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diff --git a/33604-0.txt b/33604-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..484ce00 --- /dev/null +++ b/33604-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,22767 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Tony Butler, 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: Tony Butler + +Author: Charles James Lever + +Illustrator: E. J. Wheeler + +Release Date: September 1, 2010 [EBook #33604] +Last Updated: February 28, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TONY BUTLER *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +TONY BUTLER. + +By Charles James Lever + +With Illustrations By E. J. Wheeler. + +Little, Brown, and Company. + +1904. + +Copyright, 1896 + +TONY BUTLER + + + +CHAPTER I. THE COTTAGE BESIDE “THE CAUSEWAY” + +In a little cleft, not deep enough to be a gorge, between two grassy +hills, traversed by a clear stream, too small to be called a river, +too wide to be a rivulet, stood, and, I believe, still stands, a little +cottage, whose one bay-window elevates it above the condition of a +laboring-man's, and shows in its spacious large-paned proportions +pretensions to taste as well as station. From the window a coast-line +can be seen to which nothing in the kingdom can find the equal. It +takes in the bold curve of shore from the “White Rocks” to the Giant's +Causeway,--a sweep of coast broken by jutting headland and promontory, +with sandy bays nestling between gigantic walls of pillared rock, and +showing beneath the green water the tessellated pavement of those broken +shafts which our superstition calls Titanic. The desolate rock and ruin +of Dunluce, the fairy bridge of Carrig-a-Rede, are visible; and on a +commonly clear day Staffa can be seen, its outline only carrying out the +strange formation of the columnar rocks close at band. + +This cottage, humble enough in itself, is not relieved in its aspect +by the culture around it A small vegetable garden, rudely fenced with a +dry-stone wall, is the only piece of vegetation; for the cutting winds +of the North Sea are unfriendly to trees, and the light sandy soil of +the hills only favors the fern and the foxglove. Of these, indeed, the +growth is luxuriant, and the path which leads down from the high-road to +the cottage is cut through what might be called a grove of these leafy +greeneries. This same path was not much traversed, and more than once +within the year was the billhook required to keep it open, so little +intercourse was maintained between the cottage and the world, whose +frontier lay about a mile off. A widow and her son, with one servant, +were the occupants. It had been a fishing-lodge of her husband's in +more prosperous days. His memory and the cheapness of life in the +neighborhood had decided her in choosing it, lonely and secluded as it +was; and here she had passed fourteen years, her whole care being the +education of her boy, a task to which she addressed herself with all the +zeal and devotion of her nature. There was, it is true, a village school +at Ballintray, about three miles off, to which he went in summer; but +when the dark short days of winter set in with swooping storms of rain +and wind, she held him, so far as she could, close prisoner, and pored +with him over tasks to the full as difficult to herself as to him. +So far as a fine, open-hearted, generous disposition, truthful and +straightforward, could make him, he repaid all the love and affection +she could bear him. He was well-grown, good-looking, and brave. There +was scarcely an exercise of which he was not master; and whether in the +saddle over a stiff country, or on the thwart of a boat in a stormy +sea, Tony Butler could hold his own against all competitors. The leap +of twenty feet four inches he had made on the level sward was one of +the show objects of the village, and the place where he had pitched a +fourteen-pound sledge to the top of a cliff was marked by a stone with +a rude attempt at an inscription. Fortunate was he if these were enough +for glory, for his gifts scarcely rose to higher things. He was not +clever, nor was he very teachable; his apprehension was not quick, and +his memory was bad. The same scatterbrained forgetfulness that he had in +little things attended him in more serious ones. Whenever his intellect +was called on for a great effort he was sure to be vanquished, and he +would sit for hours before an open book as hopeless of mastering it as +though the volume were close-clasped and locked before him. Dull men are +not generally alive to their own dulness; but Tony was,--he saw and felt +it very bitterly. He thought, it is true, that there ought to be a +way to his intellect, if it could only be discovered, but he owned to +himself he had not found it; and, with some lingering hope of it, he +would carry his books to his room and sit down to them with a resolute +heart, and ponder and puzzle and wonder, till he either fell asleep over +the pages, or felt the scalding tears blinding him with the conscious +thought that he was not equal to the task before him. + +Strange enough, his mother, cheated by that love which filled every +avenue of her heart, marked little of this. She thought that Tony had no +great taste for music, nor patience enough for drawing. She fancied +he deemed history dry, and rather undervalued geography. If he hated +French, it was because he was such an intense Anglican; and as to +figures, his poor dear father had no great skill in them, and indeed his +ruined fortune came of tampering with them. Though thus, item by item, +she would have been reduced to own that Tony was not much of a scholar, +she would unhesitatingly have declared that he was a remarkably gifted +boy, and equal to any condition he could be called to fulfil. There was +this much of excuse for her credulity,--he was a universal favorite. +There was not a person of any class who had other than a good word for +him; and this, be it remarked, in a country where people fall into few +raptures, and are rarely enthusiasts. The North of Ireland is indeed as +cold a soil for the affections as it is ungenial in its vegetation. Love +finds it just as hard to thrive as the young larch-trees, nipped as they +are by cutting winds and sleety storms; and to have won favor where +it is weighed out so scrupulously, implied no petty desert. There is, +however, a rigid sense of justice which never denies to accord its due +to each. Tony had gained his reputation by an honest verdict, the award +of a jury who had seen him from his childhood and knew him well. + +The great house of the county was Sir Arthur Lyle's, and there Tony +Butler almost might be said to live. His word was law in the stables, +the kennel, the plantations, and the boat-quay. All liked him. Sir +Arthur, a stern but hearty old Anglo-Indian; my lady, a fine specimen of +town pretension and exclusiveness cultivated to its last perfection by +Oriental indulgence; Isabella,--a beauty and a fortune,--about to shine +at the next drawing-room, liked him; and the widowed daughter of the +house, Mrs. Trafford, whom many deemed handsomer than her sister, +and whose tact and worldly skill made even beauty but one of her +attractions, said he was “a fine creature,” and “it was a thousand +pities he had not a good estate and a title.” Sir Arthur's sons, three +in number, were all in India; the two elder in high civil appointments, +the younger serving in a regiment of hussars. Their sisters, however, +constantly assured Tony that George, Henry, and Mark would be so fond of +him, especially Mark, who was the soldier, and who would be charmed to +meet with one so fond of all his own pursuits. + +It was with sincere pride Mrs. Butler saw her son in such favor at the +great house,--that princely place to which the company came from remote +parts of the kingdom, and to mix with which the neighboring gentry were +only admitted sparingly and at rare intervals; for Sir Arthur's wealth +was to society a sort of crushing power, a kind of social Nasmyth +hammer, that smashed and ground down whatever came beneath it. No small +distinction was it, therefore, for the widow's son to be there; not +merely admitted and on sufferance, but encouraged, liked, and made much +of. Sir Arthur had known Tony's father in India, long long years ago; +indeed, it was when Sir Arthur was a very small civil servant, and +Captain Butler was a gorgeous aide-de-camp on the Governor-General's +staff; and strange it was, the respect with which the brilliant soldier +then inspired him had survived through all the changes and advancements +of a successful life, and the likeness the youth bore to his father +assisted to strengthen this sentiment. He would have noticed the widow, +too, if she had been disposed to accept his attentions; but she refused +all invitations to leave her home, and save at the little meeting-house +on a Sunday, where her friend Dr. Stewart held forth, was never seen +beyond the paling of her garden. + +What career Tony was to follow, what he was to do, was an oft-debated +question between her and Dr. Stewart, her worthy adviser in spirituals; +and though it was the ever-recurring subject as they sat of an evening +in the porch, the solution seemed just as remote as ever,--Mrs. Butler +averring that there was nothing that with a little practice he could n't +do, and the minister sighingly protesting that the world was very full +just now, and there was just barely enough for those who were in it. + +“What does he incline to himself, madam?” asked the worthy man, as he +saw that his speech had rather a discouraging effect. + +“He'd like to follow his father's career, and be a soldier.” + +“Oh, dear!” sighed out the minister; “a man must be rich enough to do +without a livelihood that takes to that one. What would you say to the +sea?” + +“He's too old for the navy. Tony will be twenty in August.” + +The minister would have liked to hint that other ships went down into +the “great waters” as well as those that carried her Majesty's bunting, +but he was faint-hearted and silent. + +“I take it,” said he, after a pause, “that he has no great mind for the +learned professions, as they call them?” + +“No inclination whatever, and I cannot say I 'm sorry for it. My poor +boy would be lost in that great ocean of world-liness and self-seeking. +I don't mean if he were to go into the Church,” said she, blushing +crimson at the awkwardness of her speech, “but you know he has +no vocation for holy orders, and such a choice would be therefore +impossible.” + +“I'm thinking it would not be his line, neither,” said the old man, +dryly. “What o' the mercantile pursuits? You shake your head. Well, +there's farming?” + +“Farming, my dear Dr. Stewart,--farming means at least some thousand +pounds' capital, backed by considerable experience, and, I fear me, my +poor Tony is about as wanting in one as in the other.” + +“Well, ma'am, if the lad can neither be a soldier, nor a sailor, nor a +merchant, nor a farmer, nor will be a lawyer, a doctor, or a preacher o' +the Word, I 'm sore pushed to say what there's open to him, except some +light business in the way of a shop, or an agency like, which maybe you +'d think beneath you.” + +“I'm certain my son would, sir; and no great shame either that Colonel +Walter Butler's son should think so,--a C. B. and a Guelph of Hanover, +though he never wore the decoration. It is not so easy for _us_ to +forget these things as it is for our friends.” + +This was rather cruel, particularly to one who had been doing his best +to pilot himself through the crooked channels of difficulties, and was +just beginning to hope he was in deep water. + +“Would n't the Colonel's friends be likely to give him a helping hand?” + said the minister, timidly, and like one not quite sure of his ground. + +“I have not asked them, nor is it likely that I will,” said +she, sternly; then, seeing in the old man's face the dismay and +discouragement her speech had produced, she added, “My husband's only +brother, Sir Omerod Butler, was not on speaking terms with him for +years,--indeed, from the time of our marriage. Eleanor Mackay, the +Presbyterian minister's daughter, was thought a _mesalliance_; and maybe +it was,--I won't deny it, doctor. It was deemed a great rise in the +world to me, though I never felt it exactly in that way myself. It was +_my_ pride to think my husband a far greater man than any of his family, +and it was _his_ to say I had helped him to become so.” + +“I've heard o' that too,” was the cautious rejoinder of the old +minister. + +The memories thus suddenly brought up were too much for the poor widow's +composure, and she had to turn away and wipe the tears from her eyes. +“Yes, sir,” said she at last, “my noble-hearted husband was made to feel +through his whole life the scorn of those who would not know his wife, +and it is not from such as these my poor boy is to crave assistance. As +for Tony himself,” said she, with more energy of voice and manner, “he'd +never forgive me if I took such a step.” + +The good minister would fain have rebuked the indulgence of sentiments +like these, which had little of forgiveness in their nature. He felt +sorely tempted to make the occasion profitable by a word in season; +but his sagacity tempered his zeal, and he simply said, “Let byganes +be byganes, Mrs. Butler, or, at all events, let them not come back like +troubled spirits to disturb the future.” + +“I will do my best, doctor,” said she, calmly, “and, to do so, I will +talk of something else. Can you tell me if there is a Mr. Elphinstone +in the Ministry now,--in the Cabinet, I mean,” said she, correcting +herself, for she remembered what the word signifies to Presbyterian +ears. + +“There is a Sir Harry Elphinstone, Secretary of State for the Colonies, +ma'am.” + +“That must be the same, then; my husband always called him Harry; they +were like brothers at the Cape long, long ago. Could n't he do something +for Tony, think you?” + +“The very man who could; and maybe, too, in the very sort of career +would suit the lad best of all. He's strong of limb and stout of heart, +and has brave health,--he's just the man to meet the life and enjoy the +very accidents of a new world.” + +“If he could leave me,--that is, if I could bear to part with _him_, +doctor,” said she, with a thick utterance. + +“These are not days, my dear madam, when a mother can tie a son to her +apron. The young birds will leave the nest, make it ever so warm and +snug for them; and it was a wise Providence that so decreed it.” + +“Would there be any impropriety in my writing to Mr.--Sir Harry +Elphinstone?” asked she. + +“I can see none whatever. It is more than likely that he 'll thank you +heartily for the chance of serving his old friend's son. Such a great +man gives away every day more places than would provide for three +generations of either of us; and it must be a rare pleasure when he can +serve the Queen and gladden his own heart together.” + +“You 'd maybe help me with the letter, doctor,” asked she, half +diffidently. + +“Not a doubt of it, Mrs. Butler; my poor aid is quite at your service: +but had n't we best, first of all, speir a bit, and see what the +lad thinks of it? Let us find out that it's the life he 'd take to +willingly. It's no by way of reproach to him I say it; but we all know +that when a young fellow gets accustomed to ride a blood horse with a +groom after him, and eat his soup with a damask napkin over his knees, +it's a sore change to mount a mustang and digest raw buffalo.” + +“If you mean by that, Dr. Stewart, that Tony has been spoiled by a life +of luxury and indolence, you do him great wrong. The poor dear boy is +half heart-broken at-times at his purposeless, unprofitable existence. +There are days he is so overcome that he can scarcely lift up his head +for it. This very morning was one of them; and it was only when Sir +Arthur sent over a third time to say, 'You must come; I' ll take no +excuse,' that I could persuade him to set off. They are expecting young +Captain Lyle to-day, and making all sorts of festive preparations to +receive him. Tony has charge of the fireworks; and as Sir Arthur says, +'If you leave your chemicals to other hands, the chances are we shall +all be blown up together. '” + +“I remember the Captain when he was just so high,” said the doctor, +holding his hand about three feet from the ground,--“he used to come to +me every Saturday for a lesson in Scripture; smart enough he was, but a +proud sort of boy, that kept his class-fellows at a distance, and when +the lesson was over would not speak to one of them. He was the baronet's +son, and they were the sons of his father's tradespeople. I remember I +made a complaint against him once, I forget for what, but be never came +to my house after.” + +Mrs. Butler seemed not to follow the doctor's speech; indeed, her whole +heart was so set on one object and one theme that it was only by an +effort she could address herself to any other. The humblest piece in +which Tony played was a drama full of interest. Without _him_ the +stage had no attraction, and she cared not who were the performers. The +doctor, therefore, was some time before he perceived that his edifying +reflections on the sins of pride and self-conceit were unheeded. Long +experience had taught him tolerance in such matters; he had known even +elders to nod; and so he took his hat and said farewell with a good +grace, and a promise to help her with a letter to the Secretary of State +whenever the time came to write it. + +Late on the night of that day in which this conversation occurred, +Mrs. Butler sat at her writing-desk, essaying for the tenth time how to +address that great man whose favor she would propitiate. Letter-writing +had never been her gift, and she distrusted her powers even unfairly in +this respect. The present was, besides, a case of some difficulty. She +knew nothing of the sort of person she was addressing beyond the fact +that he and her husband, when very young men, lived on terms of close +intimacy and friendship. It might be that the great Minister had +forgotten all about that long ago, or might not care to be reminded of +it. It might be that her husband in his sanguine and warm-hearted way, +calculated rather on the affection he bestowed than that he should +receive, and so deemed the friendship between them a closer and stronger +tie than it was. It might be, too,--she had heard of such things,--that +men in power are so besieged by those who assume to have claims upon +them, that they lose temper and patience, and indiscriminately class +all such applicants as mere hungry place-hunters, presuming upon some +accidental meeting,--some hap-hazard acquaintance of a few minutes. “And +so,” said she, “if he has not heard of my husband for thirty-odd years, +he may come to look coldly on this letter of mine, and even ask, 'Who is +Eleanor Butler, and of whom is she the widow?' I will simply say to him: +The son of the late Colonel Walter Butler, with whose name his widow +believes you are not unacquainted, solicits some assistance on your +part, towards--towards--shall I say at once an appointment in one of our +colonies, or merely what may forward his pursuits in a new world? I wish +I could hit upon something that will not sound like the every-day tune +that must ring in his ears; but how can I, when what I seek is the +selfsame thing?” + +She leaned her head on her hand in thought, and, as she pondered, it +occurred to her what her husband would have thought of such a step as +she was taking. Would Walter have sanctioned it? He was a proud man on +such points. He had never asked for anything in his life, and it was one +of his sayings,--“There was no station that was not too dearly bought at +the price of asking for it” She canvassed and debated the question with +herself, balancing all that she owed to her husband's memory against all +that she ought to attempt for her boy's welfare. It was a matter of no +easy solution; but an accident decided for her what all her reasoning +failed in; for, as she sat thinking, a hurried step was heard on the +gravel, and then the well-known sound of Tony's latch-key followed, and +he entered the room, flushed and heated. He was still in dinner-dress, +but his cravat was partly awry, and his look excited and angry. + +“Why, my dear Tony,” said she, rising, and parting his hair tenderly on +his forehead, “I did n't look for you here to-night; how came it that +you left the Abbey at this hour?” + +“Wasn't it a very good hour to come home?” answered he, curtly. “We +dined at eight; I left at half-past eleven. Nothing very unusual in all +that.” + +“But you always slept there; you had that nice room you told me of.” + +“Well, I preferred coming home. I suppose that was reason enough.” + +“What has happened, Tony darling? Tell me frankly and fearlessly what +it is that has ruffled you. Who has such a right to know it, or, if need +be, to sympathize with you, as your own dear mother?” + +“How you run on, mother, and all about nothing! I dine out, and I come +back a little earlier than my wont, and immediately you find out that +some one has outraged or insulted me.” + +“Oh, no, no. I never dreamed of that, my dear boy!” said she, coloring +deeply. + +“Well, there's enough about it,” said he, pacing the room with hasty +strides. “What is that you were saying the other day about a Mr. +Elphinstone,--that he was an old friend of my father's, and that they +had chummed together long ago?” + +“All these scrawls that you see there,” said she, pointing to the table, +“have been attempts to write to him, Tony. I was trying to ask him to +give you some sort of place somewhere.” + +“The very thing I want, mother,” said he, with a half-bitter +laugh,--“some sort of place somewhere.” + +“And,” continued she, “I was pondering whether it might not be as well +to see if Sir Arthur Lyle would n't write to some of his friends in +power--” + +“Why should we ask him? What has he to do with it?” broke he in, +hastily. “I 'm not the son of an old steward or family coachman, that +I want to go about with a black pocket-book stuffed with recommendatory +letters. Write simply and fearlessly to this great man,--I don't know +his rank,--and say whose son I am. Leave me to tell him the rest.” + +“My dear Tony, you little know how such people are overwhelmed with +such-like applications, and what slight chance there is that you will be +distinguished from the rest.” + +“At all events, I shall not have the humiliation of a patron. If he will +do anything for me, it will be for the sake of my father's memory, and I +need not be ashamed of that.” + +“What shall I write, then?” And she took up her pen. + +“Sir--I suppose he is 'Sir;' or is he 'My Lord'?” + +“No. His name is Sir Harry Elphinstone.” + + “Sir,--The young man who bears this note is the only son + of the late Colonel Walter Butler, C.B. He has no fortune, + no profession, no friends, and very little ability. Can you + place him in any position where he may acquire some of the + three first and can dispense with the last? + + “Your humble servant, + + “Eleanor Butler.” + +“Oh, Tony! you don't think we could send such a letter as this?” said +she, with a half-sad smile. + +“I am certain I could deliver it, mother,” said he, gravely, “and I 'm +sure that it would answer its purpose just as well as a more finished +composition.” + +“Let me at least make a good copy of it,” said she, as he folded it up +and placed it in an envelope. + +“No, no,” said he; “just write his name, and all the fine things that +he is sure to be, before and after it, and, as I said before, leave the +issue to me.” + +“And when would you think of going, Tony?” + +“To-morrow morning, by the steamer that will pass this on the way to +Liverpool. I know the Captain, and he will give me a passage; he's +always teasing me to take a trip with him.” + +“To-morrow! but how could you get ready by to-morrow? I 'll have to look +over all your clothes, Tony.” + +“My dear little mother,” said he, passing his arm round her, and kissing +her affectionately, “how easy it is to hold a review where there 's only +a corporal's guard for inspection! All my efficient movables will +fit into a very small portmanteau, and I 'll pack it in less than ten +minutes.” + +“I see no necessity for all this haste, particularly where we have so +much to consider and talk over. We ought to consult the doctor, too; +he's a warm friend, Tony, and bears you a sincere affection.” + +“He's a good fellow; I like him anywhere but in the pulpit,” muttered +he, below his breath. “And he 'd like to write to his daughter; she's +a governess in some family near Putney, I think. I 'll go and see her; +Dolly and I are old playfellows. I don't know,” added he, with a laugh, +“whether hockey and football are part of a polite female education; but +if they be, the pupils that have got Dolly Stewart for their governess +are in rare luck.” + +“But why must there be all this hurry?” + +“Because it's a whim of mine, dear little mother. Because--but don't ask +me for reasons, after having spoiled me for twenty years, and given me +my own way in everything. I 've got it into my wise head--and you know +what a wise head it is--that I 'm going to do something very brilliant. +You 'll puzzle me awfully if you ask me where or how; so just be +generous and don't push me to the wall.” + +“At all events, you 'll not go without seeing the doctor?” + +“That I will. I have some experience of him as a questioner in the +Scripture-school of a Saturday, and I 'll not stand a cross-examination +in profane matters from so skilled a hand. Tell him from me that I had +one of my flighty fits on me, and that I knew I 'd make such a sorry +defence if we were to meet, that, in the words of his own song, 'I ran +awa' in the morning.'” + +She shook her head in silence, and seemed far from satisfied. + +“Tell him, however, that I 'll go and see Dolly the first day I'm free, +and bring him back a full account of her, how she looks, and what she +says of herself.” + +The thought of his return flashed across the poor mother's heart like +sunshine over a landscape, spreading light and gladness everywhere. “And +when will that be, Tony?” cried she, looking up into his eyes. + +“Let me see. To-morrow will be Wednesday.” + +“No, Tony,--Thursday.” + +“To be sure, Thursday,--Thursday, the ninth; Friday, Liverpool; +Saturday, London! Sunday will do for a visit to Dolly; I suppose there +will be no impropriety in calling on her of a Sunday?” + +“The M'Graders are a Scotch family, I don't know if they 'd like it.” + +“That shall be thought of. Let me see; Monday for the great man, Tuesday +and Wednesday to see a little bit of London, and back here by the end of +the week.” + +“Oh! if I thought that, Tony--” + +“Well, do think it; believe it, rely upon it. If you like, I'll give up +the Tuesday and Wednesday, though I have some very gorgeous speculations +about Westminster Abbey and the Tower, and the monkeys in the Zoological +Gardens, with the pantomime for a finish in the evening. But you 've +only to say the word, and I 'll start half an hour after I see the Don +in Downing Street.” + +“No, of course not, darling. I 'm not so selfish as that; and if you +find that London amuses you and is not too expensive,--for you know, +Tony, what a slender purse we have,--stay a week,--two weeks, Tony, if +you like it.” + +“What a good little woman it is!” said he, pressing her towards him; and +the big tears trembled in his eyes and rolled heavily along his cheeks. +“Now for the ugly part,--the money, I mean.” + +“I have eleven pounds in the house, Tony, if that will do to take with +you.” + +“Do, mother! Of course it will. I don't mean to spend near so much; but +how can you spare such a sum? that's the question.” + +“I just had it by, Tony, for a rainy day, as they call it; or I meant +to have made you a smart present on the fourth of next month, for your +birthday.--I forget, indeed, what I intended it for,” said she, wiping +her eyes, “for this sudden notion of yours has driven everything clean +out of my head; and all I can think of is if there be buttons on your +shirts, and how many pairs of socks you have.” + +“I'm sure everything is right; it always is. And now go to bed like a +dear little woman, and I 'll come in and say good-bye before I start in +the morning.” + +“No, no, Tony; I 'll be up and make you a cup of tea.” + +“That you shall not. What a fuss to make of a trip to London; as if I +was going to Auckland or the Fijee Islands? By the way, mother, would +n't you come out to me if the great man gave me something very fine and +lucrative?--for I can't persuade myself that he won't make me a governor +somewhere.” + +She could not trust herself to speak, and merely clutched his hand in +both her own and held it fast. + +“There's another thing,” said he, after a short struggle with himself; +“there may possibly be notes or messages of one sort or another from +Lyle Abbey; and just hint that I 've been obliged to leave home for +a day or two. You need n't say for where nor how long; but that I was +called away suddenly,--too hurriedly to go up and pay my respects, and +the rest of it I 'm not quite sure you 'll be troubled in this way; but +if you should, say what I have told you.” + +“The doctor will be sorry not to have said good-bye, Tony.” + +“I may be back again before he need hear of my having gone. And now, +good-night, dear mother; I 'll come and see you before I start.” + +When Tony Butler found himself alone in his room, he opened his +writing-desk and prepared to write,--a task, for him, of no common +magnitude and of the very rarest occurrence. What it exacted in the way +of strain and effort may be imagined from the swelling of the veins in +his forehead, and the crimson patches that formed on his cheeks. “What +would I give now,” muttered he, “for just ten minutes of ready tact, to +express myself suitably,--to keep down my own temper, and at the same +time make _his_ boil over! If I have ten years of life before me, I 'd +give five of them to be able to do this; but I cannot,--I cannot! To say +all that I want, and not be a braggart or something worse, requires mind +and judgment and tact, and twenty other gifts that I have not got; and I +have only to picture him going about with my letter in his hand, showing +it to every one, with a sheer at my mode of expression,--possibly of my +spelling! Here goes; my very writing shames me:-- + + “Sir,--The manner I left your father's house last night + would require an apology [I wonder if there are two p's in + 'apology'] from me, if I had not a graver one to ask from + you. [He read this over fully a dozen times, varying the + emphasis, and trying if the meaning it bore, or that he + meant it to bear, could be changed by the reading. 'All + right,' said he, 'no mistake there.'] There is, however, so + much of excuse for your conduct that you did not know how I + was treated by your family,--regarded as a friend, and not + the Cad you wanted to make me! ['Cad' reads wrong--vulgar; + I suppose it is vulgar, but it means what I intend, and so + let it go.] I cannot _make_ a quarrel with your father's + son. [I 'll dash _make_, to show that I could accept one of + another's making.] But to avoid the risk, I must avoid the + society where I shall meet you [no; that's not right; + 'father's son' ought to have _him_ after it]--avoid the + society where I shall meet him. From this day, therefore, I + will not return to the Abbey without I receive that + reparation from you which is the right of + + “Your faithful servant, + + “T. Butler. + +“I could not write myself 'Anthony,' if I got five pounds for it” + +Ten miles across a stiff country, straight as the crow flies would not +have “taken as much out” of poor Tony as the composition of this elegant +epistle; and though he felt a sincere satisfaction at its completion, +he was not by any means satisfied that he had achieved a success. “No,” + muttered he, as he sealed it, “my pen will not be my livelihood; that's +certain. If it wasn't for the dear mother's sake, I would see what a +musket could do, I'd enlist, to a certainty. It is the best thing for +fellows like me.” Thus musing and “mooning,” he lay down, dressed as he +was, and fell asleep. And as he lay, there came a noiseless step to his +door, and the handle turned, and his mother drew nigh his bed, and bent +over him. “Poor Tony!” muttered she, as her tears gushed out. “Poor +Tony!” what a story in two words was there!--what tender love, what +compassionate sorrow! It was the outburst of a mother's grief for one +who was sure to get the worst at the hands of the world,--a cry of +anguish for all the sorrows his own warm heart and guileless nature +would expose him to,--the deceptions, the wrongs, the treacheries that +were before him; and yet, in all the selfishness of her love, she would +not have had him other than he was! She never wished him to be crafty +or worldly-wise. Ten thousand times was he dearer, in all his weakness, +than if he had the cunning of the craftiest that ever outschemed their +neighbors. “My poor boy,” said she, “what hard lessons there are before +you! It is well that you have a brave, big heart, as well as a tender +one.” + +He was so like his father, too, as he lay there,--no great guarantee for +success in life was that!--and her tears fell faster as she looked at +him; and fearing that her sobs might awake him, she stole silently away +and left the room. + +“There's the steam-whistle, mother; I can just see the smoke over the +cliff. I 'm off,” said he, as she had dropped off asleep. + +“But your breakfast, Tony; I 'll make you a cup of tea.” + +“Not for the world; I 'm late enough as it is. God bless you, little +woman. I 'll be back before you know that I 'm gone. Good-bye.” + +She could hardly trace the black speck as the boat shot out in the deep +gloom of daybreak, and watched it till it rounded the little promontory, +when she lost it; and then her sorrow--sorrow that recalled her +great desolation--burst forth, and she cried as they only cry who are +forsaken. But this was not for long. It was the passion of grief, and +her reason soon vanquished it; and as she dried her tears, she said, +“Have I not much to be grateful for? What a noble boy he is, and what a +brave good man he may be!” + + + +CHAPTER II. A COUNTRY-HOUSE IN IRELAND + +The country-house life of Ireland had--and I would say has, if I were +not unhappily drawing on my memory--this advantage over that of England, +that it was passed in that season when the country offered all that it +had of beauty and attraction; when the grove was leafy, and the blossomy +fruit-trees vied in gorgeous color with the flowery beds beneath them; +when the blackbird's mellow song rang through the thicket, and the heavy +plash of the trout rose above the ripple of the river; when the deep +grass waved like a sea under a summer wind, and the cattle, grouped +picturesquely, tempered the noonday heat beneath the spreading elms, or +stood contemplatively in the stream, happy in their luxurious indolence. + +What a wealth of enjoyment does such a season offer! How imperceptibly +does the lovely aspect of nature blend itself day by day with every +incident of our lives, stealing its peaceful influence over our troubled +hearts, blunting the pangs of our disappointments, calming down the +anxieties of our ambitions! How pleasant is the companionship of our +book, and doubly, trebly delightful the converse of our friend! How +gratefully, too, do we imbibe the health that comes with every charm +of color and sound and form and odor, repeating at every step, “How +beautiful the world is, and how enjoyable!” + +I am not going to disparage--far be it from me--the fox-cover or the +grouse-mountain; but, after all, these are the accidents, not the +elements, of country life, which certainly ought to be passed when +the woods are choral with the thrush, and the air scented with the +apple-blossom; when it is sweet to lie under the weeping-willow beside +the stream, or stroll at sunset through the grove, to gain that crested +ridge where the red horizon can be seen, and watch the great sun as it +sinks in splendor. + +Lyle Abbey had not many pretensions to beauty of architecture in itself, +or to scenery in its neighborhood. Nor was it easy to say why a great, +bulky, incongruous building, disfigured by painted windows to make it +Gothic, should have ever been called an Abbey. It was, however, +both roomy and convenient within. There were fine, lofty, spacious +reception-rooms, well lighted and ventilated. Wide corridors led to rows +of comfortable chambers, where numbers of guests could be accommodated, +and in every detail of fitting and furniture, ease and comfort had been +studied with a success that attained perfection. + +The grounds,--a space of several hundred acres,--enclosed within a +massive wall, had not more pretensions to beauty than the mansion. There +were, it is true, grand points of view,--noble stretches of shore +and sea-coast to be had from certain eminences, and abundant +undulations,--some of these wild and picturesque enough; but the great +element of all was wanting,--there was no foliage, or next to none. + +Trees will not grow in this inhospitable climate, or only grow in the +clefts and valleys; and even there their stunted growth and scathed +branches show that the northwest wind has found them out, twisting their +boughs uncouthly towards the eastward, and giving them a semblance to +some scared and hooded traveller scudding away before a storm. + +Vegetation thrives no better. The grass, of sickly yellow, is only fit +for sheep, and there are no traces of those vast tracts of verdure which +represent culture in the South of Ireland. Wealth had fought out the +battle bravely, however, and artificial soils and trees and ornamental +shrubs, replaced and replaced by others as they died off, combated the +ungrateful influences, and won at last a sort of victory. That is to +say, the stranger felt, as he passed the gate, that he was entering what +seemed an oasis, so wild and dreary and desolate was the region which +stretched away for miles on every side. + +Some drives and walks had been designed--what will not landscape +gardening do?--with occasional shelter and cover. The majority, however, +led over wild, bleak crests,--breezy and bracing on fine days, but +storm-lashed whenever the wind came, as it will for ten months out of +twelve, over the great rolling waters of the Atlantic. + +The most striking and picturesque of these walks led along the cliffs +over the sea, and, indeed, so close as to be fenced off by a parapet +from the edge of the precipice. It was a costly labor, and never fully +carried out,--the two miles which had been accomplished figuring for a +sum that Sir Arthur declared would have bought the fee-simple of a small +estate. It was along this pathway that Captain Lyle sauntered with his +two sisters on the morning after his arrival. It was the show spot of +the whole demesne; and certainly, as regards grand effects of sea-view +and coastline, not to be surpassed in the kingdom. They had plotted +together in the morning how they would lead Mark in this direction, and, +suddenly placing him in one of the most striking spots, enjoy all his +wonderment and admiration; for Mark Lyle had seldom been at home since +his “Harrow” days, and the Abbey and its grounds were almost strange to +him. + +“What are the rocks yonder, Bella?” said he, listlessly, as he puffed +his cigar and pointed seaward. + +“The Skerries, Mark; see how the waves beat over that crag. They tried +to build a lighthouse there, but the foundations were soon swept away.” + +“And what is that? It looks like a dismantled house.” + +“That is the ruined castle of Dunluce. It belonged to the Antrim +family.” + +“Good heavens! what a dreary region it all is!” cried he, interrupting. +“I declare to you, South Africa is a garden compared to this.” + +“Oh, Mark, for shame!” said his elder sister. “The kingdom has nothing +grander than this coast-line from Portrush to Fairhead.” + +“I 'm no judge of its grandeur, but I tell you one thing,--I 'd not live +here,--no, nor would I contract to live six months in a year here,--to +have the whole estate. This is a fine day, I take it.” + +“It is a glorious day,” said Bella. + +“Well, it's just as much as we can do to keep our legs here; and +certainly your flattened bonnets and dishevelled hair are no allies to +your good looks.” + +“Our looks are not in question,” said the elder, tartly. “We were +talking of the scenery; and I defy you to tell me where, in all your +travels, you have seen its equal.” + +“I 'll tell you one thing, Alice, it's deuced dear at the price we are +looking at it; I mean, at the cost of this precious bit of road we stand +on. Where did the governor get his engineer?” + +“It was Tony planned this,--every yard of it,” said Bella, proudly. + +“And who is Tony, pray?” said he, superciliously. + +“You met him last night,--young Butler. He dined here, and sat next +Alice.” + +“You mean that great hulking fellow, with the attempt at a straw-colored +moustache, who directed the fireworks.” + +“I mean that very good-looking young man who coolly removed the +powder-flask that you had incautiously forgotten next the rocket-train,” + said Mrs. Trafford. + +“And that was Tony!” said he, with a faint sneer. + +“Yes, Mark, that was Tony; and if you want to disparage him, let it be +to some other than Bella and myself; for he is an old playmate that we +both esteem highly, and wish well to.” + +“I am not surprised at it,” said he, languidly. “I never saw a snob yet +that could n't find a woman to defend him; and this fellow, it would +seem, has got two.” + +“Tony a snob!” + +“Tony Butler a snob! Just the very thing he is not. Poor boy, there +never was one to whom the charge was less applicable.” + +“Don't be angry, Alice, because I don't admire your rustic friend. In my +ignorance I fancied he was a pretentious sort of bumpkin, who talked of +things a little out of his reach,--such as yachting,--steeple-chasing, +and the like. Is n't he the son of some poor dependant of the +governor's?” + +“Nothing of the kind; his mother is a widow, with very narrow means, I +believe; but his father was a colonel, and a distinguished one. As to +dependence, there is no such relation between us.” + +“I am glad of that, for I rather set him down last night” + +“Set him down! What do you mean?” + +“He was talking somewhat big of 'cross-country riding, and I asked him +about his stable, and if his cattle ran more on bone than blood.” + +“Oh, Mark, you did not do that?” cried Bella, anxiously. + +“Yes; and when I saw his confusion, I said, 'You must let me walk over +some morning, and have a look at your nags; for I know from the way you +speak of horseflesh I shall see something spicy.'” + +“And what answer did he make?” asked Bella, with an eager look. + +“He got very red, crimson, indeed, and stammered out, 'You may spare +yourself the walk, sir; for the only quadruped I have is a spaniel, and +she is blind from age, and stupid.'” + +“Who was the snob there, Mark?” said Mrs. Trafford, angrily. + +“Alice!” said he, raising his eyebrows, and looking at her with a cold +astonishment. + +“I beg pardon in all humility, Mark,” said she, hastily. “I am very +sorry to have offended you; but I forgot myself. I fancied you had been +unjust to one we all value very highly, and my tongue outran me.” + +“These sort of fellows,” continued he, as if unheeding her excuses, +“only get a footing in houses where there are no men, or at least none +of their own age; and thus they are deemed Admirable Crichtons because +they can row, or swim, or kill a salmon. Now, when a gentleman does +these things, and fifty more of the same sort, nobody knows it. You'll +see in a day or two here a friend of mine, a certain Norman Maitland, +that will beat your young savage at everything,--ride, row, walk, shoot +or single-stick him for whatever he pleases; and yet I 'll wager you 'll +never know from Maitland's manner or conversation that he ever took the +lock of a canal in a leap, or shot a jaguar single-handed.” + +“Is your phoenix really coming here?” asked Mrs. Trafford, only too glad +to get another channel for the conversation. + +“Yes; here is what he writes;” and he took a note from his pocket. +“'I forget, my dear Lyle, whether your château be beside the lakes of +Killarney, the groves of Blarney, or what other picturesque celebrity +your island claims; but I have vowed you a visit of two days,--three, if +you insist,--but not another if you die for it.' Is n't he droll?” + +“He is insufferably impudent. There is 'a snob' if there ever was one,” + cried Alice, exultingly. + +“Norman Maitland, Norman Maitland a snob! Why, my dear sister, what will +you say next? Ask the world its opinion of Norman Maitland, for he is +just as well known in St. Petersburg as Piccadilly, and the ring of his +rifle is as familiar on the Himalayas as on a Scotch mountain. There is +not a gathering for pleasure, nor a country-house party in the kingdom, +would not deem themselves thrice fortunate to secure a passing visit +from him, and he is going to give us three days.” + +“Has he been long in your regiment, Mark?” asked Mrs. Trafford. + +“Maitland has never served with us; he joined us in Simla as a member of +our mess, and we call him 'of ours' because he never would dine with the +9th or the 50th. Maitland would n't take the command of a division to +have the bore and worry of soldiering,--and why should he?” + +It was not without astonishment Mark's sisters saw their brother, +usually cold and apathetic in his tone, so warmly enthusiastic about his +friend Maitland, of whom he continued to talk with rapture, recalling +innumerable traits of character and temper, but which unhappily only +testified to the success with which he had practised towards the world +an amount of impertinence and presumption that seemed scarcely credible. + +“If he only be like your portrait, I call him downright detestable,” + said Mrs. Trafford. + +“Yes, but you are dying to see him all the same, and so is Bella.” + +“Let me answer for myself, Mark,” said Isabella, “and assure you that, +so far from curiosity, I feel an actual repugnance to the thought of +meeting him. I don't really know whether the condescending politeness of +such a man, or his cool impertinence, is the greater insult.” + +“Poor Maitland, how will you encounter what is prepared for you?” said +be, mockingly; “but courage, girls, I think he 'll survive it,--only +I beg no unnecessary cruelty,--no harshness beyond what his own +transgressions may call down upon him; and don't condemn him merely, and +for no other reason, than because he is the friend of your brother.” And +with this speech he turned short round and ascended a steep path at his +side, and was lost to their view in a minute. + +“Isn't he changed, Alice? Did you ever see any one so altered?” + +“Not a bit changed, Bella; he is exactly what he was at the +grammar-school, at Harrow, and at Sandhurst,--very intolerant to the +whole world, as a compensation for the tyranny some one, boy or man as +it may be, exercises over him. All his good qualities lie under this +veil, and so it was ever with him.” + +“I wish his friend was not coming.” + +“And I wish that he had not sent away _ours_, for I 'm sure Tony would +have been up here before this if something unusual had not occurred.” + +“Here's a strange piece of news for you, girls,” said Sir Arthur, +coming towards them. “Tony Butler left for Liverpool in the packet this +morning. Barnes, who was seeing his brother off, saw him mount the side +of the steamer with his portmanteau in his hand. Is it not singular he +should have said nothing about this last night?” + +The sisters looked with a certain secret intelligence at each other, but +did not speak. “Except, perhaps, he may have told you girls.” added he +quickly, and catching the glance that passed between them. + +“No, papa,” said Alice, “he said nothing of his intention to us; indeed, +he was to have ridden over with me this morning to Mount-Leslie, and ask +about those private theatricals that have been concerted there for the +last two years, but of which all the performers either marry or die off +during the rehearsals.” + +“Perhaps this all-accomplished friend of Mark's who comes here by the +end of the week, will give the project his assistance. If the half of +what Mark says of him be true, we shall have for our guest one of the +wonders of Europe.” + +“I wish the Leslies would take me on a visit till he goes,” said Alice. + +“And I,” said Bella, “have serious thoughts of a sore throat that +will confine me to my room. Brummelism--and I hate it--it is just +Brummelism--is somewhat out of vogue at this time of day. It wants +the prestige of originality, and it wants the high patronage that once +covered it; but there is no sacrifice of self-respect in being amused +by it, so let us at least enjoy a hearty laugh, which is more than the +adorers of the great Beau himself ever acquired at his expense.” + +“At all events, girls, don't desert the field and leave me alone with +the enemy; for this man is just coming when we shall have no one here, +as ill-luck would have it.” + +“Don't say ill-luck, papa,” interposed Bella; “for if he be like what we +suspect, he would outrage and affront every one of our acquaintance.” + +“Three days are not an eternity,” said he, half gayly, “and we must make +the best of it.” + + + +CHAPTER III. A VERY “FINE GENTLEMAN” + +One word about Mr. Norman Maitland, of whom this history will have +something more to say hereafter. He was one of those men, too few +in number to form a class, but of which nearly every nation on the +Continent has some examples,--men with good manners and good means, met +with always in the great world,--at home in the most exclusive circles, +much thought of, much caressed; but of whom, as to family, friends, or +belongings, no one can tell anything. They who can recall the society of +Paris some forty years back, will remember such a man in Montrond. Rich, +accomplished, handsome, and with the most fascinating address, Montrond +won his way into circles the barriers to which extended even to royalty; +and yet all the world were asking, “Who is he?--who knows him?” Maitland +was another of these. Men constantly canvassed him, agreed that he was +not of these “Maitlands” or of those--that nobody was at school with +him,--none remembered him at Eton or at Rugby. He first burst upon life +at Cambridge, where he rode boldly, was a first-rate cricketer, gave +splendid wine-parties, wrote a prize poem, and disappeared none ever +knew whence or wherefore. He was elected for a borough, but only was +seen twice or thrice in the House. He entered the army, but left without +joining his regiment. He was to be heard of in every city of Europe, +living sumptuously, playing high,--more often a loser than a winner. His +horses, his carriages, his liveries, were models; and wherever he went +his track could be marked in the host of imitators he left behind him. +For some four or five years back all that was known of him was in some +vague paragraph appearing from time to time that some tourist had met +him in the Rocky Mountains, or that he had been seen in Circassia. An +Archduke on his travels had partaken of his hospitality in the extreme +north of India; and one of our naval commanders spoke of dining on board +his yacht in the Southern Pacific. Those who were curious about him +learned that he was beginning to show some slight touches of years,--how +he had grown fatter, some said more serious and grave,--and a few +censoriously hinted that his beard and moustaches were a shade darker +than they used to be. Maitland, in short, was just beginning to drop out +of people's minds, when he reappeared once more in England, looking +in reality very little altered, save that his dark complexion seemed a +little darker from travel, and he was slightly, very slightly, bald on +the top of the head. + +It was remarked, however, that his old pursuits, which were purely those +of pleasure or dissipation, had not, to all appearance, the same hold +on him as before. “He never goes down to Tattersall's,” “I don't think +I have seen him once at the opera,” “He has given up play altogether,” + were the rumors one heard on all sides; and so it was that the young +generation, who had only heard of but never seen him, were sorely +disappointed in meeting the somewhat quiet, reserved-looking, haughty +man, whose wild feats and eccentricities had so often amused them, +but who now gave no evidence of being other than a cold, well-bred +gentleman. + +It was when hastily passing through London, on his return from India, +that Mark Lyle had met him, and Maitland had given him a half-careless +promise to come and see him. “I want to go across to Ireland,” said he, +“and whenever town gets hot, I'll run over.” Mark would have heard the +same words from a royal duke with less pride, for he had been brought up +in his Sandhurst days with great traditions of Maitland; and the favor +the great man had extended to him in India, riding his horses, and once +sharing his bungalow, had so redounded to his credit in the regiment +that even a tyrannical major had grown bland and gentle to him. + +Mark was, however, far from confident that he could rely on his promise. +It seemed too bright a prospect to be possible. Maitland, who had never +been in Ireland,--whom one could, as Mark thought, no more fancy in +Ireland than he could imagine a London fine lady passing her mornings in +a poorhouse, or inspecting the coarse labors of a sewing-school,--_he_ +coming over to see him! What a triumph, were it only to be true! and +now the post told him it was true, and that Maitland would arrive at the +Abbey on Saturday. Now, when Mark had turned away so hastily and left +his sisters, he began to regret that he had announced the approaching +arrival of his friend with such a flourish of trumpets. “I ought to have +said nothing whatever about him. I ought simply to have announced him +as a man very well off, and much asked out, and have left the rest to +fortune. All I have done by my ill-judged praise has been to awaken +prejudice against him, and make them eager to detect flaws, if they can, +in his manner,--at all events in his temper.” The longer he thought over +these things the more they distressed him; and, at last, so far from +being overjoyed, as he expected, at the visit of his distinguished +friend, he saw the day of his coming dawn with dismay and misgiving. +Indeed, had such a thing as putting him off been possible, it is likely +he would have done it. + +The long-looked-for and somewhat feared Saturday came at last, and with +it came a note of a few lines from Maitland. They were dated from a +little village in Wicklow, and ran thus:-- + + “Dear L.,--I have come down here with a Yankee, whom I + chanced upon as a travelling companion, to look at the + mines,--gold, they call them; and if I am not seduced into + a search after nuggets, I shall be with you some time--I + cannot define the day--next week. The country is prettier + and the people less barbarous than I expected; but I hear + your neighborhood will compensate me for both + disappointments. + + “Yours, + + “N. M.” + +“Well! are we to send the carriage into Coleraine for him, Mark?” asked +Sir Arthur, as his son continued to read the letter, without lifting his +eyes. + +“No,” said Mark, in some confusion. “This is a sort of put-off. He +cannot be here for several days. Some friend or acquaintance has dragged +him off in another direction;” and he crushed the note in his hand, +afraid of being asked to read or to show it. + +“The house will be full after Tuesday, Mark,” said Lady Lyle. “The Gores +and the Masseys and the M'Clintocks will all be here, and Gambier Graham +threatens us with himself and his two daughters.” + +“If they come,” broke in Mark, “you'll have my rooms at your disposal.” + +“I delight in them,” said Mrs. Trafford; “and if your elegantly +fastidious friend should really come, I count upon them to be perfect +antidotes to all his impertinence. Sally Graham and the younger one, +whom her father calls 'Dick,' are downright treasures when one is in +want of a forlorn hope to storm town-bred pretension.” + +“If Maitland is to be baited, Alice, I 'd rather the bullring was +somewhere else,” said her brother, angrily. + +“The real question is, shall we have room for all these people and their +followers?” said Lady Lyle. + +“I repeat,” said Mark, “that if the Graham girls are to be here, I 'm +off. They are the most insufferably obtrusive and aggressive women I +ever met; and I 'd rather take boat and pass a month at the Hebrides +than stop a week in the house with them.” + +“I think Sally thrashed you when you came home once for the holidays,” + said Mrs. Trafford, laughing. + +“No, Alice, it was Beck,” broke in her sister. “She has a wonderful +story of what she calls a left-hander, that she planted under his eye. +She tells it still with great gusto, but owns that Mark fought on very +bravely for two rounds after.” + +“And are these the people you expect me to show Maitland?” said Mark, +rising from the table; “I'd rather, fifty times rather, write and say, +'We cannot receive you; our house is full, and will be for a month to +come.'” + +“Yes, dear Mark, that is the really sensible way to look at it. Nobody +nowadays has any scruple in such matters. One is invited from Monday to +Thursday, but on no possible pretext can he stay to Friday.” And so Mrs. +Trafford ran away, heaping, by apparent consolations, coals of fire on +his angry head. + +“I think you had better get Alice to write the letter herself,” said +Bella; “I'm sure she will do it with great tact and discretion.” + +“Pray do,” added she. “Entrust me with the despatch, and I promise you +the negotiation will be completed then and there.” + +“It is quite bad enough to shut the door in a man's face, without +jeering at him out of the window,” said Mark; and he dashed out of the +room in a rage. + +“I wish he had shown us his friend's note,” said Alice. “I'm quite +certain that his anger has far, more to do with that epistle than with +any of our comments upon it.” + +“I'm very sorry Mark should be annoyed,” said Bella; “but I'm selfish +enough to own that, if we escape Mr. Maitland's visit, I shall deem the +bargain a good one.” + +“I suspect Mr. Maitland does not intend to honor us by his company, and +that we may spare ourselves all the embarrassment of preparing for it,” + said Lady Lyle. And now the three ladies set themselves to consider in +committee that oft-vexed problem of how to make a country-house +hold more people than it had room for, and how to persuade the less +distinguished of the guests that they are “taking out” in cordiality +all that their reception wants in convenience. One difficulty presented +itself at every step, and in a variety of shapes. Never before had the +Abbey been full of visitors without Tony Butler being there to assist in +their amusement,--Tony, equally at home on land and on sea, the cavalier +of young ladies, the safe coachman of mammas, the guide to all that was +noteworthy, the fisherman, the yachtsman whom no weather disconcerted, +no misadventure could provoke,--so good-tempered and so safe; ay, so +safe! for Tony never wanted to flirt with the young heiress, nor teach +her schoolboy brother to smoke a short pipe. He had neither the ambition +to push his fortune unfairly, nor to attach his junior to him by +unworthy means. And the sisters ran over his merits, and grew very +enthusiastic about traits in him which, by inference, they implied were +not the gifts of others nearer home. + +“I wish, papa, you would ride over and see Mrs. Butler, and ask when +Tony is expected back again.” + +“Or if,” added Mrs. Trafford--“or if we could get him back by writing, +and saying how much we want him.” + +“I know I 'll never venture on Soliman till Tony has had a hand on him.” + +“And those chestnuts mamma wants for the low phaeton,--who is to break +them now?” cried Bella. + +“I only heard yesterday,” said Sir Arthur, “that the 'Mermaid's' sails +were all cut up. Tony was going to make a schooner of her, it seems; +and there she is now, dismantled, and not one of us able to put her in +commission again.” + +“I declare it sounds absurd,” broke in Lady Lyle, “but I fancy the +garden is beginning to look neglected already. Certainly I never saw +Mr. Graft there the whole morning; and he would not have dared to absent +himself if Tony were here.” + +“I 'd go over willingly and see his mother,” said Sir Arthur; “but as +Tony did not confide to us his intended journey, but set off without a +word, it would have the appearance of a certain prying curiosity on my +part were I to ask after him, and when he is expected home again.” + +“Not if you were to say frankly that we wanted him, and could n't get +on without him, papa,” said Alice. “I 'd have no shame in saying that +we are perfectly helpless without his skill, his courage, his ready wit, +and his good nature.” + +“Why not secure all those perfections beyond risk, Alice?” said Sir +Arthur, laughing. + +“How so?--only tell me.” + +“Marry him.” + +“First of all, papa, he might not marry me; and, secondly, if he should, +it might not be the way to insure the perpetuity I covet. You know what +Swift says of the 'promising' Princes and the 'bad' Kings the world is +full of?” + +“I protest,” said Lady Lyle, haughtily, “I have a great regard for young +Butler; but it has never gone the length of making me desire him for a +son-in-law.” + +“Meanwhile, papa,--for we have quite time enough to think over the +marriage,--pray let me order them to saddle Peter for you, and ride over +to the Burnside.” + +“Do so, Alice; I'm quite ready; but, first of all, give me my +instructions.” + +“We want Tony,” broke in Bella. + +“Yes; and insist on having him. He must be here by Monday night or +Tuesday morning, if it cost an express to go after him.” + +“We ought to bear in mind, girls, that Tony has not left home in pursuit +of pleasure. The poor fellow has had some call of urgency or necessity, +and our selfishness must not go the length of a cruelty.” + +“But with your nice tact, papa, you'll find out all that; you 'll learn, +in the course of conversation, whether anything of importance has called +him away, or whether it be not, as I half suspect, a sort of passing +caprice.” And she looked significantly at Bella, and left her sentence +unfinished. + +“Do you know of anything that should induce you to believe this, Alice?” + +“Nothing more than a chance word that dropped from Mark this morning. +He took it into his head last night that poor Tony was presumptuous, +and gave himself airs,--Tony! of all creatures in the world; and so the +great hussar, in the plenitude of his regimental experiences, essayed +what he called 'to put him down'! Now, the chances are that this may +have occasioned some unpleasantness, and it is not in the least unlikely +may have led to Tony's departure.” + +“You must be right, Alice; and since we have been standing here at the +window, I saw Mrs. Butler's herd give Mark a letter, which, after +reading, he crushed impatiently in his hand and thrust into his pocket. +This decides me at once. I will go down to Mrs. Butler's without delay.” + +“Please explain that I have not called, solely because the carriage-road +is so bad. The drive down through that forest of fern and reeds is like +a horrid nightmare on me,” said Lady Lyle. + +“Well, I think I can apologize for your absence without telling her that +she lives in an unapproachable wilderness,” said he, laughing; “and as +she cares little for visiting or being visited, the chances are my task +will be an easy one. + +“Would you like me to go with you, papa?” asked Alice. + +“Yes, by all means; but stay,” added he, quickly, “it might possibly be +better not to come; if anything unpleasant should have occurred between +Mark and Tony, she will have less reluctance to speak of it when we are +alone.” + +They all agreed that this was well thought of, and soon after saw him +set out on his mission, their best wishes for his success following him. + +Sir Arthur pondered as he went over what he should say, and how he would +meet the remarks he deemed it likely she would make to him. Without +being in the least what is called a person of superior abilities, Mrs. +Butler was a somewhat hard-headed woman, whose North of Ireland caution +and shrewdness stood her in stead for higher qualities; and if they +would not have guided her in great difficulties, she had the good +fortune or the prudence to escape from such. He knew this; and he +knew besides that there pertains to a position of diminished means and +station a peculiar species of touchy pride, always suggesting to its +possessor the suspicion that this or that liberty would never have been +taken in happier days, and thus to regard the most well-meant counsels +and delicately conveyed advice as uncalled-for interference, or worse. + +It was after much consideration he saw himself at the little wicket of +the garden, where he dismounted, and, fastening his bridle to the gate, +knocked at the door. Though he could distinctly hear the sound of voices +within, and the quick movement of feet, his summons was unanswered, and +he was about to repeat it for the third time when the door was opened. + +“Is your mistress at home, Jeanie?” said he, recognizing with a smile +the girl's courtesy to him. + +“Yes, sir, she's at home,” was the dry answer. + +“Will you just tell her, then, that Sir Arthur Lyle would take it as a +great favor if she'd permit him to speak to her?” + +The girl disappeared with the message, but did not return again for +several minutes; and when she did, she looked slightly agitated. “My +mistress is very sorry, sir, but she canna see ye the day; it's a sort +of a headache she has.” + +“Mr. Anthony, is he at home?” asked he, curious to remark the effect of +his question. + +“He's no just at name the noo,” was the cautious reply. + +“He has not been up at the Abbey to-day,” said he, carelessly; “but, to +be sure, I came through the 'bracken,' and might have missed him.” + +A little dry nod of the head, to acknowledge that this or anything else +was possible, was all that his speech elicited. + +“Say that I was very sorry, Jeanie, that Mrs. Butler could not see me, +and sorrier for the reason; but that I hope tomorrow or next day to be +more fortunate. Not,” added he, after a second thought, “that what I +wanted to speak of is important, except to myself; don't forget this, +Jeanie.” + +“I winna forget,” said she; and courtesying again, closed the door. Sir +Arthur rode slowly back to report that his embassy had failed. + + + +CHAPTER IV. SOME NEW ARRIVALS + +Day after day went over, and no tidings of Maitland. When the post came +in of a morning, and no letter in his hand appeared, Mark's impatience +was too perceptible to make any comment for his sisters either safe or +prudent. Nor was it till nigh a week passed over that he himself said, +“I wonder what has become of Maitland? I hope he's not ill.” None +followed up the theme, and it dropped. The expected guests began to +drop in soon after, and, except by Mark himself, Mr. Norman Maitland +was totally forgotten. The visitors were for the most part squires, +and their wives and families; solid, well-to-do gentlemen, whose chief +objects in life were green crops and the poor-law. Their talk was +either of mangold or guano, swedes or the union, just as their sons' +conversation ranged over dogs, horses, meets, and covers; and the ladies +disported in toilette, and such details of the Castle drawing-rooms as +the Dublin papers afforded. There were Mr. and Mrs. Warren, with two +daughters and a son; and the Hunters, with two sons and a daughter. +There were Colonel Hoyle and Mrs. Hoyle, from regimental head-quarters, +Belfast; and Groves Bulkney, the member for the county, who had come +over, in the fear of an approaching dissolution of Parliament, to have +a look at his constituents. He was a Tory, who always voted with the +Whigs; a sort of politician in great favor with the North of Ireland, +and usually supposed to have much influence with both parties. There +were Masseys from Tipperary, and M'Clintocks from Louth; and, lastly, +herald of their approach, three large coffin-shaped trunks, undeniably +of sea-origin, with the words “Cap. Gambier Graham, R.N.,” marked on +them, which arrived by a carrier, with three gun-cases and an immense +array of fishing-tackle, gaffs, and nets. + +“So I see those odious Grahams are coming,” said Mark, ill-humoredly, +as he met his elder sister in the hall. “I declare, if it were not that +Maitland might chance to arrive in my absence, I 'd set off this very +morning.” + +“I assure you, Mark, you are all wrong; the girls are no favorites of +mine; but looking to the staple of our other guests, the Grahams are +perfect boons from Heaven. The Warrens, with their infant school, and +Mrs. Maxwell, with her quarrel with the bishop, and the Masseys, with +their pretension about that daughter who married Lord Claude Somebody, +are so terribly tiresome that I long for the racket and noise of those +bustling young women, who will at least dispel our dulness.” + +“At the cost of our good breeding.” + +“At all events, they are Jolly and good-tempered girls. We have known +them for--” + +“Oh, don't say how long. The younger one is two years older than +myself.” + +“No, Mark, Beck is exactly your own age.” + +“Then I 'm determined to call myself five-and-thirty the first +opportunity I have. She shall have three years tacked to her for the +coming into the world along with me.” + +“Sally is only thirty-four.” + +“Only! the idea of saying _only_ to thirty-four.” + +“They don't look within eight or nine years of it, I declare. I suppose +you will scarcely detect the slightest change in them.” + +“So much the worse. Any change would improve them, in my eyes.” + +“And the Captain, too. He, I believe, is now Commodore.” + +“I perceive there is no change in the mode of travel,” said Mark, +pointing to the trunks. “The heavy luggage used always to arrive the +day before they drove up in their vile Irish jaunting-car. Do they still +come in that fashion?” + +“Yes; and I really believe with the same horse they had long, long ago.” + +“A flea-bitten mare with a twisted tail?” + +“The very same,” cried she, laughing. “I'll certainly tell Beck how well +you remember their horse. She 'll take it as a flattery.” + +“Tell her what you like; she'll soon find out how much flattery she +has to expect from _me!_” After a short pause, in which he made two +ineffectual attempts to light a cigar, and slightly burned his fingers, +he said, “I 'd not for a hundred pounds that Maitland had met them here. +With simply stupid country gentry, he 'd not care to notice their ways +nor pay attention to their humdrum habits; but these Grahams, with all +their flagrant vulgarity, will be a temptation too irresistible, and he +will leave this to associate us forever in his mind with the two most +ill-bred women in creation.” + +“You are quite unfair, Mark; they are greatly liked,--at least, people +are glad to have them; and if we only had poor Tony Butler here, who +used to manage them to perfection, they 'd help us wonderfully with all +the dulness around us.” + +“Thank Heaven we have not. I 'd certainly not face such a constellation +as the three of them. I tell you, frankly, that I 'd pack my portmanteau +and go over to Scotland if that fellow were to come here again.” + +“You 're not likely to be driven to such an extremity, I suspect; but +here comes papa, and I think he has been down at the Burnside; let us +hear what news he has.” + +“It has no interest for me,” said he, walking away, while she hastened +out to meet Sir Arthur. + +“No tidings, Alice,--at least, none that I can learn. Mrs. Butler's +headache still prevents her seeing me, though I could wager I saw her at +work in the garden when I turned off the high-road.” + +“How strange! You suspect that she avoids you?” + +“I am certain of it; and I went round by the minister's, thinking to +have a talk with Stewart, and hear something that might explain this; +but he was engaged in preparing his sermon, and begged me to excuse +him.” + +“I wish we could get to the bottom of this mystery. Would she receive +me, do you think, if I were to go over to the cottage?” + +“Most likely not I suspect whatever it be that has led to this +estrangement will be a passing cloud; let us wait and see. Who are +those coming up the bend of the road? The horse looks fagged enough, +certainly.” + +“The Grahams, I declare! Oh, I must find Mark, and let him be caught +here when they arrive.” + +“Don't let the Commodore get at _me_ before dinner; that's all I ask,” + said Sir Arthur, as he rode round to the stables. + +When Alice entered the house, she found Mark at the open window watching +with an opera-glass the progress of the jaunting-car as it slowly wound +along the turns of the approach, lost and seen as the woods intervened +or opened. + +“I cannot make it out at all, Alice,” said he; “there are two men and +two women, as well as I can see, besides the driver.” + +“No, no; they have their maid, whom you mistake for a man.” + +“Then the maid wears a wideawake and a paletot. Look, and see for +yourself;” and he handed her the glass. + +“I declare you are right,--it is a man; he is beside Beck. Sally is on +the side with her father.” + +“Are they capable of bringing some one along with them?” cried he, in +horror. “Do you think they would dare to take such a liberty as that +here?” + +“I 'm certain they would not. It must be Kenrose the apothecary, who +was coming to see one of the maids, or one of our own people, or--” + Her further conjectures were cut short by the outburst of so strong an +expletive as cannot be repeated; and Mark, pale as death, stammered out, +“It's Maitland! Norman Maitland!” + +“But how, Mark, do they know him?” + +“Confound them! who can tell how it happened?” said he., “I 'll not meet +him; I 'll leave the house,--I 'll not face such an indignity.” + +“But remember, Mark, none of us know your friend, we have not so much as +seen him; and as he was to meet these people, it's all the better they +came as acquaintances.” + +“That's all very fine,” said he, angrily; “you can be beautifully +philosophical about it, all because you have n't to go back to a +mess-table and be badgered by all sorts of allusions and references to +Maitland's capital story.” + +“Here they are, here they are!” cried Alice; and the next moment she +was warmly embracing those dear friends to whose failings she was nowise +blind, however ardent her late defence of them. Mark, meanwhile, had +advanced towards Maitland, and gave him as cordial a welcome as he could +command. “My sister Mrs. Trafford, Mr. Maitland,” said he; and Alice +gave her hand with a graceful cordiality to the new guest. + +“I declare, Mark is afraid that I 'll kiss him,” cried Beck. “Courage, +_mon ami_, I'll not expose you in public.” + +“How are you? how are you?” cried the Commodore; “brown, brown, very +brown; Indian sun. Lucky if the mischief is only skin-deep.” + +“Shake hands, Mark,” said Sally, in a deep masculine voice; “don't bear +malice, though I did pitch you out of the boat that day.” + +Mark was however, happily, too much engaged with his friend to have +heard the speech. He was eagerly listening to Maitland's account of his +first meeting with the Grahams. + +“My lucky star was in the ascendant; for there I stood,” said Maitland, +“in the great square of Bally--Bally--” + +“Ballymena,” broke in Beck; “and there's no great square in the place; +but you stood in a very dirty stable-yard, in a much greater passion +than such a fine gentleman should ever give way to.” + +“Calling, 'A horse! a horse! My kingdom for a horse!'” + +“It was 'a chaise and pair' _I_ heard, and you were well laughed at +for your demand. The baker offered you a seat, which you rejected with +dismay; and, to tell the truth, it was half in the hope of witnessing +another outburst of your indignation that I went across and said, 'Would +you accept a place beside me, sir?'” + +“And was I not overwhelmed with joy? Was it not in a transport of +gratitude that I embraced your offer?” + +“I know you very nearly embraced my maid as you lifted her off the car.” + +“And, by the way, where is Patience?” asked Mrs. Trafford. + +“She's coming on, some fashion, with the swell's luggage,” added she, +dropping her voice to a whisper,--“eight trunks, eleven carpet-bags, and +four dressing-boxes, besides what I thought was a show-box, but is only +a shower-bath.” + +“My people will take every care of her,” said Maitland. + +“Is Fenton still with you?” asked Mark. + +“Yes; he had some thoughts of leaving me lately. He said he thought he +'d like to retire,--that he 'd take a consulate or a barrack-mastership; +but I laughed him out of it.” + +Sir Arthur and Lady Lyle had now come down to welcome the new arrivals; +and greetings and welcomes and felicitations resounded on all sides. + +“Come along with me, Maitland,” said Mark, hurrying his friend away. +“Let me show you your quarters;” and as he moved off, he added, “What a +piece of ill-luck it was that you should have chanced upon the greatest +bores of our acquaintance!--people so detestable to me that if I had n't +been expecting your visit I 'd have left the house this morning.” + +“I don't know that,” said Maitland, half languidly; “perhaps I have +grown more tolerant, or more indifferent,--what may be another name for +the same thing; but I rather liked the young women. Have we any more +stairs to mount?” + +“No; here you are;” and Mark reddened a little at the impertinent +question. “I have put you here because this was an old _garçon_ +apartment I had arranged for myself; and you have your bath-room yonder, +and your servant, on the other side of the terrace.” + +“It's all very nice, and seems very quiet,” said Maitland. + +“As to that, you'll not have to complain; except the plash of the sea at +the foot of those cliffs, you 'll never hear a sound here.” + +“It's a bold thing of you to make me so comfortable, Lyle. When I +wrote to you to say I was coming, my head was full of what we call +country-house life, with all its bustle and racket,--noisy breakfasts +and noisier luncheons, with dinners as numerous as _tables d'hôte_. I +never dreamed of such a paradise as this. May I dine here all alone when +in the humor?” + +“You are to be all your own master, and to do exactly as you please. I +need not say, though, that I will scarce forgive you if you grudge us +your company.” + +“I'm not always up to society. I'm growing a little footsore with the +world, Lyle, and like to lie down in the shade.” + +“Lewis told me you were writing a book,--a novel, I think he said,” said +Mark. + +“I write a book! I never thought of such a thing. Why, my dear Lyle, the +fellows who--like myself--know the whole thing, never write! Have n't +you often remarked that a man who has passed years of life in a foreign +city loses all power of depicting its traits of peculiarity, just +because, from habit, they have ceased to strike him as strange? So it +is. Your thorough man of the world knows life too well to describe it. +No, no; it is the creature that stands furtively in the flats that can +depict what goes on in the comedy. Who are your guests?” + +Mark ran over the names carelessly. + +“All new to me, and I to them. Don't introduce me, Mark; leave me to +shake down in any bivouac that may offer. I'll not be a bear if people +don't bait me. You understand?” + +“Perhaps I do.” + +“There are no foreigners? That's a loss. They season society, though +they never make it, and there's an evasive softness in French that +contributes much to the courtesies of life. So it is; the habits of the +Continent to the wearied man of the world are just like loose slippers +to a gouty man. People learn to be intimate there without being +over-familiar,--a great point, Mark.” + +“By the way,--talking of that same familiarity,--there was a young +fellow who got the habit of coming here, before I returned from India, +on such easy terms that I found him installed like one of ourselves. He +had his room, his saddle-horse, a servant that waited on him, and who +did his orders, as if he were a son of the family. I cut the thing very +short when I came home, by giving him a message to do some trifling +service, just as I would have told my valet. He resented, left the +house, and sent me this letter next morning.” + +“Not much given to letter-writing, I see,” muttered Mait-land, as he +read over Tony's epistle; “but still the thing is reasonably well put, +and means to say, 'Give me a chance, and I 'm ready for you.' What's the +name,--Buller?” + +“No; Butler,--Tony Butler they call him here.” + +“What Butlers does he belong to?” asked Maitland, with more interest in +his manner. + +“No Butlers at all,--at least, none of any standing. My sisters, who +swear by this fellow, will tell you that his father was a colonel and +C.B., and I don't know what else; and that his uncle was, and I believe +is, a certain Sir Omerod Butler, minister or ex-minister somewhere; but +I have my doubts of all the fine parentage, seeing that this youth lives +with his mother in a cottage here that stands in the rent-roll at £18 +per annum.” + +“There is a Sir Omerod Butler,” said Maitland, with a slow, thoughtful +enunciation. + +“But if he be this youth's uncle, he never knows nor recognizes him. My +sister, Mrs. Trafford, has the whole story of these people, and will be +charmed to tell it to you.” + +“I have no curiosity in the matter,” said Maitland, languidly. “The +world is really so very small that by the time a man reaches my age +he knows every one that is to be known in it. And so,” said he, as he +looked again at the letter, “he went off, after sending you the letter?” + +“Yes, he left this the same day.” + +“And where for?” + +“I never asked. The girls, I suppose, know all about his movements. I +overhear mutterings about poor Tony at every turn. Tell me, Maitland,” + added he, with more earnestness, “is this letter a thing I can notice? +Is it not a regular provocation?” + +“It is, and it is not,” said Maitland, as he lighted a cigar, puffing +the smoke leisurely between his words. “If he were a man that you would +chance upon at every moment, meet at your club, or sit opposite at +dinner, the thing would fester into a sore in its own time; but here +is a fellow, it may be, that you 'll never see again, or if so, but on +distant terms, I 'd say, put the document with your tailor's bills, and +think no more of it.” + +Lyle nodded an assent, and was silent. + +“I say, Lyle,” added Maitland, after a moment, “I'd advise you never to +speak of the fellow,--never discuss him. If your sisters bring up his +name, let it drop unnoticed; it is the only way to put the tombstone on +such memories. What is your dinner-hour here?” + +“Late enough, even for you,--eight.” + +“That _is_ civilized. I 'll come down--at least, to-day,” said he, after +a brief pause; “and now leave me.” + +When Lyle withdrew, Maitland leaned on the window-sill, and ranged +his eyes over the bold coast-line beneath him. It was not, however, +to admire the bold promontory of Fairhead, or the sweeping shore that +shelved at its base; nor was it to gaze on the rugged outline of those +perilous rocks which stretched from the Causeway far into the open sea. +His mind was far, far away from the spot, deep in cares and wiles +and schemes; for his was an intriguing head, and had its own store of +knaveries. + + + +CHAPTER V. IN LONDON + +Seeking one's fortune is a very gambling sort of affair. It is leaving +so much to chance, trusting so implicitly to what is called “luck,” that +it makes all individual exertion a merely secondary process,--a kind of +“auxiliary screw” to aid the gale of Fortune. It was pretty much in this +spirit that Tony Butler arrived in London; nor did the aspect of that +mighty sea of humanity serve to increase his sense of self-reliance. It +was not merely his loneliness that he felt in that great crowd, but it +was his utter inutility--his actual worthlessness--to all others. If +the gamester's sentiment, to try his luck, was in his heart, it was +the spirit of a very poor gambler, who had but one “throw” to risk on +fortune; and, thus thinking, he set out for Downing Street. + +If he was somewhat disappointed in the tumble-down, ruinous old mass of +building which held the state secrets of the empire, he was not the less +awestruck as he found himself at the threshold where the great men who +guide empires were accustomed to pass in. With a bold effort he swung +back the glass door of the inner hall, and found himself in presence of +a very well-whiskered, imposing-looking man, who, seated indolently in a +deep armchair, was busily engaged in reading the “Times.” A glance over +the top of the paper was sufficient to assure this great official +that it was not necessary to interrupt his perusal of the news on the +stranger's account, and so he read on undisturbed. + +“I have a letter here for Sir Harry Elphinstone,” began Tony; “can I +deliver it to him?” + +“You can leave it in that rack yonder,” said the other, pointing to a +glass-case attached to the wall. + +“But I wish to give it myself,--with my own hand.” + +“Sir Harry comes down to the office at five, and, if your name is down +for an audience, will see you after six.” + +“And if it is not down?” + +“He won't see you; that 's all.” There was an impatience about the last +words that implied he had lost his place in the newspaper, and wished to +be rid of his interrogator. + +“And if I leave my letter here, when shall I call for the answer?” asked +Tony, diffidently. + +“Any time from this to this day six weeks,” said the other, with a wave +of the hand to imply the audience was ended. + +“What if I were to try his private residence?” said Tony. + +“Eighty-one, Park Lane,” said the other, aloud, while he mumbled over +to himself the last line he had read, to recall his thoughts to the +passage. + +“You advise me then to go there?” + +“Always cutting down, always slicing off something!” muttered the other, +with his eyes on the paper. “'For the port-collector of Hallihololulo, +three hundred and twenty pounds. Mr. Scrudge moved as amendment that +the vote be reduced by the sum of seventy-four pounds eighteen and +sevenpence, being the amount of the collector's salary for the period of +his absence from his post during the prevalence of the yellow fever +on the coast. The honorable member knew a gentleman, whose name he +was unwilling to mention publicly, but would have much pleasure in +communicating confidentially to any honorable gentleman on either side +of the House, who had passed several days at Haccamana, and never was +attacked by any form of yellow fever.' That was a home-thrust, eh?” + cried the reader, addressing Tony. “Not such an easy thing to answer old +Scrudge there?” + +“I'm a poor opinion on such matters,” said Tony, with humility; “but +pray tell me, if I were to call at Park Lane--” + +The remainder of his question was interrupted by the sudden start to his +legs of the austere porter, as an effeminate-looking young man with his +hat set on one side, and a glass to his eye, swung wide the door, and +walked up to the letter-rack. + +“Only these, Willis?” said he, taking some half-dozen letters of various +sizes. + +“And this, sir,” said the porter, handing him Tony's letter; “but the +young man thinks he 'd like to have it back;” while he added, in a low +but very significant tone, “he's going to Park Lane with it himself.” + +The young gentleman turned round at this, and took a Tery leisurely +survey of the man who contemplated a step of such rare audacity. + +“He 's from Ireland, Mr. Darner,” whispered the porter, with a +half-kindly impulse to make an apology for such ignorance. + +Mr. Darner smiled faintly, and gave a little nod, as though to say that +the explanation was sufficient; and again turned towards Tony. + +“I take it that you know Sir Harry Elphinstone?” asked he. + +“I never saw him; but he knew my father very well, and he 'll remember +my name.” + +“Knew your father? And in what capacity, may I ask?” + +“In what capacity?” repeated Tony, almost fiercely. + +“Yes; I mean, as what--on what relations did they stand to each other?” + +“As schoolfellows at Westminster, where he fagged to my father; in the +Grenadier Guards afterwards, where they served together; and, last of +all, as correspondents, which they were for many years.” + +“Ah, yes,” sighed the other, as though he had read the whole story, and +a very painful story too, of change of fortune and ruined condition. +“But still,” continued he, “I 'd scarcely advise your going to Park +Lane. He don't like it. None of them like it!” + +“Don't they?” said Tony, not even vaguely guessing at whose prejudices +he was hinting, but feeling bound to say something. + +“No, they don't,” rejoined Mr. Darner, in a half-confidential way. +“There is such a deal of it,--fellows who were in the same 'eleven' at +Oxford, or widows of tutors, or parties who wrote books,--I think +they are the worst, but all are bores, immense bores! You want to get +something, don't you?” + +Tony smiled, as much at the oddity of the question as in acquiescence. + +“I ask,” said the other, “because you'll have to come to me: I 'm +private secretary, and I give away nearly all the office patronage. Come +upstairs;” and with this he led the way up a very dirty staircase to a +still dirtier corridor, off which a variety of offices opened, the open +doors of which displayed the officials in all forms and attitudes of +idleness,--some asleep, some reading newspapers, some at luncheon, and +two were sparring with boxing-gloves. + +“Sir Harry writes the whole night through,” said Mr. Damer; “that's the +reason these fellows have their own time of it now;” and with this bit +of apology he ushered Tony into a small but comfortably furnished room, +with a great coal-fire in the grate, though the day was a sultry one in +autumn. + +Mr. Skeffington Darner's first care was to present himself before a +looking-glass, and arrange his hair, his whiskers, and his cravat; +having done which, he told Tony to be seated, and threw himself into a +most comfortably padded arm-chair, with a writing-desk appended to one +side of it. + +“I may as well open your letter. It's not marked private, eh?” + +“Not marked private,” said Tony, “but its contents are strictly +confidential.” + +“But it will be in the waste-paper basket to-morrow morning for all +that,” said Darner, with a pitying compassion for the other's innocence. +“What is it you are looking for,--what sort of thing?” + +“I scarcely know, because I 'm fit for so little; they tell me the +colonies, Australia or New Zealand, are the places for fellows like me.” + +“Don't believe a word of it,” cried Darner, energetically. “A man with +any 'go' in him can do fifty thousand times better at home. You go some +thousand miles away--for what? to crush quartz, or hammer limestone, +or pump water, or carry mud in baskets, at a dollar, two dollars, five +dollars, if you like, a day, in a country where Dillon, one of our +fellows that's under-secretary there, writes me word he paid thirty +shillings for a pot of Yarmouth bloaters. It's a rank humbug all that +about the colonies,--take my word for it!” + +“But what is there to be done at home, at least by one like me?” + +“Scores of things. Go on to the Exchange,--go in for a rise, go in for +a fall. Take Peruvian Twelves--they 're splendid--or Montezuman mining +script. I did a little in Guatemalas last week, and I expect a capital +return by next settling-day. If you think all this too gambling, get +named director of a company. There's the patent phosphorus blacking, +will give fifty pounds for a respectable chairman; or write a +novel,--that's the easiest thing in life, and pays wonderfully,--Herd +and Dashen give a thousand down, and double the money for each edition; +and it's a fellow's own fault if it ain't a success. Then there's patent +medicine and scene-painting,--any one can paint a scene, all done with a +great brush--this fashion; and you get up to fifteen, ay, twenty pounds +a week. By the way, are you active?” + +“Tolerably so. Why do you ask?” said Tony, smiling at the impetuous +incoherence of the other's talk. + +“Just hold up this newspaper--so--not so high--there. Don't move; a very +little to the right.” So saying, Mr. Darner took three sofa-cushions, +and placed them in a line on the floor; and then, taking off his coat +and waistcoat, retired to a distant corner of the room. “Be steady, now; +don't move,” cried he; and then, with a brisk run, he dashed forward, +and leaped head-foremost through the extended newspaper, but with so +vigorous a spring as to alight on the floor a considerable distance in +advance of the cushions, so that he arose with a bump on his forehead, +and his nose bleeding. + +“Admirably done! splendidly done!” cried Tony, anxious to cover the +disaster by a well-timed applause. + +“I never got so much as a scratch before,” said Darner, as be proceeded +to sponge his face. “I 've done the clock and the coach-window at the +Adelphi, and they all thought it was Salter. I could have five pounds +a night and a free benefit. Is it growing black around the eye? I hope +it's not growing black around the eye?” + +“Let me bathe it for you. By the way, have you any one here could manage +to get you a little newly baked dough? That's the boxer's remedy for a +bruise. If I knew where to go, I 'd fetch it myself.” + +Darner looked up from his bathing proceedings, and stared at the +good-natured readiness of one so willing to oblige as not to think of +the ridicule that might attach to his kindness. “My servant will go for +it,” said he; “just pull that bell, will you, and I 'll send him. Is +not it strange how I could have done this?” continued he, still bent on +explaining away his failure; “what a nose I shall have to-morrow! Eh! +what's that? It's Sir Harry's bell ringing away furiously! Was there +ever the like of this! The only day he should have come for the last +eight months!” The bell now continued to ring violently, and Damer had +nothing for it but to huddle on his coat and rush away to answer the +summons. + +Though not more than ten minutes absent, Tony thought the time very +long; in reality be felt anxious about the poor fellow, and eager to +know that his disaster had not led to disgrace. + +“Never so much as noticed it,” said Darner,--“was so full of other +matters. I suspect,” added he, in a lower tone,--“I suspect we are going +out.” + +“Out where?” asked Tony, with simplicity. + +“Out of office, out of power,” replied the other, half testily; then +added in a more conciliatory voice, “I 'll tell you why I think so. He +began filling up all the things that are vacant. I have just named +two colonial secretaries, a chief justice, an auditor-general, and an +inspector of convicts. I thought of that for _you_, and handed him your +letter; but before he broke the seal he had filled up the place.” + +“So then he has read the letter?” + +“Yes, he read it twice; and when I told him you were here in waiting, he +said, 'Tell him not to go; I 'll see him.'” + +The thought of presenting himself bodily before the great man made +Tony feel nervous and uncomfortable; and after a few moments of fidgety +uneasiness, he said, “What sort of person is he,--what is he like?” + +“Well,” said Damer, who now stood over a basin, sponging his eye with +cold water, “he's shy--very shy--but you 'd never guess it; for he has +a bold, abrupt sort of way with him; and he constantly answers his own +questions, and if the replies displease him, he grows irritable. You 've +seen men like that?” + +“I cannot say that I have.” + +“Then it's downright impossible to say when he's in good humor with one, +for he 'll stop short in a laugh and give you such a pull up!” + +“That is dreadful!” exclaimed Tony. + +“_I_ can manage him! They say in the office I 'm the only fellow that +ever could manage him. There goes his bell,--that's for you; wait here, +however, till I come back.” + +Darner hurried away, but was back in a moment, and beckoned to Tony to +follow him, which he did in a state of flurry and anxiety that a real +peril would never have caused him. + +Tony found himself standing in the Minister's presence, where he +remained for full a couple of minutes before the great man lifted his +head and ceased writing. “Sit down,” was the first salutation; and as he +took a chair, he had time to remark the stern but handsome features of a +large man, somewhat past the prime of life, and showing in the lines of +his face traces of dissipation as well as of labor. + +“Are you the son of Watty Butler?” asked he, as he wheeled his chair +from the table and confronted Tony. + +“My father's name was Walter, sir,” replied Tony, not altogether without +resenting this tone of alluding to him. + +“Walter! nothing of the kind; nobody ever called him anything but Watty, +or Wat Tartar, in the regiment. Poor Watty! you are very like him,--not +so large,--not so tall.” “The same height to a hair, sir.” + +“Don't tell me; Watty was an inch and a half over you, and much broader +in the chest. I think I ought to know; he has thrown me scores of times +wrestling, and I suspect it would puzzle _you_ to do it.” Tony's face +flushed; he made no answer, but in his heart of hearts he 'd like to +have had a trial. + +Perhaps the great man expected some confirmation of his opinion, or +perhaps he had his own doubts about its soundness; but, whatever +the reason, his voice was more peevish as he said: “I have read your +mother's note, but for the life of me I cannot see what it points to. +What has become of your father's fortune? He had something, surely.” + +“Yes, sir, he had a younger son's portion, but he risked it in a +speculation--some mines in Canada--and lost it.” + +“Ay, and dipped it too by extravagance! There's no need to tell me how +he lived; there wasn't so wasteful a fellow in the regiment; he 'd have +exactly what he pleased, and spend how he liked. And what has it come +to? ay, that's what I ask,--what has it come to? His wife comes here +with this petition--for it is a petition--asking--I 'll be shot if I +know what she asks.” + +“Then I 'll tell you,” burst in Tony; “she asks the old brother-officer +of her husband--the man who in his letters called himself his +brother--to befriend his son, and there's nothing like a petition in the +whole of it.” + +“What! what! what! This is something I 'm not accustomed to! You want +to make friends, young man, and you must not begin by outraging the very +few who might chance to be well disposed towards you.” + +Tony stood abashed and overwhelmed, his cheeks on fire with shame, but +he never uttered a word. + +“I have very little patronage,” said Sir Harry, drawing himself up +and speaking in a cold, measured tone; “the colonies appoint their own +officials, with a very few exceptions. I could make you a bishop or an +attorney-general, but I could n't make you a tide-waiter! What can you +do? Do you write a good hand?” + +“No, sir; it is legible,--that's all.” + +“And of course you know nothing of French or German?” + +“A little French; not a word of German, sir.” + +“I'd be surprised if you did. It is always when a fellow has utterly +neglected his education that he comes to a Government for a place. The +belief apparently is that the State supports a large institution of +incapables, eh?” + +“Perhaps there is that impression abroad,” said Tony, defiantly. + +“Well, sir, the impression, as you phrase it, is unfounded, I can +affirm. I have already declared it in the House, that there is not a +government in Europe more ably, more honestly, or more zealously served +than our own. We may not have the spirit of discipline of the French, or +the bureaucracy of the Prussian; but we have a class of officials proud +of the departments they administer; and, let me tell you,--it's no small +matter,--very keen after retiring pensions.” + +Either Sir Harry thought he had said a smart thing, or that the theme +suggested something that tickled his fancy, for he smiled pleasantly +now on Tony, and looked far better tempered than before. Indeed, Tony +laughed at the abrupt peroration, and that laugh did him no disservice. + +“Well, now, Butler, what are we to do with you?” resumed the Minister, +good-humoredly. “It's not easy to find the right thing, but I 'll +talk it over with Darner. Give him your address, and drop in upon him +occasionally,--not too often, but now and then, so that he should n't +forget you. Meanwhile brush up your French and Italian. I 'm glad you +know Italian.” + +“But I do not, sir; not a syllable of the language.” + +“Oh, it was German, then? Don't interrupt me. Indeed, let me take +the occasion to impress upon you that you have this great fault of +manners,--a fault I have remarked prevalent among Irishmen, and which +renders them excessively troublesome in the House, and brings them +frequently under the reproof of the Speaker. If you read the newspapers, +you will have seen this yourself.” + +Second to a censure of himself, the severest thing for poor Tony to +endure was any sneer at his countrymen; but he made a great effort to +remain patient, and did not utter a word. + +“Mind,” resumed the Minister, “don't misunderstand me. I do not say that +your countrymen are deficient in quickness and a certain ready-witted +way of meeting emergencies. Yes, they have that as well as some other +qualities of the same order; but these things won't make statesmen. +This was an old battle-ground between your father and myself thirty +years ago. Strange to think I should have to fight over the same +question with his son now.” + +Tony did not exactly perceive what was his share in the conflict, but he +still kept silence. + +“Your father was a clever fellow, too, and he had a brother,--a much +cleverer, by the way; there 's the man to serve you,--Sir Omerod Butler. +He 's alive, I know, for I saw his pension certificate not a week ago. +Have you written to him?” + +“No, sir. My father and my uncle were not on speaking terms for years, +and it is not likely I would appeal to Sir Omerod for assistance.” + +“The quarrel, or coolness, or whatever it was, might have been the fault +of your father.” + +“No, sir, it was not.” + +“Well, with that I have no concern. All that I know is, your uncle is +a man of a certain influence--at least with his own party--which is not +ours. He is, besides, rich; an old bachelor, too, if I 'm not mistaken; +and so it might be worth the while of a young fellow who has his way to +make in life, to compromise a little of his family pride.” + +“I don't think so: I won't do it,” broke in Tony, hotly. “If you have +no other counsel to give me than one you never would have given to my +father, all I have to say is, I wish I had spared myself the trouble, +and my poor mother the cost of this journey.” + +If the great man's wrath was moved by the insolent boldness of the +first part of this speech, the vibrating voice and the emotion that +accompanied the last words touched him, and, going over to where the +young man stood, he laid his hand kindly on his shoulder, and said: +“You'll have to keep this warm temper of yours in more subjection, +Butler, if you want to get on in life. The advice I gave you was very +worldly, perhaps; but when you live to be my age, such will be the +temper in which you'll come to consider most things. And, after all,” + said he, with a smile, “you 're only the more like your father for it! +Go away now; look up your decimals, your school classics, and such like, +to be ready for the Civil Service people, and come back here in a week +or so,--let Darner know where to find you,” were the last words, as Tony +retired and left the room. + +“Well, what success?” cried Darner, as Tony entered his room. + +“I can scarcely tell you, but this is what took place;” and he +recounted, as well as memory would serve him, all that had happened. + +“Then it's all right,--you are quite safe,” said Darner. + +“I don't see that, particularly as there remains this examination.” + +“Humbug,--nothing but humbug! They only pluck the 'swells,' the fellows +who have taken a double-first at Oxford. No, no; you 're as safe as +a church; you 'll get--let me see what it will be--you'll get the +Postmaster-ship of the Bahamas; or be Deputy Coal-meter at St. Helena; +or who knows if he'll not give you that thing he exchanged for t'other +day with F. O. It's a Consul's place, at Trincolopolis. It was Cole +of the Blues had it, and he died; and there are four widows of his now +claiming the pension. Yes, that's where you 'll go, rely on't. There 's +the bell again. Write your address large, very large, on that sheet of +paper, and I 'll send you word when there 's anything up.” + + + +CHAPTER VI. DOLLY STEWART + +Tony's first care, when he got back to his hotel, was to write to his +mother. He knew how great her impatience would be to hear of him, and +it was a sort of comfort to himself, in his loneliness, to sit down and +pour out his hopes and his anxieties before one who loved him. He told +her of his meeting with the Minister, and, by way of encouragement, +mentioned what Damer had pronounced upon that event. Nor did he forget +to say how grateful he felt to Damer, who, “after all, with his +fine-gentleman airs and graces, might readily have turned a cold +shoulder to a rough-looking fellow like me.” + +Poor Tony! in his friendlessness he was very grateful for very little. +Nor is there anything which is more characteristic of destitution than +this sentiment. It is as with the schoolboy, who deems himself rich with +a half-crown! + +Tony would have liked much to make some inquiry about the family at the +Abbey; whether any one had come to ask after or look for him; whether +Mrs. Trafford had sent down any books for his mother's reading, or any +fresh flowers,--the only present which the widow could be persuaded to +accept; but he was afraid to touch on a theme that had so many painful +memories to himself. Ah, what happy days he had passed there! What a +bright dream it all appeared now to look back on! The long rides along +the shore, with Alice for his companion, more free to talk with him, +less reserved than Isabella; and who could, on the pretext of her own +experiences of life,--she was a widow of two-and-twenty,--caution him +against so many pitfalls, and guard him against so many deceits of the +world. It was in this same quality of widow, too, that she could go out +to sail with him alone, making long excursions along the coast, diving +into bays, and landing on strange islands, giving them curious names as +they went, and fancying that they were new voyagers on unknown seas. + +Were such days ever to come back again? No, he knew they could not They +never do come back, even to the luckiest of us; and how far less would +be our enjoyment of them if we but knew that each fleeting moment +could never be re-acted! “I wonder, is Alice lonely? Does she miss me? +Isabella will not care so much. She has books and her drawing, and she +is so self-dependent; but Alice, whose cry was, 'Where 's Tony?' till it +became a jest against her in the house. Oh, if she but knew how I envy +the dog that lies at her feet, and that can look up into her soft blue +eyes, and wonder what she is thinking of! Well, Alice, it has come at +last. Here is the day you so long predicted. I have set out to seek my +fortune; but where is the high heart and the bold spirit you promised +me? I have no doubt,” cried he, as he paced his room impatiently, “there +are plenty who would say, it is the life of luxurious indolence and +splendor that I am sorrowing after; that it is to be a fancied great +man,--to have horses to ride, and servants to wait on me, and my every +wish gratified,--it is all this I am regretting. But _I_ know better! I +'d be as poor as ever I was, and consent never to be better, if she 'd +just let me see her, and be with her, and love her, to my own heart, +without ever telling her. And now the day has come that makes all these +bygones!” + +It was with a choking feeling in his throat, almost hysterical, that +he went downstairs and into the street to try and walk off his gloomy +humor. The great city was now before him,--a very wide and a very noisy +world,--with abundance to interest and attract him, had his mind been +less intent on his own future fortunes; but he felt that every hour he +was away from his poor mother was a pang, and every shilling he should +spend would be a privation to her. Heaven only could tell by what thrift +and care and time she had laid by the few pounds he had carried away +to pay his journey! As his eye fell upon the tempting objects of the +shop-windows, every moment displaying something he would like to have +brought back to her,--that nice warm shawl, that pretty clock for her +mantelpiece, that little vase for her flowers; how he despised himself +for his poverty, and how meanly the thought of a condition that made him +a burden where he ought to have been a benefit! Nor was the thought the +less bitter that it reminded him of the wide space that separated him +from her he had dared to love! “It comes to this,” cried he bitterly to +himself, “that I have no right to be here; no right to do anything, or +think of anything that I have done. Of the thousands that pass me, there +is not, perhaps, one the world has not more need of than of me! Is there +even one of all this mighty million that would have a kind word for me, +if they knew the heavy heart that was weighing me down?” At this minute +he suddenly thought of Dolly Stewart, the doctor's daughter, whose +address he had carefully taken down from his mother, at Mr. Alexander +M'Grader's, 4 Inverness Terrace, Richmond. + +It would be a real pleasure to see Dolly's good-humored face, and hear +her merry voice, instead of those heavy looks and busy faces that addled +and confused him; and so, as much to fill up his time as to spare his +purse, he set out to walk to Richmond. + +With whatever gloom and depression he began his journey, his spirits +rose as he gained the outskirts of the town, and rose higher and higher +as he felt the cheering breezes and the perfumed air that swept over the +rich meadows at either side of him. It was, besides, such a luxuriant +aspect of country as he had never before seen nor imagined,--fields +cultivated like gardens, trim hedgerows, ornamental trees, picturesque +villas on every hand. How beautiful it all seemed, and how happy! Was +not Dolly a lucky girl to have her lot thrown in such a paradise? How +enjoyable she must find it all!