or three logs +upon the hearth. +</p> +<p> +“With a little ginger in it, miss,” grinned Paul. But the polite attempt +at a smile nearly cut his features, and ended in a most lamentable +expression of suffering. +</p> +<p> +“This is the finest thing in life agin' the cowld,” said Tate, as he threw +over the shivering figure a Mexican mantle, all worked and embroidered +with quills, that gave the gentle Mr. Dempsey the air of an enormous +porcupine. The clothing, the fire, and the wine, of which he partook +heartily, soon restored him, and erelong he had recounted to Lady Eleanor +the whole narrative of his arrival at “The Corvy,” his concealment in the +canoe, the burning of the law papers, and even down to the discovery of +the jaunting-car, omitting nothing, save the interview he had witnessed +between the mother and daughter. +</p> +<p> +Lady Eleanor could not disguise her anxiety on the subject of the burned +documents, but Paul's arguments were conclusive in reply,— +</p> +<p> +“Who's to tell of it? Not your Ladyship, not Miss Helen; and as to Paul, +meaning myself, my discretion is quite Spanish. Yes, my Lady,” said he, +with a tragic gesture that threw back the loose folds of his costume, +“there is an impression abroad, which I grieve to say is widespread, that +the humble individual who addresses you is one of those unstable, fickle +minds that accomplish nothing great; but I deny it, deny it indignantly. +Let the occasion but arise, let some worthy object present itself, or +herself,”—he gave a most melting look towards Helen, which cost all +her efforts to sustain without laughter,—“and then, madam, Don Paulo +Dempsey will come out in his true colors.” +</p> +<p> +“Which I sincerely hope may not be of the snow tint,” said Lady Eleanor, +smiling. “But pray, Mr. Dempsey, to return to a theme more selfish. You +are sufficiently aware of our unhappy circumstances here at this moment, +to see that we must seek some other abode, at least for the present. Can +you then say where we can find such?” +</p> +<p> +“Miss Daly's neighborhood, perhaps,” broke in Helen. +</p> +<p> +“Never do,-not to be thought of,” interrupted Paul; “there's nothing for +it but the Panther—” +</p> +<p> +“The what, sir?” exclaimed Lady Eleanor, in no small surprise. +</p> +<p> +“The Panther, my Lady, Mother Fum's! snug, quiet, and respectable; social, +if you like,—selfish, if you please it. Solitary or gregarious; just +as you fancy.” +</p> +<p> +“And where, sir, is the Panther?” said Lady Eleanor, who in her innocence +supposed this to be the sign of some village inn. +</p> +<p> +“In the Diamond of Coleraine, my Lady, opposite M'Grotty's, next but one +to Kitty Black's hardware, and two doors from the Post-Office; central and +interesting. Mail-car from Newtown, Lim.,—takes up passengers, +within view of the windows, at two every day. Letters given out at four,—see +every one in the town without stirring from your window. Huston's, the +apothecary, always full of people at post hour. Gibbin's tobacco-shop +assembles all the Radicals at the same time to read the 'Patriot.' Plenty +of life and movement.” +</p> +<p> +“Is there nothing to be found more secluded, less—” +</p> +<p> +“Less fashionable, your Ladyship would observe. To be sure there is; but +there 's objections,—at least I am sure you would dislike the +prying, inquisitive spirit—Eh? Did you make an observation, miss?” +</p> +<p> +“No, Mr. Dempsey,” said Helen, with some difficulty preserving a suitable +gravity. “I would only remark that you are perfectly in the right, and +that my mother seeks nothing more than a place where we can remain without +obtrusiveness or curiosity directed towards us.” +</p> +<p> +“There will always be the respectful admiration that beauty exacts,” +replied Paul, bowing courteously, “but I can answer for the delicacy of +Coleraine as for my own.” +</p> +<p> +If this assurance was not quite as satisfactory to the ladies as Mr. +Dempsey might have fancied it ought to be, there was really no +alternative; they knew nothing of the country, which side to direct their +steps, or whither to seek shelter; besides, until they had communicated +with Bicknell, they could not with safety leave the neighborhood to which +all their letters were addressed. +</p> +<p> +It was then soon determined to accept Mr. Dempsey's suggestion and +safe-conduct, and leaving Tate for the present to watch over such of their +effects as they could not conveniently carry with them, to set out for +Coleraine. The arrangements were made as speedily as the resolve, and day +had scarcely dawned ere they quitted “The Corvy.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0020"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XX. MR. HEFFERNAN OUT-MANOEUVRED +</h2> +<p> +It was on the very same evening that witnessed these events, that Lord +Castlereagh was conducting Mr. Con Heffernan to his hotel, after a London +dinner-party. The late Secretary for Ireland had himself volunteered the +politeness, anxious to hear some tidings of people and events which, in +the busy atmosphere of a crowded society, were unattainable. He speedily +ran over a catalogue of former friends and acquaintances, learning, with +that surprise with which successful men always regard their less fortunate +contemporaries, that this one was still where he had left him, and that +the other jogged on his daily road as before, when he suddenly asked,— +</p> +<p> +“And the Darcys, what of them?” +</p> +<p> +Heffernan shrugged his shoulders without speaking. +</p> +<p> +“I am sorry for it,” resumed the other; “sorry for the gallant old Knight +himself, and sorry for a state of society in which such changes are +assumed as evidences of progress and prosperity. These upstart Hickmans +are not the elements of which a gentry can be formed.” +</p> +<p> +“O'Reilly still looks to you for the baronetcy, my Lord,” replied +Heffernan, with a half-sneer. “You have him with or against you on that +condition,—at least, so I hear.” +</p> +<p> +“Has he not had good fortune enough in this world to be satisfied? He has +risen from nothing to be a man of eminence, wealth, and county influence; +would it not be more reasonable in him to mature his position by a little +patience, than endanger it by fresh shocks to public opinion? Even a boa, +my dear Heffernan, when he swallows a goat, takes six months to digest his +meal. No! no! such men must be taught reserve, if their own prudence does +not suggest it!” +</p> +<p> +“I believe you are right, my Lord,” said Heffernan, thoughtfully; +“O'Reilly is the very man to forget himself in the sunshine of court +favor, and mistake good luck for desert.” +</p> +<p> +“With all his money, too,” rejoined Lord Castlereagh, “his influence will +just be proportioned to the degree of acceptance his constituents suppose +him to possess with us here. He has never graduated as a Patriot, and his +slight popularity is only 'special gratia.' His patent of Gentleman has +not come to him by birth.” +</p> +<p> +“For this reason the baronetcy—” +</p> +<p> +“Let us not discuss that,” said Lord Castlereagh, quickly. “There is an +objection in a high quarter to bestow honors, which would seem to ratify +the downfall of an ancient house.” He seemed to have said more than he was +ready to admit, and to change the theme turned the conversation on the +party they had just quitted. +</p> +<p> +“Sir George Hannaper always does these things well.” +</p> +<p> +Mr. Heffernan assented blandly, but not over eagerly. London was not “<i>his</i> +world,” and the tone of a society so very different to what he was +habituated had not made on him the most favorable impression. +</p> +<p> +“And after all,” said Lord Castlereagh, musingly, “there is a great deal +of tact—ability, if you will—essential to the success of such +entertainments, to bring together men of different classes and shades of +opinion, people who have never met before, perhaps are never to meet +again, to hit upon the subjects of conversation that may prove generally +interesting, without the risk of giving undue preponderance to any one +individual's claims to superior knowledge. This demands considerable +skill.” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps the difficulty is not so great <i>here</i>, my Lord,” said +Heffernan, half timidly, “each man understands his part so well; +information and conversational power appear tolerably equally distributed; +and when all the instruments are so well tuned, the leader of the +orchestra has an easy task.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah! I believe I comprehend you,” said Lord Castlereagh, laughing; “you +are covertly sneering at the easy and unexciting quietude of our London +habits. Well, Heffernan, I admit we are not so fond of solo performances +as you are in Dublin; few among us venture on those 'obligate passages' +which are so charming to Irish ears; but don't you think the concerted +pieces are better performed?” +</p> +<p> +“I believe, my Lord,” said Heffernan, abandoning the figure in his anxiety +to reply, “that we would call this dull in Ireland. I 'm afraid that we +are barbarous enough to set more store by wit and pleasantry than on grave +discussion and shrewd table-talk. It appears to me that these gentlemen +carry an air of business into their conviviality.” +</p> +<p> +“Scarcely so dangerous an error as to carry conviviality into business,” +said Lord Castlereagh, slyly. +</p> +<p> +“There's too much holding back,” said Heffernan, not heeding the taunt; +“each man seems bent on making what jockeys call 'a waiting race.'” +</p> +<p> +“Confess, however,” said Lord Castlereagh, smiling, “there 's no struggle, +no hustling at the winning-post: the best horse comes in first—-” +</p> +<p> +“Upon my soul, my Lord,” said Heffernan, interrupting, “I have yet to +learn that there is such a thing. I conclude from your Lordship's +observation that the company we met to-day were above the ordinary run of +agreeability.” +</p> +<p> +“I should certainly say so.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, then, I can only affirm that we should call this a failure in our +less polished land. I listened with becoming attention; the whole thing +was new to me, and I can safely aver I neither heard one remark above the +level of commonplace, nor one observation evidencing acute perception of +passing events or reflection on the past. As to wit or epigram—” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, we do not value these gifts at <i>your</i> price; we are too thrifty +a nation, Heffernan, to expend all our powder on fireworks.” +</p> +<p> +“Faith, I agree with you, my Lord; the man who would venture on a rocket +would be treated as an incendiary.” +</p> +<p> +“Come, come, Heffernan, I 'll not permit you to say so. Did you ever in +any society see a man more appreciated than our friend Darcy was the last +evening we met him, his pleasantry relished, his racy humor well taken, +and his stores of anecdote enjoyed with a degree of zest I have never seen +surpassed?” +</p> +<p> +“Darcy was always too smooth for our present taste,” said Heffernan, +caustically. “His school was antiquated years ago; there was a dash of the +French courtier through the Irishmen of his day.” +</p> +<p> +“That made the most polished gentlemen of Europe, I've been told,” said +Lord Castlereagh, interrupting. “I know your taste inclines to a less +chastened and more adventurous pleasantry, shrewd insight into an +antagonist's weak point, a quick perception of the ridiculous—-” +</p> +<p> +“Allied with deep knowledge of men and motives, my Lord,” said Heffernan, +catching up the sentence, “a practical acquaintance with the world in its +widest sense; that cultivated keenness that smacks of reading intentions +before they are avowed, and divining plans before they are more than +conceived. These solid gifts are all essential to the man who would +influence society, whether in a social circle or in the larger sphere of +active life.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah! but we were talking of merely social qualities,” said Lord +Castlereagh, stealing a cautious look of half malice, “the wit that sets +the table in a roar.” +</p> +<p> +“And which, like lightning, my Lord, must now and then prove dangerous, or +men will cease to be dazzled by its brilliancy. Now, I rather incline to +think that the Knight's pleasantry is like some of the claret we were +drinking to-day, a little spoiled by age.” +</p> +<p> +“I protest strongly against the judgment,” said Lord Castlereagh, with +energy; “the man who at his time of life consents to resume the toils and +dangers of a soldier's career must not be accused of growing old.” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps your Lordship would rather shift the charge of senility against +the Government which appoints such an officer,” said Heffernan, +maliciously. +</p> +<p> +“As to that,” said Lord Castlereagh, laughingly, “I believe the whole +thing was a mistake. Some jealous but indiscreet friend of Darcy's made an +application in his behalf, and without his cognizance, pressing the claim +of an old and meritorious officer, and directly asking for a restitution +to his grade. This was backed by Lord Netherby, one of the lords in +waiting, and without much inquiry—indeed, I fancy without any—he +was named colonel, in exchange from the unattached list. The Knight was +evidently flattered by so signal a mark of favor, and, if I read him +aright, would not change his command for a brigade at home. In fact, he +has already declined prospects not less certain of success.” +</p> +<p> +“And is this really the mode in which officers are selected for an +enterprise of hazard and importance?” said Heffernan, affecting a tone of +startled indignation as he spoke. +</p> +<p> +“Upon my word, Heffernan,” said Lord Castlereagh, subduing the rising +tendency to laugh outright, “I fear it is too true. We live in days of +backstairs and court favor. I saw an application for the office of Under +Secretary for Ireland, so late as yesterday—” +</p> +<p> +“You did, my Lord!” interrupted Heffernan, with more warmth than he almost +ever permitted himself to feel. “You did, from a man who has rendered more +unrewarded services to the Government than any individual in the kingdom.” +</p> +<p> +“The claim was a very suitable one,” said Lord Castle-reagh, mildly. “The +gentleman who preferred it could point to a long list of successful +operations, whose conduct rested mainly or solely on his own consummate +skill and address; he could even allege the vast benefit of his advice to +young and not over-informed Chief Secretaries—-” +</p> +<p> +“I would beg to observe, my Lord—-” +</p> +<p> +“Pray allow me to continue,” said Lord Castlereagh, laying his hand gently +on the other's arm. “As one of that helpless class so feelingly alluded +to, I am ready to evince the deepest sense of grateful acknowledgments. It +may be that I would rather have been mentioned more flatteringly; that the +applicant had spoken of me as an apter and more promising scholar—-” +</p> +<p> +“My Lord, I must and will interrupt you. The memorial, which was presented +in my name, was sent forward under the solemn pledge that it should meet +the eyes of Mr. Pitt alone; that whether its prayer was declined or +accorded, none, save himself, should have cognizance of it. If, after +this, it was submitted to your Lordship's critical examination, I leave it +to your good taste and your sense of decorum how far you can avow or make +use of the knowledge so obtained.” +</p> +<p> +“I was no party in the compact you allege, nor. I dare to say, was Mr. +Pitt,” said Lord Castlereagh, proudly; but, momentarily resuming his +former tone, he went on: “The Prime Minister, doubtless, knew how valuable +the lesson might be to a young man entering on public life which should +teach him not to lay too much store by his own powers of acuteness, not to +trust too implicitly to his own qualities of shrewdness and perception; +and that, by well reflecting on the aid he received from others, he might +see how little the subtraction would leave for his own peculiar amount of +skill. In this way I have to acknowledge myself greatly Mr. Heffernan's +debtor, since, without the aid of this document, I should never have +recognized how ignorant I was of every party and every public man in +Ireland; how dependent on his good guidance; how I never failed save in +rejecting, never succeeded save in profiting by his wise and politic +counsels.” +</p> +<p> +“Is your Lordship prepared to deny these assertions?” said Heffernan, with +an imperturbable coolness. +</p> +<p> +“Am I not avowing my grateful sense of them?” said Lord Castlereagh, +smiling blandly. “I feel only the more deeply your debtor, because, till +now, I never knew the debt,—both principal and interest must be paid +together; but seriously, Heffernan, if you wanted office, was I not the +proper channel to have used in asking for it? Why disparage your pupil +while extolling your system?” +</p> +<p> +“You did my system but little credit, my Lord,” replied Heffernan, with an +accent as unmoved as before; “you bought votes when you should have bought +the voters themselves; you deemed the Bill of Union the consummation of +Irish policy,—it is only the first act of the piece. You were not +the first general who thought he beat the enemy when he drove in the +pickets.” +</p> +<p> +“Would my tactics have been better had I made one of my spies a +major-general, Mr. Heffernan?” said Lord Castlereagh, sneeringly. +</p> +<p> +“Safer, my lord,—far safer,” said Heffernan, “for he might not have +exposed you afterwards. But I think this is my hotel; and I must say it is +the first time in my life that I have closed an interview with your +Lordship without regret.” +</p> +<p> +“Am I to hope it will be the last?” said Lord Castle-reagh, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“The last interview, my Lord, or the last occasion of regretting its +shortness?” said Heffernan, with a slight anxiety of voice. +</p> +<p> +“Whichever Mr. Heffernan opines most to his advantage,” was the cool +reply. +</p> +<p> +“The former, with your permission, my Lord,” said Heffernan, as a flush +suffused his cheek. “I wish your Lordship a very good night.” +</p> +<p> +“Good-night, good-night! Stay, Thomas, Mr. Heffernan has forgotten his +gloves.” +</p> +<p> +“Thanks, my Lord; they were not left as a gage of battle, I assure you.” +</p> +<p> +“I feel certain of it,” said Lord Castlereagh, laughing. “Good-night, once +more.” +</p> +<p> +The carriage rolled on, and Mr. Heffernan stood for an instant gazing +after it through the gloom. +</p> +<p> +“I might have known it,” muttered he to himself; “these lords are the only +people who do stick to each other nowadays.” Then, after a pause, he +added, “Drogheda is right, by Jove! there 's no playing against 'four by +honors.'” +</p> +<p> +And with this reflection he slowly entered the hotel, and repaired to his +chamber. +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0021"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXI. A BIT OF B Y-P L A Y. +</h2> +<p> +Reverses of fortune might be far more easily supported, if they did not +entail, as their inevitable consequence, the association with those all of +whose tastes, habits, and opinions run in a new and different channel. It +is a terrible aggravation to the loss of those comforts which habit has +rendered necessaries, to unlearn the usages of a certain condition, and +adopt those of a class beneath us,—or, what is still worse, engage +in the daily, hourly conflict between our means and our requirements. +</p> +<p> +Perhaps Lady Eleanor Darcy and her daughter never really felt the meaning +of their changed condition, nor understood its poignancy, till they saw +themselves as residents of Mrs. Fumbally's boarding-house, whither Mr. +Dempsey's polite attentions had conducted them. It was to no want of +respect on that lady's part that any portion of this feeling could be +traced. “The Panther” had really behaved with the most dignified +consideration; and while her new guests were presented as Mrs. and Miss +Gwynne, intimated, by a hundred little adroit devices of manner, that +their real rank and title were regarded by her as inviolable secrets,—not +the less likely to be respected that she was herself ignorant of both. +Heaven knows what secret anguish the retention of these facts cost poor +Paul! secrecy being with him a quality something like Acres' courage, +which “oozed out of his fingers' ends.” Mr. Dempsey hated those miserly +souls that can treasure up a fact for their own personal enjoyment, and +yet never invite a neighbor to partake of it; and it was a very +inefficient consolation to him, in this instance, to throw a mysterious +cloak over the strangers, and, by an air of profound consciousness, seek +to impose on the other boarders. He made less scruple about what he deemed +his own share of the mystery; and scarcely had Mrs. Fumbally performed the +honors of the two small chambers destined for Lady Eleanor and Helen, than +Paul followed her to the little apartment familiarly termed her “den,” and +shutting the door, with an appearance of deep caution, took his place +opposite to her at the fire. +</p> +<p> +“Well, Mr. Dempsey,” said Mrs. Fumbally, “now that all is done and +settled,—now that I have taken these ladies into the +'Establishment,'”—a very favorite designation of Mrs. Fum's when she +meant to be imposing,—“I hope I am not unreasonable iu expecting a +full and complete account from you of who they are, whence they came, and, +in fact, every particular necessary to satisfy me concerning them.” +</p> +<p> +“Mrs. Gwynne! Miss Gwynne! mother and daughter—Captain Gwynne, the +father, on the recruiting staff in the Isle of Skye, or, if you like it +better, with his regiment at St. John's. Mrs. G———, a +Miss Rickaby, one of the Rickabys of Pwhlmdlwmm, North Wales—ancient +family—small estate—all spent—obliged to live retired—till—till—no +matter what—a son comes of age—to sign something—or +anything that way—” +</p> +<p> +“This is all fiddle-faddle, Mr. Dempsey,” said Mrs. Fum, with an +expression that seemed to say, “Take care how you trifle with me.” +</p> +<p> +“To be sure it is,” rejoined Paul; “all lies, every word of it. What do +you say, then, if we have her the Widow Gwynne—husband shot at +Bergen-op-Zoom—” +</p> +<p> +“I say, Mr. Dempsey, that if you wish me to keep your secret before the +other boarders—” +</p> +<p> +“The best way is never to tell it to you—eh, Mrs. Fum? Well, come, I +will be open. Name, Gwynne—place of abode unknown—family ditto—means +supposed to be ample—daughter charming—so very much so, +indeed, that if Paul Dempsey were only what he ought—the Dempsey of +Dempsey's Grove—” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, is that it?” said Mrs. Fumbally, endeavoring to smile,-“is that it?” +</p> +<p> +“That's it,” rejoined Paul, as he drew up his shirt-collar, and adjusted +his cravat. +</p> +<p> +“Isn't she very young, Mr. Dempsey?” said Mrs. Fum, slyly. +</p> +<p> +“Twenty, or thereabouts, I take it,” said Paul, carelessly,—“quite +suitable as regards age.” +</p> +<p> +“I never thought you 'd marry, Mr. Dempsey,” said Mrs. Fum, with a +languishing look, that contrasted strangely with the habitually shrewish +expression of the “Pauther's” face. +</p> +<p> +“Can't help it, Mrs. Fum. The last of the Romans! No more Dempseys when I +'m gone, if I don't. Elder branch all dropped off,—last twig of the +younger myself.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah! these are considerations, indeed!” sighed the lady. “But don't you +think that a person more like yourself in taste—more similar in +opinion of the world? She looks proud, Mr. Dempsey; I should say, +overbearingly proud.” +</p> +<p> +“Rather proud myself, if that's all,” said Dempsey, drawing himself up, +and protruding his chin with a most comic imitation of dignity. +</p> +<p> +“Only becomingly so, Mr. Dempsey,—a proper sense of self-respect, a +due feeling for your future position in life,—I never saw more than +that, I must say. Now, I could n't help remarking the way that young lady +threw herself into the chair, and the glance she gave at the room. It was +number eight, Mr. Dempsey, with the chintz furniture, and the +looking-glass over the chimney! Well, really you 'd say, it was poor +Leonard's room, with the settee bed in the corner,—the look she gave +it!” +</p> +<p> +“Indeed!” exclaimed Dempsey, who really felt horrified at this +undervaluing judgment of what every boarder regarded as the very sanctum +of the Fumbally Temple. +</p> +<p> +“Truth, every word of it!” resumed Mrs. Fum. “I thought my ears deceived +me, as she said to her mother, 'Oh, it 's all very neat and clean!'—neat +and clean, Mr. Dempsey! The elegant rug which I worked myself—the +pointer—and the wild duck.” +</p> +<p> +“Like life, by Jove, if it was n't that the dog has only three legs.” +</p> +<p> +“Perspective, Mr. Dempsey, don't forget its perspective; and if the bird's +wings are maroon, I could n't help it, it was the only color to be had in +the town.” +</p> +<p> +“The group is fine,—devilish fine!” said Paul, with the air of one +whose word was final. +</p> +<p> +“'Neat and clean' were the expressions she used. I could have cried as I +heard it.” Here the lady, probably in consideration for the omission, +wiped her eyes, and dropped her voice to a very sympathetic key. “She +meant it well, depend upon it, Mrs. Fum, she meant it well.” +</p> +<p> +“And the old lady,” resumed Mrs. Fumbally, deaf to every consolation, “lay +back in her chair this way, and said, 'Oh, it will all do very well,—you +'ll not find us troublesome, Mrs. Flumary!' I haven't been the head of +this establishment eight-and-twenty years to be called Flumary. How these +airs are to be tolerated by the other boarders, I'm sure is more than I +can say.” +</p> +<p> +It appeared more than Mr. Dempsey could say also, if one might pronounce +from the woe-begone expression of his face; for, up to this moment totally +wrapped up in the mysterious portion of the affair, he had lost sight of +all the conflicting interests this sudden advent would call into activity. +</p> +<p> +“That wasn't all,” continued Mrs. Fumbally; “for when I told them the +dinner-hour was five, the old lady interrupted me with, 'For the present, +with your permission, we should prefer dining at six.' Did any one ever +hear the like? I 'll have a pretty rebellion in the house, when it gets +out! Mrs. Mackay will have her tea upstairs every night; Mr. Dunlop will +always breakfast in bed. I would n't be surprised if Miss Boyle stood out +for broth in the middle of the day.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh!” exclaimed Paul, holding up both hands in horror. +</p> +<p> +“I vow and protest, I expect that next!” exclaimed Mrs. Fum, as folding +her arms, and fixing her eyes rigidly on the grate, she sat, the ideal of +abused and injured benevolence. “Indeed, Mr. Dempsey,” said she, after a +long silence on both sides, “it would be a great breach of the regard many +years of intimacy with you has formed, if I did not say, that your +affections are misplaced. Beauty is a perishable gift.” +</p> +<p> +Paul looked at Mrs. Fumbally, and seemed struck with the truth of her +remark. +</p> +<p> +“But the qualities of the miud, Mr. Dempsey, those rare endowments that +make happy the home and hearth. You 're fond of beef hash with pickled +onions,” said she, smiling sweetly; “well, you shall have one to-day.” +</p> +<p> +“Good creature!” muttered Paul, while he pressed her hand affectionately. +“The best heart in the world!” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, yes,” sighed the lady, half soliloquizing, “conformity of temper,—the +pliancy of the reed,—the tender attachment of the ivy.” +</p> +<p> +Paul coughed, and drew himself up proudly, and, as if a sudden thought +occurred to him that he resembled the oak of the forest, he planted his +feet firmly, and stood stiff and erect. +</p> +<p> +“You are not half careful enough about yourself, Mr. Dempsey,—never +attend to changing your damp clothes,—and I assure you the climate +here requires it; and when you come in cold and wet, you should always +step in here, on your way upstairs, and take a little something warm and +cordial. I don't know if you approve of this,” suiting the action to the +words. Mrs. Fum had opened a small cupboard in the wall, and taken out a +quaint-looking flask, and a very diminutive glass. +</p> +<p> +“Nectar, by Jove,—downright nectar!” +</p> +<p> +“Made with some white currants and ginger,” chimed in Mrs. Fum, simply, as +if to imply, “See what skill can effect; behold the magic power of +intelligence!” +</p> +<p> +“White currants and ginger!” echoed Paul, holding out the glass to be +refilled. +</p> +<p> +“A trifle of spirits, of course.” +</p> +<p> +“Of course! could n't be comforting without it.” +</p> +<p> +“That's what poor dear Fumbally always called, 'Ye know, ye know!' It was +his droll way of saying 'Noyau!'” Here Mrs. F. displayed a conflict of +smiles and tears, a perfect April landscape on her features. “He had such +spirits!” +</p> +<p> +“I don't wonder, if he primed himself with this often,” said Dempsey, who +at last relinquished his glass, but with evident unwillingness. +</p> +<p> +<a name="image-0012" id="image-0012"> +<!-- IMG --></a> <img src="images/266.jpg" height="662" width="688" alt="266 " /> +</p> +<p> +“He used to say that his was a happy home!” sobbed Mrs. Fum, while she +pressed her handkerchief to her face. +</p> +<p> +Paul did not well know what he should say, or if, indeed, he was called +upon to utter a sentiment at all; but he thought he could have drunk +another glass to the late Fum's memory, if his widow had n't kept such a +tight grip of the flask. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Mr. Dempsey, who could have thought it would come to this?” The +sorrowful drooping of her eyelids, as she spoke, seemed to intimate an +allusion to the low state of the decanter, and Dempsey at once replied,— +</p> +<p> +“There's a very honest glass in it still.” +</p> +<p> +“Kind—kind creature!” sobbed Mrs. Fum, as she poured out the last of +the liquor. And Paul was sorely puzzled, whether the encomium applied to +the defunct or himself. “Do you know, Mr. Dempsey,” here she gave a kind +of hysterical giggle, that might take any turn,—hilarious, or the +reverse, as events should dictate,—“do you know that as I see you +there, standing before the fire, looking so pleasant and cheerful, so much +at home, as a body might say, I can't help fancying a great resemblance +between you and my poor dear Fum. He was older than you,” said she, +rapidly, as a slight cloud passed over Paul's features;-“older and +stouter, but he had the same jocose smile, the same merry voice, and even +that little fidgety habit with the hands. I know you 'll forgive me,—even +that was his.” +</p> +<p> +This was in all probability strictly correct, inasmuch as for several +years before his demise the gifted individual had labored under a +perpetual “delirium tremens.” +</p> +<p> +“He rather liked this kind of thing,” said Paul, pantomiming the action of +drinking with his now empty glass. +</p> +<p> +“In moderation,-only in moderation.” +</p> +<p> +“I 've heard that it disagreed with him,” rejoined Paul, who, not pleased +with his counterpart, resolved on showing a knowledge of his habits. +</p> +<p> +“So it did,” sighed Mrs. Fum; “and he gave it up in consequence.” +</p> +<p> +“I heard that, too,” said Paul; and then muttered to himself, “on the +morning he died.” +</p> +<p> +A gentle tap at the door now broke in upon the colloquy, and a very +slatternly servant woman, with bare legs and feet, made her appearance. +</p> +<p> +“What d'ye want, Biddy?” asked her mistress, in an angry voice. “I 'm just +settling accounts with Mr. Dempsey, and you bounce in as if the house was +on fire.” +</p> +<p> +“It 's just himsel 's wanted,” replied the northern maiden; “the leddie +canna get on ava without him, he maun come up to number 'eight,' as soon +as he can.” +</p> +<p> +“I 'm ready,” quoth Paul, as he turned to arrange his cravat, and run his +hand through his hair; “I 'm at their service.” +</p> +<p> +“Remember, Mr. Dempsey, remember, that what I've spoken to you this day is +in the strictest confidence. If matters have proceeded far with the young +lady upstairs, if your heart, if hers be really engaged, forget +everything,—forget <i>me</i>.” +</p> +<p> +Mrs. Fumbally's emotion had so overpowered her towards the end of her +speech, that she rushed into an adjoining closet and clapped-to the door, +an obstacle that only acted as a sound-board to her sobs, and from which +Paul hastened with equal rapidity to escape. +</p> +<p> +An entire hemisphere might have separated the small chamber where Mr. +Dempsey's late interview took place from the apartment on the first floor, +to which he now was summoned, and so, to do him justice, did Paul himself +feel; and not all the stimulating properties of that pleasant cordial +could allay certain tremors of the heart, as he turned the handle of the +door. +</p> +<p> +Lady Eleanor was seated at a writing-table, and Helen beside her, working, +as Mr. Dempsey entered, and, after a variety of salutations, took a chair, +about the middle of the room, depositing his hat and umbrella beside him. +</p> +<p> +“It would seem, Mr. Dempsey,” said Lady Eleanor, with a very benign smile, +“it would seem that we have made a very silly mistake; one, I am bound to +say, you are quite exonerated from any share in, and the confession of +which will, doubtless, exhibit my own and my daughter's cleverness in a +very questionable light before you. Do you know, Mr. Dempsey, we believed +this to be an inn.” +</p> +<p> +“An inn!” broke in Paul, with uplifted hands. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, and it was only by mere accident we have discovered our error, and +that we are actually in a boarding-house. Pray now, Helen, do not laugh, +the blunder is quite provoking enough already.” +</p> +<p> +Why Miss Darcy should laugh, and what there could be to warrant the use of +the epithet, “provoking,” Paul might have been broken on the wheel without +being able to guess, while Lady Eleanor went on,— +</p> +<p> +“Now, it would seem customary for the guests to adopt here certain hours +in common,—breakfasting, dining together, and associating like the +members of one family.” +</p> +<p> +Paul nodded an assent, and she resumed. +</p> +<p> +“I need scarcely observe to <i>you</i>, Mr. Dempsey, how very unsuited +either myself or Miss Darcy would be to such an assembly, if even present +circumstances did not more than ever enjoin a life of strict retirement.” +</p> +<p> +“Dear me!” exclaimed Paul in a tone of deprecation, “there never was +anything more select than this. Mother Fum never admits without a +reference; I can show you the advertisement in the Derry papers. We kept +the Collector out for two months, till he brought us a regular bill of +health, as a body might say.” +</p> +<p> +“Could you persuade them to let us remain in 'Quarantine,' then, for a few +days?” said Helen, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, no! Helen, nothing of the kind; Mr. Dempsey must not be put to any +troublesome negotiations, on our account. There surely must be an hotel of +some sort in the town.” +</p> +<p> +“This is a nice mess!” muttered Paul, who began to anticipate some of the +miseries his good nature might cost him. +</p> +<p> +“A few days, a week at furthest, I hope, will enable us to communicate +with our law adviser, and decide upon some more suitable abode. Could you, +then, for the meanwhile, suggest a comfortable inn, or if not, a lodging +in the town?” +</p> +<p> +Paul wrung his hands in dismay, but uttered not a syllable. +</p> +<p> +“To be candid, Mr. Dempsey,” said Helen, “my father has a horror of these +kind of places, and you could recommend us no country inn, however humble, +where he would not be better pleased to hear of our taking refuge.” +</p> +<p> +“But, Fumbally's! the best-known boarding-house in the North.” +</p> +<p> +“I should be sincerely grieved, to be understood as uttering one syllable +in its disparagement,” rejoined Lady Eleanor; “I could not ask for a more +satisfactory voucher of its respectability; but ours are peculiar +circumstances.” +</p> +<p> +“Only a pound a week,” struck in Paul, “with extras.” +</p> +<p> +“Nothing could be more reasonable; but pray understand me, I speak of +course in great ignorance, but it would appear to me that persons living +together in this fashion have a kind of right to know something of those +who present themselves for the first time amongst them. Now, there are +many reasons why neither my daughter nor myself would like to submit to +this species of inquiry.” +</p> +<p> +“I 'll settle all that,” broke in Paul; “leave that to me, and you 'll +have no further trouble about it.” +</p> +<p> +“You must excuse my reliance even on such discretion,” said Lady Eleanor, +with more hauteur than before. +</p> +<p> +“Are we to understand that there is neither inn nor lodging-house to be +found?” said Helen. +</p> +<p> +“Plenty of both, but full of bagmen,” ejaculated Paul, whose contrivances +were all breaking down beneath him. +</p> +<p> +“What is to be done?” exclaimed Lady Eleanor to her daughter. +</p> +<p> +“Lord bless you!” cried Paul, in a whining voice, “if you only come down +amongst them with that great frill round your neck you wore the first day +I saw you at 'The Corvy,' you 'll scare them so, they 'll never have +courage to utter a word. There was Miss Daly—when she was here—” +</p> +<p> +“Miss Daly,-Miss Maria Daly!” exclaimed both ladies together. +</p> +<p> +“Miss Maria Daly,” repeated Dempsey, with an undue emphasis on every +syllable. “She spent the summer with us on the coast.” +</p> +<p> +“Where had she resided up to that time, may I ask?” said Lady Eleanor, +hastily. +</p> +<p> +“At 'The Corvy'—always at 'The Corvy,' until your arrival.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Helen, think of this!” whispered Lady Eleanor, in a voice tremulous +with agitation. “Think what sacrifices we have exacted from our friends,—and +now, to learn that while we stand hesitating about encountering the +inconveniences of our lot, that we have been subjecting another to that +very same difficulty from which we shrink.” Then, turning to Mr. Dempsey, +she added,— +</p> +<p> +“I need not observe, sir, that while I desire no mystery to be thrown +around our arrival here, I will not be the less grateful for any restraint +the good company may impose on themselves as to inquiries concerning us. +We are really not worth the attention, and I should be sorry to impose +upon kind credulity by any imaginary claim to distinction.” +</p> +<p> +“You'll dine below, then?” asked Paul, far more eager to ascertain this +fact than any reasons that induced it. +</p> +<p> +Lady Eleanor bowed; and Dempsey, with a face beaming with delight, arose +to withdraw and communicate the happy news to Mrs. Fumbally. +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0022"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXII. A GLANCE AT MRS. FUMBALLY'S. +</h2> +<p> +Great as Lady Eleanor's objection was to subjecting herself or her +daughter to the contact of a boarding-house party, when the resolve was +once taken the matter cost her far less thought or anxiety than it +occasioned to the other inmates of the “Establishment.” It is only in such +segments of the great world that curiosity reaches its true intensity, and +the desire to know every circumstance of one's neighbor becomes an +absorbing passion. A distrustful impression that nobody is playing on “the +square “—that every one has some special cause of concealment, some +hidden shame—seems the presiding tone of these places. +</p> +<p> +Mrs. Fumbally's was no exception to the rule, and now that the residents +had been so long acquainted that the personal character and fortune of +each was known to all, the announcement of a new arrival caused the most +lively sensations of anxiety. +</p> +<p> +Directories were ransacked for the name of Gwynne, and every separate +owner of the appellation canvassed and discussed. Army lists were +interrogated and conned over. Dempsey himself was examined for two hours +before a “Committee of the whole house;” and though his inventive powers +were no mean gifts, certain discrepancies, certain unexplained +difficulties, did not fail to strike the acute tribunal, and he was +dismissed as unworthy of credit. Baffled, not beaten, each retired to +dress for dinner,—a ceremony, be it remarked, only in use on great +occasions,—fully impressed with the conviction that the Gwynne case +was a legitimate object of search and discovery. +</p> +<p> +It is not necessary here to allude to the strange display of costume that +day called forth, nor what singular extravagances in dress each drew from +the armory of his fascinations. The collector closed the Custom-house an +hour earlier, that he might be properly powdered for the occasion. Miss +Boyle abandoned, “for the nonce,” her accustomed walk on the Banside, +where the officers used to lounge, and in the privacy of her chamber +prepared for the event. There is a tradition of her being seen, with a +formidable array of curl-papers, so late as four in the afternoon. Mr. +Dunlop was in a perpetual trot all day, between his tailor and his +bootmaker, sundry alterations being required at a moment's notice. Mrs. +Fumbally herself, however, eclipsed all competitors, as, in a robe of +yellow satin, spotted with red, she made her appearance in the +drawing-room; her head-dress being a turban of the same prevailing colors, +but ornamented by a drooping plume of feathers and spangles so very +umbrageous and pendent, that she looked like a weeping-ash clad in tinsel. +A crimson brooch of vast proportions—which, on near inspection, +turned out to be a portrait of the departed Fumbally, but whose colors +were, unhappily, not “fast ones”—confined a scarf of green velvet, +from which envious time had worn off all the pile, and left a “sear and +yellow” stubble everywhere perceptible. +</p> +<p> +Whether Mrs. Fum's robe had been devised at a period when dresses were +worn much shorter, or that, from being very tall, a sufficiency of the +material could not be obtained,—but true it is, her costume would +have been almost national in certain Scotch regiments, and necessitated, +for modesty's sake, a peculiar species of ducking trip, that, with the +nodding motion of her head, gave her the gait of a kangaroo. +</p> +<p> +Scarcely had the various individuals time to give a cursory glance at +their neighbors' finery, when Lady Eleanor appeared leaning on her +daughter's arm. Mr. Dempsey had waited for above half an hour outside the +door to offer his escort, which being coldly but civilly declined, the +ladies entered. +</p> +<p> +Mrs. Fumbally rose to meet her guests, and was about to proceed in due +form with a series of introducings, when Lady Eleanor cut her short by a +very slight but courteous salutation to the company collectively, and then +sat down. +</p> +<p> +The most insufferable assumption of superiority is never half so chilling +in its effect upon underbred people as the calm quietude of good manners. +</p> +<p> +And thus the party were more repelled by Lady Eleanor and her daughter's +easy bearing than they would have felt at any outrageous pretension. The +elegant simplicity of their dress, too, seemed to rebuke the stage finery +of the others, and very uneasy glances met and were interchanged at this +new companionship. A few whispered words, an occasional courageous effort +to talk aloud, suddenly ending in a cough, and an uneasy glance at the +large silver watch over the chimney, were all that took place, when the +uncombed head of a waiter, hired specially for the day, gave the +announcement that dinner was served. +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Dempsey—Mr. Dunlop,” said Mrs. Fumbally, with a gesture towards +Lady Eleanor and her daughter. The gentlemen both advanced a step and then +stood stock still, as Lady Eleanor, drawing her shawl around her with one +hand, slipped the other within her daughter's arm. Every eye was now +turned towards Mr. Dunlop, who was a kind of recognized type of high life; +and he, feeling the urgency of the moment, made a step in advance, and +with extended arm, said, “May I have the honor to offer my arm?” +</p> +<p> +“With your leave, I'll take my daughter's, sir,” said Lady Eleanor, +coldly; and without paying the least attention to the various significant +glances around her, she walked forward to the dinner-room. +</p> +<p> +The chilling reserve produced by the new arrivals had given an air of +decorous quietude to the dinner, which, if gratifying to Lady Eleanor and +Helen, was very far from being so to the others, and as the meal +proceeded, certain low mutterings—the ground swell of a coming storm—announced +the growing feeling of displeasure amongst them. Lady Eleanor and Miss +Darcy were too unconscious of having offered any umbrage to the party to +notice these indications of discontent; nor did they remark that Mr. +</p> +<p> +Dempsey himself was becoming overwhelmed by the swelling waves of popular +indignation. +</p> +<p> +A very curt monosyllable had met Lady Eleanor in the two efforts she had +made at conversation with her neighbor, and she was perhaps not very sorry +to find that table-talk was not a regulation of the “Establishment”. +</p> +<p> +Had Lady Eleanor or Helen been disposed to care for it, they might have +perceived that the dinner itself was not less anomalous than the company, +and like them suffered sorely from being over-dressed. They, however, +affected to eat, and seemed satisfied with everything, resolved that, +having encountered the ordeal, they would go through with it to the last. +The observances of the table had one merit in the Fumbally household; they +were conducted with no unnecessary tediousness. The courses—if we +dare so apply the name to an irregular skirmish of meats, hot, cold, and +<i>réchauffé</i>—followed rapidly, the guests ate equally so, and +the table presented a scene, if not of convivial enjoyment, at least of +bustle and animation, that supplied its place. This movement, so to call +it, was sufficiently new to amuse Helen Darcy, who, less pained than her +mother at their companionship, could not help relishing many of the +eccentric features of the scene; everything in the dress, manner, tone of +voice, and bearing of the company presenting such a striking contrast to +all she had been used to. This enjoyment on her part, although regulated +by the strictest good-breeding, was perceived, or rather suspected, by +some of the ladies present, and looks of very unmistakable anger were +darted towards her from the end of the table, so that both mother and +daughter felt the moment a very welcome one when a regiment of small +decanters were set down on the board, and the ladies rose to withdraw. +</p> +<p> +If Lady Eleanor had consulted her own ardent wishes, she would at once +have retired to her room, but she had resolved on the whole sacrifice, and +took her place in the drawing-room, determined to follow in every respect +the usages around her. Mrs. Fumbally addressed a few civil words to her, +and then left the room to look after the cares of the household. The group +of seven ladies who remained, formed themselves into a coterie apart, and +producing from sundry bags and baskets little specimens of female +handiwork, began arranging their cottons and worsteds with a most +praiseworthy activity. +</p> +<p> +While Lady Eleanor sat with folded bands and half-closed lids, sunk in her +own meditations, Helen arose and walked towards a book-shelf, where some +well-thumbed volumes were lying. An odd volume of “Delphine,” a “Treatise +on Domestic Cookery,” and “Moore's Zeluco” were not attractive, and she +sauntered to the piano, on which were scattered some of the songs from the +“Siege of Belgrade,” the then popular piece; certain comic melodies lay +also among them, inscribed with the name of Lawrence M'Farland, a +gentleman whom they had heard addressed several times during dinner. While +Helen turned over the music pages, the eyes of the others were riveted on +her; and when she ran her fingers over the keys of the cracked old +instrument, and burst into an involuntary laugh at its discordant tones, a +burst of unequivocal indignation could no longer be restrained. +</p> +<p> +“I declare, Miss M'Corde,” said an old lady with a paralytic shake in her +head, and a most villanous expression in her one eye,—“I declare I +would speak to her, if I was in your place.” +</p> +<p> +“Unquestionably,” exclaimed another, whose face was purple with +excitement; and thus encouraged, a very thin and very tall personage, with +a long, slender nose tipped with pink, and light red hair in ringlets, +arose from her seat, and approached where Helen was standing. +</p> +<p> +“You are perhaps not aware, ma'am,” said she, with a mincing, lisping +accent, the very essence of gentility, “that this instrument is not a +'house piano.'” +</p> +<p> +Helen blushed slightly at the address, but could not for her life guess +what the words meant. She had heard of grand pianos and square pianos, of +cottage pianos, but never of “house pianos,” and she answered in the most +simple of voices, “Indeed.” +</p> +<p> +“No, ma'am, it is not; it belongs to your very humble servant,”—here +she courtesied to the ground,-“who regrets deeply that its tone should not +have more of your approbation.” +</p> +<p> +“And I, ma'am,” said a fat old lady, waddling over, and wheezing as though +she should choke, “I have to express my sorrow that the book-shelf, which +you have just ransacked, should not present something worthy of your +notice. The volumes are mine.” +</p> +<p> +“And perhaps, ma'am,” cried a third, a little meagre figure, with a voice +like a nutmeg-grater, “you could persuade the old lady, who I presume is +your mother, to take her feet off that worked stool. When I made it, I +scarcely calculated on the honor it now enjoys!” +</p> +<p> +Lady Eleanor looked up at this instant, and although unconscious of what +was passing, seeing Helen, whose face was now crimson, standing in the +midst of a very excited group, she arose hastily, and said,— +</p> +<p> +“Helen, dearest, is there anything the matter?” +</p> +<p> +“I should say there was, ma'am,” interposed the very fat lady,—“I +should be disposed to say there was a great deal the matter. That to make +use of private articles as if they were for house use, to thump one lady's +piano, to toss another lady's books, to make oneself comfortable in a +chair specially provided for the oldest boarder, with one's feet on +another lady's footstool,—these are liberties, ma'am, which become +something more than freedoms when taken by unknown individuals.” +</p> +<p> +“I beg you will forgive my daughter and myself,” said Lady Eleanor, with +an air of real regret; “our total ignorance—” +</p> +<p> +“I thought as much, indeed,” muttered she of the shaking head; “there is +no other word for it.” +</p> +<p> +“You are quite correct, ma'am,” said Lady Eleanor, at once addressing her +in the most apologetic of voices,-“I cannot but repeat the word; our very +great ignorance of the usages observed here is our only excuse, and I beg +you to believe us incapable of taking such liberties in future.” +</p> +<p> +If anything could have disarmed the wrath of this Holy Alliance, the +manner in which these words were uttered might have done so. Far from it, +however. When the softer sex are deficient in breeding, mercy is scarcely +one of their social attributes. Had Lady Eleanor assumed towards them the +manner with which in other days she had repelled vulgar attempts at +familiarity, they would in all probability have shrunk back, abashed and +ashamed; but her yielding suggested boldness, and they advanced, with +something like what in Cossack warfare is termed a “Hurra,” an +indiscriminate clang of voices being raised in reprobation of every +supposed outrage the unhappy strangers had inflicted on the company. Amid +this Babel of accusation Lady Eleanor could distinguish nothing, and +while, overwhelmed by the torrent, she was preparing to take her +daughter's arm and withdraw, the door which led into the dining-room was +suddenly thrown open, and the convivial party entered <i>en masse</i>. +</p> +<p> +<a name="image-0013" id="image-0013"> +<!-- IMG --></a> <img src="images/280.jpg" height="752" width="661" alt="280 " /> +</p> +<p> +“Here's a shindy, by George!” cried Mr. M'Farland,—the Pickle, and +the wit of the Establishment,—“I say, see how the new ones are +getting it!” +</p> +<p> +While Mr. Dempsey hurried away to seek Mrs. Fumbally herself, the +confusion and uproar increased; the loud, coarse laughter of the +“Gentlemen” being added to the wrathful violence of the softer sex. Lady +Eleanor, how-ever, had drawn her daughter to her side, and without +uttering a word, proceeded to leave the room. To this course a +considerable obstacle presented itself in the shape of the Collector, who, +with expanded legs, and hands thrust deep into his side-pockets, stood +against the door. +</p> +<p> +“Against the ninth general rule, ma'am, which you may read in the frame +over the chimney!” exclaimed he, in a voice somewhat more faltering and +thicker than became a respectable official. “No lady or gentleman can +leave the room while any dispute in which they are concerned remains +unsettled. Isn't that it, M'Farland?” cried he, as the young gentleman +alluded to took down the law-table from its place. +</p> +<p> +“All right,” replied M'Farland; “the very best rule in the house. Without +it, all the rows would take place in private! Now for a court of inquiry. +Mr. Dunlop, you are for the prosecution, and can't sit.” +</p> +<p> +“May I beg, sir, you will permit us to pass out?” said Lady Eleanor, in a +voice whose composure was slightly shaken. +</p> +<p> +“Can't be, ma'am; in contravention of all law,” rejoined the Collector. +</p> +<p> +“Where is Mr. Dempsey?” whispered Helen, in her despair; and though the +words were uttered in a low voice, one of the ladies overheard them. A +general titter ran immediately around, only arrested by the fat lady +exclaiming aloud, “Shameless minx!” +</p> +<p> +A very loud hubbub of voices outside now rivalled the tumult within, amid +which one most welcome was distinguished by Helen. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, mamma, how fortunate! I hear Tate's voice.” +</p> +<p> +“It's me,—it's Mrs. Fumbally,” cried that lady, at the same moment +tapping sharply at the door. +</p> +<p> +“No matter, can't open the door now. Court is about to sit,” replied the +Collector. “Mrs. Gwynne stands arraigned for—for what is't? There 's +no use in making that clatter; the door shall not be opened.” +</p> +<p> +This speech was scarcely uttered, when a tremendous bang was heard, and +the worthy Collector, with the door over him, was hurled on his face in +the midst of the apartment, upsetting in his progress a round table and a +lamp over the assembled group of ladies. +</p> +<p> +Screams of terror, rage, pain, and laughter were now commingled; and while +some assisted the prostrate official to rise, and sprinkled his temples +with water, others bestowed their attentions on the discomfited fair, +whose lustre was sadly diminished by lamp-oil and bruises, while a third +section, of which M'Farland was chief, lay back in their chairs and +laughed vociferously. Meanwhile, how and when nobody could tell, Lady +Eleanor and her daughter had escaped and gained their apartments in +safety. +</p> +<p> +A more rueful scene than the room presented need not be imagined. The +Collector, whose nose bled profusely, sat pale, half fainting, in one +corner, while some kind friends labored to stop the bleeding, and restore +him to animation. Lamentations of the most poignant grief were uttered +over silks, satins, and tabinets irretrievably ruined; while the paralytic +lady having broken the ribbon of her cap, her head rolled about fearfully, +and even threatened to come clean off altogether. As for poor Mrs. +Fumbally, she flew from place to place, in a perfect agony of affliction; +now wringing her hands over the prostrate door, now over the fragments of +the lamp, and now endeavoring to restore the table, which, despite all her +efforts, would not stand upon two legs. But the most miserable figure of +all was Paul Dempsey, who saw no footing for himself anywhere. Lady +Eleanor and Helen must detest him to the day of his death. The boarders +could never forgive him. Mrs. Fum would as certainly regard him as the +author of all evil, and the Collector would inevitably begin dunning him +for an unsettled balance of fourteen and ninepence, lost at “Spoiled five” +two winters before. +</p> +<p> +Already, indeed, symptoms of his unpopularity began to show themselves. +Angry looks and spiteful glances were directed towards him, amidst +muttered expressions of displeasure. How far these manifestations might +have proceeded there is no saying, had not the attention of the company +been drawn to the sudden noise of a carriage stopping at the street door. +</p> +<p> +“Going, flitting, evacuating the territory!” exclaimed M'Farland, as from +an open window he contemplated the process of packing a post-chaise with +several heavy trunks and portmanteaus. +</p> +<p> +“The Gwynnes!” muttered the Collector, with his handkerchief to his face. +</p> +<p> +“Even so! flying with camp equipage and all. There stands your victor, +that little old fellow with the broad shoulders. I say, come here a +moment,” called he aloud, making a sign for Tate to approach. “The +Collector is not in the least angry for what's happened; he knew you did +n't mean anything serious. Pray, who are these ladies, your mistresses I +mean?” +</p> +<p> +“Lady Eleanor Darcy and Miss Darcy, of Gwynne Abbey,” replied Tate, +sturdily, as he gave the names with a most emphatic distinctness. +</p> +<p> +“The devil it was!” exclaimed M'Farland. +</p> +<p> +“By my conscience, ye may well wonder at being in such company, sir,” said +Tate, laughing, and resuming his place just in time to assist Lady Eleanor +to ascend the steps. Helen quickly followed, the door was slammed to, and, +Tate mounting with the alacrity of a town footman, the chaise set out at a +brisk pace down the street. +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0023"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXIII. THE COAST IN WINTER +</h2> +<p> +Although Tate Sullivan had arrived in Coleraine and provided himself with +a chaise expressly to bring his mistress and her daughter back to “The +Corvy,”—from which the sheriff's officers had retired in +discomfiture, on discovering the loss of their warrants,—Lady +Eleanor, dreading a renewal of the law proceedings, had determined never +to return thither. +</p> +<p> +From the postilion they learned that a small but not uncomfortable lodging +could be had near the little village of Port Ballintray, and to this spot +they now directed their course. The transformation of a little summer +watering-place into the dismal village of some poor fishermen in winter, +is a sad spectacle; nor was the picture relieved by the presence of the +fragments of a large vessel, which, lately lost with all its crew, hung on +the rocks, thumping and clattering with every motion of the waves. By the +faint moonlight Lady Eleanor and her daughter could mark the outlines of +figures, as they waded in the tide or clambered along the rocks, stripping +the last remains of the noble craft, and contending with each other for +the spoils of the dead. +</p> +<p> +If the scene itself was a sorrowful one, it was no less painful to their +eyes from feeling a terrible similitude between their own fortunes and +that of the wrecked vessel; the gallant ship, meant to float in its pride +over the ocean, now a broken and shattered wreck, falling asunder with +each stroke of the sea! +</p> +<p> +“How like and yet how unlike!” sighed Lady Eleanor; “if these crushed and +shattered timbers have no feeling in the hour of adversity, yet are they +denied the glorious hopefulness that in the saddest moments clings to +humanity. Ours is shipwreck, too, but, taken at its worst, is only +temporary calamity!” +</p> +<p> +Helen pressed her mother's hands with fervor to her lips; perhaps never +had she loved her with more intensity than at that instant. +</p> +<p> +The chaise drew up at the door of a little cabin, built at the foot of, +and, as it actually seemed, against a steep rocky cliff of great height. +In summer it was regarded as one of the best among the surrounding +lodgings, but now it looked dreary enough. A fishing-boat, set up on one +end, formed a kind of sheltering porch to the doorway; while spars, masts, +and oars were lashed upon the thatch, to serve as a protection against the +dreadful gales of winter. +</p> +<p> +A childless widow was the only occupant, whose scanty livelihood was eked +out by letting lodgings to the summer visitors,—a precarious +subsistence, which in bad seasons, and they were not unfrequent, failed +altogether. It was with no small share of wonderment that Mary Spellan—or +“old Molly,” as the village more usually called her—saw a carriage +draw up to the cabin door late of a dark night in winter; nor was this +feeling unalloyed by a very strong tincture of suspicion, for Molly was an +Antrim woman, and had her proportion of the qualities, good and bad, of +the “Black North.” +</p> +<p> +“They 'll no be makin' a stay on't,” said she to the postboy, who, in his +capacity of interpreter, had got down to explain to Molly the requirements +of the strangers. “They 'll be here to-day and awa to-morrow, I 'm +thenkin',” said she, with habitual and native distrust. “And what for wull +I make a 'hottle'”—no greater indignity could be offered to the +lodging-house keeper than to compare the accommodation in any respect with +that of an hotel—“of my wee bit house, takin' out linen and a' the +rest o' it for maybe a day or twa.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Eleanor, who watched from the window of the chaise the course of the +negotiations without hearing any part of the colloquy, was impatient at +the slow progress events seemed to take, and supposing that the postboy's +demands were made with more regard to their habits than to old Molly's +means of accommodation, called out,— +</p> +<p> +“Tell the good woman that we are easily satisfied; and if the cabin be but +clean and quiet—” +</p> +<p> +“What's the leddie sayin'?” said Molly, who heard only a stray word, and +that not overpleasing to her. +</p> +<p> +“She 's saying it will do very well,” said the postboy, conciliatingly, +“and 'tis maybe a whole year she 'll stay with you.” +</p> +<p> +“Ech, dearee me!” sighed Molly, “it's wearisome enough to hae' them a' the +summer, without hae'ing them in the winter too. Tell her to come ben, and +see if she likes the place.” And with this not over-courteous proposal, +Molly turned her back, and rolled, rather thau walked, into the cabin. +</p> +<p> +The three little rooms which comprised the whole suite destined for +strangers, were, in all their poverty, scrupulously clean; and Molly, +gradually thawed by the evident pretensions of her guests, volunteered +little additions to the furniture, as she went along, concluding with the +very characteristic remark,— +</p> +<p> +“But ye maun consider, that it's no my habit, or my likin' either, to hae +lodgers in the winter; and af ye come, ye maun e'en pay for your whistle, +like ither folk.” +</p> +<p> +This was the arrangement that gave Lady Eleanor the least trouble; and +though the terms demanded were in reality exorbitant, they were acceded to +without hesitation by those who never had had occasion to make similar +compacts, and believed that the sum was a most reasonable one. +</p> +<p> +As is ever the case, the many wants and inconveniences of a restricted +dwelling were far more placidly endured by those long habituated to every +luxury than by their followers; and so, while Lady Eleanor and Helen +submitted cheerfully to daily privations of one kind or other, Tate lived +a life of everlasting complaint and grumbling over the narrow +accommodation of the cabin, continually irritating old Molly by demands +impossible to comply with, and suggesting the necessity of changes +perfectly out of her power to effect. It is but justice to the faithful +old butler to state, that to this line of conduct he was prompted by what +he deemed due to his mistress and her high station, rather than by any +vain hope of ever succeeding, his complaints being less demands for +improvement than after the fashion of those “protests” which dissentient +members of a legislature think it necessary to make in cases where +opposition is unavailing. +</p> +<p> +These half-heard mutterings of Tate were the only interruptions to a life +of sad but tranquil monotony. Lady Eleanor and her daughter lived as +though in a long dream; the realities around them so invested with +sameness and uniformity that days, weeks, and months blended into each +other, and became one commingled mass of time, undivided and unmarked. Of +the world without they heard but little; of those dearest to them, +absolutely nothing. The very newspapers maintained a silence on the +subject of the expedition under Abercrombie, so that of the Knight himself +they had no tidings whatever. Of Daly they only heard once, at the end of +one of Bicknell's letters, one of those gloomy records of the law's delay; +that he said, “You will be sorry to learn that Mr. Bagenal Daly, having +omitted to appear personally or by counsel in a cause lately called on +here, has been cast in heavy damages, and pronounced in contempt, neither +of which inflictions will probably give him much uneasiness, if, as report +speaks, he has gone to pass the remainder of his days in America. Miss +Daly speaks of joining him, when she learns that he has fixed on any spot +of future residence.” The only particle of consolation extractable from +the letter was in a paragraph at the end, which ran thus: “O'Reilly's +solicitor has withdrawn all the proceedings lately commenced, and there is +an evident desire to avoid further litigation. I hear that for the points +now in dispute an arbitration will be proposed. Would you feel disposed or +free to accept such an offer, if made? Let me know this, as I should be +prepared at all events.” +</p> +<p> +Even this half-confession of a claim gave hope to the drooping spirits of +Lady Eleanor, and she lost no time in acquainting Bicknell with her +opinion that while they neither could nor would compromise the rights of +their son, for any interests actually their own, and terminating with +their lives, they would willingly adopt any arrangement that should remove +the most pressing evils of poverty, and permit them to live united for the +rest of their days. +</p> +<p> +The severe winter of northern Ireland closed in, with all its darkening +skies and furious storms; scattered fragments of wrecked vessels, spars, +and ship-gear strewed the rocky coast for miles. The few cottages here and +there were closed and barricaded as if against an enemy, the roofs +fastened down by ropes and heavy implements of husbandry, to keep safe the +thatch; the boats of the fishermen drawn up on land, grouped round the +shealings in sad but not unpicturesque confusion. The ever-restless sea +beating like thunder upon that iron shore, the dark impending clouds +lowering over cliff and precipice, were all that the eye could mark. No +cattle were on the hills; the sheep nestling in the little glens and +valleys were almost undistinguishable from the depth of gloom around; not +a man was to be seen. +</p> +<p> +The little village of Port Ballintray, which a few months before abounded +in all the sights and sounds of human intercourse, was now perfectly +deserted. Most of the cottages were fastened on the inside; in some the +doors, burst open by the storm, showed still more unquestionably that no +dwellers remained; the little gardens, tended with such care, were now +uprooted and devastated; fallen trellises and ruined porches were seen on +every side; and even Mrs. Fumbally's, the pride and glory of the place, +had not escaped the general wreck, and the flaunting archway, on which, in +bright letters, her name was inscribed, hung pensively by one pillar, and +waved like a sad pendulum, “counting the weary minutes over!” +</p> +<p> +While nothing could less resemble the signs of habitation than the aspect +of matters without, within a fire burned on more than one hearth, and a +serving-woman was seen moving from place to place occupied in making those +arrangements which bespoke the speedy arrival of visitors. +</p> +<p> +It was long after nightfall that a travelling carriage and four—a +rare sight in such a place, even in the palmiest days of summer—drew +up at the front of the little garden, and after some delay a very old and +feeble man was lifted out, and carried between two servants into the +house; he was followed by another, whose firm step and erect figure +indicated the prime of life; while after him again came a small man, most +carefully protected by coats and comforters against the severity of the +season. He walked lame, and in the shuddering look he gave around in the +short transit from the carriage to the house-door, showed that such +prospects, however grand and picturesque, had few charms for him. +</p> +<p> +A short interval elapsed after the luggage was removed from the carriage, +and then one of the servants mounted the box, the horses' beads were +turned, and the conveyance was seen retiring by the road to Coleraine. +</p> +<p> +The effective force of Mrs. Fum's furniture was never remarkable, in days +of gala and parade; it was still less imposing now, when nothing remained +save an invalided garrison of deal chairs and tables, a few curtainless +beds, and a stray chest of drawers or two of the rudest fashion. +</p> +<p> +The ample turf fire on the hearth of the chief sitting-room, cheering and +bright as was its aspect, after the dark and rainy scene without doors, +could not gladden the air of these few and comfortless movables into a +look of welcome; and so one of the newly arrived party seemed to feel, as +he threw his glance over the meagre-looking chamber, and in a +half-complaining, half-inquiring tone, said,— +</p> +<p> +“Don't you think, sir, they might have done this a little better? These +windows are no defence against the wind or rain, the walls are actually +soaked with wet; not a bit of carpet, not a chair to sit upon! I 'm +greatly afraid for the old gentleman; if he were to be really ill in such +a place—” +</p> +<p> +A heavy fit of coughing from the inner room now seemed to corroborate the +suspicion. +</p> +<p> +“We must make the best of it, Nalty,” said the other. “Remember, the plan +was of your own devising; there was no time for much preparation here, if +even it had been prudent or possible to make it; and as to my father, I +warrant you his constitution is as good as yours or mine; anxiety about +this business has preyed upon him; but let your plan only succeed, and I +warrant him as able to undergo fatigue and privation as either of us.” +</p> +<p> +“His cough is very troublesome,” interposed Nalty, timidly. +</p> +<p> +“About the same I have known it every winter since I was a boy,” said the +other, carelessly. “I say, sir,” added he, louder, while he tapped the +door with his knuckles,—“I say, sir, Nalty is afraid you have caught +fresh cold.” +</p> +<p> +“Tell him his annuity is worth three years' purchase,” said the old man +from within, with a strange unearthly effort at a laugh. “Tell him, if he +'ll pay five hundred pounds down, I 'll let him run his own life against +mine in the deed.” +</p> +<p> +“There, you hear that, Nalty! What say you to the proposal?” +</p> +<p> +“Wonderful old man! astonishing!” muttered Nalty, evidently not flattered +at the doubts thus suggested as to his own longevity. +</p> +<p> +“He doesn't seem to like that, Bob, eh?” called out the old man, with +another cackle. +</p> +<p> +“After that age they get a new lease, sir,—actually a new lease of +life,” whispered Nalty. +</p> +<p> +Mr. O'Reilly—for it was that gentleman, who, accompanied by his +father and confidential lawyer, formed the party—gave a dry assent +to the proposition, and drawing his chair closer to the fire, seemed to +occupy himself with his own thoughts. Meanwhile the old doctor continued +to maintain a low muttering conversation with his servant, until at length +the sounds were exchanged for a deep snoring respiration, and he slept. +</p> +<p> +The appearance of a supper, which, if not very appetizing, was at least +very welcome, partially restored the drooping spirits of Mr. Nalty, who +now ate and talked with a degree of animation quite different from his +former mood. +</p> +<p> +“The ham is excellent, sir, and the veal very commendable,” said he, +perceiving that O'Reilly sat with his untouched plate before him, “and a +glass of sherry is very grateful after such a journey.” +</p> +<p> +“A weary journey, indeed,” said O'Reilly, sighing: “the roads in this part +of the island would seem seldom travelled, and the inns never visited; +however, if we succeed, Nalty—” +</p> +<p> +“So we shall, sir, I have not the slightest doubt of it; it is perfectly +evident that they have no money to go on. 'The sinews of war' are +expended, all Bicknell's late proceedings indicate a failing exchequer; +that late record, for instance, at Westport, should never have been left +to a common jury.” +</p> +<p> +“All this may be true, and yet we may find them unwilling to adopt a +compromise: there is a spirit in this class of men very difficult to deal +with.” +</p> +<p> +“But we have two expedients,” interrupted Nalty. +</p> +<p> +“Say, rather, a choice between two; you forget that if we try my father's +plan, the other can never be employed.” +</p> +<p> +“I incline to the other mode of procedure,” said Nalty, thoughtfully; “it +has an appearance of frankness and candor very likely to influence people +of this kind; besides, we have such a strong foundation to go upon,—the +issue of two trials at bar, both adverse to them, O'Grady's opinion on the +ejectment cases equally opposed to their views. The expense of a suit in +equity to determine the validity of the entail, and show how far young +Darcy can be a plaintiff: then the cases for a jury; all costly matters, +sir! Bicknell knows this well; indeed, if the truth were out, I suspect +Sam is getting frightened about his own costs, he has sold out of the +funds twice to pay fees.” +</p> +<p> +“Yet the plan is a mere compromise, after all,” said O'Reilly; “it is +simply saying, relinquish your right, and accept so much money.” +</p> +<p> +“Not exactly, sir; we deny the right, we totally reject the claim, we +merely say, forego proceedings that are useless, spare yourselves and us +the cost and publicity of legal measures, whose issue never can benefit +you, and, in return for your compliance, receive an annuity or a sum, as +may be agreed upon.” +</p> +<p> +“But how is Lady Eleanor to decide upon a course so important, in the +absence of her husband and her son? Is it likely, is it possible, she +would venture on so bold a step?” +</p> +<p> +“I think so; Bicknell half acknowledged that the funds of the suit were +her jointure, and that Darcy, out of delicacy towards her, had left it +entirely at her option to continue or abandon the proceedings.” +</p> +<p> +“Still,” said O'Reilly, “a great difficulty remains; for supposing them to +accept our terms, that they give up the claim and accept a sum in return, +what if at some future day evidence should turn up to substantiate their +views,—they may not, it is true, break the engagement—though I +don't see why they should not—but let us imagine them to be faithful +to the contract,-what will the world say? In what position shall we stand +when the matter gains publicity?” +</p> +<p> +“How can it, sir?” interposed Nalty, quickly; “how is it possible, if +there be no trial? The evidence, as you call it, is no evidence unless +produced in court. You know, sir,” said the little man, with twinkling +eyes and pleased expression, “that a great authority at common law only +declined the testimony of a ghost because the spirit was n't in court to +be cross-examined. Now all they could bring would be rumor, newspaper +allegations and paragraphs, asterisks and blanks.” +</p> +<p> +“There may come a time when public opinion, thus expounded, will be as +stringent as the judgments of the law courts,” said O'Reilly, +thoughtfully. +</p> +<p> +“I am not so certain of that, sir; the license of an unfettered press will +always make its decisions inoperative; it is 'the chartered libertine' the +poet speaks of.” +</p> +<p> +“But what if, yielding to public impression, it begins to feel that its +weight is in exact proportion to its truth, that well-founded opinions, +just judgments, correct anticipations, obtain a higher praise and price +than scandalous anecdotes and furious attacks? What if that day should +arrive, Nalty? I am by no means convinced that such an era is distant.” +</p> +<p> +“Let it come, sir,” said the little man, rubbing his hands, “and when it +does there will be enough employment on its hand without going back on our +trangressions; the world will always be wicked enough to keep the moralist +at his work of correction. But to return to our immediate object, I +perceive you are inclined to Dr. Hickman's plan.” +</p> +<p> +“I am so far in its favor,” said O'Reilly, “that it solves the present +difficulty, and prevents all future danger. Should my father succeed in +persuading Lady Eleanor to this marriage, the interest of the two families +is inseparably united. It is very unlikely that any circumstance, of what +nature soever, would induce young Darcy to dispute his sister's claim, or +endanger her position in society. This settlement of the question is +satisfactory in itself, and shows a good face to the world, and I confess +I am curious to know what peculiar objection you can see against it.” +</p> +<p> +“It has but one fault, sir.” +</p> +<p> +“And that?” +</p> +<p> +“Simply, it is impossible.” +</p> +<p> +“Is it the presumption of a son of mine seeking an alliance with the +daughter of Maurice Darcy that appears so very impossible?” said Hickman, +with a hissing utterance of each word, that bespoke a fierce conflict of +passion within him. +</p> +<p> +“Certainly not, sir,” replied Nalty, hastily excusing himself. “I am well +aware which party contributes most to such a compact. Mr. Beecham O'Reilly +might look far higher—” +</p> +<p> +“Wherein lies the impossibility you speak of, then?” rejoined O'Reilly, +sternly. +</p> +<p> +“I need scarcely remind <i>you</i>, sir,” said Nalty, with an air of deep +humility, “<i>you</i> that have seen so much more of life than I have, of +what inveterate prejudices these old families, as they like to call +themselves, are made up; that, creating a false standard of rank, they +adhere to its distinctions with a tenacity far greater than what they +exhibit towards the real attributes of fortune. They seem to adopt for +their creed the words of the old song,— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +“The King may make a Baron bold, +Or an Earl of any fool, sir, +But with all his power, and all his gold +He can never make an O'Toole, sir.” +</pre> +<p> +“These are very allowable feelings when sustained by wealth and fortune,” +said O'Reilly, quietly. +</p> +<p> +“I verily believe their influence is greater in adversity,” said Nalty; +“they seem to have a force of consolation that no misery can rob them of. +Besides, in this case—for we should not lose sight of the matter +that concerns us most—we must not forget that they regard your +family in the light of oppressors. I am well aware that you have acted +legally and safely throughout; but still—let us concede something to +human prejudices and passions—is it unreasonable to suppose that +they charge you and yours with their own downfall?” +</p> +<p> +“The more natural our desire to repair the apparent wrong.” +</p> +<p> +“Very true on <i>your</i> part, but not perhaps the more necessary on +theirs to accept the amende.” +</p> +<p> +“That will very much depend, I think, on the way of its being proffered. +Lady Eleanor, cold, haughty, and reserved as she is to the world, has +always extended a degree of cordiality and kindness towards my father; his +age, his infirmities, a seeming simplicity in his character, have had +their influence. I trust greatly to this feeling, and to the effect of a +request made by an old man, as if from his death-bed. My father is not +deficient in the tact to make an appeal of this kind very powerful; at all +events, his heart is in the scheme, and nothing short of that would have +induced me to venture on this long and dreary journey at such a season. +Should he only succeed in gaining an influence over Lady Eleanor, through +pity or any other motive, we are certain to succeed. The Knight, I feel +sure, would not oppose; and as for the young lady, a handsome young fellow +with a large fortune can scarcely be deemed very objectionable.” +</p> +<p> +“How was the proposition met before?” said Nalty, inquiringly; “was their +refusal conveyed in any expression of delicacy? Was there any +acknowledgment of the compliment intended them?” +</p> +<p> +“No, not exactly,” said O'Reilly, blushing; for, while he hesitated about +the danger of misleading his adviser, he could not bear to repeat the +insolent rejection of the offer. “The false position in which the families +stood towards each other made a great difficulty; but, more than all, the +influence of Bagenal Daly increased the complexity; now he, fortunately +for us, is not forthcoming, his debts have driven him abroad, they say.” +</p> +<p> +“So, then, they merely declined the honor in cold and customary phrase?” +said Nalty, carelessly. +</p> +<p> +“Something in that way,” replied O'Reilly, affecting an equal unconcern; +“but we need not discuss the point, it affords no light to guide us +regarding the future.” +</p> +<p> +If Nalty saw plainly that some concealment was practised towards him, he +knew his client too well to venture on pushing his inquiries further; so +he contented himself with asking when and in what manner O'Reilly proposed +to open the siege. +</p> +<p> +“To-morrow morning,” replied the other; “there's no time to be lost. A few +lines from my father to Lady Eleanor will acquaint her with his arrival in +the neighborhood, after a long and fatiguing search for her residence. We +may rely upon him performing his part well; he will allude to his own +breaking health in terms that will not fail to touch her, and ask +permission to wait upon her. As for us, Nalty, we must not be foreground +figures in the picture. You, if known to be here at all, must be supposed +to be my father's medical friend. I must be strictly in the shade.” +</p> +<p> +Nalty gave a grim smile at the notion of his new professional character, +and begged O'Reilly to proceed. +</p> +<p> +“Our strategy goes no further; such will be the order of battle. We must +trust to my father for the mode he will engage the enemy afterwards, for +the reasons which have led him to take this step,—the approaching +close of a long life, unburdened with any weighty retrospect, save that +which concerns the Darcy family; for, while affecting to sorrow over their +changed fortunes, he can attribute their worst evils to bad counsels and +rash advice, and insinuate how different had been their lot had they only +consented to regard us—as they might and ought to have done—in +the light of friends. Hush! who is speaking there?” +</p> +<p> +They listened for a second or two, and then came the sound of the old +man's voice, as he talked to himself in his sleep; his accents were low +and complaining, as if he were suffering deeply from some mental +affliction, and at intervals a heavy sob would break from him. +</p> +<p> +“He is ill, sir; the old gentleman is very ill!” said Nalty, in real +alarm. +</p> +<p> +“Hush!” said O'Reilly, as, with one hand on the door, he motioned silence +with the other. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lady,” muttered the sleeper, but in a voice every syllable of +which was audible, “eighty-six years have crept to your feet, to utter +this last wish and die. It is the last request of one that has already +left the things of this world, and would carry from it nothing but the +thought that will track him to the grave!” A burst of grief, too sudden +and too natural to admit of a doubt of its sincerity, followed the words; +and O'Reilly was about to enter the room, when a low dry laugh arrested +his steps, and the old man said,— +</p> +<p> +“Ay! Bob Hickman, did n't I tell you that would do? I knew she 'd cry, and +I told you, if she cried one tear, the day was ours!” +</p> +<p> +There was something so horrible in the baseness of a mind thus revelling +in its own duplicity, that even Nalty seemed struck with dread. O'Reilly +saw what was passing in the other's mind, and, affecting to laugh at these +“effects of fatigue and exhaustion,” half led, half pushed him from the +room, and said “Good-night.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0024"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXIV. THE DOCTOR'S LAST DEVICE. +</h2> +<p> +“Tell Mister Bob—Mr. O'Reilly I mean—to come to me,” were the +first words of old Dr. Hickman, as he awoke on the following morning. +</p> +<p> +“Well, sir, how have you slept?” said his son, approaching the bedside, +and taking a chair; “have you rested well?” +</p> +<p> +“Middling,-only middling, Bob. The place is like a vault, and the rats +have it all their own way. They were capering about the whole night, and +made such a noise trying to steal off with one of my shoes.” “Did they +venture that far?” +</p> +<p> +“Ay, did they! but I couldn't let it go with them. I know you 're in a +hurry to stand in them yourself, Bob, and leave me and the rats to settle +it between us—ay!” “Really, sir, these are jests—-” +</p> +<p> +“Too like earnest to be funny, Bob; so I feel them myself. Ugh! ugh! The +damp of this place is freezing the very heart's blood of me. How is Nalty +this morning?” “Like a fellow taken off a wreck, sir, after a week's +starvation. He is sitting at the fire there, with two blankets round him, +and vows to heaven, every five minutes, that if he was once back in Old +Dominick Street, a thousand guineas would n't tempt him to such another +expedition.” +</p> +<p> +The old doctor laughed till it made him cough, and when the fit was over, +laughed again, wiping his weeping eyes, and chuckling in the most +unearthly glee at the lawyer's discomfiture. +</p> +<p> +“Wrapped up in blankets, eh, Bob?” said he, that he might hear further of +his fellow-traveller's misery. +</p> +<p> +O'Reilly saw that he had touched the right key, and expatiated for some +minutes upon Nalty's sufferings, throwing out, from time to time, adroit +hints that only certain strong and hale constitutions could endure +privations like these. “Now, you, sir,” continued he, “you look as much +yourself as ever; in fact, I half doubt how you are to play the sick man, +with all these signs of rude health about you.” +</p> +<p> +“Leave that to me, Bob; I think I've seen enough of them things to know +them now. When I 've carried my point, and all's safe and secure, you 'll +see me like the pope we read of, that looked all but dead till they +elected him, and then stood up stout and hearty five minutes after,—we +'ll have a miracle of this kind in our own family.” +</p> +<p> +“I suspect, sir, we shall have difficulty in obtaining an interview,” said +O'Reilly. +</p> +<p> +“No!” rejoined the old man, with a scarcely perceptible twinkle of his +fishy eyes. +</p> +<p> +“Nalty 's of my opinion, and thinks that Lady Eleanor will positively +decline it.” +</p> +<p> +“No,” echoed he once more. +</p> +<p> +“And that, without any suspicion of our plan, she will yet refuse to +receive you.” +</p> +<p> +“I 'm not going to ask her, Bob,” croaked the old doctor, with a species +of chuckling crow in his voice. +</p> +<p> +“Then you have abandoned your intention,” exclaimed O'Reilly, in dismay, +“and the whole journey has been incurred for nothing.” +</p> +<p> +“No!” said the doctor, whose grim old features were lit up with a most +spiteful sense of his superior cunning. +</p> +<p> +“Then I don't understand you,—that's clear,” exclaimed O'Reilly, +testily. “You say that you do not intend to call upon her—” +</p> +<p> +“Because she's coming here to see me,” cried the old man, in a scream of +triumph; “read that, it's an answer to a note I sent off at eight o'clock. +Joe waited and brought back this reply.” As he spoke, he drew from beneath +his pillow a small note, and handed it to his son. O'Reilly opened it with +impatience, and read:— +</p> +<p> +“Lady Eleanor Darcy begs to acknowledge the receipt of Dr. Hickman's note, +and, while greatly indisposed to accept of an interview which must be so +painful to both parties without any reasonable prospect of rendering +service to either, feels reluctant to refuse a request made under +circumstances so trying. She will therefore comply with Dr. Hickman's +entreaty, and, to spare him the necessity of venturing abroad in this +severe weather, will call upon him at twelve o'clock, should she not learn +in the meanwhile that the hour is inconvenient.” +</p> +<p> +“Lady Eleanor Darcy come out to call upon you, sir!” said O'Reilly, with +an amazement in part simulated to flatter the old man's skill, but far +more really experienced. “This is indeed success.” +</p> +<p> +“Ay, you may well say so,” chimed in the old man; “for besides that I +always look ten years older when I 'm in bed and unshaved, with my +nightcap a little off,—this way,—the very sight of these +miserable walls, green with damp and mould, this broken window, and the +poverty-struck furniture, will all help, and I can get up a cough, if I +only draw a long breath.” +</p> +<p> +“I vow, sir, you beat us all; we are mere children compared to you. This +is a master-stroke of policy.” +</p> +<p> +“What will Nalty say now—eh, Bob?” +</p> +<p> +“Say, sir? What can any one say, but that the move showed a master's hand, +as much above our skill to accomplish as it was beyond our wit to +conceive? I should like greatly to hear how you intend to play the game +out,” said O'Reilly, throwing a most flattering expression of mingled +curiosity and astonishment into his features. +</p> +<p> +“Wait till I see what trumps the adversary has in hand, Bob; time enough +to determine the lead when the cards are dealt.” +</p> +<p> +“I suppose I must keep out of sight, and perhaps Nalty also.” +</p> +<p> +“Nalty ought to be in the house if we want him; as my medical friend, he +could assist to draw any little memorandum we might determine upon; a mere +note, Bob, between friends, not requiring the interference of lawyers, +eh?” There was something fiendish in the low laugh which accompanied these +words. “What brings that fellow into the room so often, putting turf on, +and looking if the windows are fast? I don't like him, Bob.” This was said +in reference to a little chubby man, in a waiter's jacket, who really had +taken every imaginable professional privilege to obtrude his presence. +</p> +<p> +“There, there, that will do,” said O'Reilly, harshly; “you needn't come +till we ring the bell.” +</p> +<p> +“Leave the turf-basket where it is. Don't you think we can mind the fire +for ourselves?” +</p> +<p> +“Let Joe wait, that will be better, sir,” whispered O'Reilly; “we cannot +be too cautious here.” And with a motion of the hand he dismissed the +waiter, who, true to his order, seemed never to hear “an aside.” +</p> +<p> +“Leave me by myself, Bob, for half an hour; I 'd like to collect my +thoughts,—to settle and think over this meeting. It's past eleven +now, and she said twelve o'clock in the note.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, I 'll take a stroll over the hills, and be back for dinner about +three; you'll be up by that time.” +</p> +<p> +“That will I, and very hungry too,” muttered the old man. “This dying +scene has cost me the loss of my breakfast; and, faith, I 'm so weak and +low, my head is quite dizzy. There 's an old saying, Mocking is catching; +and sure enough there may be some truth in it too.” +</p> +<p> +O'Reilly affected not to hear the remark, and moved towards the door, when +he turned about and said,— +</p> +<p> +“I should say, sir, that the wisest course would be to avoid anything like +coercion, or the slightest approach to it. The more the appeal is made to +her feelings of compassion and pity—” +</p> +<p> +“For great age and bodily infirmity,” croaked the old man, while the filmy +orbs shot forth a flash of malicious intelligence. +</p> +<p> +“Just so, sir. To others' eyes you do indeed seem weak and bowed down with +years. It is only they who have opportunity to recognize the clearness of +your intellect and the correctness of your judgment can see how little +inroad time has made.” +</p> +<p> +“Ay, but it has, though,” interposed the old man, irritably. “My hand +shakes more than it used to do; there 's many an operation I 'd not be +able for as I once was.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, well, sir,” said his son, who found it difficult to repress the +annoyance he suffered from his continual reference to the old craft; +“remember that you are not called upon now to perform these things.” +</p> +<p> +“Sorry I am it is so,” rejoined the other. “I gave up seven hundred a year +when I left Loughrea to turn gentleman with you at Gwynne Abbey; and +faith, the new trade isn't so profitable as the old one! So it is,” +muttered he to himself; “and now there 's a set of young chaps come into +the town, with their medical halls, and great bottles of pink and blue +water in the windows! What chance would I have to go back again?” +</p> +<p> +O'Reilly heard these half-uttered regrets in silence; he well knew that +the safest course was to let the feeble brain exhaust its scanty memories +without impediment. At length, when the old doctor seemed to have wearied +of the theme, he said,— +</p> +<p> +“If she make allusion to the Dalys, sir, take care not to confess our +mistake about that cabin they called 'The Corvy,' and which you remember +we discovered that Daly had settled upon his servant. Let Lady Eleanor +suppose that we withdrew proceedings out of respect to her.” +</p> +<p> +“I know, I know,” said the old man, querulously, for his vanity was +wounded by these reiterated instructions. +</p> +<p> +“It is possible, too, sir, she 'd stand upon the question of rank; if so, +say that Heffernan—no, say that Lord Castlereagh will advise the +king to confer the baronetcy on the marriage—don't forget that, sir—on +the marriage.” +</p> +<p> +“Indeed, then, I'll say nothing about it,” said he, with an energy almost +startling. “It's that weary baronetcy cost me the loan to Heffernan on his +own bare bond; I 'm well sick of it! Seven thousand pounds at five and a +half per cent, and no security!” +</p> +<p> +“I only thought, sir, it might be introduced incidentally,” said O'Reilly, +endeavoring to calm down this unexpected burst of irritation. +</p> +<p> +“I tell you I won't. If I'm bothered anymore about that same baronetcy, I +'ll make a clause in my will against my heir accepting it How bad you are +for the coronet with the two balls; faix, I remember when the family arms +had three of them; ay, and we sported them over the door, too. Eh, Bob, +shall I tell her that?” +</p> +<p> +“I don't suppose it would serve our cause much, sir,” said O'Reilly, +repressing with difficulty his swelling anger. Then, after a moment, he +added, “I could never think of obtruding any advice of mine, sir, but that +I half feared you might, in the course of the interview, forget many minor +circumstances, not to speak of the danger that your natural kindliness +might expose you to in any compact with a very artful woman of the world.” +</p> +<p> +“Don't be afraid of that anyhow, Bob,” said he, with a most hideous grin. +“I keep a watchful eye over my natural kindliness, and, to say truth, it +has done me mighty little mischief up to this. There, now, leave me quiet +and to myself.” +</p> +<p> +When the old man was left alone, his head fell slightly forward, and his +hands, clasped together, rested on his breast. His eyes, half closed and +downcast, and his scarcely heaving chest, seemed barely to denote life, or +at most that species of life in which the senses are steeped in apathy. +The grim, hard features, stiffened by years and a stern nature, never +moved; the thin, close-drawn lips never once opened; and to any observer +the figure might have seemed a lifeless counterfeit of old age. And yet +within that brain, fast yielding to time and infirmity, where reason came +and went like the flame of some flickering taper, and where memory brought +up objects of dreamy fancy as often as bygone events, even there plot and +intrigue held their ground, and all the machinery of deception was at +work, suggesting, contriving, and devising wiles that in their complexity +were too puzzling for the faculties that originated them. Is there a +Nemesis in this, and do the passions by which we have swayed and +controlled others rise up before us in our weak hours, and become the +tyrants of our terror-stricken hearts? +</p> +<p> +It is not our task, were it even in our power, to trace the strange +commingled web of reality and fiction that composed the old man's +thoughts. At one time he believed he was supplicating the Knight to accord +him some slight favor, as he had done more than once successfully. Then he +suddenly remembered their relative stations, so strangely reversed; the +colossal fortune he had himself accumulated; the hopes and ambitions of +his son and grandson, whose only impediments to rank and favor lay in +himself, the humble origin of all this wealth. How strange and novel did +the conviction strike him that all the benefit of his vast riches lay in +the pleasure of their accumulation, that for him fortune had no seductions +to offer! Rank, power, munificence, what were they? He never cared for +them. +</p> +<p> +No; it was the game he loved even more than the stake, that tortuous +course of policy by which he had outwitted this man and doubled on that. +The schemes skilfully conducted, the plots artfully accomplished,—these +he loved to think over; and while he grieved to reflect upon the reckless +waste he witnessed in the household of his sou, he felt a secret thrill of +delight that he, and he alone, was capable of those rare devices and bold +expedients by which such a fortune could be amassed. Once and only once +did any expression of his features sympathize with these ponderings; and +then a low, harsh laugh broke suddenly from him, so fleeting that it +failed to arouse even himself. It came from the thought that if after his +death his son or grandson would endeavor to forget his memory, and have it +forgotten by others, that every effort of display, every new evidence of +their gorgeous wealth, would as certainly evoke the criticism of the +envious world, who, in spite of them, would bring up the “old doctor” once +more, and, by the narrative of his life, humble them to the dust. +</p> +<p> +This desire to bring down to a level with himself those around him had +been the passion of his existence. For this he had toiled and labored, and +struggled through imaginary poverty when possessed of wealth; had endured +scoffs and taunts,—had borne everything,—and to this desire +could be traced his whole feeling towards the Darcys. It was no happiness +to him to be the owner of their princely estate if he did not revel in the +reflection that they were in poverty. And this envious feeling he extended +to his very son. If now and then a vague thought of the object of his +present journey crossed his mind, it was speedily forgotten in the +all-absorbing delight of seeing the proud Lady Eleanor humbled before him, +and the inevitable affliction the Knight would experience when he learned +the success of this last device. That it would succeed he had little +doubt; he had come too well prepared with arguments to dread failure. Nay, +he thought, he believed he could compel compliance if such were to be +needed. +</p> +<p> +It was in the very midst of these strangely confused musings that the +doctor's servant announced to him the arrival of Lady Eleanor Darey. The +old man looked around him on the miserable furniture, the damp, discolored +walls, the patched and mended window-panes, and for a moment he could not +imagine where he was; the repetition of the servant's announcement, +however, cleared away the cloud from his faculties, and with a slight +gesture of his hand he made a sign that she should be admitted. A +momentary pause ensued, and he could hear his servant expressing a hope +that her Ladyship might not catch cold, as the snow-drift was falling +heavily, and the storm very severe. A delay of a few minutes was caused to +remove her wet cloak. What a whole story did these two or three seconds +reveal to old Hickman as he thought of that Lady Eleanor Darey of whose +fastidious elegance the whole “West” was full, whose expensive habits and +luxurious tastes had invested her with something like an Oriental +reputation for magnificence,—of her coming on foot and alone, +through storm and snow, to wait upon him! +</p> +<p> +He listened eagerly; her footstep was on the stairs, and he heard a low +sigh she gave, as, reaching the landing-place, she stood for a moment to +recover breath. +</p> +<p> +“Say Lady Eleanor Darey,” said she, unaware that her coming had been +already telegraphed to the sick man's chamber. +</p> +<p> +A faint complaining cry issued from the room as she spoke, and Lady +Eleanor said: “Stay! Perhaps Dr. Hickman is too ill; if so, at another +time. I 'll come this evening or to-morrow.” +</p> +<p> +“My master is most impatient to see your Ladyship,” said the man. “He has +talked of nothing else all the morning, and is always asking if it is nigh +twelve o'clock.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Eleanor nodded as if to concede her permission, and the servant +entered the half-darkened room. A weak, murmuring sound of voices +followed; and the servant returned, saying, in a cautious whisper, “He is +awake, my Lady, and wishes to see your Ladyship now.