--she whose good spirits knew always +how “to take the most out of” whatever was pleasant How he pictured her +delight in a scene of such loveliness! + +“That's Inverness Terrace, yonder,” said a policeman of whom he inquired +the way,--“that range of small houses you see there;” and he pointed to +a trim-looking row of cottage-houses on a sort of artificial embankment +which elevated them above the surrounding buildings, and gave a view of +the Thames as it wound through the rich meadows beneath. They were neat +with that English neatness which at once pleases and shocks a foreign +eye,--the trim propriety that loves comfort, but has no heart for +beauty. Thus, each was like his neighbor. The very jalousies were +painted the same color; and every ranunculus in one garden had his +brother in the next No. 4 was soon found, and Tony rang the bell and +inquired for Miss Stewart. + +“She's in the school-room with the young ladies,” said the woman +servant; “but if you 'll step in and tell me your name, I 'll send her +to you.” + +“Just say that I have come from her own neighborhood; or, better, say +Mr. Tony Butler would be glad to see her.” He had scarcely been a moment +in the neat but formal-looking front parlor, when a very tall, thin, +somewhat severe-looking lady--not old, nor yet young--entered, and +without any salutation said, “You asked for Miss Stewart, sir,--are you +a relative of hers?” + +“No, madam. My mother and Miss Stewart's father are neighbors and very +old friends; and being by accident in London, I desired to see her, and +bring back news of her to the doctor.” + +“At her father's request, of course?” + +“No, madam; I cannot say so, for I left home suddenly, and had no time +to tell him of my journey.” + +“Nor any letter from him?” + +“None, madam.” + +The thin lady pursed up her parched lips, and bent her keen cold eyes +on the youth, who really felt his cheek grow hot under the scrutiny. He +knew that his confession did not serve to confirm his position; and he +heartily wished himself out of the house again. + +“I think, then, sir,” said she, coldly, “it will serve every purpose if +I inform _you_ that Miss Stewart is well; and if I tell _her_ that you +were kind enough to call and ask after her.” + +“I'm sure you are right, madam,” said he, hurriedly moving towards +the door, for already he felt as if the ground was on fire beneath +him,--“quite right; and I 'll tell the doctor that though I did n't see +Miss Dora, she was in good health, and very happy.” + +“I did n't say anything about her happiness, that I remember, sir; but +as I see her now passing the door, I may leave that matter to come from +her own lips. Miss Stewart,” cried she, louder, “there is a gentleman +here, who has come to inquire after you.” A very pale but nicely +featured young girl, wearing a cap,--her hair had been lately cut short +in a fever,--entered the room, and, with a sudden flush that made her +positively handsome, held out her hand to young Butler, saying, “Oh, +Tony, I never expected to see you here! how are all at home?” + +Too much shocked at the change in her appearance to speak, Tony could +only mumble out a few broken words about her father. + +“Yes,” cried she, eagerly, “his last letter says that he rides old +Dobbin about just as well as ever; 'perhaps it is,' says he, 'that +having both of us grown old together, we bear our years with more +tolerance to each other;' but won't you sit down, Tony? you 're not +going away till I have talked a little with you.” + +“Is the music lesson finished, Miss Stewart?” asked the thin lady, +sternly. + +“Yes, ma'am; we have done everything but sacred history.” + +“Everything but the one important task, you might have said, Miss +Stewart; but, perhaps, you are not now exactly in the temperament to +resume teaching for to-day; and as this young gentleman's mission is +apparently to report, not only on your health but your happiness, I +shall leave you a quarter of an hour to give him his instructions.” + +“I hate that woman,” muttered Tony, as the door closed after her. + +“No, Tony, she's not unkind; but she doesn't exactly see the world the +way you and I used long ago. What a great big man you have grown!” + +“And what a fine tall girl, you! And I used to call you a stump!” + +“Ay, there were few compliments wasted between us in those days; but +weren't they happy?” + +“Do you remember them all, Dolly?” + +“Every one of them,--the climbing the big cherry-tree the day the branch +broke, and we both fell into the melon-bed; the hunting for eels under +the stones in the river,--was n't that rare sport? and going out to sea +in that leaky little boat that I 'd not have courage to cross the Thames +in now!--oh, Tony, tell me, you never were so jolly since?” + +“I don't think I was; and what's worse, Dolly, I doubt if I ever shall +be.” + +The tone of deep despondency of these words went to her heart, and her +lip trembled, as she said,-- + +“Have you had any bad news of late? is there anything going wrong with +you?” + +“No, Dolly, nothing new, nothing strange, nothing beyond the fact that +I have been staring at, though I did not see it three years back, that I +am a great hulking idle dog, of no earthly use to himself or to anybody +else. However, I _have_ opened my eyes to it at last; and here I am, +come to seek my fortune, as we used to say long ago, which, after all, +seems a far nicer thing in a fairy book than when reduced to a fact.” + +Dolly gave a little short cough, to cover a faint sigh which escaped +her; for she, too, knew something about seeking her fortune, and that +the search was not always a success. + +“And what are you thinking of doing, Tony?” asked she, eagerly. + +“Like all lazy good-for-nothings, I begin by begging; that is to say, I +have been to a great man this morning who knew my father, to ask him to +give me something,--to make me something.” + +“A soldier, I suppose?” + +“No; mother won't listen to that She 's so indignant about the way they +treated my poor father about that good-service pension,--one of a race +that has been pouring out their blood like water for three centuries +back,--that she says she 'd not let me accept a commission if it were +offered to me, without it came coupled with a full apology for the wrong +done my father; and as I am too old for the navy, and too ignorant for +most other things, it will push all the great man's ingenuity very close +to find out the corner to suit me.” + +“They talk a deal about Australia, Tony; and, indeed, I sometimes think +I 'd like to go there myself. I read in the 'Times' t' other day that +a dairy-maid got as much as forty-six pounds a-year and her board; only +fancy, forty-six pounds a-year! Do you know,” added she, in a cautious +whisper, “I have only eighteen pounds here, and was in rare luck too, +they say, to get it.” + +“What if we were to set out together, Dolly?” said he, laughing; but a +deep scarlet flush covered her face, and though she tried to laugh too, +she had to turn her head away, for the tears were in her eyes. + +“But how could _you_ turn dairymaid, Dolly?” cried he, half +reproachfully. + +“Just as well, or rather better, than _you_ turn shepherd or +gold-digger. As to mere labor, it would be nothing; as to any loss of +condition, I 'd not feel it, and therefore not suffer it.” + +“Oh, I have no snobbery myself about working with my hands,” added he, +hastily. “Heaven help me if I had, for my head would n't keep _me_; but +a girl's bringing up is so different from a boy's; she oughtn't to do +anything menial out of her own home.” + +“We ought all of us just to do our best, Tony, and what leaves us less +of a burden to others,--that's my reading of it; and when we do that, we +'ll have a quiet conscience, and that's something that many a rich man +could n't buy with all his money.” + +“I think it's the time for the children's dinner, Miss Stewart,” said +the grim lady, entering. “I am sorry it should cut short an interview so +interesting.” + +A half-angry reply rose to Tony's lips, when a look from Dora stopped +him, and he stammered out, “May I call and see you again before I go +back?” + +“When _do_ you go back, young gentleman?” asked the thin lady. + +“That's more than I can tell. This week if I can; next week if I must.” + +“If you 'll write me a line, then, and say what day it would be your +convenience to come down here, I will reply, and state whether it will +be Miss Stewart's and mine to receive you.” + +“Come, at all events,” said Dora, in a low voice, as they shook hands +and parted. + +“Poor Dolly!” muttered he, as he went his way towards town. “What +between the pale cheeks and the cropped hair and the odious cap, I 'd +never have known her!” He suddenly heard the sound of footsteps behind +him, and, turning, he saw her running towards him at full speed. + +“You had forgotten your cane, Tony,” said she, half breathless, “and I +knew it was an old favorite of yours, and you 'd be sorry to think it +was lost. Tell me one thing,” cried she, and her cheek flushed even a +deeper hue than the exercise had given it; “could you--would you be a +clerk--in a merchant's office, I mean?” + +“Why do you ask me, Dolly?” said he; for her eager and anxious face +directed all his solicitude from himself to her. + +“If you only would and could, Tony,” continued she, “write. No; make +papa write me a line to say so. There, I have no time for more; I have +already done enough to secure me a rare lesson when I get back. Don't +come here again.” + +She was gone before he could answer her; and with a heavier heart and +a very puzzled head, he resumed his road to London, “Don't come here +again” ringing in his head as he went. + + + +CHAPTER VII. LYLE ABBEY AND ITS GUESTS + +The company at Lyle Abbey saw very little of Maitland for some days +after his arrival. He never appeared of a morning; he only once came +down to dinner; his pretext was indifferent health, and Mark showed a +disposition to quarrel with any one who disputed it. Not, indeed, that +the squirearchy then present were at all disposed to regret Maitland's +absence. They would infinitely rather have discussed his peculiarities +in secret committee than meet himself in open debate. It was not very +easy to say why they did not like him, but such was the fact. It was not +that he overbore them by any species of assumption; he neither took on +him airs of superior station nor of superior knowledge; he was neither +insolent nor haughty; nor was he even, what sometimes is not less +resented, careless and indifferent His manner was a sort of middle term +between popularity-seeking and inattention. The most marked trait in +it was one common enough in persons who have lived much on the +Continent,--a great preference for the society of ladies making him +almost ignore or avoid the presence of the men around him. Not that +Maitland was what is called _petit maître_; there was not any of that +flippant prettiness which is supposed to have its fascination for the +fair sex; he was quiet without any touch of over-seriousness, very +respectful, and at the same time with an insinuated friendliness as +though the person he talked to was one selected for especial cordiality; +and there was a sort of tender languor too about him, that implied some +secret care in his heart, of which each who listened to his conversation +was sure to fancy that she was one day to become the chosen depositary. + +“Do you know, Bella,” said Mrs. Trafford, as they sat together at the +fire in her dressing-room, “I shall end by half liking him.” + +“I have n't got that far, Alice, though I own that I am less in dread of +him than I was. His superiority is not so crushing as I feared it might +be; and certainly, if he be the Admirable Crichton Mark pretends he is, +he takes every possible pains to avoid all display of it.” + +“There may be some impertinence in that,” said the other. “Did you +remark how he was a week here before he as much as owned he knew +anything of music, and listened to our weary little ballads every +evening without a word? and last night, out of pure caprice, as it +seemed, he sits down, and sings song after song of Verdi's difficult +music, with a tenor that reminds one of Mario.” + +“And which has quite convinced old Mrs. Maxwell that he is a +professional, or, as she called it, 'a singing man.'” + +“She would call him a sketching man if she saw the caricature he made of +herself in the pony carriage, which he tore up the moment he showed it +to me.” + +“One thing is clear, Alice,--he means that we should like him; but he is +too clever to set about it in any vulgar spirit of captivation.” + +“That is, he seeks regard for personal qualities rather more than +admiration for his high gifts of intellect. Well, up to this, it is his +cleverness that I like.” + +“What puzzles me is why he ever came here. He is asked about everywhere, +has all manner of great houses open to him, and stores of fine people, +of whose intimacy you can see he is proud; and yet he comes down to a +dull country place in a dull county; and, stranger than all, he seems to +like it.” + +“John Hunter says it is debt,” said Mrs. Trafford. + +“Mark Fortescue hints that a rich and handsome widow has something to +say to it.” + +“Paul M'Clintock declares that he saw your picture by Ary Scheffer in +the Exhibition, and fell madly in love with it, Bella.” + +“And old Colonel Orde says that he is intriguing to get in for the +borough of Coleraine; that he saw him in the garden t'other morning with +a list of the electors in his hand.” + +“My conjecture is, that he is intolerably bored everywhere, and came +down here to try the effect of a new mode of the infliction that he had +never experienced before. What else would explain a project I heard him +arrange for this morning,--a walk with Beck Graham!” + +“Yes, I was in the window when he asked her where she usually went in +those wanderings over the fern hills, with that great umbrella; and she +told him to visit an old lady--a Mrs. Butler--who had been a dear friend +of her mother's; and then he said, 'I wish you 'd take me with you. I +have a positive weakness for old ladies;' and so the bargain was struck, +that they were to go to the cottage to-day together.” + +“Beck, of course, fancying that it means a distinct avowal of attention +to herself.” + +“And her sister, Sally, very fully persuaded that Maitland is a suitor +for her hand, and cunningly securing Beck's good offices before he risks +a declaration.” + +“Sally already believes that Mark is what she calls 'landed;' and she +gave me some pretty broad hints about the insufferable pretensions of +younger sons, to which class she consigns him.” + +“And Beck told me yesterday, in confidence, that Tony had been sent away +from home by his mother, as the last resource against the consequence of +his fatal passion for her.” + +“Poor Tony,” sighed the young widow, “he never thought of her.” + +“Did he tell you as much, Alice?” said her sister, slyly. + +“No, dear; it is the one subject--I mean love in any shape--that we +never discussed. The poor boy confessed to me all his grief about his +purposeless idle life, his mother's straitened fortune, and his uncle's +heartless indifference; everything, in short, that lay heavily on his +heart.” + +“Everything but the heaviest, Alice,” said the other smiling. + +“Well, if he had opened that sorrow, I 'd have heard him without anger; +I'd have honestly told him it was a very vain and fruitless pursuit. But +still my own heart would have declared to me that a young fellow is all +the better for some romance of this kind,--that it elevates motives +and dignifies actions, and, not least of all advantages, makes him very +uncompanionable for creatures of mere dissipation and excess.” + +“But that, of course, you were merely objective the while,--the source +from which so many admirable results were to issue, and never so much as +disturbed by the breath of his attachment. Is n't that so?” + +“I 'd have said, 'You 're a very silly boy if you imagine that anything +can come of all this. '” + +“And if he were to ask for the reason, and say, 'Alice, are you not your +own mistress, rich, free to do whatever you incline to do? Why should +you call me a fool for loving you?'” + +“Take my word for it, Bella, he 'll never risk the answer he 'd be sure +to meet to such a speech,” said the other, haughtily; and Isabella, who +felt a sort of awe of her sister at certain moments, desisted from +the theme. “Look! yonder they go, Maitland and Rebecca, not exactly +arm-inarm, but with bent-down heads, and that propinquity that implies +close converse.” + +“I declare I feel quite jealous,--I mean on your account, Bella,” said +Mrs. Trafford. + +“Never mind _my_ interests in the matter, Alice,” said she, reddening; +“it is a matter of the most complete indifference to me with whom +he walks or talks. Mr. Norman Maitland is not to me one whit more of +consequence than is Tony Butler to my sister.” + +“That's a confession, Bella,--a confession wrung out of a hasty moment; +for Tony certainly likes _me_, and _I_ know it.” + +“Well, then, the cases are not similar, for Mr. Maitland does not care +for me; or, if he does, I don't know it, nor do I want to know it.” + +“Come, darling, put on your shawl, and let us have a breezy walk on the +cliffs before the day darkens; neither of these gentlemen are worth +the slightest estrangement between such sisters as we are. Whether Tony +likes me or not, don't steal him from me, and I 'll promise you to be +just as loyal with regard to the other. How I 'd like to know what they +are talking of there!” + +As it is not impossible the reader may in some slight degree participate +in the fair widow's sentiment, we mean to take up the conversation just +as it reached the time in which the remark was applied to it. Miss Becky +Graham was giving her companion a sketchy description of all the persons +then at the Abbey, not taking any especial care to be epigrammatic or +picturesque, but to be literal and truthful. + +“Mrs. Maxwell,--an old horror,--tolerated just because she owns Tilney +Park, and can leave it to whom she likes; and the Lyles hope it will +fall to Mark, or, possibly, to Bella. They stand to win on either.” + +“And which is the favorite?” asked Maitland, with a faint smile. + +“You 'd like to think Isabella,” said Miss Becky, with a sharp piercing +glance to read his thoughts at an unguarded moment, if he had +such, “but she is not. Old Aunt Maxwell--she 's as much your aunt as +theirs--detests girls, and has, I actually believe, thoughts of marrying +again. By the way, you said you wanted money; why not 'go in' there? +eight thousand a-year in land, real estate, and a fine old house with +some great timber around it.” + +“I want to pay my old debts, not incur new ones, my dear Miss Graham.” + +“I 'm not your dear Miss Graham,--I 'm Beck, or Becky, or I 'm Miss +Rebecca Graham, if you want to be respectful. But what do you say to the +Maxwell handicap? I could do you a good turn there; she lets me say what +I please to her.” + +“I'd rather you'd give me that privilege with yourself, charming +Rebecca.” + +“Don't, I say; don't try that tiresome old dodge of mock flattery. I 'm +not charming, any more than you are honest or straightforward. Let us +be on the square--do you understand that? Of course you do? Whom shall +I trot out next for you?--for the whole lot shall be disposed of without +any reserve. Will you have Sir Arthur, with his tiresome Indian stories, +enhanced to himself by all the lacs of rupees that are associated with +them? Will you have the gay widow, who married for pique, and inherited +a great fortune by a blunder? Will you have Isabella, who is angling for +a coronet, but would not refuse _you_ if you are rich enough? Will you +have that very light dragoon, who thinks 'ours' the standard for +manners in Europe?--or the two elder brothers, gray-headed, pale-faced, +husky-voiced civil servants, working hard to make a fortune in advance +of a liver complaint? Say the 'number' and the animal shall be led out +for inspection.” + +“After all, it is scarcely fair in me to ask it, for I don't come as a +buyer.” + +“Well, if you have a taste for that sort of thing--are we out of sight +of the windows?--if so, let me have a cigarette like that you have +there. I have n't smoked for five months. Oh! is n't it a pleasure?” + +“Tell me about Mrs. Butler,--who is she?” + +“She is Mrs. Butler; and her husband, when he was alive, was Colonel +Butler, militarily known as Wat Tartar. He was a terrible pipeclay; and +her son Tony is the factotum at the Abbey; or rather he was, till Mark +told him to shave, a poodle, or singe a pony, or paint a wheelbarrow--I +forget; but I know it was something he had done once out of good-humor, +and the hussar creature fancied he'd make him do it again through an +indignity.” + +“And he--I mean Butler--stands upon being a gentleman?” + +“I should think he does; is not his birth good?” + +“Certainly; the Butlers are of an old stock.” + +“They talk of an uncle, Sir Ramrod,--it is n't Ramrod, but it's like +it,--a tiresome old fellow, who was envoy at Naples, and who married, I +believe, a ballet-dancer, and who might leave Tony all his fortune, if +he liked,--which he doesn't.” + +“Having no family of his own?” asked Maitland, as he puffed his cigar. + +“None; but that doesn't matter, for he has turned Jesuit, and will leave +everything to the sacred something or other in Rome. I 've heard all +that from old Widow Butler, who has a perfect passion for talking of +her amiable brother-in-law, as she calls him. She hates him,--always did +hate him,--and taught Tony to hate him; and with all that it was only +yesterday she said to me that perhaps she was not fully justified in +sending back unopened two letters he had written to her,--one after the +loss of some Canadian bonds of hers, which got rumored abroad in the +newspapers; the other was on Tony's coming of age; and she said, 'Becky, +I begin to suspect that I had no right to carry my own unforgiveness to +the extent of an injury to my boy,--tell me what you would do.'” + +“And what was your answer?” + +“I'd have made it up with the old swell. I'd say, 'Is not this boy more +to you than all those long-petticoated tonsured humbugs, who can always +cheat some one or other out of an Inheritance?' I 'd say, 'Look at him, +and you'll fancy it's Walter telling you that he forgives you.'” + +“If he be like most of his order, Miss Becky, he 'd only smile at your +appeal,” said Maitland, coldly. + +“Well, I 'd not let it be laughing matter with him, I can tell you; +stupid wills are broken every day of the week, and I don't think the +Jesuits are in such favor in England that a jury would decide for them +against an English youth of the kith and kin of the testator.” + +“You speak cleverly, Miss Graham, and you show that you know all the +value that attaches to popular sympathy in the age we live in.” + +“And don't you agree with me?” + +“Ah, there's a deal to be said on either side.” + +“Then, for Heaven's sake, don't say it. There--no--more to the +left--there, where you see the blue smoke rising over the rocks--there +stands the widow's cottage. I don't know how she endures the loneliness +of it. Could _you_ face such a life?” + +“A double solitude--what the French call an _egoisme à deux_--is not so +insupportable. In fact, it all depends upon 'the partner with whom we +share our isolation.'” He threw a tone of half tenderness into the words +that made them very significant, and Rebecca gave him one of her quick +sudden glances with which she often read a secret motive. This time, +however, she failed. There was nothing in that sallow but handsome face +that revealed a clew to anything. + +“I 'll have to ask Mrs. Butler's leave before I present you,” said she, +suddenly. + +“Of course, I 'll await her permission.” + +“The chances are she'll say no; indeed, it is all but certain she will.” + +“Then I must resign myself to patience and a cigar till you come out +again,” said he, calmly. + +“Shall I say that there's any reason for your visit? Do you know any +Butlers, or have you any relationship, real or pretended, with the +family, that would make a pretext for coming to see her?” + +Had Miss Graham only glanced as keenly at Maitland's features now as she +had a few moments back, she might have seen a faint, a very faint, flush +cross his cheek, and then give way to a deep paleness. “No,” said he, +coldly, “I cannot pretend the shadow of a claim to her acquaintance, and +I can scarcely presume to ask you to present me as a friend of your own, +except in the common acceptation given to the word.” + +“Oh, I'll do that readily enough. Bless your heart, if there was +anything to be gained by it, I 'd call you my cousin, and address you as +Norman all the time of the visit.” + +“If you but knew how the familiarity would flatter me, particularly were +I to return it!” + +“And call _me_ Becky,--I hope! Well, you _are_ a cool hand!” + +“My friends are in the habit of amusing themselves with my diffidence +and my timidity.” + +“They must be very ill off for a pastime, then. I used to think Mark +Lyle bad enough, but his is a blushing bash-fulness compared to yours.” + +“You only see me in my struggle to overcome a natural defect. Miss +Graham,--just as a coward assumes the bully to conceal his poltroonery; +you regard in me the mock audacity that strives to shroud a most painful +modesty.” + +She looked full at him for an instant, and then burst into a loud and +joyful fit of laughter, in which he joined without the faintest show of +displeasure. “Well, I believe you are good-tempered,” said she, frankly. + +“The best in the world; I am very seldom angry; I never bear malice.” + +“Have you any other good qualities?” asked she, with a slight mockery in +her voice. + +“Yes,--many; I am trustful to the verge of credulity; I am generous +to the limits of extravagance; I am unswerving in my friendships, and +without the taint of a selfishness in all my nature.” + +“How nice that is, or how nice it must be!” + +“I could grow eloquent over my gifts, if it were not that my bashfulness +might embarrass me.” + +“Have you any faults?” + +“I don't think so; at least I can't recall any.” + +“Nor failings?” + +“Failings! perhaps,” said he, dubiously; “but they are, after all, mere +weaknesses,--such as a liking for splendor, a love of luxury generally, +a taste for profusion, a sort of regal profusion in daily life, which +occasionally jars with my circumstances, making me--not irritable, I am +never irritable--but low-spirited and depressed.” + +“Then, from what you have told me, I think I'd better say to Mrs. Butler +that there 's an angel waiting outside who is most anxious to make her +acquaintance.” + +“Do so; and add that he 'll fold his wings, and sit on this stone till +you come to fetch him.” + +“_Au revoir_, Gabriel, then,” said she, passing in at the wicket, and +taking her way through the little garden. + +Maitland sat discussing in his own mind the problem how far Alcibiades +was right or wrong in endeavoring to divert the world from any criticism +of himself by a certain alteration in his dog's tail, rather opining +that, in our day at least, the wiser course would have been to avoid all +comment whatsoever,--the imputation of an eccentricity being only second +to the accusation of a crime. With the Greeks of that day the false +scent was probably a success; with the English of ours, the real wisdom +is not to be hunted. “Oh, if it were all to be done again, how very +differently I should do it!” + +“Indeed, and in what respect?” said a voice behind his shoulder. He +looked up, and saw Beck Graham gazing on him with something of interest +in her expression. “How so?” cried she, again. Not in the slightest +degree discomposed or flurried, he lay lazily back on the sward, and +drawing his hand over his eyes to shade them from the sun, said, in +a half-languid, weary tone, “If it were to do again, I 'd go in for +happiness.” + +“What do you mean by happiness?” + +“What we all mean by it: an organized selfishness, that draws a close +cordon round our home, and takes care to keep out, so far as possible, +duns, bores, fevers, and fashionable acquaintances. By the way, is your +visit ended, or will she see me?” + +“Not to-day. She hopes to-morrow to be able. She asks if you are of the +Maitlands of Gillie--Gillie--not 'crankie,' but a sound like it,--and if +your mother's name was Janet.” + +“And I trust, from the little you know of me, you assured her it could +not be,” said he, calmly. + +“Well, I said that I knew no more of your family than all the rest of +us up at the Abbey, who have been sifting all the Maitlands in the three +kingdoms in the hope of finding you.” + +“How flattering! and at the same time how vain a labor! The name came to +me with some fortune. I took it as I 'd have taken a more ill-sounding +one for money! Who wouldn't be baptized in bank stock? I hope it's not +on the plea of my mother being Janet, that she consents to receive me?” + +“She hopes you are Lady Janet's son, and that you have the Maitland +eyes, which it seems are dark, and a something in their manner which she +assures me was especially captivating.” + +“And for which, I trust, you vouched?” + +“Yes. I said you were a clever sort of person, that could do a number +of things well, and that I for one did n't quarrel with your vanity or +conceit, but thought them rather good fun.” + +“So they are! and we 'll laugh at them together,” said he, rising, +and preparing to set out “What a blessing to find one that really +understands me! I wish to heaven that you were not engaged!” + +“And who says I am?” cried she, almost fiercely. + +“Did I dream it? Who knows? The fact is, my dear Miss Becky, we do talk +with such a rare freedom to each other, it is pardonable to mix up one's +reveries with his actual information. How do you call that ruin yonder?” + +“Dunluce.” + +“And that great bluff beyond it?” + +“Fairhead.” + +“I 'll take a long walk to-morrow, and visit that part of the coast.” + +“You are forgetting you are to call on Mrs. Butler.” + +“So I was. At what hour are we to be here?” + +“There is no question of 'we' in the matter; your modesty must make its +advances alone.” + +“You are not angry with me, _cariasima_ Rebecca?” + +“Don't think that a familiarity is less a liberty because it is dressed +in a foreign tongue.” + +“But it would 'out;' the expression forced itself from my lips in spite +of me, just as some of the sharp things you have been saying to me were +perfectly irrepressible?” + +“I suspect you like this sort of sparring?” + +“Delight in it” + +“So do I. There's only one condition I make: whenever you mean to take +off the gloves, and intend to hit out hard, that you 'll say so before. +Is that agreed?” + +“It's a bargain.” + +She held out her hand frankly, and he took it as cordially; and in a +hearty squeeze the compact was ratified. + +“Shall I tell you,” said she, as they drew nigh the Abbey, “that you are +a great puzzle to us all here? We none of us can guess how so great +a person as yourself should condescend to come down to such an +out-o'-the-world spot, and waste his fascinations on such dull company.” + +“Your explanation, I 'll wager, was the true one: let me hear it.” + +“I called it eccentricity; the oddity of a man who had traded so long +in oddity that he grew to be inexplicable, even to himself, and that an +Irish country-house was one of the few things you had not 'done,' and +that you were determined to 'do' it.” + +“There was that, and something more,” said Maitland, thoughtfully. + +“The 'something more' being, I take it, the whole secret.” + +“As you read me like a book, Miss Rebecca, all I ask is, that you 'll +shut the volume when you 've done with it, and not talk over it with +your literary friends.” + +“It is not my way,” said she, half pettishly; and they reached the door +as she spoke. + + + +CHAPTER VIII. SOME EXPLANATIONS + +If there was anything strange or inexplicable in the appearance of one +of Maitland's pretensions in an unfrequented and obscure part of the +world,--if there was matter in it to puzzle the wise heads of squires, +and make country intelligences look confused,--there is no earthly +reason why any mystification should be practised with our reader. He, at +least, is under our guidance, and to him we impart whatever is known to +ourselves. For a variety of reasons, some of which this history later on +will disclose,--others, the less imminent, we are free now to avow,--Mr. +Norman Maitland had latterly addressed much of his mind to the political +intrigues of a foreign country: that country was Naples. He had known +it--we are not free to say how, at this place--from his childhood; he +knew its people in every rank and class; he knew its dialect in all its +idioms. He could talk the slang of the lazzaroni, and the wild _patois_ +of Calabria, just as fluently as that composite language which the King +Ferdinand used, and which was a blending of the vulgarisms of the Chiaja +with the Frenchified chit-chat of the Court. There were events happening +in Italy which, though not for the moment involving the question of +Naples, suggested to the wiser heads in that country the sense of a +coming peril. We cannot, at this place, explain how or why Maitland +should have been a sharer in these deeds; it is enough to say that he +was one of a little knot who had free access to the palace, and enjoyed +constant intercourse with the king,--free to tell him of all that went +on in his brilliant capital of vice and levity, to narrate its duels, +its defalcations, its intrigues, its family scandals and domestic +disgraces,--to talk of anything and everything but one: not a word on +politics was to escape them; never in the most remote way was a syllable +to drop of either what was happening in the State, or what comments the +French or English press might pass on it. No allusion was to escape on +questions of government, nor the name of a minister to be spoken, except +he were the hero of some notorious scandal. All these precautions could +not stifle fear. The menials had seen the handwriting on the wall before +Belshazzar's eyes had fallen on it. The men who stood near the +throne saw that it rocked already. There was but one theme within the +palace,--the fidelity of the army; and every rude passage between the +soldiery and the people seemed to testify to that faithfulness. Amongst +those who were supposed to enjoy the sovereign confidence--for none +in reality possessed it--was the Count Caffarelli, a man of very +high family and large fortune; and though not in the slightest degree +tinctured with Liberalism in politics, one of the very few Neapolitan +nobles who either understood the drift, or estimated the force of the +party of action. He foresaw the coming struggle, and boded ill of its +result. With Mr. Maitland he lived in closest intimacy. The Italian, +though older than the Englishman, had been his companion in years +of dissipation. In every capital of Europe these two men had left +traditions of extravagance and excess. They had an easy access to the +highest circles in every city, and it was their pleasure to mix in all, +even to the lowest Between them there had grown what, between such men, +represented a strong friendship,--that is, either would readily have +staked his life or his fortune; in other words, have fought a duel, or +paid the play-debts of the other. Each knew the exact rules of honor +which guided the conduct of the other, and knew, besides, that no other +principles than these held any sway or influence over him. + +Caffarelli saw that the Bourbon throne was in danger, and with it the +fortunes of all who adhered to the dynasty. If all his prejudices and +sympathies were with monarchy, these would not have prevented him from +making terms with the revolution, if he thought the revolution could be +trusted; but this was precisely what he did not, could not believe. + +“_Ceux qui sont Bleus restent Bleus_” said the first Napoleon; and +so Caffarelli assured himself that a _canaille_ always would be a +_canaille_. Philip Égalité was a case in point of what came of such +concessions; therefore he decided it was better to stand by the +monarchy, and that real policy consisted in providing that there should +be a monarchy to stand by. + +To play that mock game of popularity, the being cheered by the +lazzaroni, was the extent of toleration to which the king could be +persuaded. Indeed, he thought these _vivas_ the hearty outburst of a +fervent and affectionate loyalty; and many of his Ministers appeared +to concur with him. Caffarelli, who was Master of the Horse, deemed +otherwise, and confessed to Maitland that, though assassination +was cheap enough in the quarter of Santa Lucia, there was a most +indiscriminating indifference as to who might be the victim, and that +the old Marquess of Montanara, the Prefect of the Palace, would not cost +a _carlino_ more than the veriest follower of Mazzini. + +Both Caffarelli and Maitland enjoyed secret sources of information. They +were members of that strange league which has a link in every grade and +class of Neapolitan society, and makes the very highest in station the +confidant and the accomplice of the most degraded and the meanest This +sect, called La Camorra, was originally a mere system of organized +extortion, driving, by force of menace, an impost on every trade and +occupation, and exacting its dues by means of agents well known to be +capable of the greatest crimes. Caffarelli, who had long employed its +services to assist him in his intrigues or accomplish his vengeances, +was a splendid contributor to its resources. He was rich and munificent; +he loved profusion, but he adored it when it could be made the +mainspring of some dark and mysterious machinery. Though the Camorra was +not in the remotest degree political, Caffarelli learned, through its +agency, that the revolutionary party were hourly gaining strength and +courage. They saw the growing discontent that spread abroad about +the ruling dynasty, and they knew how little favor would be shown +the Bourbons by the Western Powers, whose counsels had been so flatly +rejected, and whose warnings despised. They felt that their hour was +approaching, and that Northern Italy would soon hasten to their aid if +the work of overthrow were once fairly begun. Their only doubts were +lest the success, when achieved, should have won nothing for them. It +may be as in Forty-eight, said they; we may drive the king out of +Naples as we drove the Austrians out of Milan, and, after all, only be +conquering a larger kingdom for the House of Savoy. Hence they hesitated +and held back; nor were their fears causeless. For what had revolution +poured forth its blood like water in Paris? To raise up the despotism of +the Second Empire! + +Caffarelli was in possession of all this; he knew what they hoped +and wished and feared. The Camorra itself numbered many professed +revolutionists (“Reds,” as they liked to be called) in its sect, but +was itself untinctured by politics. The wily Count thought that it was +a pity so good an organization should be wasted on mere extortion and +robbery. There were higher crimes they might attain to, and grander +interests they might subserve. Never, perhaps, was the world of Europe +so much in the hands of a few powerful men. Withdraw from it, say, half +a dozen,--one could name them at once,--and what a change might come +over the Continent! Caffarelli was no assassin; but there are men, and +he was one of them, that can trifle with great crimes, just as children +play with fire; who can jest with them, laugh at them, and sport with +them, till, out of mere familiarity, they forget the horror they should +inspire and the penalty they enforce. He had known Orsini intimately, +and liked him; nor did he talk of his memory with less affection that he +had died beneath the guillotine. He would not himself engage in a crime +that would dishonor his name; but he knew there were a great number of +people in the world who could no more be punctilious about honor than +about the linen they wore,--fellows who walked in rags and dined +off garlic. Why should they stick at trifles? _They_ had no noble +escutcheons to be tarnished, no splendid names, no high lineage to be +disgraced. In fact, there were crimes that became them, just as certain +forms of labor suited them. They worked with their hands in each case. +Amongst the Camorra he knew many such. The difficulty was to bring the +power of the sect to bear upon the questions that engaged him. It would +not have been difficult to make them revolutionists,--the one word +“pillage” would have sufficed for that; the puzzle was how to make them +royalists. Mere pay would not do. These fellows had got a taste for +irregular gain. To expect to win them over by pay, or retain them +by discipline, was to hope to convert a poacher by inviting him to a +battue. Caffarelli had revolved the matter very long and carefully; he +had talked it over scores of times with Maitland. They agreed that the +Camorra had great capabilities, if one only could use them. Through the +members of that league in the army they had learned that the troops, +the long-vaunted reliance of the monarchy, could not be trusted. Many +regiments were ready to take arms with the Reds; many more would disband +and return to their homes. As for the navy, they declared there was not +one ship's company would stand by the Sovereign. The most well-affected +would be neutral; none save the foreign legions would fight for the +king. The question then was, to reinforce these, and at once,--a matter +far more difficult than it used to be. Switzerland would no longer +permit this recruitment. Austria would give none but her criminals. +America, it was said, abounded in ardent adventurous spirits that would +readily risk life in pursuit of fortune; but then the cause was not one +which, by any ingenuity, could be made to seem that of liberty. Nothing +then remained but Ireland. There there was bravery and poverty both; +thousands, who had no fears and very little food, ready for any +enterprise, but far readier for one which could be dignified as being +the battle of the Truth and the cause of the Holy Father. + +An Irish legion, some five or six thousand devout Catholics and valiant +soldiers, was a project that the Minister of War at once embraced. His +Excellency saw Maitland on it, and talked over the whole plan. Maitland +was himself to direct all its operations. Caffarelli would correspond +with him from Naples, and, in case of any complication or difficulty, +shroud the Minister from attack. Ample funds would be provided. The men +could be engaged as laborers upon some great public work, and forwarded +in small drafts to a convenient port. Arms could be easily procured +from Liège. Officers could be readily obtained, either Irish or Poles or +Hungarians, who could speak English. In a word, all the details had been +well discussed and considered; and Maitland, on arriving in London, had +again talked over the project with wise and crafty heads, whose prudent +counsels showed him how little fit he was, personally, to negotiate +directly with the Irish peasant, and how imperative above all things it +was to depute this part of his task to some clever native, capable of +employing the subordinates he needed. “Hide yourself,” said they, “in +some out-of-the-way spot in Wales or Scotland; even the far North +of Ireland will do; remain anywhere near enough to have frequent +communication with your agent, but neither be seen nor known in the plot +yourself. Your English talk and your English accent would destroy more +confidence than your English gold would buy.” + +Such an agent was soon found,--a man admirably adapted in many respects +for the station. He had been an adventurer all his life; served with the +French in Austria, and the Austrians in the Banat; held an independent +command of Turks during the Crimean War; besides, episodically, having +“done a little,” as he called it, on the Indian frontier with the +Yankees; and served on the staff of Rosas, at La Plata; all his great +and varied experiences tending to one solitary conviction, that no real +success was ever to be attained in anything except by means of Irishmen; +nor could order, peace, and loyalty be ever established anywhere without +their assistance. If he was one of the bravest men living, he was one +of the most pushing and impertinent. He would have maintained a point of +law against the Lord Chancellor, and contested tactics with a Marshal of +France. He thought himself the ornament of any society he entered, and +his vanity, in matters of intellect, was only surpassed by his personal +conceit. And now one word as to his appearance. With the aid of cleverly +constructed boots he stood five feet four, but was squarely, stoutly +built, broad in the chest, and very bow-legged; his head was large, and +seemed larger from a mass of fiery red hair, of which he was immensely +vain as the true Celtic color; he wore great whiskers, a moustache, and +chin-tuft; but the flaming hue of these seemed actually tamed and toned +down beside his eyes, which resembled two flaring carbuncles. They were +the most excitable, quarrelsome, restless pair of orbs that ever beamed +in a human head. They twinkled and sparkled with an incessant mischief, +and they darted such insolent glances right and left as seemed to say, +“Is there any one present who will presume to contradict me?” + +His boundless self-conceit would have been droll if it had not been so +offensive. His theory was this: all men detested him; all women adored +him. Europe had done little better than intrigue for the last quarter +of a century what country could secure his services. As for the insolent +things he had said to kings and emperors, and the soft speeches that +empresses and queens had made to himself, they would fill a volume. +Believe him, and he had been on terms of more than intimacy in every +royal palace of the Continent. Show the slightest semblance of doubt in +him, and the chances were that he 'd have had you “out” in the morning. + +Amongst his self-delusions, it was one to believe that his voice and +accent were peculiarly insinuating. There was, it is true, a certain +slippery insincerity about them, but the vulgarity was the chief +characteristic; and his brogue was that of Leinster, which, even to +Irish ears, is insufferable. + +Such was, in brief, the gentleman who called himself Major +M'Caskey, Knight-Commander of various Orders, and C.S. in the Pope's +household,--which, interpreted, means Cameriere Secreto,--a something +which corresponds to gentleman-in-waiting. Maitland and he had never +met. They had corresponded freely, and the letters of the Major had by +no means made a favorable impression upon Maitland, who had more than +once forwarded extracts from them to the committees in London, pettishly +asking, “if something better could not be found than the writer of this +rubbish.” And yet, for the work before him, “the writer of this rubbish” + was a most competent hand. He knew his countrymen well,--knew how to +approach them by those mingled appeals to their love of adventure +and love of gain; their passion for fighting, for carelessness, for +disorder; and, above all, that wide uncertainty as to what is to +come, which is, to an Irishman's nature, the most irresistible of +all seductions. The Major had established committees--in other words, +recruiting-depots--in several county towns; had named a considerable +number of petty officers; and was only waiting Maitland's orders whether +or not he should propose the expedition to adventurous but out-at-elbows +young fellows of a superior station,--the class from which officers +might be taken. We have now said enough of him and the project that +engaged him to admit of our presenting him to our readers in one of his +brief epistles. It was dated,-- + +“Castle Dubbow, August--, 18--. + +“Sir,--I have the honor to report for your information that I yesterday +enrolled in this town and neighborhood eighteen fine fellows for H. N. +M. Two of them are returned convicts, and three more are bound over to +come up for sentence at a future assizes, and one, whom I have named a +corporal, is the notorious Hayes, who shot Captain Macon on the fair +green at Ballinasloe. So you see there's little fear that they'll want +to come back here when once they have attained to the style and dignity +of Neapolitan citizens. Bounty is higher here by from sixteen to twenty +shillings than in Meath; indeed, fellows who can handle a gun, or are +anyways ready with a weapon, can always command a job from one of the +secret clubs; and my experiences (wide as most men's) lead me entirely +to the selection of those who have shown any aptitude for active +service. I want your permission and instruction to engage some young +gentlemen of family and station, for the which I must necessarily be +provided with means of entertainment. _Tafel Gelt ist nicht Teufel's +Gelt_, says the Austrian adage; and I believe a very moderate outlay, +assisted by my own humble gifts of persuasion, will suffice. _Séduction +de M'Casky_, was a proverb in the 8th Voltigeurs. You may ask a certain +high personage in France who it was that told him not to despair on a +particular evening at Strasbourg. A hundred pounds--better if a hundred +and fifty--would be useful. The medals of his Holiness have done well, +but I only distribute them in the lower ranks. Some titles would be very +advisable if I am to deal with the higher class. Herewith you have a +muster-roll of what has been done in two counties; and I say it without +fear, not a man in the three kingdoms could have accomplished it but +Miles M'Marmont could plan, but not execute; Masséna execute, but not +organize; Soul could do none but the last. It is no vanity makes me +declare that I combine all the qualities. You see me now 'organizing;' +in a few days you shall judge me in the field; and, later on, if my +convictions do not deceive me, in the higher sphere of directing the +great operations of an army. I place these words in your hands that they +may be on record. If M'Caskey falls, it is a great destiny cut off; but +posterity will see that he died in the full conviction of his genius. I +have drawn on you for thirty-eight, ten-and-six; and to-morrow will draw +again for seventy-four, fifteen. + +“Your note has just come. I am forced to say that its tone is not that +to which, in the sphere I have moved, I have been accustomed. If I am +to regard you as my superior officer, duty cries, 'Submit.' If you be +simply a civilian, no matter how exalted, I ask explanation. The dinner +at the Dawson Arms _was_ necessary; the champagne was _not_ excessive; +none of the company were really drunk before ten o'clock; and the +destruction of the furniture was a _plaisanterie_ of a young gentleman +from Louth who was going into holy orders, and might most probably not +have another such spree in all his life again. Are you satisfied? If +not, tell me what and where any other satisfaction may meet your wishes. +You say, 'Let us meet.' I reply, 'Yes, in any way you desire.' You +have not answered my demand--it was demand, not request--to be Count +M'Caskey. I have written to Count Caffarelli on the subject, and have +thoughts of addressing the king. Don't talk to me of decorations. I +have no room for them on the breast of my coat. I am forced to say these +things to you, for I cannot persuade myself that you really know or +understand the man you correspond with. After all, it took Radetzky a +year, and Omar Pasha seventeen months, to arrive at that knowledge which +my impatience, unjustly perhaps, complains that you have not attained +to. Yet I feel we shall like each other; and were it not like +precipitancy, I'd say, believe me, dear Maitland, very faithfully your +friend, + +“Miles M'Caskey.” + +The answer to this was very brief, and ran thus:-- + + “Lyle Abbey, August. + + “Sir,--You will come to Coleraine, and await my orders + there,--the first of which will be to take no liberties of + any kind with your obedient servant, + + “Norman Maitland. + + “Major M'Caskey, 'The Dawson Arms, Castle Durrow. + + “P. S. Avoid all English acquaintances on your road. Give + yourself out to be a foreigner, and speak as little as + possible.” + + + +CHAPTER IX. MAITLAND'S FRIEND + +“I don't think I 'll walk down to the Burnside with you to-day,” said +Beck Graham to Maitland, on the morning after their excursion. + +“And why not?” + +“People have begun to talk of our going off together alone,--long +solitary walks. They say it means something--or nothing.” + +“So, I opine, does every step and incident of our lives.” + +“Well. You understand what I intended to say.” + +“Not very clearly, perhaps; but I shall wait a little further +explanation. What is it that the respectable public imputes to us?” + +“That you are a very dangerous companion for a young lady in a country +walk.” + +“But am I? Don't you think you are in a position to refute such a +calumny?” + +“I spoke of you as I found you.” + +“And how might that be?” + +“Very amusing at some moments; very absent at others; very desirous to +be thought lenient and charitable in your judgments of people, while +evidently thinking the worst of every one; and with a rare frankness +about yourself that, to any one not very much interested to learn the +truth, was really as valuable as the true article.” + +“But you never charged me with any ungenerous use of my advantage; to +make professions, for instance, because I found you alone.” + +“A little--a very little of that--there was; just as children stamp on +thin ice and run away when they hear it crack beneath them.” + +“Did I go so far as that?” + +“Yes; and Sally says, if she was in my place, she 'd send papa to you +this morning.” + +“And I should be charmed to see him. There are no people whom I prefer +to naval men. They have the fresh, vigorous, healthy tone of their own +sea life in all they say.” + +“Yes; you'd have found him vigorous enough, I promise you.” + +“And why did you consult your sister at all?” + +“I did not consult her; she got all out of me by cross-questioning. She +began by saying, 'That man is a mystery to me; he has not come down here +to look after the widow nor Isabella; he's not thinking of politics nor +the borough; there 's no one here that he wants or cares for. What can +he be at?'” + +“Could n't you have told her that he was one of those men who have lived +so much in the world it is a luxury to them to live a little out of it? +Just as it is a relief to sit in a darkened room after your eyes have +been dazzled with too strong light. Could n't you have said, He delights +to talk and walk with me, because he sees that he may expand freely, and +say what comes uppermost, without any fear of an unfair inference? That, +for the same reason,--the pleasure of an unrestricted intercourse,--he +wishes to know old Mrs. Butler, and talk with her,--over anything, in +short? Just to keep mind and faculties moving,--as a light breeze stirs +a lake and prevents stagnation?” + +“Well. I 'm not going to perform Zephyr, even in such a high cause.” + +“Could n't you have said, We had a pleasant walk and a mild cigarette +together,--_voilà tout?_” said he, languidly. + +“I think it would be very easy to hate you,--hate you cordially,--Mr. +Norman Maitland.” + +“So I've been told; and some have even tried it, but always +unsuccessfully.” + +“Who is this wonderful foreigner they are making so much of at the +Castle and the Viceregal Lodge?” cried Mark, from one of the window +recesses, where he was reading a newspaper. “Maitland, you who know all +these people, who is the Prince Caffarelli?” + +“Caffarelli! it must be the Count,” cried Maitland, hurrying over to +see the paragraph. “The Prince is upwards of eighty; but his son, Count +Caffarelli, is my dearest friend in the world. What could have brought +him over to Ireland?” + +“Ah! there is the very question he himself is asking about the great Mr. +Norman Maitland,” said Mrs. Trafford, smiling. + +“My reasons are easily stated. I had an admirable friend who could +secure me a most hospitable reception. I came here to enjoy the +courtesies of country home life in a perfection I scarcely believed +they could attain to. The most unremitting attention to one's comfort, +combined with the wildest liberty.” + +“And such port wine,” interposed the Commodore, “as I am free to say no +other cellar in the province can rival.” + +“Let us come back to your Prince or Count,” said Mark, “whichever he is. +Why not ask him down here?” + +“Yes; we have room,” said Lady Lyle; “the M'Clintocks left this +morning.” + +“By all means, invite him,” broke in Mrs. Trafford; “that is, if he be +what we conjecture the dear friend of Mr. Maitland might and should be.” + +“I am afraid to speak of him,” said Maitland; “one disserves a friend +by any over-praise; but at Naples, and in his own set, he is thought +charming.” + +“I like Italians myself,” said Colonel Hoyle. “I had a fellow I picked +up at Malta,--a certain Geronimo. I 'm not sure he was not a Maltese; +but such a salad as he could make! There was everything you could think +of in it,--tomato, eggs, sardines, radishes, beetroot, cucumber.” + +“Every Italian is a bit of a cook,” said Maitland, relieving adroitly +the company from the tiresome detail of the Colonel. “I 'll back my +friend Caffarelli for a dish of macaroni against all professional +artists.” + +While the Colonel and his wife got into a hot dispute whether there was +or was not a slight flavor of parmesan in the salad, the others gathered +around Maitland to hear more of his friend. Indeed, it was something new +to hear of an Italian of class and condition. They only knew the nation +as tenors or modellers or language masters. Their compound idea of +Italian was a thing of dark skin and dark eyes; very careless in dress, +very submissive in aspect, with a sort of subdued fire, however, in +look, that seemed to say how much energy was only sleeping there! and +when Maitland sketched the domestic ties of a rich magnate of the land, +living a life of luxurious indolence, in a sort of childlike simplicity +as to what engaged other men in other countries, without a thought for +questions of politics, religion, or literature, living for mere life's +sake, he interested them much. + +“I shall be delighted to ask him here,” said he, at last; “only let me +warn you against disappointment. He'll not be witty like a Frenchman, +nor profound like a German, nor energetic like an Englishman; he 'll +neither want to gain knowledge nor impart it. He'll only ask to be +permitted to enjoy the pleasures of a very charming society without any +demand being made upon him to contribute anything; to make him fancy, in +short, that he knew you all years and years ago, and has just come back +out of cloud-land to renew the intimacy. Will you have him after this?” + +“By all means,” was the reply. “Go and write your letter to him.” + +Maitland went to his room, and soon wrote the following:-- + + “Caro Carlo mio,--Who'd have thought of seeing you in + Ireland? but I have scarce courage to ask you how and why + you came here, lest you retort the question upon myself. For + the moment, however, I am comfortably established in a + goodish sort of country-house, with some pretty women, and, + thank Heaven, no young men save one son of the family, whom + I have made sufficiently afraid of me to repress all + familiarities. They beg me to ask you here, and I see + nothing against it. We eat and drink very well. The place is + healthy, and though the climate is detestable, it braces and + gives appetite. We shall have, at all events, ample time to + talk over much that interests us both, and so I say, Come! + + “The road is by Belfast, and thence to Coleraine, where we + shall take care to meet you. I ought to add that your host's + name is Sir Arthur Lyle, an Anglo-Indian, but who, thank + your stars for it! being a civilian, has neither shot tigers + nor stuck pigs. It will also be a relief to you to learn + that there's no sport of any kind in the neighborhood, and + there cannot be the shade of a pretext for making you mount + a horse or carry a gun, nor can any insidious tormentor + persecute you with objects of interest or antiquity; and so, + once again, Come--and believe me, ever your most cordial + friend, + + “N. Maitland. + + “There is no reason why you should not be here by Saturday, + so that, if nothing contrary is declared, I shall look out + for you by that day; but write at all events.” + + + +CHAPTER X. A BLUNDER + +Sir Arthur Lyle was a county dignity, and somewhat fond of showing +it. It is true he could not compete with the old blood of the land, or +contest place with an O'Neil or an O'Hara; but his wealth gave him a +special power, and it was a power that all could appreciate. There was +no mistake about one who could head a subscription by a hundred pounds, +or write himself patron of a school or a hospital with a thousand! And +then his house was more splendid, his servants more numerous, their +liveries finer, his horses better, than his neighbors; and he was not +above making these advantages apparent. Perhaps his Indian experiences +may have influenced his leanings, and taught him to place a higher value +on show and all the details of external greatness. On everything that +savored of a public occasion, he came with all the pomp and parade of +a sovereign. A meeting of poor-law guardians, a committee of the +county infirmary, a board of railway directors, were all events to be +signalized by his splendid appearance. + +His coach and four, and his outriders--for he had outriders--were +admirable in all their appointments. Royalty could not have swung upon +more perfectly balanced nor easier springs, nor could a royal team +have beat the earth with a grander action or more measured rhythm. The +harness--bating the excess of splendor--was perfect. It was massive and +well-fitting. As for the servants, a master of the horse could not have +detected an inaccurate fold in their cravats, nor a crease in their silk +stockings. Let the world be as critical or slighting as it may, these +things are successes. They are trifles only to him who has not attempted +them. Neither is it true to say that money can command them; for there +is much in them that mere money cannot do. There is a keeping in all +details,--a certain “tone” throughout, and, above all, a discipline the +least flaw in which would convert a solemn display into a mockery. + +Neighbors might criticise the propriety or canvass the taste of so much +ostentation, but none, not the most sarcastic or scrutinizing, could say +one word against the display itself; and so, when on a certain forenoon +the dense crowd of the market-place scattered and fled right and left to +make way for the prancing leaders of that haughty equipage, the sense of +admiration overcame even the unpleasant feeling of inferiority, and that +flunkeyism that has its hold on humanity felt a sort of honor in being +hunted away by such magnificence. + +Through the large square--or Diamond, as the Northerns love to call +it--of the town they came, upsetting apple-stalls and crockery-booths, +and frightening old peasant women, who, with a goose under one arm and +a hank of yarn under the other, were bent on enterprises of barter and +commerce. Sir Arthur drove up to the bank, of which he was the governor, +and on whose steps, to receive him, now stood the other members of +the board. With his massive gold watch in hand, he announced that the +fourteen miles had been done in an hour and sixteen minutes, and pointed +to the glossy team, whose swollen veins stood out like whipcord, to +prove that there was no distress to the cattle. The board chorused +assent, and one--doubtless an ambitious man--actually passed his hand +down the back sinews of a wheeler, and said, “Cool as spring-water, I +pledge my honor.” Sir Arthur smiled benignly, looked up at the sky, gave +an approving look at the sun as though to say, “Not bad for Ireland,” + and entered the bank. + +It was about five o'clock in the same evening when the great man again +appeared at the same place; he was flushed and weary-looking. Some +rebellious spirits--is not the world full of them?--had dared to oppose +one of his ordinances. They had ventured to question some subsidy that +he would accord or refuse to some local line of railroad. The opposition +had deeply offended him; and though he had crushed it, it had wounded +him. He was himself the bank!--its high repute, its great credit, its +large connection, were all of his making; and that same Mr. M'Candlish +who had dared to oppose him was a creature of his own,--that is, he had +made him a tithe-valuator, or a road-inspector, or a stamp distributor, +or a something or other of the hundred petty places which he distributed +just as the monks of old gave alms at the gates of their convents. + +Sir Arthur whispered a word to Mr. Boyd, the secretary, as he passed +downstairs. “How does M'Candlish stand with the bank? He has had +advances lately; send me a note of them.” And thus, bent on reprisals, +he stood waiting for that gorgeous equipage which was now standing fully +ready in the inn yard, while the coachman was discussing a chop and a +pot of porter. “Why is not he ready?” asked Sir Arthur, impatiently. + +“He was getting a nail in Blenheim's off foreshoe, sir,” was the ready +reply; and as Blenheim was a blood bay sixteen-three, and worth two +hundred and fifty pounds, there was no more to be said; and so Sir +Arthur saw the rest of the board depart on jaunting-cars, gigs, or +dog-carts, as it might be,--humble men with humble conveyances, that +could take them to their homes without the delays that wait upon +greatness. + +“Anything new stirring, Boyd?” asked Sir Arthur, trying not to show that +he was waiting for the pleasure of his coachman. + +“No, sir; all dull as ditch-water.” + +“We want rain, I fancy,--don't we?” + +“We 'd not be worse for a little, sir. The after-grass, at least, would +benefit by it.” + +“Why don't you pave this town better, Boyd? I 'm certain it was these +rascally stones twisted Blenheim's shoe.” + +“Our corporation will do nothing, sir,--nothing,” said the other, in a +whisper. + +“Who is that fellow with the large whiskers, yonder,--on the steps of +the hotel? He looks as if he owned the town.” + +“A foreigner, Sir Arthur; a Frenchman or a German, I believe. He came +over this morning to ask if we knew the address of Mr. Norman Maitland.” + +“Count Caffarelli,” muttered Sir Arthur to himself; “what a chance that +I should see him! How did he come?” + +“Posted, sir; slept at Cookstown last night, and came here to +breakfast.” + +Though the figure of the illustrious stranger was very far from what Sir +Arthur was led to expect, he knew that personal appearance was not so +distinctive abroad as in England, and so he began to con over to himself +what words of French he could muster, to make his advances. Now, had +it been Hindostanee that was required, Sir Arthur would have opened +his negotiations with all the florid elegance that could be wished; but +French was a tongue in which he had never been a proficient, and, in +his ordinary life, had little need of. He thought, however, that his +magnificent carriage and splendid horses would help him out of the +blunders of declensions and genders, and that what he wanted in grammar +he could make up in greatness. “Follow me to M'Grotty's,” said he to his +coachman, and took the way across the square. + +Major M'Caskey--for it was no other than that distinguished +gentleman--was standing with both hands in the pockets of a very +short shooting-jacket, and a clay pipe in his mouth, as Sir Arthur, +courteously uncovering, bowed his way up the steps, saying something in +which _l'honneur, la félicité, and infiniment flatté_, floated amidst +a number of less intelligibly rendered syllables, ended the whole with +“_Ami de mon ami_, M. Norman Maitland.” + +Major M'Caskey raised his hat straight above his head and replaced it, +listening calmly to the embarrassed attempts of the other, and then +coldly replied in French, “I have the honor to be the friend of M. +Maitland,--how and when can I see him?” + +“If you will condescend to be my guest, and allow me to offer you a seat +with me to Lyle Abbey, you will see your friend.” And, as Sir Arthur +spoke, he pointed to his carriage. + +“Ah, and this is yours? _Pardie!_ it's remarkably well done. I accept +at once. Fetch down my portmanteau and the pistol-case,” said he to a +small, ill-looking boy in a shabby green livery, and to whom he spoke in +a whisper; while, turning to Sir Arthur, he resumed his French. + +“This I call a real piece of good-fortune,--I was just saying to myself, +'Here I am; and though he says, Come! how are we to meet?'” + +“But you knew, Count, that we were expecting you.” + +“Nothing of the kind. All I knew was his message, 'Come here.' I had no +anticipation of such pleasant quarters as you promise me.” + +Seated in the post of honor on the right of Sir Arthur, the Major, by +way of completing the measure of his enjoyments, asked leave to smoke. +The permission was courteously accorded, and away they rolled over the +smooth highway to the pleasant measure of that stirring music,--the trot +of four spanking horses. + +Two--three--four efforts did Sir Arthur make at conversation, but they +all ended in sad failure. He wanted to say something about the crops, +but he did not remember the French for “oats;” he wished to speak of the +road, but he knew not the phrase for “grand jury;” he desired to make +some apology for a backward season, but he might as well have attempted +to write a Greek ode; and so he sat and smiled and waved his hand, +pointing out objects of interest, and interjectionally jerking +out, “Bons--braves--très braves--but poor--pauvres--très pauvres--light +soil--légère, you understand,” and with a vigorous “hem” satisfied +himself that he had said something intelligible. After this no more +attempts at conversation were made; for the Major had quietly set his +companion down for an intense bore, and fell back upon his tobacco for +solace. + +“Là!” cried the Baronet, after a long silence--and he pointed with his +finger to a tall tower, over which a large flag was waving, about half +a mile away,--“Là! Notre chateau--Lyle Abbey--moi;” and he tapped his +breast to indicate the personal interest that attached to the spot. + +“Je vous en fais mes compliments,” cried M'Caskey, who chuckled at +the idea of such quarters, and very eloquently went on to express the +infinite delight it gave him to cultivate relations with a family at +once so amiable and so distinguished. The happy hazard which brought +him was in reality another tie that bound him to the friendship of that +“cher Maitland.” Delivered of this, the Major emptied his pipe, replaced +it in its case, and then, taking off his hat, ran his hands through his +hair, arranged his shirt-collar, and made two or three other efforts at +an improvised toilet. + +“We are late--_en retard_--I think,” said Sir Arthur, as they drew up at +the door, where two sprucely dressed servants stood to receive them. “We +dine--at eight--eight,” said he, pointing to that figure on his watch. +“You 'll have only time to dress,--dress;” and he touched the lappet +of his coat, for he was fairly driven to pantomime to express himself. +“Hailes,” cried he to a servant in discreet black, “show the Count to +his room, and attend to him; his own man has not come on, it seems,” and +then, with many bows and smiles and courteous gestures, consigned his +distinguished guest to the care of Mr. Hailes, and walked hurriedly +upstairs to his own room. + +“Such a day as I have had,” cried he, as he entered the dressing-room, +where Lady Lyle was seated with a French novel. “Those fellows at the +bank, led on by that creature M'Candlish, had the insolence to move +an amendment to that motion of mine about the drainage loan. I almost +thought they'd have given me a fit of apoplexy; but I crushed them: and +I told Boyd, 'If I see any more of this, I don't care from what quarter +it comes,--if these insolences be repeated,--I' ll resign the direction. +It's no use making excuses, pleading that you misunderstood this or +mistook that, Boyd,' said I. 'If it occurs again, I go.' And then, as +if this was not enough, I 've had to talk French all the way out. By the +way, where's Maitland?” + +“Talk French! what do you mean by that?” + +“Where's Maitland, I say?” + +“He's gone off with Mark to Larne. They said they 'd not be back to +dinner.” + +“Here's more of it; we shall have this foreign fellow on our hands till +he comes,--this Italian Count. I found him at M'Grotty's, and brought +him back with me.” + +“And what is he like? is he as captivating as his portrait bespeaks?” + +“He is, to my mind, as vulgar a dog as ever I met: he smoked beside me +all the road, though he saw how his vile tobacco set me a-coughing; +and he stretched his legs over the front seat of the carriage, where, I +promise you, his boots have left their impress on the silk lining; and +he poked his cane at Crattle's wig, and made some impertinent remark +which I could n't catch. I never was very enthusiastic about foreigners, +and the present specimen has not made a convert of me.” + +“Maitland likes him,” said she, languidly. + +“Well, then, it is an excellent reason not to like Maitland. There's the +second bell already. By the way, this Count, I suppose, takes you in to +dinner?” + +“I suppose so, and it is very unpleasant, for I am out of the habit +of talking French. I 'll make Alice sit on the other side of him and +entertain him.” + +The news that the distinguished Italian friend of Mr. Norman Maitland +had arrived created a sort of sensation in the house; and as the guests +dropped into the drawing-room before dinner, there was no other topic +than the Count. The door at last opened for his _entree_; and he came +in unannounced, the servant being probably unable to catch the name he +gave. In the absence of her father and mother, Mrs. Trafford did the +honors, and received him most courteously, presenting the other guests +to him, or him to them, as it might be. When it came to the turn of the +Commodore, he started, and muttered, “Eh, very like, the born image +of him!” and coloring deeply at his own awkwardness, mumbled out a few +unmeaning commonplaces. As for the Major, he eyed him with one of his +steadiest stares,--unflinching, un-blenching; and even said to Mrs. +Trafford in a whisper, “I didn't catch the name; was it Green you said?” + Seated between Lady Lyle and Mrs. Trafford, M'Caskey felt that he was +the honored guest of the evening: Maitland's absence, so feelingly +deplored by the others, gave him little regret; indeed, instinct told +him that they were not men to like each other, and he was all the +happier that he had the field for a while his own. It was not a very +easy task to be the pleasant man of an Irish country-house, in a +foreign tongue; but if any man could have success, it was M'Caskey. +The incessant play of his features, the varied tones of his voice, +his extraordinary gestures, appealed to those who could not follow his +words, and led them very often to join in the laughter which his sallies +provoked from others. He was, it is true, the exact opposite to all they +had been led to expect,--he was neither well-looking, nor distinguished, +nor conciliatory in manner,--there was not a trace of that insinuating +softness and gentleness Maitland had spoken of,--he was, even to those +who could not follow his speech, one of the most coolly unabashed +fellows they had ever met, and made himself at home with a readiness +that said much more for his boldness than for his breeding; and +yet, withal, each was pleased in turn to see how he out-talked some +heretofore tyrant of conversation, how impudently he interrupted a bore, +and how mercilessly he pursued an antagonist whom he had vanquished. It +is not at all improbable, too, that he owed something of bis success to +that unconquerable objection people feel at confessing that they do not +understand a foreign language,--the more when that language is such a +cognate one as French. What a deal of ecstasy does not the polite world +expend upon German drama and Italian tragedy, and how frequently are +people moved to every imaginable emotion, without the slightest clew to +the intention of the charmer! If he was great at the dinner-table, he +was greater in the drawing-room. Scarcely was coffee served than he was +twanking away with a guitar, and singing a Spanish muleteer song, with +a jingling imitation of bells for the accompaniment; or seated at the +piano, he carolled out a French canzonette descriptive of soldier life, +far more picturesque than it was proper; and all this time there was +the old Commodore cruising above and below him, eying and watching +him,--growing perfectly feverish with the anxiety of his doubts, and +yet unable to confirm or refute them. It was a suspicious craft; he felt +that he had seen it before, and knew the rig well, and yet he was afraid +to board and say, “Let me look at your papers.” + +“I say, Beck, just go slyly up and say something accidentally about +Barbadoes; don't ask any questions, but remark that the evening is +close, or the sky threatening, or the air oppressive, just as it used to +be before a tornado there.” The old sailor watched her, as he might have +watched a boat-party on a cutting-out expedition; he saw her draw nigh +the piano; he thought he could trace all the ingenious steps by which +she neared her object; and he was convinced that she had at last thrown +the shell on board him; but what was his grievous disappointment, as +he saw that the little fellow had turned to her with a look of warmest +admiration, and actually addressed a very ardent love-song to the eyes +that were then bent upon him. The Commodore made signals to cease firing +and fall back, but in vain. She was too deeply engaged to think of +orders; and there she stood to be admired and worshipped and adored, in +all the moods and tenses of a French “romance.” But Miss Rebecca Graham +was not the only victim of the Major's captivations; gradually the +whole company of the drawing-room had gathered round the piano, some to +wonder, some to laugh at, some to feel amused by, and not a few to feel +angry with, that little fiery-eyed, impertinent-looking fellow, who eyed +the ladies so languishingly, and stared at the men as if asking, “Who'll +quarrel with me?” You might not like, but it was impossible to ignore +him. There was, too, in his whole air and bearing a conscious sense of +power,--a sort of bold self-reliance,--that dignifies even impudence; +and as he sat in his chair with head up and hands vigorously striking +the chords of the piano, he looked, as it is by no means improbable that +he felt, “M'Caskey against the field.” It was in the midst of hearty +applause at a song he had just completed, that Maitland entered the +room. In the hall he had learned from the servants that his foreign +friend had arrived, and he hurried forward to greet him. Rather puzzled +at the vociferous gayety of the company, he made his way through the +crowd and approached the piano, and then stood staring on every side, +to find out his friend. Though he saw the Major, his eye only rested +passingly on him, as it ranged eagerly to catch the features of another. + +“He's very amusing, though not in the least what you led us to expect,” + whispered Mrs. Trafford. “Who is it of whom you are speaking?” “Your +friend yonder, the Count Caffarelli.” “What--that man?” cried Maitland, +as he grew pale with passion; and now, pushing forward, he leaned over +the back of the music-stool, and whispered, “Who are you that call +yourself Count Caffarelli?” + +“Is your name Maitland?” said the other, with perfect coolness. + +“Yes.” + +“Mine is M'Caskey, sir.” + +“And by what presumption do I find you here?” + +“This is not the place nor the moment for explanations; but if you want +or prefer exposures, don't balk your fancy. I 'm as ready as you are.” + +Maitland reeled back as if from a blow, and looked positively ill; and +then laughingly turning to the company, he said some common-place words +about his ill luck in being late to hear the last song. + +“Well, it must be the last for to-night,” said Mr. M'Caskey, rising. “I +have really imposed too much upon every one's forbearance.” + +After a little of the usual skirmishing,--the entreaties and the coy +refusals, the recollection of that charming thing you sang for us at +Woodpark, and the doubts lest they had brought no music with them,--the +Misses Graham sat down to one, of those duets which every one in England +seems able to compose and to sing; lackadaisical ditties adapted to the +humblest musical proficiency, and unfortunately, too, the very narrowest +intelligences. While the remainder of the company, after a brief moment +of silence, resumed conversation, Major M'Caskey stepped unobserved from +the room,--by all, at least, but by Maitland, who speedily followed him, +and, led by the sound of his footsteps along the corridor, tracked him +through the great hall. M'Caskey was standing on the lawn, and in the +act of lighting his cigar, as Maitland came up. + +“Explain this intrusion here, sir, now, if you can,” cried Maitland, as +he walked straight towards him. + +“If you want any explanations from me, you 'll have to ask for them more +suitably,” said the other, coldly. + +“I desire to know, under what pretence you assume a name and rank you +have no right to, to obtain admission to this house?” + +“Your question is easily answered: your instructions to me were, on my +arrival at Coleraine, to give myself out for a foreigner, and not to +speak English with any one. I have your note in my desk, and think there +can be no mistake about its meaning.” + +“Well, well; I know all that: go on,” cried Maitland, impatiently. + +M'Caskey smiled, half insolently, at this show of temper, and continued: +“It was, then, in my assumed character of Frenchman, Spaniard, Italian, +or whatever you wish,--for they are pretty much alike to me,--I was +standing at the door of the inn, when a rather pompous old fellow, with +two footmen after him, came up, and in some execrable French endeavored +to accost me, mingling your name in his jargon, and inviting me, as well +as his language would permit, to return with him to his house. What was +I to conclude but that the arrangement was yours? indeed, I never gave a +doubt to it.” + +“When he addressed you as the Count Caffarelli, you might have had such +a doubt,” said Maitland, sneeringly. + +“He called me simply Count,” was the reply. + +“Well; so far well: there was no assumption of a name, at least.” + +“None whatever; and if there had been, would the offence have seemed to +you so very--very unpardonable?” It is not easy to convey the intense +impertinence given to the delivery of this speech by the graduated +slowness of every word, and the insolent composure with which it was +spoken. + +“What do you mean, sir, by this--this insinuation?” cried Maitland. + +“Insinuation!