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Eleanor's heart beat loudly and painfully; many a sharp pang shot +through it, as, with a strong effort to seem calm, she entered. +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0025"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXV. A DARK CONSPIRACY +</h2> +<p> +Dr. Hickman was so little prepared for the favorable change in Lady +Eleanor's appearance since he had last seen her, as almost to doubt that +she was the same, and it was with a slight tremor of voice he said,— +“Is it age with me, my Lady, or altered health, that makes the difference, +but you seem to me not what I remember you? You are fresher, pardon an old +man's freedom, and I should say far handsomer too!” +</p> +<p> +“Really, Mr. Hickman, you make me think my excursion well repaid by such +flatteries,” said she, smiling pleasantly, and not sorry thus for a moment +to say something that might relieve the awkward solemnity of the scene. “I +hope sir, that this air, severe though it be, may prove as serviceable to +yourself. Have you slept well?” +</p> +<p> +“No, my Lady, I scarcely dozed the whole night; this place is a very poor +one. The rain comes in there,—where you see that green mark,—and +the wind whistles through these broken panes,-and rats, bother them! they +never ceased the night through. A poor, poor spot it is, sure enough!” +</p> +<p> +It never chanced to cross his mind, while bewailing these signs of +indigence and discomfort, that she, to whom he addressed the complaint, +had been reduced to as bad, even worse, hardships by his own contrivance. +Perhaps, indeed, the memory of such had not occurred at that moment to +Lady Eleanor, had not the persistence with which he dwelt on the theme +somewhat ruffled her patience, and eventually reminded her of her own +changed lot. It was then with a slightly irritated tone she remarked,— +</p> +<p> +“Such accommodation is a very unpleasant contrast to the comforts you are +accustomed to, sir; and these sudden lessons in adversity are, now and +then, very trying things.” +</p> +<p> +“What does it signify?” sighed the old man, heavily; “a day sooner, a few +hours less of sunshine, and the world can make little difference to one +like me! Happy for me, if, in confronting them, I have done anything +towards my great purpose, the only object between me and the grave!” +</p> +<p> +Lady Eleanor never broke the silence which followed these words; and +though the old man looked as if he expected some observation or rejoinder, +she said not a word. At length he resumed, with a faint moan,—“Ah, +my Lady, you have much to forgive us for.” +</p> +<p> +“I trust, sir, that our humble fortunes have not taught us to forget the +duties of Christianity,” was the calm reply. +</p> +<p> +“Much, indeed, to pardon,” continued he, “but far less, my Lady, than is +laid to our charge. Lawyers and attorneys make many a thing a cause of +bitterness that a few words of kindness would have settled. And what two +men of honest intentions could arrange amicably iu five minutes is often +worked up into a tedious lawsuit, or a ruinous inquiry in Chancery. So it +is!” +</p> +<p> +“I have no experience in these affairs, sir, but I conclude your remarks +are quite correct.” +</p> +<p> +“Faith you may believe them, my Lady, like the Bible; and yet, knowing +these fellows so well, having dealings with them since—since—oh, +God knows how long—upon my life, they beat me entirely after all. 'T +is like taking a walk with a quarrelsome dog; devil a cur he sees but he +sets on him, and gets you into a scrape at every step you go! That 's what +an attorney does for you. Take out a writ against that fellow, process +this one, distrain the other, get an injunction here, apply for a rule +there. Oh dear! oh dear! I 'm weary of it for law! All the bitterness it +has given me in my life long, all the sorrow and affliction it costs me +now.” He wiped his eyes as he concluded, and seemed as if overcome by +grief. +</p> +<p> +“It must needs be a sorry source of reparation, sir,” rejoined Lady +Eleanor, with a calm, steady tone, “when even those so eminently +successful can see nothing but affliction in their triumphs.” +</p> +<p> +“Don't call them triumphs, my Lady; that's not the name to give them. I +never thought them such.” +</p> +<p> +“I 'm glad to hear it, sir,—glad to know that you have laid up such +store of pleasant memories for seasons like the present.” +</p> +<p> +“There was that proceeding, for instance, in December last. Now would you +believe it, my Lady, Bob and I never knew a syllable about it till it was +all over. You don't know what I 'm speaking of; I mean the writ against +the Knight.” +</p> +<p> +“Really, Dr. Hickman, I must interrupt you; however gratifying to me to +hear that you stand exculpated for any ungenerous conduct towards my +husband, the pleasure of knowing it is more than counterbalanced by the +great pain the topic inflicts upon me.” +</p> +<p> +“But I want to clear myself, my Lady; I want you to think of us a little +more favorably than late events may have disposed you.” +</p> +<p> +“There are few so humble, sir, as not to have opinions of more consequence +than mine.” +</p> +<p> +“Ay, but it's yours I want,—yours, that I 'd rather have than the +king's on his throne. 'T is in that hope I 've come many a weary mile far +away from my home, maybe never to see it again! and all that I may have +your forgiveness, my Lady, and not only your forgiveness, but your +approbation.” +</p> +<p> +“If you set store by any sentiments of mine, sir, I warn you not to ask +more than I have iu my power to bestow. I can forgive, I have forgiven, +much; but ask me not to concur in acts which have robbed me of the +companionship of my husband and my son.” +</p> +<p> +“Wait a bit; don't be too hard, my Lady; I 'm on the verge of the grave, a +little more, and the dark sleep that never breaks will be on me, and if in +this troubled hour I take a wrong word, or say a thing too strong,—forgive +me for it. My thoughts are often before me, on the long journey I'm so +soon to go.” +</p> +<p> +“It were far better, Dr. Hickman, that we should speak of something less +likely to be painful to us both, and if that cannot be, that you should +rest satisfied with knowing that however many are the sources of sorrow an +humble fortune has opened to us, the disposition to bear malice is not +among their number.” +</p> +<p> +“You forgive me, then, my Lady,—you forgive me all?” +</p> +<p> +“If your own conscience can only do so as freely as I do, believe me, sir, +your heart will be tranquil.” +</p> +<p> +The old man pressed his hands to his face, and appeared overcome by +emotion. A dead silence ensued, which at length was broken by old Hickman +muttering broken words to himself, at first indistinctly, and then more +clearly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, yes,—I made—the offer—I begged—I +supplicated. I did all—all. But no, they refused me! There was no +other way of restoring them to their own house and home—but they +would n't accept it. I would have settled the whole estate—free of +debt—every charge paid off, upon them. There 's not a peer in the +land could say he was at the head of such a property.” +</p> +<p> +“I must beg, sir, that I may be spared the unpleasantness of overhearing +what I doubt is only intended for your own reflection; and if you will +permit me, to take my leave—” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, don't go—don't leave me yet, my Lady. What was it I said,—where +was my poor brain rambling? Was I talking about Captain Darcy? Ah! that +was the most painful part of all.” +</p> +<p> +“My God! what is it you mean?” said Lady Eleanor, as a sickness like +fainting crept over her. “Speak, sir,—tell me this instant!” +</p> +<p> +“The bills, my Lady,—the bills that he drew in Glee-son's name.” +</p> +<p> +“In Gleeson's name! It is false, sir, a foul and infamous calumny; my son +never did this thing,—do not dare to assert it before me, his +mother.” +</p> +<p> +“They are in that pocket-book, my Lady,-seven of them for a thousand +pounds each. There are two more somewhere among my papers, and it was to +meet the payment that the Captain did this.” Here he took from beneath his +pillow a parchment document, and held it towards Lady Eleanor, who, +overwhelmed with terror and dismay, could not stretch her band to take it. +</p> +<p> +“Here—my Lady—somewhere here,” said he, moving his finger +vaguely along the lower margin of the document—“here you'll see +Maurice Darcy written—not by himself, indeed, but by his son. This +deed of sale includes part of Westport, and the town-lands of Cooldrennon +and Shoughnakelly. Faith, and, my Lady, I paid my hard cash down on the +nail for the same land, and have no better title than what you see! The +Knight has only to prove the forgery; of course he could n't do so against +his own son.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, sir, spare me,—I entreat of you to spare me!” sobbed Lady +Eleanor, as, convulsed with grief, she hid her face. +</p> +<p> +A knocking was heard at this moment at the door, and on its being repeated +louder, Hickman querulously demanded, “Who was there?” +</p> +<p> +“A note for Lady Eleanor Darcy,” was the reply; “her Ladyship's servant +waits for an answer.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Eleanor, without knowing wherefore, seemed to feel that the tidings +required prompt attention, and with an effort to subdue her emotion, she +broke the seal, and read:— +</p> +<p> +“Lady Eleanor,—Be on your guard,—there is a dark plot against +you. Take counsel in time,—and if you hear the words, 'T is +eighty-six years have crept to your feet, to die,' you can credit the +friendship of this warning.” +</p> +<p> +“Who brought this note?” said she, in a voice that became full and strong, +under the emergency of danger. +</p> +<p> +“Your butler, my Lady.” +</p> +<p> +“Where is he? Send him to me.” And as she spoke, Tate mounted the stairs. +</p> +<p> +“How came you by this note, Tate?” +</p> +<p> +“A fisherman, my Lady, left it this instant, with directions to be given +to you at once and without a moment's delay.” +</p> +<p> +“'Tis nothing bad, I hope and trust, my Lady,” whispered the old man. “The +darling young lady is not ill?” +</p> +<p> +“No, sir, she is perfectly well, nor are the tidings positively bad ones. +There is no answer, Tate.” So saying, she once more opened the paper and +read it over. +</p> +<p> +Without seeing wherefore, Lady Eleanor felt a sudden sense of hardihood +take possession of her; the accusation by which, a moment previous, she +had been almost stunned, seemed already lighter to her eyes, and the +suspicion that the whole interview was part of some dark design dawned +suddenly on her mind. Nor was this feeling permanent; a glance at the +miserable old man, who, with head beut down and half-closed eyes, lay +before her, dispelling the doubts even more rapidly than they were formed. +Indeed, now that the momentary excitement of speaking had passed away, he +looked far more wan and wasted than before; his chest, too, heaved with a +fluttering, irregular action, that seemed to denote severe and painful +effort, while his fingers, with a restless and fidgety motion, wandered +here and there, pinching the bed-clothes, and seeming to search for some +stray object. +</p> +<p> +While the conflict continued in Lady Eleanor's mind, the old man's brain +once more began to wander, and his lips murmured half inarticulately +certain words. “I would give it all!” said he, with a sudden cry; “every +shilling of it for that—but it cannot be—no, it cannot be.” +</p> +<p> +“I must leave you, sir,” said Lady Eleanor, rising; “and although I have +heard much to agitate and afflict me, it is some comfort to my heart to +think that I have poured some balm into yours; you have my forgiveness for +everything.” +</p> +<p> +“Wait a second, my Lady, wait one second!” gasped he, as with outstretched +hands he tried to detain her. “I 'll have strength for it in a minute—I +want—I want to ask you once more what you refused me once—and +it is n't—it is n't that times are changed, and that you are in +poverty now, makes me hope for better luck. It is because this is the +request of one on his death-bed,—one that cannot turn his thoughts +away from this world, till he has his mind at ease. There, my Lady, take +that pocket-book and that deed, throw them into the fire there. They 're +the only proofs against the Captain,—no eye but yours must ever see +them. If I could see my own beautiful Miss Helen once more in the old +house of her fathers—” +</p> +<p> +“I will not hear of this, sir,” interposed Lady Eleanor, hastily. “No time +or circumstances can make any change in the feelings with which I have +already replied to this proposal.” +</p> +<p> +“Heffernan tells me, my Lady, that the baronetcy is certain—don't go—don't +go! It's the voice of one you 'll never hear again calls on you. 'Tis +eighty-six years have crept to your feet, to die!” +</p> +<p> +A faint shriek burst from Lady Eleanor; she tottered, reeled, and fell +fainting to the ground. +</p> +<p> +<a name="image-0014" id="image-0014"> +<!-- IMG --></a> <img src="images/314.jpg" height="674" width="728" alt="314 " /> +</p> +<p> +Terrified by the sudden shock, the old man rung his bell with violence, +and screamed for help, in accents where there was no counterfeited +anxiety; and in another moment his servant rushed iu, followed by Nalty, +and in a few seconds later by O'Reilly himself, who, hearing the cries, +believed that the effort to feign a death-bed bad <i>turned</i> into a +dreadful reality. +</p> +<p> +“There—there—she is ill—she is dying! It was too much—the +shock did it!” cried the old man, now horror-struck at the ruin he had +caused. +</p> +<p> +“She is better,—her pulse is coming back,” whispered O'Reilly; “a +little water to her lips,-that will do.” +</p> +<p> +“She is coming to—I see it now,” said old Hickman; “leave the room, +Bob; quick, before she sees you.” +</p> +<p> +As O'Reilly gently disengaged his arm, which, in placing the fainting form +on the sofa, was laid beneath her head, Lady Eleanor slowly opened her +eyes, and fixed them upon him. O'Reilly suddenly became motionless; the +calm and steady gaze seemed to have paralyzed him; he could not stir, he +could not turn away his own eyes, but stood like one fascinated and +spell-bound. +</p> +<p> +“Oh dear! oh dear!” muttered the old man; “she 'll know him now, and see +it all.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” exclaimed Lady Eleanor, pushing back from her the officious bands +that ministered about her. “Yes, sir, I do see it all! Oh, let me be +thankful for the gleam of reason that has guided me in this dark hour. And +you, too, do you be thankful that you have been spared from working such +deep iniquity!” +</p> +<p> +As she spoke she arose, not a vestige of illness remaining, but a deep +flush mantling in the cheek that, but a moment back, was deathly pale. +“Farewell, sir. You had a brief triumph over the fears of a poor weak +woman; but I forgive you, for you have armed her heart with a courage it +never knew before.” +</p> +<p> +With these words she moved calmly towards the door, which O'Reilly in +respectful silence held open; and then, descending the stairs with a firm +step, left the house. +</p> +<p> +“Is she gone, Bob?” said the old man, faintly, as the door clapped +heavily. “Is she gone?” +</p> +<p> +O'Reilly made no reply, but leaned his head on the chimney, and seemed +lost in thought. +</p> +<p> +“I knew it would fail,” said Nalty in a whisper to O'Reilly. +</p> +<p> +“What 's that he 's saying, Bob?—what 's Nalty saying?” +</p> +<p> +“That he knew it would fail, sir,” rejoined O'Reilly, with a bitterness +that showed he was not sorry to say a disagreeable thing. +</p> +<p> +“Ay! but Nalty was frightened about his annuity; he thought, maybe, I 'd +die in earnest. Well, we 've something left yet.” +</p> +<p> +“What's that?” asked O'Reilly, almost sternly. +</p> +<p> +“The indictment for forgery,” said Hickman, with a savage energy. +</p> +<p> +“Then you must look out for another lawyer, sir,” said Nalty. “That I tell +you frankly and fairly.” +</p> +<p> +“What?—I didn't hear.” +</p> +<p> +“He refuses to take the conduct of such a case,” said O'Reilly; “and, +indeed, I think on very sufficient grounds.” +</p> +<p> +“Ay!” muttered the old doctor. “Then I suppose there 's no help for it! +Here, Bob, put these papers in the fire.” +</p> +<p> +So saying, he drew a thick roil of documents from beneath his pillow, and +placed it in his son's hands. “Put them in the blaze, and let me see them +burned.” +</p> +<p> +O'Reilly did as he was told, stirring the red embers till the whole mass +was consumed. +</p> +<p> +“I am glad of that, with all my heart,” said he, as the flame died out. +“That was a part of the matter I never felt easy about.” +</p> +<p> +“Didn't you?” grunted the old man, with a leer of malice. “What was it you +burned, d'ye think?” +</p> +<p> +“The bills,—the bonds with young Darcy's signature,” replied +O'Reilly, almost terrified by an unknown suspicion. +</p> +<p> +“Not a bit of it, Bob. The blaze you made was a costly fire to you, as you +'ll know one day. That was my will.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0026"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXVI. THE LANDING AT ABOUKIR +</h2> +<p> +We must now ask our reader to leave for a season this scene of plot and +intrigue, and turn with us to a very different picture. The same morning +which on the iron-bound coast of Ireland broke in storm and hurricane, +dawned fair and joyous over the shady shores of Egypt, and scarcely +ruffled the long rolling waves as they swept into the deep bay of Aboukir. +Here now a fleet of one hundred and seventy ships lay at anchor, the +expedition sent forth by England to arrest the devouring ambition of +Buonaparte, and rescue the land of the Pyramids from bondage. +</p> +<p> +While our concern here is less with the great event than with the fortune +of one of its humble followers, we would fain linger a little over the +memory of this glorious achievement of our country's arms. For above a +week after the arrival of the fleet, the gale continued to blow with +unabated fury; a sea mountains high rolled into the bay, accompanied by +sudden squalls of such violence that the largest ships of the fleet could +barely hold on by their moorings, while many smaller ones were compelled +to slip their cables, and stand out to sea. If the damage and injury were +not important enough to risk the success of the expedition, the casualties +ever inseparable from such events threw a gloom over the whole force, a +feeling grievously increased by the first tidings that met them,—the +capture of one of the officers and a boat's crew, who were taken while +examining the shore, and seeking out the fittest spot for a landing. +</p> +<p> +On the 7th of March the wind and sea subsided, the sky cleared, and a +glorious sunset gave promise of a calm, so soon to be converted into a +storm not less terrible than that of the elements. +</p> +<p> +As day closed, the outlying ships had all returned to their moorings, the +accidents of the late gale were repaired, and the soaked sails hung +flapping in the evening breeze to dry; while the decks swarmed with moving +figures, all eagerly engaged in preparation for that event which each well +knew could not now be distant. How many a heart throbbed high with ecstasy +and hope, that soon was to be cold; how many an eye wandered over that +strong line of defences along the shore, that never was to gaze upon +another sunset! +</p> +<p> +And yet, to mark the proud step, the flashing look the eager speech of all +around, the occasion might have been deemed one of triumphant pleasure +rather than the approach of an enterprise full of hazard and danger. The +disappointments which the storm had excited, by delaying the landing, were +forgotten altogether, or only thought of to heighten the delight which now +they felt. +</p> +<p> +The rapid exchange of signals between the line-of-battle ships showed that +preparations were on foot; and many were the guesses and surmises current +as to the meaning of this or that ensign, each reading the mystery by the +light of his inward hopes. On one object, however, every eye was fixed +with a most intense anxiety. This was an armed launch, which, shooting out +from beneath the shadow of a three-decker, swept across the bay with +muffled oars. Nothing louder than a whisper broke the silence on board of +her, as they stole along the still water, and held on their course towards +the shore. Through the gloom of the falling night, they were seen to track +each indenture of the coast,—now lying on their oars to take +soundings; now delaying, to note some spot of more than ordinary strength. +It was already midnight before “the reconnoissance” was effected, and the +party returned to the ship, well acquainted with the formidable +preparations of the enemy, and all the hazard that awaited the hardy +enterprise. The only part of the coast approachable by boats was a low +line of beach, stretching away to the left, from the castle of Aboukir, +and about a mile in extent; and this was commanded by a semicircular range +of sand-hills, on which the French batteries were posted, and whose crest +now glittered with the bivouac fires of a numerous army. From the +circumstances of the ground, the guns were so placed as to be able to +throw a cross-fire over the bay; while a lower range of batteries +protected the shore, the terrible effect of whose practice might be seen +on the torn and furrowed sands,—sad presage of what a landing party +might expect! Besides these precautions, the whole breastwork bristled +with cannon and mortars of various calibre, embedded in the sand; nor was +a single position undefended, or one measure of resistance omitted, which +might increase the hazard of an attacking force. +</p> +<p> +Time was an important object with the English general; reinforcements were +daily looked for by the French; indeed it was rumored that tidings had +come of their having sailed from Toulon, for, with an unparalleled +audacity and fortune combined, a French frigate had sailed the preceding +day through the midst of our fleet, and, amid the triumphant cheerings of +the shore batteries, hoisted the tricolor in the face of our assembled +ships. Scarcely had the launch reached the admiral's ship, when a signal +ordered the presence of all officers in command to attend a council of +war. The proceedings were quickly terminated, and in less than half an +hour, the various boats were seen returning to their respective ships, the +resolution having been taken to attack that very morning, or, in the words +of the general order, “to bring the troops as soon as possible before the +enemy.” Never were tidings more welcomed; the delay, brief as it was, had +stimulated the ardor of the men to the highest degree, and they actually +burned with impatience to be engaged. The dispositions for attack were +simple, and easily followed. A sloop of war, anchored just beyond the +reach of cannon-shot, was named as a point of rendezvous. By a single blue +light at her mizzen, the boats were to move towards her; three lights at +the maintop would announce that they were all assembled; a single gun +would then be the signal to make for the shore. +</p> +<p> +Strict orders were given that no unusual lights should be seen from the +ships, nor any unwonted sight or sound betray extraordinary preparation. +The men were mustered by the half-light in use on board, the ammunition +distributed in silence, and every precaution taken that the attack should +have the character of a surprise. These orders were well and closely +followed; but so short was the interval, and so manifold the arrangements, +it was already daylight before the rendezvous was accomplished. +</p> +<p> +If the plan of debarkation was easily comprehended, that of the attack was +not less so. Nelson once summed up a “general order,” by saying, “The +captain will not make any mistake who lays his ship alongside of an enemy +of heavier metal.” So Abercrombie's last instructions were, “Whenever an +officer may be in want of orders, let him assault an enemy's battery.” +These were to be carried by the bayonet alone, and, of the entire force, +not one man landed with a loaded musket. +</p> +<p> +A few minutes after seven the signal was given, and the boats moved off. +The sun was high, a light breeze fanned the water, the flags and streamers +of the ships-of-war floated proudly out as the flotilla stood for the +shore; in glorious rivalry they pulled through the surf, each eager to be +first, and all the excitement of a race was imparted to this enterprise of +peril. +</p> +<p> +Conspicuous among the leading boats were two, whose party, equipped in a +brilliant uniform of blue and silver, formed part of the cavalry force. +The inferiority of the horses supplied was such that only two hundred and +fifty were mounted, and the remainder had asked and obtained permission to +serve on foot. A considerable portion of this corps was made up of +volunteers; and several young men of family and fortune were said to serve +in the ranks, and from the circumstance of being commanded by the Knight +of Gwynne, were called “Darcy's Volunteers.” It was a glorious sight to +see the first boat of this party, in the stern of which sat the old Knight +himself, shoot out ahead, and amid the cheering of the whole flotilla, +lead the way in shore. +</p> +<p> +Returning the various salutes which greeted him, the old man sat +bare-headed, his silvery hair floating back in the breeze, and his manly +face beaming with high enthusiasm. +</p> +<p> +“A grand spectacle for an unconcerned eyewitness,” said an officer to his +neighbor. +</p> +<p> +The words reached Darcy's ears, and he called out, “I differ with you, +Captain. To enjoy all the thrilling ecstasy of this scene a man must have +his stake on the venture. It is our personal hopes and fears are necessary +ingredients in the exalted feeling. I would not stand on yonder cliff and +look on, for millions; but such a moment as this is glorious.” As he +spoke, a long line of flame ran along the heights, and at the same instant +the whole air trembled as the entire batteries opened their fire. The sea +hissed and glittered with round shot and shell; while, in a perfect +hurricane, they rained on every side. +</p> +<p> +The suddenness of the cannonade, and the confusion consequent on the +casualties that followed, seemed for a moment to retard the advance, or, +as it appeared to the French, to deter the invading force altogether; for +as they perceived some of the boats to lie on their oars, and others +withdrawn to the assistance of their comrades, a deafening cheer of +triumph rang out from the batteries, and was heard over the bay. Scarcely +had it been uttered when the British answered by another, whose hoarse +roar bespoke the coming vengeance. +</p> +<p> +The flotilla had now advanced within a line of buoys laid down to direct +the fire, and here grape and musketry mingled their clattering with the +deeper thunder of cannon. “This is sharp work, gentlemen,” said the +Knight, as the spray twice splashed over the boat, from shot that fell +close by. “They 'll have our range soon. Do you mark how accurately the +shots fall over that line of surf?” +</p> +<p> +“That's a sand-bank, sir,” said the coxswain who steered. “There 's barely +draught of water there for heavy launches.” +</p> +<p> +“I perceive there is some shelter yonder beneath that large battery.” +</p> +<p> +“They can trust that spot,” cried the coxswain, smiling. “There 's a heavy +surf there, and no boat could live through it. But stay, there is a boat +about to try it.” Every eye was now turned towards a yawl which, with +twelve oars, vigorously headed on through the very midst of a broken and +foam-covered tract of water, where jets of sea sprang up from hidden +rocks, and cross currents warred and contended against each other. +</p> +<p> +The hazardous venture was not alone watched by those iu the boats, but, +from the crowning ridge of batteries, from every cliff and crag on shore, +wondering enemies gazed on the hardihood of the daring. +</p> +<p> +“They'll do it yet, sir,—they 'll do it yet,” cried the coxswain, +wild with excitement. “There's deep water inside that reef.” +</p> +<p> +The words were scarcely out, when a tremendous cannonade opened from the +large battery. The balls fell on every side of the boat, and at length one +struck her on the stem, rending her open from end to end, and scattering +her shivered planks over the surfy sea. +</p> +<p> +A shout, a cheer, a drowning cry from the sinking crew, and all was over. +</p> +<p> +So sudden and so complete was this dreadful catastrophe, that they who +witnessed it almost doubted the evidence of their senses, nor were the +victors long to enjoy this triumph; the very discharge which sunk the boat +having burst a mortar, and ignited a mass of powder near, a terrible +explosion followed. A dense column of smoke and sand filled the air; and +when this cleared away, the face of the battery was perceived to be rent +in two. +</p> +<p> +“We can do it now, lads,” cried Darcy. “They 'll never recover from the +confusion yonder in time to see us.” A cheer met his words, and the +coxswain turned the boat's head in the direction of the reef. +</p> +<p> +Closely followed by their comrades in the second boat, they pulled along +through the surf like men whose lives were on the venture; four arms to +every oar, the craft bounded through the boiling tide; twice the keel was +felt to graze the rocky bed, but the strong impulse of the boat's “way” +carried her through, and soon they floated in the still water within the +reef. +</p> +<p> +“It shoals fast here,” cried the coxswain. +</p> +<p> +“What's the depth?” asked Darcy. +</p> +<p> +“Scarcely above three feet. If we throw over our six-pounder—” +</p> +<p> +“No, no. It's but wading, after all. Keep your muskets dry, move together, +and we shall be the first to touch the shore.” +</p> +<p> +As he said this, he sprang over the side of the boat into the sea, and +waving his hat above his head, began his progress towards the land. “Come +along, gentlemen, we 've often done as much when salmon-fishing in our own +rivers.” Thus, lightly jesting, and encouraging his party, he waded on, +with all the seeming carelessness of one bent on some scheme of pleasure. +</p> +<p> +The large batteries had no longer the range; but a dreadful fire of +musketry was poured in from the heights, and several brave fellows fell, +mortally wounded, ere the strand was reached. Cheered by the approving +shouts of thousands from the boats, they at length touched the beach; and +wild and disorderly as had been their advance when breasting the waves, no +sooner had they landed than discipline resumed its sway, and the words, +“Fall in, men!” were obeyed with the prompt precision of a parade. A +strong body of tirailleurs, scattered along the base of the sand-hills and +through the irregularities of the ground, galled them with a dropping and +destructive fire as they formed; nor was it till an advanced party had +driven these back, that the dispositions could be well and properly taken. +By this time several other boats had touched the shore, and already +detachments from the Fortieth, Twenty-eighth, and Forty-second regiments +were drawn up along the beach, and, from these, frequent cries and shouts +were heard, encouraging and cheering the “Volunteers,” who alone, of all +the force, had yet come to close quarters with the enemy. +</p> +<p> +A brief but most dangerous interval now followed; for the boats, assailed +by a murderous fire, had sustained severe losses, and a short delay +inevitably followed, assisting the wounded, or rescuing those who had +fallen into the sea. Had the French profited by this pause, to bear down +upon the small force now drawn up inactive on the beach, the fate of that +great achievement might have been perilled; as it happened, however, +nothing was further from their thought than coming into immediate contact +with the British, and they contented themselves with a distant but still +destructive cannonade. It is not impossible that the audacity of those who +first landed, and who—a mere handful—assumed the offensive, +might have been the reason of this conduct, certain it is, the boats, for +a time retarded, were permitted again to move forward and disembark then; +men, with no other resistance than the fire from the batteries. +</p> +<p> +The three first regiments which gained the land were, strangely enough, +representatives of the three different nationalities of the Empire; and +scarcely were the words, “Forward! to the assault!” given, when an +emulative struggle began, which should first reach the top and cross +bayonets with the French. On the left, and nearest to the causeway that +led up the heights, stood the Highlanders. These formed under an +overwhelming shower of grape and musketry, and, with pibrochs playing, +marched steadily forward. The Fortieth made an effort to pass them, which +caused a momentary confusion, ending in an order for this regiment to +halt, and support the Forty-second; and while this was taking place, the +Twenty-eighth rushed to the ascent in broken parties, and, following the +direction the “Volunteers” had taken in pursuit of the tirailleurs, they +mounted the heights together. +</p> +<p> +So suddenly was the tirailleur force repelled, that they had scarcely time +to give the alarm, when the Twenty-eighth passed the crest of the hill, +and prepared to charge. The Irish regiment, glorying in being the first to +reach the top, cheered madly, and bore down. The French poured in a single +volley, and fell back; not to retreat, but to entice pursuit. The +stratagem succeeded. The Twenty-eighth pursued them hotly, and almost at +once found themselves engaged in a narrow gorge of the sand-hills, and +exposed to a terrific cross-fire. To retreat was impossible; their own +weight drove them on, and the deafening cheers of their comrades drowned +every word of command. Grape at half-musket distance ploughed through +their ranks, while one continuous crash of small-arms showed the number +and closeness of their foes. +</p> +<p> +It was at this moment that Darcy, whose party was advancing by a smaller +gorge, ascended a height, and beheld the perilous condition of his +countrymen. There was but one way to liberate them, and that involved +their own destruction: to throw themselves on the French flank, and while +devoting themselves to death, enable the Twenty-eighth to retire or make +head against the opposing force. While Darcy, in a few hurried words, made +known his plan to those around him, the opportunity for its employment +most strikingly presented itself. A momentary repulse of the French had +driven a part of their column to the highroad leading to Alexandria, where +already several baggage carts and ammunition wagons were gathered. This +movement seemed so like retreat that Darcy's sanguine nature was deceived, +and calling out, “Come along, lads,-they are running already!” he dashed +onward, followed by his gallant band. His attack, if inefficient for want +of numbers, was critical in point of time. The same instant that the +French were assailed by him in flank, the Forty-second had gained the +summit and attacked them in front: fresh battalions each moment arrived, +and now along the entire crest of the ridge the fight raged fiercely. One +after the other the batteries were stormed, and carried by our infantry at +the bayonet's point; and in less than an hour from the time of landing, +the British flag waved over seven of the nine heavy batteries. +</p> +<p> +The battle, severe as it was on the heights, was main-tained with even +greater slaughter on the shore. The French, endeavoring too late to repair +the error of not resisting the actual landing, had now thrown an immense +force by a flank movement on the British battalions; and this attack of +horse, foot, and artillery combined, was, for its duration, the great +event of the day. For a brief space it appeared impossible for the few +regiments to sustain the shock of such an encounter; and had it not been +for the artillery of the gunboats stationed along the shore, they must +have yielded. Their fire, however, was terribly destructive, sweeping +through the columns as they came up, and actually cutting lanes in the +dense squadrons. +</p> +<p> +Reinforcements poured in, besides, at every instant; and after a bloody +and anxious struggle, the British were enabled to take the offensive, and +advance against their foes. The French, already weakened by loss and +dispirited by failure, did not await the conflict, but retired slowly, it +is true, and in perfect order, on one of the roads leading into the great +highway to Alexandria. +</p> +<p> +Victory had even more unequivocally pronounced for the British on the +heights. By this time every battery was in their possession. The enemy +were in full flight towards Alexandria, the tumultuous mass occasionally +assailed by our light infantry, to whom, from our deficiency in cavalry, +was assigned the duty of harassing the retreat. It was here that Darcy's +Volunteers, now reduced to one third of their original number, highly +distinguished themselves, not only attacking the flank of the retiring +enemy, but seizing every opportunity of ground to assail them in front and +retard their flight. +</p> +<p> +In one of these onslaughts, for such they were, the Volunteers became +inextricably entangled with the enemy, and although fighting with the +desperation of tigers, volley after volley tore through them; and the +French, maddened by the loss they had already suffered at their hands, +hastened to finish them by the bayonet. It was only by the intervention of +the French officers, a measure in itself not devoid of peril, that any +were spared; and those few, bleeding and mangled, were hurried along as +prisoners, the only triumph of that day's battle! The strange spectacle of +an affray in the very midst of a retiring column was seen by the British +in pursuit, and the memory of this scene is preserved among the incidents +of that day's achievements. +</p> +<p> +<a name="image-0015" id="image-0015"> +<!-- IMG --></a> <img src="images/328.jpg" height="758" width="667" alt="328 " /> +</p> +<p> +Many and desperate attempts were made to rescue the prisoners. The French, +however, received the charges with deadly volleys, and as their flanks +were now covered by a cloud of tirailleurs, they were enabled to continue +their retreat on Alexandria, protected by the circumstances of the ground, +every point of which they had favorably occupied. The battle was now over; +guns, ammunition and stores were all landed; on the heights the English +ensign waved triumphantly; and, far as the eye could reach, the French +masses were seen in flight, to seek shelter within the lines of +Alexandria. +</p> +<p> +It was a glorious moment as the last column ascended the cliffs, to find +their gallant comrades masters of the French position in its entire +extent. Here, now, two brigades reposed with piled arms, guns, mortars, +camp equipage, and military chests strewed on every side, all attesting +the completeness of a victory which even a French bulletin could hardly +venture to disavow. It is perhaps fortunate that, at times like this, the +feeling of high excitement subdues all sense of the regret so natural to +scenes of suffering; and thus, amid many a sight and sound of woe, glad +shouts of triumph were raised, and heartfelt bursts of joyous recognition +broke forth as friends met, and clasped each other's hands. Incidents of +the battle, traits of individual heroism, were recorded on every side: +anecdotes then told for the first time, to be remembered, many a year +after, among the annals of regimental glory! +</p> +<p> +It is but seldom, at such moments, that men can turn from the theme of +triumph to think of the more disastrous events of the day; and yet a +general feeling of sorrow prevailed on the subject of the brave +Volunteers, of whose fate none could bring any tidings; some asserting +that they had all fallen to a man on the road leading to Alexandria, +others affirming that they were carried off prisoners by the French +cavalry. +</p> +<p> +A party of light infantry, who had closely followed the enemy till +nightfall, had despatched some of their wounded to the rear; and by these +the news came, that in an open space beside the high-road the ground was +covered with bodies in the well-known blue and silver of the Volunteers. +One only of these exhibited signs of life; and him they had placed among +the wounded in one of the carts, and brought back with them. As will often +happen, single instances of suffering excite more of compassionate pity +than wide-spread affliction; and so here. When death and agony were on +every hand,—whole wagons filled with maimed and dying comrades,—a +closely wedged group gathered around the dying Volunteer, their saddened +faces betraying emotions that all the terrible scenes of the day had never +evoked. +</p> +<p> +“It 's no use, sir,” said the surgeon, to the field-officer who had called +him to the spot. “There is internal bleeding, besides this ghastly +sabre-cut.” +</p> +<p> +“Who knows him?” said the officer, looking around; but none made answer. +“Can no one tell his name?” +</p> +<p> +There was a silence for a few seconds; when the dying man lifted his +failing eyes upwards, and turned them slowly around on the group. A slight +tremor shook his lips, as if with an effort to speak; but no sound issued. +Yet in the terrible eagerness of his features might be seen the working of +a spirit fiercely struggling for utterance. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, my poor fellow,” said the officer, stooping down beside him, and +taking his hand. “I was asking for your name.” +</p> +<p> +A faint smile and a slight nod of the head seemed to acknowledge the +speech. +</p> +<p> +“He is speaking,—hush! I hear his voice,” cried the officer. +</p> +<p> +An almost inaudible murmur moved his lips; then a shivering shook his +frame, and his head fell heavily back. +</p> +<p> +“What is this?” said the officer.. +</p> +<p> +“Death,” said the surgeon, with the solemn calm of one habituated to such +scenes. “His last words were strange-, did you hear them?” +</p> +<p> +“I thought he said 'Court-martial.'” +</p> +<p> +The surgeon nodded, and turned to move away. +</p> +<p> +“See here, sir,” said a sergeant, as opening the dead man's coat he drew +forth a white handkerchief, “the poor fellow was evidently trying to write +his name with his own blood; here are some letters clear enough. L-e-o, +and this is an n—or m—” +</p> +<p> +“I know him now,” cried another. “This was the Volunteer who joined us at +Malta; but Colonel Darcy got him exchanged into his own corps. His name +was Leonard.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0027"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXVII. THE FRENCH RETREAT +</h2> +<p> +Let us now turn to the Knight of Gwynne, who, wounded and bleeding, was +carried along in the torrent of the retreat. Poor fellow, he had witnessed +the total slaughter or capture of the gallant band he had so bravely led +into action but a few hours before, and now, with one arm powerless, and a +sabre-cut in the side, could barely keep up with the hurried steps of the +flying army. +</p> +<p> +From the few survivors among his followers, not one of whom was unwounded, +he received every proof of affectionate devotion. If they were proud of +the gallant old officer as their leader, they actually loved him like a +father. The very last incident of their struggle was an effort to cut +through the closing ranks of the French, and secure his escape; and +although one of the Volunteers almost lifted him into the saddle, from +which he had torn the rider, Darcy would not leave his comrades, but cried +out, “What signifies a prisoner more or less, lads? The victory is ours; +let that console us.” The brave fellow who had perilled his life for his +leader was cut down at the same instant. Darcy saw him bleeding and +disarmed, and had but time to throw him his last pistol, when he was +driven onward, and, in the mingled confusion of the movement, beheld him +no more. +</p> +<p> +The exasperation of a defeat so totally unlooked for had made the French +almost savage in their vindictiveness, and nothing but the greatest +efforts on the part of the officers could have saved the prisoners from +the cruel vengeance of the infuriated soldiery. As it was, insulting +epithets, oaths, and obnoxious threats met them at every moment of the +halt; and at each new success of the British their fury broke out afresh, +accompanied by menacing gestures that seemed to dare and defy every fear +of discipline. +</p> +<p> +Darcy, whom personal considerations were ever the last to influence, +smiled at these brutal demonstrations, delighted at heart to witness such +palpable evidence of insubordination in the enemy; nor could he, in the +very midst of outrages which perilled his life, avoid comparing to his +followers the French troops of former days with these soldiers of the +Republic. “I remember them at Quebec,” said he, “under Montcalm. It may be +too much to say that the spirit of a monarchy had imparted a sense of +chivalry to its defenders, but certainly it is fair to think that the +bloody orgies of a revolutionary capital have made a ruffian and ruthless +soldiery.” +</p> +<p> +Nor was this the only source of consolation open; for he beheld on every +side of him, in the disorder of the force, the moral discouragement of the +army, and the meagre preparations made for the defence of Alexandria. +Wounded and weary, he took full note of these various circumstances, and +made them the theme of encouragement to his companions in captivity. +“There is little here, lads,” said he, “to make us fear a long +imprisonment. The gallant fellows, whose watch-fires crown yonder hills, +will soon bivouac here. All these preparations denote haste and +inefficiency. These stockades will offer faint resistance, their guns seem +in many instances unserviceable, and from what we have seen of their +infantry to-day, we need never fear the issue of a struggle with them.” +</p> +<p> +In the brief intervals of an occasional halt, he lost no opportunity of +remarking the appearance of the enemy's soldiery,—their bearing and +their equipment,—and openly communicated to his comrades his opinion +that the French army was no longer the formidable force it had been +represented to be, and that the first heavy reverse would be its +dismemberment. In all the confidence a foreign language suggests, he spoke +his mind freely and without reserve, not sparing the officers in his +criticisms, which now and then took a form of drollery that drew laughter +from the other prisoners. It was at the close of some remark of this kind, +and while the merriment had not yet subsided, that a French major, who had +more than once shown interest for the venerable old soldier, rode close up +to his side, and whispered a few words of friendly caution in his ear, +while by an almost imperceptible gesture he pointed to a group of +prisoners who accompanied the Knight's party, and persisted in pressing +close to where he walked. These were four dragoons of Hompesch's regiment, +then serving with the British army, but a corps which had taken no part in +the late action. Darcy could not help wondering at their capture,—a +feeling not devoid of distrust, as he remarked that neither their dress +nor accoutrements bore any trace of the fierce struggle, while their +manner exhibited a degree of rude assurance and effrontery, rather than +the regretful feelings of men taken prisoners. +</p> +<p> +Darcy's attention was not permitted to dwell much more on the +circumstance, for at the same instant the column was halted, in order that +the wounded might pass on; and in the sad spectacle that now presented +itself, all memory of his own griefs was merged. The procession was a long +one, and seemed even more so than it was, from the frequent halts in +front, the road being choked up by tumbrels and wagons, all confusedly +mixed up in the hurry of retreat. Night was now falling fast, but still +there was light enough to descry the ghastly looks of the poor fellows, +suffering in every variety of agony. Some sought vent to their tortures by +shouts and cries of pain; others preserved a silence that seemed from +their agonized features an effort as dreadful as the very wounds +themselves; many were already mad with suffering, and sang and blasphemed, +with shrieks of mingled recklessness and misery. What a terrible reverse +to the glory of war, and how far deeper into the heart do such scenes +penetrate than all the triumphs the most successful campaign has ever +gathered! While Darcy still gazed on this sad sight, he was gently touched +on the arm by the same officer who had addressed him before, saying, +“There is an English soldier here among the wounded, who wishes to speak +with you; it is against my orders to permit it, but be brief and +cautious.” With a motion to a litter some paces in the rear, the officer +moved on to his place in the column, nor waited for any reply. +</p> +<p> +The Knight lost not a second in profiting by the kind suggestion, but in +the now thickening, gloom it was some time before he could discover the +object of his search. At length he caught sight of the well-known uniform +of his corps,—the blue jacket slashed with silver,—as it was +thrown loosely over the figure, and partly over the face of a wounded +soldier. Gently removing it, he gazed with steadfastness at the pale and +bloodless countenance of a young and handsome man, who with half-closed +eyelids lay scarcely breathing before him. “Do you know me, my poor +fellow?” whispered Darcy, bending down over him,—“do you know me? +For I feel as if we should know each other well, and had met before this.” +The wounded man met his glance with a look of kind acknowledgment, but +made no effort to speak; a faint sigh broke from him, as with a tremulous +hand he pushed back the jacket and showed a terrible bayonet-stab in the +chest, from which at each respiration the blood welled out in florid +rivulets. +</p> +<p> +“Where is the surgeon?” said Darcy, to the soldier beside the litter. +</p> +<p> +“He is here, Monsieur,” said a sharp-looking man, who, without coat and +with shirt-sleeves tucked up, came hastily forward. +</p> +<p> +“Can you look to this poor fellow for me?” whispered Darcy, while he +pressed into the not unwilling hand of the doctor a somewhat weighty +purse. +</p> +<p> +“We can do little more thau put a pad on a wounded vessel just now,” said +the surgeon, as with practised coolness he split up with a scissors the +portions of dress around the wound. “When we have them once housed in the +hospital—Parbleu!” cried he, interrupting himself, “this is a severe +affair.” +</p> +<p> +Darcy turned away while the remorseless fingers of the surgeon probed the +gaping incision, and then whispered low, “Can he recover?” +</p> +<p> +“Ah! <i>mon Dieu!</i> who knows? There is enough mischief here to kill +half a squadron; but some fellows get through anything. If we had him in a +quiet chamber of the Faubourg, with a good nurse, and all still and +tranquil about him, there 's no saying; but here, with some seven hundred +others,—many as bad, some worse than himself,—the chances are +greatly against him. Come, however, we'll do our best for him.” So saying, +he proceeded to pass ligatures on some bleeding arteries; and although +speaking rapidly all the while, his motions were even still more quick and +hurried. “How old is he?” asked the surgeon, suddenly, as he gazed +attentively at the youth. +</p> +<p> +“I can't tell you,” said Darcy. “He belonged to my own corps, and by the +lace on his jacket, I see, must have been a Volunteer; but I shame to say +I don't remember even his name.” “He knows <i>you</i>, then,” replied the +doctor, who, with the shrewd perception of his craft, watched the working +of the sick man's features. “Is't not so?” said he, stooping down and +speaking with marked distinctness. “You know your colonel?” +</p> +<p> +A gesture, too faint to be called a nod of the head, and a slight motion +of the eyebrows, seemed to assent to this question; and Darcy, whose +laboring faculties struggled to bring up some clew to the memory of a face +he was convinced he had known before, was about to speak again, when a +mounted orderly, with a led horse beside him, rode up to the spot, and +looking round for a few seconds, as if in search of some one, said,— +</p> +<p> +“The English colonel, I believe?” The Knight nodded. “You are to mount +this horse, sir,” continued the orderly, “and proceed to the head-quarters +at once.” +</p> +<p> +The doctor whispered a few hasty sentences, and while promising to bestow +his greatest care upon the sick man, assured Darcy that at the +head-quarters he would soon obtain admission of the wounded Volunteer into +the officers' hospital. Partly comforted by this, and partly yielding to +what he knew was the inevitable course of fortune, the Knight took a +farewell look of his follower, and mounted the horse provided for him. +</p> +<p> +Darcy was too much engrossed by the interest of the wounded soldier's case +to think much on what might await himself; nor did he notice for some time +that they had left the high-road by which the troops were marching for a +narrower causeway, leading, as it seemed, not into, but at one side of +Alexandria. It mattered so little to him, however, which way they +followed, that he paid no further attention, nor was he aware of their +progress, till they entered a little mud-built village, which swarmed with +dogs, and miserable-looking half-clothed Arabs. +</p> +<p> +“How do they call this village?” said the Knight, speaking now for the +first time to his guide. +</p> +<p> +“El Etscher,” replied the soldier; “and here we halt” At the same moment +he dismounted at the door of a low, mean-looking house; and having ushered +Darcy into a small room dimly lighted by a lamp, departed. +</p> +<p> +The Knight listened to the sharp tramp of the horses' feet as they moved +away; and when they had gone beyond hearing, the silence that followed +fell heavily and drearily on his spirits. After sitting for some time in +expectation of seeing some one sent after him, he arose and went to the +door, but there now stood a sentry posted. He returned at once within the +room, and partly overcome by fatigue, and partly from the confusion of his +own harassed thoughts, he leaned his head on the table and slept soundly. +</p> +<p> +“Pardon, Monsieur le colonel,” said a voice at his ear, as, some hours +later in the night, he was awakened from his slumbers. “You will be +pleased to follow me.” Darcy looked up and beheld a young officer, who +stood respectfully before him; and though for a second or so he could not +remember where he was, the memory soon came back, and without a word he +followed his conductor. +</p> +<p> +The officer led the way across a dirty, ill-paved courtyard, and entered a +building beyond it of greater size, but apparently not less dilapidated +than that they had quitted. From the hall, which was lighted with a large +lamp, they could perceive through an open door a range of stables filled +with horses; at the opposite side a door corresponding with this one, at +which a dragoon stood with his carbine on his arm. At a word from the +officer the soldier moved aside and permitted them to enter. +</p> +<p> +The room into which they proceeded was large, but almost destitute of +furniture. A common deal table stood in the middle, littered with military +cloaks, swords, and shakos. In one corner was a screen, from behind which +the only light proceeded; and, with a gesture towards this, the officer +motioned Darcy to advance, while with noiseless footsteps he himself +withdrew. +</p> +<p> +Darcy moved forward, and soon came within the space enclosed by the +screen, and in front of an officer in a plain uniform, who was busily +engaged in writing. Maps, returns, printed orders, and letters lay strewed +about him, and in the small brazier of burning wood beside him might be +seen the charred remains of a great heap of papers. Darcy had full a +minute to contemplate the figure before him ere he was noticed. The +Frenchman was short and muscular, with a thick, bushy head of hair, bald +in the centre of the head. His features were full of intelligence and +quickness, but more unmistakably denoted violence of temper, and the +coarse nature of one not born to his present rank, which seemed, at least, +that of a field officer. His hands were covered with rings, but their +shape and color scarcely denoted that such ornaments were native to them. +</p> +<p> +“Ha,—the English colonel,—sit down, sir,” said he to Darcy, +pointing to a chair without rising from his own. Darcy seated himself with +the easy composure of one who felt that in any situation his birth and +breeding made him unexceptionable company. +</p> +<p> +“I wished to see you, sir. I have received orders, that is,” said he, +speaking with the greatest rapidity, and a certain thickness of utterance +very difficult to follow, “to send for you here, and make certain +inquiries, your answers to which will entirely decide the conduct of the +Commander-in-Chief in your behalf. You are not aware, perhaps, how +completely you have put this in our power?” +</p> +<p> +“I suppose,” said Darcy, smiling, “my condition as a prisoner of war makes +me subject to the usual hardships of such a lot; but I am not aware of +anything, peculiar to my case, that would warrant you in proposing even +one question which a gentleman and a British officer could refuse to +answer.” +</p> +<p> +“There is exactly such an exception,” replied the Frenchman, hastily. “The +proofs are very easy, and nearer at hand than you think of.” +</p> +<p> +“You have certainly excited my curiosity, sir,” said the Knight, with +composure; “you will excuse my saying that the feeling is unalloyed by any +fear.” +</p> +<p> +“We shall see that presently,” said the French officer rising and moving +towards the door of an apartment which Darcy had not noticed. “Auguste,” +cried he, “is that report ready?” The answer was not audible to the +Knight. But the officer resumed, “No matter; it is sufficient for our +purpose.” And hastily taking a paper from the hands of a subaltern, he +returned to his place within the screen. “A gentleman so conversant with +our language, it would be absurd to suppose ignorant of our institutions. +Now, sir, to make a very brief affair of this, you have, in contravention +to a law passed in the second year of the Republic, ventured to apply +opprobrious epithets to the forces of France, ridiculing the manner, +bearing, and conduct of our troops, and instituting comparison between the +free citizens of a free state and the miserable minions of a degraded +monarchy. If a Frenchman, your accusation, trial, and sentence would have +probably been nigh accomplished before this time. As a foreigner and a +prisoner of war—” +</p> +<p> +“I conclude such remarks as I pleased to make were perfectly open to me,” +added Darcy, finishing the sentence. +</p> +<p> +“Then you admit the charge,” said the Frenchman eagerly, as if he had +succeeded in entrapping a confession. +</p> +<p> +“So far, sir, as the expressions of my poor judgment on the effectiveness +of your army, and its chances against such a force as we have yonder, I am +not only prepared to avow, but if you think the remarks worth the trouble +of hearing, to repeat them.” +</p> +<p> +“As a prisoner of war, sir, according to the eighty-fourth article of the +Code Militaire, the offence must be tried by a court-martial, one-half of +whose members shall have the same rank as the accused.” +</p> +<p> +“I ask nothing better, sir, nor will I ever believe that any man who has +carried a sword could deem the careless comments of a prisoner on what he +sees around him a question of crime and punishment.” +</p> +<p> +“I would advise you to reflect a little, sir, ere you suffer matters to +proceed so far. The witnesses against you—” +</p> +<p> +“The witnesses!” exclaimed the Knight, in amazement. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir, four dragoons of a German regiment, thoroughly conversant with +your language and ours, have deposed to the words—” +</p> +<p> +“I avow everything I have spoken, and am ready to abide by it.” +</p> +<p> +“Take care, sir,—take care.” +</p> +<p> +“Pardon me, sir,” said Darcy, with a look of quiet irony, “but it strikes +me that the exigencies of your army must be far greater than I deemed +them, or you had never had recourse to a system of attempted +intimidation.” +</p> +<p> +“You are in error there,” said the Frenchman. “It was the desire to serve, +not to injure you, suggested my present course. It remains with yourself +to show that my interest was not misplaced.” +</p> +<p> +“Let me understand you more clearly. What is expected of me?” +</p> +<p> +“The answers to questions which doubtless every countryman of yours and +mine could reply to from the public papers, but which, to us here, remote +from intercourse and knowledge, are matters of slow acquirement.” While +the French officer spoke, he continued to search among the papers before +him for some document, and at length, taking up a small slip of paper, +resumed: “For instance, the 'Moniteur' asserts that you meditate sending a +force from India to cross the Red Sea and the Desert, and menace us by an +attack in the rear as well as in the front. This reads so like a fragment +of an Oriental tale, that I can forgive the smile with which you hear it.” +</p> +<p> +“Nay, sir; you have misinterpreted my meaning,” said the Knight, calmly. +“I am free to confess I thought this intelligence was no secret. The form +of our Government, the public discussions of our Houses, the freedom of +our press, are little favorable to mystery. If you have nothing to ask of +me more difficult to answer than this—” +</p> +<p> +“And the expedition of Acre,—is this also correct?” +</p> +<p> +“Perfectly so. A combined movement, which shall compel you to evacuate the +country, is in preparation.” +</p> +<p> +“<i>Parbleu</i>, sir,” said the Frenchman, stamping his foot with +impatience, “these are somewhat bold words for a man in your situation to +one in mine.” +</p> +<p> +“I fancy, sir, that circumstance affects the issue I allude to very +slightly indeed; even though the officer to whom I address myself should +be General Menou, the Commander-in-Chief.” +</p> +<p> +“And if I be, sir, and if you know it,” said Menou,—for it was he,—his +face suffused with anger, “is it consistent with the respect due to <i>my</i> +position and to <i>your own</i> safety, to speak thus?” +</p> +<p> +“For the first, sir, although a mere surmise on my part, I humbly hope I +have made no transgression; for the last, I have very little reason to +feel any solicitude, knowing that if you hurt a hair of my head, a heavy +reprisal will await such of your own officers as may be taken, and the +events of yesterday may have told you that a contingency of this sort is +neither improbable nor remote.” +</p> +<p> +Menou made no answer to this threatening speech, but with folded arms +paced the apartment for several minutes. At length he turned hastily +round, and fixing his eyes on the Knight, said, with a rude oath, “You are +a fortunate man, sir, that you did not hold this language to my +predecessor in the command. General Kleber would have had you in front of +a <i>peloton</i> of grenadiers within five minutes after you uttered it.” +</p> +<p> +“I have heard as much,” said the Knight, with a slight smile. +</p> +<p> +Menou rang a bell which stood beside him, and an aide-de-camp entered. +</p> +<p> +“Captain le Messurier,” said he, in the ordinary tone of discipline, “this +officer is under arrest. You will take the necessary steps for his safe +keeping, and his due appearance when summoned before a military tribunal.” +</p> +<p> +He bowed to Darcy as he spoke, and, reseating himself at the table, took +up his pen to write. +</p> +<p> +“At the hazard of being thought very hardy, sir,” said the Knight, as he +moved towards the door, “I would humbly solicit a favor.” +</p> +<p> +“A favor!” exclaimed Menou, staring in surprise. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir; it is that the services of a surgeon should be promptly +rendered—” +</p> +<p> +“I have given orders on that score already. My own medical man shall +attend to you.” +</p> +<p> +“I speak not of myself, sir. It is of a Volunteer of my corps, a young man +who now lies badly wounded; his case is not without hope, if speedily +looked to.” +</p> +<p> +“He must take his chance with others,” said the general, gruffly, while he +made a gesture of leave-taking; and Darcy, unable to prolong the +interview, retired. +</p> +<p> +“I am sorry, sir,” said the aide-de-camp, as he went along, “that my +orders are peremptory, and you must, if the state of your health permit, +at once leave this.” +</p> +<p> +“Is it thus your prisoners of war are treated, sir?” said Darcy, +scornfully, “or am I to hope—for hope I do—that the exception +is created especially for me?” +</p> +<p> +The officer was silent; and although the flush of shame was on his cheek, +the severe demands of duty overcame all personal feelings, and he did not +dare to answer. +</p> +<p> +The Knight was not one of those on whom misfortune can press, without +eliciting in return the force of resistance, and, if not forgetting, at +least combating, the indignities to which he had been subjected; he +resigned himself patiently to his destiny, and after a brief delay set +forth for his journey to Akrish, which he now learned was to be the place +of his confinement. +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0028"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXVIII. TIDINGS OF THE WOUNDED. +</h2> +<p> +The interests of our story do not require us to dwell minutely on the +miserable system of intrigue by which the French authorities sought to +compromise the life and honor of a British officer. The Knight of Gwynne +was committed to the charge of a veteran officer of the Republic, who, +though dignified with the title of the Governor of Akrish, was, in +reality, invested with no higher functions than that of jailer over the +few unhappy prisoners whom evil destiny had thrown into French hands. +</p> +<p> +By an alternate system of cruelty and concession, efforts were daily made +to entrap Darcy either into some expression of violence or impatience at +this outrage on all the custom of war, or induce him to join a plot for +escape, submitted to him by those who, apparently prisoners like himself, +were in reality the spies of the Republic. Sustained by a high sense of +his own dignity, and not ignorant of the character under which +revolutionized France accomplished her triumphs, the Knight resisted every +temptation, and in all the gloom of this remote fortress, ominously +secluded from the world, denied access to any knowledge of passing events, +cut off from all communication with his country and his comrades, he never +even for a moment forgot himself, nor became entangled in the perfidious +schemes spread for his ruin. It was no common aggravation of the miseries +of imprisonment to know that each day and hour had its own separate +machinery of perfidy at work. At one moment he would be offered liberty on +the condition of revealing the plans of the expedition; at another he +would be suddenly summoned to appear before a tribunal of military law, +when it was hinted he would be arraigned for having commanded a force of +liberated felons,—for in this way were the Volunteers once +designated,—in the hope that the insult would evoke some burst of +passionate indignation. If the torment of these unceasing annoyances +preyed upon his health and spirits, already harassed by sad thoughts of +home, the length of time, to which the intrigues were protracted showed +Darcy that the wiles of his enemies had not met success in their own eyes; +and this gleam of hope, faint and slender as it was, sustained him through +many a gloomy hour of captivity. +</p> +<p> +While the Knight continued thus to live in the long sleep of a prisoner's +existence, events were hastening to their accomplishment by which his +future liberty was to be secured. The victorious army of Abercrombie had +already advanced and driven the French back beneath the lines of +Alexandria. The action which ensued was terribly contested, but ended in +the complete triumph of the British, whose glory was, however, dearly +bought by the death of their gallant leader. +</p> +<p> +The Turkish forces now joined the English under General Hutchinson, and a +series of combined movements commenced, by which the French saw themselves +so closely hemmed in, that no course was open save a retreat upon Cairo. +</p> +<p> +Whether from the changed fortune of their arms,—for the French had +now sustained one unbroken series of reverses,—or that the efforts +to entrap the Knight had shown so little prospect of success, the manner +of the governor had, for some time back, been altered much in his favor, +and several petty concessions were permitted, which in the earlier days of +his captivity were strictly denied. Occasionally, too, little hints of the +campaign would be dropped, and acknowledgments made “that fortune had not +been as uniformly favorable to the 'Great Nation' as was her wont.” These +significant confessions received a striking confirmation, when, at +daybreak one morning, an order arrived for the garrison to abandon the +fort of Akrish, and for the prisoners, under a strong escort, to fall back +upon Damanhour. +</p> +<p> +The movements indicated haste and precipitancy; so much so, indeed, that +ere the small garrison had got clear of the town, the head of a retreating +column was seen entering it by the road from Alexandria; and now no longer +doubt remained that the British had compelled them to fall back. +</p> +<p> +As the French retired, their forces continued to come up each day, and in +the long convoy of wounded, as well as in the shattered condition of +gun-carriages and wagons, it was easy to read the signs of a recent +defeat. Nor was the matter long doubtful to Darcy; for, by some strange +anomaly of human nature, the very men who would exaggerate the smallest +accident of advantage into a victory and triumph, were now just as loud iu +proclaiming that they had been dreadfully beaten. Perhaps the avowal was +compensated for by the license it suggested to inveigh against the +generals, and, in the true spirit of a republican army, to threaten them +openly with the speedy judgments of the Home Government. +</p> +<p> +Among those who occasionally halted to exchange a few-words of greeting +with the officer in conduct of the prisoners, the Knight recognized with +satisfaction the same officer who, in the retreat from Aboukir, had so +kindly suggested caution to him. At first he seemed half fearful of +addressing him, to speak his gratitude, lest even so much might compromise +the young captain in the eyes of his countrymen. The hesitation was +speedily overcome, however, as the young Frenchman gayly saluted him, and +said,— +</p> +<p> +“Ah, mon General, you had scarcely been here to-day if you had but +listened to my counsels. I told you that the Republic, one and +indivisible, did not admit criticism of its troops.” +</p> +<p> +“I scarcely believed you could shrink from such an order,” said the +Knight, smiling. +</p> +<p> +“Not in the 'Moniteur,' perhaps,” rejoined the Frenchman, laughing. +“Yours, however, had an excess of candor, which, if only listened to at +your own head-quarters, might have induced grave errors. +</p> +<p> +“I comprehend,” interrupted Darcy, gayly catching up the ironical humor of +the other,—“I comprehend, and you would spare an enemy such an +injurious illusion.” +</p> +<p> +“Just so; I wish your army had been equally generous, with all my heart,” +added he, as coolly as before; “here we are in full retreat on Cairo.” +</p> +<p> +“On Damanhour, you mean,” said Darcy. +</p> +<p> +“Not a bit of it; on Cairo, General. There's no need of mincing the +matter; we need fear no eavesdropper here. Ah, by the by, your German +friends were retaken, and by a detachment of their own regiment too. We +saw the fellows shot the morning after the action.” +</p> +<p> +“Now that you are kind enough to tell me what is going forward, perhaps +you could let me know something of my poor comrades whom you took +prisoners on the night of the 9th.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes. They are with few exceptions dead of their wounds, two men exchanged +about a week since; and then, what strange fellows your countrymen are! +They sent us back a major of brigade in exchange for a wounded soldier +who, when he left our camp, did not seem to have life enough to bring him +across the lines!” +</p> +<p> +“Did you see him?” asked Darcy, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; I commanded the escort. He was a young fellow of scarcely more than +four-and-twenty, and must have been good-looking too.” +</p> +<p> +“Of course you could not tell his name,” said the Knight, despondingly. +</p> +<p> +“No; I heard it, however, but it has escaped me. There was a curious story +brought back about him by our brigade-major, and one which, I assure you, +furnished many a hearty laugh at your land of noble privileges and +aristocratic forms'.” +</p> +<p> +“Pray let me hear it.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, I cannot tell you one-half of it; the finale interested the major +most, because it concerned himself, and this he repeated to us at least a +dozen times. It would seem, then, that this youth—a rare thing, I +believe, in your service—was a man of birth, but, according to your +happy institutions, was a man of nothing more, for he was a younger son. +Is not that your law?” +</p> +<p> +Darcy nodded, and the other resumed. +</p> +<p> +“Well, in some fit of spleen at not being born a year or two earlier, or +for some love affair with one of your blond insensibles, or from weariness +of your gloomy climate, or from any other true British cause of despair, +our youth became a soldier. <i>Parbleu!</i> your English chivalry has its +own queer notions, when it regards the service as a last resource of the +desperate! No matter, he enlisted, came out here, fought bravely, and was +taken prisoner in the very same attack with yourself; but while Fortune +dealt heavily with one hand, she was caressing with the other, for, the +same week she condemned him to a French prison, she made him a peer of +England, having taken off the elder brother, an ambassador at some court, +I believe, by a fever. So goes the world; good and ill luck battling +against each, and one never getting uppermost without the other recruiting +strength for a victory in turn.” +</p> +<p> +“These are strange tidings, indeed,” said the Knight, musing, “and would +interest me deeply, if I knew the individual.” +</p> +<p> +“That I am unfortunate enough to have forgotten,” said the Frenchman, +carelessly; “but I conclude he must be a person of some importance, for we +heard that the vessel which was to sail with despatches was delayed +several hours in the bay, to take him back to England.” +</p> +<p> +Although the whole recital contained many circumstances which the Knight +attributed to French misrepresentation of English habitudes, he was +profoundly struck by it, and dwelt fondly on the hope that if the young +peer should have served under his command, he would not neglect, on +arriving in England, to inform his friends of his safety. +</p> +<p> +These thoughts, mingling with others of his home and of his son Lionel, +far away in a distant quarter of the globe, filled his mind as he went, +and made him ponder deeply over the strange accidents of a life that, +opening with every promise, seemed about to close in sorrow and +uncertainty. Full of movement and interest as was the scene around, he +seldom bestowed on it even a passing glance; it was an hour of gloomy +reverie, and he neither marked the long train of wagons with their +wounded, the broken and shattered gun-carriages, or the miserable aspect +of the cavalry, whose starved and galled animals could scarcely crawl. +</p> +<p> +The Knight's momentary indifference was interpreted in a very different +sense by the officer who commanded the escort, and who seemed to suspect +that this apathy concealed a shrewd insight into the real condition of the +troops and the signs of distress and discomfiture so palpable on every +side. As, impressed with this conviction, he watched the old man with +prying curiosity, a smile, faint and fleeting enough, once crossed Darcy's +features. The Frenchman's face flushed as he beheld it, and he quickly +said,— +</p> +<p> +“They are the same troops that landed at the Arabs' Tower, and who carry +such inscriptions on their standards as these.” He snatched a flag from +the sergeant beside him as he spoke, and pointed to the proud words +embroidered there: “Le Passage de la Scrivia,” “Le Passage de Tisonzo,” +“Le Pont de Lodi.” Then, in a low, muttering voice, he added, “But +Buonaparte was with us then.” +</p> +<p> +Had he spoken for hours, the confession of their discontent with their +generals could not have been more manifest; and a sudden gleam of hope +shot through Darcy's breast, to think his captivity might soon be over. +</p> +<p> +There was every reason to indulge in this pleasing belief; disorganization +had extended to every branch of the service. An angry correspondence, in +which even personal chastisement was broadly hinted at, passed between the +two officers highest in command; and this not secretly, but publicly known +to the entire army. Peculation of the most gross and open kind was +practised by the commissaries; and as the troops became distressed by +want, they retaliated by daring breaches of discipline, so that at every +parade men stood out from the ranks, boldly demanding their rations, and +answering the orders of the officers by insulting cries of “Bread! bread!” +</p> +<p> +All this while the British were advancing steadily, overcoming each +obstacle in turn, and with a force whose privations had made no inroad +upon the strictest discipline; they felt confident of success. The few +prisoners who occasionally fell into the hands of the French wore all the +assurance of men who felt that their misfortunes could not be lasting, and +in good-humored raillery bantered their captors on the British beef and +pudding they would receive, instead of horseflesh, so soon as the +capitulation was signed. +</p> +<p> +The French soldiers were, indeed, heartily tired of the war; they were +tired of the country, of the leaders, whose incompetency, whether real or +not, they believed; tired, above all, of absence from France, from which +they felt exiled. Each step they retired from the coast seemed to them +another day's journey from their native land, and they did not hesitate to +avow to their prisoners that they had no wish or care save to return to +their country. +</p> +<p> +Such was the spirit of the French army as it drew near Cairo, than which +no greater contrast could exist than that presented by the advancing +enemy. Let us now return to the more immediate interests of our story; and +while we beg to corroborate the brief narrative of the French officer, we +hope it is unnecessary to add that the individual whose suddenly changed +fortune had elevated him from the ranks of a simple volunteer to that of a +peer of England was our old acquaintance Dick Forester. +</p> +<p> +From the moment when the tidings reached him, to that in which he lay, +still suffering from his wounds, in the richly furnished chamber of a +London hotel, the whole train of events through which he had so lately +passed seemed like the incoherent fancies of a dream. The excited frame of +mind in which he became a volunteer with the army had not time to subside +ere came the spirit-stirring hour of the landing at Aboukir. The fight, in +all its terrible but glorious vicissitudes; the struggle in which he +perilled his own life to save his leader's; the moments that seemed those +of ebbing life in which he lay upon a litter before Darcy's eyes, and yet +unable to speak his name; and then the sudden news of his brother's death, +overwhelming him at once with sorrow for his loss, and all the thousand +fleeting thoughts of his own future, should life be spared him,—these +were enough, and more than enough, to disturb and overbalance a mind +already weakened by severe illness. +</p> +<p> +Had Forester known more of his only brother, it is certain that the +predominance of the feeling of grief would have subdued the others, and +given at least the calm of affliction to his troubled senses. But they +were almost strangers to each other; the elder having passed his life +almost exclusively abroad, and the younger, separated by distance and a +long interval of years, being a complete stranger to his qualities and +temper. +</p> +<p> +Dick Forester's grief, therefore, was no more than that which ties of so +close kindred will ever call up, but unmixed with the tender attachment of +a brother's love. His altered fortunes had not thus the strong alloy of +heartfelt sorrow to make them distasteful; but still there was an +unreality in everything,—a vague uncertainty in all his endeavors at +close reasoning, which harassed and depressed him. And when he awoke from +each short disturbed sleep, it took several minutes before he could bring +back his memory to the last thought of his waking hours. The very title +“my Lord,” so scrupulously repeated at each instant, startled him afresh +at each moment he heard it; and as he read over the names of the high and +titled personages whose anxieties for his recovery had made them daily +visitors at his hotel, his heart faltered between the pleasure of flattery +and a deeper feeling of almost scorn for the sympathies of a world that +could minister to the caprices of rank what it withheld from the real +sufferings of the same man in obscurity. His mother he had not seen yet; +for Lady Netherby, much attached to her eldest son, and vain of abilities +by which she reckoned on his future distinction, was herself seriously +indisposed. Lord Netherby, however, had been a frequent visitor, and had +already seen Forester several times, although always very briefly, and +only upon the terms of distant politeness. +</p> +<p> +Although in a state that precluded everything like active exertion, and +which, indeed, made the slightest effort a matter of peril, Forester had +already exchanged more than one communication with the Horse Guards on the +subject of the Knight's safety, and received the most steady assurances +that his exchange was an object on which the authorities were most +anxious, and engaged at the very moment in negotiations for its +accomplishment. There were two difficulties: one, that no officer of +Darcy's precise rank was then a prisoner with the British; and secondly, +that any very pressing desire expressed for his liberation would serve to +weaken the force of that conviction they were so eager to impress, that +the campaign was nearly ended, and that nothing but capitulation remained +for the French. +</p> +<p> +Forester was not more gratified than surprised at the tone of obliging and +almost deferential politeness which pervaded each answer to his +applications. He had yet to learn how a vote in the “Lords” can make +secretaries civil, and Under-Secretaries most courteous; and while his few +uncertain lines were penned with diffidence and distrust, the replies +gradually inducted him into that sense of confidence which a few months +later he was to feel like a birthright. +</p> +<p> +How far these thoughts contributed to his recovery it would be difficult +to say, nor does it exactly lie in our province to inquire. The likelihood +is, that the inducements to live are strong aids to overcome sickness; +for, as a witty observer has remarked, “There is no such <i>manque dre +savoir vivre</i> as dying at four-and-twenty.” +</p> +<p> +It is very probable Forester experienced all this, and that the dreams of +the future in which he indulged were not only his greatest but his +pleasantest aid to recovery. A brilliant position, invested with rank, +title, fortune, and a character for enterprise, are all flattering +adjuncts to youth; while in the hope of succeeding where his dearest +wishes were concerned, lay a source of far higher happiness. How to +approach this subject again most fittingly, was now the constant object of +his thoughts. He sometimes resolved to address Lady Eleanor; but so long +as he could convey no precise tidings of the Knight, this would be an +ungracious task. Then he thought of Miss Daly, but he did not know her +address; all these doubts and hesitations invariably ending in the resolve +that as soon as his strength permitted he would go over to Ireland, and +finding out Bicknell, obtain accurate information as to Lady Eleanor's +present residence, and also learn if, without being discovered, he could +in any way be made serviceable to the interests of the family. +</p> +<p> +Perhaps we cannot better convey the gradually dawning conviction of his +altered fortune on his mind than by mentioning that while he canvassed +these various chances, and speculated on their course, he never dwelt on +the possibility of Lady Netherby's power to influence his determination. +In the brief note he received from her each morning, the tone of +affectionate solicitude for his health was always accompanied by some +allusive hint of the “duties” recovery would impose, and each inquiry +after his night's rest was linked with a not less anxious question as to +how soon he might feel able to appear in public. Constitutionally +susceptible of all attempts to control him, and from his childhood +disposed to rebel against dictation, he limited his replies to brief +accounts of his progress or inquiries after her own health, resolved in +his heart that now that fortune was his own, to use the blessings it +bestows according to the dictates of affection and a conscientious sense +of right, and be neither the toy of a faction nor the tool of a party. In +Darcy—could he but see him once more—he looked for a friend +and adviser; and whatever the fortune of his suit, he felt that the +Knight's counsels should be his guidance as to the future, reposing not +even more trust on unswerving rectitude than the vast range of his +knowledge of life, and the common-sense views he could take of the most +complex as of the very simplest questions. +</p> +<p> +It was now some seven weeks after his return, and Forester, for we would +still desire to call him by the name our reader has known him, was sitting +upon a sofa, weak and nervous, as the first day of a convalescent's +appearance in the drawing-room usually is, when his servant, having +deposited on the table several visiting-cards of distinguished inquirers, +mentioned that the Earl of Netherby wished to pay his respects. Forester +moved his head in token of assent, and his Lordship soon after entered. +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0029"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXIX. THE DAWN OF CONVALESCENCE +</h2> +<p> +Stepping noiselessly over the carpet, with an air at once animated and +regardful of the sick man, Lord Netherby was at Forester's side before he +could arise to receive him; and pressing him gently down with both hands, +said, in a voice of most silvery cadence,— +</p> +<p> +“My dear Lord—you must not stir for the world—Halford has only +permitted me to see you under the strict pledge of prudence; and now, how +are you? Ah! I see—weak and low. Come, you must let me speak for +you, or at least interpret your answers to my own liking. We have so much +to talk over, it is difficult where to begin.” +</p> +<p> +“How is Lady Netherby?” said Forester, with a slight hesitation between +the words. +</p> +<p> +“Still very feeble and very nervous. The shock has been a dreadful one to +her. You know that poor Augustus was coming home on leave—when—when +this happened.” +</p> +<p> +Here his Lordship sighed, but not too deeply, for he remembered that the +law of primogeniture is the sworn enemy to grief. +</p> +<p> +“There was some talk, too, of his being sent on a special embassy to +Paris,—a very high and important trust,—and so really the +affliction is aggravated by thinking what a career was opening to him. +But, as the Dean of Walworth beautifully expressed it, 'We are cut down +like flowers of the field.' Ah!” +</p> +<p> +A sigh and a slight wave with a handkerchief, diffusing an odor of +eau-de-Portugal through the chamber, closed this affecting sentiment. +</p> +<p> +“I trust in a day or two I shall be able to see my mother,” said Forester, +whose thoughts were following a far more natural channel. “I can walk a +little to-day, and before the end of the week Halford promises me that I +shall drive out.” +</p> +<p> +“That 's the very point we are most anxious about,” said Lord Netherby, +eagerly: “we want you, if possible, to take your seat in 'the Lords' next +week. There is a special reason for it. Rumor runs that the Egyptian +expedition will be brought on for discussion on Thursday next. Some +malcontents are about to disparage the whole business, and, in particular, +the affair at Alexandria. Ministers are strong enough to resist this +attack, and even carry the war back into the enemy's camp; but we all +think it would be a most fortunate moment for you, when making your first +appearance in the House, to rise and say a few words on the subject of the +campaign. The circumstances under which you joined—your very +dangerous wound—have given you a kind of prerogative to speak, and +the occasion is most opportune. Come, what say you? Would such an effort +be too great?” +</p> +<p> +“Certainly not for my strength, my Lord, if not for my shame' sake; for +really I should feel it somewhat presumptuous in me, a man who carried his +musket in the ranks, to venture on a discussion, far more a defence, of +the great operations in which he was a mere unit; one of those rank and +file who figured, without other designation, in lists of killed and +wounded.” +</p> +<p> +“This is very creditable to your modesty, my dear Lord,” said the old +peer, smiling most blandly; “but pardon me if I say it displays a great +forgetfulness of your present position. Remember that you now belong to +the Upper House, and that the light of the peerage shines on the past as +on the future.” +</p> +<p> +“By which I am to understand,” replied Forester, laughing, “that the +events which would have met a merited oblivion in Dick Forester's life are +to be remembered with honor to the Earl of Wallincourt.” +</p> +<p> +“Of course they are,” cried Lord Netherby, joining in the laugh. “If an +unlikely scion of royalty ascends the throne, we look out for the +evidences of his princely tastes in the sports of his boyhood. Nay, if a +clever writer or painter wins distinction from the world, do we not 'try +back' for his triumphs at school, or his chalk sketches on coach-house +gates, to warrant the early development of genius?” +</p> +<p> +“Well, my Lord,” said Forester, gayly, “I accept the augury; and as +nothing more nearly concerns a man's life than the fate of those who have +shown him friendship, let me inquire after some friends of mine, and some +relations of yours,-the Darcys.” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, those poor Darcys!” said Lord Netherby, wiping his eyes, and heaving +a very profound sigh, as though to say that the theme was one far too +painful to dwell upon, “theirs is a sad story, a very sad story indeed!” +</p> +<p> +“Anything more gloomy than the loss of fortune, my Lord?” asked Forester, +with a trembling lip, and a cheek pale as death. Lord Netherby stared to +see whether the patient's mind was not beginning to wander. That there +could be anything worse than loss of fortune he had yet to learn; +assuredly he had never heard of it. Forester repeated his question. +</p> +<p> +“No, no, perhaps not, if you understand by that phrase what I do,” said +Lord Netherby, almost pettishly. “If, like me, you take in all the long +train of ruin and decay such loss implies,—pecuniary distress, +moneyed difficulties, fallen condition in society, inferior association—” +</p> +<p> +“Nay, my Lord, in the present instance, I can venture to answer for it, +such consequences have not ensued. You do your relatives scarcely justice +to suppose it.” +</p> +<p> +“It is very good and very graceful, both, in you,” said Lord Netherby, +with an almost angelic smile, “to say so. Unfortunately, these are not +merely speculative opinions on my part. While I make this remark, +understand me as by no means imputing any blame to them. What could they +do?—that is the question,—what could they do?” +</p> +<p> +“I would rather ask of your Lordship, what have they done? When I know +that, I shall be, perhaps, better enabled to reply to your question.” +</p> +<p> +In all likelihood it was more the manner than the substance of this +question which made Lord Netherby hesitate how to reply to it, and at last +he said,— +</p> +<p> +“To say in so many words what they have done, is not so easy. It would, +perhaps, give better insight into the circumstances were I to say what +they have not done.” +</p> +<p> +“Even as you please, my Lord. The negative charge, then,” said Forester, +impatiently. +</p> +<p> +“Lord Castlereagh, my Lord!” said a servant, throwing open the door; for +he had already received orders to admit him when he called, though, had +Forester guessed how inopportune the visit could have proved, he would +never have said so. +</p> +<p> +In the very different expressions of Lord Netherby and the sick man's +face, it might be seen how differently they welcomed the new arrival. +</p> +<p> +Lord Castlereagh saluted both with a courteous and cordial greeting, and +although he could not avoid seeing that he had dropped in somewhat <i>mal-à-propos</i>, +he resolved rather to shorten the limit of his stay than render it awkward +by any expressions of apology. The conversation, therefore, took that +easy, careless tone in which each could join with freedom. It was after a +brief pause, when none exactly liked to be the first to speak, that Lord +Netherby observed,— +</p> +<p> +“The very moment you were announced, my Lord, I was endeavoring to +persuade my young friend here to a line of conduct in which, if I have +your Lordship's co-operation, I feel I shall be successful.” +</p> +<p> +“Pray let me hear it,” said Lord Castlereagh, gayly, and half interrupting +what he feared was but the opening of an over-lengthy exposition. +</p> +<p> +Lord Netherby was not to be defeated so easily, nor defrauded of a theme +whereupon to expend many loyal sentiments; and so he opened a whole +battery of arguments on the subject of the young peer's first appearance +in the House, and the splendid opportunity, as he called it, of a maiden +speech. +</p> +<p> +“I see but one objection,” said Lord Castlereagh, with a well-affected +gravity. +</p> +<p> +“I see one hundred,” broke in Forester, impatiently. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps <i>my</i> one will do,” rejoined Lord Castlereagh. +</p> +<p> +“Which is—if I may take the liberty—” lisped out Lord +Netherby. +</p> +<p> +“That there will be no debate on the subject. The motion is withdrawn.” +</p> +<p> +“Motion withdrawn!—since when?” +</p> +<p> +“I see you have not heard the news this morning,” said Lord Castlereagh, +who really enjoyed the discomfiture of one very vain of possessing the +earliest intelligence. +</p> +<p> +“I have heard nothing,” exclaimed he, with a sigh of despondency. +</p> +<p> +“Well, then, I may inform you, that the 'Pike' has brought us very +stirring intelligence. The war in Egypt is now over. The French have +surrendered under the terms of a convention, and a treaty has been +ratified that permits their return to France. Hostages for the guarantee +of the treaty have been already interchanged, and”—here he turned +towards Forester, and added—“it will doubtless interest you to hear +that your old friend the Knight of Gwynne is one of them,—an +evidence that he is not only alive, but in good health also.” +</p> +<p> +“This is, indeed, good news you bring me,” said Forester, with a flashing +eye and a heightened complexion. “Has any one written? Do Colonel Darcy's +friends know of this?” +</p> +<p> +“I have myself done so,” said Lord Castlereagh. “Not that I may attribute +the thoughtful attention to myself, for I received his Royal Highness's +commands on the subject I need scarcely say that such a communication must +be gratifying to any one.” +</p> +<p> +“Where are they at present?” said Forester, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“That was a question of some difficulty to me, and I accordingly called on +my Lord Netherby to ascertain the point. I found he had left home, and now +have the good fortune to catch him here.” So saying, Lord Castlereagh took +from the folds of a pocket-book a sealed but un-addressed letter, and +dipping a pen in the ink before him, prepared to write. +</p> +<p> +There were, indeed, very few occurrences in life which made Lord Netherby +feel ashamed. He had never been obliged to blush for any solecism in +manner or any offence against high breeding, nor had the even tenor of his +days subjected him to any occasion of actual shame, so that the confusion +he now felt had the added poignancy of being a new as well as a painful +sensation. +</p> +<p> +“It may seem very strange to you, my Lord,” said he, in a broken and +hesitating voice; “not but that, on a little reflection, the case will be +easily accounted for; but—so it is—I—really must own—I +must frankly acknowledge—that I am not at this moment aware of my +dear cousin's address.” +</p> +<p> +If his Lordship had not been too much occupied in watching Lord +Castlereagh's countenance, he could not have failed to see, and be struck +by, the indignant expression of Forester's features. +</p> +<p> +“How are we to reach them, then, that's the point?” said Lord Castlereagh, +over whose handsome face not the slightest trace of passion was visible. +“If I mistake not, Gwynne Abbey they have left many a day since.” +</p> +<p> +“I think I can lay my hand on a letter. I am almost certain I had one from +a law-agent, called—called—” +</p> +<p> +“Bicknell, perhaps,” interrupted Forester, blushing between shame and +impatience. +</p> +<p> +“Quite right,—you are quite right,” replied Lord Netherby, with a +significant glance at Lord Castlereagh, cunningly intended to draw off +attention from himself. “Well, Mr. Bicknell wrote to me a very tiresome +and complicated epistle about law affairs,—motions, rules, and so +forth,—and mentioned at the end that Lady Eleanor and Helen were +living in some remote village on the northern coast.” +</p> +<p> +“A cottage called 'The Corvy,'” broke in Forester, “kindly lent to them by +an old friend, Mr. Bagenal Daly.” +</p> +<p> +“Will that address suffice,” said Lord Castlereagh, “with the name of the +nearest post-town?” +</p> +<p> +“If you will make me the postman, I 'll vouch for the safe delivery,” said +Forester, with an animation that made him flushed and pale within the same +instant. +</p> +<p> +“My dear young friend, my dear Lord Wallincourt!” exclaimed Lord Netherby, +laying his hand upon his arm. He said no more; indeed he firmly believed +the enunciation of his new title must be quite sufficient to recall him to +a sense of due consideration for himself. +</p> +<p> +“You are scarcely strong enough, Dick,” said Lord Castlereagh, coolly. “It +is a somewhat long journey for an invalid; and Halford, I 'm sure, +wouldn't agree to it.” +</p> +<p> +“I 'm quite strong enough,” said Forester, rising and pacing the room with +an attempted vigor that made his debility seem still more remarkable: “if +not to-day, I shall be to-morrow. The travelling, besides, will serve me,—change +of air and scene. More than all, I am determined on doing it.” +</p> +<p> +“Not if I refuse you the despatches, I suppose?” said Lord Castlereagh, +laughing. +</p> +<p> +“You can scarcely do that,” said Forester, fixing his eyes steadfastly on +him. “Your memory is a bad one, or you must recollect sending me down once +upon a time to that family on an errand of a different nature. Don't you +think you owe an amende to them and to me?” +</p> +<p> +“Eh! what was that? I should like to know what you allude to,” said Lord +Netherby, whose curiosity became most painfully eager. +</p> +<p> +“A little secret between Dick and myself,” said Lord Castlereagh, +laughing. “To show I do not forget which, I 'll accede to his present +request, always provided that he is equal to it.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, as to that—” +</p> +<p> +“It must be 'Halfordo non obstante,' or not at all,” said Lord +Castlereagh, rising. “Well,” continued he, as he moved towards the door, +“I 'll see the doctor on my way homeward, and if he incline to the safety +of the exploit, you shall hear from me before four o'clock. I 'll send you +some extracts, too, from the official papers, such as may interest your +friends, and you may add, <i>bien des choses de ma part</i>, in the way of +civil speeches and gratulation.” +</p> +<p> +Lord Netherby had moved towards the window as Lord Castlereagh withdrew, +and seemed more interested by the objects in the street than anxious to +renew the interrupted conversation. +</p> +<p> +Forester—if one were to judge from his preoccupied expression—appeared +equally indifferent on the subject, and both were silent. Lord Netherby at +last looked at his watch, and, with an exclamation of astonishment at the +lateness of the hour, took up his hat. Forester did not notice the +gesture, for his mind had suddenly become awake to the indelicacy, to say +no worse, of leaving London for a long journey without one effort to see +his mother. A tingling feeling of shame burned in his cheek and made his +heart beat faster, as he said, “I think you have your carriage below, my +Lord?