--it's none. It is a mere question as to a matter of good +taste or good morals.” + +“I have no time for such discussions, sir,” said Maitland, hotly. “I am +glad to find that the blunder by which you came here was not of your +own provoking, though I cannot see how it makes the explanation less +difficult to myself.” + +“What is your difficulty, may I ask?” cried M'Caskey, coolly. + +“Is it no difficulty that I must explain how I know--” and he stopped +suddenly, just as a man might stop on the verge of a precipice, and +look horror-struck down into the depth below him. “I mean,” said he, +recovering himself, “that to enter upon the question of our relations to +each other would open the discussion of matters essentially secret. When +I have said I know you, the next question will be, 'Who is he?'” + +“Well, what is the difficulty there? I am Graf M'Caskey, in Bavaria; +Count of Serra-major, in Sicily; Commander of the Order of St. Peter +and St. Paul, and a Knight of Malta. I mention these, for I have the +'brevets' with me.” + +“Very true,” said Maitland; “but you are also the same Lieutenant Miles +M'Caskey, who served in the 2d West Indian Regiment, and who left a few +unsettled matters between him and the Government there, when he quitted +Barbadoes.” + +“And which they won't rake up, I promise you, if they don't want to hang +an ex-governor,” said he, laughing. “But none of us, Mr. Maitland, will +stand such investigations as these. There's a statute of limitations for +morals as well as for small debts.” + +Maitland winced under the insolent look of the other, and in a tone +somewhat shaken, continued, “At all events it will not suit me to open +these inquiries. The only piece of good fortune in the whole is that +there was none here who knew you.” + +“I am not so very sure of that, though,” said the Major, with a quiet +laugh. + +“How so? what do you mean?” + +“Why; that there is an old fellow whom I remember to have met on the +West Indian Station; he was a lieutenant, I think, on board the 'Dwarf,' +and he looked as if he were puzzled about me.” + +“Gambier Graham?” + +“That's the man; he followed me about all night, till some one carried +him off to play cribbage; but he 'd leave his game every now and then to +come and stare at me, till I gave him a look that said, 'If you do that +again, we 'll have a talk over it in the morning.'” + +“To prevent which you must leave this to-night, sir,” said Maitland. +“I am not in the habit of carrying followers about with me to the +country-houses where I visit.” + +A very prolonged whistle was M'Caskey's first reply to this speech, and +then he said: “They told me you were one of the cleverest fellows in +Europe, but I don't believe a word of it; for if you were, you would +never try to play the game of bully with a man of my stamp. Bigger men +than Mr. Norman Maitland have tried that, and did n't come so well out +of it.” + +An insolent toss of the head, as he threw away his cigar, was all +Maitland's answer. At last he said, “I suppose, sir, you cannot wish to +drive me to say that I do not know you?” + +“It would be awkward, certainly; for then I 'd be obliged to declare +that I _do_ know you.” + +Instantly Maitland seized the other's arm; but M'Caskey, though not +by any means so strong a man, flung off the grasp, and started back, +saying, “Hands off, or I'll put a bullet through you. We've both of us +lived long enough amongst foreigners to know that these are liberties +that cost blood.” + +“This is very silly and very unprofitable,” said Maitland, with a +ghastly attempt at a smile. “There ought not, there cannot be, any +quarrel between you and me. Though it is no fault of yours that this +blunder has occurred, the mistake has its unpleasant side, and may +lead to some embarrassment, the more as this old sea-captain is sure +to remember you if you meet again. There 's only one thing for it, +therefore,--get away as fast as you can. I 'll supply the pretext, and +show Sir Arthur in confidence how the whole affair occurred.” + +M'Caskey shook his head dubiously. “This is not to my liking, sir; it +smacks of a very ignominious mode of retreat. I am to leave myself to +be discussed by a number of perhaps not over-favorable critics, and +defended by one who even shrinks from saying he knows me. No, no; I +can't do this.” + +“But remember you are not the person to whom these people meant to offer +their hospitality.” + +“I am Major Miles M'Caskey,” said he, drawing himself up to the full +height of his five feet four inches; “and there is no mistake whatever +in any consideration that is shown to the man who owns that name.” + +“Yes, but why are you here,--how have you come?” + +“I came by the host's invitation, and I look to you to explain how the +blunder occurred, and to recognize me afterwards. That is what I expect, +and what I insist on.” + +“And if your old friend the Commodore, whose memory for ugly anecdotes +seems inexhaustible, comes out with any unpleasant reminiscences of West +Indian life--” + +“Leave that to me, Mr. Norman Maitland. I 'll take care to see my +friend, as you call him, and I 'll offer you a trifling wager he 'll not +be a whit more anxious to claim my acquaintance than you are.” + +“You appear to have no small reliance on your powers of intimidation, +Major,” said Maitland, with a sneering smile. + +“They have never failed me, for I have always backed them with a very +steady hand and a correct eye, both of which are much at your service.” + +Maitland lifted his hat and bowed an acknowledgment. + +“I think we are losing our time, each of us, Major M'Caskey. There need +be no question of etiquette here. You are, if I understand the matter +aright, under my orders. Well, sir, these orders are, that you now start +for Castle Durrow, and be prepared by Tuesday next to make me a full +report of your proceedings, and produce for me, if necessary, the men +you have engaged.” + +The change effected in the Major's manner at these words was magical; he +touched his hat in salute, and listened with all show of respect. + +“It is my intention, if satisfied with your report, to recommend you +for the command of the legion, with the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel,” + continued Maitland; “and I have already written about those advances you +mentioned.” + +“I 'll take care that you are satisfied with me,” said M'Caskey, +respectfully; “I'll start within half an hour.” + +“This is all as it should be. I hope it is our first and last +misunderstanding;” and he held out his hand frankly, which the other +grasped and shook cordially. “How are you off for ready cash? Treat me +as a comrade, and say freely.” + +“Not over flush, but I suppose I can rub on,” said the Major, with some +confusion. + +“I have some thirty sovereigns here,” said Maitland; “take them, and +we'll settle all when we meet.” + +M'Caskey put the purse in his pocket, and, with the uneasy consciousness +of a man ashamed of what he was doing, muttered out a few unmeaning +words of thanks, and said, “Good-bye!” + +“These condottieri rascals have been troublesome fellows in all +ages,” said Maitland, as he smoked away alone; “and I suspect they are +especially unsuited to our present-day life and its habits. I must rid +myself of the Major.” + + + +CHAPTER XI. EXPLANATIONS + +By the time Maitland had despatched his man Fenton to meet Count +Cafifarelli, and prevent his coming to Lyle Abbey, where his presence +would be sure to occasion much embarrassment, the company had retired to +their rooms, and all was quiet. + +Though Mark was curious to know why and how Maitland had disappeared +with his foreign friend, he had grown tired thinking over it, and fallen +sound asleep. Nor did he hear Maitland as he entered the room and drew +nigh his bedside. + +“What's wrong,--what has happened?” cried Mark, as he started up +suddenly on his bed. + +“Nothing very serious, but still something worth waking you for; but are +you sure you are awake?” + +“Yes, yes, perfectly. What is it all about? Who are in it?” + +“We are all in it, for the matter of that,” said Maitland, with a quiet +laugh. “Try and listen to me attentively for a couple of minutes. The +man your father brought back with him from Coleraine, believing him to +be my friend Caffarelli, was not Cafifarelli at all!” + +“What! And he pretended to be?” + +“No such thing: hear me out. Your father spoke to him in French; and +finding out--I don't exactly know how--that he and I were acquaintances, +rushed at once to the conclusion that he must be Caffarelli. I conclude +that the interview was not made more intelligible to either party by +being carried on in French; but the invitation so frankly given was +as freely accepted. The stranger came, dined, and was here in the +drawing-room when we came back.” + +“This is unpardonable. Who is he? What is he?” + +“He is a gentleman. I believe, as well born as either of us. I know +something--not much--about him, but there are circumstances which, in a +manner, prevent me from talking of him. He came down to this part of the +world to see me, though I never intended it should have been here.” + +“Then his intrusion here was not sanctioned by you?” + +“No. It was all your father's doing.” + +“My father's doing, if you like, Maitland, but concurred in and abetted +by this man, whoever he is.” + +“I 'll not even say that; he assures me that he accepted the invitation +in the belief that the arrangement was made by me.” + +“And you accept that explanation?” + +“Of course I do. I see nothing in it in the smallest degree improbable +or unlikely.” + +“Well, who is he? That is the main point; for it is clear you do not +wish us to receive him as a friend of yours.” + +“I say I 'd not have presented him here, certainly; but I 'll not go the +length of saying he could n't have been known by any one in this house. +He is one of those adventurous fellows whose lives must not be read with +the same glasses as those of quieter people. He has knocked about the +world for some five-and-twenty years, without apparently having found +his corner in it yet. I wanted him,--what for, I shall probably tell you +one of these days,--and some friends of mine found him out for me!” + +“One of your mysteries, Maitland,” said Mark, laughing. + +“Yes, 'one of my mysteries!” + +“Of what nation is he?” + +“There, again, I must balk your curiosity. The fact is, Mark, I can +explain nothing about this man without going into matters which I am +solemnly bound not to reveal. What I have to ask from you is that +you will explain to your father, and of course to Lady Lyle and your +sisters, the mistake that has occurred, and request that they will keep +it a secret. He has already gone, so that your guests will probably not +discuss him after a day or two.” + +“Not even so much, for there's a break-up. Old Mrs. Maxwell has suddenly +discovered that her birthday will fall on next Friday, and she insists +upon going back to Tilney Park to entertain the tenantry, and give +a ball to the servants. Most of the people here accompany her, and +Isabella and myself are obliged to go. Each of us expects to be her +heir, and we have to keep out competitors at all hazards.” + +“'Why has she never thought of me?” said Maitland. + +“She means to invite you, at all events; for I heard her consulting my +mother how so formidable a personage should be approached,--whether she +ought to address you in a despatch, or ask for a conference.” + +“If a choice be given me, I 'll stay where I am. The three days I +promised you have grown nearer to three weeks, and I do not see the +remotest chance of your getting rid of me.” + +“Will you promise me to stay till I tell you we want your rooms?” + +“Ah, my dear fellow, you don't know--you could n't know--what very +tempting words you are uttering. This is such a charming, charming spot, +to compose that novel I am--not--writing--that I never mean to leave +till I have finished it; but, seriously, speaking like an old friend, am +I a bore here? am I occupying the place that is wanted for another? are +they tired of me?” + +Mark overwhelmed his friend with assurances, very honest in the main, +that they were only too happy to possess him as their guest, and felt no +common pride in the fact that he could find his life there endurable. “I +will own now,” says he, “that there was a considerable awe of you felt +before you came; but you have lived down the fear, and become a positive +favorite.” + +“But who could have given such a version of me as to inspire this?” + +“I am afraid I was the culprit,” said Mark. “I was rather boastful about +knowing you at all, and I suppose I frightened them.” + +“My dear Lyle, what a narrow escape I had of being positively odious! +and I now see with what consummate courtesy my caprices have been +treated, when really I never so much as suspected they had been +noticed.” + +There was a touch of sincerity in his accent as he spoke, that vouched +for the honesty of his meaning; and Mark, as he looked at him, muttered +to himself, “This is the man they call an egotist, and who is only +intent on taking his turn out of all around him.” + +“I think I must let you go to sleep again, Mark,” said Maitland, rising. +“I am a wretched sleeper myself, and quite forget that there are happy +fellows who can take their ten hours of oblivion without any help +from the druggist. Without this”--and he drew a small phial from his +waistcoat-pocket--“I get no rest.” + +“What a bad habit!” + +“Isn't almost everything we do a bad habit? Have we ever a humor that +recurs to us, that is not a bad habit? Are not the simple things +which mean nothing in themselves an evil influence when they grow into +requirements and make slaves of us? I suppose it was a bad habit that +made me a bad sleeper, and I turn to another bad habit to correct it. +The only things which are positively bad habits are those that require +an effort to sustain, or will break down under us without we struggle +to support them. To be morose is not one jot a worse habit than to +be agreeable; for the time will come when you are indisposed to be +pleasant, and the company in which you find yourself are certain to deem +the humor as an offence to themselves; but there is a worse habit than +this, which is to go on talking to a man whose eyes are closing with +sleep. Good-night.” + +Maitland said no more than the truth when he declared how happy he found +himself in that quiet unmolested existence which he led at Lyle Abbey. +To be free in every way, to indulge his humor to be alone or in company, +to go and come as he liked, were great boons; but they were even less +than the enjoyment he felt in living amongst total strangers,--persons +who had never known, never heard of him, for whom he was not called on +to make any effort or support any character. + +No man ever felt more acutely the slavery that comes of sustaining +a part before the world, and being as strange and as inexplicable as +people required he should be. While a very young man, it amused him to +trifle in this fashion, and to set absurd modes afloat for imitation; +and he took a certain spiteful pleasure in seeing what a host of +followers mere eccentricity could command. As he grew older, he wearied +of this, and, to be free of it, wandered away to distant and unvisited +countries, trying the old and barren experiment whether new sensations +might not make a new nature. _Cælum non animum mutant_, says the adage; +and he came back pretty much as he went, with this only difference, that +he now cared only for quietness and repose. Not the contemplative +repose of one who sought to reflect without disturbance, so much as the +peaceful isolation that suited indolence. He fancied how he would have +liked to be the son of that house, and dream away life in that wild +secluded spot; but, after all, the thought was like the epicure's notion +of how contented he could be with a meal of potatoes! + +As the day broke, he was roused from his light sleep by the tumult and +noise of the departing guests. He arose and watched them through the +half-closed jalousies. It was picturesque enough, in that crisp, fresh, +frosty air, to see the groups as they gathered on the long terrace +before the door; while equipages the most varied drew up,--here a +family-coach with long-tailed “blacks;” there a smart britschka, with +spanking grays; a tandem, too, there was for Mark's special handling; +and, conspicuous by its pile of luggage in the “well,” stood Gambier +Graham's outside jaunting-car,--a large basket of vegetables and fruit, +and a hamper of lobsters, showing how such guests are propitiated, even +in the hours of leave-taking. + +Maitland watched Isabella in all her little attentive cares to Mrs. +Maxwell, and saw, as he thought, the heir-expectant in every movement. +He fancied that the shawl she carried on her arm was the old lady's, +and was almost vexed when he saw her wrap it around her own shoulders. +“Well, that at least is sycophancy,” muttered he, as he saw her clutch +up a little white Maltese terrier and kiss it; but, alas for his +prescience! the next moment she had given the dog to a servant to carry +back into the house; and so it was her own that she was parting from, +and not Mrs. Maxwell's that she was caressing! + +It is strange to say that he was vexed at being disappointed. She was +very pretty, very well-mannered, and very pleasing; but he longed to +find that all the charm and grace about her were conventional; he wished +to believe that “the whole thing,” as he called life, was a mere trick, +where all cheated in proportion to their capacities. Mark had been +honest enough to own that they were fortune-hunting, and Isabella +certainly could not be ignorant of the stake she played for. + +One by one the carriages drew up and moved away, and now Gambier +Graham's car stood before the door, alone; for the crowd of footmen who +had thronged to press their services on the others, gradually melted +away, hopeless of exacting a blackmail from the old Commodore. While +Maitland stood watching the driver, who, in a composite sort of costume, +rather more gardener than coachman, amused himself flicking with his +whip imaginary flies off the old mare's neck and withers, a smart tap +came to the door; while a hasty voice called out, “May I come in?” + +“Let me first hear who you are?” said Maitland. + +“Commodore Graham,” was the answer. + +In a moment it flashed across Maitland that the old sailor had come to +reveal his discovery of M'Caskey. Just as quickly did he decide that it +was better to admit him, and, if possible, contrive to make the story +seem a secret between themselves. + +“Come in, by all means,--the very man I wanted to see,” said Maitland, +as he opened the door, and gave him a cordial shake-hands. “I was afraid +you were going without seeing me, Commodore; and, early as it was, I got +up and was dressing in hope to catch you.” + +“That I call hearty,--downright hearty,--Maitland.” + +Maitland actually started at this familiar mention of him by one whom he +had never met till a few days before. + +“Rather a rare event in your life to be up at this hour, I 'll be +sworn,--except when you have n't been to bed, eh?” And he laughed +heartily at what he fancied was a most witty conceit. “You see we 're +all off! We 've had springs on our cables these last twenty-four hours, +with this frolicsome old woman, who would insist on being back for her +birthday; but she 's rich, Maitland, immensely rich, and we all worship +her!” + +Maitland gave a faint shrug of the shoulders, as though he deplored the +degeneracy, but couldn't help it. + +“Yes, yes; I 'm coming,” cried the Commodore, shouting from the open +window to his daughters beneath. “The girls are impatient; they want to +be at Lesliesford when the others are crossing. There's a fresh on the +river, and it 's better to get some stout fellows to guide the carriages +through the water. I wanted greatly to have five minutes alone with +you,--five would do; half of it, perhaps, between men of the world, as +we are. You know about what.” + +“I suspect I do,” said Maitland, quietly. + +“I saw, too,” resumed Graham, “that you wished to have no talk about it +here, amongst all these gossiping people. Was n't I right?” + +“Perfectly right; you appreciated me thoroughly.” + +“What I said was this,--Maitland knows the world well. He 'll wait till +he has his opportunity of talking the matter over with myself. He 'll +say, 'Graham and I will understand one another at once.' One minute; +only one,” screamed he out from the window. “Could n't you come down and +just say a word or two to them? They 'd like it so much.” + +Maitland muttered something about his costume. + +“Ah! there it is. You fellows will never be seen till you are in full +fig. Well, I must be off. Now, then, to finish what we 've been saying. +You 'll come over next week to Port-Graham,--that's my little place, +though there's no port, nor anything like a port, within ten miles of +it,--and we 'll arrange everything. If I 'm an old fellow, Maitland, I +don't forget that I was once a young one,--mind that, my boy.” And the +Commodore had to wipe his eyes, with the laughter at his drollery. “Yes; +here I am,” cried he, again; and then turning to Maitland, shook +his hand in both his own, repeating, “On Wednesday,--Wednesday to +dinner,--not later than five, remember,”--he hastened down the stairs, +and scrambled up on the car beside his eldest daughter, who apparently +had already opened a floodgate of attack on him for his delay. + +“Insupportable old bore!” muttered Maitland, as he waved his hand from +the window, and smiled his blandest salutations to the retreating party. +“What a tiresome old fool to fancy that I am going over to Graham-pond, +or port, or whatever it is, to talk over an incident that I desire to +have forgotten! Besides, when once I have left this neighborhood, he may +discuss M'Caskey every day after his dinner; he may write his life, for +anything I care.” + +With this parting reflection he went down to the garden, strolling +listlessly along the dew-spangled alleys, and carelessly tossing aside +with his cane the apple-blossoms, which lay thick as snow-flakes on the +walks. While thus lounging, he came suddenly upon Sir Arthur, as, hoe in +hand, he imagined himself doing something useful. + +“Oh, by the way, Mr. Maitland,” cried he, “Mark has just told me of the +stupid mistake I made. Will you be generous enough to forgive me?” + +“It is from me, sir, that the apologies must come,” began Maitland. + +“Nothing of the kind, my dear Mr. Maitland. You will overwhelm me with +shame if you say so. Let us each forget the incident; and, believe me, +I shall feel myself your debtor by the act of oblivion.” He shook +Maitland's hand warmly, and in an easier tone added, “What good news I +have heard! You are not tired of us,--not going!” + +“I cannot--I told Mark this morning--I don't believe there is a road out +of this.” + +“Well, wait here till I tell you it is fit for travelling,” said Sir +Arthur, pleasantly, and addressed himself once more to his labors as a +gardener. + +Meanwhile Maitland threw himself down on a garden-bench, and cried +aloud, “This is the real thing, after all,--this is actual repose. Not a +word of political intrigue, no snares, no tricks, no deceptions, and +no defeats; no waking to hear of our friends arrested, and our private +letters in the hands of a Police Prefect. No horrid memories of the +night before, and that run of ill-luck that has left us almost beggars. +I wonder how long the charm of this tranquillity would endure; or is it +like all other anodynes, which lose their calming power by habit? I 'd +certainly like to try.” + +“Well, there is no reason why you shouldn't,” said a voice from the back +of the summer-house, which he knew to be Mrs. Trafford's. + +He jumped up to overtake her, but she was gone. + + + +CHAPTER XII. MAITLAND'S VISIT + +“What was it you were saying about flowers, Jeanie? I was not minding,” + said Mrs. Butler, as she sat at her window watching the long heaving +roll of the sea, as it broke along the jagged and rugged shore, her +thoughts the while far beyond it. + +“I was saying, ma'am, that the same man that came with the books t' +other day brought these roses, and asked very kindly how you were.” + +“You mean the same gentleman, lassie, who left his card here!” said +the old lady, correcting that very Northern habit of Ignoring all +differences of condition. + +“Well, I mind he was; for he had very white hands, and a big bright ring +on one of his fingers.” + +“You told him how sorry I was not to be able to see him,--that these bad +headaches have left me unable to receive any one?” + +“Na; I did n't say that,” said she, half doggedly. + +“Well, and what did you say?” + +“I just said, she's thinking too much about her son, who is away from +home, to find any pleasure in a strange face. He laughed a little quiet +laugh, and said, 'There is good sense in that, Jeanie, and I 'll wait +for a better moment.'” + +“You should have given my message as I spoke it to you,” said the +mistress, severely. + +“I 'm no sae blind that I canna see the differ between an aching head +and a heavy heart Ye 're just frettin', and there 's naething else the +matter wi' you. There he goes now, the same man,--the same gentleman, +I mean,” said she, with a faint scoff. “He aye goes back by the strand, +and climbs the white rocks opposite the Skerries.” + +“Go and say that I 'll be happy to have a visit from him to-morrow, +Jeanie; and mind, put nothing of your own in it, lassie, but give my +words as I speak them.” + +With a toss of her head Jeanie left the room, and soon after was seen +skipping lightly from rock to rock towards the beach beneath. To the old +lady's great surprise, however, Jeanie, instead of limiting herself to +the simple words of her message, appeared to be talking away earnestly +and fluently with the stranger; and, worse than all, she now saw that +he was coming back with her, and walking straight for the cottage. Mrs. +Butler had but time to change her cap and smooth down the braids of her +snow-white hair, when the key turned in the lock, and Jeanie ushered in +Mr. Norman Maitland. Nothing could be more respectful or in better taste +than Maitland's approach. He blended the greatest deference with an +evident desire to make her acquaintance, and almost at once relieved her +from what she so much dreaded,--the first meeting with a stranger. + +“Are you of the Clairlaverock Maitlands, sir?” asked she, timidly. + +“Very distantly, I believe, madam. We all claim Sir Peter as the head +of the family; but my own branch settled in India two generations back, +and, I shame to say, thought of everything but genealogy.” + +“There was a great beauty, a Miss Hester Maitland. When I was a girl, +she married a lord, I think?” + +“Yes, she married a Viscount Kinross, a sort of cousin of her own; +though I am little versed in family history. The truth is, madam, +younger sons who had to work their way in the world were more anxious to +bequeath habits of energy and activity to their children than ideas of +blazons and quarterings.” + +The old lady sighed at this; but it was a sigh of relief. She had been +dreading not a little a meeting with one of those haughty Maitlands, +associated in her childhood's days with thoughts of wealth and power, +and that dominance that smacks of, if it does not mean, insolence; and +now she found one who was not ashamed to belong to a father who had +toiled for his support and worked hard for his livelihood. And yet it +was strange with what tenacity she clung to a topic that had its terrors +for her. She liked to talk of the family, and high connections, and +great marriages of all these people with whose names she was familiar as +a girl, but whom she had never known, if she had so much as seen. + +“My poor husband, sir,--you may have heard of him,--Colonel Walter +Butler, knew all these things by heart. You had only to ask when did +so-and-so die, and who married such a one, and he 'd tell you as if out +of a book.” + +“I have heard of Colonel Butler, madam. His fame as a soldier is +widespread in India; indeed, I had hoped to have made his son's +acquaintance when I came here; but I believe he is with his regiment.” + +“No, sir, he's not in the service,” said she, flushing. + +“Ah! a civilian, then. Well, madam, the Butlers have shown capacity in +all careers.” + +“My poor boy has not had the chance given him as yet, Mr. Maitland. +We were too poor to think of a profession; and so, waiting and hoping, +though it 's not very clear for what, we let the time slip over; and +there he is a great grown man! as fine a young fellow as you ever looked +on, and as good as handsome; but yet he cannot do one hand's turn that +would give him bread; and yet, ask your friends at the Abbey if there's +a grace or gift of a gentleman he is not the master of.” + +“I think I know how the Lyles speak of him, and what affection they bear +him.” + +“Many would condemn me, sir,” cried she, warming with the one theme that +engaged her whole heart, “for having thrown my boy amongst those so +far above him in fortune, and given him habits and ways that his own +condition must deny him; but it was my pride to see him in the station +that his father held, and to know that he became it. I suppose there +are dangers in it, too,” said she, rather answering his grave look than +anything he had said. “I take it, sir, there are great temptations, +mayhap over-strong temptations, for young natures.” + +Maitland moved his head slightly, to imply that he assented. + +“And it's not unlikely the poor boy felt that himself; for when he came +home t' other night he looked scared and worn, and answered me shortly +and abruptly in a way he never does, and made me sit down on the +spot and write a letter for him to a great man who knew his father, +asking--it is hard to say what I asked, and what I could have expected.” + +“Colonel Butler's son can scarcely want friends, madam,” said Maitland, +courteously. + +“What the world calls friends are usually relatives, and we have but one +who could pretend to any sort of influence; and his treatment of my poor +husband debars us from all knowledge of him. He was an only brother, a +certain Sir Omerod Butler. You may, perhaps, have heard of him?” + +“Formerly British Minister at Naples, I think?” + +“The same, sir; a person, they tell me, of great abilities, but very +eccentric, and peculiar,--indeed, so his letters bespeak him.” + +“You have corresponded with him then, madam?” + +“No, sir, never; but he wrote constantly to my husband before our +marriage. They were at that time greatly attached to each other; and the +elder, Sir Omerod, was always planning and plotting for his brother's +advancement. He talked of him as if he was his son, rather than a +younger brother; in fact, there were eighteen years between them. Our +marriage broke up all this. The great man was shocked at the humble +connection, and poor Walter would not bear to have me slightingly spoken +of; but dear me, Mr. Maitland, how I am running on! To talk of such +things to you! I am really ashamed of myself! What will you think of +me?” + +“Only what I have learned to think of you, madam, from all your +neighbors,--with sentiments of deep respect and sincere interest.” + +“It is very good of you to say it, sir; and I wish Tony was back here to +know you and thank you for all your attention to his mother.” + +“You are expecting him, then?” asked he. + +“Well, sir, I am, and I am not. One letter is full of hope and +expectancy; by Thursday or Friday he 's to have some tidings about this +or that place; and then comes another, saying how Sir Harry counsels him +to go out and make friends with his uncle. All mammon, sir,--nothing but +mammon; just because this old man is very rich, and never was married.” + +“I suspect you are in error there, madam. Sir Omerod was married at +least twenty years ago, when I first heard of him at Naples.” + +She shook her head doubtfully, and said, “I have always been told the +reverse, sir. I know what you allude to, but I have reason to believe I +am right, and there is no Lady Butler.” + +“It is curious enough, madam, that through a chance acquaintance on +a railroad train, I learned all about the lady he married. She was an +Italian.” + +“It 's the same story I have heard myself, sir. We only differ about the +ending of it. She was a stage-player or a dancer.” + +“No, madam; a very celebrated prima donna.” + +“Ay,” said she, as though there was no discrepancy there. “I heard how +the old fool--for he was no young man then--got smitten with her voice +and her beauty, and made such a fuss about her, taking her here and +there in his state coach, and giving great entertainments for her at the +Embassy, where the arms of England were over the door; and I have +been told that the king heard of it, and wrote to Sir Omerod a fearful +letter, asking how he dared so to degrade the escutcheon of the great +nation he represented. Ah, you may smile, sir.” Maitland had, indeed, +smiled alike at her tale, and the energy with which she told it “You +may smile, sir; but it was no matter for laughter, I promise you. His +Majesty called on him to resign, and the great Sir Omerod, who would +n't know his own brother, because he married a minister's daughter, fell +from his high station for the sake of--I will not say any hard words; +but she was not certainly superior in station to myself, and I will make +no other comparison between us.” \ + +“I suspect you have been greatly misled about all this, madam,” said +Maitland, with a quiet, grave manner. “Sir Omerod--I heard it from my +travelling companion--took his retiring pension and quitted diplomacy +the very day he was entitled to it So far from desiring him to leave, it +is said that the Minister of the day pressed him to remain at his post. +He has the reputation of possessing no mean abilities, and certainly +enjoyed the confidence of the Court to which he was accredited.” + +“I never heard so much good of him before; and to tell you the truth, +Mr. Maitland, if you had warned me that you were his friend, I 'd +scarcely have been so eager to make your acquaintance.” + +“Remember, my dear madam, all I have been telling you reached myself as +hearsay.” + +“Well, well,” said she, sighing. “He's not over-likely to trouble his +head about me, and I don't see why I am to fash myself for him. Are you +minded to stay much longer in this neighborhood, Mr. Maitland?” said +she, to change the topic. + +“I fear not, madam. I have overstayed everything here but the kindness +of my hosts. I have affairs which call me abroad, and some two or +three engagements that I have run to the very last hour. Indeed, I will +confess to you, I delayed here to meet your son.” + +“To meet Tony, sir?” + +“Yes, madam. In my intercourse with the Lyles I have learned to know a +great deal about him; to hear traits of his fine generous nature, +his manly frankness, and his courage. These were the testimonies of +witnesses who differed widely from each other in age and temperament; +and yet they all concurred in saying he was a noble-hearted young +fellow, who richly deserved all the fortune that could befall him.” + +“Oh dear, sir, these are sweet words to his poor mother's ears. He is +all that I have left me; and you cannot know how he makes up to me for +want of station and means, and the fifty other things that people who +are well-off look for. I do hope he 'll come back before you leave this. +I 'd like to let you see I 'm not over-boastful about him.” + +“I have had a project in my head for some days back. Indeed, it was in +pursuance of it I have been so persevering in my attempts to see you, +madam. It occurred to me, from what Sir Arthur Lyle said of your son, +that he was just the person I have long been looking out for,--a man of +good name and good blood, fresh to the world, neither hackneyed, on +the one hand, nor awkwardly ignorant, on the other; well brought up and +high-principled,--a gentleman, in fact It has long been a plan of mine +to find one such as this, who, calling himself my secretary, would be +in reality my companion and my friend; who would be content to share +the fortunes of a somewhat wayward fellow for a year or two, till, +using what little influence I possess, I could find means of effectually +establishing him in life. Now, madam, I am very diffident about making +such a proposal to one in every respect my equal, and, I have no doubt, +more than my equal in some things; but if he were not my equal, there +would be an end to what I desire in the project. In fact, to make the +mere difference of age the question of superiority between us, is my +plan. We should live together precisely on the terms of equality. In +return for that knowledge of life I could impart to him,--what I know +of the world, not acquired altogether without some sharp experience,--he +would repay me by that hearty and genial freshness which is the wealth +of the young. Now, madam, I will not tire you with any more of my +speculations, purely selfish as they are; but will at once say, if, when +your son and I meet, this notion of mine is to his taste, all the minor +details of it shall not deter him. I know I am not offering a career, +but it is yet the first step that will fit him for one. A young fellow, +gifted as he is, will needs become, in a couple of years' intercourse +with what is pre-eminently society, a man of consummate tact and +ability. All that I know of life convinces me that the successful men +are the ready-witted men. Of course I intend to satisfy you with respect +to myself. You have a right to know the stability of the bank to whom +you are intrusting your deposit At all events, think over my plan, and +if nothing has already fallen to your son's hands in London, ask him to +come back here and talk it over with me. I can remain here for a week, +that is, if I can hope to meet him.” The old lady listened with all +attention and patience to this speech. She was pleased by the flattery +of it. It was flattery, indeed, to hear that consummately fine gentleman +declare that he was ready to accept Tony as his equal in all things, +and it was more than flattery to fancy her dear boy mingling in the +pleasures and fascinations of the great world, courted and admired, as +she could imagine he would be; but there were still drawbacks to all +these. The position was that of a dependant; and how would Tony figure +in such a post? He was the finest-tempered, most generous creature in +the world, where no attempt to overbear interfered; but any show of +offensive superiority would make a tiger of him. + +“Well, well,” thought she, “it's not to be rejected all at once, and I +'ll just talk it over with the minister.” “May I consult an old friend +and neighbor of mine, sir, before I speak to Tony himself?” said she, +timidly. + +“By all means, madam; or, if you like it better, let me call on him, and +enter more fully into my plan than I have ventured to do with you.” + +“No, thank you, sir. I 'll just talk the matter over with the doctor, +and I 'll see what he says to it all. This seems a very ungracious way +to meet your great kindness, sir; but I was thinking of what awhile +ago you called my deposit, and so it is,--it's all the wealth I +possess,--and even the thought of resigning it is more than I can bear.” + +“I hope to convince you one of these days, madam, that you have not +invested unprofitably;” and with many courteous assurances that, decide +how she might, his desire to serve her should remain, he took his leave, +bequeathing, as he passed out, a glow of hope to the poor widow's heart, +not the less cheering that she could not freely justify nor even define +it. + + + +CHAPTER XIII. TONY IN TOWN + +Day followed day, and Tony Butler heard nothing from the Minister. He +went down each morning to Downing Street, and interrogated the austere +doorkeeper, till at length there grew up between that grim official and +himself a state of feeling little short of hatred. + +“No letter?” would say Tony. + +“Look in the rack,” was the answer. + +“Is this sort of thing usual?” + +“What sort of thing?” + +“The getting no reply for a week or eight days?” + +“I should say it is very usual with certain people.” + +“What do you mean by certain people?” + +“Well, the people that don't have answers to the letters, nor ain't +likely to have them.” + +“Might I ask you another question?” said Tony, lowering his voice, and +fixing a very quiet but steady look on the other. + +“Yes, if it's a short one.” + +“It's a very short one. Has no one ever kicked you for your +impertinence?” + +“Kicked _me_,--kicked _me_, sir!” cried the other, while his face became +purple with passion. + +“Yes,” resumed Tony, mildly; “for let me mention it to you in +confidence, it's the last thing I mean to do before I leave London.” + +“We 'll see about this, sir, at once,” cried the porter, who rushed +through the inner door, and tore upstairs like a madman. Tony meanwhile +brushed some dust off his coat with a stray clothes-brush near, and was +turning to leave the spot, when Skeffington came hurriedly towards him, +trying to smother a fit of laughter that would not be repressed. + +“What's all this, Butler?” said he. “Here's the whole office in +commotion. Willis is up with the chief clerk and old Brand telling them +that you drew a revolver and threatened his life, and swore if you had +n't an answer by tomorrow at twelve, you'd blow Sir Harry's brains out.” + +“It's somewhat exaggerated. I had no revolver, and never had one. I +don't intend any violence beyond kicking that fellow, and I 'll not do +even that if he can manage to be commonly civil.” + +“The Chief wishes to see this gentleman upstairs for a moment,” said a +pale, sickly youth to Skeffington. + +“Don't get flurried. Be cool, Butler, and say nothing that can +irritate,--mind that,” whispered Skeffington, and stole away. + +Butler was introduced into a spacious room, partly office, partly +library, at the fireplace of which stood two men, a short and a shorter. +They were wonderfully alike in externals, being each heavy-looking +white-complexioned serious men, with a sort of dreary severity of +aspect, as if the spirit of domination had already begun to weigh down +even themselves. + +“We have been informed,” began the shorter of the two, in a slow, +deliberate voice, “that you have grossly outraged one of the inferior +officers of this department; and although the case is one which demands, +and shall have, the attention of the police authorities, we have sent +for you--Mr. Brand and I--to express our indignation,--eh, Brand?” added +he, in a whisper. + +“Certainly, our indignation,” chimed in the other. + +“And aware, as we are,” resumed the Chief, “that you are an applicant +for employment under this department, to convey to you the assurance +that such conduct as you have been guilty of totally debars +you--excludes you--” + +“Yes, excludes you,” chimed in Brand. + +“From the most remote prospect of an appointment!” said the first, +taking up a book, and throwing it down with a slap on the table, as +though the more emphatically to confirm his words. + +“Who are you, may I ask, who pronounce so finally on my prospects?” + cried Tony. + +“Who are we,--who are we?” said the Chief, in a horror at the query. +“Will you tell him, Mr. Brand?” + +The other was, however, ringing violently at the bell, and did not hear +the question. + +“Have you sent to Scotland Yard?” asked he of the servant who came to +his summons. “Tell Willis to be ready to accompany the officer, and make +his charge.” + +“The gentleman asks who we are!” said Baynes, with a feeble laugh. + +“I ask in no sort of disrespect to you,” said Butler, “but simply to +learn in what capacity I am to regard you. Are you magistrates? Is this +a court?” + +“No, sir, we are not magistrates,” said Brand; “we are heads of +departments,--departments which we shall take care do not include within +their limits persons of your habits and pursuits.” + +“You can know very little about my habits or pursuits. I promised your +hall-porter I 'd kick him, and I don't suspect that either you or your +little friend there would risk any interference to protect him.” + +“My Lord!” said a messenger, in a voice of almost tremulous terror, +while he flung open both inner and outer door for the great man's +approach. The person who entered with a quick, active step was an +elderly man, white-whiskered and white-haired, but his figure well set +up, and his hat rakishly placed a very little on one side; his features +were acute, and betokened promptitude and decision, blended with a sort +of jocular humor about the mouth, as though even State affairs did not +entirely indispose a man to a jest. + +“Don't send that bag off to-night, Baynes, till I come down,” said he, +hurriedly; “and if any telegrams arrive, send them over to the house. +What's this policeman doing at the door?--who is refractory?” + +“This--young man”--he paused, for he had almost said “gentleman”--“has +just threatened an old and respectable servant of the office with a +personal chastisement, my Lord.” + +“Declared he 'd break every bone in his body,” chimed in Brand. + +“Whose body?” asked his Lordship. + +“Willis's, my Lord,--the hall-porter,--a man, if I mistake not, +appointed by your Lordship.” + +“I said I 'd kick him,” said Tony, calmly. + +“Kick Willis?” said my Lord, with a forced gravity, which could not, +however, suppress a laughing twinkle of his keen gray eyes,--“kick +Willis?” + +“Yes, my Lord; he does not attempt to deny it.” + +“What's your name, sir,” asked my Lord. + +“Butler,” was the brief reply. + +“The son of--no, not son--but relative of Sir Omerod's?” asked his +Lordship again. + +“His nephew.” + +“Why, Sir Harry Elphinstone has asked me for something for you. I don't +see what I can do for you. It would be an admirable thing to have +some one to kick the porters; but we have n't thought of such an +appointment,--eh, Baynes? Willis, the very first; most impudent dog! We +want a messenger for Bucharest, Brand, don't we?” + +“No, my Lord; you filled it this morning,--gave it to Mr. Beed.” + +“Cancel Beed, then, and appoint Butler.” + +“Mr. Beed has gone, my Lord,--started with the Vienna bag.” + +“Make Butler supernumerary.” + +“There are four already, my Lord.” + +“I don't care if there were forty, Mr. Brand! Go and pass your +examination, young gentleman, and thank Sir Harry Elphinstone, for this +nomination is at his request. I am only sorry you didn't kick Willis.” + And with this parting speech he turned away, and hopped downstairs to +his brougham, with the light step and jaunty air of a man of thirty. + +Scarcely was the door closed, when Baynes and Brand retired into a +window recess, conversing in lowest whispers and with much head-shaking. +To what a frightful condition the country must come--any country must +come--when administered by men of such levity, who make a sport of its +interests, and a practical joke of its patronage--was the theme over +which they now mourned in common. + +“Are you going to make a minute of this appointment, Brand?” asked +Baynes. “I declare I 'd not do it.” + +The other pursed up his lips and leaned his head to one side, as though +to imply that such a course would be a bold one. + +“Will you put his name on your list?” + +“I don't know,” muttered the other. “I suspect we can do it better. +Where have you been educated, Mr. Butler?” + +“At home, principally.” + +“Never at any public school?” + +“Never, except you call a village school a public one.” + +Brand's eyes glistened, and Baynes's returned the sparkle. + +“Are you a proficient in French?” + +“Far from it. I could spell out a fable, or a page of 'Telemachus,' and +even that would push me hard.” + +“Do you write a good hand?” + +“It is legible, but it's no beauty.” + +“And your arithmetic?” + +“Pretty much like my French,--the less said about it the better.” + +“I think that will do, Brand,” whispered Baynes. + +The other nodded, and muttered, “Of course; and it is the best way to do +it.” + +“These are the points, Mr. Butler,” he continued, giving him a +printed paper, “on which you will have to satisfy the Civil Service +Commissioners; they are, as you see, not very numerous nor very +difficult. A certificate as to general conduct and character--British +subject--some knowledge of foreign languages--the first four rules of +arithmetic--and that you are able to ride--” + +“Thank Heaven, there is one thing I can do; and if you ask the +Commissioners to take a cast 'cross country, I 'll promise them a +breather.” + +Tony never noticed--nor, had he noticed, had he cared for--the grave +austerity of the heads of departments at this outburst of enthusiasm. +He was too full of his own happiness, and too eager to share it with his +mother. + +As he gained the street, Skeffington passed his arm through his, and +walked along with him, offering him his cordial gratulations, and giving +him many wise and prudent counsels, though unfortunately, from the state +of ignorance of Tony's mind, these latter were lamentably unprofitable. +It was of “the Office” that he warned him,--of its tempers, its +caprices, its rancors, and its jealousies, till, lost in the maze of +his confusion, poor Tony began to regard it as a beast of ill-omened and +savage passions,--a great monster, in fact, who lived on the bones and +flesh of ardent and high-hearted youths, drying up the springs of their +existence, and exhausting their brains out of mere malevolence. Out +of all the farrago that he listened to, all that he could collect was, +“that he was one of those fellows that the chiefs always hated and +invariably crushed.” Why destiny should have marked him out for such +odium--why he was born to be strangled by red tape, Tony could not +guess, nor, to say truth, did he trouble himself to inquire; but, +resisting a pressing invitation to dine with Skeffington at his club, he +hastened to his room to write his good news to his mother. + +“Think of my good fortune, dearest little mother,” he wrote. “I have got +a place, and such a place! You 'd fancy it was made for me, for I +have neither to talk nor to think nor to read nor to write,--all my +requirements are joints that will bear bumping, and a head that +will stand the racket of railroad and steamboat without any sense +of confusion, beyond what nature implanted there. Was he not a wise +Minister who named me to a post where bones are better than brains, +and a good digestion superior to intellect? I am to be a messenger,--a +Foreign Service Messenger is the grand title,--a creature to go over the +whole globe with a white leather bag or two, full of mischief or gossip, +as it may be, and whose whole care is to consist in keeping his time, +and beins never out of health. + +“They say in America the bears were made for Colonel Crocket's dog, and +I 'm sure these places were made for fellows of my stamp,--fellows to +carry a message, and yet not intrusted with the telling it. + +“The pay is capital, the position good,--that is, three fourths of the +men are as good or better than myself; and the life, all tell me, is +rare fun,--you go everywhere, see everything, and think of nothing. In +all your dreams for me, you never fancied the like of this. They talk +of places for all sorts of capacities, but imagine a berth for one of no +capacity at all! And yet, mother dear, they have made a blunder,--and +a very absurd blunder too, and no small one! they have instituted a +test--a sort of examination--for a career that ought to be tested by a +round with the boxing-gloves, or a sharp canter over a course with some +four-feet hurdles! + +“I am to be examined, in about six weeks from this, in some foreign +tongues, multiplication, and the state of my muscles. I am to show proof +that I was born of white parents, and am not too young or too old to go +alone of a message. There's the whole of it. It ain't much, but it is +quite enough to frighten one, and I go about with the verb _avoir_ in my +head, and the first four rules of arithmetic dance round me like so many +furies. What a month of work and drudgery there is before _you_, little +woman! You 'll have to coach me through my declensions and subtractions. +If you don't fag, you 'll be plucked, for, as for me, I'll only be your +representative whenever I go in. Look up your grammar, then, and your +history too, for they plucked a man the other day that said Piccolomini +was not a general, but a little girl that sang in the 'Traviata'! I +'d start by the mail this evening, but that I have to go up to the +Office--no end of a chilling place--for my examination papers, and to +be tested by the doctor that I am all right, thews and sinews; but I +'ll get away by the afternoon, right glad to leave all this turmoil +and confusion, the very noise of which makes me quarrelsome and +ill-tempered. + +“There is such a good fellow here, Skeffington,--the Honorable +Skeffington Darner, to speak of him more formally,--who has been most +kind to me. He is private secretary to Sir Harry, and told me all manner +of things about the Government offices, and the Dons that rule them. +If I was a clever or a sharp fellow, I suppose this would have done me +infinite service; but, as old Dr. Kinward says, it was only 'putting the +wine in a cracked bottle;' and all I can remember is the kindness that +dictated the attention. + +“Skeff is some relation--I forget what--to old Mrs. Maxwell of Tilney, +and, like all the world, expects to be her heir. He talks of coming +over to see her when he gets his leave, and said--God forgive him for +it--that he 'd run down and pass a day with us. I could n't say 'Don't,' +and I had not heart to say 'Do!' I had not the courage to tell him +frankly that we lived in a cabin with four rooms and a kitchen, and +that butler, cook, footman, and housemaid were all represented by a +barefooted lassie, who was far more at home drawing a fishing-net than +in cooking its contents. I was just snob enough to say, 'Tell us when we +may look out for you;' and without manliness to add, 'And I 'll run away +when I hear it.' But he 's a rare good fellow, and teases me every day +to dine with him at the Arthur,--a club where all the young swells of +the Government offices assemble to talk of themselves, and sneer at +their official superiors. + +“I 'll go out, if I can, and see Dolly before I leave, though she told +me that the family did n't like her having friends,--the flunkeys called +them followers,--and of course I ought not to do what would make her +uncomfortable; still, one minute or two would suffice to get me some +message to bring the doctor, who 'll naturally expect it I'd like, +besides, to tell Dolly of my good fortune,--though it is, perhaps, not +a very graceful thing to be full of one's own success to another, whose +position is so painful as hers, poor girl. If you saw how pale she has +grown, and how thin; even her voice has lost that jolly ring it had, and +is now weak and poor. She seems so much afraid--of what or whom I can't +make out--but all about her bespeaks terror. You say very little of the +Abbey, and I am always thinking of it. The great big world, and this +great big city that is its capital, are very small things to _me_, +compared to that little circle that could be swept by a compass, with a +centre at the Burnside, and a leg of ten miles long, that would take in +the Abbey and the salmon-weir, the rabbit-warren and the boat-jetty! If +I was very rich, I 'd just add three rooms to our cottage, and put up +one for myself, with my own traps; and another for you, with all the +books that ever were written; and another for Skeff, or any other good +fellow we 'd like to have with us. Would n't that be jolly, little +mother? I won't deny I 'e seen what would be called prettier places +here,--the Thames above and below Richmond, for instance. Lawns smooth +as velvet, great trees of centuries' growth, and fine houses of rich +people, are on every side. But I like our own wild crags and breezy +hillsides better; I like the great green sea, rolling smoothly on, and +smashing over our rugged rocks, better than all those smooth eddied +currents, with their smart racing-boats skimming about. If I could only +catch these fellows outside the Skerries some day, with a wind from +the northwest: wouldn't I spoil the colors of their gay jackets? 'ere's +Skeff come again. He says he is going to dine with some very pleasant +fellows at the Star and Garter, and that I must positively come. He +won't be denied, and I am in such rare spirits about my appointment that +I feel as if I should be a churl to myself to refuse, though I have my +sore misgiving about accepting what I well know I never can make any +return for. How I 'd like one word from you to decide for me! + +“I must shut up. I 'm off to Richmond, and they are all making such a +row and hurrying me so, that my head is turning. One has to hold +the candle, and another stands ready with the sealing-wax, by way +of expediting me. Good-bye, dearest mother--I start to-morrow for +home.--Your affectionate son, + +“Tony Butler.” + + + +CHAPTER XIV. DINNER AT RICHMOND + +With the company that composed the dinner-party we have only a very +passing concern. They were--including Skeffington and Tony--eight in +all. Three were young officials from Downing Street; two were guardsmen; +and one an inferior member of the royal household,--a certain Mr. Arthur +Mayfair, a young fellow much about town, and known by every one. + +The dinner was ostensibly to celebrate the promotion of one of the +guardsmen,--Mr. Lyner; in reality, it was one of those small orgies +of eating and drinking which our modern civilization has imported from +Paris. + +A well-spread and even splendid table was no novelty to Tony; but such +extravagance and luxury as this he had never witnessed before; it was, +in fact, a banquet in which all that was rarest and most costly figured, +and it actually seemed as if every land of Europe had contributed +some delicacy or other to represent its claims to epicurism, at this +congress. There were caviare from Russia, and oysters from Ostend, +and red trout from the Highlands, and plover-eggs and pheasants from +Bohemia, and partridges from Alsace, and scores of other delicacies, +each attended by its appropriate wine; to discuss which, with all the +high connoissèurship of the table, furnished the whole conversation. +Politics and literature apart, no subject could have been more removed +from all Tony's experiences. He had never read Brillat-Savarin, nor so +much as heard of M. Ude,--of the great controversy between the merits +of white and brown truffles, he knew positively nothing; and he had +actually eaten terrapin, and believed it to be very exquisite veal! + +He listened, and listened very attentively. If it might have seemed to +him that the company devoted a most extravagant portion of the time to +the discussion, there was such a realism in the presence of the good +things themselves, that the conversation never descended to frivolity; +while there was an earnestness in the talkers that rejected such an +imputation. + +To hear them, one would have thought--at least, Tony thought--that all +their lives had been passed in dining, Could any memory retain the +mass of small minute circumstances that they recorded, or did they keep +prandial records as others keep game-books? Not one of them ever forgot +where and when and how he had ever eaten anything remarkable for its +excellence; and there was an elevation of language, an ecstasy imported +into the reminiscences, that only ceased to be ludicrous when he grew +used to it. Perhaps, as a mere listener, he partook more freely than +he otherwise might of the good things before him. In the excellence and +endless variety of the wines, there was, besides, temptation for cooler +heads than his; not to add that on one or two occasions he found +himself in a jury empanelled to pronounce upon some nice question of +flavor,--points upon which, as the evening wore on, he entered with a +far greater reliance on his judgment than he would have felt half an +hour before dinner. + +He had not what is called, in the language of the table, a “made +head,”--that is to say, at Lyle Abbey, his bottle of Sneyd's Claret +after dinner was more than he liked well to drink; but now, when +Sauterne succeeded Sherry, and Marcobrunner came after Champagne, and +in succession followed Bordeaux, and Burgundy, and Madeira, and then +Bordeaux again of a rarer and choicer vintage, Tony's head grew addled +and confused. Though he spoke very little, there passed through his mind +all the varied changes that his nature was susceptible of. He was gay +and depressed, daring and cautious, quarrelsome and forgiving, stern and +affectionate, by turns. There were moments when he would have laid down +his life for the company, and fleeting instants when his eye glanced +around to see upon whom he could fix a deadly quarrel; now he felt +rather vainglorious at being one of such a distinguished company, and +now a sharp distrust shot through him that he was there to be the +butt of these town-bred wits, whose merriment was nothing but a covert +impertinence. + +All these changeful moods only served to make him drink more deeply. He +filled bumpers and drank them daringly. Skeffington told the story of +the threat to kick Willis,--not much in itself, but full of interest to +the young officials who knew Willis as an institution, and could no +more have imagined his personal chastisement than an insult to the royal +arms. When Skeff, however, finished by saying that the Secretary of +State himself rather approved of the measure, they began to feel that +Tony Butler was that greatest of all created things, “a rising man.” For +as the power of the unknown number is incommensurable, so the height to +which a man's success may carry him can never be estimated. + +“It's deuced hard to get one of these messenger-ships,” said one of the +guardsmen; “they say it's far easier to be named Secretary of Legation.” + +“Of course it is. Fifty fellows are able to ride in a coach for one that +can read and write,” said May fair. + +“What do you mean by that?” cried Tony, his eyes flashing fire. + +“Just what I said,” replied the other, mildly,--“that as there is no +born mammal so helpless as a real gentleman, it's the rarest thing to +find an empty shell to suit him.” + +“And they're, well paid, too,” broke in the soldier. “Why, there's no +fellow so well off. They have five pounds a day.” + +“No, they have not.” + +“They have.” + +“They have not.” + +“On duty--when they're on duty.” + +“No, nor off duty.” + +“Harris told me.” + +“Harris is a fool.” + +“He's my cousin,” said a sickly young fellow, who looked deadly pale, +“and I'll not hear him called a liar.” + +“Nobody said liar. I said he was a fool.” + +“And so he is,” broke in Mayfair, “for he went and got married the other +day to a girl without sixpence.” + +“Beaumont's daughter?” + +“Exactly. The 'Lively Kitty,' as we used to call her; a name she'll +scarce go by in a year or two.” + +“I don't think,” said Tony, with a slow, deliberate utterance,--“I don't +think that he has made me a suit--suit--suitable apology for what he +said,--eh, Skeff?” + +“Be quiet, will you?” muttered the other. + +“Kitty had ten thousand pounds of her own.” + +“Not sixpence.” + +“I tell you she had.” + +“Grant it. What is ten thousand pounds?” lisped out a little +pink-cheeked fellow, who had a hundred and eighty per annum at the Board +of Trade. “If you are economical, you may get two years out of it.” + +“If I thought,” growled out Tony into Skeff's ear, “that he meant it for +insolence, I'd punch his head, curls and all.” + +“Will you just be quiet?” said Skeff, again. + +“I 'd have married Kitty myself,” said pink cheeks, “if I thought she +had ten thousand.” + +“And I 'd have gone on a visit to you,” said Mayfair, “and we 'd have +played billiards, the French game, every evening.” + +“I never thought Harris was so weak as to go and marry,” said the +youngest of the party, not fully one-and-twenty. + +“Every one hasn't your experience, Upton,” said May-fair. + +“Why do the fellows bear all this?” whispered Tony, again. + +“I say, be quiet,--do be quiet,” mumbled Skeff. + +“Who was it used to call Kitty Beaumont the Lass of Richmond Hill?” said +Mayfair; and now another uproar ensued as to the authority in question, +in which many contradictions were exchanged, and some wagers booked. + +“Sing us that song Bailey made on her,--'Fair Lady on the River's Bank;' +you can sing it, Clinton?” + +“Yes, let us have the song,” cried several together. + +“I 'll wager five pounds I 'll name a prettier girl on the same spot,” + said Tony to Skeff. + +“Butler challenges the field,” cried Skeff. “He knows, and will name, +the prettiest girl in Richmond.” + +“I take him. What 's the figure?” said Mayfair. + +“And I--and I!” shouted three or four in a breath. + +“I think he offered a pony,” lisped out the youngest. + +“I said, I 'd bet five pounds,” said Tony, fiercely; “don't misrepresent +me, sir.” + +“I 'll take your money, then,” cried Mayfair. + +“No, no; I was first: I said 'done' before you,” interposed a guardsman. + +“But how can it be decided? We can't summon the rival beauties to our +presence, and perform Paris and the apple,” said Skeff. + +“Come along with me and you shall see her,” broke in Tony; “she lives +within less than five minutes' walk of where we are. I am satisfied that +the matter should be left to your decision, Skefflngton.” + +“No, no,” cried several, together; “take Mayfair with you. He is the +fittest man amongst us for such a criticism; he has studied these +matters profoundly.” + +“Here 's a health to all good lasses!” cried out another; and goblets +were filled with champagne, and drained in a moment, while some +attempted the song; and others, imagining that they had caught the air, +started off with “Here's to the Maiden of Blooming Fifteen,” making up +an amount of confusion that was perfectly deafening, in which the waiter +entered to observe, in a very meek tone, that the Archdeacon of Halford +was entertaining a select party in the next room, and entreated that +they might be permitted to hear each other occasionally. + +Such a burst of horror and indignation as followed this request! Some +were for an armed intervention at once; some for a general smash of all +things practicable; and two or three, haughtier in their drunkenness, +declared that the Star and Garter should have no more of their +patronage, and proudly ordered the waiter to fetch the bill. + +“Thirty-seven--nine--six,” said Mayfair, as he held the document near +a candle; “make it an even forty for the waiters, and it leaves five +pounds a head, eh?--not too much, after all.” + +“Well, I don't know; the asparagus was miserably small.” + +“And I got no strawberries.” + +“I have my doubts about that Moselle.” + +“It ain't dear; at least, it's not dearer than anywhere else.” + +While these criticisms were going forward, Tony perceived that each +one in turn was throwing down his sovereigns on the table, as his +contribution to the fund; and he approached Skeffington, to whisper that +he had forgotten his purse,--his sole excuse to explain, what he +would n't confess, that he believed he was an invited guest Skeff was, +however, by this time so completely overcome by the last toast that he +sat staring fatuously before him, and could only mutter, in a melancholy +strain, “To be, or not to be; that's a question.” + +“Can you lend me some money?” whispered Tony. “I if want your purse.” + +“He--takes my purse--trash--trash--” mumbled out the other. + +“I 'll book up for Skeffy,” said one of the guardsmen; “and now it's all +right.” + +“No,” said Tony, aloud; “I haven't paid. I left my purse behind, and I +can't make Skeffington understand that I want a loan from him;” and he +stooped down again and whispered in his ear. + +While a buzz of voices assured Tony that “it did n't matter; all had +money, any one could pay,” and so on, Skeffington gravely handed out +his cigar-case, and said, “Take as much as you like, old fellow; it was +quarter-day last week.” + +In a wild, uproarious burst of laughter they now broke up; some helping +Skeffington along, some performing mock-ballet steps, and two or three +attempting to walk with an air of rigid propriety, which occasionally +diverged into strange tangents. + +Tony was completely bewildered. Never was a poor brain more addled than +his. At one moment he thought them all the best fellows in the world; +he 'd have risked his neck for any of them; and at the next he regarded +them as a set of insolent snobs, daring to show off airs of superiority +to a stranger, because he was not one of them; and so he oscillated +between the desire to show his affection for them, or have a quarrel +with any of them. + +Meanwhile Mayfair, with a reasonable good voice and some taste, broke +out into a wild sort of air, whose measure changed at every moment One +verse ran thus:-- + + “By the light of the moon, by the light of the moon, + We all went home by the light of the moon. + With a ringing song + We trampled along, + Recalling what we 'll forget so soon, + How the wine was good, + And the talk was free, + And pleasant and gay the company. + + “For the wine supplied + What our wits denied, + And we pledge the girls whose eyes we knew, whose eyes we knew. + You ask her name, but what's that to you, what's that to you?” + +“Well, there 's where she lives, anyhow,” muttered Tony, as he came to a +dead stop on the road, and stared full at a small two-storeyed house in +front of him. + +“Ah, that's where she lives!” repeated Mayfair, as he drew his arm +within Tony's, and talked in a low and confidential tone. + +“And a sweet, pretty cottage it is. What a romantic little spot! What if +we were to serenade her!” + +Tony gave no reply. He stood looking up at the closed shutters of the +quiet house, which, to his eyes, represented a sort of penitentiary for +that poor imprisoned hardworking girl. His head was not very clear, but +he had just sense enough to remember the respect he owed her condition, +and how jealously he should guard her from the interference of others. +Meanwhile Mayfair had leaped over the low paling of the little front +garden, and stood now close to the house. With an admirable imitation of +the prelude of a guitar, he began to sing,-- + + “Come dearest Lilla, + Thy anxious lover + Counts, counts the weary moments over--” + +As he reached thus far, a shutter gently opened, and in the strong +glare of the moonlight some trace of a head could be detected behind the +curtain. Encouraged by this, the singer went on in a rich and flowery +voice,-- + + “Anxious he waits, + Thy voice to hear + Break, break on his enraptured ear.” + +At this moment the window was thrown open, and a female voice, in an +accent strongly Scotch, called out, “Awa wi' ye,--pack o' ne'er-do-weels +as ye are,--awa wi' ye a'! I 'll call the police.” But Mayfair went +on,-- + + The night invites to love, + So tarry not above, + But Lilla--Lilla--Lilla, come down to me! + +“I'll come down to you, and right soon,” shouted a hoarse masculine +voice. Two or three who had clambered over the paling beside Mayfair now +scampered off; and Mayfair himself, making a spring, cleared the fence, +and ran down the road at the top of his speed, followed by all but Tony, +who, half in indignation at their ignominious flight, and half with some +vague purpose of apology, stood his ground before the gate. + +The next moment the hall door opened, and a short thickset man, armed +with a powerful bludgeon, rushed out and made straight towards him. +Seeing, however, that Tony stood firm, neither offering resistance nor +attempting escape, he stopped short, and cried out, “What for drunken +blackguards are ye, that canna go home without disturbing a quiet +neighborhood?” + +“If you can keep a civil tongue in your head,” said Tony, “I 'll ask +your pardon for this disturbance.” + +“What's your apology to me, you young scamp!” cried the other, wrenching +open the gate and passing out into the road. “I'd rather give you a +lesson than listen to your excuses.” He lifted his stick as he spoke; +but Tony sprang upon him with the speed of a tiger, and, wrenching the +heavy bludgeon out of his hand, flung it far into a neighboring field, +and then, grasping him by the collar with both hands, he gave him such +a shake as very soon convinced his antagonist how unequal the struggle +would be between them. “By Heaven!” muttered Tony, “if you so much as +lay a hand on me, I 'll send you after your stick. Can't you see that +this was only a drunken frolic, that these young fellows did not want to +insult you, and if I stayed here behind them, it was to appease, not to +offend you?” + +“Dinna speak to me, sir. Let me go,--let go my coat I 'm not to be +handled in this manner,” cried the other, in passion. + +“Go back to your bed, then!” said Tony, pushing him from him. “It's +clear enough you have no gentleman's blood in your body, or you 'd +accept an amends or resent an affront.” + +Stung by this retort, the other turned and aimed a blow at Butler's +face; but he stopped it cleverly, and then, seizing him by the shoulder, +he swung him violently round, and threw him within the gate of the +garden. + +“You are more angered than hurt,” muttered Tony, as he looked at him for +an instant. + +“Oh, Tony, that this could be you!” cried a faint voice from a little +window of an attic, and a violent sob closed the words. + +Tony turned and went his way towards London, those accents ringing in +his ears, and at every step he went repeating, “That this could be you!” + + + +CHAPTER XV. A STRANGE MEETING AND PARTING + +What a dreary waking was that of Tony's on the morning after the orgies! +Not a whit the less overwhelming from the great difficulty he had in +recalling the events, and investigating his own share in them. There was +nothing that he could look back upon with pleasure. Of the dinner +and the guests, all that he could remember was the costliness and the +tumult; and of the scene at Mrs. M'Grader's, his impression was of +insults given and received, a violent altercation, in which his own +share could not be defended. + +How different had been his waking thoughts, had he gone as he proposed, +to bid Dora a good-bye, and tell her of his great good fortune! How full +would his memory now have been of her kind words and wishes; how much +would he have to recall of her sisterly affection, for they had been +like brother and sister from their childhood! It was to Dora that Tony +confided all his boyhood's sorrows, and to the same ear he had told his +first talc of love, when the beautiful Alice Lyle had sent through his +heart those emotions which, whether of ecstasy or torture, make a new +existence and a new being to him who feels them for the first time. +He had loved Alice as a girl, and was all but heart-broken when she +married. His sorrows--and were they not sorrows?--had all been intrusted +to Dora; and from her he had heard such wise and kind counsels, such +encouraging and hopeful words; and when the beautiful Alice came back, +within a year, a widow, far more lovely than ever, he remembered how +all bis love was rekindled. Nor was it the less entrancing that it was +mingled with a degree of deference for her station, and an amount of +distance which her new position exacted. + +He had intended to have passed his last evening with Dora in talking +over these things; and how had he spent it? In a wild and disgraceful +debauch, and in a company of which he felt himself well ashamed. + +It was, however, no part of Tony's nature to spend time in vain regrets; +he lived ever more in the present than the past. There were a number of +things to be done, and done at once. The first was to acquit his debt +for that unlucky dinner; and, in a tremor of doubt, he opened his little +store to see what remained to him. Of the eleven pounds ten shillings +his mother gave him he had spent less than two pounds; he had +travelled third-class to London, and while in town denied himself every +extravagance. He rang for his hotel bill, and was shocked to see that it +came to three pounds seven-and-sixpence. He fancied he had half-starved +himself, and he saw a catalogue of steaks and luncheons to his share +that smacked of very gluttony. He paid it without a word, gave an +apology to the waiter that he had run himself short of money, and could +only offer him a crown. The dignified official accepted the excuse +and the coin with a smile of bland sorrow. It was a pity that cut both +ways,--for himself and for Tony too. + +There now remained but a few shillings above five pounds, and he sat +down and wrote this note:-- + + “My dear Skeffington,--Some one of your friends, last + night, was kind enough to pay my share of the reckoning for + me. Will you do me the favor to thank and repay him? I am + off to Ireland hurriedly, or I 'd call and see you. I have + not even time to wait for those examination papers, which + were to be delivered to me either to-day or to-morrow. Would + you send them by post, addressed T. Butler, Burnside, + Coleraine? My head is not very clear to-day, but it should + be more stupid if I could forget all your kindness since we + met. + + “Believe me, very sincerely, &c., + + “Tony Butler.” + +The next was to his mother:-- + + “Dearest Mother,--Don't expect me on Saturday; it may be + two or three days later ere I reach home. I am all right, + in rare health and capital spirits, and never in my life + felt more completely your own + + “Tony Butler.” + +One more note remained, but it was not easy to write it, nor even to +decide whether to address it to Dora or to Mr. M'Gruder. At length he +decided for the latter, and wrote thus:-- + + “Sir,--I beg to offer you the very humblest apology for + the disturbance created last night before your house. We had + all drunk too much wine, lost our heads, and forgotten good + manners. If I had been in a fitting condition to express + myself properly, I 'd have made my excuses on the spot. As + it is, I make the first use of my recovered brains to tell + you how heartily ashamed I am of my conduct, and how + desirous I feel to know that you will cherish no ungenerous + feelings towards your faithful servant, + + “T. Butler.” + +“I hope he 'll think it all right. I hope this will satisfy him. I trust +it is not too humble, though I mean to be humble. If he's a gentleman, +he 'll think no more of it; but he may not be a gentleman, and will +probably fancy that, because I stoop, he ought to kick me. That would be +a mistake; and perhaps it would be as well to add, by way of P.S., 'If +the above is not fully satisfactory, and that you prefer another issue +to this affair, my address is T. Butler, Burnside, Coleraine, Ireland.' + +“Perhaps that would spoil it all,” thought Tony. “I want him to forgive +an offence; and it's not the best way to that end to say, 'If you like +fighting better, don't balk your fancy.' No, no; I 'll send it in its +first shape. I don't feel very comfortable on my knees, it is true, but +it is all my own fault if I am there. + +“And now to reach home again. I wish I knew how that was to be done! +Seven or eight shillings are not a very big sum, but I 'd set off with +them on foot if there was no sea to be traversed.” To these thoughts +there was no relief by the possession of any article of value that he +could sell or pledge. He had neither watch nor ring, nor any of those +fanciful trinkets which modern fashion affects. + +He knew not one person from whom he could ask the loan of a few pounds; +nor, worse again, could he be certain of being able to repay them +within a reasonable time. To approach Skeffington on such a theme was +impossible; anything rather than this. If he were once at Liverpool, +there were sure to be many captains of Northern steamers that would +know him, and give him a passage home. But how to get to Liverpool? +The cheapest railroad fare was above a pound. If he must needs walk, +it would take him a week; and he could not afford himself more than one +meal a day, taking his chance to sleep under a corn-stack or a hedgerow. +Very dear, indeed, was the price that grand banquet cost him, and +yet not dearer than half the extravagances men are daily and hourly +committing; the only difference being that the debt is not usually +exacted so promptly. He wrote his name on a card, and gave it to the +waiter, saying, “When I send to you under this name, you will give my +portmanteau to the bearer of the message, for I shall probably not come +back,--at least, for some time.” + +The waiter was struck by the words, but more still by the dejected look +of one whom, but twenty-four hours back, he had been praising for his +frank and gay bearing. + +“Nothing wrong, I hope, sir?” asked the man, respectfully. + +“Not a great deal,” said Tony, with a faint smile. + +“I was afraid, sir, from seeing you look pale this morning, I fancied, +indeed, that there was something amiss. I hope you 're not displeased at +the liberty I took, sir?” + +“Not a bit; indeed, I feel grateful to you for noticing that I was not +in good spirits. I have so very few friends in this big city of yours, +your sympathy was pleasant to me. Will you remember what I said about +my luggage?” + +“Of course, sir, I 'll attend to it; and if not called for within a +reasonable time, is there any address you 'd like me to send it to?” + +Tony stared at the man, who seemed to flinch under the gaze; and it shot +like a bolt through his mind, “He thinks I have some gloomy purpose in +my head.” “I believe I apprehend you,” said he, laying his hand on the +man's shoulder; “but you are all wrong. There is nothing more serious +the matter with me than to have run myself out of money, and I cannot +conveniently wait here till I write and get an answer from home; there +'s the whole of it.” + +“Oh, sir, if you 'll not be offended at a humble man like me,--if you 'd +forgive the liberty I take, and let me as far as a ten-pound note;” he +stammered, and reddened, and seemed positively wretched in his attempt +to explain himself without any breach of propriety. Nor was Tony, +indeed, less moved as he said,-- + +“I thank you heartily; you have given me something to remember of this +place with gratitude so long as I live. But I am not so hard pressed as +you suspect. It is a merely momentary inconvenience, and a few days will +set it all right Good-bye; I hope we'll meet again.” + +And he shook the man's hand cordially in his own strong fingers, and +passed out with a full heart and a very choking throat. + +When he turned into the street, he walked along without choosing his +way. His mind was too much occupied to let him notice either the way or +the passers-by; and he sauntered along, now musing over his own lot, now +falling back upon that trustful heart of the poor waiter, whose position +could scarcely have inspired such confidence. + +“I am certain that what are called moralists are unfair censors of their +fellow-men. I 'll be sworn there is more of kindness and generosity and +honest truth in the world than there is of knavery and falsehood; but +as we have no rewards for the one, and keep up jails and hulks for the +other, we have nothing to guide our memories. That's the whole of it; +all the statistics are on one side.” + +While he was thus ruminating, he had wandered along, and was already +deep in the very heart of the City. Nor did the noise, the bustle, +the overwhelming tide of humanity arouse him, as it swept along in its +ceaseless flow. So intently was his mind turned inward, that he narrowly +escaped being run over by an omnibus, the pole of which struck him, and +under whose wheels he had unquestionably fallen, if it were not that a +strong hand grasped him by the shoulder, and swung him powerfully back +upon the flag-way. + +“Is it blind you are, that you didn't hear the 'bus?” cried a somewhat +gruff voice, with an accent that told of a land he liked well; and Tony +turned and saw a stout, strongly built young fellow, dressed in a sort +of bluish frieze, and with a bundle on a stick over his shoulder. He was +good-looking, but of a more serious cast of features than is common with +the lower-class Irish. + +“I see,” said Tony, “that I owe this good turn to a countryman. You're +from Ireland?” + +“Indeed, and I am, your honor, and no lie in it,” said he, reddening, as +if--although there was nothing to be ashamed of by the avowal--popular +prejudice lay rather in the other direction. + +“I don't know what I was thinking of,” said Tony, again; and even yet +his head bad not regained its proper calm. “I forgot all about where I +was, and never heard the horses till they were on me.” + +“'Tis what I remarked, sir,” said the other, as with his sleeve he +brushed the dirt off Tony's coat. “_I_ saw you was like one in a +dhream.” + +“I wish I had anything worth offering you,” said Tony, reddening, while +he placed the last few shillings he had in the other's palm. + +“What's this for?” said the man, half angrily; “sure you don't think +it's for money I did it;” and he pushed the coin back almost rudely from +him. + +While Tony assuaged, as well as he might, the anger of his wounded +pride, they walked on together for some time, till at last the other +said, “I'll have to hurry away now, your honor; I 'm to be at Blackwall, +to catch the packet for Derry, by twelve o'clock.” + +“What packet do you speak of?” + +“The 'Foyle,' sir. She's to sail this evening, and I have my passage +paid for me, and I mustn't lose it.” + +“If I had my luggage, I 'd go in her too. I want to cross over to +Ireland.” + +“And where is it, sir,--the luggage, I mean?” + +“Oh, it's only a portmanteau, and it's at the Tavistock Hotel, Covent +Garden.” + +“If your honor wouldn't mind taking charge of this,” said he, pointing +to his bundle, “I 'd be off in a jiffy, and get the trunk, and be back +by the time you reached the steamer.” + +“Would you really do me this service? Well, here 's my card; when you +show this to the waiter, he 'll hand you the portmanteau; and there is +nothing to pay.” + +“All right, sir; the 'Foyle,' a big paddle-steamer,--you 'll know her +red chimney the moment you see it;” and without another word he gave +Tony his bundle and hurried away. + +“Is not this trustfulness?” thought Tony, as he walked onward; “I +suppose this little bundle contains all this poor fellow's worldly +store, and he commits it to a stranger without one moment of doubt or +hesitation.” It was for the second time on that same morning that his +heart was touched by a trait of kindness; and he began to feel that if +such proofs of brotherhood were rife in the world, narrow fortune was +not half so bad a thing as he had ever believed it. + +It was a long walk he had before him, and not much time to do it in, so +that he was obliged to step briskly out. As for the bundle, it is +but fair to own that at first he carried it with a certain shame and +awkwardness, affecting in various ways to assure the passers-by that +such an occupation was new to him; but as time wore on, and he saw, as +he did see, that very few noticed him, and none troubled themselves as +to what was the nature of his burden, he grew more indifferent, well +consoled by thinking that nothing was more unlikely than that he should +be met by any one he knew. + +When he got down to the river-side, boats were leaving in every +direction, and one for the “Foyle,” with two passengers, offered itself +at the moment. He jumped in, and soon found himself aboard a large +mercantile boat, her deck covered with fragments of machinery and metal +for some new factory in Belfast. “Where's the captain?” asked Tony of a +gruff-looking man in a tweed coat and a wideawake. + +“I'm the captain; and what then?” said the other. + +In a few words Tony explained that he had found himself short of cash, +and not wishing to be detained till he could write and have an answer +from home, he begged he might have a deck passage. “If it should cost +more than I have money for, I will leave my trunk with your steward till +I remit my debt.” + +“Get those boats aboard; clear away that hawser there; look out, or you +'ll foul that collier,” cried the skipper, his deep voice ringing above +the din and crash of the escaping steam, but never so much as noticing +one word of Tony's speech. + +Too proud to repeat his address, and yet doubting how it had been taken, +he stood, occasionally buffeted about by the sailors as they hurried +hither and thither; and now, amidst the din, a great bell rang out; and +while it clattered away, some scrambled up the side of the ship, and +others clambered down, while with shouts and oaths and imprecations on +every side, the great mass swung round, and two slow revolutions of her +paddles showed she was ready to start Almost frantic with anxiety for +his missing friend, Tony mounted on a bulwark, and scanned every boat he +could see. + +“Back her!” screamed the skipper; “there, gently; all right Go ahead;” + and now with a shouldering, surging heave, the great black monster +lazily moved forward, and gained the middle of the river. Boats were now +hurrying wildly to this side and to that, but none towards the “Foyle.” + “What will become of me? What will he think of me?” cried Tony; and he +peered down into the yellow tide, almost doubtful if he ought not to +jump into it. + +“Go on,” cried the skipper; and the speed increased, a long swell +issuing from either paddle, and stretching away to either bank of the +river. Far away in this rocking tide, tossing hopelessly and in vain, +Tony saw a small boat wherein a man was standing, wildly waving his +handkerchief by way of signal. + +“There he is, in one minute; give him one minute, and he will be here,” + cried Tony, not knowing to whom he spoke. + +“You 'll get jammed, my good fellow, if you don't come down from that,” + said a sailor. “You'll be caught in the davits when they swing round;” + and seeing how inattentive he was to the caution, he laid a hand upon +him and forced him upon deck. The ship had now turned a bend of the +river, and as Tony turned aft to look for the boat, she was lost to him, +and he saw her no more. + +For some miles of the way, all were too much occupied to notice him. +There was much to stow away and get in order, the cargo having been +taken in even to the latest moment before they started. There were +some carriages and horses, too, on board, neither of which met from the +sailors more deferential care than they bestowed on cast-metal cranks +and iron sleepers, thus occasioning little passages between those in +charge and the crew, that were the reverse of amicable. It was in one +of these Tony heard a voice he was long familiar with. It was Sir +Arthur Lyle's coachman, who was even more overjoyed than Tony at the +recognition. He had been sent over to fetch four carriage-horses and two +open carriages for his master, and his adventures and mishaps were, in +his own estimation, above all human experience. + +“I'll have to borrow a five-pound note from you,” said Tony; “I have +come on board without anything,--even my luggage is left behind.” + +“Five-and-twenty, Mr.. Tony, if you want it. I'm as glad as fifty to see +you here. You'll be able to make these fellows mind what I say. There's +not as much as a spare tarpaulin to put over the beasts at night; and if +the ship rocks, their legs will be knocked to pieces.” + +If Tony had not the same opinion of his influence, he did not however +hesitate to offer his services, and assisted the coachman to pad the +horse-boxes, and bandage the legs with an overlaid covering of hay rope, +against any accidents. + +“Are you steerage or aft?” asked a surly-looking steward of Tony, as he +was washing his hands after his exertions. + +“There's a question to ask of one of the best blood in Ireland,” + interposed the coachman. + +“The best blood in Ireland will then have to pay cabin fare,” said the +steward, as he jotted down a mem. in his book; and Tony was now easy +enough in mind to laugh at the fellow's impertinence as he paid the +money. + +The voyage was not eventful in any way; the weather was fine, the sea +not rough, and the days went by as monotonously as need be. If Tony had +been given to reflection, he would have had a glorious opportunity to +indulge the taste, but it was the very least of all his tendencies. + +He would indeed, have liked much to review his life, and map out +something of his future road; but he could do nothing of this kind +without a companion. Asking him to think for himself and by himself was +pretty much like asking him to play chess or backgammon with himself, +where it depended on his caprice which side was to be the winner. +The habit of self-depreciation had, besides, got hold of him, and he +employed it as an excuse to cover his inertness. “What's the use of my +doing this, that, or t'other? I 'll be a stupid dog to the end of the +chapter. It's all waste of time to set me down to this or that. Other +fellows could learn it,--it's impossible for _me_.” + +It is strange how fond men will grow of pleading _in forma pauperis_ to +their own hearts,--even men constitutionally proud and high-spirited. +Tony had fallen into this unlucky habit, and got at last to think it was +his safest way in life to trust very little to his judgment. + +“If I had n't been 'mooning,' I 'd not have walked under the pole of the +omnibus, nor chanced upon this poor fellow, whose bundle I have carried +away, nor lost my own kit, which, after all, was something to me.” + Worse than all these--infinitely worse--was the thought of how that +poor peasant would think of him! What a cruel lesson of mistrust +and suspicion have I implanted in that honest heart! “What a terrible +revulsion must have come over him, when he found I had sailed away and +left him!” Poor Tony's reasoning was not acute enough to satisfy him +that the man could not accuse him for what was out of his power to +prevent,--the departure of the steamer; nor with Tony's own luggage in +his possession, could he arraign his honesty, or distrust his honor. + +He bethought him that he would consult Waters, for whose judgment in +spavins, thoroughpins, capped hocks, and navicular lameness, he had the +deepest veneration. Waters, who knew horses so thoroughly, must needs +not be altogether ignorant of men. + +“I say, Tom,” cried he, “sit down here, and let me tell you something +that's troubling me a good deal, and perhaps you can give me some advice +on it.” They sat down accordingly under the shelter of a horse-box, +while Tony related circumstantially his late misadventure. + +The old coachman heard him to the end without interruption. He smoked +throughout the whole narrative, only now and then removing his pipe +to intimate by an emphatic nod that the “court was with the counsel.” + Indeed, he felt that there was something judicial in his position, and +assumed a full share of importance on the strength of it. + +“There 's the whole case now before you,” said Tony, as he +finished,--“what do you say to it?” + +“Well, there an't a great deal to say to it, Mr. Tony,” said he, slowly. +“If the other chap has got the best kit, by course he has got the best +end of the stick; and you may have an easy conscience about that. If +there's any money or val'able in _his_ bundle, it is just likely there +will be some trace of his name, and where he lives too; so that, turn +out either way, you 're all right.” + +“So that you advise me to open his pack and see if I can find a clew to +him.” + +“Well, indeed, I 'd do that much out of cur'osity. At all events, you +'ll not get to know about him from the blue hand-kercher with the white +spots.” + +Tony did not quite approve the counsel; he had his scruples, even in a +good cause, about this investigation, and he walked the deck till +far into the night, pondering over it. He tried to solve the case by +speculating on what the countryman would have done with _his_ pack. “He +'ll have doubtless tried to find out where I am to be met with or come +at. He 'll have ransacked my traps, and if so, there will be the less +need of _my_ investigating _his_. _He 's_ sure to trace _me_.” This +reasoning satisfied him so perfectly that he lay down at last to sleep +with an easy conscience and so weary a brain that he slept profoundly. +As he awoke, however, he found that Waters had already decided the +point of conscience which had so troubled him, and was now sitting +contemplating the contents of the peasant's bundle. + +“There an't so much as a scrap o' writing, Mr. Tony; there an't even a +prayer-book with his name in it,--but there 's a track to him for all +that. I have him!” and he winked with that self-satisfied knowingness +which had so often delighted him in the detection of a splint or a +bone-spavin. + +“You have him,” repeated Tony. “Well, what of him?” + +“He's a jailer, sir,--yes, a jailer. I won't say he 's the chief,--he 's +maybe second or third,--but he 's one of 'em.” + +“How do you know that?” + +“Here's how I found it out;” and he drew forth a blue cloth uniform, +with yellow cuffs and collar, and a yellow seam down the trousers. There +were no buttons on the coat, but both on the sleeve and the collar were +embroidered two keys, crosswise. “Look at them, Master Tony; look at +them, and say an't that as clear as day? It's some new regulation, I +suppose, to put them in uniform; and there's the keys, the mark of the +lock-up, to show who he is that wears them.” + +Though the last man in the world to read riddles or unravel +difficulties, Tony did not accept this information very willingly. In +truth, he felt a repugnance to assign to the worthy country fellow a +station which bears, in the appreciation of every Irishman, a certain +stain. For, do as we will, reason how we may, the old estimate of the +law as an oppression surges up through our thoughts, just as springs +well up in an undrained soil. + +“I 'm certain you're wrong, Waters,” said he, boldly; “he had n't a bit +the look of that about him: he was a fine, fresh-featured, determined +sort of fellow, but without a trace of cunning or distrust in his face.” + +“I 'll stand to it I 'm right, Master Tony. What does keys mean? Answer +me that. An't they to lock up? It must be to lock up something or +somebody,--you agree to that?” + +Tony gave a sort of grunt, which the other took for concurrence, and +continued. + +“It's clear enough he an't the county treasurer,” said he, with a +mocking laugh,--“nor he don't keep the Queen's private purse neither; +no, sir. It's another sort of val'ables is under his charge. It's +highwaymen and housebreakers and felony chaps.” + +“Not a bit of it; he's no more a jailer than I'm a hangman. Besides, +what is to prove that this uniform is his own? Why not be a friend's,--a +relation's? Would a fellow trained to the ways of a prison trust the +first man he meets in the street, and hand him over his bundle? Is that +like one whose daily life is passed among rogues and vagabonds?” + +“That's exactly how it is,” said Waters, closing one eye to look more +piercingly astute. “Did you ever see anything trust another so much as +a cat does a mouse? She hasn't no dirty suspicions at all, but lets him +run here and run there, only with a make-believe of her paw letting him +feel that he an't to trespass too far on her patience.” + +“Pshaw!” said Tony, turning away angrily; and he muttered to himself as +he walked off, “how stupid it is to take any view of life from a fellow +who has never looked at it from a higher point than a hayloft!” + +As the steamer rounded Fairhead, and the tall cliffs of the Causeway +came into view, other thoughts soon chased away all memory of the poor +country fellow. It was home was now before him,--home, that no humility +can rob of its hold upon the heart; home, that appeals to the poorest of +us by the selfsame sympathies the richest and greatest feel! Yes, yonder +was Carrig-a-Rede, and there were the Skerries, so near and yet so far +off. How slowly the great mass seemed to move, though it was about an +hoar ago she seemed to cleave the water like a fish! How unfair to stop +her course at Larne to land those two or three passengers, and what +tiresome leave-takings they indulge in; and the luggage, too, they 'll +never get it together! So thought Tony, his impatience mastering both +reason and generosity. + +“I 'll have to take the horses on to Derry, Master Tony,” said Waters, +in an insinuating tone of voice, for he knew well what able assistance +the other could lend him in any difficulty of the landing. “Sir Arthur +thought that if the weather was fine we might be able to get them out on +a raft and tow them into shore, but it's too rough for that.” + +“Far too rough,” said Tony, his eyes straining to catch the well-known +landmarks of the coast. + +“And with blood-horses too, in top condition, there's more danger.” + +“Far more.” + +“So, I hope, your honor will tell the master that I did n't ask the +captain to stop, for I saw it was no use.” + +“None whatever. I 'll tell him,--that is, if I see him,” muttered Tony, +below his breath. + +“Maybe, if there was too much sea 'on' for your honor to land--” + +“What?” interrupted Tony, eying him sternly. + +“I was saying, sir, that if your honor was forced to come on to Derry--” + +“How should I be forced?” + +“By the heavy surf, no less,” said Waters, peevishly, for he foresaw +failure to his negotiation. + +“The tide will be on the flood till eleven, and if they can't lower a +boat, I 'll swim it, that's all. As to going on to Derry with you, Tom,” + added he, laughing, “I'd not do it if you were to give me your four +thoroughbreds for it.” + +“Well, the wind 's freshening, anyhow,” grumbled Waters, not very sorry, +perhaps, at the turn the weather was taking. + +“It will be the rougher for you as you sail up the Lough,” said Tony, as +he lighted his cigar. + +Waters pondered a good deal over what he could not but regard as a great +change in character. This young man, so gay, so easy, so careless, so +ready to do anything or do nothing,--how earnest he had grown, and how +resolute, and how stern too! Was this a sign that the world was going +well, or the reverse, with him? Here was a knotty problem, and one +which, in some form or other, has ere now puzzled wiser heads than +Waters's. For as the traveller threw off in the sunshine the cloak +which he had gathered round him in the storm, prosperity will as often +disclose the secrets of our hearts as that very poverty that has not +wealth enough to buy a padlock for them. + +“You want to land here, young man,” said the captain to Tony; “and +there's a shore-boat close alongside. Be alive, and jump in when she +comes near.” + +“Good-bye, Tom,” said Tony, shaking hands with him. “I 'll report well +of the beasts, and say also how kindly you treated me.” + +“You 'll tell Sir Arthur that the rub on the off shoulder won't signify, +sir; and that Emperor's hock is going down every day. And please to say, +sir,--for he 'll mind _you_ more than me,--that there 's nothing will +keep beasts from kicking when a ship takes to rollin'; and that when the +helpers got sea-sick, and could n't keep on deck, if it had n't been +for yourself--Oh, he's not minding a word I'm saying,” muttered he, +disconsolately; and certainly this was the truth, for Tony was now +standing on a bulwark, with the end of a rope in his hand, slung whip +fashion from the yard, to enable him to swing himself at an opportune +moment into the boat, all the efforts of the rowers being directed to +keep her from the steamer's side. + +“Now's your time, my smart fellow,” cried the Captain,--“off with you!” + And, as he spoke, Tony swung himself free with a bold spring, and, just +as the boat rose on a wave, dropped neatly into her. + +“Well done for a landsman!” cried the skipper; “port the helm, and keep +away.” + +“You 're forgetting the bundle, Master Tony,” cried Waters, and he flung +it towards him with all his strength; but it fell short, dropped into +the sea, floated for about a second or so, and then sank forever. + +Tony uttered what was not exactly a blessing on his awkwardness, and, +turning his back to the steamer, seized the tiller and steered for +shore. + + + +CHAPTER XVI. AT THE ABBEY + +“Who said that Tony Butler had come back?” said Sir Arthur, as they sat +at breakfast on the day after his arrival. + +“The gardener saw him last night, papa,” said Mrs. Trafford; “he was +sitting with his mother on the rocks below the cottage; and when Gregg +saluted him, he called out, 'All well at the Abbey, I hope?'” + +“It would have been more suitable if he had taken the trouble to assure +himself of that fact by a visit here,” said Lady Lyle. “Don't you think +so, Mr. Maitland?” + +“I am disposed to agree with you,” said he, gravely. + +“Besides,” added Sir Arthur, “he must have come over in the 'Foyle,' +and ought to be able to bring me some news of my horses. Those two rough +nights have made me very uneasy about them.” + +“Another reason for a little attention on his part,” said her Ladyship, +bridling; and then, as if anxious to show that so insignificant a theme +could not weigh on her thoughts, she asked her daughter when Mark and +Isabella purposed coming home. + +“They spoke of Saturday, mamma; but it seems now that Mrs. Maxwell has +got up--or somebody has for her--an archery meeting for Tuesday, and she +writes a most pressing entreaty for me to drive over, and, if possible, +persuade Mr. Maitland to accompany me.” + +“Which I sincerely trust he will not think of.” + +“And why, dearest mamma?” + +“Can you ask me, Alice? Have we not pushed Mr. Maitland's powers of +patience far enough by our own dulness, without subjecting him to the +stupidities of Tilney Park?--the dreariest old mansion of a dreary +neighborhood.” + +“But he might like it. As a matter of experimental research, he told us +how he passed an autumn with the Mandans, and ate nothing but eels and +wood-squirrels.” + +“You are forgetting the prairie rats, which are really delicacies.” + +“Nor did I include the charms of the fair Chachinhontas, who was the +object of your then affections,” said she, laughingly, but in a lower +tone. + +“So, then,” said he, “Master Mark has been playing traitor, and +divulging my confidence. The girl was a marvellous horsewoman, which is +a rare gift with Indian women. I 've seen her sit a drop-leap--I 'll +not venture to say the depth, but certainly more than the height of a +man--with her arms extended wide, and the bridle loose and flowing.” + +“And you followed in the same fashion?” asked Alice, with a roguish +twinkle of the eye. + +“I see that Mark has betrayed me all through,” said he, laughing. “I own +I tried it, but not with the success that such ardor deserved. I came +head-foremost to the ground before my horse.” + +“After all, Mr. Maitland, one is not obliged to ride like a savage,” + said Lady Lyle. + +“Except when one aspires to the hand of a savage princess, mamma. Mr. +Maitland was ambitious in those days.” + +“Very true,” said he, with a deep sigh; “but it was the only time in my +life in which I could say that I suffered my affection to be influenced +by mere worldly advantages. She was a great heiress; she had a most +powerful family connection.” + +“How absurd you are!” said Lady Lyle, good-humoredly. + +“Let him explain himself, mamma; it is so very seldom he will condescend +to let us learn any of his sentiments on any subject. Let us hear him +about marriage.” + +“It is an institution I sincerely venerate. If I have not entered into +the holy estate myself, it is simply from feeling I am not good enough. +I stand without the temple, and only strain my eyes to catch a glimpse +of the sanctuary.” + +“Does it appear to you so very awful and appalling, then?” said my Lady. + +“Certainly it does. All the efforts of our present civilization seem +directed to that end. We surround it with whatever can inspire terror. +We call in the Law as well as the Church,--we add the Statutes to +the Liturgy; and we close the whole with the most depressing of all +festivities,--a wedding-breakfast.” + +“And the Mandans, do they take a more cheerful view of matters?” asked +Alice. + +“How can you be so silly, Alice?” cried Lady Lyle. + +“My dear mamma, are you forgetting what a marvellous opportunity we +enjoy of learning the geography of an unknown sea, from one of the only +voyagers who has ever traversed it?” + +“Do you mean to go to Tilney, Alice?” asked her mother, curtly. + +“If Mr. Maitland would like to add Mrs. Maxwell to his curiosities of +acquaintance.” + +“I have met her already. I think her charming. She told me of some port, +or a pair of coach-horses, I can't be certain which, her late husband +purchased forty-two years ago; and she so mingled the subjects together, +that I fancied the horses were growing yellow, and the wine actually +frisky.” + +“I see that you _have_ really listened to her,” said Mrs. Trafford. +“Well, do you consent to this visit?” + +“Delighted. Tell me, by way of parenthesis, is she a near neighbor of +the worthy Commodore with the charming daughters? Gambier Graham, I +think his name is.” + +“Yes; she lives about twelve miles from his cottage: but why do you +ask?” + +“I have either promised, or he fancies I have promised, to pay him a +flying visit.” + +“Another case of a savage princess,” whispered Mrs. Trafford; and he +laughed heartily at the conceit. “If we take the low road,--it's very +little longer and much prettier,--we pass the cottage; and if your visit +be not of great length, more than a morning call, in fact,--I 'll go +there with you.” + +“You overwhelm me with obligations,” said he, bowing low, to which she +replied by a courtesy so profound as to throw an air of ridicule over +his courtly politeness. + +“Shall we say to-morrow for our departure, Mr. Maitland?” + +“I am at your orders, madam.” + +“Well, then, I'll write to dear old Aunt Maxwell--I suppose she'll be +your aunt too before you leave Tilney (for we all adopt a relation so +very rich and without an heir)--and delight her by saying that I have +secured Mr. Maitland, an announcement which will create a flutter in the +neighborhood by no means conducive to good archery.” + +“Tell her we only give him up till Wednesday,” said Lady Lyle, “for I +hope to have the Crayshaws here by that time, and I shall need you all +back to receive them.” + +“More beauties, Mr. Maitland,” exclaimed Mrs. Trafford. “What are you +looking so grave about?” + +“I was thinking it was just possible that I might be called away +suddenly, and that there are some letters I ought to write; and, last of +all, whether I should n't go and make, a hurried visit to Mrs. Butler; +for in talking over old friends in Scotland, we have grown already +intimate.” + +“What a mysterious face for such small concerns!” said Mrs. Trafford. +“Did n't you say something, papa, about driving me over to look at the +two-year-olds?” + +“Yes; I am going to inspect the paddock, and told Giles to meet me +there.” + +“What's the use of our going without Tony?” said she, disconsolately; +“he's the only one of us knows anything about a colt.” + +“I really did hope you were beginning to learn that this young gentleman +was not an essential of our daily life here,” said Lady Lyle, haughtily. +“I am sorry that I should have deceived myself.” + +“My dear mamma, please to remember your own ponies that have become +undrivable, and Selim, that can't even be saddled. Gregg will tell you +that he does n't know what has come over the melon-bed,--the plants look +all scorched and withered; and it was only yesterday papa said that he +'d have the schooner drawn up till Tony came back to decide on the new +keel and the balloon jib!” + +“What a picture of us to present to Mr. Maitland! but I trust, sir, that +you know something of my daughter's talent for exaggerated description +by this time, and you will not set us down for the incapables she +would exhibit us.” Lady Lyle moved haughtily away as she spoke; and Sir +Arthur, drawing Mrs. Trafford's arm within his own, said, “You 're in a +fighting mood to-day. Come over and torment Giles.” + +“There 's nothing I like better,” said she. “Let me go for my hat and a +shawl.” + +“And I'm off to my letter-writing,” said Maitland. + + + +CHAPTER XVII. AT THE COTTAGE + +What a calm, still, mellow evening it was, as Tony sat with his mother +in the doorway of the cottage, their hands clasped, and in silence, each +very full of thought, indeed, but still fuller of that sweet luxury, +the sense of being together after an absence,--the feeling that home was +once more home, in all that can make it a centre of love and affection. + +“I began to think you were n't coming back at all, Tony,” said she, +“when first you said Tuesday, and then it was Friday, and then it came +to be the middle of another week. 'Ah me!' said I to the doctor, 'he 'll +not like the little cottage down amongst the tall ferns and the heather, +after all that grand town and its fine people.'” + +“If you knew how glad I am to be back here,” said he, with a something +like choking about the throat; “if you knew what a different happiness I +feel under this old porch, and with you beside me!” + +“My dear, dear Tony, let us hope we are to have many such evenings as +this together. Let me now hear all about your journey; for, as yet, you +have only told me about that good-hearted country fellow whose bundle +has been lost Begin at the beginning, and try and remember everything.” + +“Here goes, then, for a regular report. See, mother, you 'd not believe +it of me, but I jotted all down in a memorandum-book, so that there's no +trusting to bad memory; all's in black and white.” + +“That was prudent, Tony. I 'm really glad that you have such +forethought. Let me see it.” + +“No, no. It's clean and clear beyond your reading. I shall be lucky +enough if I can decipher it myself. Here we begin: 'Albion, Liverpool. +Capital breakfast, but dear. Wanted change for my crown-piece, but +chaffed out of it by pretty barmaid, who said--' Oh, that's all stuff +and nonsense,” said he, reddening. “'Mail-train to London; not allowed +to smoke first-class; travelled third, and had my 'baccy.' I need n't +read all this balderdash, mother; I 'll go on to business matters. +'Skeffy, a trump, told me where he buys “birdseye” for one and nine the +pound; and, mixed with cavendish, it makes grand smoking. Skeffy says he +'ll get me the first thing vacant'” + +“Who is Skeffy? I never heard of him before.” + +“Of course you 've heard. He's private secretary to Sir Harry, and gives +away all the Office patronage. I don't think he 's five feet five high, +but he 's made like a Hercules. Tom Sayers says Skeffy's deltoid--that's +the muscle up here--is finer than any in the ring, and he's such an +active devil. I must tell you of the day I held up the 'Times' for him +to jump through; but I see you are impatient for the serious things: +well, now for it. + +“Sir Harry, cruel enough, in a grand sort of overbearing way, told me +my father was called Watty. I don't believe it; at least, the fellow who +took the liberty must have earned the right by a long apprenticeship.” + +“You are right there, Tony; there were not many would venture on it.” + +“Did any one ever call him Wat Tartar, mother?” + +“If they had, they 'd have caught one, Tony, I promise you.” + +“I thought so. Well, he went on to say that he had nothing he could give +me. It was to the purport that I was fit for nothing, and I agreed with +him.” + +“That was not just prudent, Tony; the world is prone enough to disparage +without helping them to the road to it.” + +“Possibly; but he read me like a book, and said that I only came to him +because I was hopeless. He asked me if I knew a score of things he was +well aware that I must be ignorant of, and groaned every time I said +'No!' When he said, 'Go home and brush up your French and Italian,' +I felt as if he said, 'Look over your rent roll, and thin your young +timber.' He 's a humbug, mother.” + +“Oh, Tony, you must not say that.” + +“I will say it; he's a humbug, and so is the other.” + +“Who is the other you speak of?” + +“Lord Ledgerton, a smartish old fellow, with a pair of gray eyes that +look through you, and a mouth that you can't guess whether he's going +to eat you up or to quiz you. It was he that said, 'Make Butler a +messenger.' They did n't like it. The Office fellows looked as sulky as +night; but they had to bow and snigger, and say, 'Certainly, my Lord;' +but I know what they intend, for all that. They mean to pluck me; that's +the way they 'll do it; for when I said I was nothing to boast of in +English, and something worse in French, they grinned and exchanged +smiles, as much as to say, 'There's a rasper he 'll never get over.'” + +“And what is a messenger, Tony?” + +“He's a fellow that carries the despatches over the whole world,--at +least, wherever there is civilization enough to have a Minister or an +Envoy. He starts off from Downing Street with half-a-dozen great bags +as tall as me, and he drops one at Paris, another at Munich, another at +Turin, and perhaps the next at Timbuctoo. He goes full speed,--regular +steeple-chase pace,--and punches the head of the first postmaster that +delays him; and as he is well paid, and has nothing to think of but the +road, the life is n't such a bad one.” + +“And does it lead to anything; is there any promotion from it?” + +“Not that I know, except to a pension; but who wants anything better? +Who asks for a jollier life than rattling over Europe in all directions +at the Queen's expense? Once on a time they were all snobs, or the same +thing; now they are regular swells, who dine with the Minister, and walk +into the attachés at billiards or blind hookey; for the dons saw it was +a grand thing to keep the line for younger sons, and have a career where +learning might be left out, and brains were only a burden!” + +“I never heard of such a line of life,” said she, gravely. + +“I had it from the fellows themselves. There were five of them in the +waiting-room, tossing for sovereigns, and cursing the first clerk, +whoever he is; and they told me they 'd not change with the first +secretaries of any legation in Europe. But who is this, mother, that I +see coming down the hill?--he 's no acquaintance of ours, I think?” + +“Oh, it's Mr. Maitland, Tony,” said she, in some confusion; for she was +not always sure in what temper Tony would receive a stranger. + +“And who may Mr. Maitland be?” + +“A very charming and a very kind person, too, whose acquaintance I made +since you left this; he brought me books and flowers, and some geranium +slips; and, better than all, his own genial company.” + +“He's not much of a sportsman, I see; that short gun he carries is more +like a walking-stick than a fowling-piece.” And Tony turned his gaze +seaward, as though the stranger was not worth a further scrutiny. + +“They told me I should find you here, madam,” said Maitland, as he came +forward, with his hat raised, and a pleasant smile on his face. + +“My son, sir,” said the old lady, proudly,--“my son Tony, of whom I have +talked to you.” + +“I shall be charmed if Mr. Butler will allow me to take that place in +his acquaintance which a sincere interest in him gives me some claim +to,” said Maitland, approaching Tony, intending to shake his hand, but +too cautious to risk a repulse, if it should be meditated. + +[Illustration: 182] + +Tony drew himself up haughtily, and said, “I am much honored, sir; but I +don't see any reason for such an interest in me.” + +“Oh, Tony,” broke in the widow; but Maitland interrupted, and said: +“It's easy enough to explain. Your mother and myself have grown, in +talking over a number of common friends, to fancy that we knew each +other long ago. It was, I assure you, a very fascinating delusion for +me. I learned to recall some of the most cherished of my early friends, +and remember traits in them which had been the delight of my childhood. +Pray forgive me, then, if in such a company your figure got mixed up, +and I thought or fancied that I knew you.” + +There was a rapid eagerness in the manner he said these words that +seemed to vouch for their sincerity; but their only immediate effect was +to make Tony very ill at ease and awkward. + +“Mr. Maitland has not told you, as he might have told you, Tony, that he +came here with the offer of a substantial service. He had heard that you +were in search of some pursuit or occupation.” + +“Pray, madam, I entreat of you to say nothing of this now; wait, at +least, until Mr. Butler and I shall know more of each other.” + +“A strange sort of a piece you have there,” said Tony, in his confusion; +for his cheek was scarlet with shame,--“something between an old +duelling-pistol and a carbine.” + +“It 's a short Tyrol rifle, a peasant's weapon. It 's not a very comely +piece of ordnance, but it is very true and easy to carry. I bought +it from an old chamois-hunter at Maltz; and I carried it with me this +morning with the hope that you would accept it.” + +“Oh, I couldn't think of it; I beg you to excuse me. I 'm much obliged; +in fact, I never do--never did--take a present.” + +“That's true, sir. Tony and I bear our narrow means only because there's +a sort of ragged independence in our natures that saves us from craving +for whatever we can do without.” + +“A pretty wide catalogue, too, I assure you,” said Tony, laughing, +and at once recovering his wonted good-humor. “We have made what the +officials call the extraordinaires fill a very small column. There!” + cried he, suddenly, “is the sea-gull on that point of rock yonder out of +range for your rifle?” + +“Nothing near it. Will you try?” asked Maitland, offering the gun. + +“I 'd rather see you.” + +“I 'm something out of practice latterly. I have been leading a town +life,” said Maitland, as he drew a small eyeglass from his pocket and +fixed it in his eye. “Is it that fellow there you mean? There's a far +better shot to the left,--that large diver that is sitting so calmly on +the rolling sea. There he is again.” + +“He 's gone now,--he has dived,” said Tony; “there's nothing harder to +hit than one of these birds,--what between the motion of the sea and +their own wariness. Some people say that they scent gunpowder.” + +“That fellow shall!” said Maitland, as he fired; for just as the +bird emerged from the depth, he sighted him, and with one flutter the +creature fell dead on the wave. + +“A splendid shot; I never saw a finer!” cried Tony, in ecstasy, and +with a look of honest admiration at the marksman. “I'd have bet ten--ay, +twenty--to one you 'd have missed. I 'm not sure I 'd not wager against +your doing the same trick again.” + +“You 'd lose your money, then,” said Maitland; “at least, if I was rogue +enough to take you up.” + +“You must be one of the best shots in Europe, then!” + +“No; they call me second in the Tyrol. Hans Godrel is the first We have +had many matches together, and he has always beaten me.” + +The presence of a royal prince would not have inspired Tony with the +same amount of respect as these few words, uttered negligently and +carelessly; and he measured the speaker from head to foot, recognizing +for the first time his lithe and well-knit, well-proportioned figure. + +“I 'll be bound you are a horseman, too?” cried Tony. + +“If you hadn't praised my shooting, I 'd tell you that I ride better +than I shoot.” + +“How I 'd like to have a brush across country with you!” exclaimed Tony, +warmly. + +“What easier?--what so easy? Our friend Sir Arthur has an excellent +stable; at least, there is more than one mount for men of our weight I +suspect Mark Lyle will not join us; but we 'll arrange a match,--a sort +of home steeple-chase.” + +“I 'd like it well,” broke in Tony, “but I have no horses of my own, and +I 'll not ride Sir Arthur's.” + +“This same independence of ours has a something about it that won't let +us seem very amiable, Mr. Maitland,” said the old lady, smiling. + +“Pardon me, madam; it has an especial attraction for _me_. I have all +my life long been a disciple of that school; but I must say that in the +present case it is not applicable. I have been for the last couple of +weeks a guest at Lyle Abbey; and if I were asked whose name came most +often uppermost, and always in terms of praise, I should say--your +son's.” + +“I have met with great kindness from Sir Arthur and his family,” said +Tony, half sternly, half sorrowfully. “I am not likely ever to forget +it.” + +“You have not seen them since your return, I think?” said Maitland, +carelessly. + +“No, sir,” broke in the old lady; “my son has been so full of his +travels, and all the great people he met, that we have not got through +more than half of his adventures. Indeed, when you came up he was just +telling me of an audience he had with a Cabinet Minister--” + +“Pooh, pooh, mother! Don't bore Mr. Maitland with these personal +details.” + +“I know it is the privilege of friendship to listen to these,” said +Maitland, “and I am sincerely sorry that I have not such a claim.” + +“Well, sir, you ought to have that claim, were it only in consideration +of your own kind offer to Tony.” + +“Oh, pray, madam, do not speak of it,” said Maitland, with something +nearer confusion than so self-possessed a gentleman was likely to +exhibit “When I spoke of such a project, I was in utter ignorance that +Mr. Butler was as much a man of the world as myself, and far and away +beyond the reach of any guidance of mine.” + +“What, then, were your intentions regarding me?” asked Tony, in some +curiosity. + +“I entreat of you, madam,” said Maitland, eagerly, “to forget all that +we said on that subject.” + +“I cannot be so ungrateful, sir. It is but fair and just that Tony +should hear of your generous plan. Mr. Maitland thought he 'd just take +you abroad--to travel with him--to go about and see the world. He 'd +call you his secretary.” + +“His what!” exclaimed Tony, with a burst of laughter. “His what, +mother?” + +“Let _me_ try and explain away, if I can, the presumption of such a +project. Not now, however,” said Maitland, look-ing at his watch, “for +I have already overstayed my time; and I have an appointment for this +evening,--without you will kindly give me your company for half a mile +up the road, and we can talk the matter over together.” + +Tony looked hesitatingly for a moment at bis mother; but she said, “To +be sure, Tony. I 'll give Mr. Maitland a loan of you for half an hour. +Go with him, by all means.” + +With all that courtesy of which he was a master, Maitland thanked her +for the sacrifice she was making, and took his leave. + +“You have no objection to walk fast, I hope,” said Maitland; “for I find +I am a little behind my time.” + +Tony assented with a nod, and they stepped out briskly; the device of +the speed being merely assumed to give Maitland an opportunity of +seeing a little more of his companion before entering upon any serious +converse. Tony, however, was as impenetrable in his simplicity as some +others are in their depth; and after two or three attempts to draw +him on to talk of commonplaces, Maitland said abruptly: “You must have +thought it a great impertinence on my part to make such a proposal to +your mother as she has just told you of; but the fact was, I had +no other way of approaching a very difficult subject, and opening a +question which to her, certainly, I could not explain myself fully upon. +I heard a good deal about you up at the Abbey, and all that I heard +confirmed me in the notion that you were just the man for an enterprise +in which I am myself deeply interested. However, as I well knew, even if +I succeeded in inducing you to become my comrade, it would be necessary +to have a sort of narrative which would conceal the project from your +mother, it occurred to me to get up this silly idea of a secretaryship, +which I own freely may have offended you.” + +“Not offended; it only amused me,” said Tony, good-humoredly. “I can't +imagine a man less fitted for such an office than myself.” + +“I 'm not so sure of that,” said Maitland, “though I'm quite certain it +would be a very unprofitable use to make of you. You are, like myself, a +man of action; one to execute and do, and not merely to note and record. +The fellows who write history very seldom make it,--isn't that true?” + +“I don't know. I can only say I don't think I 'm very likely to do one +or the other.” + +“We shall see that I don't concur in the opinion, but we shall see. +It would be rather a tedious process to explain myself fully as to my +project, but I 'll give you two or three little volumes.” + +“No, no; don't give me anything to read; if you want me to understand +you, tell it out plainly, whatever it is.” + +“Here goes, then, and it is not my fault if you don't fully comprehend +me; but mind, what I am about to reveal to you is strictly on honor, +and never to be divulged to any one. I have your word for this?” They +pressed hands, and he continued: “There is a government on the Continent +so undermined by secret treachery that it can no longer rely upon its +own arms for defence, but is driven to enlist in its cause the brave +and adventurous spirits of other countries,--men who, averse to ignoble +callings or monotonous labor, would rather risk life than reduce it +to the mere condition of daily drudgery. To this government, which +in principle has all my sympathies, I have devoted all that I have of +fortune, hope, or personal energy. I have, in a word, thrown my whole +future into its cause. I have its confidence in return; and I am enabled +not only to offer a high career and a noble sphere of action, but all +that the world calls great rewards, to those whom I may select to join +me in its defence.” + +“Is it France?” asked Tony; and Maitland had to bite his lip to repress +a smile at such a question. + +“No, it is not France,” said he, calmly; “for France, under any rule, I +'d not shed one drop of my blood.” + +“Nor I, neither!” cried Tony. “I hate Frenchmen; my father hated them, +and taught me to do the same.” + +“So far from enlisting you to serve France, it is more than probable +that in the cause I speak of you 'll find yourself arrayed against +Frenchmen.” + +“All right; I 'd do that with a heart and a half; but what is the State? +Is it Austria?--is it Russia?” + +“Neither. If you only give me to believe that you listen favorably to +my plan, you shall hear everything; and I 'll tell you, besides, what +I shall offer to you, personally,--the command of a company in an Irish +regiment, with the certainty of rapid advancement, and ample means +to supply yourself with all that your position requires. Is that +sufficient?” + +“Quite so, if I like the cause I 'm to fight for.” + +“I 'll engage to satisfy you on that head. You need but read the names +of those of our own countrymen who adopt it, to be convinced that it is +a high and a holy cause. I don't suppose you have studied very deeply +that great issue which our century is about to try,--the cause of order +_versus_ anarchy,--the right to rule of the good, the virtuous, and the +enlightened, against the tyranny of the unlettered, the degraded, and +the base.” + +“I know nothing about it.” + +“Well, I 'll tax your patience some day to listen to it all from me; for +the present what say you to my plan?” + +“I rather like it. If it had only come last week, I don't think I could +have refused it.” + +“And why last week?” + +“Because I have got a promise of an appointment since that” + +“Of what nature,--a commission in the army?” + +“No,” said he, shaking his head. + +“They 're not going to make a clerk of a fellow like you, I trust?” + +“They 'd be sorely disappointed if they did.” + +“Well, what _are_ they going to do with you?” + +“Oh, it's nothing very high and mighty. I am to be what they call a +Queen's Messenger.” + +“Under the Foreign Office?” + +“Yes.” + +“Not bad things these appointments,--that is to say, gentlemen hold +them, and contrive to live on them. How they do so it's not very easy to +say; but the fact is there, and not to be questioned.” + +This speech, a random shot as it was, hit the mark; and Maitland saw +that Tony winced under it, and he went on. + +“The worst is, however, that these things lead to nothing. If a man +takes to the law, he dreams of the Great Seal, or, at least, of +the bench. If he be a soldier, he is sure to scribble his name with +'lieutenant-general' before it. One always has an eye to the upper +branches, whatever be the tree; but this messenger affair is a mere +bush, which does not admit of climbing. Last of all, it would never do +for you.” + +“And why not do for me?” asked Tony, half fiercely. + +“Simply because you could not reduce yourself to the mere level of a +piece of mechanism,--a thing wound up at Downing Street, to go 'down' +as it reached Vienna. To you life should present, with its changes of +fortune, its variety, its adventures, and its rewards. Men like you +confront dangers, but are always conquered by mere drudgery. Am I +right?” + +“Perhaps there is something in that.” + +“Don't fancy that I am talking at hazard; I have myself felt the very +thing I am telling you of; and I could no more have begun life as a +Cabinet postboy, than I could have taken to stone-breaking.” + +“You seem to forget that there is a class of people in this world whom a +wise proverb declares are not to be choosers.” + +“There never was a sillier adage. It assumes that because a man is poor +he must remain poor. It presumes to affirm that no one can alter his +condition. And who are the successful in life? The men who have energy +to will it,--the fellows who choose their place, and insist upon taking +it. Let me assure you, Butler, you are one of these, if you could only +throw off your humility and believe it. Only resolve to join us, and I +'ll give you any odds you like that I am a true prophet; at all events, +turn it over in your mind; give it a fair consideration,--of course, I +mean your own consideration, for it is one of those things a man cannot +consult his mother upon; and when we meet again, which will not be for a +few days, as I leave for a short absence to-morrow, you 'll give me your +answer.” + +“What day do you expect to be back here?” + +“I hope, by Saturday; indeed, I can safely say by Saturday.” + +“By that time I shall have made up my mind. Goodbye.” + +“The mind is made up already,” mattered Maitland, as he moved away,--“I +have him.” + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. ON THE ROAD + +A great moralist and a profound thinker has left it on record that there +were few pleasanter sensations than those of being whirled rapidly along +a good road at the top speed of a pair of posters. Whether, had he lived +in our age of express trains, the “rail” might not have qualified the +judgment is not so sure. One thing is, however, certain,--the charm of +a brisk drive on a fine breezy morning, along a bold coast, with a +very beautiful woman for a companion, is one that belongs to all +eras, independent of broad gauges and narrow, and deriving none of its +enjoyment from steam or science. Maitland was to know this now in all +its ecstasy, as he drove off from Lyle Abbey with Mrs. Trafford. There +was something of gala in the equipage,--the four dappled grays with pink +roses at their heads, the smartly dressed servants, and, more than all, +the lovely widow herself, most becomingly dressed in a costume which, +by favor of the climate, could combine furs with lace,--that forcibly +struck him as resembling the accompaniments of a wedding; and he smiled +at the pleasant conceit. + +“What is it amuses you, Mr. Maitland?” said she, unable to repress her +curiosity. + +“I am afraid to tell you,--that is, I might have told you a moment ago, +but I can't now.” + +“Perhaps I guess it?” + +“I don't think so.” + +“No matter; let us talk of something else. Isn't that a very beautiful +little bay? It was a fancy of mine once to build a cottage there. You +can see the spot from here, to the left of those three rocks.” + +“Yes; but there are walls there,--ruins, I think.” + +“No, not exactly ruins. They were the outer walls of my intended villa, +which I abandoned after I had begun it; and there they stand,--accusers +of a change of mind, sad reminders of other days and their projects.” + +“Were they very pleasant days that you sigh over them, or are they sad +reminiscences?” + +“Both one and the other. I thought it would be such a nice thing to +retire from the world and all its vanities, and live there very secluded +and forgotten.” + +“And how long ago was this?” + +“Oh, very long ago,--fully a year and a half.” + +“Indeed!” cried he, with a well-feigned astonishment. + +“Yes,” said she, resuming. “I was very tired of being flattered and +feted, and what people call 'spoiled;' for it is by no means remembered +how much amusement is afforded to those who play the part of 'spoilers' +in the wilfulness and caprice they excite; and so I thought, 'I 'll show +you all how very easy it is to live without you. I 'll let you see that +I can exist without your homage.'” + +“And you really fancied this?” + +“You ask as if you thought the thing incredible.” + +“Only difficult,--not impossible.” + +“I never intended total isolation, mind. I 'd have had my intimates, +say two or three,--certainly not more,--dear friends, to come and go and +stay as they pleased.” + +“And do you know how you 'd have passed your time, or shall I tell you?” + +“Yes. Let me hear your version of it.” + +“In talking incessantly of that very world you had quitted, in greedily +devouring all its scandals, and canvassing all its sins,--criticising, +very possibly, its shortcomings and condemning its frivolities; but +still following with a wistful eye all its doings, and secretly longing +to be in the thick of them.” + +“Oh, how wrong you are, how totally wrong! You know very little about +him who would have been my chief adviser and Grand Vizier.” + +“And who, pray, would have been so fortunate as to fill that post?” + +“The son of that old lady to whom you devoted so many mornings,--the +playfellow of long ago, Tony Butler.” + +“Indeed, I only made his acquaintance yesterday, and it would be rash to +speak on such a short experience; but I may be permitted to ask, has he +that store of resources which enliven solitude? is he so full of life's +experiences that he can afford to retire from the world and live on the +interest of his knowledge of mankind?” + +“He knows nothing whatever of what is called life,--at least what Mr. +Maitland would call life. He is the most simple-hearted young fellow in +the world, with the finest nature, and the most generous.” + +“What would I not give for a friend who would grow so enthusiastic about +me!” + +“Are you so sure you 'd deserve it?” + +“If I did, there would be no merit in the praise. Credit means trust for +what one may or may not have.” + +“Well, I am speaking of Tony as I know him; and, true to the adage, +there he is, coming down the hill. Pull up, George.” + +“Mr. Butler's making me a sign, ma'am, not to stop till I reach the top +of the hill.” + +The moment after, the spanking team stood champing their bits and +tossing their manes on the crest of the ridge. + +“Come here, Tony, and be scolded!” cried Mrs. Trafford; while the young +fellow, instead of approaching the carriage, busied himself about the +horses. + +“Wait a moment till I let down their heads. How could you have suffered +them to come up the long hill with the bearing-reins on, Alice?” cried +he. + +“So, then, it is I that am to have the scolding,” said she, in a +whisper; then added aloud, “Come here and beg pardon. I 'm not sure you +'ll get it, for your shameful desertion of us. Where have you been, sir? +and why have not you reported yourself on your return?” + +Tony came up to the side of the carriage with an attempt at swagger that +only increased his own confusion, and made him blush deeply. No sooner, +however, had he seen Maitland, of whose presence up to that he had been +ignorant, than he grew pale, and had to steady himself by catching hold +of the door. + +“I see you are ashamed,” said she, “but I 'll keep you over for +sentence. Meanwhile, let me present you to Mr. Maitland.” + +“I know him,” said Tony, gulping out the words. + +“Yes,” chimed in Maitland, “we made acquaintance yesterday; and if Mr. +Butler be but of my mind, it will not be a mere passing knowledge we +shall have of each other.” + +“Get in, Tony, and come a mile or two with us. You know all the short +cuts in the mountains, and can get back easily.” + +“There's the short cut I mean to take now,” said Tony, sternly, as he +pointed to a path that led down to the seashore. “I am going home.” + +“Yes, sir,” resumed she, with a well-feigned air of severity; “but mine +is a command.” + +“I have left the service,--I have taken my discharge,” said he, with a +forced laugh. + +“At least, you ought to quit with honor,--not as a deserter,” said she, +softly but sadly. + +“Perhaps he could not trust his resolution, if he were to see again the +old flag he had served under,” said Maitland. + +“Who made you the exponent of what I felt, sir?” said he, savagely. “I +don't remember that in our one single conversation we touched on these +things.” + +“Tony!” cried Alice, in a low voice, full of deep feeling and +sorrow,--“Tony!” + +“Good-bye, Alice; I 'm sorry to have detained you, but I thought--I +don't know what I thought. Remember me to Bella,--good-bye!” He turned +away; then suddenly, as if remembering himself, wheeled round and said, +“Good-morning, sir,” with a short quick nod of his head. The moment +after he had sprung over the low wall at the roadside, and was soon lost +to view in the tall ferns. + +“How changed he is! I declare I can scarcely recognize him,” said Mrs. +Trafford, as they resumed their journey. “He used to be the gentlest, +easiest, and softest of all natures,--never put out, never crossed by +anything.” + +“And so I 've no doubt you 'd have found him to-day if I had not been +here.” + +“What do you mean?” + +“Surely you remarked the sudden change that came over his face when he +saw me. He thought you were alone. At all events, he never speculated on +finding me at your side.” + +“Indeed!” said she, with an air of half-offended pride; “and are you +reputed to be such a very dangerous person that to drive out with you +should inspire all this terror?” + +“I don't believe I am,” said Maitland, laughing; “but perhaps your +rustic friend might be pardoned if he thought so.” + +“How very subtle that is! Even in your humility you contrive to shoot a +bolt at poor Tony.” + +“And why poor? Is he poor who is so rich in defenders? Is it a sign of +poverty when a man can afford to dispense with all the restraints that +attach to others, and say and do what he likes, with the certainty that +it will all be submitted to? I call that wealth unbounded,--at least, it +is the one prize that money confers; and if one can have it without the +dross, I 'd say, Give me the privilege and keep the title-deeds.” + +“Mr. Maitland,” said she, gravely, “Tony Butler is not in the least like +what you would represent him. In my life I never knew any one so full of +consideration for others.” + +“Go on,” said he, laughing. “It's only another goldmine of his you are +displaying before me. Has he any other gifts or graces?” + +“He has a store of good qualities, Mr. Maitland; they are not, perhaps, +very showy ones.” + +“Like those of some other of our acquaintance,” added he, as if +finishing her speech for her. “My dear Mrs. Trafford, I would not +disparage your early friend--your once playfellow--for the world. +Indeed, I feel, if life could be like a half-holiday from school, he 'd +be an admirable companion to pass it with; the misfortune is that these +men must take their places in the common tournament with the rest of +us, and then they are not so certain of making a distinguished figure as +when seen in the old playground with bat and ball and wicket.” + +“You mean that such a man as Tony Butler will not be likely to make a +great career in life?” + +His reply was a shrug of the shoulders. + +“And why not, pray?” asked she, defiantly. + +“What if you were to ask Mark this question? Let him give you his +impressions on this theme.” + +“I see what it is,” cried she, warmly. “You two fine gentlemen have +conspired against this poor simple boy,--for really, in all dealings +with the world, he is a boy; and you would like us to believe that if we +saw him under other circumstances and with other surroundings, we should +be actually ashamed of him. Now, Mr. Maitland, I resent this supposition +at once, and I tell you frankly I am very proud of his friendship.” + +“You are pushing me to the verge of a great indiscretion; in fact, you +have made it impossible for me to avoid it,” said he, seriously. “I must +now trust you with a secret, or what I meant to be one. Here it is. +Of course, what I am about to tell you is strictly to go no +further,--never, never to be divulged. It is partly on this young man's +account--chiefly so--that I am in Ireland. A friend of mine--that same +Caffarelli of whom you heard--was commissioned by a very eccentric old +Englishman who lives abroad, to learn if he could hear some tidings +of this young Butler,--what sort of person he was, how brought up, how +educated, how disciplined. The inquiry came from the desire of a person +very able indeed to befriend him materially. The old man I speak of is +the elder brother of Butler's father; very rich and very influential. +This old man, I suppose, repenting of some harshness or other to his +brother in former days, wants to see Tony,--wants to judge of him for +himself,--wants, in fact, without disclosing the relationship between +them, to pronounce whether this young fellow is one to whom he could +rightfully bequeath a considerable fortune, and place before the +world as the head of an honored house; but he wants to do this without +exciting hopes or expectations, or risking, perhaps, disappointments. +Now, I know very well by repute something of this eccentric old man, +whose long life in the diplomatic service has made him fifty times more +lenient to a moral delinquency than to a solecism in manners, and +who could forgive the one and never the other. If he were to see your +diamond in the rough, he 'd never contemplate the task of polishing,--he +'d simply say, 'This is not what I looked for; I don't want a +gamekeeper, or a boatman, or a horse-breaker.'” + +“Oh, Mr. Maitland!” + +“Hear me out. I am representing, and very faithfully representing, +another; he 'd say this more strongly too than I have, and he 'd leave +him there. Now, I 'm not very certain that he 'd be wrong; permit me +to finish. I mean to say that in all that regards what the old +Minister-plenipotentiary acknowledges to be life, Master Tony would +not shine. The solid qualities you dwelt on so favorably are like rough +carvings; they are not meant for gilding. Now, seeing the deep interest +you and all your family take in this youth, and feeling as I do a +sincere regard for the old lady his mother, in whose society I have +passed two or three delightful mornings, I conceived a sort of project +which might possibly give the young fellow a good chance of success. I +thought of taking him abroad,--on the Continent,--showing him something +of life and the world in a sphere in which he had not yet seen it; +letting him see for himself the value men set upon tact and address, +and making him feel that these are the common coinage daily intercourse +requires, while higher qualities are title-deeds that the world only +calls for on emergencies.” + +“But you could never have persuaded him to such a position of +dependence.” + +“I'd have called him my private secretary; I'd have treated him as my +equal.” + +“It was very generous; it was nobly generous.” + +“When I thought I had made him presentable anywhere,--and it would not +take long to do so--I'd have contrived to bring him under his uncle's +notice,--as a stranger, of course: if the effect were favorable, well +and good; if it proved a failure, there was neither disappointment nor +chagrin. Mrs. Butler gave me a half assent, and I was on the good +road with her son till this morning, when that unlucky meeting has, I +suspect, spoiled everything.” + +“But why should it?” + +“Why should anything happen as men's passions or impulses decide it? Why +should one man be jealous of the good fortune that another man has not +won?” + +She turned away her bead and was silent. + +“I 'd not have told you one word of this, Mrs. Trafford, if I had not +been so sore pressed that I could n't afford to let you, while defending +your friend, accuse me of want of generosity and unfairness. Let me own +it frankly,--I was piqued by all your praises of this young man; they +sounded so like insidious criticisms on others less fortunate in your +favor.” + +“As if the great Mr. Maitland could care for any judgments of mine!” + said she; and there was in her voice and manner a strange blending of +levity and seriousness. + +“They are the judgments that he cares most for in all the world,” said +he, eagerly. “To have heard from your lips one half the praise, one +tenth part of the interest you so lately bestowed on that young man--” + +“Where are we going, George? What river is this?” exclaimed she, +suddenly. + +“To Tilney Park, ma'am; this is the Larne.” + +“But it's the upper road, and I told you to take the lower road, by +Captain Graham's.” + +“No, ma'am; you only said Tilney.” + +“Is it possible? and did n't you tell him, Mr. Maitland?” + +“I? I knew nothing of the road. To tell you the truth,” added he, in +a whisper, “I cared very little where it led, so long as I sat at your +side.” + +“Very flattering, indeed! Have we passed the turn to the lower road very +far, George?” + +“Yes, ma'am; it's a good five miles behind us, and a bad bit of road +too,--all fresh stones.” + +“And you were so anxious to call at the cottage?” said she, addressing +Maitland, with a smile of some significance. + +“Nothing of the kind. I made some sort of silly promise to make a visit +as I passed. I 'm sure I don't know why, or to gratify whom.” + +“Oh, cruel Mr. Maitland, false Mr. Maitland I how can you say this? +But are we to go back?--that is the question; for I see George is very +impatient, and trying to make the horses the same.” + +“Of course not. Go back! it was all the coachman's fault,--took the +wrong turning, and never discovered his blunder till we were--I don't +know where.” + +“Tilney, George,--go on,” said she; then turning to Maitland, “and do +you imagine that the charming Sally Graham or the fascinating Rebecca +will understand such flimsy excuses as these, or that the sturdy old +Commodore will put up with them?” + +“I hope so, for their sakes at least; for it will save them a world of +trouble to do so.” + +“Ungrateful as well as perfidious! You were a great favorite with the +Grahams. Beck told me, the night before they left the Abbey, that you +were the only _élégant_--exquisite she called it--she ever met that was +n't a fool.” + +“The praise was not extravagant. I don't feel my cheek growing hot under +it.” + +“And Sally said that if she had not seen with her own eyes, she'd never +have believed that a man with such a diamond ring, and such wonderful +pendants to his watch, could hook an eight-pound salmon, and bring him +to land.” + +“That indeed touches me,” said he, laying his hand over his heart. + +“And old Graham himself declared to my father that if one of his girls +had a fancy that way, though you were n't exactly his style of man, nor +precisely what he 'd choose--” + +“Do spare me. I beseech you, have _some_ pity on me.” + +“That he'd not set himself against it; and that, in fact, with a good +certificate as to character, and the approved guarantee of respectable +people, who had known you some years--” + +“I implore you to stop.” + +“Of course I'll stop when you tell me the theme is one too delicate to +follow up; but, like all the world, you let one run into every sort +of indiscretion, and only cry Halt when it is too late to retire. The +Grahams, however, are excellent people,--old G. G., as they call him, a +distinguished officer. He cut out somebody or something from under the +guns of a Spanish fort, and the girls have refused--let me see whom they +have not refused; but I 'll make them tell you, for we 'll certainly +call there on our way back.” + +The malicious drollery with which she poured out all this had heightened +her color and given increased brilliancy to her eyes. Instead of the +languid delicacy which usually marked her features, they shone now with +animation and excitement, and became in consequence far more beautiful. +So striking was the change that Maitland paid little attention to the +words, while he gazed with rapture at the speaker. + +It must have been a very palpable admiration he bestowed, for she drew +down her veil with an impatient jerk of the hand, and said, “Well, sir, +doesn't this arrangement suit you, or would you rather make your visit +to Port-Graham alone?” + +“I almost think I would,” said he, laughing. “I suspect it would be +safer.” + +“Oh, now that I know your intentions,--that you have made me your +confidante,--you 'll see that I can be a marvel of discretion.” + +“Put up your veil again, and you may be as _maligne_ as you please.” + +“There! yonder is Tilney,” said she, hastily, “where you see those fine +trees. Are the horses distressed, George?” + +“Well, ma'am, they 've had enough of it” + +“I mean, are they too tired to go round by the river-side and the old +gate?” + +“It's a good two miles round, ma'am.” + +“Oh, I know what that means,” said she, in a whisper. “If there should +be anything amiss for the next three months, it will be that cruel day's +work down at Tilney will be charged with it. Go in by the new lodge,” + added she, aloud; “and as they have innumerable carriages here, Mr. +Maitland, I 'll take you a drive over there to-morrow. It's a very nice +thing, is n't it, to be as rich as old Mrs. Maxwell, and to be always +playing the part of 'Good Fairy,' giving splendid banquets, delicious +little country-parties to all the world; offering horses to ride, boats +to sail in? What _are_ you looking at so fixedly?” + +“I think I recognize a conveyance I once had the happiness to travel in. +Isn't that the Graham equipage before us?” + +“I declare, it is!” cried she, joyfully. “Oh, lucky Mr. Maitland; they +are going to Tilney.” + +As she spoke, George, indignant at being dusted by a shambling old +mare with long fetlocks, gathered up his team in hand, and sent them +“spinning” past the lumbering jaunting-car, giving the Grahams only time +to recognize the carriage and its two occupants. + + + +CHAPTER XIX. TONY'S TROUBLES + +When Tony Butler met Mrs. Trafford's carriage, he was on his road, by a +cross path, to the back entrance of Lyle Abbey. It was not his intention +to pay a visit there at that moment, though he was resolved to do so +later. His present errand was to convey a letter he had written to +Maitland, accepting the proposal of the day before. + +He had not closed his eyes all night thinking of it. There was a +captivation in its promise of adventure that he felt to be irresistible. +He knew too well the defects of his nature and of his intelligence not +to be aware that, in any of the ordinary and recognized paths in life, +he must see himself overtaken and left behind by almost all. What were +called the learned professions were strictly debarred to him. Had he +even the means for the study he would not have the qualities to pursue +them. + +He did not feel that he could take willingly to a trade; as little +could he be a clerk. To be sure, he had obtained this appointment as +messenger, but how disparagingly Maitland had spoken of it! He said, +it is true they “weren't bad things,” that “gentlemen somehow or other +managed to live on them;” but he hinted that these were gentlemen +whose knowledge of life had taught them a variety of little +accomplishments,--such as whist, billiards, and _écarté_,--which form +the traffic of society, and a very profitable traffic too, to him who +knows a little more of them than his neighbors. Worst of all, it was +a career, Maitland said, that led to nothing. You can become an “old +messenger,” if you live long enough, but nothing more; and he pictured +the life of a traveller who had lost every interest in the road he +journeyed,--who, in fact, only thought of it with reference to the time +it occupied,--as one of the dreariest of all imaginable things. “This +monotony,” added he, “will do for the fellow who has seen everything and +done everything; not for the fresh spirit of youth, eager to taste, +to learn, and to enjoy. A man of your stamp ought to have a wider and +better field,--a sphere wherein his very vitality will have fair play. +Try it; follow it if you can, Butler,” said he; “but I'm much mistaken +in you, if you 'll be satisfied to sit down with a station that only +makes you a penny-postman magnified.” Very few of us have courage to +bear such a test as this,--to hear the line we are about to take, the +service we are about to enter, the colony we are about to sail for, +disparaged, unmoved. + +The unknown has always enough of terror about it without the dark +forebodings of an evil prophet. + +“I like Maitland's project better,” said Tony, after a long night's +reflection. “At all events, it's the sort of thing to suit _me_. If I +should come to grief, it will be a sad day for poor mother; but the same +might happen to me when carrying a despatch-bag. I think he ought to +have been more explicit, and let me hear for whom I am to fight, +though, perhaps, it does n't much signify. I could fight for any one but +Yankees! I think I 'll say 'done.' This Maitland is a great 'Don;' has, +apparently, fortune and station. It can't be a mistake to sail in the +same boat with _him_. I'll certainly say 'done.'” With this resolve he +jumped out of bed, and wrote the following brief note:-- + + “Burnside, Tuesday morning. + + “Dear Sir,--I'll not take the three days you gave me + to consider your offer; I accept it at once.--Yours truly, + + “Tony Butler. + + “Norman Maitland, Esq., Lyle Abbey.” + +“I'll have to write to Skeffy,” said he to himself, “and say you may +tell my noble patron that I don't want the messengership, and that when +next I call at the Office I 'll kick Willis for nothing. I don't suppose +that this is the formal way of resigning; but I take it they 'll not +be sorry to be quit of me, and it will spare the two old coves in white +cravats all the trouble of having me plucked at the examination. Poor +Skeffy won't be pleased, though; he was to have 'coached me' in foreign +tongues and the Rule of Three. Well, I 'm glad I 'm in for a line of +life where nobody asks about Colenso's Arithmetic, nor has so much as +heard of Ollendorff's Method. Oh dear! how much happier the world must +have been when people weren't so confoundedly well informed!--so awfully +brimful of all knowledge as they now are! In those pleasant days, +instead of being a black sheep, I 'd have been pretty much like the rest +of the flock.” + +The speculations on this topic--this golden age of ignorance and +bliss--occupied him all the way, as he walked over the hills to leave +his letter at the gate-lodge for Mr. Maitland. + +Resisting all the lodge-keeper's inducements to talk,--for he was an +old friend of Tony's, and wanted much to know where he had been and +what doing of late, and why he was n't up at the Abbey every day as +of yore,--Tony refused to hear of all the sad consequences that had +followed on his absence; how the “two three-year-olds had gone back in +their training;” how “Piper wouldn't let a saddle be put on his back;” + how the carp were all dying in the new pond, nobody knew why,--there was +even something gone wrong with the sun-dial over the stable, as though +the sun himself had taken his departure in dudgeon, and would n't look +straight on the spot since. These were, with many more, shouted after +him as he turned away, while he, laughing, called out, “It will be all +right in a day or two, Mat. I 'll see to everything soon.” + +“That I 'll not,” muttered he to himself when alone. “The smart +hussar--the brave Captain--may try his hand now. I 'd like to see him +on Piper. I only wish that he may mount him with the saddle tightly +girthed; and if he does n't cut a somerset over his head, my name is n't +Tony! Let us see, too, what he 'll do with those young dogs; they 're +wild enough by this time! I take it he 's too great a swell to know +anything about gardening or grafting; so much the worse for my Lady's +flower-pot! There 's one thing I 'd like to be able to do every morning +of my life,” thought he, in sadder mood,--“just to give Alice's chestnut +mare one canter, to make her neck flexible and her mouth light, and to +throw her back on her haunches. And then, if I could only see Alice on +her! just to see her as she bends down over the mane and pats the mare's +shoulder to coax her not to buck-leap! There never was a picture that +equalled it! the mare snorting and with eyes flashing, and Alice all the +while caressing her, and saying, 'How silly you are, Maida! come, now, +do be gentle!'” + +These thoughts set others in motion,--the happy, happy days of long ago; +the wild, half-reckless gallops over the fern-clad hills in the clear +bright days of winter; or the still more delightful saunterings of a +summer's eve on the sea-shore!--none of them--not one--ever to come back +again. It was just as his reveries had reached so far that he caught +sight of the four dappled grays--they were Alice's own--swinging +smoothly along in that long easy stride by which thoroughbreds persuade +you that work is no distress to them. It was only as they breasted the +hill that he saw that the bearing-reins were not let down,--a violation +of a precept on which he was inexorable; and he hastened, with all the +speed he could, to catch them ere they gained the crest of the ridge. + +To say the truth, Tony was somewhat ashamed of himself for his long +absence from the Abbey. If it was not ingratitude, it had a look of it. +_They_ knew nothing of what had passed between Mark and himself, and +could only pronounce upon his conduct as fickleness, or worse; and he +was glad of an opportunity to meet them less formally than by a regular +morning visit. Either Alice and her sister, or Alice alone, were certain +to be in the carriage; for Lady Lyle was too timid to trust herself with +those “grays;” and so he bounded forward, his heart full of expectancy, +and burning once more to hear that voice whose very chidings were as +music to him. + +He was close to the carriage before he saw Maitland,--indeed, the sight +of Alice, as he drew near, had so entranced him that he saw nothing +else; but when his eyes did fall on her companion, a pang shot through +him as though he had been stabbed. In the raging jealousy of the moment +everything was forgotten but his passion,--his hatred of that man. He 'd +have given his right hand to be able to hurl at him a mortal defiance, +to have dared him to the death. Indeed, so far as the insolence of his +stare could convey his meaning, it declared an open war between them. +Nor did Maitland's attitude assuage this anger; he lay back with a +cool assumption of superiority--an air of triumphant satisfaction--that +seemed to say, Each of us is in the place that befits him. + +So overcome was he by passion, that even Alice's invitation to get into +the carnage sounded like an outrage to his ears. It was bitter enough +to cast him off without making him witness the success of another. +Maitland's daring to apologize for him--to explain away why he had or +had not done this, that, or t' other--was more than his endurance could +brook; and as he hurried away from the spot, dashing recklessly down +cliff and crag, and sprang from rock to rock without a thought of the +peril, he almost accused himself of cowardice and cold-bloodedness for +not having insulted him on the instant, and by some open outrage forced +upon him a quarrel from which there could be no retreating. “If I 'd +insulted him before her,” cried he, “he never could have evaded me by +calling me an angry boy.” + +“I'll have no companionship with him, at all events,” said he, suddenly +checking himself in his speed; “he shall neither be leader nor comrade +of mine. I 'll get my letter back before it reach him.” With this +resolve he turned his steps back again to the Abbey. Although he knew +well that he must reach the lodge before they could return from their +drive, he hurried along as though his life depended on it The keeper +was out, but Tony dashed into the lodge, and found, as he expected, the +letter on the chimney; he tore it into fragments, and turned away. + +The day was already drawing to a close as he descended the little path +to the Burnside, and saw his mother awaiting him in the porch. As +he came nearer, he perceived that she held up a letter in her hand. +“Something important, Tony dear,” cried she. “It is printed at top, 'On +H. M's Service,' and marked 'Immediate' underneath. I have been very +impatient all the day for your return.” + +Although Tony's mood at the moment did not dispose him to be on the very +best terms with the world at large, nor even with himself, he felt a +strange sort of vainglorious glow through him at being addressed on a +great square-shaped envelope, “On Her Majesty's Service,” and with +a huge seal, the royal arms affixed. It imparted a sense of +self-importance that was very welcome at such a moment It was a spoonful +of brandy to a man not far from fainting. + +With all this, he did n't like his mother to see how much this gratified +or interested him; and he tossed the letter to one side, and said, “I +hope the dinner isn't far off; I'm very hungry.” + +“It will be on the table in a few minutes, Tony; but let us hear what +Her Majesty wants with you.” + +“It's nothing that won't keep till I have eaten my dinner, mother; at +all events, I don't mean to inquire.” + +“I suppose I may break the seal myself, then,” said she, in a +half-pique. + +“If you like,--if you have any curiosity in the matter.” + +“That I have,” said she, tearing open the envelope. “Why, it's nothing, +after all, Tony. It's not from Her Majesty at all. It begins 'Dear +Butler.'” + +“It's from Skeffy,” cried he, taking it from her hands, “and is far more +interesting to me than if it came from the Premier.” + +Mrs. Butler sat down, disappointed and sad. It was a reminiscence of +long ago, that formally shaped document, with its big seal, reminding +her of days when the Colonel--her Colonel--used to receive despatches +from the War Office,--grave documents of which he seldom spoke, but +whose importance she could read in the thoughtful lines of his face, and +which always impressed her with his consequence. “Ah, dear!” sighed she, +drearily, “who would have thought it?” + +So is it very often in this same world of ours, that the outsides of +things are only solemn cheats. The orderly, who terrifies the village as +he dashes past at speed, is but the bearer of an invitation to dine. +The ambassador's bag is filled not with protocols and treaties, but +with fish-sauce or pickled walnuts; the little sack--marked “most +important”--being choke-full of Russian cigarettes. Even lawn and +lawyers' wigs are occasionally the external coverings to qualities that +fall short of absolute wisdom; so that though Mrs. Butler exclaimed, +“Who would have thought it?” one more conversant with life would have +felt less surprise and less disappointment. + +A laugh from Tony--almost a hearty laugh--startled her from her musings. +“What is it, Tony dear?” asked she,--“what is it that amuses you?” + +“I'll read it all for you, mother. It's from Skeffy, and you 'd think +you heard him talking, it's so like him. + +“'F. O., Sunday morning. + +“'Dear Butler,--What a fright you have given us all, old fellow, to have +levanted so suddenly, leaving your traps with the waiter, as we first +thought, but, as we afterwards discovered, exchanging them with one Rory +Quin, who, apparently sorry for his bargain, came for three successive +mornings to the hotel to find out your present whereabouts.' + +“Do you understand him, mother?” asked Tony at this. + +“Partly,--go on.” + +He resumed: “'Rory, however, would seem to have a private scrape of his +own to occupy him now, for I found to-day that a policeman was waiting +all the morning to arrest him, of which he seems to have had timely +notice, for he did not appear, and “R. 960” says, with much solemnity, +“he won't come no more."'” + +“What does that mean, Tony?” + +“I can make nothing of it. I hope and trust that I am not the cause of +the poor fellow's troubles. I 'll write about this at once. 'More of all +this, however, when we meet, which, I rejoice to say, will be soon. +I have got fourteen days' leave, and am going over to your immediate +neighborhood, to visit an aunt, or a cousin, or a grandmother,--if she +likes,--a certain Mrs. Maxwell of Tilney, who has lots of cash, and no +one to leave it to,--five thousand a year in estate; I don't know what +in the Threes; and is, they tell me, weighing all her relatives, real or +imaginary, in the balance of her esteem, to decide who is to be the Lord +of Tilney, and which of us would most worthily represent her name and +house. Preaching for a call is nothing to this; and a C. S. examination +is cakes and gingerbread to it Just fancy a grand competitive dinner of +both sexes, and the old lady watching who ate of her favorite dish, or +who passed the decanter she “affectioned.” Imagine yourself talking, +moving, sneezing, smiling, or blowing your nose, with five thousand a +year on the issue. Picture to your mind the tortures of a scrutiny that +may take in anything, from your complexion to your character, and which, +though satisfied with your morals, might discover “something unpleasing +about your mouth.” + +“'Worst news of all, I hear that the great Norman Maitland is somewhere +in your vicinity, and, of course, will be invited wherever anything is +going on. If he cares to do it, I suppose he 'll cut us all out, and +that the old lady would rather fancy she made a graceful exit from life +if this illustrious swell were to play chief mourner to her. By the way, +do you know the man I 'm talking of? He's a monstrous clever fellow, and +a great mystery to boot. I know him very slightly; indeed, so slightly +that I'm not sure he knows_ me_. + +“'As it would be invaluable to me to have a word of counsel from you, +knowing nothing, or next to nothing, of my dear relative, I mean to +start directly for you at once, and have one day with you before I go on +to Tilney. Will this bore you, or inconvenience you? Is your house full? +Most houses are at this time o' year.'” + +At this Tony laid down the letter and laughed immoderately; not so, +however, his mother. She turned her head away, and sat, with her hands +closely locked, in silence. + +“Is n't it good,--is n't it downright droll, mother, to ask if our house +be so full of guests we have no room for another? I declare, though it +has a sore side to it, the question overcomes me with its absurdity.” + +“That's not the way I 'm looking at it, Tony,” said she, sadly. + +“But there's no other way to look at it. If one can't take that view of +it, one would--” He stopped suddenly, for he saw the old lady lift +her handkerchief to her eyes, and hold it there. “But you are right, +mother,” said he, quickly. “To bear it well, one need n't laugh at it. +At all events, what answer are we to make him?” + +“Finish the letter first.” + +“Ah, this is all about putting him up--anywhere--in a dressing-room or +a closet. 'At Carlscourt, last year, they had nothing to give me but a +bathroom. They used to quiz me about sleeping in “marble halls,” for I +lay in the bath.'” + +“He seems a good-tempered creature,” said the old lady, who could not +repress a laugh this time. + +“The best in the world; and such spirits! I wish you saw him do the +back-somersault over a chair, or the frog's leap across a table. For +all that, mother,” said he, with a change of tone, “he's a perfect +gentleman; and though he's very short,--only so high,--he looks a +gentleman, too.” + +“I am not likely to forget all his kindness to you, Tony,” said she, +feelingly. “If we could only receive him suitably, I 'd be happy and +proud to do it; as it is, however, the man, being a gentleman, will put +up all the better with our humble entertainment: so just tell him to +come, Tony; but tell him, also, what he's coming to. His room will be +pretty much like the bathroom, and the company he'll meet afterwards +very unlike what he saw at the fine house.” + +“He 'll take all in good part, or I 'm much mistaken in him. So here +goes for the answer:-- + + “'Dear Skeff,--We live in a cottage with five rooms. We have + one maidservant, and we dine at two. If you have courage to + face all this, you'll have the heartiest of welcomes from my + mother and your sincere friend, + + “'Tony Butler. + + “'The mail will drop you at Coleraine, and I 'll be on the + look-out for you every morning from this forward.' + +“Won't that do, mother?” asked he. + +“I think you might have done it better; but I suppose you young folk +understand each other best in your own fashion, so let it be.” + + + +CHAPTER XX. THE MINISTER'S VISIT + +While Tony was absent that morning from home, Mrs. Butler had a visit +from Dr. Stewart; he came over, he said, to see Tony, and ask the news +of what he had done in England. “I hope, ma'am,” said he,--and there was +something dry and reserved in his manner,--“I hope, ma'am, your son +has brought you good tidings of his late journey. A big city is a big +temptation, and we dinna want temptations in this world of ours.” + +“I know it well, doctor,” said she, with a sigh; “and if it had been +any other than Tony--Ah, doctor! why do you shake your head? you make me +think you 've heard something or other. What is it, sir?” + +“It's just nothing at all, Mrs. Butler, but your own fears, and very +proper fears too they are, for a young lad that goes away from home for +the first time in his life, and to such a place too. Ah me!” cried he, +in a soil of apostrophe, “it 's not so easy to be in grace down about +Charing Cross and the Hay market.” + +“You 're just frightening me, Dr. Stewart; that's what it is you are +doing.” + +“And I say it again, ma'am, it's yourself is the cause o' it all. But +tell me what success he has had,--has he seen Sir Harry Elphinstone?” + +“That he has, and seen a greater than Sir Harry; he has come back with a +fine place, doctor; he's to be one of the Queen's--I forget whether they +call them couriers or messengers--that bring the state despatches all +over the world; and, as poor dear Tony says, it's a place that was made +for him,--for they don't want Greek or Latin, or any more book-learning +than a country gentleman should have. + +“What are you sighing about, Dr. Stewart? There's nothing to sigh over +getting five, maybe six, hundred a year.” + +“I was not sighing; I was only thinkin'. And when is he to begin this +new life?” + +“If you are sighing over the fall it is for a Butler, one of his kith +and kin, taking a very humble place, you may just spare your feelings, +doctor, for there are others as good as himself in the same employ.” + +“And what does Sir Arthur say to it, ma'am?” asked he, as it were to +divert her thoughts into another course. + +“Well, if you must know, Dr. Stewart,” said she, drawing herself up and +smoothing down her dress with dignity, “we have ventured to take this +step without consulting Sir Arthur or any of his family.” + +A somewhat long silence ensued. At last she said: “If Tony was at home, +doctor, he 'd tell you how kindly his father's old friend received +him,--taking up stories of long ago, and calling him Watty, just as he +used to do. And so, if they did not give my poor boy a better place, +it was because there was nothing just ready at the moment, perhaps,--or +nothing to fit him; for, as Sir Harry said laughingly, 'We can't make +you a bishop, I fear.'” + +“I dinna see anything against it,” muttered the old minister, not sorry +for the chance of a shot against Episcopacy. + +“I'm thinking, Dr. Stewart,” said she, tartly, “that your rheumatism +must be troubling you to-day; and, indeed, I 'm ashamed to say I never +asked you how the pains were?” + +“I might be better, and I might be worse, ma'am,” was the qualified +reply; and again came a pause. + +“Tony was saying the other day, doctor,” resumed she, “that if you will +try a touch of what he calls the white oils.” + +“I 'm very much obliged to him, Mrs. Butler; he put a touch of the same +white oils on my pony one day, and the beast that was always a lamb +before just kicked me over his head when I got into the saddle.” + +“You forget, doctor, you are not a beast of burden yourself.” + +“We 're all beasts of burden, ma'am,--all of us,--even the best, if +there be any best! heavy laden wi' our sins, and bent down wi' our +transgressions. No, no,” added he, with a slight asperity, “I 'll have +none of his white oils.” + +“Well, you know the proverb, doctor, 'He that winna use the means must +bear the moans.'” + +“'T is a saying that hasna much sense in it,” said the doctor, crankily; +“for who's to say when the means is blessed?” + +Here was a point that offered so wide a field for discussion that the +old lady did not dare to make a rejoinder. + +“I 'll be going to Derry to-morrow, Mrs. Butler,” resumed he, “if I can +be of any service to you.” + +“Going to Derry, doctor? that's a long road for you!” + +“So it is, ma'am; but I'm going to fetch back my dochter Dolly; she's to +come by the packet to-morrow evening.” + +“Dolly coming home! How is that? You did not expect her, did you?” + +“Not till I got her letter this morning; and that's what made me come +over to ask if Tony had, maybe, told you something about how she was +looking, and what sort of spirits she seemed in; for her letter's very +short; only says, 'I 've got a kind of longing to be back again, dear +father; as the song says, “It's hame, and it's hame, and it's hame I +fain wad be;” and as I know well there will be an open heart and an open +door to greet me, I 'm off tonight for Liverpool.'” + +“She 's a good girl, and whatever she does it will be surely for the +best,” said the old lady. + +“I know it well;” and he wiped his eyes as he spoke. “But I 'm sore +troubled to think it's maybe her health is breaking, and I wanted to ask +Tony about her. D' ye remember, ma'am, how he said she was looking?” + +Now, if there was anything thoroughly repugnant to the old lady's +habits, it was untruthfulness; and yet, as Tony had not mentioned Dolly +since his return, her only escape was by a little evasion, saying, “When +he wrote to me his first letter from London, doctor, he said, 'I was +sorry to find Dolly looking pale, and I thought thin also; besides,' +added he, 'they have cut off her pretty brown hair.'” + +“Yes, she told me of that,” sighed the doctor. “And in her last note +she says again, 'Dinna think me a fright father dear, for it's growing +again, and I 'm not half so ugly as I was three weeks ago;' for the +lassie knows it was always a snare to me, and I was ever pleased wi' her +bright, cheery face.” + +“And a bright, cheery face it was!” + +“Ye mind her smile, Mrs. Butler. It was like hearing good news to see +it. Her mother had the same.” And the old man's lip trembled, and his +cheek too, as a heavy tear rolled slowly down it. “Did it ever strike +you, ma'am,” added he, in a calmer tone, “that there's natures in this +world gi'en to us just to heal the affections, as there are herbs and +plants sent to cure our bodily ailments?” + +“It's a blessed thought, doctor.” + +“Eh, ma'am, it's more than a thought; it's a solemn truth. But I 'm +staying o'er-long; I 've to go over to John Black's and see his sister +before I leave; and I 'd like, too, to say a word o' comfort to auld +Matty McClintock.” + +“You 'll be back for the Sabbath, doctor?” asked she. + +“Wi' _His_ help and blessing, ma'am.” + +“I was thinking if maybe you and dear Dolly would come and take dinner +here--Saturday--there will be nothing ready for you at home; and it +would be such a pleasure to Tony before he goes away.” + +“T thank you heartily, Mrs. Butler; but our first evening under the auld +roof we must e'en have it by ourselves. You 'll no think the worse o' us +for this, I am sure, ma'am.” + +“Certainly not; then shall we say Monday? Dolly will be rested by that +time, and Tony talks of leaving me so soon.” + +“I 'll just, wi' your good leave--I 'll just wait till I see Dolly; for +maybe she 'll no be ower-strong when she comes. There's nothing I can do +for you in Derry, is there?” + +“Nothing, sir,--nothing that I think of at this moment,” said she, +coldly; for the doctor's refusal of her second invitation had piqued her +pride, and whether it was from his depression or some other cause, the +doctor himself seemed less cordial than was his wont, and took his leave +with more ceremony than usual. + +The old lady watched him till he was out of sight, sorely perplexed to +divine whether he had really unburdened his conscience of all he had +to say, or had yet something on his mind unrevealed. Her kindly nature, +however, in the end, mastered all other thoughts; and as she sat down +once more to her knitting, she muttered, “Poor man! it's a sore stroke +of poverty when the sight of one's only child coming back to them brings +the sense of distress and want with it.” The words were not well uttered +when she saw Tony coming up the little pathway; he was striding along at +his own strong pace, but his hat was drawn down over his brows, and be +neither looked right nor left as he went. + +“Did you meet the doctor, Tony?” said she, as she opened the door for +him. + +“No; how should I meet him? I've not been to the Burn Bide.” + +“But he has only left the house this minute,--you must have passed each +other.” + +“I came down the cliff. I was taking a short cut,” said he, as he threw +himself into a seat, evidently tired and weary. + +“He has been here to say that he's off for Derry to-night with the mail +to meet Dolly.” + +“To meet Dolly!” + +“Yes, she's coming back; and the doctor cannot say why, for she's over +that fever she had, and getting stronger every day; and yet she writes, +'You must come and fetch me from Derry, father, for I 'm coming home to +you.' And the old man is sore distressed to make out whether she's ill +again, or what's the meaning of it. And he thought, if he saw you, it +was just possible you could tell him something.” + +“What could I tell him? Why should he imagine I could tell him?” said +Tony, as a deep crimson flush covered his face. + +“Only how she was looking, Tony, and whether you thought she seemed +happy where she was living, and if the folk looked kind to her.” + +“I thought she looked very sickly, and the people about her--the woman +at least--not over-kind. I'm not very sure, too, that Dolly herself was +n't of my mind, though she did n't say so. Poor girl!” + +“It's the poor old father I pity the most, Tony; he's not far off +seventy, if he 's not over it; and sore work he finds it keeping body +and soul together; and now he has the poor sick lassie come back to him, +wanting many a little comfort, belike, that he can't afford her. Ah, +dear! is n't there a deal of misery in this life?” + +“Except for the rich,” said Tony, with an almost savage energy. “They +certainly have fine times of it. I saw that fellow, Maitland, about an +hour ago, lolling beside Alice Lyle--Trafford, I mean, in her carriage, +as if he owned the equipage and all it contained; and why? Just because +he is rich.” + +“He's a fine handsome man, Tony, and has fine manners, and I would not +call him a fellow.” + +“I would, then; and if he only gives me the chance, I 'll call him a +harder name to his face.” + +“Tony, Tony, how can you speak so of one that wanted to befriend you?” + +“Befriend me, mother! You make me ashamed to bear you say such a word. +Befriend me!” + +“What's the matter with you, Tony? You are not talking, no, nor looking +like yourself. What's befallen you, my dear Tony? You went out this +morning so gay and light-hearted, it made me cheery to see you. Ay, and +I did what I 've not done for many a day, I sang to myself over my work +without knowing it, and now you 're come back as dark as night. What's +in it, my boy? tell your poor old mother. What's in it?” + +“There's nothing in it, my own little mother, except that I'm a +good-for-nothing, discontented dog, that sees himself in a very shabby +condition without having the pluck to try and get out of it. I say, +mother, when are we to begin our lessons? That confounded river Danube +goes between me and my rest. Whether it rises in the Black Sea or the +Black Forest is just as great a puzzle to me as whether the word is +spelt 'peo' or 'poe' in 'people.'” + +“Oh, Tony!” + +“It's all very well saying, 'Oh, Tony;' but I tell you, mother, a stupid +fellow ought never to be told two ways for anything: never say to him, +you can do it in this fashion or in that; but, there's the road straight +before you; take care you never go off it.” + +“Mr. Maitland made that same remark to me last week.” + +“Then don't tell it to me, for I hate him. By the way, there's that gun +of his. I forgot to take it back to Lyle Abbey. I think it was precious +cool in him to suppose a stranger--a perfect stranger, as I am--would +accept a present from him.” + +“If you are going to the Abbey, Tony, I wish you 'd leave these books +there, and thank my Lady for all her kind attentions to me; and say a +word to Sir Arthur, too, to excuse my not seeing him when he called. +Tell Gregg, the gardener, not to send me any more vegetables now; it's +the scarce season, and they 'll be wanting them for themselves; and if +you should chance to see Mr. Lockyer, the steward, just mention to him +that the new sluice is just no good at all, and when the rain comes +heavy, and the mill is not working, the water comes up to the kitchen +door. Are you minding me, Tony?” + +“I 'm not sure that I am,” said he, moodily, as he stood examining the +lock of the well-finished rifle. “I was to tell Lady Lyle something +about cabbages or the mill-race,--which was it?” + +“You are not to make a fool of yourself, Tony,” said she, half vexed and +half amused. “I 'll keep my message for another day.” + +“And you'll do well,” said he; “besides, I'm not very sure that I 'll go +further than the gate-lodge;” and so saying, he took his hat, and, with +the rifle on his shoulder, strolled out of the room. + +“Ah! he 's more like his father every day!” sighed she, as she looked +after him; and if there was pride in the memory, there was some pain +also. + + + +CHAPTER XXI. A COMFORTABLE COUNTRY-HOUSE + +If a cordial host and a graceful hostess can throw a wondrous charm over +the hospitalities of a house, there is a feature in those houses where +neither host nor hostess is felt which contributes largely to the +enjoyment of the assembled company. I suspect, indeed, that republics +work more smoothly domestically than nationally. Tilney was certainly +a case in point. Mrs. Maxwell was indeed the owner,--the demesne, the +stables, the horses, the gardens, the fish-ponds, were all hers; but +somehow none of the persons under her roof felt themselves her guests. +It was an establishment in which each lived as he liked, gave his own +orders, and felt very possibly more at home, in the pleasant sense +of the phrase, than in his own house. Dinner alone was a “fixture;” + everything else was at the caprice of each. The old lady herself was +believed to take great pride in the perfect freedom her guests enjoyed; +and there was a story current of a whole family who partook of her +hospitalities for three weeks, meeting her once afterwards in a +watering-place, and only recognizing her as an old woman they saw at +Tilney. Other tales there were of free comments of strangers made upon +the household, the dinners, and such-like to herself, in ignorance of +who she was, which she enjoyed vastly, and was fond of relating, in +strict confidence, to her few intimates. + +If there were a number of pleasant features in such a household, there +were occasionally little trifling drawbacks that detracted slightly from +its perfect working,--mere specks in the sun, it is true, and, after +all, only such defects as are inseparable from all things where humanity +enters and influences. One of these--perhaps the most marked one--was +the presumption of certain _habitués_ to install themselves in certain +rooms, which, from long usage, they had come to regard as their own. +These prescriptive rights were so well understood that the frequenters +of Tilney no more thought of disturbing them than they would of +contesting their neighbors' title-deeds, or appropriating to themselves +some portions of their wardrobes. Occasionally, however, it did +happen that some guest of more than ordinary pretension +arrived,--some individual whose rank or station placed him above these +conventionalities,--and in such cases some deviations from ordinary +routine would occur, but so quietly and peacefully withal as never to +disturb the uniform working of the domestic machinery. + +“I find my rooms always ready for me here,” said Mrs. Trafford; “and +I have no doubt that Mrs. Maxwell has given orders about yours, Mr. +Maitland; but it's your own fault, remember, if you 're not lodged to +your liking.” + +Maitland was not long in making his choice. A little garden pavilion, +which was connected with the house by a glass corridor, suited him +perfectly; it combined comfort and quiet and isolation,--who could ask +for more?--within an easy access of society when it was wanted. There +was the vast old garden, as much orchard and shrubbery as garden, +to stroll in unobserved; and a little bathroom into which the water +trickled all day long with a pleasant drip, drip, that sounded most +soothingly. + +“It's the Commodore's favorite place, sir, this garden-house,” said the +butler, who did the honors to Maitland, “and it's only a chance that +he's not here to claim it. There was some mistake about his invitation, +and I suppose he's not coming.” + +“Yes, I passed him a couple of miles off; he 'll be here almost +immediately.” + +“We 'll put him up on the second floor, sir; the rooms are all newly +done up, and very handsome.” + +“I 'm sorry if I inconvenience him, Mr. Raikes,” said Maitland, +languidly; “but I've got here now, and I'm tired, and my traps are half +taken out; and, in fact, I should be sorrier still to have to change. +You understand me,--don't you?” + +“Perfectly, sir; and my mistress, too, gave orders that you were to have +any room you pleased; and your own hours, too, for everything.” + +“She is most kind. When can I pay my respects to her?” + +“Before dinner, sir, is the usual time. All the new company meet her in +the drawing-room. Oh, there's the Commodore now; I hear his voice, and I +declare they 're bringing his trunks here, after all I said.” + +The old sailor was now heard, in tones that might have roused a +main-deck, calling to the servants to bring down all his baggage to the +pavilion, to heat the bath, and send him some sherry and a sandwich. + +“I see you 're getting ready for me, Raikes,” said he, as the somewhat +nervous functionary appeared at the door. + +“Well, indeed, Commodore Graham, these rooms are just taken.” + +“Taken! and by whom? Don't you know, and have n't you explained, that +they are always mine?” + +“We thought up to this morning, Commodore, that you were not coming.” + +“Who are 'we,'--you and the housemaids, eh? Tell me who are 'we,' sir?” + +“My mistress was greatly distressed, sir, at George's mistake, and she +sent him back late last night.” + +“Don't bother me about that. Who's here,--who has got my quarters, and +where is he? I suppose it's a man.” + +“It's a Mr. Norman Maitland.” + +“By George, I'd have sworn it!” cried the Commodore, getting purple +with passion. “I knew it before you spoke. Go in and say that Commodore +Graham would wish to speak with him.” + +“He has just lain down, sir; he said he did n't feel quite well, and +desired he mightn't be disturbed.” + +“He's not too ill to hear a message. Go in and say that Commodore Graham +wishes to have one word with him. Do you hear me, sir?” + +A flash of the old man's eye and a tighter grasp of his cane--very +significant in their way--sent Mr. Raikes on his errand, from which, +after a few minutes, he came back, saying, in a low whisper, “He's +asleep, sir,--at least I think so; for the bedroom door is locked, and +his breathing comes very long.” + +“This is about the most barefaced, the most outrageously impudent--” He +stopped, checked by the presence of the servant, which he had totally +forgotten. “Take my traps back into the hall,--do you hear me?