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” replied Lord Netherby, not aware whether the question might portend +something agreeable or the reverse. +</p> +<p> +“If you 'll permit me, I 'll ask you to drive me to Berkeley Square. I +think the air and motion will benefit me; and perhaps Lady Netherby will +see me.” +</p> +<p> +“Delighted—charmed to see you—my dear young friend,” said Lord +Netherby, who having, in his own person, some experience of the sway and +influence her Ladyship was habituated to exercise, calculated largely on +the effect of an interview between her and her son. “I don't believe you +could possibly propose anything more gratifying nor more likely to serve +her. She is very weak and very nervous; but to see you will, I know, be of +immense service. I 'm sure you 'll not agitate her,” added he, after a +pause. If the words had been “not contradict,” they would have been nearer +his meaning. +</p> +<p> +“You may trust me, for both our sakes,” said Forester, smiling. “By the +by, you mentioned a letter from a law-agent of the Darcys, Mr. Bicknell; +was it expressive of any hope of a favorable termination to the suit, or +did he opine that the case was a bad one?” +</p> +<p> +“If I remember aright, a very bad one,—bad, from the deficiency of +evidence; worse, from the want of funds to carry it on. Of course I only +speak from memory; and the epistle was so cramp, so complex, and with such +a profusion of detail intermixed, that I could make little out of it, and +retain even less. I must say that as it was written without my cousin's +knowledge or consent, I paid no attention to it. It was, so to say, quite +unauthorized.” +</p> +<p> +“Indeed!” exclaimed Forester, in an accent whose scorn was mistaken by the +hearer, as he resumed. +</p> +<p> +“Just so; a mere lawyer's <i>ruse</i>, to carry on a suit. He proposed, I +own, a kind of security for any advance I should make, in the person of +Miss Daly, whose property, amounting to some three or four thousand +pounds, was to be given as security! There always is some person of this +kind on these occasions—some tame elephant—to attract the +rest; but I paid no attention to it. The only thing, indeed, I could learn +of the lady was, that she had a fire-eating brother who paid bond debts +with a pistol, and small ones with a horsewhip.” +</p> +<p> +“I know Mr. Daly and his sister too. He is a most honorable and +high-minded gentleman; of her I only needed to hear the trait your +Lordship has just mentioned, to say that she is worthy to be his sister in +every respect.” +</p> +<p> +“I was not aware that they were acquaintances of yours.” +</p> +<p> +“Friends, my Lord, would better express the relationship between us,—friends, +firm and true, I sincerely believe them. Pray, if not indiscreet, may I +ask the date of this letter?” +</p> +<p> +“Some day of June last, I think. The case was to come on for trial next +November in Westport, and it was for funds to carry on the suit, it would +seem, they were pressed.” +</p> +<p> +“You did n't hear a second time?” +</p> +<p> +“No, I 've told you that I never answered this letter. I was quite +willing, I am so at this hour, to be of any service to my dear cousin, +Lady Eleanor Darcy, and to aid her to the fullest extent; but to prosecute +a hopeless lawsuit, to throw away some thousands in an interminable Equity +investigation,—to measure purses, too, against one of the richest +men in Ireland, as I hear their antagonist is,—this, I could never +think of.” +</p> +<p> +“But who has pronounced this claim hopeless?” said Forester, impatiently. +</p> +<p> +A cold shrug of the shoulders was all Lord Netherby's reply. +</p> +<p> +“Not Miss Daly, certainly,” rejoined Forester, “who was willing to peril +everything she possessed in the world upon the issue.” +</p> +<p> +The sarcasm intended by this speech was deeply felt by Lord Netherby, as +with an unwonted concession to ill-humor, he replied,— +</p> +<p> +“There is nothing so courageous as indigence!” +</p> +<p> +“Better never be rich, then,” cried Forester, “if cowardice be the first +lesson it teaches. But I think better of affluence than this. I saw that +same Knight of Gwynne when at the head of a princely fortune; and I never, +in any rank of life, under any circumstances, saw the qualities which +grace and adorn the humblest more eminently displayed.” +</p> +<p> +“I quite agree with you; a more perfectly conducted household it is +impossible to conceive.” +</p> +<p> +“I speak not of his retinue, nor of his graceful hospitalities, my Lord, +nor even of his generous munificence and benevolence; these are rich men's +gifts everywhere. I speak of his trusting, confiding temper; the hopeful +trust he entertained of something good in men's natures at the moment he +was smarting from their perfidy and ingratitude; the forgiveness towards +those that injured, the unvarying kindness towards those that forgot him.” +</p> +<p> +“I declare,” said Lord Netherby, smiling, “I must interdict a continuance +of this panegyric, now that we have arrived, for you know Colonel Darcy +was a first love of Lady Netherby.” +</p> +<p> +Nothing but a courtier of Lord Netherby's stamp could have made such a +speech; and while Forester became scarlet with shame and anger, a new +light suddenly broke upon him, and the rancor of his mother respecting the +Knight and his family was at once explained. +</p> +<p> +“Now to announce you,” said Lord Netherby, gayly; “let that be my task.” +And so saying, he lightly tripped up the stairs before Forester. +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0030"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXX. A BOUDOIR. +</h2> +<p> +When, having passed through a suite of gorgeously furnished rooms, +Forester entered the dimly lighted boudoir where his lady-mother reclined, +his feelings were full of troubled emotion. The remembrance of the last +time he had been there was present to his mind, mingled with anxious fears +as to his approaching reception. Had he been more conversant with the +“world,” he needed not to have suffered these hesitations. There are few +conditions in life between which so wide a gulf yawns as that of the +titled heir of a house and the younger brother. He was, then, as little +prepared for the affectionate greeting that met him as for the absence of +all trace of illness in her Ladyship's appearance. Both were very grateful +to his feelings as he drew his chair beside her sofa, and a soft +remembrance of former days of happiness stole over his pleased senses. +Lord Netherby, with a fitting consideration, had left them to enjoy this +interview alone, and thus their emotions were unrestrained by the presence +of the only one who had witnessed their parting. Perhaps the most +distinguishing trait of the closest affection is that the interruptions to +its course do not involve the misery of reconciliation to enable us to +return to our own place in the heart; but that, the moment of grief or +anger or doubt over, we feel that we have a right to resume our influence +in the breast whose thoughts have so long mingled with our own. The close +ties of filial and parental love are certainly of this nature, and it must +be a stubborn heart whose instincts do not tend to that forgiveness which +as much blots out as it pardons past errors. Such was not Lady Netherby's. +Pride of station, the ambition of leadership in certain circles, had so +incorporated themselves with the better dictates of her mind that she +rarely, if ever, permitted mere feeling to influence her; but if for a +moment it did get the ascendancy, her heart could feel as acutely as +though it had been accustomed to such indulgence. In a word, she was as +affectionate as the requirements of her rank permitted. Oh, this Rank, +this Rank! how do its conventionalities twine and twist themselves round +our natures till love and friendship are actually subject to the cold +ordinance of a fashion! How many hide the dark spots of their heart behind +the false screen they call their “Rank”! The rich man, in the Bible, +clothed in his purple, and faring sumptuously, was but acting in +conformity with his “Rank;” nay, more, he was charitable as became his +“Rank,” for the poor were fed with the crumbs from his table. +</p> +<p> +Forester was well calculated by natural advantages to attract a mother's +pride. He was handsome and well-bred; had even more than a fair share of +abilities, which gained credit for something higher from a native +quickness of apprehension; and even already the adventurous circumstances +of his first campaign had invested his character with a degree of interest +that promised well for his success in the world. If her manner to him was +then kind and affectionate, it was mingled also with something of +admiration, which her woman's heart yielded to the romantic traits of the +youth. +</p> +<p> +She listened with eager pleasure to the animated description he gave of +the morning at Aboukir, and the brilliant panorama of the attack; nor was +the enjoyment marred by the mention of the only name that could have +pained her, the last words of Lord Netherby having sealed Forester's lips +with respect to the Knight of Gwynne. +</p> +<p> +The changeful fortunes of his life as a prisoner were mingled with the +recital of the news by which his exchange was effected; and this brought +back once more the subject by which their interview was opened,—the +death of his elder brother. Lady Netherby perhaps felt she had done enough +for sorrow, for she dwelt but passingly on the theme, and rather addressed +herself to the future which was now about to open before her remaining +son, carefully avoiding, however, the slightest phrase that should imply +dictation, and only seeming to express the natural expectation “the world” +had formed of what his career should be. “Lord Netherby tells me,” said +she, “that the Duke of York will, in all likelihood, name you as an extra +aide-decamp, in which case you probably would remain in the service. It is +an honor that could not well be declined.” +</p> +<p> +“I scarcely like to form fixed intentions which have no fixed +foundations,” said Forester; “but if I might give way to my own wishes, it +would be to indulge in perfect liberty,—to have no master.” +</p> +<p> +“Nor any mistress, either, to control you, for some time, I suppose,” +rejoined she, smiling, as if carelessly, but watching how her words were +taken. Forester affected to partake in the laugh, but could not conceal a +slight degree of confusion. Lady Netherby was too clever a tactician to +let even a momentary awkwardness interrupt the interview, and resumed: +“You will be dreadfully worried by all the 'lionizing' in store for you, +I'm certain; you are to be feasted and feted to any extent, and will be +fortunate if the gratulations on your recovery do not bring back your +illness.” +</p> +<p> +“I shall get away from it all at once,” said Forester, rising, and walking +up and down, as if the thought had suggested the impatient movement. +</p> +<p> +“You cannot avoid presenting yourself at the levee,” said Lady Netherby, +anxiously; for already a dread of her son's wilful temper came over her. +“His Royal Highness's inquiries after you do not leave an option on this +matter.” +</p> +<p> +“What if I'm too ill?” said he, doggedly; “what if I should not be in +town?” +</p> +<p> +“But where else could you be, Richard?” said she, with a resumption of her +old imperiousness of tone and manner. +</p> +<p> +“In Ireland, madam,” said Forester, coldly. +</p> +<p> +“In Ireland! And why, for any sake, in Ireland?” +</p> +<p> +Forester hesitated, and grew scarlet; he did not know whether to evade +inquiry by a vague reply, or at once avow his secret determination. At +length, with a faltering, uncertain voice, he said: “A matter of business +will bring me to that country; I have already conversed with Lord +Castlereagh on the subject. Lord Netherby was present.” +</p> +<p> +“I'm sure he could never concur,-I'm certain.” So far her Ladyship had +proceeded, when a sudden fear came over her that she had ventured too far, +and turning hastily, she rang the bell beside her. “Davenport,” said she +to the grave-looking groom of the chambers, who as instantaneously +appeared, “is my Lord at home?” +</p> +<p> +“His Lordship is in the library, my Lady.” +</p> +<p> +“Alone?” +</p> +<p> +“No, my Lady, a gentleman from Ireland is with his Lordship.” +</p> +<p> +“A gentleman from Ireland!” repeated she, half aloud, as though the very +mention of that country were destined to persecute her; then quickly +added, “Say I wish to speak with him here.” +</p> +<p> +The servant bowed and withdrew; and now a perfect silence reigned in the +apartment. Forester felt that he had gone too far to retreat, even were he +so disposed, and although dreading nothing more than a “scene,” awaited, +without speaking, the course of events. As much yielding to an involuntary +impatience as to relieve the awkwardness of the interval, he arose and +walked into the adjoining drawing-room, carelessly tossing over books and +prints upon the tables, and trying to affect an ease he was very far from +experiencing. +</p> +<p> +It was while he was thus engaged that Lord Netherby entered the boudoir, +and seeing her Ladyship alone, was about to speak in his usual tone, when, +at a gesture from her, he was made aware of Forester's vicinity, and +hastily subdued his voice to a whisper. “Whatever the nature of the +tidings which in a hurried and eager tone his Lordship retailed, her +manner on hearing evinced a mingled astonishment and delight, if the word +dare be applied to an emotion whose source was in anything rather than an +amiable feeling. +</p> +<p> +“It seems too absurd, too monstrous in every way,” exclaimed she, at the +end of an explanation which took several minutes to recount. “And why +address himself to you? That seems also inexplicable.” +</p> +<p> +“This,” rejoined Lord Netherby, aloud,—-“this was his own +inspiration. He candidly acknowledges that no one either counselled or is +even aware of the step he has taken.” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps the <i>à propos</i> may do us good service,” whispered she, with +a glance darted at the room where Forester was now endeavoring, by humming +an air, to give token of his vicinity as well as assume an air of +indifference. +</p> +<p> +“I thought of that,” said Lord Netherby, in the same low voice. “Would you +see him? A few moments would be enough.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Netherby made no answer, but with closed eyes and compressed lips +seemed to reflect deeply for several minutes. At last she said: “Yes, let +him come. I'll detain Richard in the drawing-room; he shall hear +everything that is said. If I know anything of him, the insult to his +pride will do far more than all our arguments and entreaties.” +</p> +<p> +“Don't chill my little friend by any coldness of manner,” said his +Lordship, smiling, as he moved towards the door; “I have only got him +properly thawed within the last few minutes.” +</p> +<p> +“My dear Richard,” said she, as the door closed after Lord Netherby, “I +must keep you prisoner in the drawing-room for a few minutes, while I +receive a visitor of Lord Netherby's. Don't close the doors; I can't +endure heat and this room becomes insupportable without a slight current +of air. Besides, there is no secret, I fancy, in the communication. As +well as I understand the matter, it does not concern us; but Netherby is +always doing some piece of silly good-nature, for which no one thanks +him!” +</p> +<p> +The last reflection was half soliloquy, but said so that Forester could +and did hear every word of it. While her Ladyship, therefore, patiently +awaited the arrival of her visitor in one room, Forester threw himself +into a chair, and taking up a book at hazard, endeavored to pass the +interval without further thought about the matter. +</p> +<p> +Sitting with his back towards the door of the boudoir. Forester +accidentally had placed himself in such a position that a large mirror +between the windows reflected to him a considerable portion of the scene +within. It was then with an amount of astonishment far above ordinary that +he beheld the strange-looking figure who followed Lord Netherby into the +apartment of his mother. He was a short, dumpy man, with a bald head, over +which the long hairs of either side were studiously combed into an +ingenious kind of network, and meeting at an angle above the cranium, +looked like the uncovered rafters of a new house. Two fierce-looking gray +eyes that seemed ready for fun or malice, rolled and revolved unceasingly +over the various decorations of the chamber, while a large thick-lipped +mouth, slightly opened at either end, vouched for one who neglected no +palpable occasion for self-indulgence or enjoyment. There was, indeed, +throughout his appearance, a look of racy satisfaction and contentment, +that consorted but ill with his costume, which was a suit of deep +mourning; his clothes having all the gloss and shine of a recent domestic +loss, and made, as seems something to be expected on these occasions, +considerably too large for him, as though to imply that the defunct should +not be defrauded in the full measure of sorrow. Deep crape weepers +encircled his arms to the elbows, and a very banner of black hung +mournfully from his hat. +</p> +<p> +<a name="image-0016" id="image-0016"> +<!-- IMG --></a> <img src="images/368.jpg" height="594" width="709" alt="368 " /> +</p> +<p> +“Mr.———-” Here Lord Netherby hesitated, forgetful of his +name. +</p> +<p> +“Dempsey, Paul Dempsey, your Grace,” said the little man, as, stepping +forward, he performed the salutation before Lady Netherby, by which he was +accustomed to precede an invitation to dance. +</p> +<p> +“Pray be seated, Mr. Dempsey. I have just briefly mentioned to her +Ladyship the circumstances of our interesting conversation, and with your +permission will proceed with my recital, begging that if I fall into any +error you will kindly set me right. This will enable Lady Netherby, who is +still an invalid, to support the fatigue of an interview wherein her +advice and counsel will be of great benefit to us both.” +</p> +<p> +Mr. Dempsey bowed several times, not sorry, perhaps, that in such an awful +presence he was spared the office of chief orator. +</p> +<p> +“I told you, my dear,” said Lord Netherby, turning towards her Ladyship, +“that this gentleman had for a considerable time back enjoyed the pleasure +of intimacy with our worthy relative Lady Eleanor Darcy—” +</p> +<p> +The fall of a heavy book in the adjoining room interrupted his Lordship, +between whom and Lady Netherby a most significant interchange of glances +took place. He resumed, however, without a pause,— +</p> +<p> +“Lady Eleanor and her accomplished daughter. If the more urgent question +were uot now before us, it would gratify you to learn, as I have just +done, the admirable patience she has exhibited under the severe trials she +has met; the profound insight she obtained into the condition, hopeless as +it proves to be, of their unhappy circumstances; and the resignation in +which, submitting to changed fortune, she not only has at once abandoned +the modes of living she was habituated to, but actually descended to what +I can fancy must have been the hardest infliction of all,—vulgar +companionship, and the society of a boarding-house.” +</p> +<p> +“A most respectable establishment, though,” broke in Paul; “Fumbally's is +known all over Ulster—” +</p> +<p> +A very supercilious smile from Lady Netherby cut short a panegyric Mr. +Dempsey would gladly have extended. +</p> +<p> +“No doubt, sir, it was the best thing of the kind,” resumed his Lordship; +“but remember who Lady Eleanor Darcy was,—ay, and is. Think of the +station she had always held, and then fancy her in daily intercourse with +those people—” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, it is very horrid, indeed!” broke in Lady Netherby, leaning back, and +looking overcome even at the bare conception of the enormity. +</p> +<p> +“The little miserable notorieties of a fishing-village—” +</p> +<p> +“Coleraine, my Lord,—Coleraine,” cried Dempsey. +</p> +<p> +“Well, be it so. What is Coleraine?” +</p> +<p> +“A very thriving town on the river Bann, with a smart trade in yarn, two +breweries, three meeting-houses, a pound, and a Sunday-school,” repeated +Paul, as rapidly as though reading from a volume of a topographical +dictionary. +</p> +<p> +“All very commendable and delightful institutions, on which I beg heartily +to offer my congratulations, but, you will allow me to remark, scarcely +enough to compensate for the accustomed appliances of a residence at +Gwynne Abbey. But I see we are trespassing on Lady Netherby's strength. +You seem faint, my dear.” +</p> +<p> +“It's nothing,—it will pass over in a moment or so. This sad account +of these poor people has distressed me greatly.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, then, we must hasten on. Mr. Dempsey became acquainted with our +poor friends in this their exile; and although from his delicacy and good +taste he will not dwell on the circumstance, it is quite clear to me, has +shown them many attentions; I might use a stronger word, and say +kindnesses.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh! by Jove, I did nothing. I could do nothing—” +</p> +<p> +“Nay, sir, you are unjust to yourself; the very intentions by which you +set out on your present journey are the shortest answer to that question. +It would appear, my dear, that my fair relative, Miss Darcy, has not +forfeited the claim she possessed to great beauty and attraction; for +here, in the gentleman before us, is an evidence of their existence. Mr. +Dempsey, who 'never told his love,' as the poet says, waited in submission +himself for the hour of his changing fortune; and until the death of his +mother—” +</p> +<p> +“No, my Lord; my uncle, Bob Dempsey, of Dempsey's Grove.” +</p> +<p> +“His uncle, I mean. Mr. Dempsey, of Dempsey's Hole.” +</p> +<p> +“Grove,-Dempsey's Grove,” interpolated Paul, reddening. +</p> +<p> +“Grove, I should say,” repeated Lord Netherby, unmoved. “By which he has +succeeded to a very comfortable independence, and is now in a position to +make an offer of his hand and fortune.” +</p> +<p> +“Under the conditions, my Lord,—under the conditions,” whispered +Paul. +</p> +<p> +“I have not forgotten them,” resumed Lord Netherby, aloud. “It would be +ungenerous not to remember them, even for your sake, Mr. Dempsey, seeing +how much my poor, dear relative, Lady Eleanor, is beut on prosecuting this +unhappy suit, void of all hope, as it seems to be, and not having any +money of her owu—” +</p> +<p> +“Ready money,—cash,” interposed Paul. +</p> +<p> +“So I mean—ready money to make the advances necessary—Mr. +Dempsey wishes to raise a certain sum by loan, on the security of his +property, which may enable the Darcys to proceed with their claim; this +deed to be executed on his marriage with Miss Darcy. Am I correct, sir?” +</p> +<p> +“Quite correct, my Lord; you've only omitted that, to save expensive +searches, lawyers' fees, and other devilments of the like nature, that +your Lordship should advance the blunt yourself?” +</p> +<p> +“I was coming to that point. Mr. Dempsey opines that, taking the interest +it is natural we should do in our poor friends, he has a kind of claim to +make this proposition to us. He is aware of our relationship—mine, I +mean—to Lady Eleanor. She spoke to you, I believe, on that subject, +Mr. Dempsey?” +</p> +<p> +“Not exactly to <i>me</i>,” said Paul, hesitating, and recalling the +manner in which he became cognizant of the circumstance; “but I heard her +say that your Lordship was under very deep obligation to her own father,—that +you were, so to say, a little out at elbows once, very like myself before +Bob died, and that then—” +</p> +<p> +“We all lived together like brothers and sisters,” said his Lordship, +reddening. “I 'm sure I can't forget how happily the time went over.” +</p> +<p> +“Then Lady Eleanor, I presume, sir, did not advert to those circumstances +as a reason for your addressing yourself to Lord Netherby?” said her +Ladyship, with a look of stern severity. +</p> +<p> +“Why, my Lady, she knows nothing about my coming here. Lord bless us! I +wouldn't have told her for a thousand pounds!” +</p> +<p> +“Nor Miss Darcy, either?” +</p> +<p> +“Not a bit of it! Oh, by Jove! if you think they 're not as proud as ever +they were, you are much mistaken; and, indeed, on this very same subject I +heard her say that nothing would induce her to accept a favor from your +Lordship, if even so very improbable an event should occur as your +offering one.” +</p> +<p> +“So that we owe the honor of your visit to the most single-minded of +motives, sir,” said Lady Netherby, whose manner had now assumed all its +stateliness. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lady, I came as you see,—<i>Dempsius cum Dempsio</i>,—so +that if I succeed, I can say like that fellow in the play, 'Alone, I did +it.'” +</p> +<p> +Lord Netherby, who probably felt that the interview had lasted +sufficiently long for the only purpose he had destined or endured it, was +now becoming somewhat desirous of terminating the audience; nor was his +impatience allayed by those sportive sallies of Mr. Dempsey in allusion to +his own former condition as a dependant. +</p> +<p> +At length he said, “You must be aware, Mr. Dempsey, that this is a matter +demanding much time and consideration. The Knight of Gwynne is absent.” +</p> +<p> +“That's the reason there is not an hour to lose,” interposed Paul. +</p> +<p> +“I am at a loss for your meaning.” +</p> +<p> +“I mean that if he comes home before it 's all settled, that the game is +up. He would never consent, I 'm certain.” +</p> +<p> +“So you think that the ladies regard you with more favorable eyes?” said +her Ladyship, smiling a mixture of superciliousness and amusement. +</p> +<p> +“I have my own reasons to think so,” said Paul, with great composure. +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps you take too hopeless a view of your case, sir,” resumed Lord +Netherby, blandly. “I am, unhappily, very ignorant of Irish family rank; +but I feel assured that Mr. Dempsey, of Dempsey's Hole—” +</p> +<p> +“Grove,—Dempsey's Grove,” said Paul, with a look of anger. +</p> +<p> +“I ask your pardon, humbly,—I would say of Dempsey's Grove,-might be +an accepted suitor in the very highest quarters. At all events, from news +I have heard this morning it is more than likely that the Knight will be +in London before many weeks, and I dare not assume either the +responsibility of favoring your views, or incurring his displeasure by an +act of interference. I think her Ladyship coucurs with me.” +</p> +<p> +“Perfectly. The case is really one which, however we may and do feel the +liveliest interest in, lies quite beyond our influence or control.” +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Dempsey may rest assured that, even from so brief an acquaintance, we +have learned to appreciate some of his many excellent qualities of head +and heart.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Netherby bowed an acquiescence cold and stately; and, his Lordship +rising at the same time, Paul saw that the audience drew to a close. He +arose then slowly, and with a faint sigh,—for he thought of his long +and dreary journey, made to so little profit. +</p> +<p> +“So I may jog back again as I came,” muttered he, as he drew on his +gloves. “Well, well, Lady Eleanor knew him better than I did. +Good-morning, my Lady. I hope you are about to enjoy better health. +Good-bye, my Lord.” +</p> +<p> +“Do you make any stay in town, Mr. Dempsey?” inquired his Lordship, in +that bland voice that best became him. “Till I pack my portmanteau, my +Lord, and pay my bill at the 'Tavistock,'—not an hour longer.” +</p> +<p> +“I 'm sorry for that. I had hoped, and Lady Netherby also expected, we +should have the pleasure of seeing you again.” +</p> +<p> +“Very grateful, my Lord; but I see how the land lies as well as if I was +here a month.” +</p> +<p> +And with this significant speech Mr. Dempsey repeated his salutations and +withdrew. +</p> +<p> +“What presumption!” exclaimed Lady Netherby, as the door closed behind +him. “But how needlessly Lady Eleanor Darcy must have lowered herself to +incur such acquaintanceship!” +</p> +<p> +Lord Netherby made no reply, but gave a glance towards the still open door +of the drawing-room. Her Ladyship understood it at once, and said,— +</p> +<p> +“Oh, let us release poor Richard from his bondage. Tell him to come in.” +</p> +<p> +Lord Netherby walked forward; but scarcely had he entered the +drawing-room, when he called out, “He 's gone!” +</p> +<p> +“Gone! when?—how?” cried Lady Netherby, ringing the bell. “Did you +see Lord Wall incourt when he was going, Davenport?” asked she, at once +assuming her own calm deportment. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lady.” +</p> +<p> +“I hope he took the carriage.” +</p> +<p> +“No, my Lady, his Lordship went on foot.” +</p> +<p> +“That will do, Davenport. I don't receive to-day.” +</p> +<p> +“I must hasten after him,” said Lord Netherby, as the servant withdrew. +“We have, perhaps, incurred the very hazard we hoped to obviate.” +</p> +<p> +“I half feared it,” exclaimed Lady Netherby, gravely. “Lose no time, +however, and bring him to dinner; say that I feel very poorly, and that +his society will cheer me greatly. If he is unfit to leave the house, stay +with him; but above all things let him not be left alone.” +</p> +<p> +Lord Netherby hastened from the room, and his carriage was soon heard at a +rapid pace proceeding down the square. +</p> +<p> +Lady Netherby sat with her eyes fixed on the carpet, and her hands clasped +closely, lost in thought. “Yes,” said she, half aloud, “there is a fate in +it! This Lady Eleanor may have her vengeance yet!” +</p> +<p> +It was about an hour after this, and while she was still revolving her own +deep thoughts, that Lord Netherby re-entered the room. +</p> +<p> +“Well, is he here?” asked she, impatiently. +</p> +<p> +“No, he's off to Ireland; the very moment he reached the hotel he ordered +four horses to his carriage, and while his servant packed some trunks he +himself drove over to Lord Castlereagh's, but came back almost +immediately. They must have used immense despatch, for Long told me that +they would be nigh Barnet when I called.” +</p> +<p> +“He 's a true Wallincourt,” said her Ladyship, bitterly. “Their family +motto is 'Rash in danger,' and they have well deserved it.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0031"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXI. A LESSON FOR EAVES-DROPPING. +</h2> +<p> +Forester—for so to the end we must call him—but exemplified +the old adage in his haste. The debility of long illness was successfully +combated for some hours by the fever of excitement; but as that wore off, +symptoms of severe malady again exhibited themselves, and when on the +second evening of his journey he arrived at Bangor, he was dangerously +ill. With a head throbbing, and a brain almost mad, he threw himself upon +a bed, perhaps the thought of his abortive effort to reach Ireland the +most agonizing feeling of his tortured mind. His first care was to inquire +after the sailing of the packet; and learning that the vessel would leave +within an hour, he avowed his resolve to go at every hazard. As the time +drew nigh, however, more decided evidences of fever set in, and the +medical man who had been called to his aid pronounced that his life would +pay the penalty were he to persist in his rash resolve. His was not a +temper to yield to persuasion on selfish grounds, and nothing short of his +actual inability to endure moving from where he lay at last compelled him +to cede; even then he ordered his only servant to take the despatches +which Lord Castlereagh had given him, and proceed with them to Dublin, +where he should seek out Mr. Bicknell, and place them in his hands, with +strict injunctions to have them forwarded to Lady Eleanor Darcy at once. +The burning anxiety of a mind weakened by a tedious and severe malady, the +fever of travelling, and the impatient struggles be made to be clear and +explicit in his directions, repeated as they were full twenty times over, +all conspired to exaggerate the worst features of his case; and ere the +packet sailed, his head was wandering in wild delirium. +</p> +<p> +Linwood knew his master too well to venture on a contradiction; and +although with very grave doubts that he should ever see him again alive, +he set out, resolving to spare no exertions to be back soon again in +Bangor. The transit of the Channel forty-five years ago was, however, very +different from that at present, and it was already the evening of the +following day when he reached Dublin. +</p> +<p> +There was no difficulty in finding out Mr. Bicknell's residence; a very +showy brass-plate on a door in a fashionable street proclaimed the house +of the well-known man of law. He was not at home, however, nor would be +for some hours; he had gone out on a matter of urgent business, and left +orders that except for some most pressing reason, he was not to be sent +for. Linwood did not hesitate to pronounce his business such, and at +length obtained the guidance of a servant to the haunt in question. +</p> +<p> +It was in a street of a third or fourth-rate rank, called Stafford Street, +that Bicknell's servant now stopped, and having made more than one inquiry +as to name and number, at last knocked at the door of a sombre-looking, +ruinous old house, whose windows, broken or patched with paper, bespoke an +air of poverty and destitution. A child in a ragged and neglected dress +opened the door, and answering to the question “If Mr. Bicknell were +there,” in the affirmative, led Linwood up stairs creaking as they went +with rottenness and decay. +</p> +<p> +“You 're to rap there, and he 'll come to you,” said the child, as they +reached the landing, where two doors presented themselves; and so saying, +she slipped noiselessly and stealthily down the stairs, leaving him alone +in the gloomy lobby. Linwood was not without astonishment at the place in +which he found himself; but there was no time for the indulgence of such a +feeling, and he knocked, at first gently, and then, as no answer came, +more loudly, and at last when several minutes elapsed, without any summons +to enter, he tapped sharply at the panel with his cane. Still there was no +reply; the deep silence of the old house seemed like that of a church at +midnight; not a sound was heard to break it. There was a sense of +dreariness and gloom over the ruinous spot and the fast-closing twilight +that struck Linwood deeply; and it is probable, had the mission with which +he was intrusted been one of less moment than his master seemed to think +it, that Linwood would quietly have descended the stairs, and deferred his +interview with Mr. Bicknell to a more suitable time and place. He had +come, however, bent on fulfilling his charge; and so, after waiting what +he believed to be half an hour, and which might possibly have been five or +ten minutes, he applied his hand to the lock, and entered the room. +</p> +<p> +It was a large, low-ceilinged apartment, whose moth-eaten furniture seemed +to rival with the building itself, and which, though once not without some +pretension to respectability, was now crumbling to decay, or coarsely +mended by some rude hand. A door, not quite shut, led into an inner +apartment; and from this room the sound of voices proceeded, whose +conversation in all probability had prevented Linwood's summons from being +heard. +</p> +<p> +Whether the secret instincts of his calling were the prompter,—for +Linwood was a valet,—or that the strange circumstances in which he +found himself had suggested a spirit of curiosity, but Linwood approached +the door and peeped in. The sin of eaves-dropping, like most other sins, +would seem only difficult at the first step; the subsequent ones came +easily, for, as the listener established himself in a position to hear +what went forward, he speedily became interested in what he heard. +</p> +<p> +By the gray half-light three figures were seen. One was a lady; so at +least her position and attitude bespoke her, although her shawl was of a +coarse and humble stuff, and her straw bonnet showed signs of time and +season. She sat back in a deep leather chair, with hands folded, and her +head slightly thrown forward, as if intently listening to the person who +at a distance of half the room addressed lier. He was a thick-set, +powerful man, in a jockey-cut coat and top-boots; a white hat, somewhat +crushed and travel-stained, was at his feet, and across it a heavy +horsewhip; his collar was confined by a single fold of a spotted +handkerchief that thus displayed a brawny throat and a deep beard of curly +black hair that made the head appear unnaturally large. The third figure +was of a little, dapper, smart-looking personage, with a neatly powdered +head and a scrupulously white cravat, who, standing partly behind the +lady's chair, bestowed an equal attention on the speaker. +</p> +<p> +The green-coated man, it was clear to see, was of an order in life far +inferior to the others, and in the manner of his address, his attitude as +he sat, and his whole bearing, exhibited a species of rude deference to +the listeners. +</p> +<p> +“Well, Jack,” cried the little man, in a sharp lively voice, “we knew all +these facts before; what we were desirous of was something like proof,—something +that might be brought out into open court and before a jury.” +</p> +<p> +“I'm afraid then, sir,” replied the other, “I can't help you there. I told +Mr. Daly all I knew and all I suspected, when I was up in Newgate; and if +he had n't been in such a hurry that night to leave Dublin for the north, +I could have brought him to the very house this fellow Garret was living +in.” +</p> +<p> +“Who is Garret?” broke in the lady, in a deep, full voice. +</p> +<p> +“The late Mr. Gleeson's butler, ma'am,” said the little man; “a person we +have never been able to come at. To summon him as a witness would avail us +nothing; it is his private testimony that might be of such use to us.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, you see, sir,” continued the green coat, or, as he was familiarly +named by the other, Jack, whom, perhaps, our reader has already recognized +as Freney, the others being Miss Daly and Bicknell,-“well, you see, sir, +Mr. Daly was angry at the way things was done that night,—and sure +enough he had good cause,-and sorra bit of a word he 'd speak to me when I +was standing with the tears in my eyes to thank him; no, nor he wouldn't +take the mare that was ready saddled and bridled in Healey's stables +waiting for him, but he turned on his heel with 'D——n you for +a common highwayman; it's what a man of blood and birth ever gets by +stretching a hand to save you.'” +</p> +<p> +“He should have thought of that before,” remarked Miss Daly, solemnly. +</p> +<p> +“Faith, and if he did, ma'am, your humble servant would have had to dance +upon nothing!” rejoined Freney, with a laugh that was very far from +mirthful. +</p> +<p> +“And what was the circumstance which gave Mr. Daly so much displeasure, +Jack?” asked Bicknell. “I thought that everything went on exactly as he +had planned it.” +</p> +<p> +“Quite the contrary, sir; nothing was the way it ought to be. The fire was +never thought of—” +</p> +<p> +“Never thought of! Do you mean to say it was an accident?” +</p> +<p> +“No, I don't, sir; I mean that all we wanted was to make believe that the +jail was on fire, which was easy enough with burning straw; the rest was +all planned safe and sure. And when we saw the real flames shooting up, +sorra one was more frightened than some of ourselves; each accusing the +other, cursing and shouting, and crying like mad! Ay, indeed! there was an +ould fellow in for sheep-stealing, and nothing would convince him but that +it was 'the devil took us at our word,' and sent his own fire for us. Not +one of them was more puzzled than myself. I turned it every way in my +mind, and could make nothing of it; for although I knew well that Mr. Daly +would burn down Dublin from Barrack Street to the North Wall if he had a +good reason for it, I knew also he 'd not do it out of mere devilment. +Besides, ma'am, the way matters was going, it was likely none of us would +escape. There was I—saving your presence—with eight-pound +fetters on my legs. Ay, faix! I went down the ladder with them +afterwards.” +</p> +<p> +“But the fire.” +</p> +<p> +“I 'm coming to it, sir. I was sitting this way, with my chin on my hands, +at the window of my cell, trying to get a taste of fresh air, for the +place was thick of smoke, when I seen the flames darting out of the +windows of a public-house at the corner, the sign of the 'Cracked +Padlock,' and at the same minute out came the fire through the roof, a +great red spike of flame higher than the chimney. 'That's no accident,' +says I to myself, 'whatever them that's doing it means;' and sure enough, +the blaze broke out in the other corner of the street just as I said the +words. Well, ma'am, of all the terrible yells and cries that was ever +heard, the prisoners set up then; for though there was eight lying for +execution on Saturday, and twice as many more very sure of the same end +after the sessions, none of us liked to face such a dreadful thing as +fire. Just then, ma'am, at that very minute, there came, as it might be, +under my window, a screech so loud and so piercing that it went above all +the other cries, just the way the yellow fire darted through the middle of +the thick lazy smoke. Sorra one could give such a screech but a throat I +knew well, and so I called out at the top of my voice, 'Ah, ye limb of the +devil, this is your work!' and as sure as I 'm here, there came a laugh in +my ears; and whether it was the devil himself gave it or Jemmy, I often +doubted since.” +</p> +<p> +“And who is Jemmy?” asked Bicknell. +</p> +<p> +“A bit of a 'gossoon' I had to mind the horses, and meet me with a beast +here and there, as I wanted. The greatest villain for wickedness that was +ever pinioned!” +</p> +<p> +“And so he was really the cause of the fire?” +</p> +<p> +“Ay, was he! He not only hid the tinder and chips—” +</p> +<p> +Just as Freney had got thus far, he drew his legs up close beneath him, +sunk down his head as if into his neck, and with a spring, such as a tiger +might have given, cleared the space between himself and the door, and +rolled over on the floor, with the trembling figure of Linwood under him. +So terribly sudden was the leap, that Miss Daly and Bicknell scarcely saw +the bound ere they beheld him with one hand upon the victim's throat, +while with the other he drew forth a clasp-knife, and opened the blade +with his teeth. +</p> +<p> +“Keep back, keep back!” said Freney, as Bicknell drew nigh; and the words +came thick and guttural, like the deep growl of a mastiff. +</p> +<p> +“Who are you, and what brings you here?” said Freney, as, setting his knee +on the other's chest, he relinquished the grasp by which he had almost +choked him. +</p> +<p> +<a name="image-0017" id="image-0017"> +<!-- IMG --></a> <img src="images/382.jpg" height="649" width="714" alt="382 " /> +</p> +<p> +“I came to see Mr. Bicknell,” muttered the nearly lifeless valet. +</p> +<p> +“What did you want with me?” +</p> +<p> +“Wait a bit,” interposed Freney. “Who brought you here? How came you to be +standing by that door?” +</p> +<p> +“Mr. Bicknell's servant showed me the house, and a child brought me to +this room.” +</p> +<p> +“There, sir,” said Freney, turning his head towards +</p> +<p> +Bicknell, without releasing the strong pressure by which he pinned the +other down,—“there, sir, so much for your caution. You told me if I +came to this lady's lodgings here, that I was safe, and now here 's this +fellow has heard us and everything we 've said, maybe these two hours.” +</p> +<p> +“I only heard about Newgate,” muttered the miserable Linwood; “I was but a +few minutes at the door, and was going to knock. I came from Lord Wall +incourt with papers of great importance for Mr. Bicknell. I have them, if +you'll let me—” +</p> +<p> +“Let him get up,” said Miss Daly, calmly. +</p> +<p> +Freney stood back, and retired between his victim and the door, where he +stood, with folded arms and bent brows, watching him. +</p> +<p> +“He has almost broke in my ribs,” said Linwood, as he pressed his hands to +his side, with a grimace of true suffering. +</p> +<p> +“So much for eaves-dropping. You need expect no pity from me,” said Miss +Daly, sternly. “Where are these papers?” +</p> +<p> +“My Lord told me,” said the man, as he took them from his breast, “that I +was to give them into Mr. Bicknell's own hands, with strictest directions +to have them forwarded at the instant But for that,” added he, whining, “I +had never come to this.” +</p> +<p> +“Let it be a lesson to you about listening, sir,” said Miss Daly. “Had my +brother been here—” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, by the powers!” broke in Freney, “he 'd have pitched you neck and +crop into the water-hogshead below, if your master was the +Lord-Lieutenant.” +</p> +<p> +By this time Bicknell was busy reading the several addresses on the +packets, and the names inscribed in the corners of each. +</p> +<p> +“If I 'm not mistaken, madam,” said he to Miss Daly, “this Lord +Wallincourt is the new peer, whose brother died at Lisbon. The name is +Forester.” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, sir, you are right,” muttered Linwood. +</p> +<p> +“The same Mr. Richard Forester my brother knew, the cousin of Lord +Castlereagh?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, ma'am,” said Linwood. +</p> +<p> +“Where is he? Is he here?” +</p> +<p> +“No, ma'am, he's lying dangerously ill, if he be yet alive, at Bangor. He +wanted to bring these papers over himself, but was only able to get so far +when the fever came on him again.” +</p> +<p> +“Is he alone?” +</p> +<p> +“Quite alone, ma'am, no one knows even his name. He would not let me say +who he was.” +</p> +<p> +Miss Daly turned towards Bicknell, and spoke for several minutes in a +quick and eager voice. Meanwhile Freney, now convinced that he had not to +deal with a spy or a thief-catcher, came near and addressed Linwood. +</p> +<p> +“I did n't mean to hurt ye till I was sure ye deserved it, but never play +that game any more.” +</p> +<p> +Linwood appeared to receive both apology and precept with equal +discontent. +</p> +<p> +“Another thing,” resumed Freney: “I 'm sure you are an agreeable young man +in the housekeeper's room and the butler's parlor, very pleasant and +conversable, with a great deal of anecdote and amusing stories; but, mind +me, let nothing tempt ye to talk about what ye heard me say tonight. It's +not that I care about myself,—it's worse than jail-breaking they can +tell of me,—but I won't have another name mentioned. D 'ye mind me?” +</p> +<p> +As if to enforce the caution, he seized the listener between his finger +and thumb; and whether there was something magnetic in the touch, or that +it somehow conveyed a foretaste of what disobedience might cost, but +Linwood winced till the tears came, and stammered out,— +</p> +<p> +“You may depend on it, sir, I 'll never mention it.” +</p> +<p> +“I believe you,” said the robber, with a grin, and fell back to his place. +</p> +<p> +“I will not lose a post, rely upon it, madam,” said Bick-nell; “and am I +to suppose you have determined on this journey?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said Miss Daly, “the case admits of little hesitation; the young +man is alone, friendless, and unknown. I 'll hasten over at once,—I +am too old for slander, Mr. Bicknell. Besides, let me see who will dare to +utter it.” +</p> +<p> +There was a sternness in her features as she spoke that made her seem the +actual image of her brother. Then, turning to Linwood, she continued,— +</p> +<p> +“I 'll go over this evening to Bangor in the packet, let me find you +there.” +</p> +<p> +“I 'll see him safe on board, ma'am,” said Freney, with a leer, while, +slipping his arm within the valet's, he half led, half drew him from the +room. +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0032"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXII. A LESSON IN POLITICS +</h2> +<p> +In the deep bay-window of a long, gloomy-looking dinner-room of a Dublin +mansion, sat a party of four persons around a table plentifully covered +with decanters and bottles, and some stray remnants of a dessert which +seemed to have been taken from the great table in the middle of the +apartment. The night was falling fast, for it was past eight o'clock of an +evening in autumn, and there was barely sufficient light to descry the few +scrubby-looking ash and alder trees that studded the barren grass-plot +between the house and the stables. There was nothing to cheer in the +aspect without, nor, if one were to judge from the long pauses that ensued +after each effort at conversation, the few and monotonous words of the +speakers, were there any evidences of a more enlivening spirit within +doors. The party consisted of Dr. Hickman and his son Mr. O'Reilly, Mr. +Heffernan, and “Counsellor” O'Halloran. +</p> +<p> +At first, and by the dusky light in the chamber, it would seem as if but +three persons were assembled; for the old doctor, whose debility had +within the last few months made rapid strides, had sunk down into the +recess of the deep chair, and save by a low quavering respiration, gave no +token of his presence. As these sounds became louder and fuller, the +conversation gradually dropped into a whisper, for the old man was asleep. +In the subdued tone of the speakers, the noiseless gestures as they passed +the bottle from hand to hand, it was easy to mark that they did not wish +to disturb his slumbers. It is no part of our task to detail how these +individuals came to be thus associated. The assumed object which at this +moment drew them together was the approaching trial at Galway of a record +brought against the Hickmans by Darcy. It was Bick-nell's last effort, and +with it must end the long and wearisome litigation between the houses. +</p> +<p> +The case for trial had nothing which could suggest any fears as to the +result. It was on a motion for a new trial that the cause was to come on. +The plea was misdirection and want of time, so that, in itself, the matter +was one of secondary importance. The great question was that a general +election now drew nigh, and it was necessary for O'Reilly to determine on +the line of political conduct he should adopt, and thus give O'Halloran +the opportunity of a declaration of his client's sentiments in his address +to the jury. +</p> +<p> +The conduct of the Hickmans since their accession to the estate of Gwynne +Abbey had given universal dissatisfaction to the county gentry. Playing at +first the game of popularity, they assembled at their parties people of +every class and condition; and while affronting the better-bred by low +association, dissatisfied the inferior order by contact with those who +made their inferiority more glaring. The ancient hospitalities of the +Abbey were remembered in contrast with the ostentatious splendor of +receptions in which display and not kindness was intended. Vulgar +presumption and purse-pride had usurped the place once occupied by easy +good breeding and cordiality; and even they who had often smarted under +the cold reserve of Lady Eleanor's manner, were now ready to confess that +she was born to the rank she assumed, and not an upstart, affecting airs +of superiority. The higher order of the county gentry accordingly held +aloof, and at last discontinued their visits altogether; of the +second-rate many who were flattered at first by invitations, became +dissatisfied at seeing the same favors extended to others below them, and +they, too, ceased to present themselves, until, at last, the society +consisted of a few sycophantic followers, who swallowed the impertinence +of the host with the aid of his claret, and buried their own self-respect, +if they were troubled with such a quality, under the weight of good +dinners. +</p> +<p> +Hickman O'Reilly for a length of time affected not to mark the change in +the rank and condition of his guests, but as one by one the more +respectable fell off, and the few left were of a station that the fine +servants of the house regarded as little above their own, he indignantly +declined to admit any company in future, reduced the establishment to the +few merely necessary for the modest requirements of the family, and gave +it to be known that the uncongenial tastes and habits of his neighbors +made him prefer isolation and solitude to such association. +</p> +<p> +For some time he had looked to England as the means of establishing for +himself and his son a social position. The refusal of the minister to +accord the baronetcy was a death-blow to this hope, while he discovered +that mere wealth, unassisted by the sponsorship of some one in repute, +could not suffice to introduce Beeeham into the world of fashion. Although +these things had preyed on him severely, there was no urgent necessity to +act in respect of them till the time came, as it now had done, for a +general election. +</p> +<p> +The strict retirement of his life must now give way before the +requirements of an election candidate, and he must consent to take the +field once more as a public man, or, by abandoning his seat in Parliament, +accept a condition of what he knew to be complete obscurity. The old +doctor was indeed favorable to the latter course,—the passion for +hoarding had gone on increasing with age. Money was, in his estimation, +the only species of power above the changes and caprice of the world. +Bank-notes were the only things he never knew to deceive; and he took an +almost fiendish delight in contrasting the success of his own penurious +practices with all the disappointments his son O'Reilly had experienced in +his attempts at what he called “high life.” Every slight shown him, each +new instance of coldness or aversion of the neighborhood, gave the old man +a diabolical pleasure, and seemed to revive his youth in the exercise of a +malignant spirit. +</p> +<p> +O'Reilly's only hope of reconciling his father to the cost of a new +election was in the prospect held out that the seat might at last be +secured in perpetuity for Beeeham, and the chance of a rich marriage in +England thus provided. Even this view he was compelled to sustain by the +assurance that the expense would be a mere trifle, and that, by the +adoption of popular principles, he should come in almost for nothing. To +make the old doctor a convert to these notions, he had called in Heffernau +and O'Halloran, who both, during the dinner, had exerted themselves with +their natural tact, and now that the doctor had dropped asleep, were +reposing themselves, and recruiting the energies so generously expended. +</p> +<p> +Hence the party seemed to have a certain gloom and weight over it, as the +shadow of coming night fell on the figures seated, almost in silence, +around the table. None spoke save an occasional word or two, as they +passed round the bottle. Each retreated into his own reflections, and +communed with himself. Men who have exhibited themselves to each other, in +a game of deceit and trick, seem to have a natural repugnance to any +recurrence to the theme when the occasion is once over. Even they whose +hearts have the least self-respect will avoid the topic if possible. +</p> +<p> +“How is the bottle?