--the +hall.” + +“If you 'd allow me, sir, to show the yellow rooms upstairs, with the +bow window--” + +“In the attics, I hope?” + +“No, sir,--just over the mistress's own room on the second floor.” + +“I 'll save you that trouble, Mr. Raikes; send Corrie here, my +coachman,--send him here at once.” + +While Mr. Raikes went, or affected to go, towards the stables,--a +mission which his dignity secretly scorned,--the Commodore called out +after him, “And tell him to give the mare a double feed, and put on the +harness again,--do you hear me?--to put the harness on her.” + +Mr. Raikes bowed respectfully; but had the Commodore only seen his face, +he would have seen a look that said, “What I now do must not be taken as +a precedent,--I do it, as the lawyers say, 'without prejudice.'” + +In a glow of hot temper, to which the ascent of two pairs of stairs +contributed something, the old Commodore burst into the room where his +daughters were engaged unpacking. Sofas, tables, and chairs were already +covered with articles of dress, rendering his progress a matter of very +nice steering through the midst of them. + +“Cram them in again,--stow them all away!” cried he; “we 're going +back.” + +“Back where?” asked the elder, in a tone of dignified resistance years +of strong opposition had taught her. + +“Back to Port-Graham, if you know such a place. I 've ordered the car +round to the door, and I mean to be off in a quarter of an hour.” + +“But why--what has happened? what's the reason for this?” + +“The reason is that I 'm not going to be packed up in the top story, or +given a bed in a barrack room. That fellow Raikes,--I 'll remember it to +him next Christmas,--that fellow has gone and given the garden-house to +that Mr. Maitland.” + +“Oh, is that all?” broke in Miss Graham. + +“All, all! Why, what more would you have? Did you expect that he had +told me to brush his coat or fetch his hot water? What the d----l do you +mean by 'all'?” + +“Then why don't you take Mrs. Chetwyn's rooms? They are on this floor. +She's going now. They are most comfortable, and have a south aspect: by +the way she was just talking of Maitland; she knows all about him, and +he is the celebrated Norman Maitland.” + +“Ah, let us hear that. I want to unearth the fellow if I only knew how,” + said he, taking a chair. + +“There's nothing to unearth, papa,” said the younger daughter. “Mrs. +Chetwyn says that there's not a man in England so courted and feted as +he is; that people positively fight for him at country-houses; and it's +a regular bait to one's company to say, 'We 're to have Maitland with +us.'” + +“And who is he?” + +“She does n't know.” + +“What's his fortune?” + +“She doesn't know.” + +“Where is it?” + +“She's not sure. It must be somewhere abroad,--in India, perhaps.” + +“So that this old woman knows just as much as we do ourselves,--which +is simply nothing, but that people go on asking this man about to this +dinner and that shooting just because they met him somewhere else, and +he amused them.” + +“'T is pretty clear that he has money, wherever it comes from,” said +Miss Graham, authoritatively. “He came to Hamilton Court with four +hunters and three hackneys, the like of which were never seen in the +county.” + +“Tell papa about his yacht,” broke in the younger. + +“I don't want to hear about his yacht; I 'd rather learn why he turned +me out of my old quarters.” + +“In all probability he never heard they were yours. Don't you know well +what sort of house this is,--how everybody does what he likes?” + +“Why didn't Alice Lyle--Mrs. Trafford, I mean--tell him that I always +took these rooms.” + +“Because probably she was thinking of something else,” said Miss Graham, +significantly. “Mrs. Chetwyn watched them as they drove up, and she +declared that, if Maitland had n't his hand in her muff, her eyes have +greatly deceived her.” + +“And what if he had?” + +“Simply that it means they are on very excellent terms. Not that Alice +will make any real conquest there: for, as Mrs. Chetwyn said, 'he has +seen far too many of these fine-lady airs and graces to be taken by +them;' and she added, 'A frank, outspoken, natural girl, like your +sister there, always attracts men of this stamp.'” + +“Why didn't he come over on Wednesday, then? It was his own appointment, +and we waited dinner till seven o'clock, and have not had so much as one +line--no, not one line of apology.” + +“Perhaps he was ill, perhaps he was absent; his note might have +miscarried. At all events, I 'd wait till we meet him, and see what +explanation he 'll make.” + +“Yes, papa,” chimed in Beck, “just leave things alone. 'A strange hand +on the rod never hooked the salmon,' is a saying of your own.” + +“There's that stupid fellow brought the car round to the door; just +as if our splendid equipage had n't attracted criticism enough on our +arrival,” said Miss Graham, as she opened the window, and by a gesture +more eloquent than graceful motioned to the servant to return to the +stableyard; “and there come the post-horses,” added she, “for the +Chetwyns. Go now and secure her rooms before you 're too late;” and, +rather forcibly aiding her counsel, she bundled the old Commodore out of +the chamber, and resumed the unpacking of the wardrobe. + +“I declare, I don't know what he'll interfere in next,” said Miss +Graham. + +“Yes,” said Beck, with a weary sigh, “I wish he'd go back to the +American war, and what we did or did not do at Ticonderoga.” + +Leaving these young ladies to discuss in a spirit more critical than +affectionate the old Commodore's ways and habits, let us for a moment +return to Maitland who had admitted young Lyle after two unsuccessful +attempts to see him. + +“It's no easy matter to get an audience of you,” said Mark. “I have been +here I can't say how many times, always to hear Fenton lisp out. In the +bath sir.” + +“Yes. I usually take my siesta that way. With plenty of eau-de-Cologne +in it there 'a no weakening effect. Well, and what is going on here? any +people that I know? I suppose not.” + +“I don't think it very likely: they are all country families, except a +few refreshers from the garrison at Newry and Dundalk.” + +“And what do they do?” + +“Pretty much the same sort of thing you 'd find in an English +country-house. There 's some not very good shooting. They make +riding-parties. They have archery when it's fine, and billiards when it +rains; but they always dine very well at seven, that much I can promise +you.” + +“Not such a cook as your father's, Lyle, I 'm certain.” + +“Perhaps not,” said Mark, evidently flattered by the compliment. “But +the cellar here is unequalled. Do you know that in the mere shadowy +possibility of being one day her heir, I groan every time I see that +glorious Madeira placed on the table before a set of fellows that smack +their lips and say, 'It's good sherry, but a trifle too sweet for my +taste.'” + +“And this same heritage,--how do the chances look?” + +“I shall want your power of penetration to say that. One day the old +woman will take me aside and consult me about fifty things; and the next +she'll say, 'Perhaps we'd better make no changes, Mark. Heaven knows +what ideas they may have who 'll come after me.' She drives me half +distracted with these capricious turns.” + +“It is provoking, no doubt of it.” + +“I 'd not care so much if I thought it was to fall to Bella; though, to +be sure, no good-looking girl needs such a fortune as this. Do you know +that the timber thrown down by the late gales is worth eight thousand +pounds? and Harris the steward tells me it's not one fourth of what +ought to be felled for the sake of the young wood.” + +“And she has the whole and sole disposal of all this?” + +“Every stick of it, and some six thousand acres besides!” + +“I 'd marry her if I were you. I declare I would.” + +“Nonsense! this is a little too absurd.” + +“Amram married his aunt, and I never heard that she had such a dower; +not to say that the relationship in the present case is only a myth.” + +“Please to remember that she is about thirty years older than my +mother.” + +“I bear it most fully in mind, and I scout the vulgar impertinences of +those who ridicule these marriages. I think there is something actually +touching in the watchful care and solicitude of a youthful husband for +the venerable object of his affections.” + +“Well, you shall not point the moral by my case, I promise you,” said +Mark, angrily. + +“That sublime spectacle that the gods are said to love--a great man +struggling with adversity--is so beautifully depicted in these unions.” + +“Then why not--” He was going to say, “Why not marry her yourself?” but +the fear of taking such a liberty with his distinguished friend just +caught him in time and stopped him. + +“I 'll tell you why not,” said Maitland, replying to the unuttered +question. “If you have ever dined at a civic _fête_ you 'll have +remarked that there is some one dish or other the most gluttonous +alderman will suffer to pass untasted,--a sort of sacrifice offered to +public opinion. And so it is, an intensely worldly man, as people are +polite enough to regard me, must show, every now and then, that there +are temptations which he is able to resist. Marrying for money is one of +these. I might speculate in a bubble company, I might traffic in cotton +shares, or even 'walk into' my best friend al faro, but I mustn't marry +for money,--that's positive.” + +“But apparently _I_ might,” said Mark, sulkily. + +“You might,” replied Maitland, with calm dignity of manner. + +“It is a privilege of which I do not mean to avail myself,” said Mark, +while his face was flushed with temper. “Do you know that your friends +the Grahams are here?” + +“Yes; I caught a glimpse of the fair Rebecca slipping sideways through +life on a jaunting-car.” + +“And there's the old Commodore tramping over the house, and worrying +every one with his complaints that you have turned him out of his rooms +here,--rooms dedicated to his comfort for the last thirty years.” + +“Reason enough to surrender them now. Men quit even the Treasury benches +to give the Opposition a turn of office.” + +“He 's a quarrelsome old blade, too,” said Mark, “particularly if he +suspects he's been 'put upon.'” + +“No blame to him for that.” + +“A word or two, said as you well know how to say it, will set all right; +or a line, perhaps, saying that having accidentally heard from me--” + +“No, no, Mark. Written excuses are like undated acceptances, and they +may be presented unexpectedly to you years after you 've forgotten them. +I 'll tell the Commodore that I shall not inconvenience him beyond a day +or two, for I mean to start by the end of the week.” + +“They expect you to come back with us. Alice told me you had promised.” + +“_L'homme propose_,” said he, sighing. “By the way, I saw that young +fellow you told me about,--Butler; a good-looking fellow, too, well +limbed and well set up, but not a marvel of good-breeding or tact.” + +“Did he attempt any impertinences with _you?_” asked Mark, in a tone of +amazement. + +“Not exactly; he was not, perhaps, as courteous as men are who care to +make a favorable impression; but he is not, as you suspected,--he is not +a snob.” + +“Indeed!” said Mark, reddening; for, though provoked and angry, he did +not like to contest the judgment of Norman Maitland on such a point. +“You 'll delight my sisters by this expression of your opinion; for my +own part, I can only say I don't agree with it.” + +“The more reason not to avow it, Lyle. Whenever you don't mean very well +by a man, never abuse him, since, after that, all your judgments of him +become _suspect_. Remember that where you praise you can detract; +nobody has such unlimited opportunities to poison as the doctor. There, +now,--there's a bit of Machiavelism to think over as you dress for +dinner, and I see it's almost time to do so.” + + + +CHAPTER XXII. THE DINNER AT TILNEY. + +When Maitland entered the drawing-room before dinner, the Commodore +was standing in the window-recess pondering over in what way he should +receive him; while Sally and Beck sat somewhat demurely watching +the various presentations to which Mrs. Maxwell was submitting her +much-valued guest. At last Maitland caught sight of where they sat, +and hurried across the room to shake hands with them, and declare the +delight he felt at meeting them. “And the Commodore, is he here?” + +“Yes; I 'll find him for you,” said Beck, not sorry to display before +her country acquaintance the familiar terms she stood on with the great +Mr. Maitland. + +With what a frank cordiality did he shake the old sailor's hand, and +how naturally came that laugh about nothing, or something very close to +nothing, that Graham said, in allusion to the warm quarters they found +themselves in. “Such Madeira!” whispered he, “and some old '34 claret. +By the way, you forgot your promise to taste mine.” + +“I 'll tell you how that occurred when we 've a quiet moment together,” + said Maitland, in a tone of such confidential meaning that the old man +was reassured at once. “I 've a good deal to say to you; but we 'll have +a morning together. You know every one here? Who is that with all the +medals on his coat?” + +“General Carnwroth; and that old woman with the blue turban is his wife; +and these are the Grimsbys; and that short man with the bald head +is Holmes of Narrow Bank, and the good-looking girl there is his +niece,--and heiress too.” + +“What red arms she has!” whispered Maitland. + +“So they are, by Jove!” said Graham, laughing; “and I never noticed it +before.” + +“Take me in to dinner,” said Mrs. Trafford, in a low voice, as she swept +past Maitland. + +“I can't. Mrs. Maxwell has ordered me to give her my arm,” said he, +following her; and they went along for some paces, conversing. + +“Have you made your peace with the Grahams?” asked she, smiling half +maliciously. + +“In a fashion; at least, I have put off the settling-day.” + +“If you take to those morning rambles again with the fair Rebecca, I +warn you it will not be so easy to escape an explanation. Here's Mrs. +Maxwell come to claim you.” + +Heaving with fat and velvet and bugles and vulgar good-humor, the old +lady leaned heavily on Maitland's arm, really proud of her guest, and +honestly disposed to show him that she deemed his presence an honor. “It +seems like a dream to me,” said she, “to see you here after reading of +your name so often in the papers at all the great houses in England. I +never fancied that old Tilney would be so honored.” + +It was not easy to acknowledge such a speech, and even Maitland's +self-possession was pushed to its last limits by it; but this awkward +feeling soon passed away under the genial influence of the pleasant +dinner. And it was as pleasant a dinner as good fare and good wine and a +well-disposed company could make it. + +At first a slight sense of reserve, a shade of restraint, seemed to hold +conversation in check, and more particularly towards where Maitland sat, +showing that a certain dread of him could be detected amongst those who +would have fiercely denied if charged with such a sentiment. + +The perfect urbanity, tinctured, perhaps, with a sort of racy humor, +with which Maitland acknowledged the old Commodore's invitation to +take wine with him, did much to allay this sense of distrust. “I say, +Maitland,” cried he, from the foot of the table, “are you too great a +dandy to drink a glass of wine with me?” + +A very faint flush colored Maitland's cheek, but a most pleasant +smile played on his mouth as he said, “I am delighted, my dear +Commodore,--delighted to repudiate the dandyism and enjoy the claret at +the same time.” + +“They tell me it's vulgar and old-fashioned, and I don't know what else, +to take wine with a man,” resumed the old sailor, encouraged by his +success to engage a wider attention. + +“I only object to the custom when practised at a royal table,” said +Maitland, “and where it obliges you to rise and drink your wine +standing.” As some of the company were frank enough to own that they +heard of the etiquette for the first time, and others, who affected +to be conversant with it, ingeniously shrouded their ignorance, the +conversation turned upon the various traits which characterize +different courtly circles; and it was a theme Maitland knew how to make +amusing,--not vaingloriously displaying himself as a foreground figure, +or even detailing the experiences as his own, but relating his anecdotes +with all the modest diffidence of one who was giving his knowledge at +second-hand. + +The old General was alone able to cap stories with Maitland on this +theme, and told with some gusto an incident of his first experiences at +Lisbon. “We had,” said he, “a young attaché to our Legation there; I +am talking of, I regret to say, almost fifty years ago. He was a very +good-looking young fellow, quite fresh from England, and not very long, +I believe, from Eton. In passing through the crowd of the ball-room, +a long streamer of lace which one of the Princesses wore in her hair +caught in the attache's epaulette. He tried in vain to extricate +himself, but, fearing to tear the lace, he was obliged to follow the +Infanta about, his confusion making his efforts only the more hopeless. +'Where are you going, sir? What do you mean by this persistence?' asked +a sour-faced old lady-of-honor, as she perceived him still after them. +'I am attached to her Royal Highness,' said he, in broken French, 'and I +cannot tear myself away.' The Infanta turned and stared at him, and then +instantly burst out a-laughing, but so good-humoredly withal, and with +such an evident forgiveness, that the duenna became alarmed, reported +the incident to the Queen, and the next morning our young countryman got +his orders to leave Lisbon at once.” + +While the company commented on the incident, the old General sighed +sorrowfully,--over the long past, perhaps,--and then said, “He did not +always get out of his entanglements so easily.” + +“You knew him, then?” asked some one. + +“Slightly; but I served for many years with his brother, Wat Butler, as +good a soldier as ever wore the cloth.” + +“Are you aware that his widow and son are in this neighborhood?” asked +Mrs. Trafford. + +“No; but it would give me great pleasure to see them. Wat and I were in +the same regiment in India. I commanded the company when he joined us. +And how did he leave them?” + +“On short rations,” broke in old Graham. “Indeed, if It was n't for Lyle +Abbey, I suspect very hard up at times.” + +“Nothing of the kind, Commodore,” broke in Mrs. Trafford. “You have +been quite misinformed. Mrs. Butler is, without affluence, perfectly +independent; and more so even in spirit than in fortune.” + +A very significant smile from Maitland seemed to say that he recognized +and enjoyed her generous advocacy of her friend. + +“Perhaps you could do something, General, for his son?” cried Mrs. +Maxwell. + +“What sort of a lad is he?” + +“Don't ask me, for I don't like him; and don't ask my sisters, for they +like him too well,” said Mark. + +“Have you met him, Mr. Maitland?” asked the General. + +“Yes, but passingly. I was struck, however, by his good looks and manly +bearing. The country rings with stories of his courage and intrepidity.” + +“And they are all true,” said Isabella Lyle. “He is the best and bravest +creature breathing.” + +“There's praise,--that's what I call real praise,” said the General. +“I'll certainly go over and see him after that.” + +“I 'll do better, General,” said Mrs. Maxwell; “I 'll send over and ask +him here to-morrow. Why do you shake your head, Bella? He 'll not come?” + +“No,” said she, calmly. + +“Not if you and Alice were to back my request?” + +“I fear not,” said Alice. “He has estranged himself of late from +every one; he has not been even once to see us since he came back from +England.” + +“Then Mark will go and fetch him for us,” said Mrs. Maxwell, the most +unobservant of all old ladies. + +“Not I, madam; nor would that be the way to secure him.” + +“Well, have him we must,” said Mrs. Maxwell; while she added in a +whisper to Mrs. Trafford, “It would never do to lose the poor boy such a +chance.” + +“Beck says, if some one will drive her over to the Causeway,” cried the +Commodore, “she'll vouch for success, and bring young Tony back with +her.” + +“Mr. Maitland offers himself,” said Alice, whose eyes sparkled with fun, +while her lips showed no trace of a smile. + +“Take the phaeton, then,” said Mrs. Maxwell; “only there will be no +place for young Butler; but take a britscha, and order post-horses at +Greme's Mill.” And now a sharp discussion ensued which road was the +shorter, and whether the long hill or the “new cut” was the more severe +on the cattle. + +“This was most unfair of you,” said Maitland to Mrs. Trafford, as they +rose from the table; “but it shall not succeed.” + +“How will you prevent it?” said she, laughing. “What can you do?” + +“Rather than go I 'd say anything.” + +“As how, for instance?” + +He leaned forward and whispered a few words in her ear, and suddenly her +face became scarlet, her eyes flashed passionately, as she said, “This +passes the limit of jest, Mr. Maitland.” + +“Not more than the other would pass the limit of patience,” said he; +and now, instead of entering the drawing-room, he turned short round and +sought his own room. + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. THE FIRST NIGHT AT TILNEY + +Mattland was not in the best of tempers when he retired to his room. +Whatever the words he had whispered in Alice's ear,--and this history +will not record them,--they were a failure. They were even worse than +a failure, for they produced an effect directly the opposite to that +intended. + +“Have I gone too fast?” muttered he; “have I deceived myself? She +certainly understood me well in what I said yesterday. She, if anything, +gave me a sort of encouragement to speak. She drew away her hand, it is +true, but without any show of resentment or anger; a sort of protest, +rather, that implied, 'We have not yet come to this.' These home-bred +women are hard riddles to read. Had she been French, Spanish, or +Italian,--ay, or even one of our own, long conversant with the world of +Europe,--I never should have blundered.” Such thoughts as these be now +threw on paper, in a letter to his friend Caffarelli. + +“What a fiasco I have made, _Carlo mio_,” said he, “and all from not +understanding the nature of these creatures, who have never seen a +sunset south of the Alps. I know how little sympathy any fellow meets +with from you, if he be only unlucky. I have your face before me,--your +eyebrows on the top of your forehead, and your nether lip quivering with +malicious drollery, as you cry out, '_Ma perche? perche? perche?_' +And I'll tell you why: because I believed that she had hauled down her +colors, and there was no need to continue firing. + +“Of course you'll say, '_Meno male_,' resume the action. But it won't +do, Signor Conte, it won't do. She is not like one of your hardened +coquettes on the banks of the Arno or the slopes of Castellamare, who +think no more of a declaration of love than an invitation to dinner; nor +have the slightest difficulty in making the same excuse to either,--a +pre-engagement. She is English, or worse again, far worse,--Irish. + +“I 'd give--I don't know what I would n't give--that I could recall that +stupid speech. I declare I think it is this fearful language has done +it all. One can no more employ the Anglo-Saxon tongue for a matter +of delicate treatment, than one could paint a miniature with a +hearth-brush. What a pleasant coinage for cajolery are the liquid lies +of the sweet South, where you can lisp duplicity, and seem never to hurt +the Decalogue.” + +As he had written so far, a noisy summons at his door aroused him; while +the old Commodore's voice called out, “Maitland! Maitland! I want a word +with you.” Maitland opened the door, and without speaking, returned to +the fire, standing with his back to it, and his hands carelessly stuck +in his pockets. + +“I thought I 'd come over and have a cigar with you here, and a glass of +brandy-and-water,” said Graham. “They 're hard at it yonder, with harp +and piano, and, except holystoning a deck, I don't know its equal.” + +“I 'm the more sorry for your misfortune, Commodore, that I am unable to +alleviate it I 'm deep in correspondence just now, as you see there, and +have a quantity more to do before bedtime.” + +“Put it aside, put it aside; never write by candlelight. It ruins the +eyes; and yours are not so young as they were ten years ago.” + +“The observation is undeniable,” said Maitland, stiffly. + +“You're six-and-thirty? well, five-and-thirty, I take it.” + +“I 'm ashamed to say I cannot satisfy your curiosity on so natural a +subject of inquiry.” + +“Sally says forty,” said he, in a whisper, as though the remark required +caution. “Her notion is that you dye your whiskers; but Beck's idea is +that you look older than you are.” + +“I scarcely know to which of the young ladies I owe my deeper +acknowledgments,” said Maitland, bowing. + +“You're a favorite with both; and if it hadn't been for the very decided +preference you showed, I tell you frankly they 'd have been tearing caps +about you ere this.” + +“This flattery overwhelms me; and all the more that it is quite +unexpected.” + +“None of your mock modesty with me, you dog!” cried the Commodore, with +a chuckling laugh. “No fellow had ever any success of that kind that he +did n't know it; and, upon my life, I believe the very conceit it breeds +goes halfway with women.” + +“It is no small prize to learn the experiences of a man like yourself on +such a theme.” + +“Well, I 'll not deny it,” said he, with a short sigh. “I had my +share--some would say a little more than my share--of that sort of +thing. You'll not believe it, perhaps, but I was a devilish good-looking +fellow when I was--let me see--about six or eight years younger than you +are now.” + +“I am prepared to credit it,” said Maitland, dryly. + +“There was no make-up about _me_,--no lacquering, no paint, no padding; +all honest scantling from keel to taffrail. I was n't tall, it's true. I +never, with my best heels on, passed five feet seven and a half.” + +“The height of Julius Caesar,” said Maitland, calmly. + +“I know nothing about Julius Caesar; but I 'll say this, it was a good +height for a sailor in the old gun-brig days, when they never gave you +much head-room 'tween decks. It don't matter so much now if every fellow +in the ward-room was as tall as yourself. What's in this jar here?” + +“Seltzer.” + +“And this short one,--is it gin?” + +“No; it's Vichy.” + +“Why, what sort of stomach do you expect to have with all these +confounded slops? I never tasted any of these vile compounds but +once,--what they called Carlsbad,--and, by Jove, it was bad, and no +mistake. It took three fourths of a bottle of strong brandy to bring +back the heat into my vitals again. Why don't you tell Raikes to send +you in some sherry? That old brown sherry is very pleasant, and it must +be very wholesome, too, for the doctor here always sticks to it.” + +“I never drink wine, except at my dinner,” was the cold and measured +reply. + +“You 'll come to it later on,--you 'll come to it later on,” said the +Commodore, with a chuckle, “when you 'll not be careful about the color +of your nose or the width of your waistcoat. There's a deal of vanity +wrapped up in abstemiousness, and a deal of vexation of spirit too.” And +he laughed at his own drollery till his eyes ran over. “You 're saying +to yourself, Maitland, 'What a queer old cove that is!'--ain't you? Out +with it, man! I'm the best-tempered fellow that ever breathed,--with +the men I like, mind you; not with every one. No, no; old G. G., as they +used to call me on board the 'Hannibal,' is an ugly craft if you board +him on the wrong quarter. I don't know how it would be now, with all the +new-fangled tackle; but in the old days of flint-locks and wide bores I +was a dead shot. I 've heard you can do something that way?” + +“A little,” said he, dryly. + +“Every gentleman ought; I've always maintained it; as poor old Bowes +used to say, 'With a strong head for port, and a steady hand for a +pistol, a man may go a long way in this world.' There, I think it's your +turn now at the pump. I've had all the talk to myself since I came in; +and the most you've done has been to grant out 'Indeed!' or 'Really!'” + +“I have listened, Commodore,--listened most attentively. It has been my +great privilege to have heard your opinions on three most interesting +topics,--women, and wine, and the duel; and, I assure you, not +unprofitably.” + +“I 'm not blown, not a bit run off my wind, for all that, if I was n't +so dry; but my mouth is like a lime-burner's hat. Would you just touch +that bell and order a little sherry or Madeira? You don't seem to know +the ways of the house here; but every one does exactly as he pleases.” + +“I have a faint inkling of the practice,” said Maitland, with a very +peculiar smile. + +“What's the matter with you this evening? You 're not like yourself one +bit. No life, no animation about you. Ring again; pull it strong. +There, they'll hear that, I hope,” cried he, as, impatient at Maitland's +indolence, he gave such a Jerk to the bell-rope that it came away from +the wire. + +“I didn't exactly come in here for a gossip,” said the Commodore, as he +resumed his seat. “I wanted to have a little serious talk with you, and +perhaps you are impatient that I haven't begun it, eh?” + +“It would be unpardonable to feel impatience in such company,” said' +Maitland, with a bow. + +“Yes, yes; I know all that. That's what Yankees call soft sawder; but I +'m too old a bird, Master Maitland, to be caught with chaff, and I think +as clever a fellow as you are might suspect as much.” + +“You are very unjust to both of us if you imply that I have not a high +opinion of your acuteness.” + +“I don't want to be thought acute, sir; I am not a lawyer, nor a +lawyer's clerk,--I'm a sailor.” + +“And a very distinguished sailor.” + +“That's as it may be. They passed me over about the good-service +pension, and kept 'backing and filling' about that coast-guard +appointment till I lost temper and told them to give it to the devil, +for he had never been out of the Admiralty since I remembered it; and I +said, 'Gazette him at once, and don't let him say, You 're forgetting an +old friend and supporter.'” + +“Did you write that?” + +“Beck did, and I signed it; for I 've got the gout or the rheumatism in +these knuckles that makes writing tough work for me, and tougher for the +man it's meant for. What servants they are in this house!--no answer to +the bell.” + +“And what reply did they make you?” asked Maitland. + +“They shoved me on the retired list; and Curtis, the Secretary, said, +'I had to suppress your letter, or my Lords would certainly have struck +your name off the Navy List,'--a thing I defy them to do; a thing the +Queen could n't do!” + +“Will you try one of these?” said Maitland, opening his cigar-case; +“these are stronger than the pale ones.” + +“No; I can't smoke without something to drink, which I foresee I shall +not have here.” + +“I deplore my inhospitality.” + +“Inhospitality! why, you have nothing to say to it. It is old mother +Maxwell receives us all here. You can be neither hospitable nor +inhospitable, so far as I see, excepting, perhaps, letting me see a +little more of that fire than you have done hitherto, peacocking out the +tail of your dressing-gown in front of me.” + +“Pray draw closer,” said Maitland, moving to one side; “make yourself +perfectly at home here.” + +“So I used to be, scores of times, in these very rooms. It's more than +five-and-twenty years that I ever occupied any others.” + +“I was thinking of going back to the drawing-room for a cup of tea +before I resumed my work here.” + +“Tea! don't destroy your stomach with tea. Get a little gin,--they 've +wonderful gin here; I take a glass of it every night Beck mixes it, and +puts a sprig of, not mint, but marjoram, I think they call it I 'll make +her mix a brew for you; and, by the way, that brings me to what I came +about.” + +“Was it to recommend me to take gin?” asked Maitland, with a +well-assumed innocence. + +“No, sir; not to recommend you to take gin,” said the old Commodore, +sternly. “I told you when I came in that I had come on an errand of some +importance.” + +“If you did, it has escaped me.” + +“Well, you sha'n't escape me; that's all.” + +“I hope I misunderstand you. I trust sincerely that it is to the dryness +of your throat and the state of your tonsils that I must attribute this +speech. Will you do me the very great favor to recall it?” + +The old man fidgeted in his chair, buttoned his coat, and unbuttoned it, +and then blurted out in an abrupt spasmodic way, “All right,--I did n't +mean offence--I intended to say that as we were here now--that as we +had this opportunity of explaining ourselves--” + +“That's quite sufficient, Commodore. I ask for nothing beyond your +simple assurance that nothing offensive was intended.” + +“I 'll be hanged if I ever suffered as much from thirst in all my life. +I was eighteen days on a gill of water a day in the tropics, and didn't +feel it worse than this. I must drink some of that stuff, if I die for +it. Which is the least nauseous?” + +“I think you'll find the Vichy pleasant; there is a little fixed air in +it, too.” + +“I wish there was a little cognac in it. Ugh! it's detestable! Let's try +the other. Worse! I vow and declare--worse! Well, Maitland, whatever be +your skill in other matters, I 'll be shot if I 'll back you for your +taste in liquors.” + +Maitland smiled, and was silent. + +“I shall have a fever--I know I shall--if I don't take something. +There's a singing in my head now like a chime of bells, and the back of +my throat feels like a coal-bunker in one of those vile steamers. How +you stand it I don't know; but to be sure you 've not been talking as +I have.” The old Commodore rose, but when he reached the door, seemed +suddenly to have remembered something; for he placed his hand to his +forehead, and said, “What a brain I have! here was I walking away +without ever so much as saying one word about it.” + +“Could we defer it till to-morrow, my dear Commodore?” said Maitland, +coaxingly. “I have not the slightest notion what it is, but surely we +could talk it over after breakfast.” + +“But you 'll be off by that time. Beck said that there would be no use +starting later than seven o'clock.” + +“Off! and where to?” + +“To the Burnside,--to the widow Butler's,--where else! You heard it all +arranged at dinner, didn't you?” + +“I heard something suggested laughingly and lightly, but nothing +serious, far less settled positively.” + +“Will you please to tell me, sir, how much of your life is serious, and +how much is to be accepted as levity? for I suppose the inquiry I have +to make of you amounts just to that, and no more.” + +“Commodore Graham, it would distress me much if I were to misunderstand +you once again to-night, and you will oblige me deeply if you will put +any question you expect me to answer in its very simplest form.” + +“That I will, sir; that I will! Now then, what are your intentions?” + +“What are my intentions?” + +“Yes, sir,--exactly so; what are your intentions?” + +“I declare I have so many, on such varied subjects, and of such +different hues, that it would be a sore infliction on your patience were +I only to open the budget; and as to either of us exhausting it, it is +totally out of the question. Take your chance of a subject, then, and I +'ll do my best to enlighten you.” + +“This is fencing, sir; and it doesn't suit me?” + +“If you knew how very little the whole conversation suits me, you 'd not +undervalue my patience.” + +“I ask you once again, what are your intentions as regards my youngest +daughter, Miss Rebecca Graham! That's plain speaking, I believe.” + +“Nothing plainer; and my reply shall be equally so. I have none,--none +whatever.” + +“Do you mean to say you never paid her any particular attentions?” + +“Never.” + +“That you never took long walks with her when at Lyle Abbey, quite alone +and unaccompanied?” + +“We walked together repeatedly. I am not so ungrateful as to forget her +charming companionship.” + +“Confound your gratitude, sir! it's not that I'm talking of. You +made advances. You--you told her--you said--in fact, you made her +believe--ay, and you made me believe--that you meant to ask her to marry +you.” + +“Impossible!” said Maitland; “impossible!” + +“And why impossible? Is it that our respective conditions are such as to +make the matter impossible?” + +“I never thought of such an impertinence, Commodore. When I said +impossible, it was entirely with respect to the construction that could +be placed on all my intercourse with Miss Graham.” + +“And did n't I go up to your room on the morning I left, and ask you to +come over to Port-Graham and talk the matter over with me?” + +“You invited me to your house, but I had not the faintest notion that +it was to this end. Don't shake your head as if you doubted me; I pledge +you my word on it.” + +“How often have you done this sort of thing? for no fellow is as cool as +you are that's not an old hand at it.” + +“I can forgive a good deal--” + +“Forgive! I should think you could forgive the people you've injured. +The question is, can I forgive? Yes, sir, can I forgive?” + +“I declare it never occurred to me to inquire.” + +“That's enough,--quite enough; you shall hear from me. It may take +me twenty-four hours to find a friend; but before this time to-morrow +evening, sir, I 'll have him.” + +Maitland shrugged his shoulders carelessly, and said, “As you please, +sir.” + +“It shall be as I please, sir; I 'll take care of that. Are you able to +say at present to whom my friend can address himself?” + +“If your friend will first do the favor to call upon me, I 'll be able +by that time to inform him.” + +“All right. If it's to be Mark Lyle--” + +“Certainly not; it could never occur to me to make choice of your friend +and neighbor's son for such an office.” + +“Well, I thought not,--I hoped not; and I suspected, besides, that the +little fellow with the red whiskers--that major who dined one day at the +Abbey--” + +Maitland's pale cheek grew scarlet, his eyes flashed with passion, and +all the consummate calm of his manner gave way as he said, “With the +choice of my friend, sir, you have nothing to do, and I decline to +confer further with you.” + +“Eh, eh! that shell broke in the magazine, did it? I thought it would. I +'ll be shot but I thought it would!” And with a hearty laugh, but bitter +withal, the old Commodore seized his hat and departed. + +Maitland was much tempted to hasten after the Commodore, and +demand--imperiously demand--from him an explanation of his last words, +whose taunt was even more in the manner than the matter. Was it a +mere chance hit, or did the old sailor really know something about +the relations between himself and M'Caskey? A second or two of thought +reassured him, and he laughed at his own fears, and turned once more to +the table to finish his letter to his friend. + +“You have often, my dear Carlo, heard me boast that amidst all the +shifting chances and accidents of my life, I had ever escaped one signal +misfortune,--in my mind, about the greatest that ever befalls a man. I +have never been ridiculous. This can be my triumph no longer. The charm +is broken! I suppose, if I had never come to this blessed country, I +might have preserved my immunity to the last; but you might as well try +to keep your gravity at one of the Polichinello combats at Naples as +preserve your dignity in a land where life is a perpetual joke, and +where the few serious people are so illogical in their gravity, they are +the best fun of all. Into this strange society I plunged as fearlessly +as a man does who has seen a large share of life, and believes that the +human crystal has no side he has not noticed; and the upshot is, I am +supposed to have made warm love to a young woman that I scarcely flirted +with, and am going to be shot at to-morrow by her father for not being +serious in my intentions! You may laugh--you may scream, shout, and +kick with laughter, and I almost think I can hear you; but it's a very +embarrassing position, and the absurdity of it is more than I can face. + +“Why did I ever come here? What induced me ever to put foot in a land +where the very natives do not know their own customs, and where all is +permitted and nothing is tolerated? It is too late to ask you to come +and see me through this troublesome affair; and indeed my present +vacillation is whether to marry the young lady or run away bodily; for I +own to you I am afraid--heartily afraid--to fight a man that might be my +grandfather; and I can't bear to give the mettlesome old fellow the fun +of shooting at me for nothing. And worse--a thousand times worse than +all this,--Alice will have such a laugh at me! Ay, Carlo, here is the +sum of my affliction. + +“I must close this, as I shall have to look out for some one long of +stride and quick of eye, to handle me on the ground. Meanwhile, order +dinner for two on Saturday week, for I mean to be with you; and, +therefore, say nothing of those affairs which interest us, _ultra +montant_. I write by this post to M'C. to meet me as I pass through +Dublin; and, of course, the fellow will want money. I shall therefore +draw on Cipriani for whatever is necessary, and you must be prepared to +tell him the outlay was indispensable. I have done nothing, absolutely +nothing, here,--neither seduced man nor woman, and am bringing back to +the cause nothing greater or more telling than + +“Norman Maitland.” + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. A STARLIT NIGHT IN A GARDEN + +It was late at night, verging indeed on morning, when Maitland finished +his letter. All was silent around, and in the great house the lights +were extinguished, and apparently all retired to rest. Lighting his +cigar, he strolled out into the garden. The air was perfectly still; and +although there was no moon, the sky was spangled over with stars, whose +size seemed greater seen through the thin frosty atmosphere. It was +pre-eminently the bright clear elastic night of a northern latitude, and +the man of pleasure in a thousand shapes, the voluptuary, the _viveur_, +was still able to taste the exquisite enjoyment of such an hour, +as though his appetite for pleasure bad not been palled by all the +artifices of a life of luxury. He strolled about at random from alley to +alley, now stopping to inhale the rich odor of some half-sleeping plant, +now loitering at some old fountain, and bathing his temples with the +ice-cold water. He was one of those men--it is not so small a category +as it might seem--who fancy that the same gifts which win success +socially, would be just as sure to triumph if employed in the wider +sphere of the great ambitions of life. He could count the men he had +passed, and easily passed, in the race of social intercourse,--men who +at a dinner-table or in a drawing-room had not a tithe of his quickness, +his versatility, his wit, or his geniality, and yet, plodding onwards +and upwards, had attained station, eminence, and fortune; while +he--he, well read, accomplished, formed by travel and polished by +cultivation--there he was! just as he had begun the world, the only +difference being those signs of time that tell as fatally on temperament +as on vigor; for the same law that makes the hair gray and the +cheek wrinkled, renders wit sarcastic and humor malevolent Maitland +believed--honestly believed--he was a better man than this one here who +held a high command in India, and that other who wrote himself Secretary +of State. He knew how little effort it had cost him, long ago, to leave +“scores of such fellows” behind at school and at the university; but he, +unhappily, forgot that in the greater battle of life he had made no +such efforts, and laid no tax on either his industry or his ability. +He tried--he did his very best--to undervalue, to his own mind, their +successes, and even asked himself aloud, “Which of them all do I envy?” + but conscience is stronger than casuistry, however crafty it be, and the +answer came not so readily as he wished. + +While he thus mused, he heard his name uttered, so close to him, too, +that he started, and, on looking up, saw that Mrs. Trafford's rooms were +lighted, and one of the windows which “gave” upon a terrace was open. +Voices came from the room within, and soon two figures passed out on the +terrace, which he speedily recognized to be Alice and Mark Lyle. + +“You mistake altogether, Mark,” said she, eagerly. “It is no question +whatever, whether your friend Mr. Maitland goes away disgusted with +Ireland, and sick of us all. It is a much graver matter here. What if +he were to shoot this old man? I suppose a fine gentleman as he is would +deem it a very suitable punishment to any one who even passingly angered +him.” + +“But why should there be anything of the kind? It is to me Maitland +would come at once if there were such a matter in hand.” + +“I'm not so sure of that; and I am sure that Raikes overheard +provocation pass between them, and that the Commodore left this half an +hour ago, merely telling Sally that he had forgotten some lease or law +paper that he ought to have sent off by post.” + +“If that be the case, there's nothing to be done.” + +“How do you mean nothing to be done?” + +“I mean, that as Maitland has not consulted me, I have no pretence to +know anything about it.” + +“But if you do know it, and if I tell it to you?” + +“All that would not amount to such knowledge as I could avail myself of. +Maitland is not a man with whom any one can take liberties, Alice.” + +“What?” said she, haughtily, and as though she had but partly heard his +speech. + +“I said that no man takes liberties with Maitland.” + +A very insolent laugh from Alice was the answer. + +“Come, come,” cried Mark, angrily. “All these scornful airs are not in +keeping with what you yourself wrote about Maitland to Bella just two +days ago.” + +“And had Bella--did she show you my letters?” + +“I don't believe she intended me to see the turned-down bit at the end; +but I did see it, and I read a very smart sketch of Norman Maitland, but +not done by an unfriendly hand.” + +“It's not too late to revoke my opinion,” said she, passionately. “But +this is all quite beside what I'm thinking of. Will you go down and see +Mr. Maitland?” + +“He's in bed and asleep an hour ago.” + +“He is not. I can see the light on the gravel from his windows; and if +he were asleep, he could be awakened, I suppose.” + +“I have not the slightest pretext to intrude upon him, Alice.” + +“What nonsense all this is! Who is he,--what is he, that he must be +treated with all this deference?” + +“It 's somewhat too late in the day to ask who and what the man is of +whom every society in Europe contests the possession.” + +“My dear Mark, be reasonable. What have we to do just now with all the +courtly flatteries that have been extended to your distinguished friend, +or the thousand and one princesses he might have married? What I want +is that he should n't, first of all, make a great scandal; and secondly, +shoot a very worthy old neighbor, whose worst sin is being very +tiresome.” + +“And what I want is, first, that Maitland should n't carry away from +this county such an impression that he'd never endure the thought of +revisiting it; and secondly, I want to go to bed, and so good-night.” + +“Mark, one word,--only one,” cried she; but he was gone. The bang of a +heavy door resounded, and then a deep silence showed she was alone. + +Maitland watched her as she paced the terrace from end to end with +impatient steps. There was a secret pleasure in his heart as he marked +all the agitation that moved her, and thought what a share he himself +had in it all. At last she withdrew within the room, but the opening and +shutting of a door followed, and he surmised that she had passed out. +While he was disputing with himself whether she might have followed Mark +to his room, he heard a footstep on the gravel, and saw that she was +standing and tapping with her finger on the window of his chamber. +Maitland hurried eagerly back. “Is it possible that I see you here, Mrs. +Trafford,” cried he, “at this hour?” + +She started, and for a moment seemed too much overcome to answer, when +she said: “You may believe that it is no light cause brings me; and even +now I tremble at what I am doing: but I have begun and I 'll go on. Let +us walk this way, for I want to speak with you.” + +“Will you take my arm?” said Maitland, but without anything of gallantry +in his tone. + +“No,--yes, I will,” said she, hurriedly; and now for some paces they +moved along side by side in silence. + +“Mr. Maitland,” said she at last, “a silly speech I made to-day at +dinner has led to a most serious result, and Commodore Graham and you +have quarrelled.” + +“Forgive me if I interrupt you. Nothing that fell from you has +occasioned any rupture between Commodore Graham and myself; for that I +can pledge you my word of honor.” + +“But you have quarrelled. Don't deny it.” + +“We had a very stupid discussion, and a difference; and I believe, if +the Commodore would have vouchsafed me a patient hearing, he would have +seen that he had really nothing to complain of on my part. I am quite +ready to make the same explanation to any friend he will depute to +receive it.” + +“It was, however, what I said about your driving over with Miss Rebecca +Graham to the Burnside that led to all this.” + +“Nothing of the kind, I assure you.” + +“Well, I don't care for the reason,” said she, impatiently; “but you +have had a quarrel, and are about to settle it by a duel. I have no +doubt,” continued she, more rapidly, “that you, Mr. Maitland, can treat +this sort of thing very lightly. I suppose it is part of your code +as man of the world to do so; but this old man is a father; his life, +however little you may think of it, is of very great consequence to his +family; he is an old friend and neighbor whom we all care for, and any +mishap that might befall him would be a calamity to us all.” + +“Pray continue,” said he, softly; “I am giving you all my attention. +Having given the sketch of one of so much value to his friends, I am +waiting now to hear of the other whom nobody is interested for.” + +“This is no time for sarcasm, however witty, Mr. Maitland; and I am sure +your better feeling will tell you that I could not have come here to +listen to it. Do not be offended with me for my bluntness, nor refuse +what I have asked you.” + +“You have not asked anything from me,” said he, smiling. + +“Well, I will now,” said she, with more courage in her tone; “I will +ask you not to go any further in this affair,--to pledge your word to me +that it shall stop here.” + +“Remember I am but one; any promise I may make you can only take effect +with the concurrence of another.” + +“I know nothing--I want to know nothing--of these subtleties; tell me +flatly you'll not give this old man a meeting.” + +“I will, if you 'll only say how I am to avoid it. No, no; do not be +angry with me,” said he, slightly touching the hand that rested on his +arm. “I'd do far more than this to win one, even the faintest smile that +ever said, 'I thank you;' but there is a difficulty here. You don't know +with what he charges me.” + +“Perhaps I suspect it.” + +“It is that after paying most marked attention to his daughter, I have +suddenly ceased to follow up my suit, and declared that I meant nothing +by it.” + +“Well?” said she, quietly. + +“Well,” repeated he. “Surely no one knows better than you that there was +no foundation for this.” + +“I! how should I know it?” + +“At all events,” replied he, with some irritation of manner, “you could +n't believe it.” + +“I declare I don't know,” said she, hesitatingly, for the spirit of +drollery had got the better even of the deep interest of the moment,--“I +declare I don't know, Mr. Maitland. There is a charm in the manner of an +unsophisticated country girl which men of the world are often the very +first to acknowledge.” + +“Charming unsophistication!” muttered he, half aloud. + +“At all events, Mr. Maitland, it is no reason that because you don't +admire a young lady, you are to shoot her papa.” + +“How delightfully illogical you are!” said he; and, strangely enough, +there was an honest admiration in the way he said it. + +“I don't want to convince, sir; I want to be obeyed. What I insist upon +is, that this matter shall end here. Do you mind, Mr. Maitland, that it +end here?” + +“Only show me how, and I obey you.” + +“Do you mean to say that with all your tact and cleverness, you cannot +find a means of showing that you have been misapprehended, that you are +deeply mortified at being misunderstood, that by an expression of great +humility--Do you know how to be humble?” + +“I can be abject,” said he, with a peculiar smile. + +“I should really like to see you abject!” said she, laughingly. + +“Do so then,” cried he, dropping on his knee before her, while he still +held her hand, but with a very different tone of voice,--a voice now +tremulous with earnest feeling,--continued: “There can be no humility +deeper than that with which I ask your forgiveness for one word I spoke +to you this evening. If you but knew all the misery it has caused me!” + +“Mr. Maitland, this mockery is a just rebuke for my presence here. If I +had not stooped to such a step, you would never have dared this.” + +“It is no mockery to say what my heart is full of, and what you will not +deny you have read there. No, Alice, you may reject my love; you cannot +pretend to ignore it.” + +Though she started as he called her Alice, she said nothing, but +only withdrew her hand. At last she said: “I don't think this is very +generous of you. I came to ask a great favor at your hands, and you +would place me in a position not to accept it.” + +“So far from that,” said he, rising, “I distinctly tell you that I place +all, even my honor, at your feet, and without one shadow of a condition. +You say you came here to ask me a favor, and my answer is that I accord +whatever you ask, and make no favor of it. Now, what is it you wish me +to do?” + +“It's very hard not to believe you sincere when you speak in this way,” + said she, in a low voice. + +“Don't try,” said he, in the same low tone. + +“You promise me, then, that nothing shall come of this?” + +“I do,” said he, seriously. + +“And that you will make any amends the Commodore's friend may suggest? +Come, come,” said she, laughing, “I never meant that you were to marry +the young lady.” + +“I really don't know how far you were going to put my devotion to the +test.” + +The pleasantness with which he spoke this so amused her that she broke +again into laughter, and laughed heartily too. “Confess,” said she at +last,--“confess it's the only scrape you did not see your way out of!” + +“I am ready to confess it's the only occasion in my life in which I had +to place my honor in the hands of a lady.” + +“Well, let us see if a lady cannot be as adroit as a gentleman in such +an affair; and now, as you are in my hands, Mr. Maitland,--completely +in _my_ hands,--I am peremptory, and my first orders are that you keep +close arrest. Raikes will see that you are duly fed, and that you have +your letters and the newspapers; but mind, on any account, no visitors +without my express leave: do you hear me, sir?” + +“I do; and all I would say is this, that if the tables should ever turn, +and it would be my place to impose conditions, take my word for it, I +'ll be just as absolute. Do you hear me, madam?” + +“I do; and I don't understand, and I don't want to understand you,” said +she, in some confusion. “Now, good-bye. It is almost day. I declare that +gray streak there is daybreak!” + +“On, Alice, if you would let me say one word--only one--before we part.” + +“I will not, Mr. Maitland, and for this reason, that I intend we should +meet again.” + +“Be it so,” said he, sadly, and turned away. After he had walked a few +paces, he stopped and turned round; but she was already gone, how and in +what direction he knew not. He hurried first one way, then another, but +without success. If she had passed into the house,--and, of course, she +had,--with what speed she must have gone! Thoughtful, but not unhappy, +he returned to his room, if not fully assured that he had done what was +wisest, well disposed to hope favorably for the future. + + + +CHAPTER XXV. JEALOUS TRIALS + +When Mrs. Maxwell learned, in the morning, that Mr. Maitland was +indisposed and could not leave his room, that the Commodore had gone off +in the night, and Mark and Mrs. Trafford had started by daybreak, her +amazement became so insupportable that she hastened from one of her +guests to the other, vainly asking them to explain these mysteries. + +“What a fidgety old woman she is!” said Beck Graham, who had gone over +to Bella Lyle, then a prisoner in her room from a slight cold. “She has +been rushing over the whole house, inquiring if it be possible that my +father has run away with Alice, that your brother is in pursuit of them, +and Mr. Maitland taken poison in a moment of despair. At all events, she +has set every one guessing and gossiping at such a rate that all thought +of archery is forgotten, and even our private theatricals have lost +their interest in presence of this real drama.” + +“How absurd!” said Bella, languidly. + +“Yes, it's very absurd to fill one's house with company, and give them +no better amusement than the chit-chat of a boarding-house. I declare I +have no patience with her.” + +“Where did your father go?” + +“He went over to Port-Graham. He suddenly bethought him of a lease--I +think it was a lease--he ought to have sent off by post, and he was so +eager about it that he started without saying good-bye. And Mark,--what +of him and Alice?” + +“There's all the information I can give you;” and she handed her a card +with one line in pencil: “Good-bye till evening, Bella. You, were asleep +when I came in.--Alice.” + +“How charmingly mysterious! And you have no idea where they 've gone?” + +“Not the faintest; except, perhaps, back to the Abbey for some costumes +that they wanted for that 'great tableau.'” + +“I don't think so,” said she, bluntly. “I suspect--shall I tell you what +I suspect? But it's just as likely you 'll be angry, for you Lyles will +never hear anything said of one of you. Yes, you may smile, my dear, but +it's well known, and I 'm not the first who has said it.” + +“If that be true, Beck, it were best not to speak of people who are so +excessively thin-skinned.” + +“I don't know that. I don't see why you are to be indulged any more than +your neighbors. I suppose every one must take his share of that sort of +thing.” + +Bella merely smiled, and Rebecca continued: “What I was going to say +was this,--and, of course, you are at liberty to dissent from it if you +like,--that, however clever a tactician your sister is, Sally and I +saw her plan of campaign at once. Yes, dear, if you had been at dinner +yesterday you 'd have heard a very silly project thrown out about my +being sent over to fetch Tony Butler, under the escort of Mr. Norman +Maitland. Not that it would have shocked me, or frightened me in the +least,--I don't pretend that; but as Mr. Maitland had paid me certain +attention at Lyle Abbey,--you look quite incredulous, my dear, but it +is simply the fact; and so having, as I said, made these advances to me, +there would have been considerable awkwardness in our going off together +a drive of several hours without knowing--without any understanding--” + She hesitated for the right word, and Bella added, “_A quoi s'en tenir_, +in fact.” + +“I don't know exactly what that means, Bella; but, in plain English, I +wished to be sure of what he intended. My dear child, though that smile +becomes you vastly, it also seems to imply that you are laughing at my +extreme simplicity, or my extreme vanity, or both.” + +Bella's smile faded slowly away; but a slight motion of the angle of the +mouth showed that it was not without an effort she was grave. + +“I am quite aware,” resumed Beck, “that it requires some credulity to +believe that one like myself could have attracted any notice when seen +in the same company with Alice Lyle--Trafford, I mean--and her sister; +but the caprice of men, my dear, will explain anything. At all events, +the fact is there, whether one can explain it or not; and, to prove it, +papa spoke to Mr. Maitland on the morning we came away from the Abbey; +but so hurriedly--for the car was at the door, and we were seated on +it--that all he could manage to say was, that if Mr. Maitland would come +over to Port-Graham and satisfy him on certain points,--the usual ones, +I suppose,--that--that, in short, the matter was one which did not offer +insurmountable obstacles. All this sounds very strange to your ears, my +dear, but it is strictly true, every word of it.” + +“I cannot doubt whatever you tell me,” said Bella; and now she spoke +with a very marked gravity. + +“Away we went,” said Rebecca, who had now got into the sing-song tone of +a regular narrator,--“away we went, our first care on getting back home +being to prepare for Mr. Maitland's visit. We got the little green-room +ready, and cleared everything out of the small store-closet at the back, +and broke open a door between the two so as to make a dressing-room for +him, and we had it neatly papered, and made it really very nice. We put +up that water-colored sketch of Sally and myself making hay, and papa +leaning over the gate; and the little drawing of papa receiving the +French commander's sword on the quarter-deck of the 'Malabar:' in fact, +it was as neat as could be,--but he never came. No, my dear,--never.” + +“How was that?” + +“You shall hear; that is, you shall hear what followed, for explanation +I have none to give you. Mr. Maitland was to have come over, on the +Wednesday following, to dinner. Papa said five, and he promised to be +punctual; but he never came, nor did he send one line of apology. +This may be some new-fangled politeness,--the latest thing in that +fashionable world he lives in,--but still I cannot believe it is +practised by well-bred people. Be that as it may, my dear, we never +saw him again till yesterday, when he passed us in your sister's +fine carriage-and-four, he lolling back this way, and making a little +gesture, so, with his hand as he swept past, leaving us in a cloud of +dust that totally precluded him from seeing whether we had returned his +courtesy--if he cared for it. That's not all,” she said, laying her hand +on Bella's arm. “The first thing he does on his arrival here is to +take papa's rooms. Well,--you know what I mean,--the rooms papa always +occupies here; and when Raikes remarks, 'These are always kept for +Commodore Graham, sir; they go by the name of the Commodore's quarters,' +his reply is, 'They 'll be better known hereafter as Mr. Norman +Maitland's, Mr. Raikes.' Word for word what he said; Raikes told me +himself. As for papa, he was furious; he ordered the car to the door, +and dashed into our room, and told Sally to put all the things up +again,--that we were going off. I assure you, it was no easy matter +to calm him down. You have no idea how violent he is in one of these +tempers; but we managed at last to persuade him that it was a mere +accident, and Sally began telling him the wonderful things she had heard +about Maitland from Mrs. Chetwyn,--his fortune and his family, and what +not. At last he consented to take the Chetwyns' rooms, and down we went +to meet Mr. Maitland,--I own, not exactly certain on what terms it +was to be. Cordial is no name for it, Bella; he was--I won't call it +affectionate, but I almost might: he held my hand so long that I was +forced to draw it away; and then he gave a little final squeeze in the +parting, and a look that said very plainly, 'We, at least, understand +each other.' It was at that instant, my dear, Alice opened the +campaign.” + +“Alice! What had Alice to do with it?” + +“Nothing,--nothing whatever, by right, but everything if you admit +interference and--Well, I'll not say a stronger word to her own sister. +I 'll keep just to fact, and leave the commentary on this to +yourself. She crosses the drawing-room,--the whole width of the large +drawing-room,--and, sweeping grandly past us in that fine Queen-of-Sheba +style she does so well, she throws her head back,--it was that +stupid portrait-painter, Hillyer, told her 'it gave action to the +features,'--and says, 'Take me into dinner, will you?' But she was +foiled; old Mrs. Maxwell had already bespoke him. I hope you 're +satisfied now, Bella, that this is no dream of mine.” + +“But I cannot see any great mischief in it, either.” + +“Possibly not. I have not said that there was. Sally 's no fool, +however, and her remark was,--'There 's nothing so treacherous as a +widow.'” + +Bella could not contain herself any longer, but laughed heartily at this +profound sentiment. + +“Of course we do not expect you to see this with our eyes, Bella, but +we're not blind, for all that. Later on came the project for fetching +over Tony Butler, when Alice suggested that Mr. Maitland was to drive me +over to the Burns ide--” + +“Was that so very ungenerous, then?” + +“In the way it was done, my dear,--in the way it was done. In that ha, +ha, ha! manner, as though to say, 'Had n't you both better go off on a +lark to-morrow that will set us all talking of you?'” + +“No, no! I'll not listen to this,” cried Bella, angrily; “these are not +motives to attribute to my sister.” + +“Ask herself; let her deny it, that's all; but, as Sally says, 'There 's +no playing against a widow, because she knows every card in your hand.'” + +“I really had no idea they were so dangerous,” said Bella, recovering +all her good-humor again. + +“You may, perhaps, find it out one day. Mind, I 'm not saying Alice is +not very handsome, and has not the biggest blue eyes in the world, which +she certainly does not make smaller in the way she uses them; or that +any one has a finer figure, though some do contrive to move through a +room without catching in the harp or upsetting the china. Men, I take +it, are the best judges, and they call her perfection.” + +“They cannot think her more beautiful than she is.” + +“Perhaps not, dear; and as you are so like as to be constantly +mistaken--” + +“Oh, Beck! surely this is not fair,” said she, and so imploringly that +the other's voice softened down as she said,--“I never meant to be rude; +but my head is gone wild to-day; for, after all, when matters had gone +so far, Alice had no right to come in in this fashion; and, as Sally +says, 'Why did she never encourage him till she saw his attentions +addressed to another?'” + +“I never perceived that she gave Mr. Maitland any encouragement. Yes, +you may hold up your hands, Beck, and open your eyes very wide; but I +repeat what I have said.” + +“That's a matter of taste, I suppose,” said Beck, with some irritation. +“There are various sorts of encouragements: as Sally says, 'A look will +go further with one than a lock of your hair with another.'” + +“But, really, Sally would seem to have a wisdom like Solomon's on these +subjects,” said Bella. + +“Yes; and what's more, she has acquired it without any risk or peril. +She had neither to drive half over a county with a gentleman alone, +or pass a good share of a night walking with him in the alleys of a +garden.” + +“What do you mean by this?” asked Bella, angrily. + +“Ask Alice; she 'll be here, I suppose, this evening; and I 'm sure she +'ll be delighted to satisfy all your sisterly anxiety.” + +“But one word, Beck,--just one word before you go.” + +“Not a syllable. I have said now what I rigidly promised Sally not +to mention when I came in here. You got it out of me in a moment of +irritation, and I know well what's in store for me when I confess +it,--so good-bye.” + +“But, Beck--” + +“Don't make yourself cough, dear; lie down and keep your shawl round +you. If I 'd thought you were so feverish, I 'd not have come over +to torment you,--good-bye;” and, resisting all Bella's entreaties and +prayers, Beck arose and left the room. + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. BESIDE THE HEARTH + +As Tony sat at tea with his mother, Janet rushed in to say that Dr. +Stewart had just come home with his daughter, and that she seemed very +weak and ill,--“daunie-like,” as Janet said, “and naething like the braw +lassie that left this twa years ago. They had to help her out o' the +stage; and if it hadna been that Mrs. Harley had gi'en her a glass o' +gooseberry wine, she wad hae fainted.” Janet saw it all, for she had +gone into Coleraine, and the doctor gave her a seat back with himself +and his daughter. + +“Poor girl! And is she much changed?” asked Mrs. Butler. + +“She's no that changed that I wudna know her,” said Janet, “and that's +all. She has no color in her cheeks nor mirth in her een; and instead of +her merry laugh, that set everybody off, she's just got a little faint +smile that's mair sad than onything else.” + +“Of course she's weak; she's had a bad fever, and she's now come off a +long journey,” said Tony, in a sort of rough discontented voice. + +“Ay,” muttered Janet; “but I doubt she 'll never be the same she was.” + +“To be sure you do,” broke in Tony, rudely. “You would n't belong to +your county here if you did n't look at the blackest side of everything. +This end of our island is as cheerful in its population as it is in +scenery; and whenever we have n't a death in a cabin, we stroll out to +see if there's no sign of a shipwreck on the coast.” + +“No such a thing, Master Tony. He that made us made us like ither folk; +and we 're no worse or better than our neighbors.” + +“What about the letters, Janet? Did you tell the postmaster that they +'re very irregular down here?” asked Mrs. Butler. + +“I did, ma'am, and he said ye 're no warse off than others; that when +the Lord sends floods, and the waters rise, human means is a' that we +have; and if the boy couldna swim, the leather bag wi' the letters would +hae gi'en him little help.” + +“And could n't he have told ye all that without canting--” + +“Tony! Tony!” broke in his mother, reprovingly. “This is not the way to +bear these things, and I will not hear it.” + +“Don't be angry, little mother,” said he, taking her hand between both +his own. “I know how rough and ill-tempered I have grown of late; and +though it frets me sorely, I can no more throw it off than I could a +fever.” + +“You 'll be soon yourself again, my poor Tony. Your dear father had +his days when none dare go near him but myself; and I remember well Sir +Archy Cole, who was the General, and commanded in Stirling, saying to +me, 'I wish, Mrs. Butler, you would get me the sick-return off Wat's +table, for he's in one of his tantrums to-day, and the adjutant has +not courage to face him.' Many and many a time I laughed to myself over +that.” + +“And did you tell this to my father?” + +“No, Tony,” said she, with a little dry laugh, “I didn't do that; the +Colonel was a good man, and a God-fearing man; but if he had thought +that anything was said or done because of certain traits or marks in his +own nature, he 'd have been little better than a tiger.” + +Tony pondered, or seemed to ponder, over her words, and sat for some +time with his head between his hands. At last he arose hastily, and +said, “I think I'll go over to the Burnside and see the doctor, and I +'ll take him that brace of birds I shot to-day.” + +“It's a cold night, Tony.” + +“What of that, mother? If one waits for fine weather in this climate, I +'d like to know when he 'd go out.” + +“There, you are railing again, Tony; and you must not fall into it as a +habit, as people do with profane swearing, so that they cannot utter a +word without blaspheming.” + +“Well, the country is beautiful; the weather is more so; the night is a +summer one, and I myself am the most jolly, light-hearted young fellow +from this to anywhere you like. Will that do, little mother?” and he +threw his arm around her, and kissed her fondly. “They 've got a colt up +there at Sir Arthur's that no one can break; but if you saw him in the +paddock, you 'd say there was the making of a strong active horse in +him; and Wylie, the head groom, says he 'd just let him alone, for that +some horses 'break themselves.' Do you know, mother, I half suspect I +am myself one of these unruly cattle, and the best way would be never to +put a cavesson on me?” + +Mrs. Butler had not the vaguest conception of what a caves-son meant, +but she said, “I'll not put that nor anything like it on you, Tony; and +I 'll just believe that the son of a loyal gentleman will do nothing to +dishonor a good name.” + +“That's right; there you've hit it, mother; now we understand each +other,” cried he, boldly. “I'm to tell the doctor that we expect him and +Dolly to dine with us on Monday, ain't I?” + +“Monday or Tuesday, or whenever Dolly is well enough to come.” + +“I was thinking that possibly Skeffy would arrive by Tuesday.” + +“So he might, Tony, and that would be nice company for him,--the doctor +and Dolly.” + +There was something positively comic in the expression of Tory's face as +he heard this speech, uttered in all the simplicity of good faith; but +he forbore to reply, and, throwing a plaid across his shoulders, gave +his habitual little nod of good-bye, and went out. It was a cold starlit +night,--far colder on the sea-shore than in the sheltered valleys +inland. Tony, however, took little heed of this; his thoughts were bent +upon whither he was going; while between times his mother's last words +would flash across him, and once he actually laughed aloud as he said, +“Nice company for Skeffy! Poor mother little knows what company he +keeps, and what fine folk he lives with.” + +The minister's cottage lay at the foot of a little hill, beside a small +stream or burn,--a lonesome spot enough, and more than usually dreary in +the winter season; but, as Tony drew nigh, he could make out the mellow +glow of a good fire as the gleam, stealing between the ill-closed +shutters, fell upon the gravel without. “I suppose,” muttered Tony, +“she 's right glad to be at home again, humble as it is;” and then came +another, but not so pleasant thought, “But why did she come back so +suddenly? why did she take this long journey in such a season, and she +so weak and ill?” He had his own dark misgivings about this, but he had +not the courage to face them, even to himself; and now he crept up to +the window and looked in. + +A good fire blazed on the hearth; and at one side of it, deep in his +old leather chair,--the one piece of luxury the room possessed,--the +minister lay fast asleep, while opposite to him, on a low stool, sat +Dolly, her head resting on the arm of a chair at her side. If her +closely cropped hair and thin, wan face gave her a look of exceeding +youthful-ness, the thin band that hung down at her side told of +suffering and sickness. A book had fallen from her fingers, but her gaze +was bent upon the burning log before her--mayhap in unconsciousness; +mayhap she thought she read there something that revealed the future. + +Lifting the latch--there was no lock, nor was any needed--of the front +door, Tony moved stealthily along the little passage, turned the handle +of the door, and on tiptoe moved across the room, unseen by Dolly, and +unheard. As his hand touched the chair on which her head leaned, she +looked up and saw him. She did not start nor cry out, but a deep crimson +blush covered her face and her temples, and spread over her throat. + +“Hush!” said she, in a whisper, as she gave him her hand without rising; +“hush! he's very tired and weary; don't awake him.” + +“I 'll not awake him,” whispered Tony, as he slid into the chair, still +holding her hand, and bending down his head till it leaned against her +brow. “And how are you, dear Dolly? Are you getting quite strong again?” + +“Not yet awhile,” said she, with a faint shadow of a smile, “but I +suppose I shall soon. It was very kind of you to come over so soon; and +it's a severe night too. How is Mrs. Butler?” + +“Well and hearty; she sent you scores of loves,--if it was like long +ago, I 'd have said kisses too,” said he, laughing. But Dolly never +smiled; a grave, sad look, indeed, came over her, and she turned her +head away. + +“I was so glad to hear of your coming home, dear Dolly. I can't tell you +how dreary the Burnside seems without you. Ay, pale as you are, you make +it look bright and cheery at once. It was a sudden thought, was n't it?” + +“I believe it was; but we 'll talk of it all another time. Tell me of +home. Janet says it's all as I left it: is it so?” + +“I suspect it is. What changes did you look for?” + +“I scarcely know. I believe when one begins to brood over one's own +thoughts, one thinks the world without ought to take on the same dull +cold coloring. Haven't you felt that?” + +“I don't know--I may; but I'm not much given to brooding. But how comes +it that you, the lightest-hearted girl that ever lived--What makes you +low-spirited?” + +“First of all, Tony, I have been ill; then, I have been away from home; +but come, I have not come back to complain and mourn. Tell me of your +friends and neighbors. How are all at the Abbey? We'll begin with the +grand folk.” + +“I know little of them; I have n't been there since I saw you last.” + +“And how is that, Tony? You used to live at the Abbey when I was here +long ago.” + +“Well, it is as I tell you. Except Alice Trafford,--and that only in a +carriage, to exchange a word as she passed,--I have not seen one of the +Lyles for several weeks.” + +“And didn't she reproach you? Did n't she remark on your estrangement?” + +“She said something,--I forget what,” said he, impatiently. + +“And what sort of an excuse did you make?” + +“I don't remember. I suppose I blundered out something about being +engaged or occupied. It was not of much consequence, anyhow, for she did +n't attach any importance to my absence.” + +[Illustration: 266] + +“Don't say that, Tony, for I remember my father saying, in one of his +letters, that he met Sir Arthur at the fair of Ballymena, and that he +said, 'If you should see Tony, doctor, tell him I 'm hunting for him +everywhere, for I have to buy some young stock. If I do it without Tony +Butler's advice, I shall have the whole family upon me.'” + +“That's easy enough to understand. I was very useful and they were very +kind; but I fancy that each of us got tired of his part.” + +“They were stanch and good friends to you, Tony. I 'm sorry you 've +given them up,” said she, sorrowfully. + +“What if it was _they_ that gave me up? I mean, what if I found the +conditions upon which I went there were such as I could not stoop to? +Don't ask me any more about it; I have never let a word about it escape +my lips, and I am ashamed now to hear myself talk of it.” + +“Even to me, Tony,--to sister Dolly?” + +“That's true; so you are my dear, dear sister,” said he, and he +stooped and kissed her forehead; “and you shall hear it all, and how it +happened.” + +Tony began his narrative of that passage with Mark Lyle with which our +reader is already acquainted, little noticing that to the deep scarlet +that at first suffused Dolly's cheeks, a leaden pallor had succeeded, +and that she lay with half-closed eyes, in utter unconsciousness of what +he was saying. + +“This, of course,” said Tony, as his story flowed on,--“this, of course, +was more than I could bear, so I hurried home, not quite clear what +was best to be done. I had n't _you_, Dolly, to consult, you know;” he +looked down as he said this, and saw that a great tear lay on her cheek, +and that she seemed fainting. “Dolly, my dear,--my own dear Dolly,” + whispered he, “are you ill,--are you faint?” + +“Lay my head back against the wall,” sighed she, in a weak voice; “it's +passing off.” + +“It was this great fire, I suppose,” said Tony, as he knelt down beside +her, and bathed her temples with some cold water that stood near. +“Coming out of the cold air, a fire will do that.” + +“Yes,” said she, trying to smile, “it was that.” + +“I thought so,” said he, rather proud of his acuteness. “Let me settle +you comfortably here;” and he lifted her up in his strong arms, and +placed her in the chair where he had been sitting. “Dear me, Dolly, how +light you are!” + +She shook her head, but gave a smile, at the same time, of mingled +melancholy and sweetness. + +“I 'd never have believed you could be so light; but you 'll see what +home and native air will do,” added he, quickly, and ashamed of his own +want of tact. “My little mother, too, is such a nurse, I 'll be sworn +that before a month's over you 'll be skipping over the rocks, or +helping me to launch the coble, like long ago,--won't you, Dolly?” + +“Go on with what you were telling me,” said she, faintly. + +“Where was I? I forget where I stopped. Oh, yes; I remember it now. I +went home as quick as I could, and I wrote Mark Lyle a letter. I know +you 'll laugh at the notion of a letter by my hand; but I think I said +what I wanted to say. I did n't want to disclaim all that I owed his +family; indeed I never felt so deeply the kindness they had shown me as +at the moment I was relinquishing it forever; but I told him that if +he presumed, on the score of that feeling, to treat me like some humble +hanger-on of his house, I'd beg to remind him that by birth at least I +was fully his equal. That was the substance of it, but I won't say that +it was conveyed in the purest and best style.” + +“What did he reply?” + +“Nothing,--not one line. I ought to say that I started for England +almost immediately after; but he took no notice of me when I came back, +and we never met since.” + +“And his sisters,--do you suspect that they know of this letter of +yours?” + +“I cannot tell, but I suppose not. It's not likely Mark would speak of +it.” + +“How, then, do they regard your abstaining from calling there?” + +“As a caprice, I suppose. They always thought me a wayward, uncertain +sort of fellow. It's a habit your well-off people have, to look on their +poorer friends as queer and odd and eccentric,--eh, Dolly?” + +“There's some truth in the remark, Tony,” said she, smiling; “but I +scarcely expected to hear you come out as a moralist.” + +“That's because, like the rest of the world, you don't estimate me at my +true value. I have a great vein of reflection or reflectiveness--which +is it, Dolly? but it 's the deepest of the two--in me, if people only +knew it.” + +“You have a great vein of kind-heartedness, and you are a good son to +a good mother,” said she, as a pink blush tinged her cheek, “and I like +that better.” + +It was plain that the praise had touched him, and deeply too, for he +drew his hand across his eyes, and his lip trembled as he said, “It was +just about that dear mother I wanted to speak to you, Dolly. You know +I'm going away?” + +“My father told me,” said she, with a nod of her head. + +“And though, of course, I may manage a short leave now and then to come +over and see her, she 'll be greatly alone. Now, Dolly, you know how she +loves you,--how happy she always is when you come over to us. Will you +promise me that you'll often do so? You used to think nothing of the +walk long ago, and when you get strong and hearty again, you 'll not +think more of it. It would be such a comfort to me, when I am far away, +to feel that you were sitting beside her,--reading to her, perhaps, +or settling those flowers she's so fond of. Ah, Dolly, I'll have that +window that looks out on the white rocks in my mind, and you sitting at +it, many and many a day, when I 'll be hundreds of miles off.” + +“I love your mother dearly, Tony; she has been like a mother to myself +for many a year, and it would be a great happiness to me to be with her; +but don't forget, Tony,”--and she tried to smile as she spoke,--“don't +forget that I'll have to go seek my fortune also.” + +“And are n't you come to live at home now for good?” + +She shook her head with a sorrowful meaning, and said: + +“I'm afraid not, Tony. My dear, dear father does not grow richer as he +grows older, and he needs many a little comfort that cannot come of his +own providing, and you know he has none but me.” + +The intense sadness of the last few words were deepened by the swimming +eyes and faltering lips of her that uttered them. + +“And are you going back to these M'Gruders?” + +She shook her head in negative. + +“I 'm glad of that I 'm sure they were not kind.” + +“Nay, Tony, they were good folk, but after their own fashion; and they +always strove to be just.” + +“Another word for being cruel. I 'd like to know what's to become of any +of us in this world if we meet nothing better than Justice. But why did +you leave them?--I mean leave them for good and all.” + +She changed color hastily, and turned her head away, while in a low +confused manner she said: “There were several reasons. I need n't +tell you I was n't strong, Tony, and strength is the first element of +governess life.” + +“I know how it came about,” broke in Tony. “Don't deny it,--don't, +Dolly. It was all my fault.” + +“Don't speak so loud,” whispered she, cautiously. + +“It all came of that night I dined at Richmond. But if he hadn't struck +at me--” + +“Who struck at you, Tony, my man?” said the old minister, waking up. “He +wasna over-gifted with prudence whoever did it, that I maun say; and how +is Mrs. Butler and how are you yourself?” + +“Bravely, sir, both of us. I 've had a long chat with Dolly over the +fire, and I fear I must be going now. I 've brought you a brace of +woodcocks, and a message from my mother about not forgetting to dine +with us on Monday.” + +“I don't know about that, Tony. The lassie yonder is very weak just +yet.” + +“But after a little rest, eh, Dolly? Don't you think you'd be strong +enough to stroll over by Monday? Then Tuesday be it.” + +“We 'll bide and see, Tony,--we 'll bide and see. I'll be able, perhaps, +to tell you after meeting to-morrow; not that you 're very reg'lar in +attendance, Maister Tony; I mean to have a word or two with you about +that one of these days.” + +“All right, sir,” said Tony. “If you and Dolly come over to us on +Monday, you may put me on the cutty-stool if you like afterwards;” and +with that he was gone. + +“And all this has been my doing,” thought Tony, as he wended his way +homewards. “I have lost to this poor girl the means by which she was +earning her own livelihood, and aiding to make her father's life more +comfortable! I must make her tell me how it all came about, and why they +made her pay the penalty of my fault. Not very fair that for people so +just as they are.” “And to think,” added he, aloud, after a pause,--“to +think it was but the other day I was saying to myself, 'What can people +mean when they talk of this weary world,--this life of care and toil and +anxiety?'--and already I feel as if I stood on the threshold, and peeped +in, and saw it all; but, to be sure, at that time I was cantering along +the strand with Alice, and now--and now I am plodding along a dark +road, with a hot brain and a heavy heart, to tell me that sorrow is sown +broadcast, and none can escape it.” + +All was still at the cottage when he reached it, and he crept gently +to his room, and was soon asleep, forgetting cares and griefs, and only +awaking as the strong sunlight fell upon his face and proclaimed the +morning. + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. AN UNWELCOME LETTER + +The doctor had guessed aright. Tony did not present himself at meeting +on Sunday. Mrs. Butler, indeed, was there, though the distance was more +than a mile, and the day a raw and gusty one, with threatenings of snow +in the air. + +“Are you coming with me, Tony, to hear the minister? It will be an +interesting lecture to-day on the character of Ahab,” said she, opening +his door a few inches. + +“I'm afraid not, mother; I'm in for a hard day's work this morning. +Better lose Ahab than lose my examination.” + +Mrs. Butler did not approve of the remark, but she closed the door +and went her way, while Tony covered his table with a mass of books, +arranged paper and pens, and then, filling the bowl of a large Turkish +pipe, sat himself down, as he fancied, to work, but in reality to weave +thoughts about as profitable and as connected as the thin blue wreaths +of smoke that issued from his lips, and in watching whose wayward curls +and waftings he continued to pass hours. + +I have often suspected--indeed, my experience of life leads me much to +the conviction--that for the perfect enjoyment of what is called one's +own company, the man of many resources must yield the palm to him +of none; and that the mere man of action, whose existence is stir, +movement, and adventure, can and does find his occasional hours of +solitude more pleasurable than he who brings to his reveries the +tormenting doubts and distrusts, the casuistical indecisions, and the +dreary discontents, that so often come of much reading. Certainly in +the former there is no strain,--no wear and tear. He is not called on +to breast the waves and stem the tide, but to float indolently down the +stream without even remarking the scenery that clothes the banks. + +Tony, I fancy, was a master of this art; he knew how to follow up any +subject in thought till it began to become painful, and then to turn his +attention to the sea and some far-off white sail, or to the flickering +leaflet of falling snow, tossed and drifted here and there like some +castaway,--a never-failing resource. He could follow with his eyes the +azure circles of smoke, and wonder which would outstrip the other. +To fit him for the life of a “messenger,” he had taken down “Cook's +Voyages;” but after reading a few pages, he laid down the book to think +how far the voyager's experiences could apply to the daily exigencies of +a Foreign Office official, and to ask himself if he were not in +reality laying down too wide and too extensive a foundation for future +acquirement. “No,” thought he, “I 'll not try to be any better or +smarter than the rest. I 'll just stick to the practical part, and here +goes for Ollendorf.” Three or four sentences read,--he leaned back, and +wondered whether he would not rather undertake an excursion on foot to +Jerusalem than set out on an expedition into the French language. As +if a whole life could master that bulky dictionary, and transfer its +contents to his poor brain! To be sure, Alice knew it; but Alice could +learn what she pleased. She learned to skate in three lessons,--and +how she did it too! Who ever glided over the ice with such a grace,--so +easy, so quiet, but with such a perfection of movement! Talk of +dancing,--it was nothing to it. And could n't she ride? See her three +fields off, and you'd know the ground just by the stride of her horse. +Such a hand she had! But who was like Alice? + +Ah! there was the boundless prairie, to his thoughts, on which he +might ramble forever; and on that wide swelling savannah, roaming and +straying, we shall now leave him, and turn our glance elsewhere. + +The morning service of the meeting-house over, Dr. Stewart proposed to +walk home with Mrs. Butler. The exposition about Ahab had neither been +as full or as able as he had intended, but it was not his fault,--at +least, only in part his fault; the sum of which consisted in the fact +that he had broken through a good rule, which up to that hour had never +met with infraction,--he had opened a post-letter on the Sabbath-morn. +“This comes,” said he, plaintively, “of letting the sinfu' things of +this warld mingle wi' the holier and higher ones of the warld to come. +Corruption is aye stronger than life; and now I maun tell you the whole +of it.” If we do not strictly follow the good minister, and tell what +he had to say in his own words, it is to spare our reader some time on +a matter which may not possess the amount of interest to him it had for +the person who narrated it. The matter was this: there came that morning +a letter from Mrs. M'Gruder to Dr. Stewart,--a letter that almost +overwhelmed him. The compensation to humility of station is +generally this, that the interests of the humble man are so lowly, so +unpretending, and so little obtrusive that they seldom or never provoke +the attention of his more fortunate neighbors. As with the rivulet that +can neither float a barque nor turn a mill-wheel none meddles, so with +the course of these lowly lives few concern themselves, and they ripple +along unheeded. Many and many a time had the old minister hugged this +thought to his heart,--many and many a time had he felt that there +were cares and troubles in this life so proud and so haughty that they +disdained the thatched cabin and the humble roof-tree, but loved to push +their way through crowds of courtiers up marble stairs and along gilded +corridors. It was then with a perfect shock that he came to learn that +even they, in all their lowliness, could claim no exemption from common +calamity. The letter began by stating that the writer, before putting +pen to paper, had waited till Miss Stewart should have reached her home, +so that no anxieties as to her health should be added to the pain the +communication might cause. After this louring commencement the epistle +went on to state that the satisfaction which Dolly had at first given +by her general good temper and strict attention to her duties, +“compensating in a great measure for the defects in her own education +and want of aptitude as a teacher,” soon ceased to be experienced, as +it was found that she was subject to constant intervals of great +depression, and even whole days, when she seemed scarcely equal to her +duties. The cause was not very long a secret. + +It was an attachment she had formed to a brother of Mr. M'Gruder's, +who, some years younger than himself, had been established in Italy as a +partner, and had now come over to England on business. + +It was not necessary to say that the writer had never encouraged this +sentiment; on the contrary, she had more than remonstrated with her +brother-in-law on the score of his attentions, and flatly declared that, +if he persisted, she would do her utmost to have the partnership with +his brother dissolved, and all future intercourse at an end between +them. This led to scenes of a very violent nature, in which she was +obliged to own her husband had the cruelty to take his brother's side +against her, and avow that Samuel was earning his own bread, and if he +liked to share it with an “untochcred lassie,” it should be far from +him, Robert M'Grader, that any reproach should come,--a sarcasm that +Mrs. M'Grader seemed keenly to appreciate. + +The agitation caused by these cares, acting on a system already excited, +had brought on a fever to Dolly; and it was only on her convalescence, +and while still very weak, that a young man arrived in London and called +to see her, who suddenly seemed to influence all her thoughts and plans +for the future. Sam, it appeared, had gone back to Italy, relying on +Dolly's promise to consult her father and give him a final reply to his +offer of marriage. From the day, however, that this stranger had called, +Dolly seemed to become more and more indifferent to this project, +declaring that her failing health and broken spirits would render her +rather a burden than a benefit, and constantly speaking of home, and +wishing to be back there. “Though I wished,” continued the writer, “that +this resolve had come earlier, and that Miss Stewart had returned to +her father before she had thrown discord into a united family, I was not +going to oppose it, even late as it occurred. It was therefore arranged +that she was to go home, ostensibly to recruit and restore herself in +her native air; but I, I need hardly tell you, as firmly determined she +should never pass this threshold again. Matters were in this state, and +Miss Stewart only waiting for a favorable day to begin her journey--an +event I looked for with the more impatience as Mr. M'G. and myself could +never, I knew, resume our terms of affection so long as she remained in +our house,--when one night, between one and two o'clock, we were awoke +by the sound of feet in the garden under our window. I heard them first, +and, creeping to the casement, I saw a figure clamber over the railing +and make straight for the end of the house where Miss Stewart slept, +and immediately begin a sort of low moaning kind of song, evidently +a signal. Miss Stewart's window soon opened, and on this I called Mr. +M'Grader. He had barely time to reach the window, when a man's voice +from below cried out, 'Come down; are you coming?' On this, Mr. M'Gruder +rushed downstairs and into the garden. Two or three loud and angry words +succeeded, and then a violent struggle, in which my husband was twice +knocked down and severely injured. The man, however, made his escape, +but not unrecognized; for your daughter's voice cried out, 'Oh, Tony, I +never thought you 'd do this,' or, 'Why did you do this?' or some words +to that effect. + +“The terms on which, through Miss Stewart's behavior, I have latterly +lived with Mr. M'Gruder, gave me no opportunity to learn anything from +_him_. Indeed, he never so much as spoke of an incident which confined +him two days to his room and five days to the house; but, as if bent on +exasperation, redoubled his kind inquiries about your daughter, who was +now, as she said, too ill to leave her room. + +“No other course was then open to me than to write the present letter +to you and another to my brother-in-law. He, at least, I am determined, +shall know something of the young lady with whom he wishes to share his +fortune, though I trust that a minister of the Gospel will have no need +of any promptings of mine to prevent such a casualty. My last words, on +parting with your daughter, were to ask if the man I saw that night was +the same who had called to see her, and her reply was, 'Yes, the same.' +I will not disguise that she had the grace to cry as she said it. + +“That she is never to return here, I need not say. Ay, more than that; +no reference to me will be responded to in terms that can serve her. +But this is not all. I require that you will send, and send open for my +inspection, such a letter to Mr. S. M'Gruder as may finally put an end +to any engagement, and declare that, from the circumstances now known +to you, you could neither expect, or even desire, that he would make +her his wife. Lastly, I demand--and I am in a position to enforce a +demand--that you do not communicate with my husband at all in this +affair; sufficient unpleasantness and distrust having been already +caused by our unhappy relations with your family.” + +A few moral reflections closed the epistle. They were neither very +novel nor very acute, but they embodied the sense of disappointment +experienced by one who little thought, in taking a teacher from the +manse of a minister, she was incurring a peril as great as if she had +sent over to France for the latest refinement in Parisian depravity. +“Keep her at home with yourself, Dr. Stewart,” wrote she, “unless +the time comes when the creature she called Tony may turn up as a +respectable man, and be willing to take her.” And with a gracefully +expressed hope that Dolly's ill health might prove seasonable for +self-examination and correction, she signed herself, “Your compassionate +friend, Martha M'Gruder.” + +“What do you say to that, Mrs. Butler? Did ever you read as much cruelty +in pen and ink, I ask you? Did you ever believe that the mother of +children could write to a father of his own daughter in such terms as +these?” + +“I don't know what it means, doctor; it 's all confusion to me. Who is +Tony? It's not our Tony, surely?” + +“I'm not so sure of that, Mrs. Butler. Tony was up in London and he +called to see Dolly. You remember that he told in his letter to you how +the puir lassie's hair was cut short--” + +“I remember it all, Dr. Stewart; but what has all that to do with all +this dreadful scene at night in the garden?” The doctor shook his head +mournfully, and made no reply. “If you mean, Dr. Stewart, that it was +my Tony that brought about all these disasters, I tell you I will not--I +cannot believe it. It would be better to speak your mind out, sir, than +to go on shaking your head. We're not altogether so depraved that our +disgrace is beyond words.” + +“There 's nothing for anger here, my dear old friend,” said he, calmly, +“though maybe there's something for sorrow. When you have spoken to +your son, and I to my daughter, we 'll see our way better through this +thorny path. Good-bye.” + +“You are not angry with me, doctor?” said she, holding out her hand, +while her eyes were dimmed with tears,--“you are not angry with me?” + +“That I am not,” said he, grasping her hand warmly in both his own. “We +have no other treasures in this world, either of us, than this lad +and this lassie, and it's a small fault if we cling to them the more +closely. I think I see Tony coming to meet you, so I'll just turn home +again.” And with another and more affectionate good-bye, they parted. + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. AT THE MANSE + +In no small perturbation of mind was it that Mrs. Butler passed +her threshold. That a word should be breathed against her Tony, was +something more than she could endure; that he could have deserved it, +was more than she could believe. Tony, of whom for years and years she +had listened to nothing but flatteries, how clever and ready-witted he +was, how bold and fearless, how kind-hearted, and how truthful,--ay, how +truthful! and how is it then, asked she of herself, that he has told +me nothing of all this mischance, and what share he has had in bringing +misfortune upon poor Dolly? + +“Is Master Tony at home, Jenny?” said she, as she entered. + +“Yes; he's reading a letter that has just come wi' the post.” + +The old lady stopped, with her hand on the handle of the door, to draw a +full breath, and regain a calm look; but a merry laugh from Tony, as he +sat reading his letter, did more to rally her, though her heart smote +her to think how soon she might have to throw a shadow across his +sunshine. + +“Who's your letter from, Tony?” said she, dryly. + +“From Skeffy; he 'll be here to-morrow; he's to arrive at Coleraine by +six in the morning, and wants me to meet him there.” + +“And what's the other sealed note in your hand?” + +“This?--this is from another man,--a fellow you've never heard of; at +least, you don't know him.” + +“And what may be his name, Tony?” asked she, in a still colder tone. + +“He's a stranger to you, mother. Skeffy found the note at my hotel, and +forwarded it,--that's all.” + +“You were n't wont to have secrets from me, Tony,” said she, +tremulously. + +“Nor have I, mother; except it may be some trifling annoyance or worry +that I don't care to tease you about. If I had anything heavier on my +mind, you may trust me, I 'd very soon be out with it.” + +“But I 'm not to hear who this man is?” said she, with a strange +pertinacity. + +“Of course you are, if you want to hear; his name is there, on the +corner of his note,--Robt M'Gruder,--and here's the inside of it, though +I don't think you 'll be much the wiser when you 've read it.” + +“It's for yourself to read your own letter, Tony,” said she, waving back +the note. “I merely asked who was your correspondent.” + +Tony broke the seal, and ran his eye hastily over the lines. “I 'm as +glad as if I got a hundred pounds!” cried he. “Listen to this, mother:-- + +“'Dear Sir,--When I received your note on Monday--' + +“But wait a bit, mother; I must tell you the whole story, or you 'll not +know why he wrote this to me. Do you remember my telling you, just at +the back of a letter, that I was carried off to a dinner at Richmond?” + +“Yes, perfectly.” + +“Well, I wish I hadn't gone, that's all. Not that it was n't jolly, and +the fellows very pleasant and full of fun, but somehow we all of us +took too much wine, or we talked too much, or perhaps both; but we began +laying wagers about every imaginable thing, and I made a bet,--I 'll +be hanged if I could tell what it was; but it was something about Dolly +Stewart. I believe it was that she was handsomer than another girl. I +forgot all about her hair being cut off, and her changed looks. At all +events, off we set in a body, to M'Gruder's house. It was then about two +in the morning, and we all singing, or what we thought was singing, most +uproariously. Yes, you may shake your head. I 'm ashamed of it now, too, +but it was some strange wine--I think it was called Marcobrunner--that +completely upset me; and the first thing that really sobered me was +seeing that the other fellows ran away, leaving me all alone in the +garden, while a short stout man rushed out of the house with a stick to +thrash me. I tried to make him hear me, for I wanted to apologize; but +he wouldn't listen, and so I gave him a shake. I didn't strike him; but +I shook him off, roughly enough perhaps, for he fell, and then I +sprang over the gate, and cut off as fast as I could. When I awoke next +morning, I remembered it all, and heartily ashamed I was of myself; and +I thought that perhaps I ought to go out in person and beg his pardon; +but I had no time for that; I wanted to get away by that day's packet, +and so I wrote him a few civil lines. I don't remember them exactly, but +they were to say that I was very sorry for it all, and I hoped he 'd +see the thing as it was,--a stupid bit of boyish excess, of which I felt +much ashamed; and here's his answer:-- + + “'Dear Sir,--When I received your note on Monday morning, + I was having leeches to my eye, and could n't answer it. + Yesterday both eyes were closed, and it is only to-day that + I can see to scratch these lines. If I had had a little more + patience on the night I first met you, it would have been + better for both of us. As it is, I receive all your + explanation as frankly as it is given; and you 'll be lucky + in life if nobody bears you more ill-will than--Yours + truly, + + 'Robt. M'Gruder. + + “'If you come up to town again, look in on me at 27 Cannon + Street, City. I do not say here, as Mrs. M'G, has not yet + forgiven the black eye.'” + +“Oh, Tony! my own, dear, dear, true-hearted Tony!” cried his mother, as +she flung her arms around him, and hugged him to her heart “I knew my +own dear boy was as loyal as his own high-hearted father.” + +Tony was exceedingly puzzled to what precise part of his late behavior +be owned all this enthusiastic fondness, and was curious also to know if +giving black eyes to Scotchmen had been a trait of his father's. + +“And this was all of it, Tony?” asked she, eagerly. + +“Don't you think it was quite enough? I'm certain Dolly did; for she +knew my voice, and cried out, 'Oh, Tony, how could you?' or something +like that from the window. And that's a thing, mother, has been weighing +heavily on my mind ever since. Has this unlucky freak of mine anything +to do with Dolly's coming home?” + +“We 'll find that out later on, Tony; leave that to me,” said she, +hurriedly; for with all her honesty, she could not bear to throw a cloud +over his present happiness, or dash with sorrow the delight he felt at +his friend's coming. + +“I don't suspect,” continued he, thoughtfully, “that I made a very +successful impression on that Mrs. M'Grader the day I called on Dolly; +and if she only connected me with this night's exploit, of course it's +all up with me.” + +“Her husband bears you no grudge for it at all, Tony.” + +“That's clear enough; he's a fine fellow; but if it should turn out, +mother, that poor Dolly lost her situation,--it was no great thing, to +be sure; but she told me herself, it was hard enough to get as good; and +if, I say, it was through me she lost it--” + +“You mustn't give yourself the habit of coining evil, Tony. There are +always enough of hard and solid troubles in life without our conjuring +up shadows and spectres to frighten us. As I said before, I 'll have a +talk with Dolly herself, and I 'll find out everything.” + +“Do so, mother; and try and make her come often over here when I'm gone; +she'll be very lonely yonder, and you 'll be such good company for each +other, won't you?” + +“I 'll do my best, for I love her dearly! She has so many ways, too, +that suit an old body like myself. She's so quiet and so gentle, and she +'ll sit over her work at the window there, and lay it down on her knee +to look out over the sea, never saying a word, but smiling a little +quiet smile when our eyes meet, as though to say, 'This is very peaceful +and happy, and we have no need to tell each other about it, for we can +feel it just as deeply.'” + +Oh, if she 'd only let Alice come to see her and sit with her, thought +Tony; how she _would_ love her! Alice could be all this, and would, too; +and then, what a charm she can throw around her with that winning smile! +Was there ever sunshine like it? And her voice--no music ever thrilled +through _me_ as that voice did. “I say, mother,” cried he, aloud, “don't +say No; don't refuse her if she begs to come over now and then with a +book or a few flowers; don't deny her merely because she's very rich and +much courted and flattered. I pledge you my word the flattery has not +spoiled her.” + +“Poor Dolly! it's the first time I ever heard that you were either rich +or inn after! What 's the boy dreaming of, with his eyes staring in his +head?” + +“I 'm thinking that I 'll go into Coleraine to-night, so as to be there +when the mail arrives at six in the morning,” said Tony, recovering +himself, though in considerable confusion. “Skeffy's room is all ready, +isn't it?” + +“To be sure it is; and very nice and comfortable it looks too;” and as +she spoke, she arose and went into the little room, on which she and +Jenny had expended any amount of care and trouble. “But, Tony dear,” + she cried out, “what's become of Alice Lyle's picture? I put it over the +fireplace myself, this morning.” + +“And I took it down again, mother. Skeffy never knew Alice,--never saw +her.” + +“It was n't for that I put it there; it was because she was a handsome +lassie, and it's always a pleasant sight to look upon. Just bring it +back again; the room looks nothing without it.” + +“No, no; leave it in your own room, in which it has always been,” said +he, almost sternly. “And now about dinner to-morrow; I suppose we'd +better make no change, but just have it at three, as we always do.” + +“Your grand friend will think it's luncheon, Tony.” + +“He 'll learn his mistake when it comes to tea-time; but I 'll go and +see if there 's not a salmon to be had at Carrig-a-Rede before I start; +and if I 'm lucky, I 'll bring you a brace of snipe back with me.” + +“Do so, Tony; and if Mr. Gregg was to offer you a little seakale, or +even some nice fresh celery--Eh, dear, he 's off, and no minding me! He +'s a fine true-hearted lad,” muttered she, as she reseated herself at +her work; “but I wonder what's become of all his high spirits, and the +merry ways that he used to have.” + +Tony was not successful in his pursuit of provender. There was a heavy +sea on the shore, and the nets had been taken up; and during his whole +walk he never saw a bird He ate a hurried dinner when he came back, +and, taking one more look at Skeffy's room to see whether it looked as +comfortable as he wished it, he set out for Coleraine. + +Now, though his mind was very full of his coming guest, in part +pleasurably, and in part with a painful consciousness of his inability +to receive him handsomely, his thoughts would wander off at every moment +to Dolly Stewart, and to her return home, which he felt convinced was +still more or less connected with his own freak. The evening service was +going on in the meeting-house as he passed, and he could hear the swell +of the voices in the last hymn that preceded the final prayer, and he +suddenly bethought him that he would take a turn by the Burnside and +have a few minutes' talk with Dolly before her father got back from +meeting. + +“She is such a true-hearted, honest girl,” said he to himself, “she 'll +not be able to hide the fact from me; and I will ask her flatly, Is this +so? was it not on my account you left the place?” + +All was still and quiet at the minister's cottage, and Tony raised the +latch and walked through the little passage into the parlor unseen. The +parlor, too, was empty. A large old Bible lay open on the table, and +beside it a handkerchief--a white one--that he knew to be Dolly's. As +he looked at it, he bethought him of one Alice had given him once as a +keepsake; he had it still. How different that fragment of gossamer with +the frill of rich lace from this homely kerchief! Were they not almost +emblems of their owners? and if so, did not his own fortunes rather +link him with the humbler than with the higher? With one there might be +companionship; with the other, what could it be but dependence? + +While he was standing thus thinking, two ice-cold hands were laid over +his eyes, and he cried out. “Ay, Dolly, those frozen fingers are yours;” + and as he removed her hands, he threw one arm round her waist, and, +pressing her closely to him, he kissed her. + +“Tony, Tony!” said she, reproachfully, while her eyes swam in two heavy +tears, and she turned away. + +“Come here and sit beside me, Dolly. I want to ask you a question, and +we have n't much time, for the doctor will be here presently, and I am +so fretted and worried thinking over it that I have nothing left but to +come straight to yourself and ask it.” + +“Well, what is it?” said she, calmly. + +“But you will be frank with me, Dolly,--frank and honest, as you always +were,--won't you?” + +“Yes, I think so,” said she, slowly. + +“Ay, but you must be sure to be frank, Dolly, for it touches me very +closely; and to show you that you may, I will tell you a secret, to +begin with. Your father has had a letter from that Mrs. M'Gruder, where +you lived.” + +“From her?” said Dolly, growing so suddenly pale that she seemed about +to faint; “are you sure of this?” + +“My mother saw it; she read part of it, and here 's what it +implies,--that it was all my fault--at least, the fault of knowing +me--that cost you your place. She tells, not very unfairly, all things +considered, about that unlucky night when I came under the windows and +had that row with her husband; and then she hints at something, and I'll +be hanged if I can make out at what; and if my mother knows, which I +suspect she does not, she has not told me; but whatever it be, it is in +some way mixed up with your going away; and knowing, my dear Dolly, that +you and I can talk to one another as few people can in this world,--is +it not so? Are you ill, dear,--are you faint?” + +“No; those are weak turns that come and go.” + +“Put your head down here on my shoulder, my poor Dolly. How pale you +are! and your hands so cold. What is it you say, darling? I can't hear.” + +Her lips moved, but without a sound, and her eyelids fell lazily over +her eyes, as, pale and scarcely seeming to breathe, she leaned heavily +towards him, and fell at last in his arms. There stood against the +opposite wall of the room a little horse-hair sofa, a hard and narrow +bench, to which he carried her, and, with her head supported by his arm, +he knelt down beside her, helpless a nurse as ever gazed on sickness. + +“There, you are getting better, my dear, dear Dolly,” he said, as a long +heavy sigh escaped her. “You will be all right presently, my poor dear.” + +“Fetch me a little water,” said she, faintly. + +Tony soon found some, and held it to her lips, wondering the while how +it was he had never before thought Dolly beautiful, so regular were +the features, so calm the brow, so finely traced the mouth, and the +well-rounded chin beneath it. How strange it seemed that the bright +eye and the rich color of health should have served to hide rather than +heighten these traits! + +“I think I must have fainted, Tony,” said she, weakly. + +“I believe you did, darling,” said he. + +“And how was it? Of what were we talking, Tony? Tell me what I was +saying to you.” + +Tony was afraid to refer to what he feared might have had some share in +her late seizure; he dreaded to recur to it. + +“I think I remember it,” said she, slowly, and as if struggling with +the difficulty of a mental effort. “But stay; is not that the wicket I +heard? Father is coming, Tony;” and as she spoke, the heavy foot of the +minister was heard on the passage. + +“Eh, Tony man, ye here? I'd rather hae seen ye at the evening lecture; +but ye 're no fond of our form of worship, I believe. The Colonel, your +father, I have heard, was a strong Episcopalian.” + +“I was on my way to Coleraine, doctor, and I turned off at the mill to +see Dolly, and ask her how she was.” + +“Ye winna stay to supper, then?” said the old man, who, hospitable +enough on ordinary occasions, had no wish to see the Sabbath evening's +meal invaded by the presence of a guest, even of one so well known as +Tony. + +Tony muttered some not very connected excuses, while his eyes turned +to Dolly, who, still pale and sickly-looking, gave him one little brief +nod, as though to say it were better he should go; and the old minister +himself stood erect in the middle of the floor, calmly and almost coldly +waiting the words “Good-bye.” + +“Am I to tell mother you 'll come to us to-morrow, doctor,--you and +Dolly?” asked Tony, with his band on the door. + +“It's no on the Sabbath evening we should turn our thoughts to feastin', +Master Tony; and none know that better than your worthy mother. I wish +you a good-evening and a pleasant walk.” + +“Good-night,” said Tony, shutting the door sharply; “and,” muttered he +to himself, “if you catch _me_ crossing your threshold again, Sabbath or +week-day--” He stopped, heaved a deep sigh, and, drawing his hand across +his eyes, said, “My poor dear Dolly, hasn't my precious temper done you +mischief enough already, that I must let it follow you to your own quiet +fireside?” + +And he went his way, with many a vow of self-amendment, and many a kind +wish, that was almost a prayer, for the minister and his daughter. + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. DEPARTURES + +All was confusion and dismay at Tilney. Bella Lyle's cold turned out +to be scarlatina, and Mark and Alice brought back tidings that old +Commodore Graham had been seized with a fit, and was seriously, if not +dangerously, ill. Of course, the company scattered like an exploded +shell. The Graham girls hastened back to their father, while the other +guests sought safety in flight, the great struggle now being who should +soonest secure post-horses to get away. Like many old people rich in +this world's comforts, Mrs. Maxwell had an especial aversion to illness +in any shape. It was a topic she never spoke on; and, if she could, +would never have mentioned before her. Her intimates understood this +thoroughly, and many were the expressions employed to imply that Mr. +Such-a-one had a fever, or Mrs. So-and-so was given over by her doctors. +As to the fatal result itself, it was always veiled in a sort of decent +mystery, as though it would not be perfectly polite to inquire whither +the missing friend had retired to. + +“Dr. Reede says it is a very mild case of the malady, and that Bella +will be up in a day or two, aunt,” said Alice. + +“Of course she will,” replied the old lady, pettishly. “It 's just a +cold and sore throat,--they had n't that fine name for it long ago, and +people got well all the sooner. Is he gone?” + +“No; he's talking with Mark in the library; he'll be telling him, I +think, about the Commodore.” + +“Well, don't ask him to stop to dinner; we have sorrow enough without +seeing a doctor.” + +“Oh, here comes Mark! Where is Dr. Reede?” + +“He's gone over to see Maitland. Fenton came to say that he wished to +see him.” + +“Surely he's not ill,” said Alice. + +“Oh, dear! what a misfortune that would be!” cried the old lady, with +real affliction in her tone; “to think of Mr. Norman Maitland taking ill +in one's house.” + +“Have n't you been over to ask after him, Mark?” + +“No. I was waiting till Reede came back: he's one of those men that +can't bear being inquired after; and if it should turn out that he was +not ill, he 'd not take the anxiety in good part.” + +“How he has contrived to play the tyrant to you all, I can't imagine,” + said Alice; “but I can see that every whim and caprice he practises is +studied as courtiers study the moods of their masters.” + +“To be sure, darling, naturally,” broke in Mrs. Maxwell, who always +misunderstood everybody. “Of course, we are only too happy to indulge +him in a whim or fancy; and if the doctor thinks turtle would suit +him--turtle is so light; I took it for several weeks for luncheon--we +can have it at once. Will you touch the bell, Mark, and I'll tell Raikes +to telegraph? Who is it he gets it from?” + +Mark pulled the bell, but took no notice of her question. “I wish,” + muttered he below his breath, “we had never come here. There 's Bella +now, laid up, and here 's Maitland. I 'm certain he's going away, for I +overheard Fenton ask about the distance to Dundalk.” + +“I suppose we might survive even that misfortune,” said she, haughtily. + +“And one thing I'll swear to,” said Mark, walking the room with +impatience,--“it 's the last Ireland will see of him.” + +“Poor Ireland! the failure in the potato-crop was bad enough, but this +is more than can be endured.” + +“That's all very fine, Alice, but I 'm much mistaken if you are as +indifferent as you pretend.” + +“Mark! what do you mean?” said she, angrily. + +“Here's Raikes now; and will some one tell him what it is we want?” said +Mrs. Maxwell; but the others were far too deeply engaged in their own +whispered controversy now to mind her. + +“Captain Lyle will tell you by and by, Raikes,” said she, gathering up +the mass of loose _impedimenta_ with which she usually moved from one +room to the other, and by which, as they fell at every step, her course +could always be tracked. “He'll tell you,” added she, moving away. +“I think it was caviare, and you are to telegraph for it to Swan and +Edgar's--but my head is confused to-day; I'll just go and lie down.” + +As Mrs. Maxwell left by one door, Alice passed out by another; while +Mark, whose temper evinced itself in a flushed cheek and a contracted +brow, stood at a window, fretfully tapping the ground with his foot. + +“Have you any orders, sir?” asked Raikes. + +“Orders! No--stay a moment Have many gone away this morning?” + +“Nearly all, sir. Except your family and Mr. Maitland, there's nobody +left but Major Clough, and he 's going, I believe, with Dr. Reede.” + +“You 've heard nothing of Mr. Maitland going, have you?” + +“Oh, yes, sir! his man sent for post-horses about an hour ago.” + +Muttering impatiently below his breath, Mark opened the window and +passed out upon the lawn. What an unlucky turn had everything taken! It +was but a week ago, and his friend Maitland was in high delight with +all around him. The country, the scenery, the people were all charming; +indeed, in the intervals between the showers, he had a good word to say +for the climate. As for Lyle Abbey, he pronounced it the perfection of +a country-house; and Mark actually speculated on the time when these +opinions of his distinguished friend would have acquired a certain +currency, and the judgment of one that none disputed would be recorded +of his father's house. And all these successes were now to be reversed +by this stupid old sailor's folly,--insanity he might call it; for what +other word could characterize the pretension that could claim Norman +Maitland for a son-in-law?--Maitland, that might have married, if the +law would have let him, half a score of infantas and archduchesses, and +who had but to choose throughout Europe the alliance that would suit +him. And Alice--what could Alice mean by this impertinent tone she was +taking towards him? Had the great man's patience given way under it all, +and was he really going away, wearied and tired out? + +While Mark thus doubted and reasoned and questioned, Maitland was seated +at his breakfast at one side of the fire, while Dr. Reede confronted him +at the other. + +Though Maitland had sent a message to say he wished to see the doctor, +he only gave him now a divided attention, being deeply engaged, even +as he talked, in deciphering a telegram which had just reached him, and +which was only intelligible through a key to the cipher. + +“So, then, doctor, it is simply the return of an old attack,--a thing to +be expected, in fact, at his time of life?” + +“Precisely, sir. He had one last autumn twelve month, brought on by a +fit of passion. The old Commodore gives way, rather, to temper.” + +“Ah! gives way, does he?” muttered Maitland, while he mumbled below his +breath, “'seventeen thousand and four D + X, and a gamba,'--a very large +blood-letting. By the way, doctor, is not bleeding--bleeding largely--a +critical remedy with a man of seventy-six or seven?” + +“Very much so, indeed, sir; and, if you observe, I only applied some +leeches to the _nuchæ_. You misapprehended me in thinking I took blood +from him freely.” + +“Oh, yes, very true,” said Maitland, recovering himself. “I have no +doubt you treated him with great judgment. It is a case, too, for much +caution. Forty-seven and two G's,” and he hastily turned over the leaves +of his little book, muttering continually, “and two G's, forty-six, +forty-seven, with two B's, two F's. Ah! here it is. Shivering attacks +are dangerous--are they--in these cases?” + +“In which cases?” asked the doctor; for his shrewd intelligence at once +perceived the double object which Maitland was trying to contemplate. + +“In a word, then,” continued Maitland, not heeding the doctor's +question, but bending his gaze fixedly on the piece of paper before him, +scrawled over and blotted by his own hand,--“in a word, then, a man +of seventy, seized with paralysis, and, though partially rallied by +bleeding, attacked with shivering, is in a very critical state? But how +long might he live in that way?” + +“We are not now speaking of Commodore Graham, I apprehend?” asked the +doctor, slyly. + +“No; I am simply putting a case,--a possible case, Doctors, I know, are +not fond of these imagined emergencies; lawyers like them.” + +“Doctors dislike them,” broke in Reede, “because they are never given to +them in any completeness,--every important sign of pulse and tongue and +temperature omitted--” + +“Of course you are right,” said Maitland, crumpling up the telegram and +the other papers; “and now for the Commodore. You are not apprehensive +of anything serious, I hope?” + +“It 's an anxious case, sir,--a very anxious case; he 's eighty-four.” + +“Eighty-four!” repeated Maitland, to whom the words conveyed a +considerable significance. + +“Eighty-four!” repeated the other, once more. “No one would suspect +it. Why, Sally Graham is the same age as my wife; they were at school +together.” + +Too polite to push a question which involved a double-shotted answer, +Maitland merely said, “Indeed!” and, after a slight pause, added, “You +said, I think, that the road to Dundalk led past Commodore Graham's +cottage?” + +“By the very gate.” + +“May I offer you a seat with me? I am going that way. I have received +news which calls me suddenly to England.” + +“I thank you much, but I have some visits yet to make before I return to +Port-Graham. I promised to stop the night there.” + +Having charged the doctor to convey to the Commodore's daughters his +sincere regret for their father's illness, and his no less sincere +hope of a speedy recovery, Maitland endeavored, in recognition of a +preliminary question or two about himself, to press the acceptance of +a fee; but the doctor, armed with that self-respect and tact his +profession so eminently upholds, refused to accept it, and took his +leave, perhaps well requited in having seen and spoken with the great +Mr. Norman Maitland, of whom half the country round were daily talking. + +“Mr. Maitland is not ill, I hope?” said Alice, as she met the doctor on +his way through the garden. + +“No, Mrs. Trafford; I have been making a friendly call--no more,” said +the doctor, rather vain that he could thus designate his visit; and +with a few words of advice about her sister, he went his way. Alice, +meanwhile, saw that Maitland had observed her from his window, and +rightly guessed that he would soon be in search of her. + +With that feminine instinct that never deceives in such cases, she +determined that whatever was to pass between them should be undisturbed. +She selected a most unfrequented path, bordered on one side by the high +laurel-hedge, and on the other by a little rivulet, beyond which lay +some rich meadows, backed in the distance by a thick plantation. + +She had not gone far when she beard a short quick footstep behind her, +and in a few minutes Maitland was at her side. “You forgot to liberate +me,” said he, “so I had to break my arrest.” + +“_Signor mio_, you must forgive me; we have had such a morning of +confusion and trouble: first, Bella ill,--not seriously, but confined +to bed; and then this poor old Commodore,--the doctor has told you all +about it; and, last of all, Mark storming about the house, and angry +with every one for having caught cold or a fever, and so disgusted (the +great) Mr. Maitland that he is actually hurrying away, with a vow to +heaven nevermore to put foot in Ireland.” + +“Be a little serious, and tell me of your mission this morning,” said +he, gravely. + +“Three words will do it. We reached Port-Graham just as the doctor +arrived there. The Commodore, it seemed, got home all safe by about four +o'clock in the morning; and instead of going to bed, ordered a fire +in his dressing-room, and a bottle of mulled port; with which aids to +comfort he sat down to write. It would not appear, however, that he +had got far in his correspondence, for at six, when his man entered, +he found but two lines, and his master, as he thought, fast asleep; but +which proved to be a fit of some kind, for he was perfectly insensible. +He rallied, however, and recognized his servant, and asked for the +girls. And now Dr. Reede thinks that the danger has in a great measure +passed off, and that all will go well.” + +“It is most unhappy,--most unhappy,” muttered Mainland. “I am sincerely +sorry for it all.” + +“Of course you are, though perhaps not really to blame,--at least, not +blamable in a high degree.” + +“Not in any degree, Mrs. Trafford.” + +“That must be a matter of opinion. At all events, your secret is safe, +for the old man has totally forgotten all that occurred last night +between you; and lest any clew to it should remain, I carried away the +beginning of the letter he was writing. Here it is.” + +“How thoughtfully done!” said he, as he took the paper and read aloud: +“'Dear Triphook, come over and help me to a shot at a rascal'--not +civil, certainly--'at a rascal; that because he calls himself--' It was +well he got no further,” added he, with a faint smile. + +“A good, bold hand it is too for such an old man. I declare, Mr. +Maitland, I think your usual luck must have befriended you here. The +fingers that held the pen so steadily might have been just as unshaken +with the pistol.” + +There was something so provocative in her tone that Maitland detected +the speech at once, and became curious to trace it to a cause. At this +sally, however, he only smiled in silence. + +“I tried to persuade Mark to drive over and see Tony Butler,” continued +she, “but he would n't consent: in fact, a general impulse to be +disobliging would appear to have seized on the world just now. Don't you +think so?” + +“By the way, I forgot to tell you that your protégé Butler refuses +to accept my offer. I got three lines from him, very dry and concise, +saying 'no' to me. Of course I trust to your discretion never to +disclose the negotiation in any way. I myself shall never speak of it; +indeed, I am very little given to doing civil things, and even less +accustomed to finding them ill-received, so that my secrecy is insured.” + +“He ought not to have refused,” said she, thoughtfully. + +“Perhaps not.” + +“He ought certainly to have given the matter more consideration. I wish +I could have been consulted by him. Is it too late yet?” + +“I suspect it is,” said he, dryly. “First of all, as I told you, I am +little in the habit of meeting a repulse; and, secondly, there is no +time to renew the negotiation. I must leave this to-day.” + +“To-day?” + +“Within an hour,” added he, looking at his watch; “I must manage to +reach Dublin in time to catch the mail-packet to-morrow morning.” + +“This is very sudden, this determination.” + +“Yes, I am called away by tidings I received awhile ago,--tidings of, to +me, the deepest importance.” + +“Mark will be extremely sorry,” said she, in a low tone. + +“Not sorrier than I am,” said he, despondently. + +“We all counted on your coming back with us to the Abbey; and it was +only awhile ago Bella begged that we should wait here for a day or two, +that we might return together, a family party.” + +“What a flattery there is in the phrase!” said he, with deep feeling. + +“You don't know,” continued she, “what a favorite you are with my +mother. I dare not trust myself to repeat how she speaks of you.” + +“Why will you multiply my regrets, Mrs. Trafford? Why will you make my +parting so very, very painful?” + +“Because I prefer that you should stay; because I speak in the name of a +whole house who will be afflicted at your going.” + +“You have told me of all save one,” said be, in a voice of deepest +feeling; “I want to learn what she thinks.” + +“She thinks that if Mr. Maitland's good-nature be only on a par with his +other qualities, he would sooner face the tiresomeness of a stupid house +than make the owners of it feel that they bored him.” + +“She does not think anything of the kind,” said he, with a peculiar +smile. “She knows that there is no question of good nature or of boredom +in the matter at all; but there is something at stake far more touching +than either.” He waited to see if she would speak, but as she was silent +he went on: “I will be honest, if you will not. I am not going away +of my freewill. I have been called by a telegram this morning to the +Continent; the matter is so pressing that--shall I confess it?--if this +stupid meeting with the Commodore had been arranged, I should have been +a defaulter. Yes, I'd have made I don't well know what explanation to +account for my absence. I can imagine what comments would have been +passed upon my conduct. I feel very painfully, too, for the part I +should have left to such of my friends here as would defend me, and yet +have not a fragment to guide their defence. And still, with all these +before me, I repeat, I would have gone away, so imminent is the case +that calls me, and so much is the matter one that involves the whole +future of my life. And now,” said he, while his voice became fuller and +bolder, “that I have told you this, I am ready to tell you more, and to +say that at one word of yours--one little word--I 'll remain.” + +“And what may that word be?” said she, quietly; for while he was +speaking she had been preparing herself for some such issue. + +“I need not tell you,” said he, gravely. + +“Supposing, then, that I guess it,--I am not sure that I do,--but +suppose that,--and could it not be just as well said by another,--by +Bella, for instance?” + +“You know it could not. This is only fencing, for you know it could +not.” + +“You mean, in fact, that I should say, 'don't go?'” + +“I do.” + +“Well, I 'm willing enough to say so, if my words are not to convey more +than I intend by them.” + +“I 'll risk even that,” said he, quickly. “Put your name to the bond, +and we 'll let lawyers declare what it is worth after.” + +“You frighten me, Mr. Maitland,” said she, and her tone showed that now +at least she was sincere. + +“Listen to me for one moment, Alice,” said he, taking her hand as he +walked beside her. “You are fully as much the mistress of your fate as +I am master of mine. You may consult, but you need not obey. Had it been +otherwise, I never would have dared on a hardihood that would probably +have wrecked my hopes. It is just as likely I never could satisfy the +friends about you on the score of my fortune,--my means,--my station, +and so on. It is possible, too, that scandal, which makes free with +better men, may not have spared me, and that they who would have the +right to advise you might say, 'Beware of that dreadful man.' I repeat, +this is an ordeal my pride would feel it hard to pass through; and so +I come to you, in all frankness, and declare I love you. To you--you +alone--I will give every guarantee that a man may give of his honor and +honesty. I will tell all my past, and so much as I mean for the future; +and in return, I only ask for time,--nothing but time, Alice. I am not +asking you for any pledge, simply that you will give me--what you would +not have refused a mere acquaintance--the happiness of seeing you daily; +and if--if, I say, you yourself should not deem the hand and the love +I offer beneath you,--if you should be satisfied with the claims of him +who would share his fortune with you,--that then--not till then--others +should hear of it. Is this too much for me to ask, or you to give, +Alice?” + +“Even now I do not know what you ask of me.” + +“First of all, that you bid me stay.” + +“It is but this moment you have declared to me that what calls you away +is of the very last importance to you in life.” + +“The last but one, Alice,--the last is here;” and he kissed her hand as +he spoke, but still with an air so deferent that she could not resent +it. + +“I cannot consent that it shall be so,” said she, with energy. “It is +true I am my own mistress, and there is but the greater reason why I +should be more cautious. We are almost strangers to each other. All the +flattery of your professions--and of course, I feel it as flattery--does +not blind me to the fact that I scarcely know you at all.” + +“Why not consent to know me more?” asked he, almost imploringly. + +“I agree, if no pledge is to accompany my consent.” + +“Is not this a somewhat hard condition?” said he, with a voice of +passionate meaning. “You bid me, in one word, place all that I have of +hope on the issue,--not even on that, but simply for leave to play the +game. Is this generous, Alice,--is it even just?” + +“You bewilder me with all these subtleties, and I might ask if this were +either just or generous; but at least, I will be frank. I like you very +well. I think it not at all impossible that I might like you better; but +even after that, Mr. Mainland, there would be a long stage to travel +to that degree of regard which you profess to desire from me. Do I make +myself understood?” + +“Too well for me and my hopes!” said he, despondingly. “You are able, +however, to impose hard conditions.” + +“I impose none, sir. Do not mistake me.” + +“You leave none others open to me, at least, and I accept them. To give +me even that faint chance of success, however, I must leave this to-day. +Is it not better I should?” + +“I really cannot advise,” said she, with a well-assumed coldness. + +“Even contingently, Mrs. Trafford will not involve herself in my +fortunes,” said he, half haughtily. “Well, my journey to Ireland, +amongst other benefits, has taught me a lesson that all my wanderings +never imparted. I have at last learned something of humility. Good-bye.” + +“Good-bye, Mr. Maitland,” said she, with calm, but evidently not without +effort. + +He stooped and kissed her hand, held it for a moment or two in his own, +and with a very faint “Good-bye,” turned away and left her. He turned +suddenly around after a few paces, and came back. “May I ask one +question, Alice, before I go?” + +“I don't know whether I shall answer it,” said she, with a faint smile. + +“I cannot afford to add jealousy to my other torments. Tell me, then--” + +“Take care, sir, take care; your question may cost you more than you +think of.” + +“Good-bye,--good-bye,” said he, sadly, and departed. “Are the horses +ready, Fenton?” asked he, as his servant came to meet him. + +“Yes, sir; and Captain Lyle has been looking for you all over the +garden.” + +“He's going,--he 's off, Bella,” said Alice, as she sat down beside her +sister's bed, throwing her bonnet carelessly down at her feet. + +“Who is going?--who is off?” asked Bella, eagerly. + +“Of course,” continued Alice, following up her own thoughts, “to say +'Stay' means more than I like to be pledged to,--I couldn't do it.” + +“Poor Tony!--give him my love, Alice, and tell him I shall often +think of him,--as often as ever I think of bygone days and all their +happiness.” + +“And why must it be Tony that I spoke of?” said Alice, rising, while a +deep crimson flush covered her face and brow. “I think Master Tony has +shown us latterly that he has forgotten the long ago, and has no wish to +connect us with thoughts of the future.” + + + +CHAPTER XXX. CONSPIRATORS + +In one of those low-ceilinged apartments of a Parisian _hôtel_ which +modern luxury seems peculiarly to affect, decorating the walls with the +richest hangings, and gathering together promiscuously objects of art +and _virtù_, along with what can minister to voluptuous ease, Maitland +and Caffarelli were now seated. They had dined, and their coffee stood +before them on a table spread with a costly dessert and several bottles, +whose length of neck and color indicated choice liquor. + +They lounged in the easiest of chairs in the easiest of attitudes, and, +as they puffed their havannahs, did not ill-represent in tableau the +luxurious self-indulgence of the age we live in. For let us talk as we +will of progress and mental activity, be as boastful as we may about the +march of science and discovery, in what are we so really conspicuous as +in the inventions that multiply ease, and bring the means of indulgence +within the reach of even moderate fortune? + +As the wood fire crackled and flared on the ample hearth, a heavy plash +of hail struck the window, and threatened almost to smash it. + +“What a night!” said Maitland, drawing closer to the blaze. “I say, +_Carlo mio_, it's somewhat cosier to sit in this fashion than be +toddling over the Mont Cenis in a shabby old sledge, and listening to +the discussion whether you are to spend the night in the 'Refuge No. +One, or No. Two.'” + +“Yes,” said Caffarelli, “it must have been a great relief to you to +have got my telegram in Dublin, and to know that you need not cross the +Alps.” + +“If I could only have been certain that I understood it aright, I 'd +have gone straight back to the north from whence I came; but there was a +word that puzzled me,--the word _calamità_. Now we have not yet arrived +at the excellence of accenting foreign words in our telegraph offices; +and as your most amiable and philosophical of all nations has but the +same combination of letters to express an attraction and an affliction, +I was sorely puzzled to make out whether you wrote with or without an +accent on the last syllable. It made all the difference in the world +whether you say events are a 'loadstone' or a 'misfortune.' I gave half +an hour to the study of the passage, and then came on.” + +“_Per Bacco!_ I never thought of that; but what, under any +circumstances, would have induced you to go back again?” + +“I fell in love!” + +Caffarelli pushed the lamp aside to have a better view of his friend, +and then laughed long and heartily. “Maso Arretini used often to say, +'Maitland will die a monk;' and I begin now to believe it is quite +possible.” + +“Maso was a fool for his prediction. Had I meant to be a monk, I 'd +have taken to the cowl when I had youth and vigor and dash in me, the +qualities a man ought to bring to a new career. Ha! what is there so +strange in the fact that I should fall in love?” + +“Don't ask as if you were offended with me, and I 'll try and tell you.” + +“I am calm; go on.” + +“First of all, Maitland, no easy conquest would satisfy your vanity, and +you'd never have patience to pursue a difficult one. Again, the objects +that really have an attraction for you--such as Ambition and Power--have +the same fascination for you that high play has for a gambler. You do +not admit nor understand any other; and, last of all,--one is nothing +if not frank in these cases,--you 'd never believe any woman was +lovely enough, clever enough, or graceful enough to be worthy of Norman +Maitland.” + +“The candor has been perfect. I 'll try and imitate it,” said Maitland, +filling his glass slowly, and slightly wetting his lips. “All you +have just said, Carlo, would be unimpeachable if all women were your +countrywomen, and if love were what it is understood to be in an +Italian city; but there are such things in this dreary land of fog and +snow-drift as women who do not believe intrigue to be the chief object +of human existence, who have fully as much self-respect as they have +coquetry, and who would regard no addresses so offensive as those that +would reduce them to the level of a class with which they would not +admit companionship.” + +“Bastions of virtue that I never ask to lay siege to!” broke out the +other, laughing. + +“Don't believe it, Carlo. You'd like the campaign well, if you only +knew how to conduct it. Why, it's not more than a week ago I quitted a +country-house where there were more really pretty women than you could +number in the crowd of one of your ball-rooms on either Arno or Tiber.” + +“And, in the name of Heaven, why didn't you bring over one of them at +least, to strike us with wonderment and devotion?” + +“Because I would not bring envy, malice, and jealousy to all south +of the Alps; because I would not turn all your heads, or torment your +hearts; and lastly, because--she would n't come. No, Carlo, she would +n't come.” + +“And you really asked her?” + +“Yes. At first I made the lamentable blunder of addressing her as I +should one of your own dark-skinned damsels, but the repulse I met +taught me better. I next tried the serious line, but I failed there +also; not hopelessly, however,--at least, not so hopelessly as to deter +me from another attempt. Yes, yes; I understand your smile, and I know +your theory,--there never was a bunch of grapes yet that was worth going +on tiptoe to gather.” + +“Not that, but there are scores within reach quite as good as one cares +for,” said Caffarelli, laughing. “What are you thinking of?” asked he, +after a pause. + +“I was thinking what possible hope there was for a nation of twenty +millions of men, with temperament like yours,--fellows so ingrained in +indolence that the first element they weigh in every enterprise was, how +little trouble it was to cost them.” + +“I declare,” said the Italian, with more show of energy, “I 'd hold life +as cheaply as yourself if I had to live in your country,--breathe only +fogs, and inhale nothing pleasanter than coal-smoke.” + +“It is true,” said Maitland, gravely, “the English have not got +climate,--they have only weather; but who is to say if out of the +vicissitudes of our skies we do not derive that rare activity which +makes us profit by every favorable emergency?” + +“To do every conceivable thing but one.” + +“And what is that one?” + +“Enjoy yourselves! Oh, _caro amico_, you do with regard to your +pleasures what you do with your music,--you steal a little from the +Continent, and always spoil it in the adaptation.” + +Maitland sipped his wine in half-sullen silence for some minutes, and +then said, “You think then, really, we ought to be at Naples?” + +“I am sure of it. Baretti,--do you forget Baretti? he had the wine-shop +at the end of the Contrada St. Lucia.” + +“I remember him as a Caraorrista.” + +“The same; he is here now. He tells me that the Court is so completely +in the hands of the Queen that they will not hear of any danger; that +they laugh every time Cavour is mentioned; and now that both France +and England have withdrawn their envoys, the King says openly, 'It is a +pleasure to drive out on the Chiaja when one knows they 'll not meet a +French gendarme or an English detective.'” + +“And what does Baretti say of popular feeling?” + +“He says the people would like to do something, though nobody seems to +know what it ought to be. They thought that Milano's attempt t 'other +day was clever, and they think it might n't be bad to blow up the +Emperor, or perhaps the Pope, or both; but he also says that the +Camorra are open to reason, and that Victor Emmanuel and Cavour are as +legitimate food for an explosive shell as the others; and, in fact, +any convulsion that will smash the shutters and lead to pillage must be +good.” + +“You think Baretti can be depended on?” + +“I know he can. He has been Capo Camorrista eight years in one of the +vilest quarters of Naples; and if there were a suspicion of him, he'd +have been stabbed long ago.” + +“And what is he doing here?” + +“He came here to see whether anything could be done about assassinating +the Emperor.” + +“I'd not have seen him, Carlo. It was most unwise to have spoken with +him.” + +“What would you have?” said the other, with a shrug of his shoulders. +“He came to set this clock to rights,--it plays some half-dozen airs +from Mercadante and Verdi,--and he knows how to arrange them. He goes +every morning to the Tuileries, to Moquard, the Emperor's secretary: he, +too, has an Italian musical clock, and he likes to chat with Baretti.” + +“I distrust these fellows greatly.” + +“That is so English!” said Caffarelli; “but we Italians have a finer +instinct for knavery, just as we have a finer ear for music; and as we +detect a false note, so we smell a treachery, where you John Bulls would +neither suspect one or the other. Baretti sees the Prince Napoleon, too, +almost every day, and with Pietri he is like a brother.” + +“But we can have no dealings with a fellow that harbors such designs.” + +“_Caro amico_, don't you know by this time that no Italian of the class +of this fellow ever imagines any other disentanglement in a political +question than by the stiletto? It is you, or I, or somebody else, must, +as they phrase it, 'pay with his skin.' Fortunately for the world, there +is more talk than action in all this; but if you were to oppose it, and +say, 'None of this,' you 'd only be the first victim. We put the knife +in politics just as the Spanish put garlic in cookery: we don't know any +other seasoning, and it has always agreed with our digestion.” + +“Can Giacomo come in to wind up the clock, Eccellenza?” said +Caffarelli's servant, entering at the moment; and as the Count nodded +an assent, a fat, large, bright-eyed man of about forty entered, with +a mellow frank countenance, and an air of happy joyous contentment that +might have sat admirably on a well-to-do farmer. + +“Come over and have a glass of wine, Giacomo,” said the Count, filling a +large glass to the brim with Burgundy; and the Italian bowed with an air +of easy politeness first to the Count and next to Maitland, and then, +after slightly tasting the liquor, retired a little distance from the +table, glass in hand. + +“My friend here,” said the Count, with a motion of his hand towards +Maitland, “is one of ourselves, Giacomo, and you may speak freely before +him.” + +“I have seen the noble signor before,” said Giacomo, bowing +respectfully, “at Naples, with His Royal Highness the Count of +Syracuse.” + +“The fellow never forgets a face; nobody escapes him,” muttered +Caffarelli; while he added, aloud, “Well, there are few honester +patriots in Italy than the Count of Syracuse.” + +Giacomo smiled, and showed a range of white teeth, with a pleasant air +of acquiescence. + +“And what is stirring?--what news have you for us, Giacomo?” asked +Caffarelli. + +“Nothing, Eccellenza,--positively nothing. The French seem rather to be +growing tired of us Italians, and begin to ask, 'What, in the name of +wonder, do we really want?' and even his Majesty the Emperor t' other +day said to one of ours, 'Don't be importunate.'” + +“And will you tell me that the Emperor would admit to his presence and +speak with fellows banded in a plot against his life?” asked Maitland, +contemptuously. + +“Does the noble signor know that the Emperor was a Carbonaro once, and +that he never forgets it? Does the noble signor know that there has not +been one plot against his life--not one--of which he has not been duly +apprised and warned?” + +“If I understand you aright, Master Giacomo, then, it is that these +alleged schemes of assassination are simply plots to deliver up to the +Emperor the two or three amongst you who may be sincere in their blood +thirstiness. Is that so?” + +Far from seeming offended at the tone or the tenor of this speech, +Giacomo smiled good-naturedly, and said, “I perceive that the +noble signor is not well informed either as to our objects or our +organization; nor does he appear to know, as your Excellency knows, that +all secret societies have a certain common brotherhood.” + +“What! does he mean when opposed to each other?” + +“He does, and he is right, Maitland. As bankers have their +changing-houses, these fellows have their appointed places of meeting; +and you might see a Jesuit in talk with a Garibaldian, and a wild +revolutionist with one of the Pope's household.” + +“The real pressure of these fellows,” whispered the Count, still lower, +“is menace! Menace it was brought about the war with Austria, and it +remains to be seen if menace cannot undo its consequences. Killing a +king is trying an unknown remedy; threatening to kill him is coercing +his policy. And what are you about just now, Giacomo?” added he, louder. + +“Little jobs here and there, signor, as I get them; but this morning, +as I was mending a small organ at the Duc de Broglie's, an agent of the +police called to say I had better leave Paris.” + +“And when?” + +“To-night, sir. I leave by the midnight mail for Lyons, and shall be in +Turin by Saturday.” + +“And will the authorities take his word, and suffer him to go his road +without surveillance?” whispered Maitland. + +“_Si, signor!_” interposed Giacomo, whose quick Italian ear had caught +the question. “I won't say that they'll not telegraph down the whole +line, and that at every station a due report will not be made of me; but +I am prepared for that, and I take good care not even to ask a light for +my cigar from any one who does not wear a French uniform.” + +“If I had authority here, Master Giacomo,” said Maitland, “it's not you, +nor fellows like you, I 'd set at liberty.” + +“And the noble signor would make a great mistake, that's all.” + +“Why so?” + +“It would be like destroying the telegraph wires because one received an +unpleasant despatch,” said Giacomo, with a grin. + +“The fellow avows, then, that he is a spy, and betrays his fellows,” + whispered Maitland. + +“I 'd be very sorry to tell him so, or hear you tell him so,” whispered +the Count, with a laugh. + +“Well, Giacomo,” added he, aloud, “I 'll not detain you longer. We shall +probably be on t' other side of the Alps ourselves in a few days, and +shall meet again. A pleasant journey and a safe one to you!” He adroitly +slipped some napoleons into the man's hand as he spoke. “_Tanti saluti_ +to all our friends, Giacomo,” said he, waving his hand in adieu; and +Giacomo seized it and kissed it twice with an almost rapturous devotion, +and withdrew. + +“Well,” cried Maitland, with an irritable vibration in his tone, “this +is clear and clean beyond me. What can you or I have in common with +a fellow of this stamp; or supposing that we could have anything, how +should we trust him?” + +“Do you imagine that the nobles will ever sustain the monarchy, my dear +Maitland; or in what country have you ever found that the highest in +class were freest of their blood? It is Giacomo, and the men like him, +who defend kings to-day that they may menace them to-morrow. These +fellows know well that with what is called a constitutional government +and a parliament the king's life signifies next to nothing, and their +own trade is worthless. They might as well shoot a President of the +Court of Cassation! Besides, if we do not treat with these men, the +others will. Take my word for it, our king is wiser than either of us, +and he never despised the Caraorra. But I know what you 're afraid of, +Maitland,” said he, laughing,--“what you and all your countrymen tremble +before,--that precious thing you call public opinion, and your 'Times' +newspaper! There's the whole of it. To be arraigned as a regicide, and +called the companion of this, that, or t' other creature, who was or +ought to have been guillotined, is too great a shock for your Anglican +respectability; and really I had fancied you were Italian enough to take +a different view of this.” + +Maitland leaned his head on his hand, and seemed to muse for some +minutes. “Do you know, Carlo,” said he, at last, “I don't think I 'm +made for this sort of thing. This fraternizing with scoundrels--for +scoundrels they are--is a rude lesson. This waiting for the _mot +d'ordre_ from a set of fellows who work in the dark is not to my humor. +I had hoped for a fair stand-up fight, where the best man should win; +and what do we see before us? Not the cause of a throne defended by the +men who are loyal to their king, but a vast lottery, out of which any +adventurer is to draw the prize. So far as I can see it, we are to go +into a revolution to secure a monarchy.” + +Caffarelli leaned across the table and filled Maitland's glass to the +brim, and then replenished his own. + +“_Caro mio_,” said he, coaxingly, “don't brood and despond in this +fashion, but tell me about this charming Irish beauty. Is she a +brunette?” + +“No; fair as a lily, but not like the blond damsels you have so often +seen, with a certain timidity of look that tells of weak and uncertain +purpose. She might by her air and beauty be a queen.” + +“And her name?” + +“Alice--Alicia, some call it.” + +“Alice is better. And how came she to be a widow so very young? What is +her story?” + +“I know nothing of it; how should I? I could tell nothing of my own,” + said Maitland, sternly. + +“Rich as well as beautiful,--what a prize, Maitland! I can scarcely +imagine why you hesitate about securing it.” + +Maitland gave a scornful laugh, and with a voice of bitterness +said: “Certainly my pretensions are great. I have fortune--station-- +family--name--and rank to offer her. Can you not remind me, Carlo, of +some other of my immense advantages?” + +“I know this much,” said the other, doggedly, “that I never saw you fail +in anything you ever attempted.” + +“I had the trick of success once,” said Maitland, sorrowfully, “but I +seem to have lost it. But, after all, what would success do for me here, +but stamp me as an adventurer?” + +“You did not argue in that fashion two years ago, when you were going to +marry a Spanish princess, and the half-sister of a queen.” + +“Well, I have never regretted that I broke off the match. It estranged +me, of course, from _him_; and indeed he has never forgiven me.” + +“He might, however, now, if he saw that you could establish your +fortunes so favorably,--don't you think so?” + +“No, Carlo. It is all for rank and title, not for money, that he cares! +His whole game in life was played for the Peerage. He wanted to be 'My +Lord;' and though repeatedly led to believe he was to have the title, +the Minister put off, and put off, and at last fell from power without +keeping his pledge. Now in this Spanish business he bargained that I +was to be a Duke,--a Grandee of Spain. The Queen declared it impossible. +Mufios himself was refused. The dukedom, however, I could have. With +the glitter of that ducal coronet before his eyes, he paid three hundred +thousand francs I lost at the Jockey Club in Paris, and he merely said, +'Your luck in love has been somewhat costly,--don't play such high +stakes again.'” + +“He is _très grand seigneur!_” said the Italian, with a voice of intense +admiration and respect. + +“Yes,” said Maitland; “in every case where mere money enters, he is +princely. I never met a man who thought less of his gold. The strange +thing is, that it is his ambition which exhibits him so small!” + +“Adagio, adagio, caro mio!” cried Caffarelli, laughing. “I see where you +are bound for now. You are going to tell me, as you have some score +of times, that to all English estimation our foreign titles are sheer +nonsense; that our pauper counts and beggarly dukes are laughing matter +for even your Manchester folk; and that in your police code baron and +blackleg are synonyms. Now spare me all this, _caro_ Maitland, for I +know it by heart.” + +“If one must say such impertinences, it is well to say them to a +cardinal's nephew.” + +The slight flush of temper in the Italian's cheek gave way at once, and +he asked good-humoredly, as he said, “Better say them to me, certainly, +than to my uncle. But, to be practical, if he does attach so much +importance to rank and title, why do you not take that countship of +Amalfi the King offered you six months ago, and which, to this day, he +is in doubt whether you have accepted or refused?” + +“How do you know that?” asked Maitland, eagerly. + +“I know it in this wise; that when his Majesty mentioned your name t' +other day to Filangieri, he said, 'The Chevalier Maitland or Count of +Amalfi,--I don't know by which name he likes to call himself.'” + +“Are you sure of this?” + +“I heard it; I was present when he said it.” + +“If I did not accept when it was offered, the reason was this: I thought +that the first time I wrote myself Count of Amalfi, old Santarelli +would summon me before him to show birth and parentage, and fifty other +particulars which I could have no wish to see inquired after; and as the +title of Amalfi was one once borne by a cadet of the royal family, he 'd +have been all the more exacting in his perquisitions before inscribing +my name in that precious volume he calls the 'Libro d'Oro.' If, however, +you tell me that the King considers that I have accepted the rank, it +gives the matter another aspect.” + +“I suspect poor old Santarelli has very little heart for heraldry just +now. He has got a notion that the first man the Revolutionists will +hang will be himself, representing, as he does, all the privileges of +feudalism.” + +“There is one way to do it if it could be managed,” said Maitland, +pondering. “Three lines in the King's hand, addressing me 'The Chevalier +Maitland, Count of Amalfi!' With these I 'd defy all the heralds that +ever carried a painted coat in a procession.” + +“If that be all, I 'll promise you it. I am writing to Filangieri +to-morrow. Let me have some details of what men you have recruited and +what services you have rendered, briefly, not formally; and I'll say, +'If our master would vouchsafe in his own hand a line, a word even, to +the Count of Amalfi, it would be a recompense he would not exchange for +millions.' I 'll say 'that the letter could be sent to Ludolf at Turin, +where we shall probably be in a week or two. '” + +“And do you think the King will accede?” + +“Of course he will. We are not asking for a pension, or leave to shoot +at Caserta. The thing is the same as done. Kings like a cheap road out +of their indebtedness as well as humbler people. If not, they would +never have invented crosses and grand cordons.” + +“Now, let us concoct the thing regularly,” said Maitland, pushing the +decanters from before him, as though, by a gesture, to show that he had +turned from all conviviality to serious considerations. “You,” continued +he, “will, first of all, write to Filangieri.” + +“Yes. I will say, half incidentally, as it were, Maitland is here with +me, as eager as the warmest of us in the cause. He has been eminently +successful in his recruitment, of which he will soon send you details--” + +“Ay, but how? That fellow M'Caskey, who has all the papers, did not meet +me as I ordered him, and I cannot tell where he is.” + +“I am to blame for this, Maitland, for I ordered him to come over here, +as the most certain of all ways of seeing you.” + +“And he is here now?” + +“Yes. Arrived last night In the hope of your arrival, I gave him a +rendezvous here--any hour from ten to one or two to-night--and we shall +soon see him.” + +“I must confess, I don't care how brief the interview be: the man is not +at all to my liking.” + +“You are not likely to be much bored by him here, at least.” + +“How do you mean?” + +“The police are certain to hear of his arrival, and to give him a +friendly hint to arrange his private affairs with all convenient +despatch and move off.” + +“With what party or section do they connect him?” + +“With how many? you might perhaps ask; for I take it he has held office +with every shade of opinion, and intrigued for any cause from Henry V. +to the reddest republicanism. The authorities, however, always deal with +a certain courtesy to a man of this sort. They intimate, simply, We are +aware you are here,--we know pretty well for what; and so don't push +us to any disagreeable measures, but cross over into Belgium or +Switzerland. M'Caskey himself told me he was recognized as he drew up at +the hotel, and, in consequence, thinks he shall have to go on in a day +or two.” + +“Is not the fellow's vanity in some measure a reason for this? Does he +not rather plume himself on being _l'homme dangereux_ to all Europe?” + +“In conversation he would certainly give this idea, but not in fact. He +is marvellously adroit in all his dealings with the authorities, and +in nothing is he more subtle than in the advantage he takes of his own +immense conceit. He invariably makes it appear that vanity is his weak +point; or, as he phrases it himself, 'I always show my adversary so much +of my hand as will mislead him.'” + +“And is he really as deep as all this would imply?” + +“Very deep for an Englishman; fully able to cope with the cunningest of +his own people, but a child amongst ours, Maitland.” + +Maitland laughed scornfully as he said, “For the real work of life all +your craft avails little. No man ever cut his way through a wood with a +penknife, were it ever so sharp.” + +“The Count M'Caskey, Eccellenza, desires to know if you receive?” said +Caffarelli's servant, in a low tone. + +“Yes, certainly; but do not admit any one else.” + +Very significant--but very differently significant--were the looks that +passed between Maitland and Caffarelli in the brief interval before +M'Caskey entered. At last the door was flung wide, and the distinguished +Major appeared in full evening dress, one side of his coat a blaze of +stars and crosses, while in front of his cravat he wore the ribbon +and collar of some very showy order. Nothing could be easier than his +_entrée_; nothing less embarrassed than his salutation to each in turn, +as, throwing his white gloves into his hat, he drew over to the table, +and began to search for an unused wine-glass. + +“Here is a glass,” said Caffarelli. “What will you drink? This is +Bordeaux, and this is some sort of Hock; this is Moselle.” + +“Hand me the sherry; I am chilly. I have been chilly all day, and went +out to dine against my will.” + +“Where did you dine?” + +“With Plon-Plon,” said he, languidly. + +“With the Prince Napoleon?” asked Maitland, incredulously. + +“Yes; he insisted on it I wrote to him to say that La Verrier, the +sous-prefect, had invited me to make as short a delay at Paris as +was consistent with my perfect convenience,--the police euphuism for +twenty-four hours; and I said, 'Pray excuse me at dinner, for I shall +want to see Caffarelli.' But he would n't take any apology, and I went, +and we really were very pleasant.” + +“Who was there?” asked Caffarelli. + +“Only seven altogether: Bagration and his pretty niece; an Aldobrandini +Countess,--bygone, but still handsome; Joseph Poniatowsky; Botrain of +'La Patrie;' and your humble servant. Fould, I think, was expected, but +did not come. Fearfully hot, this sherry,--don't you think so?” + +Maitland looked superbly defiant, and turned his head away without +ceremony. Caffarelli, however, came quickly to the rescue by pushing +over a bottle of Burgundy, and Baying, “And it was a pleasant party?” + +“Yes, decidedly pleasant,” said M'Caskey, with the air of one +pronouncing a judicial opinion. “The women were nice, very well +dressed,--the little Russian, especially; and then we talked away as +people only do talk in Paris, where there is none of that rotten cant +of London, and no subject discussed but the little trivialities of daily +life.” + +Caffarelli's eyes sparkled with mischievous delight as he watched the +expansive vanity in M'Caskey's face, and the disgust that darkened in +Maitland's. “We had a little of everything,” said M'Caskey, with his +head thrown back and two fingers of one hand jauntily stuck in +his waistcoat pocket. “We had politics,--Plon-Plon's own peculiar +politics,--Europe a democracy, and himself the head of it. We discussed +dinners and dinner-givers,--a race fast dying out We talked a little +finance, and, lastly, women.” + +“Your own theme!” said Caffarelli, with a slight inclination of the +head. + +“Without vanity I might say it was. Poor old D'Orsay always said, +'Scratch M'Caskey, and I'll back myself for success against any man in +Europe.'” + +Maitland started as if a viper had bitten him; but by an effort he +seemed to restrain himself, and, taking out his cigar-case, began a +diligent search for a cigar. + +“Ha, cheroots, I see?” cried M'Caskey; “cheroots are a weakness of mine. +Pick me out a well-spotted one, will you?” + +Maitland threw the case as it was across the table to him without a +word. + +M'Caskey selected some six or eight, and laid them beside him. “You are +low, depressed, this evening, Maitland,” said he; “what's the matter +with you?” + +“No, sir, not depressed,--disgusted.” + +“Ah, disgusted!” said M'Caskey, slowly; and his small eyes twinkled like +two balls of fire. “Would it be indiscreet to ask the cause?” + +“It would be very indiscreet, Count M'Caskey,” interposed Caffarelli, +“to forget that you are here purely on a grave matter of business,--far +too grave to be compromised by any forgetfulness on the score of +temper.” + +“Yes, sir,” broke in Maitland; “there can always be found a fitting time +and place to arrange any small questions outstanding between you and me. +We want now to learn something of what you have done in Ireland lately, +for the King's service.” + +M'Caskey drew from his pocket a much-worn pocket-book, crammed to +bursting with a variety of loose papers, cards, and photographs, which +fell about as he opened it. Not heeding the disorder, he sought out +a particular page, and read aloud: “Embarked this twenty-second of +September, at Gravesend, on board the 'Ocean Queen,' bound for Messina +with machinery, two hundred and eleven laborers--laborers engaged for +two years--to work on the State railroads, twenty-eight do. do. on board +of the 'Star of Swansea,' for Molo de Gaeta with coals,--making, with +three hundred and eighty-two already despatched, within about thirty of +the first battalion of the Cacciatori of St Patrick.” + +“Well done! bravissimo!” cried Caffarelli, right glad to seize upon the +opportunity to restore a pleasanter understanding. + +“There's not a man amongst them would not be taken in the Guards; +and they who regard height of stature as the first element of the +soldier--amongst whom I am not one--would pronounce them magnificent!” + +“And are many more available of the same sort?” asked Caffarelli. + +“Ten thousand, sir, if you like to pay for them.” + +“Do these men understand that they are enlisted as soldiers, not engaged +as navvies?” asked Maitland. + +“As well as you do. Whatever our friend Caffarelli may think, I can tell +him that my countrymen are no more deficient in acuteness than his own. +These fellows know the cause just as well as they know the bounty.” + +“I was not inquiring as to their sympathies,” said Mait-land, +caustically; “I merely wanted to hear how they understood the contract.” + +“They are hirelings, of course, as I am, and as you are,” said M'Caskey. + +“By what presumption, sir, do you speak of me?” said Maitland, rising, +his face dark with passion. “If the accidents of life range us in the +same cause, is there any other tie or bond between us?” + +“Once more I declare I will have none of this,” said Caffarelli, pushing +Maitland down into his chair. “Count M'Caskey, the Central Committee +have placed you under my orders. These orders are that you report +yourself to General Filangieri at Naples as soon as you can arrive +there; that you duly inform the Minister at War of what steps you have +already taken in the recruitment, putting yourself at his disposition +for further service. Do you want money?” added he in a lower tone, as he +drew the Major aside. + +“A man always wants money, sir,” said M'Caskey, sententiously. + +“I am your banker: what shall it be?” said Caffarelli, drawing out his +pocket-book. + +“For the present,” said M'Caskey, carelessly, “a couple of thousand +francs will suffice. I have a rather long bill against his Majesty, but +it can wait.” + +He pocketed the notes without deigning to look at them, and then, +drawing closer to Caffarelli, said, in a whisper, “You 'll have to keep +your friend yonder somewhat 'better in hand,'--you will, really. If not, +I shall have to shoot him.” + +“The Chevalier Maitland is your superior officer, sir,” said Caffarelli, +haughtily. “Take care how you speak of him to any one, but more +especially to me, who am his friend.” + +“I am at his 'friend's' orders, equally,” said the Major; “my case +contains two pistols.” + +Caffarelli turned away with a shrug of the shoulder, and a look that +unmistakably bespoke disgust. + +“Here goes, then, for the stirrup-cup!” said M'Caskey, filling a large +goblet with Burgundy. “To our next meeting, gentlemen,” and he bowed +as he lifted it to his lips. “Won't you drink to my toast?” said he, +stopping. + +Caffarelli filled his glass, and touched it to his lips; but Maitland +sat with his gaze bent upon the fire, and never looked up. + +“Present my homage to the pretty widow when you see her, Maitland, and +give her that;” and he flung down a photograph on the table. “It's not a +good one, but it will serve to remind her of me.” + +Maitland seized the card and pitched it into the fire, pressing down the +embers with his boot. + +Caffarelli sprang forward, and laid his hands on M'Caskey's shoulders. + +“When and where?” said the Major, calmly. + +“Now--here--if you like,” said Maitland, as calmly. + +“At last,” said a deep voice; and a brigadier of the gendarmerie +entered, followed by two of his men. + +“M. le Comte,” said he, addressing the Major, “I have been in search of +you since eleven o'clock. There 's a special train waiting to convey you +to Macon; pray don't lose any more time.” + +“I shall be at Naples within a fortnight,” whispered Maitland. + +“All right,” replied M'Caskey. “M. le Brigadier, _à vos ordres_. +Good-bye, Count. By the way, I was forgetting my cheroots, which are +really excellent;” and so saying, he carefully placed them in his +cigar-case; and then, giving his great-coat to one of the gendarmes to +assist him while he drew it on, he waved a little familiar adieu with +his hand and departed. + +“My dear Maitland, how could you so far forget yourself, and with such a +man?” said Caffarelli, laying his hands on his shoulder. + +“With any _other_ man I could _not_ have forgotten myself,” said he, +sternly. “Let us think no more of him.” + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. TWO FRIENDS + +It was like a return to his former self--to his gay, happy, careless +nature--for Tony Butler to find himself with his friend Skeflfy. As +painters lay layers of the same color on, one over the other, to deepen +the effect, so does youth double itself by companionship. As for +Skeflfy, never did a schoolboy exult more in a holiday; and, like a +schoolboy, his spirits boiled over in all manner of small excesses, +practical jokes on his fellow-passengers, and all those glorious +tomfooleries, to be able to do which with zest is worth all the +enjoyment that ever cynicism yielded twice told. + +“I was afraid you would n't come. I did n't see you when the coach drove +into the inn-yard; and I was so disappointed,” said Tony, as he surveyed +the mass of luggage which the guard seemed never to finish depositing +before his friend. + +“Two portmanteaus, sir,” said the guard, “three carpetbags, a +dressing-case, a hat-box, a gun-case, bundle of sticks and umbrellas, +and I think this parrot and cage are yours.” + +“A parrot, Skeflfy!” + +“For Mrs. Maxwell, you dog: she loves parrots, and I gave ten guineas +for that beggar, because they assured me he could positively keep up a +conversation; and the only thing he _can_ say is, 'Don't you wish you +may get it?'” + +No sooner had the bird heard the words than he screamed them out with a +wild and scornful cry that made them sound like a bitter mockery. + +“There,--that's at me,” whispered Skeflfy,--“at _me_ and _my_ chance of +Tilney. I 'm half inclined to wring his neck when I hear it.” + +“Are you looking for any one, Harris?” asked Tony of a servant in livery +who had just ridden into the yard. + +“Yes, sir; I have a letter from my mistress for a gentleman that was to +have come by the mail.” + +“Here he is,” said Tony, as he glanced at the address. “This is Mr. +Skefflngton Darner.” + +While Skeffy broke the seal, Tony muttered in his ear, “Mind, old +fellow, you are to come to us before you go to Tilney, no matter how +pressing she may be.” + +“Here's a business,” said Skeffy; “as well as I can make out her old +pothooks, it is that she can't receive me. 'My dear,'--she first wrote +'Nephew,' but it's smudged out,--'My dear Cousin Darner, I am +much distressed to tell you that you must not come here. It is the +scarlatina, which the doctors all think highly infectious, though we +burn cinnamon and that other thing through all the rooms. My advice +would be to go to Harrogate, or some nice place, to amuse yourself, +and I enclose this piece of thin paper.' Where is it, though?” said +he, opening the letter and shaking it “Just think of the old woman +forgetting to put up the enclosure!” + +“Try the envelope!” cried Tony, eagerly; but, no, the envelope was also +empty, and it was plain enough she had omitted it. + +Skeffy read on: “'I had a very pretty pony for you here; and I remember +Lydia Darner told me how nice you looked riding, with the long curls +down your back.' Why, that was five-and-twenty years ago!” cried he, +with a scream of laughter,--“just fancy, Tony!” and he ran his fingers +through his hair. “How am I ever to keep up the illusion with this crop! +'But,'”--he went on to read,--“'but I suppose I shall not see that now. +I shall be eighty-one next November. Mind that you drink my health on +the 22nd, if I be alive. I could send you the pony if you thought it +would not be too expensive to keep him in London. Tilney is looking +beautiful, and the trees are budding as if it were spring. Drop me +a line before you leave the neighborhood; and believe me, your +affectionate godmother, + +“'Dinah Maxwell.' + +“I think I had better say I'll send an answer,” said Skeffy, as he +crumpled up the letter; “and as to the enclosure--” + +A wild scream and some unintelligible utterance broke from the parrot at +this instant. + +“Yes, you beggar, 'you wish I may get it' By the way, the servant can +take that fellow back with him; I am right glad to be rid of him.” + +“It's the old adage of the ill wind,” said Tony, laughing. + +“How so? What do you mean?” + +“I mean that _your_ ill-luck is _our_ good fortune; for as you can't go +to Tilney, you'll have to stay the longer with us.” + +Skeffy seized his hand and gave it a cordial shake, and the two young +fellows looked fully and frankly at each other, as men do look before +the game of life has caught too strong a hold upon their hearts, and +taught them over-anxiety to rise winners from it. + +“Now, then, for your chateau,” said Skeffy, as he leaped up on the car, +already half hidden beneath his luggage. + +“Our chateau is a thatched cabin,” said Tony, blushing in spite of all +his attempts to seem at ease. “It is only a friend would have heart to +face its humble fare.” + +Not heeding, if he even heard the remark, Skeffy rattled on about +everything,--past, present, and future; talked of their jolly dinner +at Richmond, and of each of their companions on that gay day; asked the +names of the various places they passed on the road, what were the usual +fortunes of the proprietors, how they spent them; and, seldom waiting +for the answer, started some new query, to be forgotten in its turn. + +“It is a finer country to ride over,” said Tony, anxious to say +something favorable for his locality, “than to look at. It is not +pretty, perhaps, but there's plenty of grass, and no end of stone walls +to jump, and in the season there's some capital trout-fishing too.” + +“Don't care a copper for either. I'd rather see a new pantomime than +the best stag-hunt in Europe. I 'd rather see Tom Salter do the double +spring backwards than I 'd see them take a whale.” + +“I 'm not of your mind, then,” said Tony. “I 'd rather be out on the +hillside of a dull, good-scenting day,--well mounted, of course,--and +hear the dogs as they rushed yelping through the cover.” + +“Yoics, yoics, yoics! I saw it all at Astley's, and they took a gate in +rare style. But, I say, what is that tower yonder, topping the trees?” + +“That is Lyle Abbey,--Sir Arthur Lyle's place.” + +“Lyle,--Lyle. There was such a picture in the Exhibition last year of +two sisters, Maud, or Alice, or Bella Lyle, and another, by Watts. I +used to go every morning, before I went down to the office, to have a +look at them, and I never was quite certain which I was in love with.” + +“They are here! they are Sir Arthur's daughters.” + +“You don't say so! And do you know them, Tony?” + +“As well as if they were my sisters.” + +“Ain't I in luck!” cried Skeffy, in exultation. “I'd have gone to +Tarnoff,--that's the place Holmes was named consul at,--and wrote back +word that it did n't exist, and that the geography fellows were only +hoaxing the office! just fancy, hoaxing the office! Hulloa!--what have +we here? A four-horse team, by all that's stunning.” + +“Mrs. Trafford's. Draw up at the side of the road till they pass, +Peter,” said Tony, hurriedly. The servant on the box of the carriage +had, however, apparently announced Tony Butler's presence, for the +postilions slackened their pace, and came to a dead halt a few paces in +front of the car. + +“My mistress, sir, would be glad to speak to you,” said the servant, +approaching Tony. + +“Is she alone, Coles?” asked he, as he descended from the car. + +“Yes, sir.” + +Somewhat reassured by this, but at the same time not a little agitated, +Tony drew nigh the carriage. Mrs. Trafford was wrapped up in a large +fur mantle,--the day was a cold one,--and lay back without making any +movement to salute, except a slight bend of the head as he approached. + +“I have to apologize for stopping you,” said she, coldly; “but I had a +message to give you from Mr. Maitland, who left this a couple of days +ago.” + +“Is he gone,--gone for good?” asked Tony, not really knowing what he +said. + +“I don't exactly know what 'for good' means,” said she, smiling faintly; +“but I believe he has not any intention to return here. His message was +to say that, being much pressed for time, he had not an opportunity to +reply to your note.” + +“I don't think it required an answer,” broke in Tony, sternly. + +“Perhaps not as regarded you, but possibly it did as respected himself.” + +“I don't understand you.” + +“What I mean is, that, as you had declined his offer, you might +possibly, from inadvertence or any other cause, allude to it; whereas he +expressly wished that the subject should never be mentioned.” + +“You were apparently very much in his confidence?” said Tony, fixing his +eyes steadily on her. + +“When I learn by what right you ask me that question, I 'll answer it,” + said she, just as defiantly. + +Tony's face became crimson, and he could not utter a word. At last he +stammered out, “I have a friend here,--Mr. Darner: he is just come over +to pay a visit at Tilney, and Mrs. Maxwell sends him a note to say that +they are all ill there.” + +“Only Bella, and she is better.” + +“And was Bella ill?” asked Tony, eagerly. + +“Yes, since Tuesday or Wednesday, and even up to Friday, very ill. There +was a time this could scarcely have happened without your coming to ask +after her.” + +“Is it my fault, Alice? First of all, I never knew it. You know well I +go nowhere. I do not mix with those who frequent grand houses. But tell +me of Bella.” + +“She was never alarmingly ill; but the doctor called it scarlatina, and +frightened every one away; and poor Mrs. Maxwell has not yet recovered +the shock of seeing her guests depart and her house deserted, for Bella +and myself are all that remain.” + +“May I present my friend to you?--he would take it as such a favor,” + asked Tony, timidly. + +“I think not,” said she, with an air of indolence. + +“Do let me; he saw your picture--that picture of you and Bella at the +Exhibition--and he is wild to see yourself. Don't refuse me, Alice.” + +“If you think this a favor, I wonder you have courage to ask it. Come, +you need not look cross, Master Tony, particularly as all the fault is +on your own side. Come over to Tilney the day after to-morrow with your +friend.” + +“But I don't know Mrs. Maxwell.” + +“That does not signify in the least; do what I bid you. I am as much +mistress there as she is while I stay. Come early. I shall be quite +alone, for Mark goes to-morrow to town, and Bella will scarcely be well +enough to see you.” + +“And you'll not let me introduce him now?” + +“No; I shall look more like my picture in a house dress; and +perhaps--though I 'll not promise--be in a better temper too. Good-bye.” + +“Won't you shake hands with me, Alice?” + +“No; it's too cold to take my hand out of my muff. Remember, now, +Saturday morning, without fail.” + +“Alice!” said he, with a look at once devoted and reproachful. + +“Tony!” said she, imitating his tone of voice to perfection, “there's +your friend getting impatient. Good-bye.” + +As the spanking team whirled past, Skeffy had but a second or two +to catch a glance at the veiled and muffled figure that reclined so +voluptuously in the corner of the carriage; but he was ready to declare +that she had the most beautiful eyes in the world, and “knew what to do +with them besides.” “You 're in love with her, Tony,” cried he, fixing +a steadfast stare on the pale and agitated features at his side. “I see +it, old fellow! I know every shade and tint of that blessed thing they +miscall the tender passion. Make me no confessions; I don't want them. +Your heart is at her feet, and she treats it like a football.” + +Tony's cheeks grew purple. + +“There's no shame in that, my boy. Women do that with better men than +either of us; ay, and will continue to do it centuries after you and I +shall be canonized as saints. It's that same contempt of us that +makes them worth the winning; but, I say, why is the fellow drawing up +here?--Is he going to bait his beast?” + +“No,” muttered Tony, with a certain confusion; “but we must get down and +walk here. Our road lies by that path yonder: there 's no carriage-way +up to our 'chateau;'” and he gave a peculiar accent to the last word. + +“All right,” said Skeffy, gayly. “I 'm good for ten miles of a walk.” + +“I 'll not test your powers so far; less than a quarter of an hour will +bring us home. Take down the luggage, and I 'll send up for it,” said he +to the driver. + +“What honest poor devils you must be down here!” said Skeffy, as he saw +the carman deposit the trunks on the road and drive off. “I 'd not like +to try this experiment in Charing Cross.” + +“You see there is some good in poverty, after all,” said Tony, laughing. + +“Egad, I've tried it for some years without discovering it,” said +Skeffy, gravely. “That,” continued he, after a brief pause, “it should +make men careless, thoughtless, reckless if you like, I can conceive; +but why it should make them honest, is clean beyond me. What an appetite +this sharp air is giving me, Master Tony! I'll astonish that sirloin or +that saddle of yours, whichever it be.” + +“More likely neither, Skeffy. You 're lucky if it be a rasher and eggs.” + +“Oh, that it may be,” cried the other, “and draught beer! Have you got +draught beer?” + +“I don't think we have any other. There's our crib,--that little cabin +under the rocks yonder.” + +“How pretty it is,--the snuggest spot I ever saw!” + +“You're a good fellow to say so,” cried Tony; and his eyes swam in tears +as he turned away. + + +***** + + +What a change has come over Tony Butler within the last twenty-four +hours! All his fears and terrors as to what Skeffy would think of their +humble cottage and simple mode of life have given way, and there he +goes about from place to place, showing to his friend how comfortable +everything is, and how snug. “There are grander dining-rooms, no +doubt, but did you ever see a warmer or a 'cosier'? And as to the +drawing-room,--match the view from the window in all Europe; between +that great bluff of Fairhead and the huge precipice yonder of the +Causeway there is a sweep of coast unrivalled anywhere. Those great +rocks are the Skerries; and there, where you see that one stone-pine +tree,--there, under that cliff, is the cove where I keep my boat; not +much of a boat,” added he, in a weaker voice, “because I used always to +have the cutter,--Sir Arthur's yacht Round that point there is such a +spot to bathe in; twenty feet water at the very edge, and a white gravel +bottom, without a weed. Passing up that little pathway, you gain +the ledge yonder; and there--do you mark the two stones, like +gate-piers?