—with you, I believe,” said O'Reilly to +Heffernan, in the low tone to which they had all reduced the conversation. +</p> +<p> +“I have just filled my glass; it stands with the Counsellor.” +</p> +<p> +O'Halloran poured out the wine and sipped it slowly. “A very remarkable +man,” said he, sententiously, with a slight gesture of his head to the +chair where the old doctor lay coiled up asleep. “His faculties seem as +clear, and his judgment as acute, as if he were only five-and-forty, and I +suppose he must be nearly twice that age.” +</p> +<p> +“Very nearly,” replied O'Reilly; “he confesses commonly to eighty-six; but +when he is weak or querulous, he often says ninety-one or two.” +</p> +<p> +“His memory is the most singular thing about him,” said Heffernan. “Now, +the account of Swift's appearance in the pulpit with his gown thrust back, +and his hands stuck in the belt of his cassock, brow-beating the lord +mayor and aldermen for coming in late to church,—it came as fresh as +if he were talking of an event of last week.” +</p> +<p> +“How good the imitation of voice was, too,” added Heffernan: “'Giving two +hours to your dress, and twenty minutes to your devotions, you come into +God's house looking more like mountebanks than Christian men!'” +</p> +<p> +“I 've seldom seen him so much inclined to talk and chat away as this +evening,” said O'Reilly; “but I think you chimed in so well with his +humor, it drew him on.” +</p> +<p> +“There was something of dexterity,” said Heffernan, “in the way he kept +bringing up these reminiscences and old stories, to avoid entering upon +the subject of the election. I saw that he would n't approach that theme, +no matter how skilfully you brought it forward.” +</p> +<p> +“You ought not to have alluded to the Darcys, however,” said O'Halloran. +“I remarked that the mention of their name gave him evident displeasure; +indeed, he soon after pushed his chair back from the table and became +silent.” +</p> +<p> +“He always sleeps after dinner,” observed O'Reilly, carelessly. “It was +about his usual time.” +</p> +<p> +Another pause now succeeded, in which the only sounds heard were the +deep-drawn breathings of the sleeper. +</p> +<p> +“You saw Lord Castlereagh, I think you told me?” said O'Reilly, anxious to +lead Heffernan into something like a declaration of opinion. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, repeatedly; I dined either with him or in his company, three or four +times every week of my stay in town.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, is he satisfied with the success of his measure?” asked O'Halloran, +caustically. “Is this Union working to his heart's content?” +</p> +<p> +“It is rather early to pass a judgment on that point, I think.” +</p> +<p> +“I'm not of that mind,” rejoined O'Halloran, hastily. “The fruits of the +measure are showing themselves already. The men of fortune are flying the +country; their town houses are to let; their horses are advertised for +sale at Dycer's. Dublin is, even now, beginning to feel what it may become +when the population has no other support than itself.” +</p> +<p> +“Such will always be the fortune of a province. Influence will and must +converge to the capital,” rejoined Heffernan. +</p> +<p> +“But what if the great element of a province be wanting? What if we have +not that inherent respect and reverence for the metropolis provincials +always should feel? What if we know that our interests are misunderstood, +our real wants unknown, our peculiar circumstances either undervalued or +despised?” +</p> +<p> +“If the case be as you represent it—-” +</p> +<p> +“Can you deny it? Tell me that.” +</p> +<p> +“I will not deny or admit it. I only say, if it be such, there is still a +remedy, if men are shrewd enough to adopt it.” +</p> +<p> +“And what may that remedy be?” said O'Reilly, calmly. +</p> +<p> +“An Irish party!” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, the old story; the same plot over again we had this year at the +Rotunda?” said O'Reilly, contemptuously. +</p> +<p> +“Which only failed from our own faults,” added Heffer-nan, angrily. “Some +of us were lukewarm and would do nothing; some waited for others to come +forward; and some again wanted to make their hard bargain with the +minister before they made him feel the necessity of the compact.” +</p> +<p> +O'Reilly bit his lip in silence, for he well understood at whom this +reproof was levelled. +</p> +<p> +“The cause of failure was very different,” said O'Hallo-ran, +authoritatively. “It was one which has dissolved many an association, and +rendered many a scheme abortive, and will continue to do so, as often as +it occurs. You failed for want of a 'Principle.' You had rank and wealth, +and influence more than enough to have made your weight felt and +acknowledged, but you had no definite object or end. You were a party, and +you had not a purpose.” +</p> +<p> +“Come, come,” said Heffernan, “you are evidently unaware of the nature of +our association, and seem not to have read the resolutions we adopted.” +</p> +<p> +“No,—-on the contrary, I read them carefully; there was more than +sufficient in them to have made a dozen parties. Had you adopted one +steadfast line of action, set out with one brief intelligible proposition,—I +care not what,—Slave Emancipation, or Catholic Emancipation, Repeal +of Tests Acts, or Parliamentary Reform, any of them,—taken your +stand on that, and that alone, you must have succeeded. Of course, to do +this is a work of time and labor; some men will grow weary and sink by the +way, but others take up the burden, and the goal is reached at last There +must be years long of writing and speaking, meeting, declaring, and +plotting; you must consent to be thought vulgar and low-minded,—ay, +and to become so, for active partisans are only to be found in low places. +You will be laughed at and jeered, abused, mocked, and derided at first; +later on, you will be assailed more powerfully and more coarsely; but, all +this while, your strength is developing, your agencies are spreading. +Persuasion will induce some, notoriety others, hopes of advantage many +more, to join you. You will then have a press as well as a party, and the +very men that sneered at your beginnings will have to respect the +persistence and duration of your efforts. I don't care how trumpery the +arguments used; I don't value one straw the fallacy of the statements put +forward. Let one great question, one great demand for anything, be made +for some five-and-twenty or thirty years,—let the Press discuss, and +the Parliament debate it,—you are sure of its being accorded in the +end. Now, it will be a party ambitious of power that will buy your +alliance at any price; now, a tottering Government anxious to survive the +session and reach the snug harbor of the long vacation. Now, it will be +the high 'bid' of a popular administration; now, it will be the last hope +of second-rate capacities, ready to supply their own deficiencies by +incurring a hazard. However it come, you are equally certain of it.” +</p> +<p> +There was a pause as O'Halloran concluded. Heffernan saw plainly to what +the Counsellor pointed, and that he was endeavoring to recruit for that +party of which he destined the future leadership for himself, and Con had +no fancy to serve in the ranks of such an army. O'Reilly, who thought that +the profession of a popular creed might be serviceable in the emergency of +an election, looked with more favor on the exposition, and after a brief +interval said,— +</p> +<p> +“Well, supposing I were to see this matter in your light, what support +could you promise me? I mean at the hustings.” +</p> +<p> +“Most of the small freeholders, now,-all of them, in time; the priests to +a man, the best election agents that ever canvassed a constituency. By +degrees the forces will grow stronger, according to the length and breadth +of the principle you adopt,—make it emancipation, and I 'll insure +you a lease of the county.” Heffernan smiled dubiously. “Ah, never mind +Mr. Heffernan's look; these notions don't suit him. He 's one of the petty +traders in politics, who like small sales and quick returns.” +</p> +<p> +“Such dealing makes fewest bankrupts,” said Heffernan, coolly. +</p> +<p> +“I own to you,” said O'Halloran, “the rewards are distant, but they 're +worth waiting for. It is not the miserable bribe of a situation, or a +title, both beneath what they would accord to some state apothecary; but +power, actual power, and real patronage are in the vista.” +</p> +<p> +A heavy sigh and a rustling sound in the deep armchair announced that the +doctor was awaking, and after a few struggles to throw off the drowsy +influence, he sat upright, and made a gesture that he wished for wine. +</p> +<p> +“We 've been talking about political matters, sir,” said O'Reilly. “I hope +we didn't disturb your doze?” +</p> +<p> +“No; I was sleeping sound,” croaked the old man, in a feeble whine, “and I +had a very singular dream! I dreamed I was sitting in a great kitchen of a +big house, and there was a very large, hairy turnspit sitting opposite to +me, in a nook beside the fire, turning a big spit with a joint of meat on +it. 'Who's the meat for?' says I to him. 'For my Lord Castlereagh,' says +he, 'devil a one else.' 'For himself alone?' says I. 'Just so,' says he; +'don't you know that's the Irish Parliament that we 're roasting and +basting, and when it's done,' says he, 'we 'll sarve it up to be carved.' +'And who are you?' says I to the turnspit. 'I'm Con Heffernan,' says he; +'and the devil a bit of the same meat I 'm to get, after cooking it till +my teeth 's watering.'” +</p> +<p> +A loud roar of laughter from O'Halloran, in which Heffernan endeavored to +take a part, met this strange revelation of the doctor's sleep, nor was it +for a considerable time after that the conversation could be resumed +without some jesting allusion of the Counsellor to the turnspit and his +office. +</p> +<p> +“Your dream tallies but ill, sir, with the rumors through Dublin,” said +O'Reilly, whose quick glance saw through the mask of indifference by which +Heffernan concealed his irritation. +</p> +<p> +“I did n't hear it. What was it, Bob?” +</p> +<p> +“That the ministry had offered our friend here the secretaryship for +Ireland.” +</p> +<p> +“Sure, if they did—” He was about to add, “That he 'd have as +certainly accepted it,” when a sense of the impropriety of such a speech +arrested the words. +</p> +<p> +“You are mistaken, sir,” interposed Heffernan, answering the unspoken +sentence. “I did refuse. The conditions on which I accorded my humble +support to the bill of the Union have been shamefully violated, and I +could not, if I even wished it, accept office from a Government that have +been false to their pledges.” +</p> +<p> +“You see my dream was right, after all,” chuckled the old man. “I said +they kept him working away in the kitchen, and gave him none of the meat +afterwards.” +</p> +<p> +“What if I had been stipulating for another, sir?” said Heffernan, with a +forced smile. “What if the breach of faith I allude to had reference not +to me, but to your son yonder, for whom, and no other, I asked—I +will not say a favor, but a fair and reasonable acknowledgment of the +station he occupies?” +</p> +<p> +“Ah, that weary title!” exclaimed the doctor, crankily. “What have we to +do with these things?” +</p> +<p> +“You are right, sir,” chimed in O'Halloran. “Your present position, +self-acquired and independent, is a far prouder one than any to be +obtained by ministerial favor.” +</p> +<p> +“I 'd rather he'd help us to crush these Darcys,” said the old man, as his +eyes sparkled and glistened like the orbs of a serpent. “I 'd rather my +Lord Castlereagh would put his heel upon <i>them</i> than stretch out the +hand to <i>us</i>.” +</p> +<p> +“What need to trouble your head about them?” said Heffernan, +conciliatingly; “they are low enough in all conscience now.” +</p> +<p> +“My father means,” said O'Reilly, “that he is tired and sick of the +incessant appeals to law this family persist in following; that these +trials irritate and annoy him.” +</p> +<p> +“Come sir,” cried O'Halloran, encouragingly, “you shall see the last of +them in a few weeks. I have reason to know that an old maiden sister of +Bagenal Daly's has supplied Bicknell with the means of the present action. +It's the last shot in the locker. We 'll take care to make the gun recoil +on the hand that fires it.” +</p> +<p> +“Darcy and Daly are both out of the country,” observed the old man, +cunningly. +</p> +<p> +“We 'll call them up for judgment, however,” chimed in O'Halloran. “That +same Daly is one of those men who infested our country in times past, and +by the mere recklessness of their hold on life, bullied and oppressed all +who came before them. I am rejoiced to have an opportunity of showing up +such a character.” +</p> +<p> +“I wish we had done with them all,” sighed the doctor. +</p> +<p> +“So you shall, with this record. Will you pledge yourself not to object to +the election expenses if I gain you the verdict?” +</p> +<p> +“Come, that's a fair offer,” said Heffernan, laughing. +</p> +<p> +“Maybe, they 'll come to ten thousand,” said the doctor, cautiously. +</p> +<p> +“Not above one half the sum, if Mr. O'Reilly will consent to take my +advice.” +</p> +<p> +“And why wouldn't he?” rejoined the old man, querulously. “What signifies +which side he takes, if it saves the money?” +</p> +<p> +“Is it a bargain, then?” +</p> +<p> +“Will you secure me against more trials at law? Will you pledge yourself +that I am not to be tormented by these anxieties and cares?” +</p> +<p> +“I can scarcely promise that much; but I feel so assured that your +annoyance will end here, that I am willing to pledge myself to give you my +own services without fee or reward in future, if any action follow this +one.” +</p> +<p> +“I think that is most generous,” said Heffernan. +</p> +<p> +“It is as much as saying, he 'll enter into recognizances for an +indefinite series of five-hundred-pound briefs,” added O'Reilly. +</p> +<p> +“Done, then. I take you at your word,” said the doctor; while stretching +forth his lean and trembling hand, he grasped the nervous fingers of the +Counsellor in token of ratification. +</p> +<p> +“And now woe to the Darcys!” muttered O'Halloran, as he arose to say +good-night, Heffernan arose at the same time, resolved to accompany the +Counsellor, and try what gentle persuasion could effect in the +modification of views which he saw were far too explicit to be profitable. +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0033"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXIII. THE CHANCES OF TRAVEL. +</h2> +<p> +Neither our space nor our inclination prompt us to dwell on Forester's +illness; enough when we say that his recovery, slow at first, made at +length good progress, and within a month after the commencement of the +attack, he was once more on the road, bent on reaching the North, and +presenting himself before Lady Eleanor and her daughter. +</p> +<p> +Miss Daly, who had been his kind and watchful nurse for many days and +nights ere his wandering faculties could recognize her, contributed more +than all else to his restoration. The impatient anxiety under which he +suffered was met by her mild but steady counsels; and although she never +ventured to bid him hope too sanguinely, she told him that his letter had +reached Helen's hand, and that he himself must plead the cause he had +opened. +</p> +<p> +“Your greatest difficulty,” said she, in parting with him in Dublin, “will +be in the very circumstance which, in ordinary cases, would be the +guarantee of your success. Your own rise in fortune has widened the +interval between you. This, to your mind, presents but the natural means +of overcoming the obstacles I allude to; but remember there are others +whose feelings are to be as intimately consulted,—nay, more so than +your own. Think of those who never yet made an alliance without feeling +that they were on a footing of perfect equality; and reflect that even if +Helen's affections were all your own, Maurice Darcy's daughter can enter +into no family, however high and proud it may be, save as the desired and +sought-for by its chief members. Build upon anything lower than this, and +you fail. More still,” added she, almost sternly, “your failure will meet +with no compassion from me. Think not, because I have gone through life a +lone, uncared-for thing, that I undervalue the strength and power of deep +affection, or that I could counsel you to make it subservient to views of +worldliness and advantage. You know me little if you think so. But I would +tell you this, that no love deserving of the name ever existed without +those high promptings of the heart that made all difficulties easy to +encounter,—ay, even those worst of difficulties that spring from +false pride and prejudice. It is by no sudden outbreak of temper, no +selfish threat of this or that insensate folly, that your lady-mother's +consent should be obtained. It is by the manly dignity and consistency of +a character that in the highest interests of a higher station give a +security for sound judgment and honorable motives. Let it appear from your +conduct that you are not swayed by passion or caprice. You have already +won men's admiration for the gallantry of your daring. There is something +better still than this, the esteem and regard that are never withheld from +a course of honorable and independent action. With these on your side, +rely upon it, a mother's heart will not be the last in England to +acknowledge and glory in your fame. And now, good-bye; you have a better +travelling-companion than me,-you have hope with you.” +</p> +<p> +She returned the cordial pressure of his hand, and was turning away, when, +after what had seemed a kind of struggle with her feelings, she added,— +</p> +<p> +“One word more, even at the hazard of wearying you. Above all and +everything, be honest, be candid; not only with others, but with yourself! +Examine well your heart, and let no sense of false shame, let no hopes of +some chance or accident deceive you, by which your innermost feelings are +to be guessed at, and not avowed. This is the blackest of calamities; this +can even embitter every hour of a long life.” +</p> +<p> +Her voice trembled at the last words; and as she concluded, she wrung his +hand once more affectionately, and moved hurriedly away. Forester looked +after her with a tender interest. For the first time in his life he heard +her sob. “Yes,” thought he, as he lay back and covered his eyes with his +hand, “she, too, has loved, and loved unhappily.” +</p> +<p> +There are few sympathies stronger, not even those of illness itself, than +connect those whose hearts have struggled under unrequited affection; and +so, for many an hour as he travelled, Forester's thoughts recurred to Miss +Daly, and the last troubled accents of her parting speech. Perhaps he did +not dwell the less on that theme because it carried him away from his own +immediate hopes and fears,—emotions that rendered him almost +irritable by their intensity. +</p> +<p> +While on the road, Forester travelled with all the speed he could +accomplish. His weakness did not permit of his being many hours in a +carriage, and he endeavored to compensate for this by rapid travelling at +the time. His impatience to get forward was, however, such that he +scarcely arrived at any halting-place without ordering horses to be at +once got ready, so that, when able, he resumed the road without losing a +moment. +</p> +<p> +In compliance with this custom, the carriage was standing all ready with +its four posters at the door of the inn of Castle Blayney; while Forester, +overcome by fatigue and exhaustion, had thrown himself on the bed and +fallen asleep. The rattling crash of a mail-coach and its deep-toned horn +suddenly awoke him: he started, and looked at his watch. Was it possible? +It was nearly midnight; he must have slept more than three hours! Half +gratified by the unaccustomed rest, half angry at the lapse of time, he +arose to depart. The night was the reverse of inviting; a long-threatened +storm had at last burst forth, and the rain was falling in torrents, while +the wind, in short and fitful gusts, shook the house to its foundation, +and scattered tiles and slates over the dreary street. +</p> +<p> +So terrible was the hurricane, many doubts were entertained that the mail +could proceed further; and when it did at length set forth, gloomy +prognostics of danger—dark pictures of precipices, swollen torrents, +and broken bridges—were rife in the bar and the landlord's room. +These arguments, if they could be so called, were all renewed when +Forester called for his bill, as a preparation to depart, and all the +perils that ever happened by land or by water recapitulated to deter him. +</p> +<p> +“The middle arch of the Slaney bridge was tottering when the up-mail +passed three hours before. A horse and cart were just fished out of +Mooney's pond, but no driver as yet discovered. The forge at the cross +roads was blown down, and the rafters were lying across the highway.” +These, and a dozen other like calamities, were bandied about, and pitched +like shuttlecocks from side to side, as the impatient traveller descended +the stairs. +</p> +<p> +Had Forester cared for the amount of the reckoning, which he did not, he +might have entertained grave fears of its total, on the principle well +known to travellers, that the speed of its coming is always in the inverse +ratio of the sum, and that every second's delay is sure to swell its +proportions. Of this he never thought once; but he often reflected on the +tardiness of waiters, and the lingering tediousness of the moments of +parting. +</p> +<p> +“It's coming, sir; he 's just adding it up,” said the head waiter, for the +sixth time within three minutes, while he moved to and fro, with the +official alacrity that counterfeits despatch. “I 'm afraid you 'll have a +bad night, sir. I 'm sure the horses won't be able to face the storm over +Grange Connel.” +</p> +<p> +Forester made no reply, but walked up and down the hall in moody silence. +</p> +<p> +“The gentleman that got off the mail thought so too,” added the waiter; +“and now he 's pleasanter at his supper, iu the coffee-room, than sitting +out there, next to the guard, wet to the skin, and shivering with cold.” +</p> +<p> +Less to inspect the stranger thus alluded to than to escape the +impertinent loquacity of the waiter, Forester turned the handle of the +door, and entered the coffee-room. It was a large, dingy-looking chamber, +whose only bright spot seemed within the glow of a blazing turf-fire, +where at a little table a gentleman was seated at supper. His back was +turned to Forester; but even in the cursory glance the latter gave, he +could perceive that he was an elderly personage, and one who had not +abandoned the almost bygone custom of a queue. +</p> +<p> +The stranger, dividing his time between his meal and a newspaper,—which +he devoured more eagerly than the viands before him,—paid no +attention to Forester's entrance; nor did he once look round. As the +waiter approached, he asked hastily, “What chance there was of getting +forward?” +</p> +<p> +“Indeed, sir, to tell the truth,” drawled out the man, “the storm seems +getting worse, instead of better. Miles Finerty's new house, at the end of +the street, is just blown down.” +</p> +<p> +“Never mind Miles Finerty, my good friend, for the present,” rejoined the +old gentleman, mildly, “but just tell me, are horses to be had?” +</p> +<p> +“Faith! and to tell your honor no lie, I 'm afraid of it.” Here he dropped +to a whisper. “The sick-looking gentleman, yonder, has four waiting for +him, since nine o'clock; and we 've only a lame mare and a pony in the +stable.” +</p> +<p> +“Am I never to get this bill?” cried out Forester, in a tone that illness +had rendered peculiarly querulous. “I have asked, begged for it, for above +an hour, and here I am still.” +</p> +<p> +“He's bringing it now, sir,” cried the waiter, stepping hastily out of the +room, to avoid further questioning. Forester, whose impatience had now +been carried beyond endurance, paced the room with hurried strides, +muttering, between his teeth, every possible malediction on the whole race +of innkeepers, barmaids, waiters,—even down to Boots himself. These +imprecating expressions had gradually assumed a louder and more vehement +tone, of which he was by no means aware, till the old gentleman, at the +pause of a somewhat wordy denunciation, gravely added,— +</p> +<p> +“Insert a clause upon postboys, sir, and I 'll second the measure.” +</p> +<p> +Forester wheeled abruptly round. He belonged to a class, a section of +society, whose cherished prestige is neither to address nor be addressed +by an unintroduced stranger; and had the speaker been younger, or of any +age more nearly his own, it is more than likely a very vague stare of cool +astonishment would have been his only acknowledgment of the speech. The +advanced age, and something in the very accent of the stranger, were, +however, guarantees against this conventional rudeness, and he remarked, +with a smile, “I have no objection to extend the provisions of my bill in +the way you propose, for perhaps half an hour's experience may teach me +how much they deserve it.” +</p> +<p> +“You are fortunate, however, to have secured horses. I perceive that the +stables are empty.” +</p> +<p> +“If you are pressed for time, sir,” said Forester, on whom the quiet, +well-bred manners of the stranger produced a strong impression, “it would +be a very churlish thing of me to travel with four horses while I can +spare a pair of them.” +</p> +<p> +“I am really very grateful,” said the old gentleman, rising, and bowing +courteously; “if this be not a great inconvenience—” +</p> +<p> +“By no means; and if it were,” rejoined Forester, “I have a debt to acquit +to my own heart on this subject. I remember once, when travelling down to +the west of Ireland, I reached a little miserable country town at +nightfall, and, just as here, save that then there was no storm—” +The entrance of the long-expected landlord, with his bill, here +interrupted Forester's story. As he took it, and thus afforded time for +the stranger to fix his eyes steadfastly upon him, unobserved, Forester +quickly resumed: “I was remarking that, just as here, there were only four +post-horses to be had, and that they had just been secured by another +traveller a few moments before my arrival. I forget the name of the place—” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps I can assist you,” said the other, calmly. “It was Kilbeggan.” +</p> +<p> +Had a miracle been performed before his eyes, Forester could not have been +more stunned; and stunned he really was, and unable to speak for some +seconds. At length, his surprise yielding to a vague glimmering of belief, +he called out, “Great heavens! it cannot be—it surely is not—” +</p> +<p> +“Maurice Darcy, you would say, sir,” said the Knight, advancing with an +offered hand. “As surely as I believe you to be my son Lionel's brother +officer and friend, Captain Forester.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Colonel Darcy! this is, indeed, happiness,” exclaimed the young man, +as he grasped the Knight's hand in both of his, and shook it +affectionately. +</p> +<p> +“What a strange rencontre,” said the Knight, laughing; “quite the incident +of a comedy! One would scarcely look for such meetings twice,—so +like in every respect. Our parts are changed, however; it is your turn to +be generous, if the generosity trench not too closely on your +convenience.” +</p> +<p> +Forester could but stammer out assurances of delight and pleasure, and so +on, for his heart was too full to speak calmly or collectedly. +</p> +<p> +“And Lionel, sir, how is he,-when have you heard from him?” said the young +man, anxious, by even the most remote path, to speak of the Knight's +family. +</p> +<p> +“In excellent health. The boy has had the good fortune to be employed in a +healthy station, and, from a letter which I found awaiting me at my army +agent's, is as happy as can be. But to recur to our theme: will you +forgive my selfishness if I say that you will add indescribably to the +favor if you permit me to take these horses at once? I have not seen my +family for some time back, and my impatience is too strong to yield to +ceremony.” +</p> +<p> +“Of course,—certainly; my carriage is, however, all ready, and at +the door. Take it as it is, you 'll travel faster and safer.” +</p> +<p> +“But you yourself,” said Darcy, laughing,—“you were about to move +forward when we met.” +</p> +<p> +“It's no matter; I was merely travelling for the sake of change,” said +Forester, confusedly. +</p> +<p> +“I could not think of such a thing,” said Darcy. “If our way led together, +and you would accept of me as a travelling companion, I should be but too +happy; but to take the long-boat, and leave you on the desolate rock, is +not to be thought of.” The Knight stopped; and although he made an effort +to continue, the words faltered on his lips, and he was silent. At last, +and with an exertion that brought a deep blush to his cheek, he said: “I +am really ashamed, Captain Forester, to acknowledge a weakness which is as +new to me as it is unmanly. The best amends I can make for feeling is to +confess it. Since we met that same night, circumstances of fortune have +considerably changed with me. I am not, as you then knew me, the owner of +a good house and a good estate. Now, I really would wish to have been able +to ask you to come and see me; but, in good truth, I cannot tell where or +how I should lodge you if you said 'yes.' I believe my wife has a cabin on +this northern shore, but, however it may accommodate us, I need not say I +could not ask a friend to put up with it. There is my confession; and now +that it is told, I am only ashamed that I should hesitate about it.” +</p> +<p> +Forester once more endeavored, in broken, disjointed phrases, to express +his acknowledgment, and was in the very midst of a mass of contradictory +explanations, hopes, and wishes, when Linwood entered with, “The carriage +is ready, my Lord.” +</p> +<p> +The Knight heard the words with surprise, and as quickly remarked that the +young man was dressed in deep mourning. “I have been unwittingly +addressing you as Captain Forester,” said he, gravely; “I believe I should +have said—” +</p> +<p> +“Lord Wallincourt,” answered Forester, with a slight tremor in his voice; +“the death of my brother—” Here he hesitated, and at length was +silent. +</p> +<p> +The Knight, who read in his nervous manner and sickly appearance the signs +of broken health and spirits, resolved at once to sacrifice mere personal +feeling in a cause of kindness, and said: “I see, my Lord, you are +scarcely as strong as when I had the pleasure to meet you first, and I +doubt not that you require a little repose and quietness. Come along with +me then; and if even this cabin of ours be inhospitable enough not to +afford you a room, we 'll find something near us on the coast, and I have +no doubt we 'll set you on your legs again.” +</p> +<p> +“It is a favor I would have asked, if I dared,” said Forester, feebly. He +then added: “Indeed, sir, I will confess it, my journey had no other +object than to present myself to Lady Eleanor Darcy. Through the kindness +of my relative, Lord Castlereagh, I was enabled to send her some tidings +of yourself, of which my illness prevented my being the bearer, and I was +desirous of adding my own testimony, so far as it could go.” Here again he +faltered. +</p> +<p> +“Pray continue,” said the Knight, warmly; “I am never happier than when +grateful, and I see that I have reason for the feeling here.” +</p> +<p> +“I perceive, sir, you do not recognize me,” said the young man, +thoughtfully, while he fixed his deep, full eyes upon the Knight's +countenance. +</p> +<p> +Darcy stared at him in turn, and, passing his hand across his brow, looked +again. “There is some mystification here,” said he, quickly, “but I cannot +see through it.” +</p> +<p> +“Come, Colonel Darcy,” said Forester, with more animation than before. “I +see that you forget me-, but perhaps you remember this.” So saying, he +walked over to a table where a number of cloaks and travelling-gear were +lying, and taking up a pistol, placed it in Darcy's hand. “This you +certainly recognize?” +</p> +<p> +“It is my own!” exclaimed the Knight; “the fellow of it is yonder. I had +it with me the day we landed at Aboukir.” +</p> +<p> +“And gave it to me when a French dragoon had his sabre at my throat,” +continued Forester. +</p> +<p> +“And is it to your gallantry that I owe my life, my brave boy?” cried the +old man, as he threw his arm around him. +</p> +<p> +“Not one half so much as I owe my recovery to your kindness,” said +Forester. “Remember the wounded Volunteer you came to see on the march. +The surgeon you employed never left me till the very day I quitted the +camp; although I have had a struggle for life twice since then, I never +could have lived through the first attack but for his aid.” +</p> +<p> +“Is this all a dream,” said the Knight, as he leaned his head upon his +band, “or are these events real? Then you were the officer whose exchange +was managed, and of which I heard soon after the battle?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, I was exchanged under a cartel, and sailed for England the day +after. And you, sir,—tell me of your fate.” +</p> +<p> +“A slight wound and a somewhat tiresome imprisonment tells the whole +story,—the latter a good deal enlivened by seeing that our troops +were beating the French day after day, and the calculation that my durance +could scarcely last till winter. I proved right, for last month came the +capitulation, and here I am. But all these are topics for long evenings to +chat over. Come with me; you can't refuse me any longer. Lady Eleanor has +the right to speak <i>her</i> gratitude to you; I see you won't listen to +<i>mine</i>.” +</p> +<p> +The Knight seized the young man's arm, and led him along as he spoke. +“Nay,” said he, “there is another reason for it. If you suffered me to go +off alone, nothing would make me believe that what I have now heard was +not some strange trick of fancy. Here, with you beside me, feeling your +arm within my own, and hearing your voice, it is all that I can do to +believe it. Come, let me be convinced again. Where did you join us?” +</p> +<p> +Forester now went over the whole story of his late adventures, omitting +nothing from the moment he had joined the frigate at Portsmouth to the +last evening, when as a prisoner, he had sent for Darcy to speak to him +before he died. “I thought then,” said he, “I could scarcely have more +than an hour or two to live; but when you came and stood beside me, I was +not able to utter a word, I believe, at the time. It was rather a relief +to me than otherwise that you did not know me.” +</p> +<p> +“How strange is this all!” said the Knight, musing. “You have told me a +most singular story; only one point remains yet unelucidated. How came you +to volunteer,—you were in the Guards?” +</p> +<p> +“Yes,” said Forester, blushing and faltering; “I had quitted the Guards, +intending to leave the army, some short time previous; but—but—” +</p> +<p> +“The thought of active service brought you back again. Out with it, and +never be ashamed. I remember now having heard from an old friend of mine, +Miss Daly, how you had left the service; and, to say truth, I was sorry +for it,—sorry for <i>your</i> sake, but sorrier because it always +grieves me when men of gentle blood are not to be found where hard knocks +are going. None ever distinguish themselves with more honor, and it is a +pity that they should lose the occasion to show the world that birth and +blood inherit higher privileges than stars and titles.” +</p> +<p> +While the miles rolled over, they thus conversed; and as each became more +intimately acquainted and more nearly interested in the other, they drew +towards the journey's end. It was late on the following night when they +reached Port Ballintray; and as the darkness threatened more than once to +mislead them, the postilion halted at the door of a little cabin to +procure a light for his lamps. +</p> +<p> +While the travellers sat patiently awaiting the necessary preparation, a +voice from within the cottage struck Darcy's ear; he threw open the door +as he heard it, and sprang out, and rushing forward, the moment afterwards +pressed his wife and daughter in his arms. +</p> +<p> +Forester, who in a moment comprehended the discovery, hastened to withdraw +from a scene where his presence could only prove a constraint, and leaving +a message to say that he had gone to the little inn and would wait on the +Knight next morning, he hurried from the spot, his heart bursting with +many a conflicting emotion. +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0034"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXIV. HOME +</h2> +<p> +Perhaps in the course of a long and, till its very latter years, a most +prosperous life, the Knight of Gwynne had never known more real unbroken +happiness than now that he had laid his head beneath the lowly thatch of a +fisherman's cottage, and found a home beside the humble hearth where daily +toil had used to repose. It was not that he either felt, or assumed to +feel, indifferent to the great reverse of his fortune, and to the loss of +that station to which all his habits of life and thought had been +conformed. Nor had he the innate sense that his misfortunes had been +incurred without the culpability of, at least, neglect on his own part. +No; he neither deceived nor exonerated himself. His present happiness +sprang from discovering in those far dearer to him than himself powers of +patient submission, traits of affectionate forbearance, signs of a +hopeful, trusting spirit, that their trials were not sent without an aim +and object,—all gifts of heart and mind, higher, nobler, and better +than the palmiest days of prosperity had brought forth. +</p> +<p> +It was that short and fleeting season, the late autumn, a time in which +the climate of Northern Ireland makes a brief but brilliant amende for the +long dreary months of the year. The sea, at last calm and tranquil, rolled +its long waves upon the shore in measured sweep, waking the echoes in a +thousand caves, and resounding with hollow voice beneath the very cliffs. +The wild and fanciful outlines of the Skerry Islands were marked, sharp +and distinct, against the dark blue sky, and reflected not less so in the +unruffled water at their base. The White Rocks, as they are called, shone +with a lustre like dulled silver; and above them the ruined towers of old +Dunluce hung balanced over the sea, and even in decay seemed to defy +dissolution. +</p> +<p> +The most striking feature of the picture was, however, the myriad of small +boats, amounting in some instances to several hundreds, which filled the +little bay at sunset. These were the fishermen from Innisshowen, coming to +gather the seaweed on the western shore their eastern aspect denied them,—a +hardy and a daring race, who braved the terrible storms of that fearful +coast without a thought of fear. Here were they now, their little skiffs +crowded with every sail they could carry,—for it was a trial of +speed who should be first up after the turn of the ebb-tide,—their +taper masts bending and springing like whips, the white water curling at +the bows and rustling over the gunwales; while the fishermen themselves, +with long harpoon spears, contested for the prizes,—large masses of +floating weed, which not unfrequently were seized upon by three or four +rival parties at the same moment. +</p> +<p> +A more animated scene cannot be conceived than the bay thus presented: the +boats tacking and beating in every direction, crossing each other so +closely as to threaten collision,—sometimes, indeed, carrying off a +bowsprit or a rudder; while, from the restless motion of those on board, +the frail skiffs were at each instant endangered,—accidents that +occurred continually, but whose peril may be judged by the hearty cheers +and roars of laughter they excited. Here might be seen a wide-spreading +surface of tangled seaweed, vigorously towed in two different directions +by contending crews, whose exertions to secure it were accompanied by the +wildest shouts and cries. There a party were hauling in the prey, while +their comrades, with spars and spears, kept the enemy aloof; and here, on +the upturned keel of a capsized boat, were a dripping group, whose +heaviest penalty was the ridicule of their fellows. +</p> +<p> +Seated in front of the little cottage, the Darcys and Forester watched +this strange scene with all the interest its moving, stirring life could +excite; and while the ladies could enjoy the varying picture only for +itself, to the Knight and the youth it brought back the memory of a more +brilliant and a grander display, one to which heroism and danger had lent +the most exciting of all interests. +</p> +<p> +“I see,” said Darcy, as he watched his companion's countenance,—“I +see whither your thoughts are wandering. They are off to the old castle of +Aboukir, and the tall cliffs at Marmorica.” Forester slightly nodded an +assent, but never spoke, while the Knight resumed: “I told you it would +never do to give up the service. The very glance of your eye at yonder +picture tells me how the great original is before your miud. Come, a few +weeks more of rest and quiet, you will be yourself again. Then must you +present yourself before the gallant Duke, and ask for a restitution to +your old grade. There will be sharp work erelong. Buonaparte is not the +man to forgive Alexandria and Cairo. If I read you aright, you prefer such +a career to all the ambition of a political life.” +</p> +<p> +Forester was still silent; but his changing color told that the Knight's +words had affected him deeply, but whether as they were intended, it was +not so plain to see. The Knight went on: “I am not disposed to vain +regrets; but if I were to give way to such, it would be that I am not +young enough to enter upon the career I now see opening to our arms. Our +insular position seems to have moulded our destiny in great part; but, +rely on it, we are as much a nation of soldiers as of sailors.” Warming +with this theme, Darcy continued, while sketching out the possible turn of +events, to depict the noble path open to a young man who to natural +talents and acquirements added the high advantages of fortune, rank, and +family influence. +</p> +<p> +“I told you,” said he, smiling, “that I blamed you once unjustly, as it +happened, because, as a Guardsman, you did not seize the occasion to +exchange guard-mounting for the field; but now I shall be sorely grieved +if you suffer yourself to be withdrawn from a path that has already opened +so brightly, by any of the seductions of your station, or the fascinations +of mere fashion.” +</p> +<p> +“Are you certain,” said Lady Eleanor, speaking in a voice shaken by +agitation,—“are you certain, my dear, that these same counsels of +yours would be in strict accordance with the wishes of Lord Wallincourt's +friends, or is it not possible that <i>their</i> ambitions may point very +differently for his future?” +</p> +<p> +“I can but give the advice I would offer to Lionel,” said Darcy, “if my +son were placed in similarly fortunate circumstances. A year or two, at +least, of such training will be no bad discipline to a young man's mind, +and help to fit him to discuss those terms which, if I see aright, will be +rife in our assemblies for some years to come—” Darcy was about to +continue, when Tate advanced with a letter, whose address bespoke +Bicknell's hand. It was a long-expected communication, and, anxious to +peruse it carefully, the Knight arose, and making his excuses, re-entered +the cottage. +</p> +<p> +The party sat for some time in silence. Lady Eleanor's mind was in a state +of unusual conflict, since, for the first time in her life, had she +practised any concealment with her husband, having forborne to tell him of +Forester's former addresses to Helen. To this course she had been impelled +by various reasons, the most pressing among which were the evident change +in the young man's demeanor since he last appeared amongst them, and, +consequently, the possibility that he had outlived the passion he then +professed; and secondly, by observing that nothing in Helen betrayed the +slightest desire to encourage any renewal of those professions, or any +chagrin at the change in his conduct. As a mother and as a woman, she +hesitated to avow what should seem to represent her daughter as being +deserted, while she argued that if Helen were as indifferent as she really +seemed, there was no occasion whatever for the disclosure. Now, however, +that the Knight had spoken his counsels so strongly, the thought occurred +to her, that Forester might receive the advice in the light of a rejection +of his former proposal, and suppose that these suggestions were only +another mode of refusing his suit. Hence a struggle of doubt and +uncertainty arose within her, whether she should at once make everything +known to Darcy, or still keep silence, and leave events to their own +development. The former course seemed the most fitting; and entirely +forgetful of all else, she hastily arose, and followed her husband into +the cabin. +</p> +<p> +Forester was now alone with Helen, and for the first time since that +well-remembered night when he had offered his heart and been rejected. The +game of dissimulating feelings is almost easiest before a numerous +audience; it is rarely possible in a <i>tête-à-tête</i>. So Forester soon +felt; and although he made several efforts to induce a conversation, they +were all abrupt and disjointed, as were Helen's own replies to them. At +length came a pause; and what a thing is a pause at such a moment! The +long lingering seconds in which a duellist watches his adversary's pistol, +wavering over the region of his heart or brain, is less torturing than +such suspense. Forester arose twice, and again sat down, his face pale and +flushed alternately. At length, with a thick and rapid utterance, he said,— +</p> +<p> +“I have been thinking over the Knight's counsels,—dare I ask if they +have Miss Darcy's concurrence?” +</p> +<p> +“It would be a great, a very great presumption in me,” said Helen, +tremulously, “to offer an opinion on such a theme. I have neither the +knowledge to distinguish between the opposite careers, nor have I any +feeling for those sentiments which men alone understand in warfare.” +</p> +<p> +“Nor, perhaps,” added Forester, with a sudden irony, “sufficient interest +in the subject to give it a thought.” +</p> +<p> +Helen was silent; her slightly compressed lips and heightened color showed +that she was offended at the speech, but she made no reply. +</p> +<p> +“I crave your pardon, Miss Darcy,” said he, in a low, submissive accent, +that told how heartfelt it was. “I most humbly ask you to forgive my +rudeness. The very fact that I had no claim to that interest should have +protected you from such a speech. But see what comes of kindness to those +who are little used to it; they get soon spoiled, and forget themselves.” +</p> +<p> +“Lord Wall incourt will have to guard himself well against flattery, if +such humble attentions as ours disturb his judgment.” +</p> +<p> +“I will get out of the region of it,” said he, resolutely; “I will take +the Knight's advice. It is but a plunge, and all is over.” +</p> +<p> +“If I dare to say so, my Lord,” said Helen, archly, “this is scarcely the +spirit in which my father hoped his counsels would be accepted. His +chivalry on the score of a military life may be overstrained, but it has +no touch of that recklessness your Lordship seems to lend it.” +</p> +<p> +“And why should not this be the spirit in which I join the army?” said he, +passionately; “the career has not for me those fascinations which others +feel. Danger I like, for its stimulus, as other men like it; but I would +rather confront it when and where and how I please, than at the dictate of +a colonel and by the ritual of a despatch.” +</p> +<p> +“Rather be a letter of marque, in fact, than a ship-of-the-line,—more +credit to your Lordship's love of danger than discipline.” +</p> +<p> +Forester smiled, but not without anger, at the quiet persiflage of her +manner. It took him some seconds ere he could resume. +</p> +<p> +“I perceive,” said he, in a tone of deeper feeling, “that whatever my +resolves, to discuss them must be an impertinence, when they excite no +other emotion than ridicule—” +</p> +<p> +“Nay, my Lord,” interposed Helen, eagerly; “I beg you to forgive my +levity. Nothing was further from my thoughts than to hurt one to whom we +owe our deepest debt of gratitude. I can never forget you saved my +father's life; pray do not let me seem so base, to my heart, as to +undervalue this.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Miss Darcy,” said he, passionately, “it is I who need forgiveness,—I, +whose temper, rendered irritable by illness, suspect reproach and sarcasm +in every word of those who are kindest to me.” +</p> +<p> +“You are unjust to yourself,” said Helen, gently,—“unjust, because +you expect the same powers of mind and judgment that you enjoyed in +health. Think how much better you are than when you came here. Think what +a few days more may do. How changed—” +</p> +<p> +“Has Miss Darcy changed since last I met her?” asked he, in a tone that +sank into the very depth of her heart. +</p> +<p> +Helen tried to smile; but emotions of a sadder shade spread over her pale +features, as she said,— +</p> +<p> +“I hope so, my Lord; I trust that altered fortunes have not lost their +teaching. I fervently hope that sorrow and suffering have left something +behind them better than unavailing regrets and heart-repinings.