--there you enter Sir Arthur Lyle's demesne. You can't see +the shrubberies, for the ground dips, and the trees will only grow in +the valleys here!” And there was a despondent tenderness in the last +words that seemed to say, “If it were not for that, this would be +paradise!” + +Nor was it mere politeness, and the spirit of good breeding, that made +Skeffy a genial listener to these praises. What between the sense of a +holiday, the delight of what cockneys call an “outing,” the fine fresh +breezy air of the place, the breadth and space,--great elements of +expansiveness,--Skeffy felt a degree of enjoyment that amounted to +ecstasy. + +“I don't wonder that you like it all, Tony,” said he. “You 'll never, in +all your wanderings, see anything finer.” + +“I often say as much to myself,” replied Tony. “As I sit here of an +evening, with my cigar, I often say, 'Why should I go over the world in +search of fortune, when I have all that one wants here,--here at my very +hand?' Don't you think a fellow might be content with it?” + +“Content! I could be as happy as a king here!” and for a moment or +two Skeffy really revelled in delighted thoughts of a region where the +tinkle of a minister's hand-bell had never been heard, where no “service +messengers” ever came, where no dunning tailors invaded; a paradise that +knew not the post nor dreamed of the telegraph. + +“And as to money,” continued Tony, “one does not want to be rich in such +a place. I 'm as well off here with, we 'll say, two hundred a year--we +have n't got so much, but I 'll say that--as I should be in London with +a thousand.” + +“Better! decidedly better!” said Skeffy, puffing his cigar, and thinking +over that snowstorm of Christmas bills which awaited him on his return. + +“If it were not for one thing, Skeffy, I 'd never leave it,” said he, +with a deep sigh, and a look that said as plainly as ever words spoke, +“Let me open my heart to you.” + +“I know it all, old fellow, just as if you had confessed it to me. I +know the whole story.” + +“What do you know, or what do you suspect you know?” said Tony, growing +red. + +“I say,” said Skeffy, with that tone of superiority that he liked to +assume,--“I say that I read you like a book.” + +“Read aloud, then, and I 'll say if you 're right” + +“It 's wrong with you here, Butler,” said Skeffy, laying his hand on +the other's heart; and a deep sigh was all the answer. “Give me another +weed,” said Skeffy, and for some seconds he employed himself in lighting +it “There's not a man in England,” said he, slowly, and with the +deliberateness of a judge in giving sentence,--“not a man in England +knows more of these sort of things than I do. You, I 'm certain, take me +for a man of pleasure and the world,--a gay, butterfly sort of creature, +flitting at will from flower to flower; or you believe me--and in that +with more reason--a fellow full of ambition, and determined to play +a high stake in life; but yet, Tony Butler, within all these there is +another nature, like the holy of holies in the sanctuary. Ay, my dear +friend, there is the--what the poet calls the 'crimson heart within the +rose.' Isn't that it?” + +“I don't know,” said Tony, bluntly. + +And now Skeffy smoked on for some minutes without a word. At length he +said, in a solemn tone, “It has not been for nothing, Butler, that I +acquired the gift I speak of. If I see into the hearts of men like you, +I have paid the price of it.” + +“I 'm not so certain that you can do it” said Tony, half doubting his +friend's skill, and half eager to provoke an exercise of it. + +“I 'll show whether I can or not. Of coarse, if you like to disclaim or +deny--” + +“I 'll disclaim nothing that I know to be true.” + +“And I am to speak freely?” + +“As freely as you are able.” + +“Here it is, then, in five words: You are in love, Tony,--in love with +that beautiful widow.” + +Tony held his head down between his hands, and was silent. + +“You feel that the case is hopeless,--that is to say, that you know, +besides being of rank and wealth, she is one to make a great match, and +that her family would never consent to hear of your pretensions; and yet +all this while you have a sort of lurking suspicion that she cares for +you?” + +“No, no!” muttered Tony, between his hands. + +“Well, that she did once, and that not very long ago.” + +“Not even that,” said Tony, drearily. + +“I know better,--you _do_ think so. And I'll tell you more; what makes +you so keenly alive to her change--perfidy, you would like to call +it--is this, that you have gone through that state of the disease +yourself.” + +“I don't understand you.” + +“Well, you shall. The lovely Alice--isn't that the name?” + +Tony nodded. + +“The lovely Alice got your own heart only, at second hand. You used to +be in love with the little girl that was governess at Richmond.” + +“Not a word of it true,--nothing of the kind,” broke out Tony, fiercely. +“Dolly and I were brother and sister,--we always said we were.” + +“What does that signify? I tried the brother-and-sister dodge, and I +know what it cost me when she married Maccleston;” and Skeffy here threw +his cigar into the sea, as though an emblem of his shipwrecked destiny. +“Mind me well, Butler,” said he, at last; “I did not say that you ever +told your heart you loved her; but she knew it, take my word for it. She +knew, and in the knowing it was the attraction that drew you on.” + +“But I was not drawn on.” + +“Don't tell me, sir. Answer me just this: Did any man ever know the +hour, or even the day, that he caught a fever? Could he go back in +memory, and say, it was on Tuesday last, at a quarter to three, that my +pulse rose, my respiration grew shorter, and my temples began to throb? +So it is with love, the most malignant of all fevers. All this time that +you and What's-her-name were playing brother and sister so innocently, +your hearts were learning to feel in unison,--just as two pendulums in +the same room acquire the same beat and swing together. You 've heard +that?” + +“I may; but you are all wrong about Dolly.” + +“What would she say to it?” + +“Just what I do.” + +“Well, we cannot ask her, for she 's not here.” + +“She is here,--not two miles from where we are standing; not that it +signifies much, for, of course, neither of us would do _that_.” + +“Not plump out, certainly, in so many words.” + +“Not in any way, Skeffy. It is because I look upon Dolly as my own dear +sister, I would not suffer a word to be said that could offend her.” + +“Offend her! Oh dear, how young you are in these things!” + +“What is it, Jenny?” cried Tony to the servant-girl, who was shouting +not very intelligibly, from a little knoll at a distance. “Oh, she 's +saying that supper is ready, and the kippered salmon getting cold, as if +any one cared!” + +“Don't they care!” cried Skeffy. “Well, then, they have n't been +inhaling this sea-breeze for an hour, as I have. Heaven grant that love +has carried off your appetite, Tony, for I feel as if I could eat for +six.” + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. ON THE ROCKS + +It was a rare thing for Tony Butler to lie awake at night, and yet he +did so for full an hour or more after that conversation with Skeffy. +It was such a strange blunder for one of Skeffy's shrewdness to have +made,--so inexplicable. + +To imagine that he, Tony, had ever been in love with Dolly! Dolly, his +playfellow since the time when the “twa had paidled i' the burn;” Dolly, +to whom he went with every little care that crossed him, never shrinking +for an instant from those avowals of doubt or difficulty that no one +makes to his sweetheart. So, at least, thought Tony. And the same Dolly +to whom he had revealed once, in deepest secrecy, that he was in love +with Alice! To be sure, it was a boyish confession, made years ago; and +since that Alice had grown up to be a woman, and was married, so that +the story of the love was like a fairy tale. + +“In love with Dolly!” muttered he. “If he had but ever seen us together, +he would have known that could not be.” Poor Tony! he knew of love in +its moods of worship and devotion, and in its aspect of a life-giving +impulse,--a soul-filling, engrossing sentiment,--inspiring timidity +when near, and the desire for boldness when away. With such alternating +influence Dolly had never racked his heart. He sought her with a quiet +conscience, untroubled by a fear. + +“How could Skeffy make such a mistake! That it is a mistake, who would +recognize more quickly than Dolly herself; and with what humorous +drollery--a drollery all her own--would she not treat it! A rare +punishment for your blunder, Master Skeffy, would it be to tell Dolly +of it all in your presence;” and at last, wearied out with thinking, he +fell asleep. + +The day broke with one of those bright breezy mornings which, though +“trying” to the nerves of the weak and delicate, are glorious stimulants +to the strong. The sea plashed merrily over the rocks, and the white +streaky clouds flew over the land with a speed that said it blew hard +at sea. “Glorious day for a sail, Skeffy; we can beat out, and come back +with a stern-wind whenever we like.” + +“I 'll anticipate the wish by staying on shore, Tony.” + +“I can't offer you a mount, Skeffy, for I am not the owner of even a +donkey.” + +“Who wants one? Who wants anything better than to go down where we were +yesterday evening, under that big black rock, with the sea before us, +and the whole wide world behind us, and talk? When a fellow lives as +I do, cooped up within four walls, the range of his view some tiers of +pigeon-holes, mere freedom and a sea-breeze are the grandest luxuries in +creation;” and off they set, armed with an ample supply of tobacco, +the life-buoy of those stragglers in the sea of thought who only ask to +float, but not to reach the shore. + +How delightfully did the hours pass over! At least, so Tony felt, for +what a wonderful fellow was Skeffy! What had he not seen or heard or +read? What theme was new, what subject unknown to him? But, above all, +what a marvellous insight had he into the world,--the actual world +of men and women! Great people were not to _his_ eyes mighty gods and +goddesses, seated loftily on a West-End Olympus, but fallible mortals, +with chagrins about the court and grievances about invitations to +Windsor. Ministers, too, whose nods shook empires, were humanities, very +irritable under the gout, and much given to colchicum. Skeffy “knew the +whole thing,”--_he_ was not one of the mere audience. He lived in the +green-room or in the “flats.” He knew all the secrets of state, from the +splendid armaments that existed on paper, to the mock thunders that were +manufactured and patented by F. O. + +These things Skeffy told like confidences,--secrete he would not have +breathed to any one he held less near his heart than Tony. But somehow +commonplaces told by the lips of authority will assume an immense +authority, and carry with them a stupendous weight; and Tony listened to +the precious words of wisdom as he might have listened to the voice of +Solomon. + +But even more interesting still did he become as he sketched forth, +very vaguely indeed,--a sort of Turner in his later style of cloud and +vapor,--his own great future. Not very clear and distinct the steps by +which he was fated to rise, but palpable enough the great elevation he +was ultimately to occupy. + +“Don't imagine, old fellow,” said he, laying his hand on Tony's +shoulders, “that I am going to forget you when that time comes. I'm not +going to leave you a Queen's messenger.” + +“What could you make of me?” said Tony, despondently. + +“Fifty things,” said the other, with a confidence that seemed to say, +“I, Skeffy, am equal to more than this; fifty things. You, of course, +cannot be expected to know it, but I can tell you, it's far harder +to get a small place than a big one,--harder to be a corporal than a +lieutenant-general.” + +“How do you explain that?” asked Tony, with an eager curiosity. + +“You can't understand it without knowing life. I cannot convey to you +how to win a trick where you don't know the game.” And Skeffy showed, by +the impatient way he tried to light a fresh cigar, that he was not fully +satisfied with the force or clearness of his own explanation; and he +went on: “You see, old fellow, when you have climbed up some rungs of +the ladder with a certain amount of assurance, many will think you are +determined to get to the top.” + +“Well, but if a man's ladder has only one rung, as I imagine is the case +with mine!” broke in Tony. + +Skeffy looked at his companion for a moment, half surprised that he +should have carried out the figure, and then laughed heartily, as he +said, “Splice it to mine, my boy; it will bear us both.” + +It was no use that Tony shook his head and looked despondingly; +there was a hopeful warmth about Skeffy not to be extinguished by any +discouragement. In fact, if a shade of dissatisfaction seemed ever to +cloud the brightness of his visions, it was the fear lest, even in his +success, some other career might be neglected wherein the rewards were +greater and the prizes more splendid. He knew, and he did not scruple to +declare that he knew, if he had been a soldier he 'd have risen to the +highest command. If he 'd have gone to the bar, he'd have ended on the +woolsack. Had he “taken that Indian appointment,” he 'd have been high +up by this time on the Council, with his eye on Government House for a +finish. “That's what depresses me about diplomacy, Tony. The higher you +go, the less sure you are. They--I mean your own party--give you Paris +or St. Petersburg, we 'll say; and if they go out, so must you.” + +“Why must you?” asked Tony. + +“For the reason that the well-bred dog went downstairs when he saw +certain preparations that betokened kicking him down. + +“After all, I think a new colony and the gold-fields the real +thing,--the glorious independence of it; you live how you like, and +with whom you like. No Mrs. Grundy to say, 'Do you know who dined with +Skeffington Darner yesterday?' 'Did you remark the young woman who sat +beside him in his carriage?' and such-like.” + +“But you cannot be always sure of your nuggets,” muttered Tony. “I 've +seen fellows come back poorer than they went.” + +“Of course you have; it's not every horse wins the Derby, old boy. And +I'll tell you another thing, too; the feeling, the instinct, the inner +consciousness that you carry success in your nature, is a rarer and a +higher gift than the very power to succeed. You meet with clever fellows +every day in the week who have no gauge of their own cleverness. To give +an illustration; you write a book, we'll say.” + +“No, I don't,” blurted out Tony. + +“Well, but you might; it is at least possible.” + +“It is not.” + +“Well, let us take something else. You are about to try something that +has a great reward attached to it, if successful; you want, we +'ll suppose, to marry a woman of high rank and large fortune, very +beautiful,--in fact, one to whom, according to every-day notions, you +have not the slightest pretensions. Is n't that a strong case, eh?” + +“Worse than the book. Perhaps I 'd better try authorship,” said Tony, +growing very red; “but make the case your own, and I 'll listen just as +attentively.” + +“Well, here goes; I have only to draw on memory,” said he, with a sigh; +“I suppose you don't remember seeing in the papers, about a year and a +half ago, that the Prince of Cobourg Cohari--not one of our Cobourgs, +but an Austrian branch--came over to visit the Queen. He brought +his daughter Olga with him; she was called Olga after the Empress +of Russia's sister. And such a girl! She was nearly as tall as you, +Tony,--I'll swear she was,--with enormous blue eyes, and masses of fair +hair that she wore in some Russian fashion that seemed as if it had +fallen loose over her neck and shoulders. And were n't they shoulders! +I do like a large woman! a regular Cleopatra,--indolent, voluptuous, +dreamy. I like the majestic languor of their walk; and there is a +massive grandeur in their slightest gesture that is very imposing.” + +“Go on,” muttered Tony, as the other seemed to pause for a sentiment of +concurrence. + +“I was in the Household in those days, and I was sent down with old +Dollington to Dover to meet them; but somehow they arrived before we +got down, and were comfortably installed at the 'Lord Warden' when +we arrived. It did not matter much; for old Cohari was seized with an +attack of gout, and could not stir; and there I was, running back and +forward to the telegraph office all day, reporting how he was, and +whether he would or would not have Sir James This or Sir John That down +to see him! Dollington and he were old friends, fortunately, and had a +deal to say to each other, so that I was constantly with Olga. At first +she was supremely haughty and distant, as you may imagine; a regular +Austrian Serene Highness grafted on a beauty,--fancy that! but it never +deterred _me_; and I contrived that she should see mine was the homage +of a heart she had captivated, not of a courtier that was bound to obey +her. She saw it, sir,--saw it at once; saw it with that instinct that +whispers to the female heart, 'He loves me,' ere the man has ever said +it to himself. She not only saw, but she did not discourage, my passion. +Twenty little incidents of our daily life showed this, as we rambled +across the downs together, or strolled along the shore to watch the +setting sun and the arrival of the mail-boat from Calais. + +“At last the Prince recovered sufficiently to continue his journey, and +I went down to order a special train to take us up to town the following +morning. By some stupid arrangement, however, of the directors, an +earlier announcement should have been given, and all they could do was +to let us have one of the royal carriages attached to the express. I was +vexed at this, and so was Dollington, but the Prince did not care, in +the least; and when I went to speak of it to Olga, she hung down her +head for an instant, and then, in a voice and with an accent I shall +never forget, she said, 'Ah, Monsieur Darner, it would appear to be your +destiny to be always too late!' She left me as she spoke, and we never +met after; for on that same evening I learned from Dollington she was +betrothed to the Duke Max of Hohenhammelsbraten, and to be married in +a month. That was the meaning of her emotion,--that was the source of a +sorrow that all but overcame her; for she loved me, Tony,--she loved me! +not with that headlong devotion that belongs to the wanner races, but +with a Teutonic love; and when she said, 'I was too late,' it was the +declaration of a heart whose valves worked under a moderate pressure, +and never risked an explosion.” + +“But how do you know that she was not alluding to the train, and to your +being late to receive them on the landing?” asked Tony. + +“Ain't you prosaic, Tony,--ain't you six-and-eight-pence! with your dull +and commonplace interpretation! I tell you, sir, that she meant, 'I love +you, but it is in vain,--I love you, but another is before you,--I love +you, but you come too late!'” + +“And what did you do?” asked Tony, anxious to relieve himself from a +position of some awkwardness. + +“I acted with dignity, sir. I resigned in the Household, and got +appointed to the Colonial.” + +“And what does it all prove, except it be something against your own +theory, that a man should think there is nothing too high for his +reach?” + +“Verily, Tony, I have much to teach you,” said Skeffy, gravely, but +good-naturedly. “This little incident shows by what slight casualties +our fortunes are swayed: had it not been for Max of Hammelsbraten, +where might not I have been to-day? It is by the flaw in the metal the +strength of the gun is measured,--so it is by a man's failures in life +you can estimate his value. Another would not have dared to raise his +eyes so high!” + +“That I can well believe,” said Tony, dryly. + +“You, for instance, would no more have permitted yourself to fall in +love with her, than you'd have thought of tossing for half-crowns with +the Prince her father.” + +“Pretty much the same,” muttered Tony. + +“That 's it,--that is exactly what establishes the difference between +men in life. It is by the elevation given to the cannon that the ball is +thrown so far. It is by the high purpose of a man that you measure his +genius.” + +“All the genius in the world won't make you able to take a horse over +seven feet of a stone wall,” said Tony; “and whatever is impossible has +no interest for me.” + +“You never can say what is impossible,” broke in Skeffy. “I 'll tell you +experiences of mine, and you 'll exclaim at every step, 'How could that +be?'” Skeffy had now thoroughly warmed to his theme,--the theme he loved +best in the world,--himself; for he was one of those who “take out” all +their egotism in talk. Let him only speak of himself, and he was ready +to act heartily and energetically in the cause of his friends. All +that he possessed was at their service,--his time, his talents, his +ingenuity, his influence, and his purse. He could give them everything +but one; he could not make them heroes in his stories. No, his romance +was his own realm, and he could share it with none. + +Listen to him, and there never was a man so traded on,--so robbed and +pilfered from. A Chancellor of the Exchequer had caught up that notion +of his about the tax on domestic cats. It was on the railroad he had +dropped that hint about a supply of cordials in all fire-escapes. That +clever suggestion of a web livery that would fit footmen of all sizes +was his; he remembered the day he made it, and the fellow that stole it, +too, on the chain-pier at Brighton. What leaders in the “Times,” + what smart things in the “Saturday,” what sketches in “Punch” were +constructed out of his dinner-talk! + +Poor Tony listened to all these with astonishment, and even confusion, +for one-half, at least, of the topics were totally strange and new to +him. “Tell me,” said he at last, with a bold effort to come back to a +land of solid reality, “what of that poor fellow whose bundle I carried +away with me? Your letter said something mysterious about him, which I +could make nothing of.” + +“Ah, yes,--a dangerous dog,--a friend of Mazzini's, and a member of I +can't say how many secret societies. The Inspector, hearing that I had +asked after him at the hotel, came up to F. O. t' other morning to learn +what I knew of him, and each of us tried for full half an hour to pump +the other.” + +“I 'll not believe one word against him,” said Tony, sturdily; “an +honester, franker face I never looked at.” + +“No doubt! Who would wish to see a better-looking fellow than Orsini?” + +“And what has become of him,--of Quin, I mean?” + +“Got away, clean away, and no one knows how or where. I 'll tell _you_, +Tony,” said he, “what I would not tell another,--that they stole that +idea of the explosive bombs from _me_.” + +“You don't mean to say--” + +“Of course not, old fellow. I 'm not a man to counsel assassination; +but in the loose way I talk, throwing out notions for this and hints for +that, they caught up this idea just as Blakeney did that plan of mine +for rifling large guns.” + +Tony fixed his eyes on him for a moment or two in silence, and then said +gravely, “I think it must be near dinnertime; let us saunter towards +home.” + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. A MORNING CALL AT TILNEY + +On the morning after this conversation, the two friends set out for +Tilney; Skeffy, as usual, full of himself, and consequently in high +spirits,--happy in the present, and confident for the future. Tony, +indeed, was delighted with his companion, and thoroughly enjoyed the +volatile gayety of one who seemed to derive pleasure from everything. +With all a school-boy's zest for a holiday, Skeffy would be forever +at something. Now he would take the driver's seat on the car and play +coachman till, with one wheel in the ditch and the conveyance nearly +over, he was summarily deposed by Tony, and stoutly rated for his +awkwardness. + +Then it was his pleasure to “chaff” the people on the road,--a +population the least susceptible of drollery in all Europe!--a grave, +saturnine race, who, but for Tony's intervention, would have more than +once resented such liberties very practically. As they saw the smoke +from the chimney of a little cottage under the hill, and heard it was +there Dolly Stewart lived, it was all Tony could do to prevent Skeffy +running down to “have a look at her,” just as it required actual force +to keep him from jumping off as they passed a village school, where +Skeffy wanted to examine a class in the Catechism. Then he would eat and +drink everywhere, and, with a mock desire for information, ask the name +of every place they passed, and as invariably miscall them, to the +no small amusement of the carman, this being about the limit of his +appreciation of fun. + +“What a fidgety beggar you are!” said Tony, half angry and half laughing +at the incessant caprices of his vivacious companion. “Do you know it's +now going on to eleven o'clock, and we have fourteen miles yet before +us?” + +“One must eat occasionally, my dear friend. Even in the 'Arabian Nights' +the heroine takes a slight refection of dates now and then.” + +“But this is our third 'slight refection' this morning, and we shall +probably arrive at Tilney for luncheon.” + +“_You_ can bear long fasts, I know. I have often heard of the 'starving +Irish;' but the Anglo-Saxon stomach requires a 'retainer,' to remind it +of the great cause to be tried at dinner-time. A mere bite of bread and +cheese, and I'm with you.” + +At last the deep woods of Tilney came in sight; and evidence of a +well-cared-for estate--trim cottages on the roadside, and tasteful +little gardens--showed that they were approaching the residence of one +who was proud of her tenantry. + +“What's the matter with you?” asked Tony, struck by a momentary silence +on his companion's part. + +“I was thinking, Tony,” said he, gravely,--“I was just thinking whether +I could not summon up a sort of emotion at seeing the woods under whose +shade my ancestors must have walked for heaven knows what centuries.” + +“Your ancestors! Why, they never lived here.” + +“Well, if they did n't, they ought. It seems a grand old place, and I +already feel my heart warming to it. By the way, where's Maitland?” + +“Gone; I told you he was off to the Continent. What do you know about +this man,--anything?” + +“Not much. When I was at school, Tony, whenever in our New Testament +examination they asked me who it was did this or said that, I always +answered John the Baptist, and in eight times out of ten it was a hit; +and so in secular matters, whenever I was puzzled about a fellow's +parentage, I invariably said--and you 'll find as a rule it is +invaluable--he's a son of George IV., or his father was. It accounts +for everything,--good looks, plenty of cash, air, swagger, mystery. It +explains how a fellow knows every one, and is claimed by none.” + +“And is this Maitland's origin?” + +“I can't tell; perhaps it is. Find me a better, or, as the poet says, +'bas accipe mecum.' I say, is that the gate-lodge? Tony, old fellow, I +hope I'll have you spending your Christmas here one of these days, with +Skeff Darner your host!” + +“More unlikely things have happened!” said Tony, quietly. + +“What a cold northernism is that! Why, man, what so likely--what so +highly probable--what, were I a sanguine fellow, would I say so nearly +certain? It was through a branch of the Darners--no, of the Nevils, I +mean--who intermarried with us, that the Maxwells got the estate. Paul +Nevil was Morton Maxwell's mother--aunt, I should say--” + +“Or uncle, perhaps,” gravely interposed Tony. + +“Yes, uncle,--you 're right! but you 've muddled my genealogy for all +that! Let us see. Who was Noel Skeffington? Noel was a sort of pivot in +our family-engine, and everything seemed to depend on him; and such a +respect had we for his intentions, that we went on contesting the +meaning of his last will till we found out there was nothing more left +to fight for. This Noel was the man that caught King George's horse when +he was run away with at the battle of Dettingen; and the King wanted to +make him a baronet, but with tears in his eyes, he asked how he had ever +incurred the royal displeasure to be visited with such a mark of +disgrace? 'At all events,' said he, 'my innocent child, who is four +years old, could never have offended your Majesty. Do not, therefore, +involve him in my shame. Commute the sentence to knighthood, and my +dishonor will die with me.'” + +“I never heard of greater insolence,” said Tony. + +“It saved us, though; but for this, I should have been Sir Skeffington +to-day. Is that the house I see yonder?” + +“That's a wing of it.” + +“'Home of my fathers, how my bosom throbs!' What's the next line? +'Home of my fathers, through my heart there runs!' That's it,--'there +runs'--runs. I forget how it goes, but I suppose it must rhyme to +'duns.'” + +“Now, try and be reasonable for a couple of minutes,” said Tony. “I +scarcely am known to Mrs. Maxwell at all. I don't mean to stop here; I +intend to go back to-night What are your movements?” + +“Let the Fates decide; that is to say, I'll toss up,--heads, and I am to +have the estate, and therefore remain; tails,--I'm disinherited, and go +back with you.” + +“I want you to be serious, Skeffy.” + +“Very kind of you, when I've only got fourteen days' leave, and three of +them gone already.” + +“I 'd rather you 'd return with me; but I 'd not like you to risk your +future to please me.” + +“Has jealousy no share in this? Be frank and open: 'Crede Darner' is +our proud motto; and by Jove, if certain tailors and bootmakers did not +accept it, it would be an evil day for your humble servant!” + +“I don't understand you,” said Tony, gravely. + +“You fear I 'll make love to 'your widow,' Tony. Don't get so red, old +fellow, nor look as if you wanted to throw me into the fish-pond.” + +“I had half a mind to do it,” muttered Tony, in something between jest +and earnest. + +“I knew it,--I saw it. You looked what the Yankees call mean-ugly; +and positively I was afraid of you. But just reflect on the indelible +disgrace it would be to you if I was drowned.” + +“You can swim, I suppose?” + +“Not a stroke; it's about the only thing I cannot do.” + +“Why, you told me yesterday that you never shoot, you could n't ride, +never handled a fishing-rod.” + +“Nor hemmed a pocket-handkerchief,” broke in Skeffy. “I own not to +have any small accomplishments. What a noble building! I declare I am +attached to it already. No, Tony; I pledge you my word of honor, no +matter how pressed I may be, I'll not cut down a tree here.” + +“You may go round to the stable-yard,” said Tony to the driver,--“they +'ll feed you and your horse here.” + +“Of course they will,” cried Skeffy; and then, grasping Tony's two +hands, he said, “You are welcome to Tilney, my dear boy; I am heartily +glad to see you here.” + +Tony turned and pulled the bell; the deep summons echoed loudly, and a +number of small dogs joined in the uproar at the same time. + +“There's 'the deep-mouthed welcome as we draw near home,'” said Skeffy, +while he threw the end of his cigar away. + +A servant soon appeared and ushered them into a large low-ceilinged +room, with fireplaces of antique fashion, the chimney-pieces of dark +oak, surmounted by massive coats of arms glowing in all the colors of +heraldry. It was eminently comfortable in all its details of fat low +ottomans, deep easy-chairs, and squat cushions; and although the three +windows which lighted it looked out upon a lawn, the view was bounded +by a belt of trees, as though to convey that it was a room in which +snugness was to be typified, to the exclusion of all that pretended to +elegance. A massive and splendidly bound Bible, showing little signs of +use, lay on a centre table; a very well-thumbed “Peerage” was beside it. + +“I say, Tony, this is evidently Aunt Maxwell's own drawing-room. It has +all the peculiar grimness of an old lady's sanctum; and I declare that +fat old dog, snoring away on the rug, looks like a relation.” While he +stooped down to examine the creature more closely, the door opened, +and Mrs. Maxwell, dressed in bonnet and shawl, and with a small garden +watering-pot in her hand, entered. She only saw Tony; and, running +towards him with her open hand, said, “You naughty boy, did n't I tell +you not to come here?” + +Tony blushed deeply, and blurted something about being told or ordered +to come by Mrs. Trafford. + +“Well, well; it does n't matter now; there 's no danger. It's not +'catching,' the doctor says, and she'll be up tomorrow. Dear me! and +who is this?” The latter question was addressed to Skeffy, who had just +risen from his knees. + +“Mr. Skeffington Darner, ma'am,” said Tony. + +“And who are you, then?” + +“Tony Butler: I thought you knew me.” + +“To be sure I do, and delighted to see you too. And this Pickle is +Skeff, is he?” + +“Dear aunt, let me embrace you,” cried Skeffy, rushing rapturously into +her arms. + +“Well, I declare!” said the old lady, looking from one to the other; “I +thought, if it was you, Skeff, what a great fine tall man you had grown; +and there you are, the same little creature I saw you last.” + +“Little, aunt! what do you mean by little? Standard of the Line! In +France I should be a Grenadier!” + +The old lady laughed heartily at the haughty air with which he drew +himself up and threw forward his chest as he spoke. + +“What a nice parrot you have sent me! but I can't make out what it is he +says.” + +“He says, 'Don't you wish you may get it?' aunt.” + +“Ah! so it is; and he means luncheon, I 'm sure, which is just coming on +the table. I hope you are both very hungry?” + +“I ought to be, aunt. It's a long drive from the Causeway here.--Hold +your tongue, you dog,” whispered he to Tony; “say nothing about the +three breakfasts on the road, or I shall be disgraced.” + +“And how is your mother, Mr. Tony? I hope she has good health. Give me +your arm to the dining-room; Pickle will take care of himself. This is a +sickly season. The poor dear Commodore fell ill! and though the weather +is so severe, woodcocks very scarce,--there's a step here,--and all so +frightened for fear of the scarlatina that they run away; and I really +wanted you here to introduce you to--who was it?--not Mrs. Craycroft, +was it? Tell Mrs. Trafford luncheon is ready, Groves, and say Mr. Butler +is here. She doesn't know you, Pickle. Maybe you don't like to be called +Pickle now?” + +“Of course I do, aunt; it reminds me of long ago,” said he, with an air +of emotion. + +“By the way, it was George, and not you, I used to call Pickle,--poor +George, that went to Bombay.” + +“Ah, yes; he was India Pickle, aunt, and you used to call me +Piccalilli!” + +“Perhaps I did, but I forget. Here, take the head of the table; Mr. +Tony, sit by me. Oh dear! what a small party! This day last week we +were twenty-seven! Oh, he 'll not find Alice, for I left her in my +flower-garden; I 'll go for her myself.” + +“Make yourself at home, Tony,” said Skeffy, as soon as the old Lady +left the room. “Believe me, it is with no common pleasure that I see you +under my roof.” + +“I was going to play parrot, and say, 'Don't you wish you may?'” + muttered Tony, dryly. + +“Unbeliever, that will not credit the mutton on his plate, nor the +sherry in his glass! Hush! here they are.” + +Alice sailed proudly into the room, gave her hand to Tony with a +pretended air of condescension, but a real cordiality, and said, “You +'re a good boy, after all; and Bella sends you all manner of kind +forgivenesses.” + +“My nephew Darner, Alice,” said Mrs. Maxwell, never very formal in her +presentations of those she regarded as little more than children. “I +suppose he 'll not mind being called Pickle before you?” + +Even Tony--not the shrewdest, certainly, of observers--was struck by the +well-bred ease with which his friend conducted himself in a situation +of some difficulty, managing at the same time neither to offend the old +lady's susceptibilities nor sacrifice the respect he owed himself. In +fact, the presence of Alice recalled Skeffy, as if by magic, to +every observance of his daily life. She belonged to the world he knew +best,--perhaps the only one he knew at all; and his conversation at once +became as easy and as natural as though he were once more back in the +society of the great city. + +Mrs. Maxwell, however, would not part with him so easily, and proceeded +to put him through a catechism of all their connections--Skeffingtons, +Darners, Maxwells, and Nevils--in every variety of combination. As +Skeffy avowed afterwards, “The 'Little Go' was nothing to it.” With the +intention of shocking the old lady, and what he called “shunting her” + off all her inquiries, he reported nothing of the family but disasters +and disgraces. The men and women of the house inherited, according to +him, little of the proud boast of the Bayards; no one ever before +heard such a catalogue of rogues, swindlers, defaulters, nor so many +narratives of separations and divorces. What he meant for a shock turned +out a seduction; and she grew madly eager to hear more,--more even than +he was prepared to invent. + +“Ugh!” said he at last to himself, as he tossed off a glass of sherry, +“I'm coming fast to capital offences, and if she presses me more I'll +give her a murder.” + +These family histories, apparently so confidentially imparted, gave +Alice a pretext to take Tony off with her, and show him the gardens. +Poor Tony, too, was eager to have an opportunity to speak of his friend +to Alice. “Skeffy was such a good fellow; so hearty, so generous, so +ready to do a kind thing; and then, such a thorough gentleman! If you +had but seen him, Alice, in our little cabin, so very different in every +way from all he is accustomed to, and saw how delighted he was with +everything; how pleasantly he fell into all our habits, and how nice his +manner to my mother. She reads people pretty quickly; and I 'll tell you +what she said,--'He has a brave big heart under all his motley.'” + +“I rather like him already,” said Alice, with a faint smile at Tony's +eagerness; “he is going to stop here, is he not?” + +“I cannot tell. I only know that Mrs. Maxwell wrote to put him off.” + +“Yes, that she did a couple of days ago; but now that Bella is so much +better,--so nearly well, I may say,--I think she means to keep him, and +you too, Tony, if you will so far favor us.” + +“I cannot,--it is impossible.” + +“I had hoped, Tony,” said she, with a malicious sparkle in her eyes, +“that it was only against Lyle Abbey you bore a grudge, and not against +every house where I should happen to be a visitor.” + +“Alice, Alice!” said he, with trembling lips, “surely this is not fair.” + +“If it be true, is the question; and until you have told me why you +ceased to come to us,--why you gave up those who always liked you,--I +must, I cannot help believing it to be true.” + +Tony was silent: his heart swelled up as if it would burst his chest; +but he struggled manfully, and hid his emotion. + +“I conclude,” said she, sharply, “it was not a mere caprice which made +you throw us off. You had a reason, or something that you fancied was a +reason.” + +“It is only fair to suppose so,” said he, gravely. + +“Well, I 'll give you the benefit of that supposition; and I ask you, as +a matter of right, to give me your reason.” + +“I cannot, Alice,--I cannot,” stammered he out, while a deadly paleness +spread over his face. + +“Tony,” said she, gravely, “if you were a man of the world like your +friend Mr. Darner, for instance, I would probably say that in a matter +of this kind you ought to be left to your own judgment; but you are +not. You are a kind-hearted simple-minded boy. Nay, don't blush and look +offended; I never meant to offend you. Don't you know that?” and she +held out to him her fair white hand, the taper fingers trembling with +a slight emotion. Tony stooped and kissed it with a rapturous devotion. +“There, I did not mean that, Master Tony,” said she, blushing; “I never +intended your offence was to be condoned; I only thought of a free +pardon.” + +“Then give it to me, Alice,” said he, gulping down his emotion; “for I +am going away, and who knows when I shall see you again?” + +“Indeed,” said she, with a look of agitation; “have you reconsidered it, +then? have you resolved to join Maitland?” + +“And were you told of this, Alice?” + +“Yes, Tony: as one who feels a very deep interest in you, I came to hear +it; but, indeed, partly by an accident.” + +“Will you tell me what it was you heard?” said he, gravely; “for I am +curious to hear whether you know more than myself.” + +“You were to go abroad with Maitland,--you were to travel on the +Continent together.” + +“And I was to be his secretary, eh?” broke in Tony, with a bitter laugh; +“was n't that the notable project?” + +“You know well, Tony, it was to be only in name.” + +“Of course I do; my incapacity would insure that much.” + +“I must say, Tony,” said she, reproachfully, “that so far as I know of +Mr. Maitland's intentions towards you, they were both kind and generous. +In all that he said to me, there was the delicacy of a gentleman towards +a gentleman.” + +“He told you, however, that I had refused his offer?” + +“Yes; he said it with much regret, and I asked his leave to employ any +influence I might possess over you to make you retract the refusal,--at +least to think again over his offer.” + +“And of course he refused you nothing?” said Tony, with a sneering +smile. + +“Pardon me,--he did not grant my request.” + +“Then I think better of him than I did before.” + +“I suspect, Tony, that, once you understood each other, you are men to +be friends.” + +“You mean by that to flatter me, Alice,--and of course it is great +flattery; but whether it is that I am too conscious of my own +inferiority, or that I have, as I feel I have, such a hearty hatred of +your accomplished friend, I would detest the tie that should bind me to +him. Is he coming back here?” + +“I do not know.” + +“You do not know!” said he, slowly, as he fixed his eyes on her. + +“Take care, sir, take care; you never trod on more dangerous ground than +when you forgot what was due to _me_, I told you I did not know; it was +not necessary I should repeat it.” + +“There was a time when you rebuked my bad breeding less painfully, +Alice,” said he, in deep sorrow; “but these are days not to come back +again. I do not know if it is not misery to remember them.” + +“John Anthony Butler, Esq.,” cried a loud voice, and Skeffy sprang over +a box-hedge almost as tall as himself, flourishing a great sealed packet +in his band. “A despatch on Her Majesty's service just sent on here!” + cried he; “and now remember, Tony, if it's Viceroy you're named, I +insist on being Chief Sec.; if you go to India as Governor-General, I +claim Bombay or Madras. What stuff is the fellow made of? Did you ever +see such a stolid indifference? He doesn't want to know what the Fates +have decreed him.” + +“I don't care one farthing,” said Tony, doggedly. + +“Here goes, then, to see,” cried Skeffy, tearing open the packet and +reading: “'Downing Street, Friday, 5th.--Mr. Butler will report himself +for service as F. O. Messenger on Tuesday morning, 9 th. By order of the +Under-Secretary of State.'” + +“There's a way to issue a service summons. It was Graves wrote that, I +'d swear. All he ought to have said was, 'Butler for service, F. O., to +report immediately.'” + +“I suppose the form is no great matter,” said Mrs. Trafford, whose eyes +now turned with an anxious interest towards Tony. + +“The form is everything, I assure you. The Chief Secretary is a regular +Tartar about style. One of our fellows, who has an impediment in his +speech, once wrote, 'I had had,' in a despatch, and my Lord noted it +with, 'It is inexcusable that he should stutter in writing.'” + +“I must be there on Wednesday, is it?” asked Tony. + +“Tuesday--Tuesday, and in good time too. But ain't you lucky, you dog! +They 're so hard pressed for messengers, they've got no time to examine +you. You are to enter official life _par la petite porte_, but you get +in without knocking.” + +“I cannot imagine that the examination would be much of a difficulty,” + said Mrs. Trafford. + +Tony shook his head in dissent, and gave a sad faint sigh. + +“I 'd engage to coach him in a week,” broke in Skeffy. “It was I ground +Vyse in Chinese, and taught him that glorious drinking-song, 'Tehin +Tehan Ili-Ta!' that he offered to sing before the Commissioners if they +could play the accompaniment.” + +Leaving Skeffy to revel in his gratifying memories of such literary +successes, Alice turned away a few steps with Tony. + +“Let us part good friends, Tony,” said she, in a low tone. “You 'll go +up to the Abbey, I hope, and wish them a good-bye, won't you?” + +“I am half ashamed to go now,” muttered he. + +“No, no, Tony; don't fancy that there is any breach in our friendship; +and tell me another thing: would you like me to write to you? I know you +'re not very fond of writing yourself, but I 'll not be exacting. You +shall have two for one,--three, if you deserve it.” + +He could not utter a word; his heart felt as if it would burst through +his side, and a sense of suffocation almost choked him. He knew, if he +tried to speak, that his emotion would break out, and in his pride he +would have suffered torture rather than shed a tear. + +With a woman's nice tact she saw his confusion, and hastened to relieve +it. “The first letter must, however, be from you, Tony. It need be only +half a dozen lines, to say if you have passed your examination, what you +think of your new career, and where you are going.” + +“I couldn't write!” stammered out Tony; “I could not!” + +“Well, I will,” said she, with a tone of kind feeling. “Your mother +shall tell me where to address you.” + +“You will see mother, then?” asked he, eagerly. + +“Of course, Tony. If Mrs. Butler will permit me, I will be a frequent +visitor.” + +“Oh, if I thought so!” + +“Do think so,--be assured of it; and remember, Tony, whenever you have +courage to think of me as your own old friend of long ago, write and +tell me so.” These words were not said without a certain difficulty. +“There, don't let us appear foolish to your smart friend, yonder. +Goodbye.” + +“Good-bye, Alice,” said he, and now the tears rushed fast, and rolled +down his cheeks; but he drew his hand roughly across his face, and, +springing upon the car, said, “Drive on, and as hard as you can; I am +too late here.” + +Skeffy shouted his adieux, and waved a most picturesque farewell; but +Tony neither heard nor saw either. Both hands were pressed on his face, +and he sobbed as if his very heart was breaking. + +“Well, if that's not a melodramatic exit, I'm a Dutchman,” exclaimed +Skeffy, turning to address Alice; but she too was gone, and he was left +standing there alone. + +“Don't be angry with me, Bella! don't scold, and I 'll tell you of +an indiscretion I have just committed,” said Alice, as she sat on her +sister's bed. + +“I think I can guess it,” said Bella, looking up in her face. + +“No, you cannot,--you are not within a thousand miles of it. I know +perfectly what you mean, Bella; you suspect that I have opened a +flirtation with the distinguished Londoner, the wonderful Skeffington +Darner.” + +Bella shook her head dissentingly. + +“Not but one might,” continued Alice, laughing, “in a dull season, with +an empty house and nothing to do; just as I 've seen you trying to play +that twankling old harpsichord in the Flemish drawing-room, for want of +better; but you are wrong, for all that.” + +“It was not of him I was thinking, Alice,--on my word, it was not. I had +another, and, I suppose, a very different person in my head.” + +“Tony!” + +“Just so.” + +“Well, what of him; and what the indiscretion with which you would +charge me?” + +“With which you charge yourself, Alice dearest! I see it all in that +pink spot on your cheek, in that trembling of your lips, and in that +quick impatience of your manner.” + +“Dear me! what can it be which has occasioned such agitation, and called +up such terrible witnesses against me?” + +“I 'll tell you, Alice. You have sent away that poor boy more in love +than ever. You have let him carry away a hope which you well know is +only a delusion.” + +“I protest this is too bad. I never dreamed of such a lecture, and I 'll +just go downstairs and make a victim of Mr. Damer.” + +Alice arose and dashed out of the room; not, however, to do as she said, +but to hurry to her own room, and lock the door after her as she entered +it. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. TONY ASKS COUNSEL + +It was just as Bella said; Alice had sent off that poor boy “twice as +much in love as ever.” Poor fellow! what a strange conflict was that +that raged within him!--all that can make life glorious, give ecstasy +to the present and hope to the future, mingled with everything that can +throw a gloom over existence, and make it a burden and a task. Must it +be ever thus?--must the most exquisite moments of our life, when we have +youth and hope and health and energy, be dashed with fears that make +us forget all the blessings of our lot, and deem ourselves the most +wretched of created beings? + +In this feverish alternation he travelled along homeward,--now +thinking of the great things he could do and dare to win her love, now +foreshadowing the time when all hopes should be extinguished, and he +should walk the world alone and forsaken. He went over in memory--who +has not done so at one time or other?--all she had said to him at their +last meeting, asking what ground there might be for hope in this, what +reason for belief in that. With what intense avidity do we seek for the +sands of gold in this crushed and crumbled rock! how eagerly do we +peer to catch one glittering grain that shall whisper to us of wealth +hereafter! + +Surely, thought he, Alice is too good and too true-hearted to give me +even this much of hope if she meant me to despair. Why should she offer +to write to me if she intended that I was to forget her? “I wonder,” + muttered he, in his dark spirit of doubt,--“I wonder if this be simply +the woman's way of treating a love she deems beneath her?” He had read +in some book or other that it is no uncommon thing for those women +whose grace and beauty win homage and devotion thus to sport with the +affections of their worshippers, and that in this exercise of a cruel +power they find an exquisite delight. But Alice was too proud and too +high-hearted for such an ignoble pastime. But then he had read, too, +that women sometimes fancy that, by encouraging a devotion they never +mean to reward, they tend to elevate men's thoughts, ennobling their +ambitions, and inspiring them with purer, holier hopes. What if she +should mean this, and no more than this? Would not her very hatred be +more bearable than such pity? For a while this cruel thought unmanned +him, and he sat there like one stunned and powerless. + +For some time the road had led between the low furze-clad bills of the +country, but now they had gained the summit of a ridge, and there lay +beneath them that wild coast-line, broken with crag and promontory +towards the sea, and inland swelling and falling in every fanciful +undulation, yellow with the furze and the wild broom, but grander for +its wide expanse than many a scene of stronger features. How dear to his +heart it was! How inexpressibly dear the spot that was interwoven with +every incident of his life and every spring of his hope! There the green +lanes he used to saunter with Alice; there the breezy downs over which +they cantered; yonder the little creek where they had once sheltered +from a storm: he could see the rock on which he lit a fire in boyish +imitation of a shipwrecked crew! It was of Alice that every crag and +cliff, every bay and inlet spoke. + +“And is all that happiness gone forever?” cried he, as he stood gazing +at the scene. “I wonder,” thought he, “could Skeffy read her thoughts +and tell me how she feels towards me? I wonder will he ever talk to +her of me, and what will they say?” His cheek grew hot and red, and he +muttered to himself, “Who knows but it may be in pity?” and with the +bitterness of the thought the tears started to his eyes, and coursed +down his cheeks. + +That same book,--how it rankled, like a barbed arrow, in his side!--that +same book said that men are always wrong in their readings of +woman,--that they cannot understand the finer, nicer, more subtle +springs of her action; and in their coarser appreciation they constantly +destroy the interest they would give worlds to create. It was as this +thought flashed across his memory the car-driver exclaimed aloud, “Ah, +Master Tony, did ever you see as good a pony as you? he 's carried +the minister these eighteen years, and look at him how he jogs along +to-day!” + +He pointed to a little path in the valley where old Dr. Stewart ambled +along on his aged palfrey, the long mane and flowing tail of the beast +marking him out though nigh half a mile away. + +“Why didn't I think of that before?” thought Tony. “Dolly Stewart is the +very one to help me. She has not been bred and brought up like Alice, +but she has plenty of keen woman's wit, and she has all a sister's love +for me, besides. I 'll just go and tell her how we parted, and I 'll ask +her frankly what she says to it.” + +Cheered by this bright idea, he pursued his way in better spirits, and +soon reached the little path which wound off from the high-road through +the fields to the Burnside. Not a spot there unassociated with memories, +but they were the memories of early boyhood. The clump of white thorns +they used to call the Forest, and where they went to hunt wild beasts; +the little stream they fancied a great and rapid river, swarming with +alligators; the grassy slope, where they had their house, and the tiny +garden whose flowers, stuck down at daybreak, were withered before +noon!--too faithful emblems of the joys they illustrated! + +“Surely,” thought he, “no boy had ever such a rare playfellow as Dolly; +so ready to take her share in all the rough vicissitudes of a boy's +pleasures, and yet to bring to them a sort of storied interest and +captivation which no mere boy could ever have contributed. What a little +romance the whole was,--just because she knew how to impart the charm of +a story to all they did and all they planned!” + +It was thus thinking that he entered the cottage. So still was +everything that he could hear the scratching noise of a pen as a rapid +writer's hand moved over the paper. He peeped cautiously in and saw +Dolly seated, writing busily at a table all strewn over with manuscript: +an open book, supported by other books, lay before her, at which from +time to time she glanced. + +Before Tony had advanced a step she turned round and saw him. “Was it +not strange, Tony?” said she, and she flushed as she spoke. “I felt that +you were there before I saw you; just like long ago, when I always knew +where you were hid.” + +“I was just thinking of that same long ago, Dolly,” said he, taking a +chair beside her, “as I came up through the fields. There everything is +the same as it used to be when we went to seek our fortune across the +sandy desert, near the Black Lake.” + +“No,” said she, correcting; “the Black Lake was at the foot of Giant's +Rock, beyond the rye-field.” + +“So it was, Dolly; you are right.” + +“Ah, Master Tony, I suspect I have a better memory of those days than +you have. To be sure, I have not had as many things happening in the +mean while to trouble these memories.” + +There was a tone of sadness in her voice, very slight, very faint, +indeed, but still enough to tinge these few words with melancholy. + +“And what is all this writing about?” said he, moving his hands through +the papers. “Are you composing a book, Dolly?” + +“No,” said she, timidly; “I am only translating a little German story. +When I was up in London, I was lucky enough to obtain the insertion of +a little fairy tale in a small periodical meant for children, and the +editor encouraged me to try and render one of Andersen's stories; but +I am a very sorry German, and, I fear me, a still sorrier prose writer; +and so, Tony, the work goes on as slowly as that bridge of ours used +long ago. Do you remember when it was made, we never had the courage to +pass over it! Mayhap it will be the same with my poor story, and when +finished, it will remain unread.” + +“But why do you encounter such a piece of labor?” said he. “This must +have taken a week or more.” + +“A month yesterday, my good Tony; and very proud I am, too, that I did +it in a month.” + +“And for what, in heaven's name?” + +“For three bright sovereigns, Master Tony!” said she, blushing. + +“Oh, I didn't mean that,” said he, in deep shame and confusion. “I meant +only, why did you engage on such a hard task.” + +“I know you did n't mean it, Tony; but I was so proud of my success +as an author it would out. Yes,” said she, with a feigned air of +importance, “I have just disposed of my copyright; and you know, Tony, +Milton did not get a great deal more for 'Paradise Lost.' You see,” + added she, seriously, “what with poor papa's age and his loneliness, and +my own not over-great strength, I don't think I shall try (at least, not +soon) to be a governess again; and it behoves me to be as little as I +can of a burden to him; and after thinking of various things, I have +settled upon this as the best.” + +“What a good girl you are!” said he, and he fixed his eyes full upon +her; nor did he know how admiringly, till he saw that her face, her +forehead, and even her neck were crimson with shame and confusion. + +“There is no such great goodness, in doing what is simply one's duty,” + said she, gravely. + +“I don't know that, Dolly.” + +“Come, come, Tony, you never fancied yourself a hero, just because you +are willing to earn your bread, and ready to do so by some sacrifice of +your tastes and habits.” + +The allusion recalled Tony to himself and his own cares, and after a few +seconds of deep thought, he said, “I am going to make the venture +now, Dolly. I am called away to London by telegraph, and am to leave +to-morrow morning.” + +“Are you fully prepared, Tony, for the examination?” + +“Luckily for me, they do not require it Some accidental want of people +has made them call in all the available fellows at a moment's warning, +and in this way I may chance to slip into the service unchallenged.” + +“Nay, but, Tony,” said she, reproachfully, “you surely could face the +examination?” + +“I could face it just as I could face being shot at, of course, but with +the same certainty of being bowled over. Don't you know, Dolly, that I +never knew my grammar long ago till you had dinned it into my head; and +as you never come to my assistance now, I know well what my fate would +be.” + +“My dear Tony,” said she, “do get rid once for all of the habit of +underrating your own abilities; as my dear father says, people very +easily make self-depreciation a plea of indolence. There, don't look +so dreary; I 'm not going to moralize in the few last minutes we are to +have together. Talk to me about yourself.” + +“It was for that I came, Dolly,” said he, rising and taking a turn or +two up and down the room; for, in truth, he was sorely puzzled how +to approach the theme that engaged him. “I want your aid; I want your +woman's wit to help me in a difficulty. Here's what it is, Dolly,” and +he sat down again at her side, and took her hand in his own. “Tell me, +Dolly,” said he, suddenly, “is it true, as I have read somewhere, that a +woman, after having made a man in love with her, will boast that she is +not in the least bound to requite his affection if she satisfies herself +that she has elevated him in his ambition, given a higher spring to +his hope,--made him, in fact, something better and nobler than his own +uninspired nature had ever taught him to be? I 'm not sure that I have +said what I meant to say; but you 'll be able to guess what I intend.” + +“You mean, perhaps, will a woman accept a man's love as a means of +serving him without any intention of returning it?” + +Perhaps he did not like the fashion in which she put his question, for +he did not answer, save by a nod. + +“I say yes; such a thing is possible, and might happen readily enough if +great difference of station separated them.” + +“Do you mean if one was rich and the other poor?” + +“Not exactly; because inequalities of fortune may exist between persons +of equal condition.” + +“In which case,” said he, hurriedly, “you would not call their stations +unequal, would you?” + +“That would depend on how far wealth contributed to the habits of the +wealthier. Some people are so accustomed to affluence, it is so much the +accompaniment of their daily lives, that the world has for them but one +aspect.” + +“Like our neighbors here, the Lyles, for instance?” said he. + +Dolly gave a slight start, like a sudden pang of pain, and grew deadly +pale. She drew away her hand at the same time, and passed it across her +brow. + +“Does your head ache, dear Dolly?” asked he, compassionately. + +“Slightly; it is seldom quite free of pain. You have chosen a poor +guide, Tony, when there is a question of the habits of fine folk. +None know so little of their ways as I do. But surely you do not need +guidance. Surely you are well capable of understanding them in all their +moods.” + +With all her attempts to appear calm and composed, her lips shook and +her cheeks trembled as she spoke; and Tony, more struck by her looks +than her words, passed his arm round her, and said, in a kind and +affectionate voice, “I see you are not well, my own dear Dolly; and that +I ought not to come here troubling you about my own selfish cares; but I +can never help feeling that it's a sister I speak to.” + +“Yes, a sister,” said she, in a faint whisper,--“a sister!” + +“And that your brother Tony has the right to come to you for counsel and +help.” + +“So he has,” said she, gulping down something like a sob; “but these +days, when my head is weary and tired, and when--as to-day, Tony--I am +good for nothing--Tell me,” said she, hastily, “how does your mother +bear your going away? Will she let me come and sit with her often? I +hope she will.” + +“That she will, and be so happy to have you too; and only think, Dolly, +Alice Lyle--Mrs. Trafford, I mean--has offered to come and keep her +company sometimes. I hope you 'll meet her there; how you 'd like her. +Dolly!” + +Dolly turned away her head; and the tears, against which she had +struggled so long, now burst forth, and slowly fell along her cheek. + +“You must not fancy, Dolly, that because Alice is rich and great you +will like her less. Heaven knows, if humble fortune could separate us, +ours might have done so.” + +“My head is splitting, Tony dear. It is one of those sudden attacks of +pain. Don't be angry if I say good-bye; there's nothing for it but a +dark room, and quiet.” + +“My poor dear Dolly,” said he, pressing her to him, and kissing her +twice on the cheek. + +“No, no!” cried she, hysterically, as though to something she was +answering; and then, dashing away, she rushed from the room, and Tony +could hear her door shut and locked as she passed in. + +“How changed from what she used to be!” muttered he, as he went his way; +“I scarcely can believe she is the same! And, after all, what light has +she thrown on the difficulty I put before her? Or was it that I did not +place the matter as clearly as I might? Was I too guarded, or was I too +vague? Well, well. I remember the time when, no matter how stupid _I_ +was, she would soon have found out my meaning! What a dreary thing +that life of a governess must be, when it could reduce one so quick of +apprehension and so ready-witted as she was to such a state as this! Oh, +is she not changed!” And this was the burden of his musings as he wended +his way towards home. + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. SIR ARTHUR ON LIFE AND THE WORLD IN GENERAL + +“Here it is at last, mother,” said Tony, holding up the “despatch” as he +entered the cottage. + +“The order for the examination, Tony!” said she, as she turned pale. + +“No, but the order to do without it, mother dear!--the order for Anthony +Butler to report himself for service, without any other test than his +readiness to go wherever they want to send him. It seems that there 's a +row somewhere--or several rows--just now. Heaven bless the fellows that +got them up, for it gives them no time at the Office to go into any +impertinent inquiries as to one's French, or decimal fractions, or the +other qualifications deemed essential to carrying a letter-bag, and so +they 've sent for me to go off to Japan.” + +“To Japan, Tony,--to Japan?” + +“I don't mean positively to Japan, for Skeffy says it might be Taganrog, +or Timbuctoo, or Tamboff, or some other half-known place. But no matter, +mother; it 's so much a mile, and something besides, per day; and the +short and long of it is, I am to show myself on Tuesday, the 9th, at +Downing Street, there to be dealt with as the law may direct.” + +“It's a hasty summons, my poor Tony--” + +“It might be worse, mother. What would we say to it if it were, 'Come up +and be examined'? I think I 'm a good-tempered fellow; but I declare to +you frankly, if one of those 'Dons' were to put a question to me that +I could n't answer,--and I 'm afraid it would not be easy to put any +other,--I 'd find it very hard not to knock him down! I mean, of course, +mother, if he did it offensively, with a chuckle over my ignorance, or +something that seemed to say, 'There 's a blockhead, if ever there was +one!' I know I couldn't help it!” + +“Oh, Tony, Tony!” said she, deprecatingly. + +“Yes, it's all very well to say Tony, Tony; but here's how it is. It +would be 'all up' with me. It would be by that time decided that I +was good for nothing, and to be turned back. The moment would be a +triumphant one for the fellow that 'plucked' me,--it always is, I 'm +told,--but I 'll be shot if it should be all triumph to him!” + +“I won't believe this of you, Tony,” said she, gravely. “It 's not like +your father, sir!” + +“Then I 'd not do it, mother,--at least, if I could help it,” said he, +growing very red. “I say, mother, is it too late to go up to the Abbey +and bid. Sir Arthur good-bye? Alice asked me to do it, and I promised +her.” + +“Well, Tony, I don't know how you feel about these things now, but there +was a time that you never thought much what hour of the day or night it +was when you went there.” + +“It used to be so!” said he, thoughtfully; and then added, “but I 'll +go, at all events, mother; but I 'll not be long away, for I must have a +talk with you before bedtime.” + +“I have a note written to Sir Arthur here; will you just give it to +him, Tony, or leave it for him when you 're coming away, for it wants no +answer?” + +“All right, mother; don't take tea till I come back, and I 'll do my +best to come soon.” + +It was a well-worn path that led from the cottage to Lyle Abbey. There +was not an hour of day or night Tony had not travelled it; and as he +went now, thoughts of all these long-agos would crowd on his memory, +making him ask himself, Was there ever any one had so much happiness +as I had in those days? Is it possible that my life to come will ever +replace to me such enjoyment as that? + +He was not a very imaginative youth, but he had that amount of the +quality that suffices for small castle-building; and he went on, as he +walked, picturing to himself what would be the boon he would ask from +Fortune if some benevolent fairy were to start out from the tall ferns +and grant him his wish. Would it be to be rich and titled and great, so +that he might propose to make Alice his wife without any semblance of +inordinate pretension? or would it not be to remain as he was, poor and +humble in condition, and that Alice should be in a rank like his own, +living in a cottage like Dolly Stewart, with little household cares to +look after? + +It was a strange labyrinth these thoughts led him into, and he soon lost +his way completely, unable to satisfy himself whether Alice might +not lose in fascination when no longer surrounded by all the splendid +appliances of that high station she adorned, or whether her native +gracefulness would not be far more attractive when her life became +ennobled by duties. A continual comparison of Alice and Dolly would rise +to his mind; nothing could be less alike, and yet there they were, in +incessant juxtaposition; and while he pictured Alice in the humble manse +of the minister, beautiful as he had ever seen her, he wondered whether +she would be able to subdue her proud spirit to such lowly ways, and +make of that thatched cabin the happy home that Dolly had made it. +His experiences of life were not very large, but one lesson they had +certainly taught him,--it was, to recognize in persons of condition, +when well brought up, a great spirit of accommodation. In the varied +company of Sir Arthur's house he had constantly found that no one +submitted with a better grace to accidental hardships than he whose +station had usually elevated him above the risks of their occurrence, +and that in the chance roughings of a sportsman's life it was the born +gentleman--Sybarite it might be at times--whose temper best sustained +him in all difficulties, and whose gallant spirit bore him most +triumphantly over the crosses and cares that beset him. It might not be +a very logical induction that led him to apply this reasoning to Alice, +but he did so, and in so doing he felt very little how the time went +over, till he found himself on the terrace at Lyle Abbey. + +Led on by old habit, he passed in without ringing the bell, and was +already on his way to the drawing-room when he met Hailes the butler. + +In the midst of a shower of rejoicings at seeing him again,--for he was +a great favorite with the household,--Hailes hastened to show him into +the dining-room, where, dinner over, Sir Arthur sat in an easy-chair at +the fire, alone, and sound asleep. Roused by the noise of the opening +door, Sir Arthur started and looked up; nor was he, indeed, very full +awake while Tony blundered out his excuses for disturbing him. + +“My dear Tony, not a word of this. It is a real pleasure to see you. I +was taking a nap, just because I had nothing better to do. We are all +alone here now, and the place feels strange enough in the solitude. Mark +gone--the girls away--and no one left but Lady Lyle and myself. There's +your old friend; that's some of the '32 claret; fill your glass, and +tell me that you are come to pass some days with us.” + +“I wish I was, sir; but I have come to say good-bye. I 'm off to-morrow +for London.” + +“For London! What! another freak, Tony?” + +“Scarcely a freak, sir,” said he, smiling. “They 've telegraphed to me +to come up and report myself for service at the Foreign Office.” + +“As a Minister, eh?” + +“No, sir; a Messenger.” + +“An excellent thing, too; a capital thing. A man must begin somewhere, +you know. Every one is not as lucky as I was, to start with close on +twelve hundred a year. I was n't twenty when I landed at Calcutta, +Tony,--a mere boy!” Here the baronet filled his glass, and drank it off +with a solemnity that seemed as if it were a silent toast to his own +health, for in his own estimation he merited that honor, very few men +having done more for themselves than he had; not that he had not +been over-grateful, however, to the fortune of his early days in this +boastful acknowledgment, since it was in the humble capacity of an +admiral's secretary--they called them clerks in those days--he had +first found himself in the Indian Ocean, a mere accident leading to his +appointment on shore and all his subsequent good fortune. “Yes, Tony,” + continued he, “I started at what one calls a high rung of the ladder. It +was then I first saw your father; he was about the same age as you are +now. He was on Lord Dollington's staff. Dear me, dear me! it seems like +yesterday;” and he closed his eyes, and seemed lost in revery; but if he +really felt like yesterday, he would have remembered how insolently the +superb aide-de-camp treated the meek civilian of the period, and how +immeasurably above Mr. Lyle of those days stood the haughty Captain +Butler of the Governor-General's staff. + +“The soldiers used to fancy they had the best of it, Tony; but, I take +it, we civilians won the race at last;” and his eyes ranged over the +vast room, with the walls covered by pictures, and the sideboard +loaded with massive plate, while the array of decanters on the small +spider-table beside him suggested largely of good living. + +“A very old friend of mine, Jos. Hughes--he was salt assessor at +Bussorabad--once remarked to me, 'Lyle,' said he, 'a man must make his +choice in life, whether he prefers a brilliant start or a good finish, +for he cannot have both.' Take your pleasure when young, and you must +consent to work when old; but if you set out vigorously, determined to +labor hard in early life, when you come to my age, Tony, you may be able +to enjoy your rest”--and here he waved his hand round, as though to show +the room in which they sat,--“to enjoy your rest, not without dignity.” + +Tony was an attentive listener, and Sir Arthur was flattered, and went +on. “I am sincerely glad to have the opportunity of these few moments +with you. I am an old pilot, so to say, on the sea you are about to +venture upon; and really, the great difficulty young fellows have in +life is, that the men who know the whole thing from end to end will not +be honest in giving their experiences. There is a certain 'snobbery'--I +have no other word for it--that prevents their confessing to small +beginnings. They don't like telling how humble they were at the start; +and what is the consequence? The value of the whole lesson is lost! Now, +I have no such scruples, Tony. Good family connections and relatives +of influence I had; I cannot deny it. I suppose there are scores of men +would have coolly sat down and said to their right honorable cousin or +their noble uncle, 'Help me to this,--get me that;' but sach was not my +mode of procedure. No, sir; I resolved to be my own patron, and I went +to India.” + +When Sir Arthur said this, he looked as though his words were: “I +volunteered to lead the assault It was I that was first up the breach.” + “But, after all, Tony, I can't get the boys to believe this.” Now +these boys were his three sons, two of them middle-aged, white-headed, +liverless men in Upper India, and the third that gay dragoon with whom +we have had some slight acquaintance. + +“I have always said to the boys, 'Don't lie down on your high +relations.'” Had he added that they would have found them a most +uncomfortable bed, he would not have been beyond the truth. “'Do as I +did, and see how gladly, ay, and how proudly, they will recognize +you.' I say the same to you, Tony. You have, I am told, some family +connections that might be turned to account?” + +“None, sir; not one,” broke in Tony, boldly. + +“Well, there is that Sir Omerod Butler. I don't suspect he is a man of +much actual influence. He is, I take it, a bygone.” + +“I know nothing of him; nor do I want to know anything of him,” said +Tony, pushing his glass from him, and looking as though the conversation +were one he would gladly change for any other topic; but it was not so +easy to tear Sir Arthur from such a theme, and he went on. + +“It would not do for you, perhaps, to make any advances towards him.” + +“I should like to see myself!” said Tony, half choking with angry +impatience. + +“I repeat, it would not do for _you_ to take this step; but if you had +a friend--a man of rank and station--one whose position your uncle could +not but acknowledge as at least the equal of his own--” + +“He could be no friend of mine who should open any negotiations on my +part with a relation who has treated my mother so uncourteously, sir.” + +“I think you are under a mistake, Tony. Mrs. Butler told me that it was +rather her own fault than Sir Omerod's that some sort of reconciliation +was not effected. Indeed, she once showed me a letter from your uncle +when she was in trouble about those Canadian bonds.” + +“Yes, yes, I know it all,” said Tony, rising, as if all his patience was +at last exhausted. “I have read the letter you speak of; he offered to +lend her five or six hundred pounds, or to give it, I forget which; +and he was to take _me_”--here he burst into a fit of laughter that was +almost hysterical in its harsh mockery--“to take me. I don't know what +he was to do with me, for I believe he has turned Papist, Jesuit, or +what not; perhaps I was to have been made a priest or a friar; at all +events, I was to have been brought up dependent on his bounty,--a bad +scheme for each of us. He would not have been very proud of his protégé; +and, if I know myself, I don't think I 'd have been very grateful to my +protector. My dear mother, however, had too much of the mother in her to +listen to it, and she told him so, perhaps too plainly for his refined +notions in matters of phraseology; for he frumped and wrote no more to +us.” + +“Which is exactly the reason why a friend, speaking from the eminence +which a certain station confers, might be able to place matters on a +better and more profitable footing.” + +“Not with _my_ consent, sir, depend upon it,” said Tony, fiercely. + +“My dear Tony, there is a vulgar adage about the impolicy of quarrelling +with one's bread-and-butter; but how far more reprehensible would it be +to quarrel with the face of the man who cuts it?” + +It is just possible that Sir Arthur was as much mystified by his own +illustration as was Tony, for each continued for some minutes to look +at the other in a state of hopeless bewilderment. The thought of one +mystery, however, recalled another, and Tony remembered his mother's +note. + +“By the way, sir, I have a letter here for you from my mother,” said he, +producing it. + +Sir Arthur put on his spectacles leisurely, and began to peruse it. It +seemed very brief, for in an instant he had returned it to his pocket. + +“I conclude you know nothing of the contents of this?” said he, quietly. + +“Nothing whatever.” + +“It is of no consequence. You may simply tell Mrs. Butler from me that I +will call on her by an early day; and now, won't you come and have a cup +of tea? Lady Lyle will expect to see you in the drawing-room.” + +Tony would have refused, if he knew how; even in his old days he had +been less on terms of intimacy with Lady Lyle than any others of the +family, and she had at times a sort of dignified stateliness in her +manner that checked him greatly. + +“Here 's Tony Butler come to take a cup of tea with you, and say +good-bye,” said Sir Arthur, as he led him into the drawing-room. + +“Oh, indeed! I am too happy to see him,” said she, laying down her book; +while, with a very chilly smile, she added, “and where is Mr. Butler +bound for this time?” And simple as the words were, she contrived to +impart to them a meaning as though she had said, “What new scheme or +project has he now? What wild-goose chase is he at present engaged in?” + +Sir Arthur came quickly to the rescue, as he said, “He's going to take +up an appointment under the Crown; and, like a good and prudent lad, to +earn his bread, and do something towards his mother's comfort.” + +“I think you never take sugar,” said she, smiling faintly; “and for a +while you made a convert of Alice.” + +Was there ever a more common-place remark? and yet it sent the blood to +poor Tony's face and temples, and overwhelmed him with confusion. “You +know that the girls are both away?” + +“It's a capital thing they 've given him,” said Sir Arthur, trying to +extract from his wife even the semblance of an interest in the young +fellow's career. + +“What is it?” asked she. + +“How do they call you? Are you a Queen's messenger, or a Queen's +courier, or a Foreign Office messenger?” + +“I'm not quite sure. I believe we are messengers, but whose I don't +remember.” + +“They have the charge of all the despatches to the various embassies and +legations in every part of the world,” said Sir Arthur, pompously. + +“How addling it must be,--how confusing!” + +“Why so? You don't imagine that they have to retain them, and report +them orally, do you?” + +“Well, I 'm afraid I did,” said she, with a little simper that seemed to +say, What did it signify either way? + +“They'd have made a most unlucky selection in my case,” said Tony, +laughing, “if such had been the duty.” + +“Do you think you shall like it?” + +“I suppose I shall. There is so very little I 'm really fit for, that I +look on this appointment as a piece of rare luck.” + +“I fancy I 'd rather have gone into the army,--a cavalry regiment, for +instance.” + +“The most wasteful and extravagant career a young fellow could select,” + said Sir Arthur, smarting under some recent and not over-pleasant +experiences. + +“The uniform is so becoming too,” said she, languidly. + +“It is far and away beyond any pretension of my humble fortune, Madam,” + said Tony, proudly, for there was an impertinent carelessness in her +manner that stung him to the quick. + +“Ah, yes,” sighed she; “and the army, too, is not the profession for one +who wants to marry.” + +Tony again felt his cheek on fire, but he did not utter a word as she +went on, “And report says something like this of you, Mr. Butler.” + +“What, Tony! how is this? I never heard of it before,” cried Sir Arthur. + +“Nor I, sir.” + +“Come, come. It is very indiscreet of me, I know,” said Lady Lyle; “but +as we are in such a secret committee here at this moment, I fancied I +might venture to offer my congratulations.” + +“Congratulations! on what would be the lad's ruin! Why, it would be +downright insanity. I trust there is not a word of truth in it.” + +“I repeat, sir, that I hear it all for the first time.” + +“I conclude, then, I must have been misinformed.” + +“Might I be bold enough to ask from what quarter the rumor reached you, +or with whom they mated me?” + +“Oh, as to your choice, I hear she is a very nice girl indeed, admirably +brought up and well educated,--everything but rich; but of course that +fact was well known to you. Men in her father's position are seldom +affluent.” + +“And who could possibly have taken the trouble to weave all this romance +about me?” said Tony, flushing not the less deeply that he suspected it +was Dolly Stewart who was indicated by the description. + +“One of the girls, I forget which, told me. Where she learned it, I +forget, if I ever knew; but I remember that the story had a sort of +completeness about it that looked like truth.” Was it accident or +intention that made Lady Lyle fix her eyes steadily on Tony as she +spoke? As she did so, his color, at first crimson, gave way to an ashy +paleness, and he seemed like one about to faint. “After all,” said she, +“perhaps it was a mere flirtation that people magnified into marriage.” + +“It was not even that,” gasped he out, hoarsely. “I am overstaying my +time, and my mother will be waiting tea for me,” muttered he; and with +some scarcely intelligible attempts at begging to be remembered to Alice +and Bella, he took his leave, and hurried away. + +While Tony, with a heart almost bursting with agony, wended his way +towards home, Lady Lyle resumed her novel, and Sir Arthur took up the +“Times.” After about half an hour's reading he laid down the paper, and +said, “I hope there is no truth in that story about young Butler.” + +“Not a word of it,” said she, dryly. + +“Not a word of it! but I thought you believed it.” + +“Nothing of the kind. It was a lesson the young gentleman has long +needed, and I was only waiting for a good opportunity to give it.” + +“I don't understand you. What do you mean by a lesson?” + +“I have very long suspected that it was a great piece of imprudence on +our part to encourage the intimacy of this young man here, and to give +him that position of familiarity which he obtained amongst us; but I +trusted implicitly to the immeasurable distance that separated him from +our girls, to secure us against danger. That clever man of the world, +Mr. Maitland, however, showed me I was wrong. He was not a week here +till he saw enough to induce him to give me a warning; and though at +first he thought it was Bella's favor he aspired to, he afterwards +perceived it was to Alice he directed his attentions.” + +“I can't believe this possible. Tony would never dare such a piece of +presumption.” + +“You forget two things, Sir Arthur. This young fellow fancies that his +good birth makes him the equal of any one; and, secondly, Alice, in her +sense of independence, is exactly the girl to do a folly, and imagine +it to be heroic; so Maitland himself said to me, and it was perfectly +miraculous how well he read her whole nature. And indeed it was he +who suggested to me to charge Tony Butler with being engaged to +the minister's daughter, and told me--and as I saw, with truth--how +thoroughly it would test his suspicions about him. I thought he was +going to faint,--he really swayed back and forwards when I said that it +was one of the girls from whom I had the story.” + +“If I could only believe this, he should never cross the threshold +again. Such insolence is, however, incredible.” + +“That's a man's way of regarding it; and however you sneer at our +credulity, it enables us to see scores of things that your obstinacy is +blind to. I am sincerely glad he is going away.” + +“So am I--now; and I trust, in my heart, we have seen the last of him.” + +“How tired you look, my poor Tony!” said his mother, as he entered the +cottage and threw himself heavily and wearily into a chair. + +“I _am_ tired, mother,--very tired and jaded.” + +“I wondered what kept you so long, Tony; for I had time to pack your +trunk, and to put away all your things; and when it was done and +finished, to sit down and sorrow over your going away. Oh, Tony dear, +are n't we ungrateful creatures, when we rise up in rebellion against +the very mercies that are vouchsafed us, and say, Why was my prayer +granted me? I am sure it was many and many a night, as I knelt down, +I begged the Lord would send you some calling or other, that you might +find means of an honest living; and a line of life that would n't +disgrace the stock you came from; and now that He has graciously heard +me, here I am repining and complaining just as if it was n't my own +supplication that was listened to.” + +Perhaps Tony was not in a humor to discuss a nice question of ethical +meaning, for he abruptly said, “Sir Arthur Lyle read your note over, and +said he'd call one of these days and see you. I suppose he meant with +the answer.” + +“There was no answer, Tony; the matter was just this,--I wanted a trifle +of an advance from the bank, just to give you a little money when you +have to go away; and Tom M'Elwain, the new manager, not knowing me +perhaps, referred the matter to Sir Arthur, which was not what I wished +or intended, and so I wrote and said so. Perhaps I said so a little too +curtly, as if I was too proud, or the like, to accept a favor at Sir +Arthur's hands; for he wrote me a very beautiful letter--it went home +to my heart--about his knowing your father long ago, when they were both +lads, and had the wide world before them; and alluding very touchingly +to the Lord's bounties to himself,--blessing him with a full garner.” + +“I hope you accepted nothing from him,” broke in Tony, roughly. + +“No, Tony; for it happened that James Hewson, the apothecary, had a +hundred pounds that he wanted to lay out on a safe mortgage, and so +I took it, at six per cent, and gave him over the deeds of the little +place here.” + +“For a hundred pounds! Why, it 's worth twelve hundred at least, +mother!” + +“What a boy it is!” said she, laughing. “I merely gave him his right to +claim the one hundred that he advanced, Tony dear; and my note to +Sir Arthur was to ask him to have the bond, or whatever it is called, +rightly drawn up and witnessed, and at the same time to thank him +heartily for his own kind readiness to serve me.” + +“I hate a mortgage, mother. I don't feel as if the place was our own any +longer.” + +“Your father's own words, eighteen years ago, when he drew all the money +he had out of the agent's hands, and paid off the debt on this little +spot here. 'Nelly,' said he, 'I can look out of the window now, and not +be afraid of seeing a man coming ap the road to ask for his interest.'” + +“It's the very first thing I 'll try to do, is to pay off that debt, +mother. Who knows but I may be able before the year is over! But I am +glad you did n't take it from Sir Arthur.” + +“You're as proud as your father, Tony,” said she, with her eyes full of +tears; “take care that you're as good as he was too.” + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. A CORNER IN DOWNING STREET + +When Tony Butler found himself inside of the swinging glass-door at +Downing Street, and in presence of the august Mr. Willis, the porter, it +seemed as if all the interval since he had last stood in the same place +had been a dream. The head-porter looked up from his “Times,” and with +a severity that showed he had neither forgotten nor forgiven, said, +“Messengers' room--first pair--corridor--third door on the left.” There +was an unmistakable dignity in the manner of the speaker which served +to show Tony not merely that his former offence remained unpardoned, but +that his entrance into public life had not awed or impressed in any way +the stern official. + +Tony passed on, mounted the stairs, and sauntered along a very ill-kept +corridor, not fully certain whether it was the third, fourth, or fifth +door he was in search of, or on what hand. After about half an hour +passed in the hope of seeing one to direct him, he made bold to knock +gently at a door. To his repeated summons no answer was returned, and he +tried another, when a shrill voice cried, “Come in.” He entered, and saw +a slight, sickly-looking youth, very elaborately dressed, seated at a +table, writing. The room was a large one, very dirty, ill-furnished, and +disorderly. + +“Well, what is it?” asked the young gentleman, without lifting his head +or his eyes from the desk. + +“Could you tell me,” said Tony, courteously, “where I ought to go? I +'m Butler, an extra messenger, and I have been summoned to attend and +report here this morning.” + +“All right; we want you,” said the other, still writing; “wait an +instant.” So saying, he wrote on for several minutes at a rapid pace, +muttering the words as his pen traced them; at last he finished, and, +descending from his high seat, passed across the room, opened a door, +which led into another room, and called out,-- + +“The messenger come, sir!” + +“Who is he?” shouted a very harsh voice. + +“First for Madrid, sir,” said the youth, examining a slip of paper he +had just taken from his pocket. + +“His name?” shouted out the other again. + +“Poynder, sir.” + +“I beg your pardon,” suggested Tony, mildly. “I'm Butler, not Poynder.” + +“Who's talking out there,--what's that uproar?” screamed the voice, very +angrily. + +“He says he 's not for Madrid, sir. It's a mistake,” cried the youth. + +“No; you misunderstand me,” whispered Tony. “I only said I was not +Poynder.” + +“He says he 's in Poynder's place.” + +“I'll stop this system of substitutes!” cried the voice. “Send him in +here.” + +“Go in there,” said the youth, with a gesture of his thumb, and his face +at the same time wore an expression which said as plain as any words +could have spoken, “And you 'll see how you like it.” + +As Tony entered, he found himself standing face to face to the awful +official, Mr. Brand, the same who had reported to the Minister his +intended assault upon Willis, the porter. “Aw! what's all this about?” + said Mr. Brand, pompously. “You are Mr.--Mr.