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, believe me,” cried Forester, passionately, “it is not of this change +I would speak. I dared to ask with reference to another feeling.” +</p> +<p> +“Be it so,” said Helen, trembling, as if nerving herself for a strong and +long-looked-for effort,-“be it so, my Lord, and is not my answer wide +enough for both? Would not any change, short of a dishonorable one, make +the decision I once came to a thousand times more necessary now?” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, Helen, these are cold and cruel words. Will you tell me that my rank +and station are to be like a curse upon my happiness?” +</p> +<p> +“I spoke of <i>our</i> altered condition, my Lord. I spoke of the +impossibility of your Lordship recurring to a theme which the sight of +that thatched roof should have stifled. Nay, hear me out. It is not of <i>you</i> +or <i>your</i> motives that is here the question; it is of <i>me</i> and +<i>my</i> duties. They are there, my Lord,—they are with those whose +hearts have been twined round mine from infancy,—mine when the world +went well and proudly with us; doubly, trebly mine when affection can +replace fortune, and the sympathies' of the humblest home make up for all +the flatteries of the world. I have no reason to dwell longer on this to +one who knows those of whom I speak, and can value them too.” +</p> +<p> +“But is there no place in your heart, Helen, for other affections than +these; or is that place already occupied?” +</p> +<p> +“My Lord, you have borne my frankness so well, I must even submit to yours +with a good grace. Still, this is a question you have no right to ask, or +I to answer. I have told you that whatever doubt there might be as to <i>your</i> +road in life, <i>mine</i> offered no alternative. That ought surely to be +enough.” +</p> +<p> +“It shall be,” said Forester, with a low sigh, as, trembling in every +limb, he arose from the seat. “And yet, Helen,” said he, in a voice barely +above a whisper, “there might come a time when these duties, to which you +cling with such attachment, should be rendered less needful by altered +fortunes. I have heard that your father's prospects present more of hope +than heretofore, have I not? Think that if the Knight should be restored +to his own again, that then—” +</p> +<p> +“Nay,—it is scarcely worthy of your Lordship to exact a pledge which +is to hang upon a decision like this. A verdict may give back my father's +estate; it surely should not dispose of his daughter's hand?” +</p> +<p> +“I would exact nothing, Miss Darcy,” said Forester, stung by the tone of +this reply. “But I see you cannot feel for the difficulties which beset +him who has staked his all upon a cast. I asked, what might your feelings +be, were the circumstances which now surround you altered?” +</p> +<p> +Helen was silent for a second or two; and then, as if having collected all +her energy, she said: “I would that you had spared me—had spared +yourself—the pain I now must give us both; but to be silent longer +would be to encourage deception.” It was not till after another brief +interval that she could continue: “Soon after you left this, my Lord, you +wrote a letter to Miss Daly. This letter-I stop not now to ask with what +propriety towards either of us—she left in my hands. I read it +carefully; and if many of the sentiments it contained served to elevate +your character in my esteem, I saw enough to show me that your resolves +were scarcely less instigated by outraged pride than what you fancied to +be a tender feeling. This perhaps might have wounded me, had I felt +differently towards you. As it was, I thought it for the best; I deemed it +happier that your motives should be divided ones, even though you knew it +not. But as I read on, my Lord,—as I perused the account of your +interview with Lady Wallincourt,—then a new light broke suddenly +upon me; I found what, had I known more of life, should not have +surprised, but what in my ignorance did indeed astonish me, that my +father's station was regarded as one which could be alleged as a reason +against your feeling towards his daughter. Now, my Lord, <i>we</i> have +our pride too; and had your influence over me been all that ever you +wished it, I tell you freely that I never would permit my affection to be +gratified at the price of an insult to my father's house. If I were to say +that your sentiments towards me should not have suffered it, would it be +too much?” +</p> +<p> +“But, dearest Helen, remember that I am no longer dependent on my mother's +will,—remember that I stand in a position and a rank which only +needs you to share with me to make it all that my loftiest ambition ever +coveted.” +</p> +<p> +“These are, forgive me if I tell you, very selfish reasonings, my Lord. +They may apply to <i>you</i>; they hardly address themselves to <i>my</i> +position. The pride which could not stoop to ally itself with our house in +our days of prosperity, should not assuredly be wounded by suing us in our +humbler fortunes.” +</p> +<p> +“Your thoughts dwell on Lady Netherby, Miss Darcy,” said Forester, +irritably; “she is scarcely the person most to be considered here.” +</p> +<p> +“Enough for me, if I think so,” said Helen, haughtily. “The lady your +Lordship's condescension would place in the position of a mother should at +least be able to regard me with other feelings than those of compassionate +endurance. In a word, sir, it cannot be. To discuss the topic longer is +but to distress us both. Leave me to my gratitude to you, which is +unbounded. Let me dwell upon the many traits of noble heroism I can think +of in your character with enthusiasm, ay, and with pride,—pride that +one so high and so gifted should have ever thought of one so little worthy +of him. But do not weaken my principle by hoping that my affection can be +won at the cost of my self-esteem.” +</p> +<p> +Forester bowed with a deep, respectful reverence; and when he lifted up +his head, the sad expression of his features was that of one who had heard +an irrevocable doom pronounced upon his dearest, most cherished hopes. +Lady Eleanor at the same moment came forward from the door of the cottage, +so that he had barely time to utter a hasty good-bye ere she joined her +daughter. +</p> +<p> +“Your father wishes to see Lord Wallincourt, Helen. Has he gone?” But +before Helen could reply the Knight came up. +</p> +<p> +“I hope you have not forgotten to ask him to dinner, Eleanor?” said he. +“We did so yesterday, and he never made his appearance the whole evening.” +</p> +<p> +“Helen, did you?” But Helen was gone while they were speaking; so that +Darcy, to repair the omission, hastened after his young friend with all +the speed he could command. +</p> +<p> +“Have I found you?” cried Darcy, as, turning an angle of the rocky shore, +he came behind Forester, who, with folded arms and bent-down head, stood +like one sorrow-struck. “I just discovered that neither my wife nor my +daughter had asked you to stop to dinner; and as you are punctilious, +fully as much as they are forgetful, there was nothing for it but to run +after you.” +</p> +<p> +“You are too kind, my dear Knight,—but not to-day; I'm poorly,—a +headache.” +</p> +<p> +“Nay; a headache always means a mere excuse. Come back with me: you shall +be as stupid a <i>convive</i> as you wish, only be a good listener, for I +have got a great budget from my man of law, Mr. Bicknell, and am dying for +somebody to inflict it upon.” +</p> +<p> +“With the best grace he could muster,—which was still very far from +a good one,—Forester suffered himself to be led back to the cottage, +endeavoring, as he went, to feel or feign an interest in the intelligence +the Knight was full of. It seemed that Bicknell was very anxious not only +for the Knight's counsel on many points, but for his actual presence at +the trial. He appeared to think that Darcy being there, would be a great +check upon the line of conduct he was apprised O'Halloran would adopt. +There was already a very strong reaction in the West in favor of the old +gentry of the land, and it would be at least an evidence of willingness to +confront the enemy, were the Knight to be present. +</p> +<p> +“He tells me,” continued the Knight, “that Daly regretted deeply not +having attended the former trial,—why, he does not exactly explain, +but he uses the argument to press me now to do so.” +</p> +<p> +Forester might, perhaps, have enlightened him on this score, had he so +pleased, but he said nothing. +</p> +<p> +“Of course, I need not say, nothing like intimidation is meant by this +advice. The days for such are, thank God, gone by in Ireland; and it was, +besides, a game I never could have played at; but yet it might be what +many would expect of me, and at all events it can scarcely do harm. What +is your opinion?” +</p> +<p> +“I quite agree with Mr. Bicknell,” said Forester, hastily; “there is a +certain license these gentlemen of wig and gown enjoy, that is more +protected by the bench than either good morals or good manners warrant.” +</p> +<p> +“Nay, you are now making the very error I would guard against,” said +Darcy, laughing. “This legal sparring is rather good fun, even though they +do not always keep the gloves on. Now, will you come with me?” +</p> +<p> +“Of course; I should have asked your leave to do so, had you not invited +me.” +</p> +<p> +“You 'll hear the great O'Halloran, and I suspect that is as much as I +shall gain myself by this action. We have merely some points of law to go +upon; but, as I understand, nothing new or material in evidence to adduce. +You ask, then, why persist? I 'll own to you I cannot say; but there seems +the same punctilio in legal matters as in military; and it is a point of +honor to sustain the siege until the garrison have eaten their boots. I am +not so far from that contingency now, that I should be impatient; but +meanwhile I perceive the savor of something better, and here comes Tate to +say it is on the table.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0035"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXV. AN AWKWARD DINNER-PARTY +</h2> +<p> +When the reader is informed that Lady Eleanor had not found a fitting +moment to communicate to the Knight respecting Forester, nor had Helen +summoned courage to reveal the circumstances of their late interview, it +may be imagined that the dinner itself was as awkward a thing as need be. +It was, throughout, a game of cross purposes, in which Darcy alone was not +a player, and therefore more puzzled than the rest, at the constraint and +reserve of his companions, whose efforts at conversation were either mere +unmeaning commonplaces, or half-concealed retorts to inferred allusions. +</p> +<p> +However quick to perceive, Darcy was too well versed in the tactics of +society to seem conscious of this, and merely redoubled his efforts to +interest and amuse. Never had his entertaining qualities less of success. +He could scarcely obtain any acknowledgment from his hearers; and stores +of pleasantry, poured out in rich profusion, were listened to with a +coldness bordering upon apathy. +</p> +<p> +He tried to interest them by talking over the necessity of their speedy +removal to the capital, where, for the advantage of daily consultation, +Bicknell desired the Knight's presence. He spoke of the approaching +journey to the West, for the trial itself; he talked of Lionel, of Daly, +of their late campaigns; in fact, he touched on everything, hoping by some +passing gleam of interest to detect a clew to their secret thoughts. To no +avail. They listened with decorous attention, but no signs of eagerness or +pleasure marked their features; and when Forester rose to take his leave, +it was full an hour and a half before his usual time of going. +</p> +<p> +“Now for it, Eleanor,” said the Knight, as Helen soon after quitted the +room; “what's your secret, for all this mystery must mean something? Nay, +don't look so in-penetrable, my dear; you'll never persuade any man who +displayed all his agreeability to so little purpose, that his hearers had +not a hidden source of preoccupation to account for their indifference. +What is it, then?” +</p> +<p> +“I am really myself in the dark, without my conjectures have reason, and +that Lord Wallincourt may have renewed to Helen the proposal he once made +her, and with the same fortune.” +</p> +<p> +“Renewed—proposal!” +</p> +<p> +“Yes, my dear Darcy, it was a secret I had intended to have told you this +very day, and went for the very purpose of doing so, when I found you +engaged with Bicknell's letters and advices, and scrupled to break in upon +your occupied thoughts. Captain Forester did seek Helen's affections, and +was refused; and I now suspect Lord Wallincourt may have had a similar +reverse.” +</p> +<p> +“This last is, however, mere guess,” said Darcy. +</p> +<p> +“No more. Of the former Helen herself told me; she frankly acknowledged +that her affections were disengaged, but that he had not touched them. It +would seem that he was deeper in love than she gave him credit for. His +whole adventure as a Volunteer sprang out of this rejected suit, and +higher fortunes have not changed his purpose.” +</p> +<p> +“Then Helen did not care for him?” +</p> +<p> +“That she did not once, I am quite certain; that she does not now, is not +so sure. But I know that even if she were to do so, the disparity of +condition would be an insurmountable barrier to her assent.” +</p> +<p> +Darcy walked up and down with a troubled and anxious air, and at length +said,— +</p> +<p> +“Thus is it that the pride we teach our children, as the defence against +low motives and mean actions, displays its false and treacherous +principles; and all our flimsy philosophy is based less on the affections +of the human heart than on certain conventional usages we have invented +for our own enslavement. There is but one code of right and wrong, +Eleanor, and that one neither recognizes the artificial distinctions of +grade, nor makes a virtue of the self-denial; that is a mere offering to +worldly pride.” +</p> +<p> +“You would scarcely have our daughter accept an alliance with a house that +disdains our connection?” said Lady Eleanor, proudly. +</p> +<p> +“Not, certainly, when the consideration had been once brought before her +mind. It would then be but a compromise with principle. But why should she +have ever learned the lesson? Why need she have been taught to mingle +notions of worldly position and aggrandizement with the emotions of her +heart? It was enough—it should have been enough—that his rank +and position were nearly her own, not to trifle with feelings immeasurably +higher and holier than these distinctions suggest.” +</p> +<p> +“But the world, my dear Darcy; the world would say—” +</p> +<p> +“The world would say, Eleanor, that her refusal was perfectly right; and +if the world's judgments were purer, they might be a source of consolation +against the year-long bitterness of a sinking heart. Well, well!” said he, +with a sigh, “I would hope that her heart is free: go to her, Eleanor,—learn +the truth, and if there be the least germ of affection there, I will speak +to Wallincourt to-morrow, and tell him to leave us. These half-kindled +embers are the slow poison of many a noble nature, and need but daily +intercourse to make them deadly.” +</p> +<p> +While Lady Eleanor retired to communicate with her daughter, the Knight +paced the little chamber in moody reverie. As he passed and repassed +before the window, he suddenly perceived the shadow of a man's figure as +he stood beside a rock near the beach. Such an apparition was strange +enough to excite curiosity in a quiet, remote spot, where the few +inhabitants retired to rest at sunset. Darcy therefore opened the window, +and moved towards him; but ere he had gone many paces, he was addressed by +Forester's voice,—“I was about to pay you a visit, Knight, and only +waited till I saw you alone.” +</p> +<p> +“Let us stroll along the sands, then,” said Darcy; “the night is +delicious.” And so saying, he drew his arm within Forester's, and walked +along at his side. +</p> +<p> +“I have been thinking,” said Forester, in a low, sad accent,—“I have +been thinking over the advice you lately gave me; and although I own at +the time it scarcely chimed in with my own notions, now the more I reflect +upon it the more plausible does it seem. I have lived long enough out of +fashionable life to make the return to it anything but a pleasure; for +politics I have neither talent nor temper; and soldiering, if it does not +satisfy every condition of my ambition, offers more to my capacity and my +hopes than any other career.” +</p> +<p> +“I would that you were more enthusiastic in the cause,” said Darcy, who +was struck by the deep depression of his manner; “I would that I saw you +embrace the career more from a profound seuse of duty and devotion, than +as a 'pis aller.'” +</p> +<p> +“Such it is,” sighed Forester; and his arm trembled within Darcy's as he +spoke. “I own it frankly, save in actual conflict itself, I have no +military ardor in my nature. I accept the road in life, because one must +take some path.” +</p> +<p> +“Then, if this be so,” said Darcy, “I recall my counsels. I love the +service, and you also, too well to wish for such a <i>mésalliance</i>; no, +campaigning will never do with a spirit that is merely not averse. Return +to London, consult your relative, Lord Castlereagh,—I see you smile +at my recommendation of him, but I have learned to read his character very +differently from what I once did. I can see now, that however the tortuous +course of a difficult policy may have condemned him to stratagems wherein +he was an agent,—often an unwilling one,—that his nature is +eminently chivalrous and noble. His education and his prejudices have made +him less rash than we, in our nationality, like to pardon, but the honor +of the empire lies next his heart Political profligacy, like any other, +may be leniently dealt with while it is fashionable; but there are minds +that never permit themselves to be enslaved by fashion, when once they +have gained a consciousness of their own power: such is his. He is already +beyond it; and ere many years roll over, he will be equally beyond his +competitors too. And now to yourself. Let him be your guide. Once launched +in public life, its interests will soon make themselves felt, and you are +young enough to be plastic. I know that every man's early years, +particularly those who are the most favored by fortune, have their clouds +and dark shadows. You must not seek an exemption from the common lot; +remember how much you have to be grateful for; think of the advantages for +which others strive a life long, and never reach,-all yours, at the very +outset; and then, if there be some sore spots, some secret sorrows under +all, take my advice and keep them for your own heart. Confessions are +admirable things for old ladies, who like the petty martyrdom of small +sufferings, but men should be made of sterner stuff. There is a high pride +in bearing one's load alone; don't forget that.” +</p> +<p> +Forester felt that if the Knight had read his inmost feelings, his counsel +could not have been more directly addressed to his condition; he had, +indeed, a secret sorrow, and one which threw its gloom over all his +prosperity. He listened attentively to Darcy's reasonings, and followed +him, as in the full sincerity of his nature he opened up the history of +his own life, now commenting on the circumstances of good fortune, now +adverting to the mischances which had befallen him. Never had the genial +kindness of the old man appeared more amiable. The just judgments, the +high and honorable sentiments, not shaken by what he had seen of +ingratitude and wrong, but hopefully maintained and upheld, the singular +modesty of his character, were all charms that won more and more upon +Forester; and when, after a <i>tête-à-tête</i> prolonged till late in the +night, they parted, Forester's muttered ejaculation was, “Would that I +were his son!” +</p> +<p> +“It is as I guessed,” said Lady Eleanor, when the Knight re-entered the +chamber; “Helen has refused him. I could not press her on the reasons, nor +ask whether her heart approved all that her head determined. But she +seemed calm and tranquil; and if I were to pronounce from appearance, I +should say that the rejection has not cost her deeply.” +</p> +<p> +“How happy you have made me, Eleanor!” exclaimed Darcy, joyfully; “for +while, perhaps, there is nothing in this world I should like better than +to see such a man my son-in-law, there is no misery I would not prefer to +witnessing my child's affections engaged where any sense of duty or pride +rendered the engagement hopeless. Now, the case is this: Helen can afford +to be frank and sisterly towards the poor fellow, who really did love her, +and after a few days he leaves us.” +</p> +<p> +“I thought he would go to-morrow,” said Lady Eleanor, somewhat anxiously. +</p> +<p> +“No; I half hinted to him something of the kind, but he seemed bent on +accompanying me to the West, and really I did not know how to say nay.” +</p> +<p> +Lady Eleanor appeared not quite satisfied with an arrangement that +promised a continuation of restraint, if not of positive difficulty, but +made no remark about it, and turned the conversation on their approaching +removal to Dublin. +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0036"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXVI. AN UNEXPECTED PROPOSAL +</h2> +<p> +Our time is now brief with our reader, and we would not trespass on him +longer by dwelling on the mere details of those struggles to which Helen +and Forester were reduced by daily association and companionship. +</p> +<p> +One hears much of Platonism, and, occasionally, of those brother and +sisterly affections which are adopted to compensate for dearer and +tenderer ties. Do they ever really exist? Has the world ever presented one +single successful instance of the compact? We are far, very far, from +doubting that friendship, the truest and closest, can subsist between +individuals of opposite sex. We only hazard the conjecture that such +friendships must not spring out of “Unhappy Love.” They must not be built +out of the ruins of wrecked affection. No, no; when Cupid is bankrupt, +there is no use in attempting to patch up his affairs by any composition +with the creditors. +</p> +<p> +We are not quite so sure that this is exactly the illustration Forester +would have used to convey his sense of our proposition; but that he was +thoroughly of our opinion, there is no doubt. Whether Helen was one of the +same mind or not, she performed her task more easily and more gracefully. +We desire too sincerely to part with our fair readers on good terms, to +venture on the inquiry whether there is not more frankness and candor in +the character of men than women? There is certainly a greater difficulty +in the exercise of this quality in the gentler sex, from the many +restraints imposed by delicacy and womanly feeling; and the very habit of +keeping within this artificial barrier of reserve gives an ease and +tranquillity to female manner under circumstances where men would expose +their troubled and warring emotions. So much, perhaps, for the reason that +Miss Darcy displayed an equanimity of temper very different from the +miserable Forester, and exerted powers of pleasing and fascination which, +to him at least, had the singular effect of producing even more suffering +than enjoyment. The intimacy hitherto subsisting between them was rather +increased than otherwise. It seemed as if their relations to each other +had been fixed by a treaty, and now that transgression or change was +impossible. If this was slavery in its worst form to Forester, to Helen it +was liberty unbounded. No longer restrained by any fear of misconception, +absolved, in her own heart, of any designs upon his, she scrupled not to +display her capacity for thinking and reflecting with all the openness she +would have done to her brother Lionel; while, to relieve the deep +melancholy that preyed upon him, she exerted herself by a thousand little +stratagems of caprice or fancy, that, however successful at the time, were +sure to increase his gloom when he quitted her presence. Such, then, with +its varying vicissitudes of pleasure and pain, was the condition of their +mutual feeling for the remainder of their stay on the northern coast Many +a time had Forester resolved on leaving her forever, rather than +perpetuate the lingering torture of an affection that increased with every +hour; but the effort was more than his strength could compass, and he +yielded, as it were, to a fate, until at last her companionship had become +the whole aim and object of his existence. +</p> +<p> +As winter closed in, they removed to Dublin, and established themselves +temporarily in an old-fashioned family hotel, selected by Bicknell, in a +quiet, unpretending street. Neither their means nor inclination would have +prompted them to select a more fashionable resting-place, while the object +of strict seclusion was here secured. The ponderous gloom of the staid old +house, where, from the heavy sideboard of almost black mahogany to the +wrinkled visage of the grim waiter, all seemed of a bygone century, were +rather made matters of mutual pleasantry among the party than sources of +dissatisfaction; while the Knight assured them that this was in his +younger days the noisy resort of the gay and fashionable of the capital. +</p> +<p> +“Indeed,” added he, “I am not quite sure that this is not where the +'Townsends,' as the club was then called, used to meet in Swift's time. +Bicknell will tell us all about it, for he's coming to dine with us.” +</p> +<p> +Forester was the first to appear in the drawing-room before dinner. It is +possible that he hurried his toilet in the hope of speaking a few words to +Helen, who not un-frequently came down before her mother. If so, he was +doomed to disappointment, as the room was empty when he entered; and there +was nothing for it but to wait, impatiently indeed, and starting at every +footstep on the stairs and every door that shut or opened. +</p> +<p> +At last he heard the sound of approaching steps, softened by the deep old +carpet. They came,—he listened,—the door opened, and the +waiter announced a name, what and whose Forester paid no attention to, in +his annoyance that it was not hers he expected. The stranger-a very plump, +joyous little personage in deep black—did not appear quite unknown +to Forester; but as the recognition interested him very little, he merely +returned a formal bow to the other's more cordial salute, and turned to +the window where he was standing. +</p> +<p> +“The Knight, I believe, is dressing?” said the new arrival, advancing +towards Forester. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; but I have no doubt he will be down in a few moments.” +</p> +<p> +“Time enough,—no hurry in life. They told me below stairs that you +were here, and so I came up at once. I thought that I might introduce +myself. Paul Dempsey,—Dempsey's Grove. You've heard of me before, +eh?” +</p> +<p> +“I have had that pleasure,” said Forester, with more animation of manner; +for now he remembered the face and figure of the worthy Paul, as he had +seen both in the large mirror of his mother's drawing-room. +</p> +<p> +“Ha! I guessed as much,” rejoined Paul, with a chuckling laugh; “the +ladies are here, too, ain't they?” +</p> +<p> +Forester assented, and Paul went on. +</p> +<p> +“Only heard of it from Bicknell half an hour ago. Took a car, and came off +at once. And when did <i>you</i> come?” +</p> +<p> +Forester stared with amazement at a question whose precise meaning he +could not guess at, and to which he could only reply by a half-smile, +expressive of his difficulty. +</p> +<p> +“You were away, weren't you?” asked Dempsey. +</p> +<p> +“Yes; I have been out of England,” replied Forester, more than ever +puzzled how this fact could or ought to have any interest for the other. +</p> +<p> +“Never be ashamed of it. Soldiering 's very well in its way, though I 'd +never any taste for it myself,—none of that martial spirit that +stirred the bumpkin as he sang,— +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Perhaps a recruit +Might chance to shoot +Great General Buonaparte. +</pre> +<p> +Well, well! it seems you soon got tired of glory, of which, from all I +hear, a little goes very far with any man's stomach; and no wonder. Except +a French bayonet, there 's nothing more indigestible than commissary +bread.” +</p> +<p> +“The service is not without some hardships,” said Forester, blandly, and +preferring to shelter himself under generality than invite further +inquisitiveness. +</p> +<p> +“Cruelties you might call them,” rejoined Dempsey, with energy. “The +frightful stories we read in the papers!—and I suppose they are all +true. Were you ever touched up a bit yourself?” This Paul said in his most +insinuating manner; and as Forester's stare showed a total ignorance of +his meaning, he added, “A little four-and-twenty, I mean,” mimicking, as +he spoke, the action of flogging. +</p> +<p> +“Sir!” exclaimed Forester, with an energy almost ferocious; and Dempsey +made a spring backwards, and intrenched himself behind a sofa-table. +</p> +<p> +“Blood alive!” he exclaimed, “don't be angry. I wouldn't offend you for +the world; but I thought—” +</p> +<p> +“Never mind, sir,-your apology is quite sufficient,” said Forester, who +had no small difficulty to repress laughing at the terrified face before +him. “I am quite convinced there was no intention to give offence.” +</p> +<p> +“Spoke like a man,” said Dempsey, coming out from his ambush with an +outstretched hand; and Forester, not usually very unbending in such cases, +could not help accepting the salutation so heartily proffered. +</p> +<p> +“Ah, my excellent friend, Mr. Dempsey!” said the Knight, entering at the +same moment, and gayly tapping him on the shoulder. “A man I have long +wished to see, and thank for many kind offices in my absence.—I 'm +glad to see you are acquainted with Mr. Dempsey.—Well, and how fares +the world with you?” +</p> +<p> +“Better, rather better, Knight,” said Paul, who had scarcely recovered the +fright Forester had given him. “You've heard that old Bob's off? Didn't go +till he could n't help it, though; and now your humble servant is the head +of the house.” +</p> +<p> +While the Knight expressed his warm congratulations, Lady Eleanor and +Helen came in; and by their united invitation Paul was persuaded to remain +for dinner,—an event which, it must be owned, Forester could not +possibly comprehend. +</p> +<p> +Bicknell's arrival soon after completed the party, which, however +discordant in some respects, soon exhibited signs of perfect accordance +and mutual satisfaction. Mr. Dempsey's presence having banished all +business topics for discussion, he was permitted to launch out into his +own favorite themes, not the least amusing feature of which was the +perfect amazement of Forester at the man and his intimacy. +</p> +<p> +As the ladies withdrew to the drawing-room, Paul became more moody and +thoughtful, now and then interchanging glances with Bicknell, and seeming +as if on the verge of something, and yet half doubting how to approach it. +Two or three hastily swallowed bumpers, and a look, which he believed of +encouragement, from Bicknell, at length rallied Mr. Dempsey, and after a +slight hesitation, he said,— +</p> +<p> +“I believe, Knight, we are all friends here; it is, strictly speaking, a +cabinet council?” +</p> +<p> +If Darcy did not fathom the meaning of the speech, he had that knowledge +of the speaker which made his assent to it almost a matter of course. +</p> +<p> +“That's what I thought,” resumed Paul; “and it is a moment I have been +anxiously looking for. Has our friend here said anything?” added he, with +a gesture towards Bicknell. +</p> +<p> +“I, sir? I said nothing, I protest!” exclaimed the man of law, with an air +of deprecation. “I told you, Mr. Dempsey, that I would inform the Knight +of the generous proposition you made about the loan; but, till the present +moment, I have not had the opportunity.” +</p> +<p> +“Pooh, pooh! a mere trifle,” interrupted Paul. “It is not of that I was +thinking: it is of a very different subject I would speak. Has Lady +Eleanor or Miss Darcy—has she told you nothing of me?” said he, +addressing the Knight. +</p> +<p> +“Indeed they have, Mr. Dempsey, both spoken of you repeatedly, and always +in the same terms of grateful remembrance.” +</p> +<p> +“It isn't that, either,” said Paul, with a half-sigh of disappointment. +</p> +<p> +“You are unjust to yourself, Mr. Dempsey,” said Darcy, good-humoredly, “to +rest a claim to our gratitude on any single instance of kindness; trust me +that we recognize the whole debt.” +</p> +<p> +“But it's not that,” rejoined Paul, with a shake of the head. “Lord bless +us! how close women are about these things,” muttered he to himself. +“There is nothing for it but candor, I suppose, eh?” +</p> +<p> +This being put in the form of a direct question, and the Knight having as +freely assented, Paul resumed,—“Well, here it is. Being now at the +head of an ancient name, and very pretty independence,—Bicknell has +seen the papers,—I have been thinking of that next step a man takes +who would wish to—wish to-hand down a little race of Dempseys. You +understand?” Darcy smiled approvingly, and Paul continued: “And as +conformity of temper, taste, and habits are the surest pledges of such +felicity, I have set the eyes of my affections upon—Miss Darcy.” +</p> +<p> +So little prepared was the Knight for what was coming, that up to that +moment he had been listening with a smile of easy enjoyment; but when the +last word was spoken, he started as if he had been stung by a reptile, nor +could all his habitual self-control master the momentary flush of +irritation that covered his face. +</p> +<p> +“I know,” said Paul, with a dim consciousness that his proposition was but +half acceptable, “that we are not exactly, so to say, the same rank and +class; but the Dempseys are looking up, and—” +</p> +<p> +“'The Darcys looking down,' you would add,” said the Knight, with a gleam +of his habitual humor in his eye. +</p> +<p> +“And, like the buckets in a well, the full and empty ones meet half-way,” +added Dempsey, laughing. “I know well, as I said before, we are not the +same kind of people, and perhaps this would have deterred me from +indulging any thoughts on the subject, but for a chance, a bit of an +accident, as a body may call it, that gave me courage.” +</p> +<p> +“This is the very temple of candor, Mr. Dempsey,” said the Knight, +smiling. “Pray proceed, and let us hear the source of your encouragement; +what was it?” +</p> +<p> +“Say, who was it, rather,” interposed Paul. +</p> +<p> +“Be it so, then. Who was it? You have only made my curiosity stronger.” +</p> +<p> +“Lady Eleanor,—ay, and Miss Helen herself.” +</p> +<p> +A start of anger and a half-spoken exclamation were as quickly interrupted +by a fit of laughing; and the Knight leaned back in his chair, and shook +with the emotion. +</p> +<p> +“You doubt it; you think it absurd,” said Dempsey, himself laughing, and +not exhibiting the slightest irritation. “What if they say it's true,—will +that content you?” +</p> +<p> +“I'm afraid it would not,” said Darcy, equivocally; “there's nothing less +likely to do so. Still, I assure you, Mr. Dempsey, if the ladies are of +the mind you attribute to them, I shall find it very difficult to +disbelieve anything I ever hear hereafter.” +</p> +<p> +“I'm satisfied to stand or fall by their verdict,” said Paul, resolutely. +“I'm not a fool, exactly; and do you think if I had not something stronger +than mere suspicion to guide me, that I'd have gone that same journey to +London? Oh, I forgot—I did not tell you about my going to Lord +Netherby.” +</p> +<p> +“You went to Lord Netherby, and on this subject?” said Darcy, whose face +became suffused with shame, an emotion doubly painful from Forester's +presence. +</p> +<p> +“That I did,” rejoined the unabashed Paul, “and a long conversation we had +over the matter. He introduced me to his wife too. Lord bless us, but that +is a bit of pride!” +</p> +<p> +“You are aware that the lady is Lord Wallincourt's mother,” interposed +Darcy, sternly. +</p> +<p> +“Faith, so that she is n't mine,” said the inexorable Paul, “I don't care! +There she was, lying in state, with a greyhound with silver bells on his +neck at her feet; and when I came into the room, she lifts up her head and +gives me a look, as much as to say, 'Oh, that's him.'—'Mr. Dempsey, +of Dempsey's Hole,'—for hole he would call it, in spite of me,—'Mr. +Dempsey, my love,' said my Lord, bowing as ceremoniously as if he never +saw her before; and so, taking the hint, I began a little course of +salutations, when she called out, 'Tell him not to do that, Netherby,—tell +him not to do that-'” +</p> +<p> +This was too much for Mr. Dempsey's hearers, who, however differently +minded as to the narrative, now concurred in one outbreak of hearty +laughter. +</p> +<p> +“Well, my Lord,” said Darcy, turning to Forester, “you certainly have +shown evidence of a most enviable good temper. Had your Lordship—” +</p> +<p> +“His Lordship!” exclaimed Paul, in amazement. “Is n't that your son,—Captain +Darcy?” +</p> +<p> +“No, indeed, Mr. Dempsey,” said the Knight; “I thought, as I came into the +drawing-room, that you were acquainted, or I should have presented you to +the Earl of Wallincourt.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh, ain't I in for it now!” cried Paul, in an accent of grief most +ludicrously natural. “Oh! by the powers, I 'm up to the knees in trouble! +And that was your mother! oh dear! oh dear!” +</p> +<p> +“You see, my worthy friend,” said Darcy, smiling, “how easy a thing +deception is. Is it not possible that your misconceptions do not end +here?” +</p> +<p> +“I 'll never get over it, I know I'll not!” exclaimed Paul, wringing his +hands as he arose from the table. “Bad luck to it for grandeur!” muttered +he between his teeth; “I never had a minute's happiness since I got the +taste for it.” And with this honest avowal he rushed out of the room. +</p> +<p> +It was some time before the party in the dining-room adjourned upstairs; +but when they did, they found Mr. Dempsey seated at the fire, recounting +to the ladies his late unhappy discomfiture,—a narrative which even +Lady Eleanor's gravity was not enabled to withstand. A kind audience was +always a boon of the first water to honest Paul; and very little pressing +was needed to induce him to continue his revelations, for the Knight +wisely felt that such pretensions as his could not be buried so +satisfactorily as beneath the load of ridicule. +</p> +<p> +Mr. Dempsey's scruples soon vanished and thawed under the warmth of +encouraging voices and smiles, and he began the narrative of his night at +“The Corvy,” his painful durance in the canoe, his escape, the burning of +the law papers, and each step of his progress to the very moment that he +stood a listener at Lady Eleanor's door. Then he halted abruptly and said, +“Now I'm dumb! racks and thumbscrews wouldn't get more out of me.” +</p> +<p> +“You cannot mean, sir,” said Lady Eleanor, calmly but haughtily, “that you +overheard the conversation that passed between my daughter and myself?” +</p> +<p> +“Every word of it!” replied Paul, bluntly. +</p> +<p> +“Oh, really, sir, I can scarcely compliment you on the spirit of your +curiosity; for although the theme we talked on, if I remember aright, was +the speedy necessity of removing,—the urgency of seeking some place +of refuge—” +</p> +<p> +“If I had n't heard which, I could not have assisted you in your +departure,” rejoined the unabashed Paul: “the old Loyola maxim, 'Evil, +that Good may come of it.'” +</p> +<p> +Helen sat pale and terrified all this time; for although Lady Eleanor had +forgotten the discussion of any other topic on that night save that of +their legal difficulties, she well remembered a theme nearer and dearer to +her heart. Whether from the distress of these thoughts, or in the hope of +propitiating Mr. Dempsey to silence, so it was, she fixed her eyes upon +him with an expression Paul thought he could read, and he gave a look of +such conscious intelligence in return as brought the blush to her cheek. +“I 'm not going to say one word about it,” said he, in a stage whisper +that even the Knight himself overheard. +</p> +<p> +“Then I must myself insist upon Mr. Dempsey's revelations,” said Darcy, +not at all satisfied with the air of mystery Dempsey threw around his +intercourse. +</p> +<p> +Another look from Helen here met Paul's, and he stood uncertain how to +act. +</p> +<p> +“Really, sir,” said Lady Eleanor, “however little the subject we discussed +was intended for other ears than our own, I must beg of you now to repeat +what you remember of it.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, what can I do?” exclaimed Paul, looking at Helen with an expression +of the most helpless misery; “I know you are angry, and I know that when +you like it, you can blaze up like a Congreve rocket. Oh, faith! I don't +forget the day I showed you the newspaper about the English officer +thrashing O'Halloran!” +</p> +<p> +Helen grew scarlet, and turned away, but not before Forester had caught +her eyes, and read in them more of hope than his heart had known for many +a day before. +</p> +<p> +“These are more mysteries, Mr. Dempsey; and if you continue to scatter +riddles as you go, we shall never get to the end of this affair.” +</p> +<p> +“Perhaps,” interposed Bicknell, hoping to close the unpleasant discussion,—“perhaps +Mr. Dempsey, feeling that he had personally no interest in the +conversation between Lady Eleanor and Miss Darcy—” +</p> +<p> +“Had n't he, then?” exclaimed Paul,—“maybe not. If I hadn't, then, +who had?—tell me that. Wasn't it then and there I first heard of the +kind intentions towards me?” +</p> +<p> +“Towards you, sir! Of what are you speaking?” +</p> +<p> +“Blood alive! will you tell me that I 'm not Paul Dempsey, of Dempsey's +Grove?” exclaimed he, driven beyond all patience by what he deemed +equivocation. “Will you tell me that your Ladyship didn't allude to the +day I brought the letter from Coleraine, and say that you actually began +to like me from that hour? Did n't you tell Miss Helen not to lie +down-hearted, because there were better days in store for us? Miss Darcy +remembers it, I see,—ay, and your Ladyship does now. Did n't you +call me rash and headstrong and ambitious? I forgive it all; I believe it +is true. And was n't I your bond-slave from that hour? Oh, mercy on me! +the pleasant time I had of it at Mother Fum's! Then came the days and +nights I was watching over you at Ballintray. Ay, faith, and money was +very scarce with me when I gave old Denny Nolan five shillings for the +loan of his nankeen jacket to perform the part of waiter at the little +inn. Do you remember a little note, in the shape of a friendly warning? +Eh, now, my Lady, I think your memory is something fresher.” +</p> +<p> +If the confusion of Lady Eleanor and her daughter was extreme at this +outpouring of Mr. Dempsey's confessions, the amazement of Darcy and the +utter stupefaction of Forester were even greater; to throw discredit upon +him would be to acknowledge the real bearing of the circumstances, which +would be far worse than all his imputations; so there was no alternative +but to lie under every suspicion his narrative might suggest. +</p> +<p> +Forester felt annoyed as much that such a person should have obtained this +assumed intimacy as by the pretensions he well knew were only absurd, and +took an early leave under the pretence of fatigue. Bicknell soon followed; +and now the Knight, arresting Dempsey's preparations for departure, led +him back towards the fire, and placing a chair for him between Lady +Eleanor and himself, obliged him to recount his scattered reminiscences +once more, and, what was a far less pleasing duty to him, to listen to +Lady Eleanor while she circumstantially unravelled the web of his +delusion, and, in order, explained on what unsubstantial grounds he had +built the edifice of his hope. Perhaps honest Paul was not more afflicted +at any portion of the disentanglement than that which, in disavowing his +pretensions, yet confessed that some other held the favorable place, while +that other's name was guarded as a secret. This was, indeed, a sore blow, +and he could n't rally from it; and willingly would he have bartered all +the gratitude they expressed for his many friendly offices to know his +rival's name. +</p> +<p> +“Well,” exclaimed he, as Lady Eleanor concluded, “it's clear I was n't the +man. Only think of my precious journey to London, and the interview with +that terrible old Countess,—all for nothing! No matter,—it's +all past and over. As for the loan, I 've arranged it all; you shall have +the money when you like.” +</p> +<p> +“I must decline your generous offer, not without feeling your debtor for +it; but I have determined to abandon these proceedings. The Government +have promised me some staff appointment, quite sufficient for my wishes +and wants; and I will neither burden my friends nor wear out myself by +tiresome litigation.” +</p> +<p> +<a name="image-0018" id="image-0018"> +<!-- IMG --></a> <img src="images/435.jpg" height="597" width="739" alt="435 " /> +</p> +<p> +“That's the worst of all,” exclaimed Dempsey; “I thought you would not +refuse me this.” +</p> +<p> +“Nor would I, my dear Dempsey, but that I have no occasion for the sum. +To-morrow I set out to witness the last suit I shall ever engage in; and +as I believe there is little doubt of the issue, I have nothing of +sanguine feeling to suffer by disappointment.” +</p> +<p> +“Well, then, to-morrow I 'll start for Dempsey's Grove,” said Paul, +sorrowfully. “With very different expectations I quitted it a few days +ago. Good-bye, Lady Eleanor; good-bye, Miss Helen. I suppose there 's no +use in guessing?” +</p> +<p> +Mr. Dempsey's leave-taking was far more rueful than his wont, and woe +seemed to have absorbed all other feeling; but when he reached the door, +he turned round and said,— +</p> +<p> +“Now I am going,—never like to see him again; do tell me the name.” +</p> +<p> +A shake of the head, and a merry burst of laughter, was all the answer; +and Paul departed. +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0037"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXVII. THE LAST STRUGGLE +</h2> +<p> +That the age of chivalry is gone, we are reminded some twenty times in +each day of our commonplace existence, Perhaps the changed tone of society +exhibits nowhere a more practical but less picturesque advantage than in +the fact that the “joust” of ancient times is now replaced by the combat +of the law court. Some may regret—we will not say if we are not of +the number—that the wigged Baron of the Exchequer is scarcely so +pleasing an arbiter as the Queen of Love and Beauty. Others may deem the +knotted subtleties of black-letter a sorry recompense for the “wild crash +and tumult of the fray.” The crier of the Common Pleas would figure to +little advantage beside the gorgeously clad Herald of the Lists; nor are +the artificial distinctions of service so imposing that a patent of +precedency could vie with the white cross on the shield of a Crusader. +Still, there are certain counterbalancing interests to be considered; and +it is possible that the veriest décrier of the law's uncertainty “would +rather stake life and fortune on the issue of a 'trial of law,' than on +the thews and sinews of the doughtiest champion that ever figured in an +'ordeal of battle.'” +</p> +<p> +In one respect there is a strong similarity between the two institutions. +Each, in its separate age, possessed the same sway and influence over +men's minds, investing with the deepest interest events of which they were +hitherto ignorant, and enlisting partisans of opinion in cases where, +individually, there was nothing at stake. +</p> +<p> +An important trial has all the high interest of a most exciting narrative, +whose catastrophe is yet to come, and where so many influential agencies +are in operation to mould it. The proofs themselves, the veracity of +witnesses, their self-possession and courage under the racking torture of +cross-examination, the ability and skill of the advocate, the temper of +the judge, his character of rashness or patience, of doubt or +decisiveness; and then, more vague than all besides, the verdict of twelve +perhaps rightly minded but as certainly very ordinarily endowed men, on +questions sometimes of the greatest subtlety and obscurity. The sum of +such conflicting currents makes up a “cross sea,” where everything is +possible, from the favoring tide that leads to safety, to the swell and +storm of utter shipwreck. +</p> +<p> +At the winter assizes of Galway, in the year 1802, all the deep sympathies +of a law-loving population were destined to be most heartily engaged by +the record of Darcy <i>versus</i> Hickman, now removed by a change of <i>venue</i> +for trial to that city. It needed not the unusual compliment of Galway +being selected as a likely spot for the due administration of justice, to +make the plaintiff somewhat popular on this occasion. The reaction which +for some time back had taken place in favor of the “real gentry” had gone +on gaining in strength, so that public opinion was already inclining to +the side of those who had earned a sort of prescriptive right to public +confidence. The claptraps of patriotism, associated as they were often +found to be with cruel treatment of tenants and dependants, were +contrasted with the independent bearing of men who, rejecting dictation +and spurning mob popularity, devoted the best energies of mind and fortune +to the interests of all belonging to them. All the vindictiveness and +rancor of a party press could not obliterate these traits, and character +sufficed to put down calumny. +</p> +<p> +Hickman O'Reilly, accompanied by the old doctor, had arrived in Galway the +evening before the trial, in all the pomp of a splendid +travelling-carriage, drawn by four posters. The whole of “Nolan's” Head +Inn had been already engaged for them and their party, who formed a +tolerably numerous suite of lawyers, solicitors, and clerks, together with +some private friends, curious to witness the proceedings. +</p> +<p> +In a very quiet but comfortable old inn called the “Devil and the Bag of +Nails,”—a corruption of the ancient Satyr and the Bacchanals,—Mr. +Bicknell had pitched his camp, having taken rooms for the Knight and +Forester, who were to arrive soon after him, but whose presence in Ireland +was not even suspected by the enemy. +</p> +<p> +There was a third individual who repaired to the West on this occasion, +but who studiously screened himself from observation, waiting patiently +for the issue of the combat to see on which side he should carry his +congratulation: need we say his name was Con Heffernan? +</p> +<p> +Bicknell had heard of certain threats of the opposite party, which, while +he did not communicate them to Darcy, were sufficient to give him deep +uneasiness, as they went so far as to menace a very severe reprisal for +these continued proceedings by a criminal action against Lionel Darcy. Of +what nature, and on what grounds sustained, he knew not; but he was given +to understand that if his principal would even now submit to some final +adjustment out of court, the Hickmans would treat liberally with him, and, +while abandoning these threatened proceedings against young Darcy, show +Bicknell all the grounds for such a procedure. +</p> +<p> +It was past midnight when Darcy and Forester arrived; but before the +Knight retired to rest he had learned all Bicknell's doubts and scruples, +and unhesitatingly decided on proceeding with his suit. He felt that a +compromise would now involve the honor of his son, of which he had not the +slightest dread of any investigation; and, however small the prospect of +success, the trial must take place to evidence his utter disregard, his +open defiance of this menace. +</p> +<p> +Morning came; and long before the judges took their seat, the court was +crowded in every part. The town was thronged with the equipages of the +neighboring gentry, all eager to witness the trial; while the country +people, always desirous of an exciting scene, thronged every avenue and +passage of the building, and even the wide area in front of it. Nothing +short of that passion for law and its interests, so inherent in an Irish +heart, could have held that vast multitude thus enchained; for the day was +one of terrific storm, the rain beating, the wind howling, and the sea +roaring as it swept into the bay and broke in showers of foam upon the +rocky shore. Each moment ran the rumor of some new disaster in the town,—now +it was a chimney fallen, now a roof blown in, now an entire house, with +all its inmates destroyed; fires, too, the invariable accompaniment of +hurricane, had broken out in various quarters, and cries for help and +screams of wretchedness were mingled with the wilder uproar of the +elements. Yet of that dense mob, few if any quitted their places for these +sights and sounds of woe. The whole interest lay within that sombre +building, and on the issue of an event of whose particulars they knew +absolutely nothing, and the details of which it was impossible they could +follow did they even hear them. +</p> +<p> +The ordinary precursors to the interest of these scenes are the chance +appearances of those who are to figure prominently in them; and such, +indeed, attracted far more of attention on this occasion than all the +startling accidents by fire and storm then happening on every side. Each +lawyer of celebrity on the circuit was speedily recognized, and greeted by +tokens of welcome or expressions of disfavor, as politics or party +inclined. The attorneys were treated with even greater familiarity, +themselves not disdaining to exchange a repartee as they passed, in which +combats, be it said, they were not always the victors. At last came old +Dr. Hickman, feebly crawling along, leaning one arm on his son's, and the +other on the stalwart support of Counsellor O'Halloran. The already begun +cheer for the popular “Counsellor” was checked by the arrival of the +sheriff, preceding and making way for the judges, whose presence ever +imposed a respectful demeanor. The buzz and hum of voices, subdued for a +moment, had again resumed its sway, when once more the police exerted +themselves to make a passage through the throng, calling out, “Make way +for the Attorney-General!” and a jovial, burly personage, with a face +redolent of convivial humor and rough merriment, came up, rather dragging +than linked with the thin, slight figure of Bicknell, who with unwonted +eagerness was whispering something in his ear. +</p> +<p> +“I'll do it with pleasure, Bicknell,” rejoined the full, mellow voice, +loud enough to be heard by those on either side; “I know the sheriff very +well, and he will take care to let him have a seat on the bench. What's +the name?” +</p> +<p> +“The Earl of Wallincourt,” whispered Bicknell, a little louder. +</p> +<p> +“That's enough; I'll not forget it” So saying, he released his grasp of +the little man, and pursued his vigorous course. In a few moments after, +Bicknell was seen accompanied by Forester alone; “the Knight” having +determined not to present himself till towards the close of the +proceedings, if even then. +</p> +<p> +The buzz and din incident to a tumultuous assembly had just subsided to +the decorous quietude of a Court of Justice, by the judges entering and +taking their seats, when, after a few words interchanged between the +Attorney-General and the sheriff, the latter courteously addressed Lord +Wallincourt, and made way for him to ascend the steps leading to the +bench. The incident was in itself too slight and unimportant for mention, +save that it speedily attracted the attention of O'Halloran, whose quick +glance at once recognized his ancient enemy. So sudden was the shock, and +so poignant did it seem, that he actually desisted from the occupation he +was engaged in of turning over his brief, and sat down pale and trembling +with passion. +</p> +<p> +“You are not ill?” asked O'Reilly, eagerly, for he had not remarked the +incident. +</p> +<p> +“Not ill,” rejoined O'Halloran, in a low, deep whisper; “but do you see +who is sitting next Judge Wallace, on the left of the bench?” +</p> +<p> +“Forester, I really believe,” exclaimed O'Reilly; for so separated were +the two “United” countries at that period that his accession to rank and +title was a circumstance of which neither O'Reilly nor his lawyer had ever +heard. +</p> +<p> +“We 'll change the <i>venue</i> for him, too, before the day is over,” +said O'Halloran, with a savage leer. “Do not let him see that we notice +him.” +</p> +<p> +While these brief words were interchanged, the business of the court was +opened, and, some routine matters over, the record of Darcy <i>versus</i> +Hickman called on. After this, the names of the special jury list were +recited, and the invariable scene of dispute and wrangling incident to +their choice followed. In law, as in war, the combat opens by a skirmish; +a single cannon-shot, or a leading question, if thrown out, is meant +rather to ascertain “the range” than with any positive intention of +damage; but gradually the light troops fall back, forces concentrate, and +a mighty movement is made. In the present instance the preliminaries were +unusually long, the plaintiff's counsel not only stating all the grounds +of the present suit, but recapitulating, with painful accuracy, the +reasons for the change of <i>venue</i>, and reviewing and of course +rebutting by anticipation every possible or impossible objection that +might be made by his learned friend on “the other side.” For our purpose, +it is enough if we condense the matter into a single statement, that the +action was to show that Hickman, in purchasing portions of the Darcy +estate, was and must have been aware that the Knight of Gwynne's signature +appended to the deed of sale was a forgery, and that he never had +concurred in, nor was even cognizant of, this disposal of his property. A +single case was selected to establish this fact, on which, if proved, +further proceedings in Equity would be founded. +</p> +<p> +The plaintiff's case opened by an examination of a number of witnesses, +old tenants of the Darcy property. These were not only called to prove the +value of their holdings, as being very far above the price alleged to have +been paid by Hickman, but also that they themselves were in total +ignorance that the estate had been conveyed away to another proprietor, +and never knew till the flight and death of Gleeson took place, that for +many years previous they had ceased to be tenants of Maurice Darcy, to +become those of Dr. Hickman. +</p> +<p> +The examination and cross-examination of these witnesses presented all the +varying and changeful fortunes ever observable in such scenes. At one +moment some obdurate old farmer resisting, with ludicrous pertinacity, all +the efforts of the examining counsel to elicit the very testimony he +himself wished to give; at another, the native humor of the peasant was +seen baffling and foiling all the trained skill and practised dexterity of +the pleader. Many a merry burst of laughter, many a jest that set the +court in a roar, were exchanged. It was in Ireland, remember; but still +the business of the day advanced, and a great weight of evidence was +adduced, which, however suggestive to common intelligence, went legally +only so far as to show that the tenantry were, almost to a man, of an +opinion which, whether well founded or not in reason, turned out to be +incorrect. +</p> +<p> +Darcy's counsel, a man of quickness and intelligence, made a very able +speech, summing up the evidence, and commenting on every leading portion +of it. He dwelt powerfully on the fact that at the time of this alleged +sale the Knight, so far from being a distressed and embarrassed man, and +consequently likely to effect a sale at a great loss, was, in reality, in +possession of a princely fortune, his debts few and insignificant, and his +income far above any possible expenditure. If he studiously avoided +adverting to Gleeson's perfidy, as solely in fault, he assumed to himself +credit for the forbearance, alleging that less scrupulous advisers might +have gone perhaps further, and inferred connivance in a case so dubious +and dark. “My client, however,” said he, “gave me but one instruction in +this cause, and it was this: 'If the law of the land, justly administered, +as I believe it will be, restores to me my own, I shall be grateful; but +if the pursuit of what I feel my right involve the risk of reflecting on +one honest man's fame, or imputing falsely aught of dishonor to an +unblemished reputation, I tell you frankly, I don't think a verdict so +obtained can carry with it anything but shame and disgrace.” +</p> +<p> +With these words he sat down, amid a murmur of approving voices; for there +were many there who knew the Knight by reputation, if not personally, and +were aware how well such a speech accorded with every feature of his +character. +</p> +<p> +There was a brief delay as he resumed his seat. It was already late, the +court had been obliged to be lighted up a considerable time previous, and +the question of an adjournmeut was now discussed. The probable length of +O'Halloran's reply would best guide the decision, and the Chief Baron +asked if the learned counsel's statement were likely to be long. +</p> +<p> +“Yes, my Lord,” replied he; “it is not a case to be dismissed briefly, and +I have many witnesses to call.” +</p> +<p> +Another brief discussion took place on the bench, and the Chief Baron +announced that as there were many important causes still standing over for +trial, they should best consult public convenience by proceeding, and +that, after a few moments devoted to refreshment, the case should go on. +</p> +<p> +The judges retired, and many of the leading counsel took the same +opportunity to recruit strength exhausted by several hours of severe toil. +The Hickmans and O'Halloran never quitted their places; a decanter of +sherry and a sandwich from the hotel were served where they sat, but the +old man took nothing. The interest of the scene appeared too absorbing to +admit of even a sense of hunger or weariness, and he sat with his hands +folded, and his eyes mechanically fixed upon the now empty jury-box; for +there, the whole day, were his looks riveted, to read, if he might, the +varying emotions in the faces of those who held so much of his fortune in +their keeping. +</p> +<p> +While the noise and hubbub which characterize a court at such intervals +was at its highest, a report was circulated that increased in no small +degree the excitement of the scene, and gave a character of intense +anxiety to an assemblage so lately broken up by varied and dissimilar +passions. It was this: a large vessel had struck on a reef in the bay, and +the sea was now breaking over her. She had been seen from an early hour +endeavoring to beat to the southward; but the wind had drawn more to the +westward as the storm increased, and a strong shore current had also drawn +her on land. In a last endeavor to clear the headlands of Clare, she +missed stays, and being struck by a heavy sea, her rudder was carried +away. Totally unmanageable now, she was drifted along, till she struck on +a most dangerous reef about a mile from shore. Signals of distress were +seen at her masthead, but no boat could venture out. The storm was already +a hurricane, and even in the very harbor two fishing-boats had sunk. +</p> +<p> +As the dreadful tidings flew from mouth to mouth, a terrible confirmation +was heard in the booming of guns of distress, which at brief intervals +sounded amid the crashing of the storm. +</p> +<p> +It was at this moment of intense excitement that the crier proclaimed +silence for the approaching entry of the judges. If the din of human +voices became hushed and low, the deafening thunder of the elements seemed +to increase, and the roaring of the enraged sea appeared to fill the very +atmosphere. +</p> +<p> +As the judges resumed their seats, and the vast crowd ceased to stir or +speak, O'Halloran arose. His voice was singularly low and quiet; but yet +every word he uttered was distinctly heard through all the clamor of the +storm. +</p> +<p> +“My Lords,” said he, “before entering upon my client's case, I would +bespeak the kind indulgence of the court in respect to a matter purely +personal to myself. Your Lordships are too well aware that I should insist +upon it, that in a cause where the weightiest interests of property are +engaged, the mind of the advocate should be disembarrassed and free,—not +only free as regards the exercise of whatever knowledge and skill he may +possess, not merely free from the supposition of any individual hazard the +honest discharge of his duty might incur, but free from the greater +thraldom of disturbed and irritated emotions, originating in the deepest +sense of wounded honor. +</p> +<p> +“Far be it from me, my Lords, long used in the practice of these courts, +and long intimate with the righteous principle on which the laws are +administered in them, to utter a syllable that in the remotest degree +might seem to impugn the justice of the bench; but, a mere frail and +erring creature, with feelings common to all around me, I wish to protest +against continuing my client's case while your Lordships' bench is +occupied by one who, in my person, has grossly outraged the sanctity of +the law. Yes, my Lords,” said he, raising his voice, till the deep tones +swelled and floated through the vast space, “as the humble advocate of a +cause, I now proclaim that in addressing that bench, I am incapable to +render justice to the case before me, so long as I see associated with +your Lordships a man more worthy to figure in the dock than to take his +seat among the ermined judges of the land. A moment more, my Lords. I am +ready to make oath that the individual on your Lordships' left is Richard +Forester, commonly called the Honorable Richard Forester;—how +suitable the designation, your Lordships shall soon hear—” +</p> +<p> +“I beg to interrupt my learned friend,” interposed the Attorney-General, +rising. “He is totally in error; and I would wish to save him from the +embarrassment of misdescription. The gentleman he alludes to is the Earl +of Wallincourt, a peer of the realm.” +</p> +<p> +“Proceed with your client's case, Mr. O'Halloran,” said the Chief Baron, +who saw that to discuss the question further was now irrelevant. +O'Halloran sat down, overwhelmed with rage; a whispered communication from +behind told him that the Attorney-General was correct, and that Forester +was removed beyond the reach of his vengeance. After a few moments he +rallied, and again rose. Turning slowly over the pages of a voluminous +brief, he stood waiting, with practised art, till expectancy had hushed +each murmur around, when suddenly the crier called, “Way, there,—make +way for the High Sheriff!” and that functionary, with a manner of +excessive agitation, leaned over the bar, and addressed the bench. “My +Lords, I most humbly entreat your Lordships' forgiveness for thus +interrupting the business of the court; but the extreme emergency will, I +hope, pardon the indecorum. A large vessel has struck on the rocks in the +bay: each moment it is expected she must go to pieces. A panic seems to +prevail among even our hardy fishermen; and my humble request is, that if +there be any individual in this crowded assembly possessing naval +knowledge, or any experience in calamities of this nature, he will aid us +by his advice and co-operation.” +</p> +<p> +The senior judge warmly approved the humane suggestion of the sheriff; and +several persons were seen now forcing their way through the dense mass,—the +far greater part, be it owned, more excited by curiosity than stimulated +by any hope of rendering efficient service. Notwithstanding Bicknell's +repeated entreaties, and remembrances of his late severe illness, Forester +also quitted the court, and accompanied the sheriff to the beach. And now +O'Halloran, whose impatience during this interval displayed little +sympathy with the sad occasion of the interruption, asked, in a manner +almost querulous, if their Lordships were ready to hear him? The court +assented, and he began. Without once adverting to the subject on which he +so lately addressed them, he opened his case by a species of narrative of +the whole legal contest which for some time back had been maintained +between the opposite parties in the present suit. Nothing could be more +calm or more dispassionate than the estimate he formed of such struggles; +neither inclining the balance to one party nor the other, but weighing +with impartiality all the reasons that might prompt men on one side to +continue a course of legal investigations, and the painful necessity on +the other to provide a series of defences, costly, onerous, and harassing. +“I have only to point out to the court the defendant in this action, to +show how severe such a duty may become. Here, my Lords, beside me, site +the gentleman, bowed down with more years than are allotted to humanity +generally. Look upon him, and say if it be not difficult to determine what +course to follow,—the abandonment of a just right, or its +maintenance, at the cost of rendering the few last years—why do I +say years?—days, hours, of a life careworn, distracted, and +miserable!” +</p> +<p> +Dwelling long enough on this theme to interest without wearying the jury, +he adroitly addressed himself to the case of those who, by a system of +litigious persecution, would seek to obtain by menace what they must +despair of by law. Beginning by vague and wide generalities, he gradually +accumulated a mass of allegations and inferences, which concentrating to a +point, he suddenly checked himself, and said: “Now, my Lords, it may be +supposed that I will imitate the delicate reserve of my learned friend +opposite, and while filling your minds with dark and mysterious +suspicions, profess a perfect ignorance of all intention to apply them. +But I will not do this: I will be candid and free-spoken; nay, more, my +Lords, I will finish what my learned friend has left incomplete; and I +will proclaim to the court, and this jury, what he wished, but did not +dare, to say,—that we, the defendants in this action, were not only +cognizant of a forgery, but were associated in the act! There it is, my +Lords; and I accept my learned friend's bland smile as the warm +acknowledgment of the truth of my assertion. My learned friend is obliged +to me. I see that he cannot conceal his joy at the inaptitude of my +avowal. But we have a case, my Lords, that can happily dispense with the +dexterity of an advocate, and make its truth felt, even through means as +unskilful as mine. They disclaimed, it is true,—they disclaimed in +words the wish to make this inference; but even take their disclaimer as +such, and what is it? An avowal of their weakness, an open expression of +the poverty of their proofs. Yes, my Lords, their disclaimers were like +the ominous sounds which break from time to time upon our ear,—but +signal-guns of distress. Like that fated vessel, whose sad destiny is +perhaps this moment accomplishing, they have been storm-tossed and cast +away,—their proud ensign torn, and their rudder gone, but, unlike +her, they cannot brave their fate without seeking to involve others in the +calamity.” +</p> +<p> +A terrible gust of wind, so sudden and violent as to be like a +thunderclap, now struck the building; and with one tremendous crash the +great window of the court-house was driven in, and scattered in fragments +of glass and timber throughout the court. A scene of the wildest confusion +ensued, for almost immediately the lights became extinguished, and from +the dark abyss arose a terrible chaos of voices in every agony of fear and +suffering. Some announced that the roof was giving way and was about to +crush them; others, in all the bodily torture of severe wounds, cried for +help. +</p> +<p> +It was nearly an hour before the court could resume its sitting, which at +length was done in one of the adjoining courts, the usual scene of the +criminal trials. Here, now, lights were procured, and after a considerable +delay the cause proceeded. If the various events of the night, added to +the fatigue of the day, had impressed both the bench and the jury with +signs of greatest exhaustion, O'Halloran showed no evidence of abated +vigor. On the contrary, like one whose vengeance had been thwarted by +opposing accident, he exhibited a species of impatient ardor to resume his +work of defamation. With a brief apology for any want of due coherence in +an argument so frequently interrupted, he launched out into the most +ferocious attack upon the plaintiff in the suit; and while repudiating the +affected reserve of the opposite counsel, boldly proclaimed that they +would not imitate it; nay, further, that they were only awaiting the sure +verdict in their favor, to commence a criminal action against the parties +for the very crime they dared to insinuate against them. +</p> +<p> +“I shall now call my witnesses, my Lord; and if the Grand Cross of the +Bath, which this day's paper tells me is to be conferred upon the +plaintiff, be not meant, like the brand which foreign justice impresses on +its felons, as a mark of ignominy, I am at a loss to understand how it has +descended on this man. Call Nathaniel Leery.” +</p> +<p> +The examination of the witnesses was in perfect keeping with the infamous +scurrility of the speech, and the testimony elicited went to prove +everything the advocate desired. Though exposed by cross-examination, and +their perjury proved, O'Halloran kept a perpetual recapitulation of their +assertions before the jury, and so artfully that few, save the practised +minds of a legal auditory, could have distinguished in that confused web +of truth and falsehood. +</p> +<p> +The business proceeded with difficulty; for, added to the uproar of the +storm, was a continued tumult of voices in the outer hall of the court, +and where now several sailors, saved from the wreck, had been brought for +shelter. By frequent loud cries from this quarter the court was +interrupted, and more than once its proceedings completely arrested,—inconveniences +which the judges submitted to with the most tolerant patience,—when +at length a loud murmur arose, which gradually swelling louder and louder, +all respect for the sacred precincts of the judgment-seat seemed lost in +the wild tumult. In a tone of sharp reproof the Chief Baron called on the +sheriff to allay the uproar, and if necessary, to clear the hall. The +order was scarcely given, when one deafening shout was raised from the +street, and, soon caught up, echoed by a thousand voices, while shrill +cries of “He has saved them! he has saved them!” rent the air. +</p> +<p> +“What means this, Mr. Sheriff?” +</p> +<p> +“It is my Lord Wallincourt, my Lord, who has just rescued from the wreck +three men who persisted in being lost together rather than separate. +Hitherto only one man was taken at each trip of the boat; but this young +nobleman offered a thousand pounds to the crew who would accompany him, +and it appears they have succeeded.” +</p> +<p> +“Really, my Lords,” said O'Halloran, who had heard the honorable mention +of a hated name, “I must abandon my client's cause. These interruptions, +which I conclude your influence is powerless to remove, have so interfered +with the line of defence I had laid down for adoption, and have so +confused the order of the proofs I had prepared, that I should but injure, +and not serve, my respected client by continuing to represent his +interests.” +</p> +<p> +A bland assurance from the court that order should be rigidly enforced, +and a pressing remonstrance from O'Reilly, overcame a resolve scarcely +maturely taken, and he consented to go on. +</p> +<p> +“We will now, my Lords,” said he, “call a very material witness,—a +respectable tenant on the property,—who will prove that on a day in +November, antecedent to Gleeson's death, he had a conversation with the +Knight of Gwynne—Really, my Lords, I cannot proceed; this is no +longer a court of justice.” +</p> +<p> +The remainder of his words were lost in an uproar like that of the sea +itself; and, like that element, the great mass swelled forward, and a rush +of people from the outer hall bore into the court, till seats and barriers +gave way before that overwhelming throng. +</p> +<p> +For some minutes the scene was one of almost personal conflict. The mob, +driven forward by those behind, were obliged to endure a buffeting by the +more recognized possessors of the place; nor was it till police and +military had lent their aid that the court was again restored to quiet, +while several of the rioters were led off in custody. +</p> +<p> +“Who are these men, and to what purpose are they here?” said the Chief +Baron, as Bicknell officiously exerted himself to make way for some +persons behind. +</p> +<p> +“I come to tender my evidence in this cause,” said a deep, solemn voice, +as a man advanced to the witness-table, displaying to the amazed assembly +a bold, intrepid countenance, on which streaks of blue and yellow color +were fantastically mingled, like the war-paint of a savage. +</p> +<p> +“Who are you, sir?” rejoined O'Halloran, with his habitual scowl. +</p> +<p> +“My name is Bagenal Daly. I believe their Lordships are not ignorant of my +rank and station; and this gentleman at my side is also here to afford his +testimony. This, my Lords, is Thomas Gleeson!” +</p> +<p> +One cry of amazement rang through the assembly, through which a wild +shriek pierced with a clear and terrible distinctness; and now the +attention was suddenly turned towards old Hickman, who had fallen forward +senseless on the table. +</p> +<p> +“My client is very ill,—he is dangerously ill. My Lord, I beg to +suggest an adjournment of the cause,” said O'Halloran; while O'Reilly, +with a face like death, continued to whisper eagerly in his ear. “I appeal +to the plaintiff himself, if he be here, and is not devoid of the feelings +attributed to him, and I ask that the cause may be adjourned.” +</p> +<p> +“It is not a case in which the defendant's illness can be made use of to +press such a demand,” said one of the judges, mildly; “but if the opposite +party consent—” +</p> +<p> +“He is worse, my Lord.” +</p> +<p> +“I say, if the opposite party—” +</p> +<p> +“He is dead!” said O'Halloran, solemnly; and letting go the lifeless hand, +it fell with a heavy bang upon the table. +</p> +<p> +“Take your verdict,” said O'Halloran, with the look of a demon; and, +bursting his way through the crowd, disappeared. +</p> +<p> +<a name="2HCH0038"> +<!-- H2 anchor --> </a> +</p> +<div style="height: 4em;"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +</div> +<h2> +CHAPTER XXXVIII. CONCLUSION +</h2> +<p> +When Forester entered the Knight's room in the inn, where, in calm +quietude, he sat awaiting the verdict, he hesitated for a moment how he +should break the joyful tidings of Daly's arrival. +</p> +<p> +“Speak out,” said Darcy. “If not exactly without hope, I am well prepared +for the worst.” +</p> +<p> +“Can you say you are equally ready to hear the best?” asked Forester, +eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“The best is a very strong word, my young friend,” said Darcy, gravely. +</p> +<p> +“And yet, I speak advisedly,—the best.” +</p> +<p> +“If so, perhaps I am not so prepared. My heart has dwelt so long on these +troubles, recognizing them as I felt they must be, that I would, perhaps, +ask a little time to think how I should hear tidings so remote from all +expectation. Of course, I do not speak of the mere verdict here.” +</p> +<p> +“Nor I,” interposed Forester, impatiently. “I speak of what restores you +to your ancient house and rank, your station and your fortune.” +</p> +<p> +“Can this be true?” +</p> +<p> +“Ay, Maurice, every word of it,” broke in Daly, who, having listened so +far, could no longer restrain himself. The two old men fell into each +other's arms with all the cordial affection with which they had embraced +as schoolfellows sixty years before. +</p> +<p> +Great as was Darcy's amazement at seeing his oldest friend thus suddenly +restored, it was nothing in comparison to what he felt as Daly narrated +the event of the shipwreck, and his rescue from the sinking vessel by +Forester. +</p> +<p> +“And your companions, who were they?” asked Darcy, eagerly. +</p> +<p> +“You shall hear.” +</p> +<p> +“I guess one of them already,” interposed the Knight “The trusty Sandy. Is +it not so?” +</p> +<p> +“The other you will never hit upon,” said Daly, nodding an assent. +</p> +<p> +“I 'm thinking over all our friends, and yet none seem likely.” +</p> +<p> +“Come, Maurice, prepare yourself for surprise. What think you, if he to +whose fate I had linked myself, resolving that, live or die, we should not +separate,—if this man was—Gleeson—honest Tom Gleeson?” +</p> +<p> +The words seemed stunning in their effect; for Darey leaned back, and +passing his hands over his closed lids, murmured, “I hope my poor +faculties are not wandering,—I trust this may be no delusion.” +</p> +<p> +“He is yonder,” said Daly, taking the Knight's hand in his strong grasp; +“Sandy mounts guard over him. Not that the poor devil thinks of or desires +escape; he was too weary of a life of deception and sin when we caught +him, to wish to prolong it. Now rouse yourself, and listen to me.” +</p> +<p> +It would doubtless be a heavy tax on our kind reader's patience were we to +relate, circumstantially, the conversation, that, now commencing, lasted +during the entire night and till late in the following morning. Enough if +we say that Daly, having, through Freney's instrumentality, discovered +that Gleeson had not committed suicide, but only spread this rumor for +concealment's sake, resolved to pursue him to America. Fearing that any +suspicion of his object might escape, he did not even trust Bicknell with +the secret; but by suffering him to continue law proceedings as before, +totally blinded the Hickmans as to the possibility of the event. +</p> +<p> +It would in itself be a tale of marvel to recount the strange adventures +which Daly encountered in his search and pursuit of Gleeson, who had +originally taken up his residence in the States, was recognized there, and +fled into Canada, where he wandered about from place to place, +conscience-stricken and miserable. He was wretchedly poor, besides; for on +the bills and securities he carried away, many being on eminent houses in +America, payment was stopped, and being unable to risk proceedings, he was +reduced to beggary. +</p> +<p> +It now appeared that at a very early period of life, when a clerk in the +office of old Hickman's agent, he had committed a forgery. It was for a +small sum, and only done in anticipation of meeting the bill by his salary +due a few weeks later. So far the fraud was palliated by the intention. By +some mischance the document fell into the possession of Dr. Hickman, whose +name it falsely bore. He immediately took steps to trace its origin, and +having succeeded, he sent for Gleeson. When the youth, pale and +terror-stricken by suspicion, made his appearance, he was amazed that, +instead of finding a prosecutor ready prepared for his ruin, he discovered +a benevolent patron, who, having long watched the zeal and assiduity with +which he discharged his duties, desired to be of use to him in life. +Hickman told him that if he were disposed to make the venture on his own +account, he would use his influence to procure him some small agencies, +and even assist him with funds, to make advances to those landlords who +might employ him. The interview lasted long. There was much excellent +advice and wise admonition on one side, profuse expression of gratitude +and lasting fidelity on the other. “Very well, very well,” said old +Hickman, at the close of a very devoted speech, in which Gleeson professed +the most attached and the most honorable motives,—for he was not at +all aware that his bill was known of,—“I am not ignorant of mankind; +they are rarely, if ever, very bad or very good; they can be occasionally +faithful to their friends; but there is one thing they are always—careful +of themselves. See this,”—here he took from his pocket-book the +forged paper, and held it before the almost sinking youth,—“there is +what can bring you to the gallows any day! Is this the first time?” +</p> +<p> +“It is, so help me—” cried he, falling on his knees. +</p> +<p> +“Never mind swearing. I believe you. And the last also?” +</p> +<p> +“And the last!” +</p> +<p> +“I see it must be, by the date,” rejoined Hickman. +</p> +<p> +“I can pay it, sir; I have the money ready—on Tuesday—” +</p> +<p> +“Never mind that,” replied Hickman, folding it up, and replacing it in the +pocket-book. “You shall pay me in something better than money,—in +gratitude. Come and dine with me alone to-day, and we 'll talk over the +future.” +</p> +<p> +It has never been our taste to present pictures of depravity to our +readers; we would more willingly turn from them, or, where that is +impossible, make them as sketchy as may be. It will be sufficient, then, +if we say that Gleeson's whole career was the plan and creation of +Hickman. The rigid and scrupulous honor, the spotless decorum, the +unshaken probity, were all devices to win public confidence and esteem. +That they were eminently successful, the epithet of “honest Tom Gleeson,” +by which he was universally known, is the guarantee. The union of such +qualities with consummate skill and the most unwearied zeal soon made him +the most distinguished man in his walk, and made his services not only an +evidence of success, but of a rectitude in obtaining success that men of +character prized still more highly. +</p> +<p> +Possessed of the titles of immense estates, invested with unbounded +confidence by the owners, cognizant of every legal flaw that could excite +uneasiness, aware of every hitch and strait of their circumstances, he was +less the servant than the master of those who employed him. +</p> +<p> +It was a period when habits of extravagance prevailed to the widest +extent. The proprietors of estates deemed spending their incomes their +only duty, and left its cares to the agents. The only reproach, then, ever +laid to Gleeson's door was that when a question of a sale or a loan was +agitated, honest Tom's scruples were often a most troublesome impediment +to his less scrupulous employer. In fact, Gleeson stood before the public +as a kind of guardian of estated property,—the providence of +dowagers, widows, and younger children! +</p> +<p> +Such a man, with his neck in a halter, at any moment at the mercy of old +Dr. Hickman, was an agent for ruin almost inconceivable. Through his +instrumentality the old usurer laid out his immense stores of wealth at +enormous interest, obtained possession of vast estates at a mere fraction +of their worth, till at length, grown hardy by long impunity, and daring +by the recognition of the world, bolder expedients were ventured on. +Darcy's ruin was long the cherished dream of Hickman; and when, after many +a wily scheme and long negotiation, he saw Gleeson engaged as his agent, +he felt certain of victory. His first scheme was to make Gleeson encourage +young Lionel in every project of extravagance, by putting his name to +bills, assuring him that his father permitted him an almost unlimited +expenditure. This course once entered upon, and well aware that the young +man kept no record of such transactions, his name was forged to several +acceptances of large amount, and, subsequently, to sales of property to +meet them. +</p> +<p> +Meanwhile great loans were raised by Darcy to pay off incumbrances, and +never so employed; till, at length, the Knight decided upon the +negotiation which was to clear off Hickman's mortgage,—the debt, of +all others, he hated most to think of. So quietly was this carried on, +that Hickman heard nothing of it; for Gleeson, long wearied by a life of +treachery and perfidy, and never knowing the day or the hour when +disclosure might come, had resolved on escaping to America with this large +sum of money, leaving his colleague in crime to carry on business alone. +</p> +<p> +“The Doctor” was not, however, to be thus duped. Secret and silent as the +arrangements for flight were, he heard of them all; and hastening out to +Gleeson's house, coolly told him that any attempt at escape would bring +him to the gallows. Gleeson attempted a denial. He alleged that his +intended going over to England was merely on account of this sum, which +Darcy was negotiating for, to pay off the mortgage. +</p> +<p> +A new light broke on Hickman. He saw that his terrified confederate could +not much longer be relied upon, and it was agreed between them that +Gleeson should pay the money to redeem the mortgage, and, having obtained +the release, show it to the Knight of Gwynne. This done, he was to carry +it back to Hickman, and, for the sum of £10,000, replace it in his hands, +thus enabling the doctor to deny the payment and foreclose the mortgage, +while honest Tom, weary of perfidy, and seeking repose, should follow his +original plan, and escape to America. +</p> +<p> +The money was paid, as Freney surmised and Daly believed; but Gleeson, +still dreading some act of treachery, instead of returning the release and +claiming the price, started a day earlier than he promised. The rest is +known to the reader. Whether the Hickmans credited the story of the +suicide or not, they were never quite free of the terror of a disclosure; +and, in pressing the matrimonial arrangement, hoped forever to set at rest +the disputed possession. +</p> +<p> +It would probably not interest our readers were we to dwell longer on +Gleeson or his motives. That some vague intention existed of one day +restoring to Darcy the release of his mortgage, is perhaps not unlikely. A +latent spark of honor, long buried beneath the ashes of crime, often +shines out brightly in the last hour of existence. There might be, too, a +cherished project of vengeance against the man that tempted and destroyed +him. Be it as it may, he guarded the document as though it had been his +last hope; and when tracked, pursued, and overtaken near Fort Erie by a +party of the Delawares, of whom the Howling Wind, alias Bagenal Daly, was +chief, it was found stitched up in the breast of his waistcoat. +</p> +<p> +Our space does not permit us to dwell upon Bagenal Daly's adventures, +though we may assure our readers that they were both wild and wonderful. +One only regret darkened the happiness of his exploit. It was that he was +compelled so soon to leave the pleasant society of the Red Skins, and the +intellectual companionship of “Blue Fox” and “Hissing Lightning;” while +Sandy, discovering himself to be a widower, would gladly have contracted +new ties, to cement the alliance of the ancient house of M'Grane with that +of the Royal Family of Hickinbooke, or the “Slimy Whip Snake,” a fair +princess of which had bid high for his affections. Indeed, the worthy +Sandy had become romantic on the subject, and suggested that if the lady +would condescend to adopt certain articles of attire, he would have no +objection to take her back to “The Corvy.” These were sacrifices, however, +that not even love was called upon to make, and the project was abortive. +</p> +<p> +<a name="image-0019" id="image-0019"> +<!-- IMG --></a> <img src="images/458.jpg" height="731" width="732" alt="458 " /> +</p> +<p> +So far have we condensed Bagenal Daly's narrative, which, orally +delivered, lasted till the sun was high and the morning fine and bright. +He had only concluded, when a servant in O'Reilly's livery brought a +letter, which he said was to be given to the Knight of Gwynne, but +required no answer. Its contents were the following:— +</p> +<p> +Sir,—The melancholy catastrophe of yesterday evening might excuse me +in your eyes from any attention to the claims of mere business. But the +discovery of certain documents lately in the possession of my father +demand at my hands the most prompt and complete reparation. I now know, +sir, that we were unjustly possessed of an estate and property that were +yours. I also know that severe wrongs have been inflicted upon you through +the instrumentality of my family. I have only to make the best amende in +my power, by immediately restoring the one, and asking forgiveness for the +other. If you can and will accord me the pardon I seek, I shall, as soon +as the sad duties which devolve upon me here are completed, leave this +country for the Continent, never to return. I have already given +directions to my legal adviser to confer with Mr Bicknell; and no step +will be omitted to secure a safe and speedy restoration of your house and +estate to its rightful owner. In deep humiliation, I remain +</p> +<p> +Your obedient servant, +</p> +<p> +H. O'Reilly. +</p> +<p> +“Poor fellow!” said Darcy, throwing down the letter before Daly; “he seems +to have been no party to the fraud, and yet all the penalty falls upon +him.” +</p> +<p> +“Have no pity for the upstart rascal, Maurice; I 'll wager a hundred—thank +Heaven, Mr. Gleeson has put me in possession of a few—that he was as +deep as his father. Give me this paper, and I 'll ask honest Tom the +question.” +</p> +<p> +“Not so, Bagenal; I should be sorry to think worse of any man than I must +do. Let him have at least the benefit of a doubt; and as to honest Tom, +set him at liberty: we no longer want him; the papers he has given are +quite sufficient,—more than we are ever like to need.” +</p> +<p> +Daly had no fancy for relinquishing his hold of the game that cost him so +much trouble to take; but the Knight's words were usually a law to him, +and with a muttering remark of “I 'll do it because I 'll have my eye on +him,” he left the room to liberate his captive. +</p> +<p> +“There he goes,” exclaimed Daly, as, re-entering the room, he saw a chaise +rapidly drive from the door,—“there he goes, Maurice; and I own to +you I have an easier conscience for having let loose Freney on the world +than for liberating honest Tom Gleeson; but who have we here, with four +smoking posters?—ladies too!” +</p> +<p> +A travelling-carriage drew up at the door of the little inn, and +immediately three ladies descended. “That 's Maria,” cried Daly, rushing +from the room, and at once returned with his sister, Lady Eleanor, and +Miss Darcy. +</p> +<p> +Miss Daly had, three days before, received a letter from +</p> +<p> +Bagenal, detailing his capture of Gleeson, and informing her that he hoped +to be back in Ireland almost as soon as his letter. With these tidings she +hastened to Lady Eleanor, and concerted the journey which now brought them +all together. +</p> +<p> +Story-tellers have but scant privilege to linger where all is happiness, +unbroken and perfect. Like Mother Cary's chickens, their province is +rather with menacing storm than the signs of fair weather. We have, then, +but space to say that a more delighted party never met than those who now +assembled in that little inn; but one face showed any signs of passing +sorrow,—that was poor Forester's. The general joy, to which he had +so much contributed by his exertions, rather threw a gloomier shade over +his own unhappiness; and in secret he resolved to say “Good-bye” that same +evening. +</p> +<p> +Amid a thousand plans for the future, all tinged with their own bright +color, they sat round the fire at evening, when Miss Daly, whose affection +for the youth was strengthened by what she had seen during his illness, +remarked that he alone seemed exempt from the general happiness. +</p> +<p> +“To whom we owe so much,” said Lady Eleanor, kindly. “My husband is +indebted to him for his life.” +</p> +<p> +“I can say as much, too,” said Daly; “not to speak of Gleeson's +gratitude.” +</p> +<p> +“Nay!” exclaimed the young man, blushing, “I did not know the service I +was rendering. I little guessed how grateful I should myself have reason +to be for being its instrument.” +</p> +<p> +“All this is very well,” said Miss Daly, abruptly; “but it is not honest,—no, +it is not honest. There are other feelings concerned here than such +amiable generalities as Joy, Pity, and Gratitude. Don't frown, Helen,—that +is better, love,—a smile becomes you to perfection.” +</p> +<p> +“I must stop you,” said Forester, blushing deeply. “It will be enough if I +say that any observation you can make must give me the deepest pain,—not +for myself—” +</p> +<p> +“But for Helen? I don't believe it. You may be a very sharp politician and +a very brave soldier, but you know very little about young ladies. Yes, +there 'a no denying it,-their game is all deceit.” +</p> +<p> +“Oh! Colonel Darcy—Lady Eleanor, will you not speak a word?” +exclaimed Forester, pale and agitated. +</p> +<p> +“A hundred, my dear boy,” cried the Knight, “if they would serve you; but +Helen's one is worth them all.” +</p> +<p> +“Miss Darcy, dare I hope? Helen, dearest!” added he, in a whisper, as, +taking her hand, he led her towards a window. +</p> +<p> +“My Lord, the carriage is ready,” said his servant, throwing wide the +door. +</p> +<p> +“You may order the horses back again,” said Daly, dryly; “my Lord is not +going this evening.” +</p> +<p> +Has our reader ever made a long voyage? Has he ever experienced in himself +the strange but most complete alteration in all his sentiments and +feelings when far away from land,—on the wild, bleak waters,—and +that same “himself,” when in sight of shore, with seaweed around the prow, +and land-breezes on his cheek? But a few hours back and that ship was his +world; he knew her from “bow to taffrail;” he greeted the cook's galley as +though it were the “restaurant” his heart delighted in; he even felt a +kind of friendship for the pistons as they jerked up and down into a +bowing acquaintance. But now how changed are his sentiments, how fixedly +are his eyes turned to the pier of the harbor, and how impatient is he at +those tacking zigzag approaches by which nautical skill and care +approximate the goal! +</p> +<p> +Already landed in imagination, the cautious manouvres of the crew are an +actual martyrdom; he has no bowels for anything save his own +enfranchisement, and he cannot comprehend the tiresome detail of +preparations, which, after all, perhaps, are scarcely five minutes in +endurance. At last, the gangway launched, see him, how he elbows forward, +fighting his way, carpet-bag in hand, regardless of passport-people, +police, and porters; he'll scarce take time to mutter a “Good-bye, +Captain,” in the haste to leave a scene all whose interest is over, whose +adventure is past. +</p> +<p> +Such is the end of a voyage; and such, or very nearly such, the end of a +novel! You, most amiable reader, are the passenger, we the skipper. A few +weeks ago you deemed us tolerable company, <i>faute de mieux</i>, perhaps. +We 'll not ask why, at all events. We had you out on the wide, wild waters +of uncertainty, free to sail where'er our fancy listed. In our very +waywardness there was a mock semblance of power, for the creatures we +presented to you were our own, their lives and fortunes in our hands. Now +all that is over,—we have neared the shore, and all our hold on you +is bygone. +</p> +<p> +How can we hope to excite interest in events already accomplished? Why +linger over details which you have already filled up? Of course, say you, +all ends happily now. Virtue is rewarded—as novelists understand +rewarding—by matrimony, and vice punished in single blessedness. The +hero marries the heroine; and if they don't live happy, etc. +</p> +<p> +But what became of Bagenal Daly? says some one who would compliment us by +expressing so much of interest. Bagenal, then, only waited to see the +Knight restored to his own, to retire with his sister to “The Corvy,” +where, attended by Sandy, he passed the remainder of his days in peace and +quietude; his greatest enjoyment being to seize on a chance tourist to the +Causeway, and make him listen to narratives of his early life, but which +age had now so far commingled that the merely strange became actually +marvellous. +</p> +<p> +Paul Dempsey grieved for a week, but consoled himself on hearing that his +rival had been a “lord;” and subsequently, in a “moment of enthusiasm,” he +married Mrs. Fumbally. The Hickmans left Ireland for the Continent, where +they are still to be found, rambling about from city to city, and +expressing the utmost sympathy with their country's misfortunes, but, to +avoid any admixture of meaner feeling, suffering no taint of lucre to +mingle with their compassion. +</p> +<p> +As for Lionel Darcy, his name is to be found in the despatches from the +East, and with a mention that shows that he has derogated in nothing from +the proud character of his race. +</p> +<p> +Of all those who figured before our reader, but one remains on the stage +where they all performed; and he, perhaps, has no claim to be especially +remembered. There is always, however, somewhat of respectability attached +to the oldest inhabitant, that chronicler of cold winters and warm +summers, of rainy springs and stormy Octobers. Con Heffernan, then, lives, +and still wields no inconsiderable share of his ancient influence. Each +party has discovered his treachery, but neither can dispense with his +services. He is the last link remaining between the men of Ireland's +“great day” and the very different race who now usurp the direction of her +destiny. +</p> +<p> +Of the period of which we have endeavored to picture some meagre +resemblance, unhappily the few traces remaining are those most to be +deplored. The poverty, the misery, and the anarchy survive; the genial +hospitality, the warm attachment to country, the cordial generosity of +Irish feeling, have sadly declined. Let us hope that from the depth of our +present sufferings better days are about to dawn, and a period approaching +when Ireland shall be “great” in the happiness of her people, “glorious” +in the development of her inexhaustible resources, and “free” by that best +of freedom,—free from the trammels of an unmeaning party warfare, +which has ever subjected the welfare of the country to the miserable +intrigues of a few adventurers. +</p> +<p> +THE END. <br /> <br /> +</p> +<hr /> +<p> +<br /> <br /> +</p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Knight Of Gwynne, Vol. II (of II), by +Charles James Lever + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KNIGHT OF GWYNNE, II *** + +***** This file should be named 35756-h.htm or 35756-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/3/5/7/5/35756/ + +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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