--” + +“Mr. Butler,” said Tony, quietly, but with an air of determination. + +“And instead of reporting yourself, you come here to say that you have +exchanged with Poynder.” + +“I never heard of Poynder till three minutes ago.” + +“You want, however, to take his journey, sir. You call yourself first +for Madrid?” + +“I do nothing of the kind. I have come here because I got a telegram two +days ago. I know nothing of Poynder, and just as little about Madrid.” + +“Oh--aw! you're Butler! I remember all about you now; there is such a +swarm of extras appointed, that it's impossible to remember names or +faces. You 're the young gentleman who--who--yes, yes, I remember it +all; but have you passed the civil-service examiners?” + +“No; I was preparing for the examination when I received that message, +and came off 'at once.” + +“Well, you 'll present yourself at Burlington House. Mr. Blount will +make out the order for you; you can go up the latter end of this week, +and we shall want you immediately.” + +“But I am not ready. I was reading for this examination when your +telegram came, and I set off at the instant.” + +“Blount, Mr. Blount!” screamed out the other, angrily; and as the +affrighted youth presented himself, all pale and trembling, he went on: +“What's the meaning of this, sir? You first attempt to pass this person +off for Poynder: and when that scheme fails, you endeavor to slip him +into the service without warrant or qualification. He tells me himself +he knows nothing.” + +“Very little, certainly, but I don't remember telling you so,” said +Tony. + +“And do you imagine, sir, that a bravado about your ignorance is the +sure road to advancement? I can tell you, young gentleman, that the days +of mighty patronage are gone by; the public require to be served +with competent officials. We are not in the era of Castlereaghs and +Vansittarts. If you can satisfy the Commissioners, you may come back +here; if you cannot, you may go back to--to whatever life you were +leading before, and were probably most fit for. As for you, Mr. Blount, +I told you before that on the first occasion of your attempting to +exercise here that talent for intrigue on which you pride yourself, and +of which Mr. Vance told me you were a proficient, I should report you. I +now say, sir,--and bear in mind I say so openly, and to yourself, and in +presence of your friend here,--I shall do so this day.” + +“May I explain, sir?” + +“You may not, sir,--withdraw!” The wave of the hand that accompanied +this order evidently included Tony; but he held his ground undismayed, +while the other fell back, overwhelmed with shame and confusion. + +Not deigning to be aware of Tony's continued presence in the room, +Mr. Brand again addressed himself to his writing materials, when a +green-cloth door at the back of the room opened, and Mr. Vance entered, +and, advancing to where the other sat, leaned over his chair and +whispered some words in his ear. “You 'll find I 'm right,” muttered he, +as he finished. + +“And where's the Office to go to?” burst out the other, in a tone of +ill-repressed passion; “will you just tell me that? Where's the Office +to go--if this continues?” + +“That's neither your affair nor mine,” whispered Vance. “These sort of +things were done before we were born, and they will be done after we 're +in our graves!” + +“And is he to walk in here, and say, 'I 'm first for service; I don't +care whether you like it or not'?” + +“He 's listening to you all this while,--are you aware of that?” + whispered Vance; on which the other grew very red in the face, took +off his spectacles, wiped and replaced them, and then, addressing Tony, +said, “Go away, sir,--leave the Office.” + +“Mr. Brand means that you need not wait,” said Vance, approaching Tony. +“All you have to do is to leave your town address here, in the outer +office, and come up once or twice a day.” + +“And as to this examination,” said Tony, stoutly, “it's better I should +say once for all--” + +“It's better you should just say nothing at all,” said the other, +good-humoredly, as he slipped his arm inside of Tony's and led him away. +“You see,” whispered he, “my friend Mr. Brand is hasty.” + +“I should think he _is_ hasty!” growled out Tony. + +“But he is a warm-hearted--a truly warm-hearted man--” + +“Warm enough he seems.” + +“When you know him better--” + +“I don't want to know him better!” burst in Tony. “I got into a scrape +already with just such another: he was collector for the port of Derry, +and I threw him out of the window, and all the blame was laid upon me!” + +“Well, that certainly was hard,” said Vance, with a droll twinkle of his +eye,--“I call that very hard.” + +“So do I, after the language he used to me, saying all the while, +'I'm no duellist,--I'm not for a saw-pit, with coffee and pistols for +two,'--and all that vulgar slang about murder and such-like.” + +“And was he much hurt?” + +“No; not much. It was only his collar-bone and one rib, I think,--I +forget now,--for I had to go over to Skye, and stay there a good part of +the summer.” + +“Mr. Blount, take down this gentleman's address, and show him where +he is to wait; and don't--” Here he lowered his voice, so that the +remainder of his speech was inaudible to Tony. + +“Not if I can help it, sir,” replied Blount; “but if you knew how hard +it is!” + +There was something almost piteous in the youth's face as he spoke; and, +indeed, Vance seemed moved to a certain degree of compassion as he said, +“Well, well, do your best,--do your best, none can do more.” + +“It's two o'clock. I 'll go out and have a cigar with you, if you don't +mind,” said Blount to Tony. “We 're quite close to the Park here; and a +little fresh air will do me good.” + +“Come along,” said Tony, who, out of compassion, had already a sort of +half-liking for the much-suffering young fellow. + +“I wish Skeffy was here,” said Tony, as they went downstairs. + +“Do you know Skeff Darner, then?” + +“Know him! I believe he 's about the fellow I like best in the world.” + +“So do I,” cried the other, warmly; “he hasn't his equal living; he 's +the best-hearted and he's the cleverest fellow I ever met.” + +And now they both set to, as really only young friends ever do, to extol +a loved one with that heartiness that neither knows limit nor measure. +What a good fellow he was,--how much of this, without the least of +that,--how unspoiled, too, in the midst of the flattery he met with! +“If you just saw him as I did a few days back,” said Tony, calling up in +memory Skeffy's hearty enjoyment of their humble cottage-life. + +“If you but knew how they think of him in the Office,” said Blount, +whose voice actually trembled as he touched on the holy of holies. + +“Confound the Office!” cried Tony. “Yes; don't look shocked. I hate that +dreary old house, and I detest the grim old fellows inside of it.” + +“They 're severe, certainly,” muttered the other, in a deprecatory tone. + +“Severe isn't the name for it. They insult--they outrage--that's +what they do. I take it that you and the other young fellows here are +gentlemen, and I ask, Why do you bear it,--why do you put up with it? +Perhaps you like it, however.” + +“No; we don't like it,” said he, with an honest simplicity. + +“Then, I ask again, why do you stand it?” + +“I believe we stand it just because we can't help it.” + +“Can't help it!” + +“What _could_ we do? What would _you_ do?” asked Blount + +“I 'd go straight at the first man that insulted me, and say, Retract +that, or I 'll pitch you over the banisters.” + +“That's all very fine with you fellows who have great connections and +powerful relatives ready to stand by you and pull you out of any scrape, +and then, if the worst comes, have means enough to live without work. +That will do very well for you and Skeffy. Skeffy will have six thousand +a year one of these days. No one can keep him out of Digby Darner's +estate; and you, for aught I know, may have more.” + +“I have n't sixpence, nor the expectation of sixpence in the world. If I +am plucked at this examination I may go and enlist, or turn navvy, or go +and sweep away the dead leaves like that fellow yonder.” + +“Then take my advice, and don't go up.” + +“Go up where?” + +“Don't go up to be examined; just wait here in town; don't show too +often at the office, but come up of a morning about twelve,--I 'm +generally down here by that time. There will be a great press for +messengers soon, for they have made a regulation about one going only so +far, and another taking up his bag and handing it on to a third; and the +consequence is, there are three now stuck fast at Marseilles, and two at +Belgrade, and all the Constantinople despatches have gone round by the +Cape. Of course, as I say, they 'll have to alter this, and then we +shall suddenly want every fellow we can lay hands on; so all you have +to do is just to be ready, and I 'll take care to start you at the first +chance.” + +“You 're a good fellow,” cried Tony, grasping his hand; “if you only +knew what a bad swimmer it was you picked out of the water.” + +“Oh, I can do that much, at least,” said he, modestly, “though I'm not +a clever fellow like Skeffy; but I must go back, or I shall 'catch it.' +Look in the day after to-morrow.” + +“And let us dine together; that is, you will dine with me,” said Tony. +The other acceded freely, and they parted. + +That magnetism by which young fellows are drawn instantaneously towards +each other, and feel something that, if not friendship, is closely akin +to it, never repeats itself in after life. We grow more cautious about +our contracts as we grow older. I wonder do we make better bargains? + +If Tony was then somewhat discouraged by his reception at the Office, he +had the pleasure of thinking he was compensated in that new-found friend +who was so fond of Skeffy, and who could talk away as enthusiastically +about him as himself. “Now for M'Gruder and Cannon Row, wherever that +may be,” said he, as he sauntered along; “I 'll certainly go and +see him, if only to shake hands with a fellow that showed such 'good +blood.'” There was no one quality which Tony could prize higher than +this. The man who could take a thrashing in good part, and forgive him +who gave it, must be a fine fellow, he thought; and I 'm not disposed to +say he was wrong. + +The address was 27 Cannon Street, City; and it was a long way off, and +the day somewhat spent when he reached it. + +“Mr. M'Gruder?” asked Tony of a blear-eyed man, at a small faded desk in +a narrow office. + +“Inside!” said he, with a jerk of his thumb; and Tony pushed his way +into a small room, so crammed with reams of paper that there was barely +space to squeeze a passage to a little writing-table next the window. + +“Well, sir, your pleasure?” said M'Gruder, as Tony came forward. + +“You forget me, I see; my name is Butler.” + +“Eh! what! I ought not to forget you,” said he, rising, and grasping the +other's hand warmly; “how are you? when did you come up to town? You see +the eye is all right; it was a bit swollen for more than a fortnight, +though. Hech, sirs! but you have hard knuckles of your own.” + +It was not easy to apologize for the rough treatment he had inflicted, +and Tony blundered and stammered in his attempts to do so; but M'Gruder +laughed it all off with perfect good-humor, and said, “My wife will +forgive you, too, one of these days, but not just yet; and so we'll go +and have a bit o' dinner our two selves down the river. Are you free +to-day?” + +Tony was quite free and ready to go anywhere; and so away they went, +at first by river steamer, and then by a cab, and then across some +low-lying fields to a small solitary house close to the Thames,--“Shads, +chops, and fried-fish house,” over the door, and a pleasant odor of each +around the premises. + +“Ain't we snug here? no tracking a man this far,” said M'Grader, as +he squeezed into a bench behind a fixed table in a very small room. “I +never heard of the woman that ran her husband to earth down here.” + +That this same sense of security had a certain value in M'Grader's +estimation was evident, for he more than once recurred to the sentiment +as they sat at dinner. + +The tavern was a rare place for “hollands,” as M'Grader said; and they +sat over a peculiar brew for which the house was famed, but of which +Tony's next day's experiences do not encourage me to give the receipt +to my readers. The cigars, too, albeit innocent of duty, might have been +better; but all these, like some other pleasures we know of, only were +associated with sorrow in the future. Indeed, in the cordial freedom +that bound them they thought very little of either. They had grown to be +very confidential; and M'Gruder, after inquiring what Tony proposed to +himself by way of a livelihood, gave him a brief sketch of his own rise +from very humble beginnings to a condition of reasonably fair comfort +and sufficiency. + +“I 'm in rags, ye see, Mr. Butler,” said he, “my father was in rags +before me.” + +“In rags!” cried Tony, looking at the stout sleek broadcloth beside him. + +“I mean,” said the other, “I 'm in the rag trade, and we supply the +paper-mills; and that's why my brother Sam lives away in Italy. Italy is +a rare place for rags,--I take it they must have no other wear, for +the supply is inexhaustible,--and so Sam lives in a seaport they call +Leghorn; and the reason I speak of it to you is that if this messenger +trade breaks down under you, or that ye 'd not like it, there's Sam +there would be ready and willing to lend you a hand; he 'd like a fellow +o' your stamp, that would go down amongst the wild places on the coast, +and care little about the wild people that live in them. Mayhap this +would be beneath you, though?” said he, after a moment's pause. + +“I 'm above nothing at this moment except being dependent; I don't want +to burden my mother.” + +“Dolly told us about your fine relations, and the high and mighty folk +ye belong to.” + +“Ay, but they don't belong to me,--there 's the difference,” said Tony, +laughing; then added, in a more thoughtful tone, “I never suspected that +Dolly spoke of me.” + +“That she did, and very often too. Indeed, I may say that she talked of +very little else. It was Tony this and Tony that; and Tony went here and +Tony went there; till one day Sam could bear it no longer--for you see +Sam was mad in love with her, and said over and over again that he never +met her equal. Sam says to me, 'Bob,' says he, 'I can't bear it any +more.' 'What is it,' says I, 'that you can't bear?'--for I thought it +was something about the drawback duty on mixed rags he was meaning. But +no, sirs; it was that he was wild wi' jealousy, and couldn't bear her to +be a-talkin' about you. 'I think,' says he, 'if I could meet that same +Tony, I 'd crack his neck for him.'” + +“That was civil, certainly!” said Tony, dryly. + +“'And as I can't do that, I 'll just go and ask her what she means by it +all, and if Tony's her sweetheart?'” + +“He did not do that!” Tony cried, half angrily. + +“Yes, but he did, though; and what for no? You would n't have a man lose +his time pricing a bale of goods when another had bought them? If she +was in treaty with you, Mr. Butler, where was the use of Sam spending +the day trying to catch a word wi' her? So, to settle the matter at +once, he overtook her one morning going to early meeting with the +children, and he had it out.” + +“Well, well?” asked Tony, eagerly. + +“Well, she told him there never was anything like love between herself +and you; that you were aye like brother and sister; that you knew each +other from the time you could speak; that of all the wide world she did +not know any one so well as you; and then she began to cry, and cried so +bitterly that she had to turn back home again, and go to her room as if +she was taken ill; and that's the way Mrs. M'Gruder came to know what +Sam was intending. She never suspected it before; but, hech sirs! if she +did n't open a broadside on every one of us! And the upshot was, Dolly +was packed off home to her father; Sam went back to Leghorn; and there's +Sally and Maggie going back in everything ever they learned; for it +ain't every day you pick up a lass like that for eighteen pounds a year, +and her washing.” + +“But did he ask her to marry him?” cried Tony. + +“He did. He wrote a letter--a very good and sensible letter too--to her +father. He told him that he was only a junior, with a small share, but +that he had saved enough to furnish a house, and that he hoped, with +industry and care and thrifty ways, he would be able to maintain a wife +decently and well; and he referred to Dr. Forbes of Auchterlonie for +a character of him; and I backed it myself, saying, in the name of the +house, it was true and correct.” + +“What answer came to this?” + +“A letter from the minister, saying that the lassie was poorly, and in +so delicate a state of health it would be better not to agitate her by +any mention of this kind for the present; meanwhile he would take up +his information from Dr. Forbes, whom he knew well; and if the reply +satisfied him, he 'd write again to us in the course of a week or two; +and Sam's just waiting patiently for his answer, and doing his best, in +the mean while, to prepare, in case it's a favorable one.” + +Tony fell into a revery. That story of a man in love with one it might +never be his destiny to win had its own deep significance for him. Was +there any grief, was there any misery, to compare with it? And although +Sam M'Gruder, the junior partner in the rag trade, was not a very +romantic sort of character, yet did he feel an intense sympathy for him. +They were both sufferers from the same malady,--albeit Sam's attack was +from a very mild form of the complaint. + +“You must give me a letter to your brother,” said he at length. “Some +day or other I 'm sure to be in Italy, and I'd like to know him.” + +“Ay, and he like to know _you_, now that he ain't jealous of you. +The last thing he said to me at parting was, 'If ever I meet that Tony +Butler, I 'll give him the best bottle of wine in my cellar.'” + +“When you write to him next, say that I 'm just as eager to take _him_ +by the hand, mind that. The man that's like to be a good husband to +Dolly Stewart is sure to be a brother to _me_.” + +And they went back to town, talking little by the way, for each was +thoughtful,--M'Grader thinking much over all they had been saying; Tony +full of the future, yet not able to exclude the past. + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. MR. BUTLER FOR DUTY ON------ + +“I suppose M'Gruder's right,” mattered Tony, as he sauntered away +drearily from the door at Downing Street, one day in the second week +after his arrival in London. “A man gets to feel very like a 'flunkey,' +coming up in this fashion each morning 'for orders.' I am more than half +disposed to close with his offer and go 'into rags' at once.” + +If he hesitated, be assured himself, very confidently too, that it +was not from the name or nature of the commercial operation. He had no +objection to trade in rags any more than in hides or tallow or oakum, +and some gum which did not “breathe of Araby the blest.” He was sure +that it could not possibly affect his choice, and that rags were just as +legitimate and just as elevating a speculation as sherry from Cadiz or +silk from China. He was ingenious enough in his self-discussions; but +somehow, though he thought he could tell his mother frankly and honestly +the new trade he was about to embark in, for the life of him he could +not summon courage to make the communication to Alice. He fancied her, +as she read the avowal, repeating the word “rags,” and, while her lips +trembled with the coming laughter, saying, “What in the name of all +absurdity led him to such a choice?” And what a number of vapid and +tasteless jokes would it provoke! “Such snobbery as it all is,” cried +he, as he walked the room angrily; “as if there was any poetry in cotton +bales, or anything romantic in molasses, and yet I might engage in these +without reproach, without ridicule. I think I ought to be above such +considerations. I do think my good blood might serve to assure me +that in whatever I do honorably, honestly, and avowedly there is no +derogation.” + +But the snobbery was stronger than he wotted of; for, do what he would, +he could not frame the sentence in which he should write the tidings to +Alice, and yet he felt that there would be a degree of meanness in the +non-avowal infinitely more intolerable. + +While he thus chafed and fretted, he heard a quick step mounting the +stair, and at the same instant his door was flung open, and Skeffy +Darner rushed towards him and grasped both his hands. + +“Well, old Tony, you scarcely expected to see me here, nor did I either +thirty hours ago, but they telegraphed for me to come at once. I 'm off +for Naples.” + +“And why to Naples?” + +“I 'll tell you, Tony,” said he, confidentially; “but remember this is +for yourself alone. These things mustn't get abroad; they are Cabinet +secrets, and not known out of the Privy Council.” + +“You may trust me,” said Tony; and Skeffy went on. + +“I 'm to be attached there,” said be, solemnly. + +“What do you mean by attached?” + +“I'm going there officially. They want me at our Legation. Sir George +Home is on leave, and Mecklam is Chargé d'Affaires; of course every one +knows what that means.” + +“But _I_ don't,” said Tony, bluntly. + +“It means being bullied, being jockeyed, being outmanoeuvred, laughed at +by Brennier, and derided by Caraffa. Mecklam's an ass, Tony, that 's +the fact, and they know it at the Office, and I'm sent out to steer the +ship.” + +“But what do _you_ know about Naples?” + +“I know it just as I know the Ecuador question,--just as I know the +Month of the Danube question,--as I know the slave treaty with Portugal, +and the Sound dues with Denmark, and the right of search, and the +Mosquito frontier, and everything else that is pending throughout the +whole globe. Let me tell you, old fellow, the others--the French, the +Italians, and the Austrians--know me as well as they know Palmerston. +What do you think Walewski told Lady Pancroft the day Cavour went down +to Vichy to see the Emperor? They held a long conversation at a table +where there were writing-materials, and Cavour has an Italian habit of +scribbling all the time he talks, and he kept on scratching with a pen +on a sheet of blotting-paper, and what do you think he wrote?--the one +word, over and over again, Skeff, Skeff,--nothing else. 'Which led us,' +says Walewski, 'to add, Who or what was Skeff? when they told us he was +a young fellow'--these are his own words--'of splendid abilities in the +Foreign Office;' and if there is anything remarkable in Cavour, it is +the way he knows and finds out the coming man.” + +“But how could he have heard of you?” + +“These fellows have their spies everywhere, Tony. Gortchakoff +has a photograph of me, with two words in Russian underneath, that I +got translated, and that mean 'infernally dangerous'--_tanski +serateztrskoff_, infernally dangerous!--over his stove in his study. +You 're behind the scenes now, Tony, and it will be rare fun for you +to watch the newspapers, and see how differently things will go on at +Naples after I arrive there.” + +“Tell me something about home, Skeffy; I want to hear about Tilney. Whom +did you leave there when you came away?” + +“I left the Lyles, Alice and Bella,--none else. I was to have gone back +with them to Lyle Abbey if I had stayed till Monday, and I left them, of +course, very disconsolate, and greatly put out.” + +“I suppose you made up to Alice. I thought you would,” said Tony, half +sulkily. + +“No, old fellow, you do me wrong; that's a thing I never do. As I +said to Ernest Palfi about Pauline Esterhazy, I 'll take no unfair +advantage,--I 'll take no steps in your absence; and Alice saw this +herself.” + +“How do you mean? Alice saw it?” said Tony, reddening. + +“She saw it, for she said to me one day, 'Mr. Damer, it seems to me you +have very punctilious notions on the score of friendship.' + +“'I have,' said I; 'you 're right there.' + +“'I thought so,' said she.” + +“After all,” said Tony, in a half-dogged tone, “I don't see that the +speech had any reference to me, or to any peculiar delicacy of yours +with respect to me.” + +“Ah, my poor Tony, you have a deal to learn about women and their ways! +By good luck fortune has given you a friend--the one man--I declare I +believe what I say--the one man in Europe that knows the whole thing; as +poor Balzac used to say, '_Cher_ Skeffy, what a fellow you would be if +you had my pen!' He was a vain creature, Balzac; but what he meant was, +if I could add his descriptive power to my own knowledge of life; for +you see, Tony, this was the difference between Balzac and me. He knew +Paris and the salons of Paris, and the women who frequent these salons. +I knew the human, heart. It was woman, as a creature, not a mere +conventionality, that she appeared to me.” + +“Well, I take it,” grumbled out Tony, “you and your friend had some +points of resemblance too.” + +“Ah! you would say that we were both vain. So we were, Tony,--so is +every man that is the depository of a certain power. Without this same +conscious thought, which you common folk call vanity, how should we come +to exercise the gift! The little world taunts us with the very quality +that is the essence of our superiority.” + +“Had Bella perfectly recovered? was she able to be up and about?” + +“Yes, she was able to take carriage airings, and to be driven about in a +small phaeton by the neatest whip in Europe.” + +“Mr. Skeff Damer, eh?” + +“The same. Ah, these drives, these drives! What delicious memories of +woodland and romance! I fell desperately in love with that girl, Tony--I +pledge you my honor I did. I 've thought a great deal over it all since +I started for Ireland, and I have a plan, a plan for us both.” + +“What is it?” + +“Let us marry these girls. Let us be brothers in law as well as in love. +You prefer Alice,--I consent. Take her, take her, Tony, and may you be +happy with her!” And as he spoke, he laid his hand on the other's head +with a reverend solemnity. + +“This is nonsense, and worse than nonsense,” said Tony, angrily; but the +other's temper was imperturbable, and he went on: “You fancy this is +all dreamland that I 'm promising you: but that is because you, my dear +Tony, with many good qualities, are totally wanting in one,--you have +no imagination, and, like all fellows denied this gift, you never can +conceive anything happening to you except what has already happened. +You like to live in a circle, and you do live in a circle,--you are the +turnspits of humanity.” + +“I am a troublesome dog, though, if you anger me,” said Tony, half +fiercely. + +“Very possibly, but there are certain men dogs never attack.” And as +Skeffy said this, he threw forward his chest, held his head back, and +looked with an air of such proud defiance that Tony lay back in a chair +and laughed heartily. + +“I never saw a great hulking fellow yet that was not impressed with the +greatness of his stature,” said Skeffy. “Every inch after five feet six +takes a foot off a man's intellectual standard. It is Skeff Darner says +it, Tony, and you may believe it.” + +“I wish you 'd tell me about Tilney,” said Tony, half irritably. + +“I appreciate you, as the French say. You want to hear that I am not +your rival,--you want to know that I have not taken any ungenerous +advantage of your absence. _Tonino mio_, be of good comfort,--I +preferred the sister; shall I tell you why?” + +“I don't want to hear anything about it.” + +“What a jealous dog it is, even after I have declared, on the word of a +Darner, that he has nothing to apprehend from me! It was a lucky day +led me down there, Tony. Don't you remember the old woman's note to me, +mentioning a hundred pounds, or something like it, she had forgotten to +enclose? She found the bank-note afterwards on her table, and after much +puzzling with herself, ascertained it was the sum she had meant to +remit me. Trifling as the incident was she thought it delicate, or +high-minded, or something or other, on my part. She said 'it was so nice +of me;' and she wrote to my uncle to ask if he ever heard such a pretty +trait, and my uncle said he knew scores of spendthrifts would have +done much the same; whereupon the old lady of Tilney, regarding me as +ill-used by my relatives, declared she would do something for me; but +as her good intentions were double-barrelled, and she wanted to do +something also for Bella, she suggested that we might, as the Oberland +peasants say, 'put our eggs in the same basket.' A day was named, +too, in which we were all to have gone over to Lyle Abbey, and open +negotiations with Sir Arthur, when came this confounded despatch +ordering me off to Naples! At first I determined not to go,--to +resign,--to give up public life forever. 'What's Hecuba to him?' said I; +that is, 'What signifies it to me how Europe fares? Shall I not think +of Skeff Darner and his fortunes?' Bowling down dynasties and setting +up ninepin princes may amuse a man, but, after all, is it not to the +tranquil enjoyments of home he looks for happiness? I consulted Bella, +but she would not agree with me. Women, my dear Tony, are more ambitious +than men,--I had almost said, more worldly. She would not, she said, +have me leave a career wherein I had given such great promise. 'You +might be an ambassador one day,' said she. 'Must be!' interposed +I,--'must be!' My unfortunate admission decided the question, and I +started that night.” + +“I don't think I clearly understand you,” said Tony, passing his hand +over his brow. “Am I to believe that you and Bella are engaged?” + +“I know what's passing in your mind, old fellow; I read you like large +print. You won't, you can't, credit the fact that I would marry out of +the peerage. Say it frankly; out with it.” + +“Nothing of the kind; but I cannot believe that Bella--” + +“Ay, but she did,” said Skeffy, filling up his pause, while he smoothed +and caressed his very young moustaches. “Trust a woman to find out the +coming man! Trust a woman to detect the qualities that insure supremacy! +I was n't there quite three weeks in all, and see if she did not +discover me. What's this? Here comes an order for you, Tony,” said he, +as he looked into the street and recognized one of the porters of the +Foreign Office. “This is the place, Trumins,” cried he, opening the +window and calling to the man. “You 're looking for Mr. Butler, are n't +you?” + +“Mr. Butler on duty, Friday, 21,” was all that the slip of paper +contained. “There,” cried Skeffy, “who knows if we shall not cross the +Channel together to-night? Put on your hat and we 'll walk down to the +Office.” + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. TONY WAITING FOR ORDERS + +Tony Butler was ordered to Brussels to place himself at the disposal of +the Minister as an ex-messenger. He crossed over to Calais with +Skeffy in the mail-boat; and after a long night's talking, for neither +attempted to sleep, they parted with the most fervent assurances of +friendship. + +“I 'd go across Europe to thrash the fellow would say a hard word of +him,” muttered Tony; while Skeffy, with an emotion that made his lip +tremble, said, “If the world goes hard with you, I 'll turn my back +on it, and we 'll start for New Zealand or Madagascar, Tony, remember +that,--I give it to you as a pledge.” + +When Tony presented himself at the Legation, he found that nobody +knew anything about him. They had some seven or eight months previous +requested to have an additional messenger appointed, as there were cases +occurring which required frequent reference to home; but the emergency +had passed over, and Brussels was once again as undisturbed by +diplomatic relations as any of the Channel Islands. + +“Take a lodging and make yourself comfortable, marry, and subscribe to +a club if you like it,” said a gray-headed attaché, with a cynical face, +“for in all likelihood they'll never remember you're here.” The speaker +had some experiences of this sort of official forgetfulness, with the +added misfortune that, when he once had summoned courage to remonstrate +against it, they did remember him, but it was to change him from a first +to a second-class mission--in Irish phrase, promoting him backwards--for +his temerity. + +Tony installed himself in a snug little quarter outside the town, and +set himself vigorously to study French. In Knickerbocker's “History of +New York,” we read that the sittings of the Council were always measured +and recorded by the number of pipes smoked by the Cabinet. In the same +way might it be said that Tony Butler's progress in Ollendorf was only +to be computed by the quantity of tobacco consumed over it. The pronouns +had cost two boxes of cigars; the genders a large packet of assorted +cavendish and bird's-eye; and he stood fast on the frontier of the +irregular verbs, waiting for a large bag of Turkish that Skeffy wrote to +say he had forwarded to him through the Office. + +Why have we no statistics of the influence of tobacco on education? Why +will no one direct his attention to the inquiry as to how far the +Tony Butlers--a large class in the British Islands--are more moved to +exertion, or hopelessly muddled in intellect, by the soothing influences +of smoke? + +Tony smoked on and on. He wrote home occasionally, and made three +attempts to write to Alice, who, despite his silence, had sent him a +very pleasant letter about home matters. It was not a neighborhood to +afford much news; and indeed, as she said, “they have been unusually +dull of late; scarcely any visitors, and few of the neighbors. We +miss your friend Skeff greatly; for, with all his oddities and +eccentricities, he had won upon us immensely by real traits of +generosity and high-mindedness. There is another friend of yours here +I would gladly know well, but she--Miss Stewart--retreats from all my +advances, and has so positively declined all our invitations to the +Abbey that it would seem to imply, if such a thing were possible, a +special determination to avoid us. I know you well enough, Master Tony, +to be aware that you will ascribe all my ardor in this pursuit to the +fact of there being an obstacle. As you once told me about a certain +short cut from Portrush, the only real advantage it had was a stiff +four-foot wall which must be jumped; but you are wrong, and you are +unjust,--two things not at all new to you. My intentions here were +really good. I had heard from your dear mother that Miss Stewart was in +bad health,--that fears were felt lest her chest was affected. Now, as +the doctors concurred in declaring that Bella must pass one winter, at +least, in a warm climate, so I imagined how easy it would be to extend +the benefit of genial air and sunshine to this really interesting girl, +by offering, to take her as a companion. Bella was charmed with my +project, and we walked over to the Burn-side on Tuesday to propose it in +all form. + +“To the shame of our diplomacy we failed completely. The old minister, +indeed, was not averse to the plan, and professed to think it a most +thoughtful attention on our part; but Dolly,--I call her Dolly, for it +is by that name, so often recurring in the discussion, I associate +her best with the incident,--Dolly was peremptory in her refusal. I +wanted,--perhaps a little unfairly,--I wanted to hear her reasons. I +asked if there might not possibly be something in her objections to +which we could reply. I pressed her to reconsider the matter,--to take +a week, two if she liked, to think over it; but no, she would not listen +to my compromise; she was steady and resolute, and yet at the same time +much moved. She said 'No!' but she said it as if there was a reason she +should say so, while it was in direct violence to all her wishes. Mind, +this is mere surmise on my part. I am speaking of one of whose nature +and temperament I know nothing. I may just as easily be wrong as +right. She is, indeed, a puzzle to me; and one little trait of her has +completely routed all my conceit in my own power of reading character. +In my eagerness to overcome her objections, I was picturing the life +of enjoyment and interest Italy would open to her,--the charm of a land +that realizes in daily life what poets and painters can only +shadow forth; and in my ardor I so far forgot myself as to call her +Dolly,--'dear Dolly,' I said. The words overcame her at once. She grew +pale, so sickly pale that I thought she would have fainted; and as two +heavy tears stood in her eyes, she said in a cold quiet voice: 'I beg +you will not press me any more. I am very grateful to you; but I cannot +accept your offer.' + +“Bella insisted on our going over to your mother, and enlisting her +advocacy in the cause. I did not like the notion, but I gave way. Your +dear mother, all kind as she ever is, went the same evening to the +Burnside; but a short note from her the next morning showed she had no +better success than ourselves. + +“Naturally,--you at least will say so,--I am ten times more eager about +my plan now that it is pronounced impracticable. I have written to Dr. +Stewart. I have sent papa to him; mamma has called at the cottage. +I have made Dr. Reede give a written declaration that Miss Stewart's +case,--I quote him,--'as indicated by a distinct “Bronchoffany” in the +superior portion of the right lung, imperatively demands the benefit of +a warm and genial climate;' and with all these _pièces de conviction_ I +am beaten, turned out of court, and denied a verdict. + +“Have you any explanation to offer about this, Master Tony? Dolly was an +old playfellow of yours, your mother tells me. What key can you give us +as to her nature? Is she like what she was in those old days; and when +did you cease to have these games together? I fancied--was it mere +fancy?--that she grew a little red when we spoke of you. Mind, sir, I +want no confessions. I want nothing from _you_ but what may serve to +throw light upon _her_. If you can suggest to me any means of overcoming +the objection she seems to entertain to our plan, do so; and if you +cannot, please to hold your peace on this matter ever after. I wrote +yesterday to Mark, who is now at Milan, to make some inquiries about +Italian villa life. I was really afraid to speak to your friend Skeff, +lest, as mamma said, he should immediately offer us one of the royal +palaces as a residence. No matter, he is a dear good fellow, and I have +an unbounded reliance on his generosity. + +“Not, a word about yourself. Why are you at Brussels? Why are you a +fixed star, after telling us you were engaged as a planet? Are there any +mysterious reasons for your residence there? If so, I don't ask to hear +them; but your mother naturally would like to know something about you +a little more explanatory than your last bulletin, that said, 'I am here +still, and likely to be so.' + +“I had a most amusing letter from Mr. Maitland a few days ago. I had put +it into this envelope to let you read it, but I took it out again, as I +remembered your great and very unjust prejudices against him. He seems +to know every one and everything, and is just as familiar with the great +events of politics as with the great people who mould them. I read +for your mother his description of the life at Fontainebleau, and the +eccentricities of a beautiful Italian Countess Castagnolo, the reigning +belle there; and she was much amused, though she owned that four changes +of raiment daily was too much even for Delilah herself. + +“Do put a little coercion on yourself, and write me even a note. I +assure you I would write you most pleasant little letters if you showed +you merited them. I have a budget of small gossip about the neighbors, +no particle of which shall you ever see till you deserve better of your +old friend, + +“Alice Trafford.” + + +It may be imagined that it was in a very varying tone of mind he +read through this letter. If Dolly's refusal was not based on her +unwillingness to leave her father,--and if it were, she could have said +so,--it was quite inexplicable. Of all the girls he had ever known, he +never saw one more likely to be captivated by such an offer. She had +that sort of nature that likes to invest each event of life with a +certain romance; and where could anything have opened such a vista for +castle-building as this scheme of foreign travel? Of course he could not +explain it; how should he? Dolly was only partly like what she used to +be long ago. In those days she had no secrets,--at least, none from him; +now she had long dreary intervals of silence and reflection, as though +brooding over something she did not wish to tell of. This was not the +Dolly Stewart he used to know so well. As he re-read the letter, and +came to that passage in which she tells him that if he cannot explain +what Dolly's refusal is owing to without making a confession, he need +not do so, he grew almost irritable, and said, “What can she mean by +this?” Surely it is not possible that Alice could have listened to any +story that coupled his name with Dolly's, and should thus by insinuation +charge him with the allegation? Lady Lyle had said to himself, “I heard +the story from one of the girls.” Was it this, then, that Alice referred +to? Surely she knew him better; surely she knew how he loved her, no +matter how hopelessly it might be. Perhaps women liked to give this sort +of pain to those whose heart they owned. Perhaps it was a species of +torture they were given to. Skeffy could tell if he were here. Skeffy +could resolve this point at once, but it was too much for _him_. + +As to the passage about Maitland, he almost tore the paper as he read +it. By what right did he correspond with her at all? Why should he write +to her even such small matter as the gossip of a court? And what could +Alice mean by telling him of it, unless--and oh, the bitterness of this +thought!--it was to intimate by a mere passing word the relations that +subsisted between herself and Maitland, and thus convey to him the utter +hopelessness of his own pretensions? + +As Tony walked up and down his room, he devised a very strong, it was +almost a fierce, reply to this letter. He would tell her that as to +Dolly he could not say, but she might have some of his own scruples +about that same position called companion. When he knew her long ago, +she was independent enough in spirit, and it was by no means impossible +she might prefer a less brilliant condition if unclogged with +observances that might savor of homage. At all events, _he_ was no fine +and subtle intelligence to whom a case of difficulty could be submitted. + +As for Maitland, he hated him! he was not going to conceal it in any +way. His air of insolent superiority he had not forgotten, nor would he +forget till he had found an opportunity to retort it. Alice might think +him as amusing as she pleased. To himself the man was simply odious, and +if the result of all his varied gifts and accomplishments was only +to make up such a being as he was, then would he welcome the most +unlettered and uninformed clown that ever walked, rather than this mass +of conceit and self-sufficiency. + +He sat down to commit these thoughts to paper, and though he scrawled +over seven sheets in the attempt, nothing but failure came of it. +Maitland came in, if not by name, by insinuation, everywhere; and, in +spite of himself, he found he had got into a tone not merely querulous, +but actually aggressive, and was using towards Alice an air of reproof +that he almost trembled at as he re-read it. + +“This will never do,” cried he, as he tore up the scribbled sheets. “I +'ll wait till to-morrow, and perhaps I shall do better.” When the morrow +came, he was despatched on duty, and Alice remained unanswered. + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. THE MAJOR'S MISSION + +If my reader has been as retentive as I could wish him, he will have +borne in mind that on the evening when Major M'Caskey took a very +menacing leave of Norman Maitland at Paris, Count Caffarelli had +promised his friend to write to General Filangieri to obtain from the +King a letter addressed to Maitland in the royal hand by the title +of Count of Amalfi,--such a recognition being as valid an act of +ennoblement as all the declarations and registrations and emblazonments +of heralds and the colleges. + +It had been originally intended that this letter should be enclosed to +Count Ludolf, the Neapolitan envoy at Turin, where Maitland would have +found it; but seeing the spirit which had now grown up between Maitland +and M'Caskey, and foreseeing well what would occur whenever these two +men should meet, Caffarelli, with that astuteness that never fails the +Italian, determined to avert the peril by a stratagem which lent its aid +to the object he had in hand. He begged the General would transmit the +letter from the King, not to Turin, but to the Castello di Montanara, +where Maitland had long resided, in a far-away part of Calabria, and +employ as the messenger M'Caskey himself; by which means this very +irritable and irritating individual might be, for a time at least, +withdrawn from public view, and an immediate meeting with Maitland +prevented. + +It was not very difficult, without any breach of confidence, for +Caffarelli to convey to Filangieri that his choice of M'Caskey for this +mission was something stronger than a caprice, and that his real wish +was that this fiery personage should not be at Naples when they arrived +there. + +A very brief note, which reached Caffarelli before he had left Paris, +informed him that all he had requested had been duly done. “He gave +it,”--it was of the King he spoke,--“he gave it at once, Carlo; only +saying, with a laugh, 'One of my brothers may dispute it with him some +of these days, for it gives some privilege; but whether it be to claim +the rights of the Church after high treason, or to have two wives in +Lower Calabria, I don't remember; but tell your friend to avoid both +murder and matrimony, at least till he returns to a more civilized +region.' + +“I shall send the Irish Major with the despatch, as you wish. If I +understand you aright, you are not over-anxious he should come back +with the answer. But why not be more explicit? If you want----remember +Calabria is----Calabria,--you understand.” + +At first Caffarelli had intended not to show this note to Maitland; but +the profound contempt which his friend exhibited for M'Caskey, proved +that no sense of a debt of honor outstanding between them would lessen +Maitland's satisfaction at hearing that this troublesome “cur”--so he +called him--should not be yelping at his heels through the streets of +Naples. + +Maitland, in fact, declared that he knew of no misfortune in life so +thoroughly ruinous as to be confronted in a quarrel with a questionable +antagonist. From the ridicule of such a situation, he averred, the +only escape was in a fatal ending; and Maitland knew nothing so bad as +ridicule. Enmity in all its shapes he had faced, and could face again. +Give him a foe but worthy of him, and no man ever sprang into the lists +with a lighter heart; the dread of a false position was too much for +him. + +Leaving these two friends then at Paris, to talk, amid their lives of +many dissipations, of plots and schemes and ambitions, let us +betake ourselves to a very distant spot, at the extreme verge of the +Continent,--a little inlet on the Calabrian coast below Reggio; where, +on a small promontory separating two narrow bays, stands the lone +castle of Montanara. It had been originally a convent, as its vast size +indicates, but was purchased and converted into a royal residence by a +former king of Naples, who spent incredible sums on the buildings and +the gardens. The latter, especially, were most costly, since they were +entirely artificial,--the earth having been carried from the vicinity of +Naples. + +The castle itself was the most incongruous mass that could be conceived, +embracing the fortress, the convent, the ornate style of Venice, and the +luxurious vastness of an Oriental palace, all within its walls. It may +be imagined that no private fortune, however ample, could have kept in +perfect order a place of such immense size, the gardens alone requiring +above thirty men constantly at work, and the repairs of the sea-wall +being a labor that never ended. + +The present occupant, Sir Omerod Butler, lived in one small block +called the “Biolo,” which projected into the sea at the very end of the +promontory, and was approachable on the land side by a beautiful avenue +of cedars. They were of great age, and, tradition said, had been brought +from Lebanon. If ruin and neglect and desolation characterized all +around, no sooner had the traveller entered this shady approach than all +changed to the most perfect care and culture,--flowery shrubs of every +kind, beds of gorgeous flowers, _pergolati_ of vines leading down to +the sea, and orange groves dipping their golden balls in the blue +Mediterranean at every step, till the ample gate was reached; passing +into which you entered a spacious court paved with variegated marble, +with a massive fountain in the centre. From this court, under a pillared +archway, led off all the lower rooms,--great spacious chambers, with +richly painted ceilings and tessellated floors. Into these was gathered +the most costly furniture of the whole palace; tables and consoles of +malachite and porphyry, gorgeously inlaid slabs of _lapis lazuli_ and +agate, cabinets of rare beauty, and objects of ancient art. Passing +through these again, you gained the rooms of daily habitation, arranged +with all the taste and luxury of modern refinement, and distinctively +marking that the cold splendor without could not attain to that sense of +comfort and voluptuous ease which an age of greater indulgence requires. + +The outer gate of the castle, which opened by a draw-bridge over a deep +moat, on the Reggio road, was little less than a mile off; and it may +give some idea of the vast size of the place to state that, from that +entrance to the Molo, there was a succession of buildings of one kind or +other, only interrupted by areas of courtyard or garden. + +When, at the close of a sultry day, Major M'Caskey presented himself at +this gate, summoning the porter with a vigorous pull of the bell, he was +not admitted till a very careful scrutiny showed that he was alone, and +did not, besides, exhibit anything very formidable in his appearance. He +was told, as he passed in, that he must leave his horse at the stables +beside the gate, and make the rest of his way on foot The Major was both +tired and hungry; he had been in the saddle since daybreak, had twice +missed his way, and tasted no food since he set out. + +“Is there much more of this confounded way to go?” asked he of his +guide, as they now mounted a terrace, only to descend again. + +“About a quarter of an hour will bring you to the Molo,” said the other, +just as ill-pleased to have the duty of escorting him. A quick glance +at the fellow's face showed the Major how hopeless it would be to +expect any information from him; and though he was burning to know who +inhabited this lonesome place, and why he lived there, he forebore all +questioning, and went along in silence. + +“There!” said his guide, at last, as they reached a great archway +standing alone in a sort of lawn,--“there! you follow that road to the +little gate yonder, pass in, cross the garden, and you will be at the +side entrance of the Molo. I don't suppose you want to enter by the +grand gate?” + +Major M'Caskey was not much in the habit of suffering an insolence to +pass unresented; but he seemed to control himself as he drew forth his +purse and took out a crown piece. “This is for your trouble, my worthy +fellow,” said he; “go and look for it yonder;” and he jerked the piece +of money over the low parapet, and sent it skimming along the sea a +hundred yards off. + +Though the man's lips murmured in passion, and his dark eyes flashed +anger, one look at the face of his companion assured him that the safer +policy was to restrain his wrath, and, touching his hat in salute, he +retired without a word. + +As though he felt in better temper with himself for having thus +discharged this little debt, the Major stepped more briskly forward, +gained the small postern, and entered a large and formal garden, the +chief avenue of which showed him the gate at the extremity. It lay open, +and he found himself in a large vaulted hall, from which doors led off. +In doubt which course to take, he turned to seek for a bell, but there +was none to be found; and after a careful search on every side, he +determined to announce himself by a stout knocking at one of the doors +before him. + +The hollow clamor resounded through the whole building, and soon brought +down two men in faded livery, half terrified, half angry at the summons. + +M'Caskey, at once assuming the upper hand, a habit in which practice +had made him proficient, demanded haughtily to see “the Count,” their +master. + +“He is at dinner,” said they both together. + +“I wish I were so too,” said the Major. “Go in and tell him that I am +the bearer of a royal despatch, and desire to see him immediately.” + +They held counsel together in whispers for a few minutes, during which +the name Maria occurred frequently between them. “We will tell the +Signora Maria you are here,” said one, at last. + +“And who may she be?” said M'Caskey, haughtily. + +“She is the Cameriera of the Countess, and the chief of all the +household.” + +“My business is not with a waiting-woman. I have come to see the Count +of Amalfi,” said the Major, sternly. + +The men apparently knew their own duties best, and, civilly asking +him to follow, they led the way up a small flight of stairs, and after +traversing some scantily furnished rooms, showed him into a pretty +decorated little chamber, with two windows looking on the sea. + +Having politely begged him to be seated, they left him. The Major, +besides being hungry and jaded, was irritable and angry. Filangieri had +told him his mission was one of importance and high trust; in fact, so +much so, that it could not be confided to one less known than himself. +And was this the way they received a royal envoy, sent on such an +errand? While he thus fumed and chafed, he heard a door open and +close, and shortly after the sweep of a woman's dress coming along the +corridor; and now the step came nearer, and the door opened, and a tall, +sickly-looking woman entered; but scarcely had she advanced one pace +within the room, when she uttered a faint scream and fainted. + +The Major's first care was to turn the key in the lock; his second was +to lift up the almost lifeless figure, and place her on a sofa. As he +did so, any emotion that his features betrayed was rather of displeasure +than astonishment; and in the impatient way he jerked open the window +to let the fresh air blow on her, there was far more of anger than +surprise. + +“So, then, you are the Signora Maria, it would seem,” were the first +words she heard as she rallied from her swoon. + +“Oh, Miles!” cried she, with an intense agony, “why have you tracked me +here? Could you not have let me drag out my few years of life in peace?” + +It was difficult to guess how these words affected him, or, rather, in +how many different ways; for though at first his eyes flashed angrily, +he soon gave a short jeering sort of laugh, and, throwing himself down +into a chair, he crossed his arms on his breast and gazed steadily at +her. + +The look seemed to remind her of bygone suffering, for she turned her +head away, and then covered her face with her hands. + +“Signora Maria,” said he, slowly,--“unless, indeed, you still desire I +should call you Mrs. M'Caskey.” + +“No, no,--Maria,” cried she, wildly; “I am but a servant--I toil for +my bread; but better that than--” She stopped, and, after an effort to +subdue her emotion, burst into tears and sobbed bitterly. + +“It matters little to me, madam, what the name. The chain that ties +us is just as irrevocable, whatever we choose to call ourselves. As +to anything else, I do not suppose you intend to claim _me_ as your +husband.” + +“No, no, never,” cried she, impetuously. + +“Nor am I less generous, madam. None shall ever hear from me that you +were my wife. The contract was one that brought little credit to either +of us.” + +“Nothing but misery and misfortune to me!” said she, bitterly; “nothing +else,--nothing else!” + +“You remind me, madam,” said he, in a slow, deliberate voice, as though +he were enunciating some long-resolved sentiment,--“you remind me much +of Josephine.” + +“Who is Josephine?” asked she, quickly. + +“I speak of the Empress Josephine, so you may perceive that I have +sought your parallel in high places. She, like you, deemed herself the +most unhappy of women, and all because destiny had linked her with a +greatness that she could not measure.” + +Though her vacant stare might have assured him either that she did not +understand his words, or follow their meaning, never daunted, he went +on. + +“Yes, madam; and, like _her_ husband, yours has had much to +bear,--levity, frivolity, and--worse.” + +“What are you here for? Why have you come after me?” cried she, wildly. +“I swore to you before, and I swear it again, that I will never go back +to you.” + +“Whenever you reduce that pledge to writing, madam, call on me to be +your security for its due performance; be it known to you, therefore, +that this meeting was an unexpected happiness to me.” + +She covered her face, and rocked to and fro like one in the throes of a +deep suffering. + +“I should be a glutton, madam, if I desired a repetition of such scenes +as these; they filled eight years--eight mortal years--of a life not +otherwise immemorable.” + +“And what have they done for _me?_” cried she, roused almost to boldness +by his taunting manner. + +“Made you thinner, paler, a trifle more aged, perhaps,” said he, +scanning her leisurely; “but always what Frenchmen would call a _femme +charmante_.” + +The mockery seemed more than she could bear, for she sprang to her +feet, and, in a voice vibrating with passion, said, “Take care, Miles +M'Caskey,--take care; there are men here, if they saw me insulted, would +throw you over that sea-wall as soon as look at you.” + +“Ring for your bravos, madam,--summon your condottieri at once,” said +he, with an impudent laugh; “they 'll have some warmer work than they +bargained for.” + +“Oh, why not leave me in peace?--why not let me have these few years of +life without more of shame and misery?” said she, throwing herself on +her knees before him. + +“Permit me to offer you a chair, madam,” said he, as he took her hands, +and placed her on a seat; “and let me beg that we talk of something +else. Who is the Count?--'The Onoratissimo e Pregiatissimo Signor +Conte,'” for he read now from the address of a letter he had drawn from +his pocket,--“'Signor Conte d'Amalfi,'--is that the name of the owner of +this place?” + +“No; it is the Chevalier Butler, formerly minister at Naples, lives +here,--Sir Omerod Bramston Butler.” + +“Ah, then, I perceive it is really meant for another person! I thought +it was a mode of addressing him secretly. The Count of Amalfi lives +here, perhaps?” “I never heard of him.” “Who lives here besides Sir +Omerod?” “My Lady,--that is, the Countess; none else.” “Who is the +Countess? Countess of what, and where?” “She is a Milanese; she was a +Brancaleone.” “Brancaleone, Brancaleone! there were two of them. One +went to Mexico with the Duke of Sommariva,--not his wife.” + +“This is the other; she is married to Sir Omerod.” “She must be Virginia +Brancaleone,” said M'Caskey, trying to remember,--“the same Lord Byron +used to rave about.” She nodded an assent, and he continued,--“Nini +Brancaleone was a toast, I remember, with Wraxall and Trelawney, and +the rest of us. She was the 'reason fair' of many a good glass of claret +which Byron gave us, in those days before he became stingy.” + +“You had better keep your memories to yourself in case you meet her,” + said she, warningly. “Miles M'Caskey, madam, requires very little advice +or admonition in a matter that touches tact or good breeding.” A sickly +smile of more than half-derision curled the woman's lip, but she did not +speak. + +“And now let us come back to this Count of Amalfi, who is he? where is +he?” + +“I have told you already I do not know.” + +“There was a time, madam, you would have required no second intimation +that it was your duty to find out.” + +“Ah, I remember those words but too well,” cried she, bitterly. “Finding +out was my task for many a year.” + +“Well, madam, it was an exercise that might have put a fine edge on +your understanding, but, like some other advantages of your station, it +slipped by you without profit. I am generous, madam, and I forbear to +say more. Tell me of these people here all that you know of them, for +they are my more immediate interest at present.” + +“I will tell you everything, on the simple condition that you never +speak to me nor of me again. Promise me but this, Miles M'Caskey, and I +swear to you I will conceal nothing that I know of them.” + +“You make hard terms, madam,” said he, with a mock courtesy. “It is no +small privation to be denied the pleasure of your agreeable presence, +but I comply.” + +“And this shall be our last meeting?” asked she, with a look of +imploring meaning. + +“Alas, madam, if it must be!” + +“Take care,” cried she, suddenly; “you once by your mockery drove me +to--” + +“Well, madam, your memory will perhaps record what followed. I shot +the friend who took up your cause. Do you chance to know of another who +would like to imitate his fortune?” + +“Gracious Heaven!” cried she, in an agony, “has nothing the power to +change your cruel nature; or are you to be hard-hearted and merciless to +the end?” + +“I am proud to say, madam, that Miles M'Caskey comes of a house whose +motto is 'Semper M'Caskey'.” + +A scornful curl of her lip seemed to show what respect she felt for the +heraldic allusion; but she recovered herself quickly, and said, “I can +stay no longer. It is the hour the Countess requires me; but I will +come back to-morrow, without you would let me buy off this meeting. Yes, +Miles, I am in earnest; this misery is too much for me. I have saved a +little sum, and I have it by me in gold. You must be more changed than +I can believe, or you will be in want of money. You shall have it all, +every ducat of it, if you only pledge me your word never to molest +me,--never to follow me,--never to recognize me again!” + +“Madam,” said he, severely, “this menial station you have descended to +must have blunted your sense of honor rudely, or you had never dared +to make me such a proposal. Let me see you to-morrow, and for the last +time.” And haughtily waving his hand, he motioned to her to leave; and +she turned away, with her hands over her face, and quitted the room. + + + +CHAPTER XL. THE MAJOR'S TRIALS + +Major Miles M'Caskey is not a foreground figure in this our story, nor +have we any reason to suppose that he possesses any attractions for +our readers. When such men--and there are such to be found on life's +highway--are met with, the world usually gives them what sailors call +a “wide berth and ample room to swing in,” sincerely trusting that they +will soon trip their anchor and sail off again. Seeing all this, I have +no pretension, nor indeed any wish, to impose his company any more +than is strictly indispensable, nor dwell on his sojourn at the Molo of +Montanara. Indeed, his life at that place was so monotonous and weary to +himself, it would be a needless cruelty to chronicle it. + +The Major, as we have once passingly seen, kept a sort of brief journal +of his daily doings; and a few short extracts from this will tell us all +that we need know of him. On a page of which the upper portion was torn +away, we find the following:-- + +“Arrived at M----- on the 6th at sunset. Ruined old rookery. +Open at land side, and sea defences all carried away; never could +have been strong against artillery. Found Mrs. M'C. in the style of +waiting-woman to a Countess Butler, formerly Nini Brancaleone. A warm +interview; difficult to persuade her that I was not in pursuit of +herself,--a feminine delusion I tried to dissipate. She”--henceforth it +is thus he always designates Mrs. M'Caskey--“she avers that she knows +nothing of the Count d' Amalfi, nor has ever seen him. Went into a long +story about Sir Omerod Butler, of whom I know more myself. She pretends +that Nini is married to him--legally married; don't believe a word of it +Have my own suspicions that the title of Amalfi has been conferred on B. +himself, for he lives estranged from England and Englishmen. Will learn +all, however, before I leave. + +“Roast pigeons, with tomato, a strange fish, and omelette, with Capri +to wash it down; a meagre supper, but they say it shall be better +to-morrow. + +“_7th, Wednesday_.--Slept soundly and had a swim; took a sea view of the +place, but could see no one about. Capital breakfast--'_Frutti di mare_' +boiled in Rhine wine; fellow who waited said a favorite dish of his +Excellency's, meaning Sir. O. B. Best chocolate I ever tasted out of +Paris. Found the _menu_ for dinner on the table all right; the wine is +_au choix_, and I begin with La Rose and La Veuve Cliquot. A note from +her referring to something said last night; she is ill and cannot see +me, but encloses an order on Parodi of Genoa, in favor of the nobile +Signor il Maggiore M'Caskey, for three thousand seven hundred and +forty-eight francs, and a small tortoise-shell box, containing +eighty-six double ducats in gold, so that it would seem I have fallen +into a '_vrai Californie_' here. Reflected, and replied with a refusal; +a M'Caskey cannot stoop to this. Reproved her for ignoring the character +to whom she addressed such a proposal, and reiterated my remark of last +night, that she never rose to the level at which she could rightly take +in the native chivalry of my nature. + +“Inquired if my presence had been announced to Sir O., and learned it +had. Orders given to treat me with distinguished consideration, but +nothing said of an audience. + +“Pigeons again for supper, with apology; quails had been sent for to +Messina, and expected to-morrow. Shot at a champagne-flask in the sea, +and smoked. Sir O.'s tobacco exquisite, and the supply so ample, I am +making a _petite provision_ for the future. + +“Full moon. Shot at the camellias out of my window. Knocked off +seventeen, when I heard a sharp cry,--a stray shot, I suppose. Shut the +casement and went to bed. + +“_Thursday_.--Gardener's boy--flesh wound in the calf of the leg; hope +Sir O. may hear of it and send for me. + +“A glorious capon for dinner, stuffed with oysters,--veritable oysters. +Drank Mrs. M'C.'s health in the impression that this was a polite +attention on her part. No message from Sir O. + +“_Friday_.--A general fast; a lentil soup and a fish; good but meagre; +took it out in wine and tobacco. Had the gardener's boy up, and +introduced him to sherry-cobbler. The effect miraculous; danced +Tarantella till the bandage came off and he fainted. + +“_Saturday_.--Rain and wind; macaroni much smoked; cook lays it on the +chimney, that won't draw with a Levant wind. Read over my instructions +again, and understand them as little as before: 'You will hold yourself +at the orders of the Count d'Amalfi till further instructions from this +department.' Vague enough all this; and for anything I see, or am likely +to see, of this Count, I may pass the autumn here. Tried to attract +Sir O.'s attention by knocking off the oranges at top of his wall, and +received intimation to fire in some other direction. + +“_Sunday_.--Don Luigi something has come to say mass. Asked him to +dinner, but find him engaged to the Countess. A dry old cove, who +evidently knows everything but will tell nothing; has promised to lend +me a guitar and a book or two, in return for which I have sent down +three bottles of our host's champagne to his reverence. + +“_Monday_.--Lobsters. + +“_Tuesday_.--Somebody ill apparently; much ringing of bells and +disorder. My dinner an hour late. Another appeal from Mrs. M'C, +repeating her former proposal with greater energy; this feminine +insistence provokes me. I might tell her that of the three women who +have borne my name none but herself would have so far presumed, but +I forbear. Pity has ever been the weakness of my nature; I feel its +workings even as I write this. It may not carry me to the length of +forgiveness, but I can compassionate; I will send her this note:-- + +“'Madam,--Your prayers have succeeded; I yield. It would not be generous +in me to say what the sacrifice has cost me. When a M'Caskey bends, it +is an oak of the forest snaps in two. I make but one condition; I will +have no gratitude. Keep the tears that you would shed at my feet for the +hours of your solitary sorrow. You will, see, therefore, that we are to +meet no more. + +“'One of the ducats is clipped on the edge, and another discolored as +by an acid; I am above requiring that they be exchanged. Nothing in this +last act of our intercourse shall prevent you remembering me as “Semper +M'Caskey.”' + +“'Your check should have specified Parodi & Co., not Parodi alone. To a +man less known the omission might give inconvenience; this too, however, +I pardon. Farewell.'” + +It was evident that the Major felt he had completed this task with +befitting dignity, for he stood up before a large glass, and, placing +one hand within his waistcoat, he gazed at himself in a sort of +rapturous veneration. “Yes,” said he, thoughtfully, “George Seymour and +D'Orsay and myself, we were men! When shall the world look upon our +like again? Each in his own style, too, perfectly distinct, perfectly +dissimilar,--neither of them, however, had this,--neither had this,” + cried he, as he darted a look of catlike fierceness from his fiery gray +eyes. “The Princess Metternich fainted when I gave her that glance. She +had the temerity to say, 'Qui est ce Monsieur M'Caskey?' Why not ask who +is Soult? Who is Wellington? Who is everybody? Such is the ignorance +of a woman! Madame la princesse,” added he, in a graver tone, “if it +be your fortune to turn your footsteps to Montpellier, walk into the +churchyard there, and see the tomb of Jules de Besançon, late major of +the 8th Cuirassiers, and whose inscription is in these few words,--'Tué +par M'Caskey.' I put up the monument myself, for he was a brave soldier, +and deserved his immortality.” + +Though self-admiration was an attractive pastime, it palled on him at +last, and he sat down and piled up the gold double ducats in two tall +columns, and speculated on the various pleasures they might procure, +and then he read over the draft on Parodi, and pictured to his mind some +more enjoyments, all of which were justly his due, “for,” as he said to +himself aloud, “I have dealt generously by that woman.” + +At last he arose, and went out on the terrace. It was a bright starlit +night, one of those truly Italian nights when the planets streak the +calm sea with long lines of light, and the very air seems weary with its +burden of perfume. Of the voluptuous enervation that comes of such +an hour he neither knew nor asked to know. Stillness and calm to him +savored only of death; he wanted movement, activity, excitement, life, +in fact,--life as he had always known and always liked it. Once or twice +the suspicion had crossed his mind that he had been sent on this distant +expedition to get rid of him when something of moment was being done +elsewhere. His inordinate vanity could readily supply the reasons for +such a course. He was one of those men that in times of trouble become +at once famous. “They call us dangerous,” said he, “just as Cromwell was +dangerous, Luther was dangerous, Napoleon was dangerous. But if we are +dangerous, it is because we are driven to it. Admit the superiority that +you cannot oppose, yield to the inherent greatness that you can only +struggle against, and you will find that we are not dangerous,--we are +salutary.” + +“Is it possible,” cried he, aloud, “that this has been a plot,--that +while I am here living this life of inglorious idleness the great stake +is on the table,--the game is begun, and the King's crown being +played for?” M'Caskey knew that whether royalty conquered or was +vanquished,--however the struggle ended,--there was to be a grand scene +of pillage. The nobles or the merchants--it mattered very little which +to him--were to pay for the coming convulsion. Often and often, as he +walked the streets of Naples, had he stood before a magnificent palace +or a great counting-house, and speculated on the time when it should be +his prerogative to smash in that stout door, and proclaim all within it +his own. “_Spolia di_ M'Caskey,” was the inscription that he felt would +defy the cupidity of the boldest. “I will stand on the balcony,” said +he, “and declare, with a wave of my hand, These are mine: pass on to +other pillage.” + +The horrible suspicion that he might be actually a prisoner all this +time gained on him more and more, and he ransacked his mind to think of +some great name in history whose fate resembled his own. “Could I only +assure myself of this,” said he, passionately, “it is not these old +walls would long confine me; I 'd scale the highest of them in half an +hour; or I 'd take to the sea, and swim round that point yonder,--it 's +not two miles off; and I remember there's a village quite close to it.” + Though thus the prospect of escape presented itself so palpably before +him, he was deterred from it by the thought that if no intention of +forcible detention had ever existed, the fact of his having feared +it would be an indelible stain upon his courage. “What an indignity,” + thought he, “for a M'Caskey to have yielded to a causeless dread!” + +As he thus thought, he saw, or thought he saw, a dark object at some +short distance off on the sea. He strained his eyes, and, though long in +doubt, at last assured himself it was a boat that had drifted from her +moorings, for the rope that had fastened her still hung over the stern, +and trailed in the sea. By the slightly moving flow of the tide towards +shore she came gradually nearer, till at last he was able to reach her +with the crook of his riding-whip, and draw her up to the steps. +Her light paddle-like oars were on board; and M'Caskey stepped in, +determined to make a patient and careful study of the place on its +sea-front, and see, if he could, whether it were more of chateau or +jail. + +With noiseless motion he stole smoothly along, till he passed a little +ruined bastion on a rocky point, and saw himself at the entrance of a +small bay, at the extremity of which a blaze of light poured forth, and +illuminated the sea for some distance. As he got nearer, he saw that the +light came from three large windows that opened on a terrace, thickly +studded with orange-trees, under the cover of which he could steal on +unseen, and take an observation of all within; for that the room was +inhabited was plain enough, one figure continuing to cross and recross +the windows as M'Caskey drew nigh. + +Stilly and softly, without a ripple behind him, he glided on till the +light skiff stole under the overhanging boughs of a large acacia, over a +branch of which he passed his rope to steady the boat, and then standing +up he looked into the room, now so close as almost to startle him. + + + +CHAPTER XLI. EAVESDROPPING + +If M'Caskey was actually startled by the vicinity in which he suddenly +found himself to the persons within the room, he was even more struck by +the tone of the voice which now met his ear. It was Norman Maitland +who spoke, and he recognized him at once. Pacing the large room in +its length, he passed before the windows quite close to where M'Caskey +stood,--so close, indeed, that he could mark the agitation on his +features, and note the convulsive twitchings that shook his cheek. + +The other occupant of the room was a lady; but M'Caskey could only +see the heavy folds of her dark velvet dress as she sat apart, and so +distant that he could not hear her voice. + +“So, then, it comes to this!” said Maitland, stopping in his walk and +facing where she sat: “I have made this wearisome journey for nothing! +Would it not have been as easy to say he would not see me? It was no +pleasure to me to travel some hundred miles and be told at the end of it +I had come for nothing.” + +She murmured something inaudible to M'Caskey, but to which Maitland +quickly answered: “I know all that; but why not let _me_ hear this from +his own lips, and let _him_ hear what I can reply to it? He will tell +_me_ of the vast sums I have squandered and the heavy debts I have +contracted; and I would tell _him_ that in following his rash counsels I +have dissipated years that would have won me distinction in any land of +Europe.” + +Again she spoke; but before she uttered many words he broke suddenly +in with, “No, no, no! ten thousand times no! I knew the monarchy was +rotten--rotten to the very core; but I said, Better to die in the street +_à cheval_ than behind the arras on one's knees. Have it out with the +scoundrels, and let the best man win,--that was the advice _I_ gave. +Ask Caraffa, ask Filangieri, ask Acton, if I did not always say, 'If the +king is not ready to do as much for his crown as the humblest peasant +would for his cabin, let him abdicate at once.'” + +She murmured something, and he interrupted her with: “Because I never +did--never would--and never will trust to priestcraft. All the intrigues +of the Jesuits, all the craft of the whole College of Cardinals, will +not bring back confidence in the monarchy. But why do I talk of these +things to you? Go back and ask him to see me. Say that I have many +things to tell him; say”--and here the mockery of his voice became +conspicuous--“that I would wish much to have his advice on certain +points.--And why not?” cried he aloud to something she said; “has my new +nobility no charm for him? Well, then, I am ready to strike a bargain +with him. I owe Caffarelli two hundred and eighty thousand francs, which +I mean to pay, if I take to the highway to do it. Hush! don't interrupt +me. I am not asking he should pay this for me,--all I want is that he +will enable me to sell that villa which he gave me some years ago beyond +Caserta. Yes, the Torricelia; I know all that,--it was a royal present. +It never had the more value in my eyes for that; and perhaps the day is +not far distant when the right to it may be disputed. Let him make out +my title, such as it is, so that I can sell it. There are Jews who will +surely take it at one-half its worth. Get him to consent to this, and I +am ready to pledge my word that he has seen the last of me.” + +“He gave it to you as a wedding-present, Norman,” said she, haughtily; +and now her deep-toned voice rung out clear and strong; “and it will be +an unpardonable offence to ask him this.” + +“Have I not told you that I shall not need forgiveness,--that with this +act all ends between us?” + +“I will be no party to this,” said she, haughtily; and she arose +and walked out upon the terrace. As she passed, the lamplight flared +strongly on her features, and M'Caskey saw a face he had once known +well; but what a change was there! The beautiful Nini Brancaleone, the +dark-haired Norma, the belle that Byron used to toast with an enthusiasm +of admiration, was a tall woman advanced in years, and with two masses +of snow-white hair on either side of a pale face. The dark eyes, indeed, +flashed brightly still, and the eyebrows were dark as of yore; but the +beautifully formed mouth was hard and thin-lipped, and the fair brow +marked with many a strong line of pain. + +“You forget, perhaps,” said she, after a short pause,--“you forget +that it is from this villa I take my title. I am Brancaleone della +Torricella, and I forfeit the name when it leaves our hands.” + +“And do you hold to this, mother?” asked he, in a voice of sorrow, +through which something of scorn was detectable. + +“Do I hold to it? Of course I hold to it! You know well the value it +has in his eyes. Without it he never would have consented--” She stopped +suddenly, and seemed to catch herself in time to prevent the utterance +of some rash avowal. “As it is,” added she, “he told me so late as +yesterday that he has no rest nor peace, thinking over his brother's +son, and the great wrong he has done him.” + +“Let him think of the greater wrong he has done me!--of my youth that +he has wasted, and my manhood lost and shipwrecked. But for him and +his weak ambition, I had belonged to a party who would have prized +my ability and rewarded my courage. I would not find myself at thirty +brigaded with a set of low-hearted priests and seminarists, who have +no other weapons than treachery, nor any strategy but lies. If I have +squandered his fortune, he has beggared me in reputation. He does not +seem to remember these things. As to him whom he would prefer to me and +make his heir, I have seen him.” + +“You have seen him, Norman! When?--where?--how?” cried she, in wild +impatience. + +“Yes, I even had a plan to let the uncle meet his promising nephew. +I speculated on bringing together two people more made for mutual +detestation than any other two in Europe.” + +“It would have been a rash venture,” said she, fiercely; “If you mean +for _me_, that was the very reason I thought of it. What other game than +the rash one is open to a mau like _me?_” + +“Who ever had the safer road to fortune if he could have walked with the +commonest prudence?” said she, bitterly. + +“How can you say that? Talk of prudence to the man who has no fortune, +no family, not even a name,--no!” cried he, fiercely; “for by the first +Maitland I met I might be challenged to say from what stock I came. He +could have saved me from all this. Nothing was ever easier. You yourself +asked,--ay, begged this. You told me you begged it on your knees; and I +own, if I never forgave him for refusing, I have never forgiven you for +the entreaty.” + +“And I would do it again to-day!” cried she, passionately. “Let him but +acknowledge you, Norman, and he may turn me out upon the world houseless +and a beggar, and I will bless him for it!” + +“What a curse is on the bastard,” broke he ont, in a savage vehemence, +“if it robs him of every rightful sentiment, and poisons even a mother's +love! Do not talk to me this way, or you will drive me mad!” + +“Oh, Norman! my dear, dear Norman!” cried she, passionately; “it is not +yet too late.” + +“Too late for what?” + +“Not too late to gain back his favor. When he saw the letter in the +King's hand, calling you Count of Amalfi, he said: 'This looks ill for +the monarchy. I have a Scotch earldom myself in my family granted by +another king the day after he had lost his own crown.' Try, then, if you +cannot rally to the cause those men who are so much under your influence +that as you have often told me they only wanted to be assured of +your devotion to pledge their own. If _he_ could believe the cause +triumphant, there is nothing he would not do to uphold it.” + +“Yes,” said he, thoughtfully, “there never lived the man who more +worshipped success! The indulgences that he heaped upon myself were +merely offerings to a career of insolent triumph.” + +“You never loved him, Norman,” said she, sadly. + +“Love had no share in the compact between us. He wanted to maintain a +cause which, if successful, must exclude from power in England the men +who had insulted him, and turned him out of office. I wanted some one +who could afford to pay my debts, and leave me free to contract more. +But why talk to you about these intrigues?--Once more, will he see me?” + +She shook her bead slowly in dissent. “Could you not write to him, +Norman?” said she at last. + +“I will not write to a man under the same roof as myself. I have some +news for him,” added be, “if he cares to buy it by an audience; for I +suppose he would make it an audience;” and the last word he gave with +deep scorn. + +“Let me bring him the tidings.” + +“No, he shall bear them from myself, or not hear them at all. I want +this villa!” cried be, passionately,--“I want the title to sell it, and +pay off a debt that is crushing me. Go, then, and say I have something +of importance enough to have brought me down some hundred miles to tell +him, something that deeply concerns the cause he cares for, and to which +his counsel would be invaluable.” + +“And this is true?” + +“Did I ever tell you a falsehood, mother?” asked he, in a voice of deep +and sorrowful meaning. + +“I will go,” said she, after a few moments of thought, and left the +room. Maitland took a bottle of some essenced water from the table and +bathed his forehead. He had been more agitated than he cared to confess; +and now that he was alone, and, as he believed unobserved, his features +betrayed a deep depression. As he sat with his bead leaning on both +hands, the door opened. “Come,” said she, gently,--“come!” He arose, and +followed her. No sooner was all quiet around than M'Caskey rowed swiftly +back to his quarters, and, packing up hastily his few effects, made with +all speed for the little bay, where was the village he had passed on his +arrival, and through which led the road to Reggio. That something was +“up” at Naples he was now certain, and he resolved to be soon on the +field; whoever the victors, they would want _him_. + +On the third evening he entered the capital, and made straight for +Caffarelli's house. He met the Count in the doorway. “The man I wanted,” + said he, as he saw the Major. “Go into my study and wait for me.” + +“What has happened?” asked M'Caskey, in a whisper. “Everything. The King +is dead.” + + + +CHAPTER XLII. MARK LYLE'S LETTER + +The following letter was received at Lyle Abbey shortly after the events +recorded in our last chapter had happened. It was from Mark Lyle to his +sister, Mrs. Trafford:-- + +“Hotel Victoria, Naples. + +“My dear Alice,--While I was cursing my bad luck at being too late for +the P. and O. steamer at Marseilles, your letter arrived deciding me to +come on here. Nothing was ever more fortunate: first of all, I shall +be able to catch the Austrian Lloyds at Anevna, and reach Alexandria in +good time for the mail; and, secondly, I have perfectly succeeded--at +least I hope so--in the commission you gave me. For five mortal days I +did nothing but examine villas. I got a list of full fifty, but in the +course of a little time the number filtered down to ten possible, and +came at last to three that one could pronounce fairly habitable. To +have health in this climate--that is to say, to escape malaria--you must +abjure vegetation; and the only way to avoid tertian is to book yourself +for a sunstroke. These at least were my experiences up to Tuesday last, +for all the salubrious spots along the seashore had been long since +seized on either by the King or the Church, and every lovely point of +view was certain to be crowned by a royal villa or a monastery. I was +coming back then on Tuesday, very disconsolate indeed from a long day's +fruitless search, when I saw a perfect gem of a place standing on the +extreme point of a promontory near Caserta. It was of course 'royal'--at +least it belonged to a Count d'Amalfi, which title was borne by some +younger branch of the Bourbons; yet as it was untenanted, and several +people were working in the gardens, I ventured in to have a look at +it. I will not attempt description, but just say that both within and +without it realizes all I ever dreamed or imagined of an Italian villa. +Marble and frescos and fountains, terraces descending to the sea, and +gardens a wilderness of orange and magnolia, and grand old rooms, the +very air of which breathed splendor and magnificence; but _à quoi +bon?_ dear Alice. It was a _palazzotto reale_, and one could only gaze +enviously at delights they could not hope to compass. + +“Seeing my intense admiration of the place, the man who showed me around +it said, as I was coming away, that it was rumored that the Count would +not be indisposed to sell the property. I know enough of Italians to be +aware that when a stranger supposed to be rich: all English are in this +category--is struck with anything--picture, house, or statue--the owner +will always part with it at tenfold its value. Half out of curiosity, +half to give myself the pretext for another morning's ramble over the +delicious place, I asked where I could learn any details as to the +value, and received an address as follows: 'Count Carlo Caffarelli, +Villino del Boschetto, Chiaja, Naples.' Caffarelli I at once remembered +as the name of Maitland's friend, and in this found another reason +for calling on him, since I had totally failed in all my attempts to +discover M. either in London, Paris, or even here. + +“The same evening I went there, and found Count Caffarelli in one of +those fairy-tale little palaces which this country abounds in. He had +some friends at dinner, but on reading my name, recognized me, and came +out with a most charming politeness to press me to join his party. It +was no use refusing; the Italian persuasiveness has that element of the +irresistible about it that one cannot oppose; and I soon found myself +smoking my cigar in a company of half a dozen people who treated me as +an intimate friend. + +“I may amuse you some day by some of the traits of their _bonhomie_. +I must now confine myself to our more immediate interests. Caffarelli, +when he found that I wanted some information about the villa, drew +his arm within my own, and, taking me away from the rest, told me in +strictest confidence that the villa was Maitland's,--Maitland being the +Conte d'Amalfi,--the title having been conferred by the late King, one +of the very last acts of his life. + +“'And Maitland,' said I, scarcely recovering from my astonishment; +'where is he now?' + +“'Within a few yards of you,' said he, turning and pointing to the +closed jalousies of a room that opened on a small separately enclosed +garden; 'he is there.' + +“There was something like secrecy, mystery at least, in his manner as +he said this, that prevented my speaking for a moment, and he went on: +'Yes, Maitland is in that room, stretched on his bed, poor fellow; he +has been severely wounded in a duel which, had I been here, should +never have been fought. All this, remember, is in confidence; for it is +needless to tell you Maitland is one of those men who hate being made +gossip of; and I really believe that his wound never gave him one-half +the pain that he felt at the bare possibility of his adventure being +made town-talk. So well have we managed hitherto, that of the men you +see here to-night--all of them intimate with him--one only knows that +his illness is not a malaria fever.' + +“'But can you answer for the same prudence and reserve on the part of +the other principal?' + +“'We have secured it, for the time at least, by removing him from +Naples; and as the laws here are very severe against duelling, his own +safety will suggest silence.' + +“'Do you think Maitland would see me?' + +“'I suppose he will be delighted to see you; but I will ascertain that +without letting him know that I have already told you he was here. +Remember, too, if he should receive you, drop nothing about the duel or +the wound. Allude to his illness as fever, and leave to himself entirely +the option of telling you the true story or not.' + +“After a few more words of caution--less needed, if he only had known +how thoroughly I understood his temper and disposition--he left me. He +was back again in less than five minutes, and, taking me by the arm, led +me to Maitland's door. 'There,' said he, 'go in I he expects you.' + +“It was only after a few seconds that I could see my way through the +half-darkened room, but, guided by a weak voice saying, 'Come on--here,' +I approached a bed, on the outside of which, in a loose dressing-gown, +the poor fellow lay. + +“'You find it hard to recognize me, Lyle,' said he, with an attempt to +smile at the amazement which I could not by any effort repress; for he +was wasted to a shadow, his brown cheeks were sunken and sallow, and his +dark flashing eyes almost colorless. + +“'And yet,' added he, 'the doctor has just been complimenting me on +my improved looks. It seems I was more horrible yesterday.' I don't +remember what I said, but he thanked me and pressed my hand,--a great +deal from him, for he is not certainly demonstrative; and then he +pressed me to tell about you all,--how you were, and what doing. He +inquired so frequently, and recurred so often to Bella, that I almost +suspected something between them,--though, after all, I ought to have +known that this was a conquest above Bella's reach,--the man who might +any day choose from the highest in Europe. + +“'Now a little about yourself, Maitland,' said I. 'How long have you +been ill?' + +“'This is the seventeenth day,' said he, sighing. 'Caffarelli of course +told you fever--but here it is;' and he turned on his side and showed +me a great mass of appliances and bandages. 'I have been wounded. I went +out with a fellow whom none of my friends would consent to my meeting, +and I was obliged to take my valet Fenton for my second, and he, not +much versed in these matters, accepted the Neapolitan sword instead of +the French one. I had not touched one these eight years. At all events, +my antagonist was an expert swordsman,--I suspect, in this style of +fencing, more than my equal; he certainly was cooler, and took a thrust +I gave him through the fore-arm without ever owning he was wounded till +he saw me fall.' + +“'Plucky fellow,' muttered I. + +“'Yes, pluck he has, unquestionably; nor did he behave badly when all +was over, for though it was as much as his neck was worth to do it, he +offered to support me in the carriage all the way back to Naples.' + +“'That was a noble offer,' said I. + +“'And there never was a less noble antagonist!' cried Maitland, with +a bitter laugh. 'Indeed, if it ever should get abroad that I crossed +swords with him, it would go near to deny me the power of demanding a +similar satisfaction from one of my own rank to-morrow. Do not ask me +who he is, Lyle; do not question me about the quarrel itself. It is the +thinking, the brooding over these things as I lie here, that makes +this bed a torture to me. The surgeon and his probes are not pleasant +visitors, but I welcome them when they divert my thoughts from these +musings.' + +“I did my best to rally him, and get him to talk of the future, when +he should be up and about again. I almost thought I had done him some +little good, when Caffarelli came in to warn me that the doctors were +imperative against his receiving any visitors, and I had been there then +full two hours! + +“'I have told Lyle, said he, as we were leaving the room, 'that you must +let him come and see me to-morrow; there are other things I want to talk +over with him.' + +“It was high time I should have left him, for his fever was now coming +on, and Caffarelli told me that he raved throughout the whole night, and +talked incessantly of places which, even in a foreign pronunciation, I +knew to be in our own neighborhood in Ireland. The next day I was not +admitted to see him. The day after that I was only suffered to pass a +few minutes beside his bed, on condition, too, that he should not be +allowed to speak; and to-day, as it is my last in Naples, I have been +with him for above an hour. I am certain, my dear Alice, that there is +something at least in my suspicion about Bella, from what took place +to-day. Hearing that I was obliged to leave to-night to catch the +steamer at Ancona, he said, 'Lyle, I shall want a few minutes with you, +alone, though, before you leave.' He said this because either the doctor +or Caffarelli, or both, have been with us since our first meeting. +'Don't look gloomy, old fellow,' he added; 'I 'm not going to speak +about my will. It is rather of life I mean to talk, and what to do with +life to make it worth living for. Meanwhile Caffarelli has been telling +me of your hunt after a villa. There is mine,--the Torricella,--take it. +Carlo says you were greatly struck with it; and as it is really pretty, +and inhabitable too,--a thing rare enough with villas,--I insist upon +your offering it to your family. There's a sort of summer-house or +“Belvedere” on the extreme point of the rock, with half a dozen little +rooms; I shall keep that for myself; but tell Lady Lyle I shall not be +a troublesome visitor. It will be the rarest of all events to see me +there, for I shall not be long in Italy.' I was eager to ask why, or +whither he was turning his steps, but he was never one to stand much +questioning, and in his present state it would have been dangerous to +cross him. By way of saying something--anything at the moment--I asked +how were things going on here politically. He laughed his usual little +quiet laugh, and called out to Caffarelli, who stood in the window. +'Come here, Carlo, and tell Lyle how we are getting on here. He wants to +know if the ammunition has been yet served out for the bombardment; +or are you waiting for the barricades?' He jumped up in his bed as he +spoke, and then fell back again. The doctor ran hastily over, and cried, +out, 'That's exactly what I said would come of it. There 's hemorrhage +again.' And so we were turned out of the room, and the other doctors +were speedily summoned, and it was only an hour ago I heard that he was +going on favorably; but that in future a strict interdict should be put +upon all visits, and none admitted to him but his physicians. Seeing +this, there was no use deferring my departure, which would, besides, +place my commission in jeopardy. I have already outstayed my leave by +two mails. + +“Caffarelli is to write to you about the villa, and take all your +directions about getting it in order for your arrival. He says that +there is only too much furniture; and as there are something like eighty +odd rooms,--it is called Palazzotto, a grand word for palace,--the +chances are that even you will have space enough for what you call 'to +turn round in.' I am in no dread of your being disappointed in it, and I +repeat once more, it is the most exquisitely beautiful spot I ever saw. +I would rather own it than its larger brother, the great kingly palace +on the opposite side of the bay. + +“I left my card at the Legation for your friend Mr. Darner, but he has +not returned my visit. I own I had no peculiar anxiety to know him. +Maitland could only say that he 'was not an ill-natured fellow, and +perhaps a shade smarter than his colleagues.' + +“Caffarelli promises to keep you informed about, poor Maitland, of whom, +notwithstanding all the doctors say, I do not augur too favorably. On +every account, whether you really avail yourself of it or not, do not +refuse his offer of the villa; it would give him the deepest pain and +mortification, knowing how I had fixed upon it before I heard of his +being the owner. I am very sorry to leave him, and sorrier that I have +not heard what he was so eager to tell me. I shall be very impatient +till I hear from you, and know whether you concur in my conjecture or +not. + +“The King sent twice to-day to inquire after M., and has already +announced his intention to come in person, so soon as the doctors deem +such a visit safe. To see the names that were left to-day with the +porter you would say it was one of the first men in Europe was causing +all this public anxiety. + +“I trust, my dear Alice, you will be satisfied with this long-winded +epistle,--the last probably you will get from me till I reach Calcutta. +I had intended to have given you all the gossip of this pleasant place, +which, even on the verge, as some think, of a revolution, has time and +to spare for its social delinquencies; but Maitland has so engrossed my +thoughts that he has filled my letter; and yet I have not told you one +tithe of what I have heard about him from his friend Caffarelli. +Indeed, in his estimation, M. has no equal living; he is not alone the +cleverest, boldest, and most accomplished of men, but the truest and the +best-hearted. I sat late into the night last night listening to traits +of his generosity,--the poor people he had helped, the deserving +creatures he had succored, and the earnest way he had pressed claims on +the Ministry for wretched families who had been friendless without him. +I was dying to ask other questions about him, but I did not venture, and +yet the man puzzles me more than ever. Once, indeed, Caffarelli seemed +on the verge of telling me something. I had asked what Maitland meant +by saying that he should probably soon quit Italy? 'Ah,' replied +Caffarelli, laughing, 'then he has told you of that mad scheme of his; +but of all things in the world, why go into the service of a Bey of +Tunis?' 'A Bey of Tunis!' cried I, in such evident astonishment as +showed I had heard of the project for the first time. 'Of course it was +but a jest,' said Caffarelli, catching himself up quickly. 'The present +Bey and Maitland lived together in Paris in their early days; and I +have seen scores of letters entreating Maitland to come to Tunis, +and offering him the command of a division, the place of a +Minister,--anything, in fact, that might be supposed to tempt him. You +may imagine yourself how likely it is that a man with all Europe at his +feet would consent to finish his life in an African banishment.' + +“If I could only have one week more here, I feel certain that Caffarelli +would tell me everything that I want to learn, but I must up and away. +My servant is already hurrying down my baggage, and I have not more time +than to send my loves to you all. + +“Yours always, + +“Mark Lyle. + +“P. S. Caff is just the fellow to be made very useful, and likes it; +so don't scruple to write to him as fully as you please. He has already +told me of a first-rate chief-servant, a Maestro di Casa, for you; and, +in fact, only commission him, and he'll improvise you a full household +ready for your arrival. _Addio!_” + + + +CHAPTER XLIII. THE MAJOR AT BADEN + +“You will please to write your name there, sir,” said a clerk from +behind a wooden railing to a fierce-looking little man in a frogged coat +and a gold-banded cap, in the busy bank-room of Parodi at Genoa. + +“And my qualities?” asked the other, haughtily. + +“As you please, sir.” + +The stranger took the pen, and wrote “Milo M'Caskey, Count of the two +Sicilies, Knight of various orders, and Knight-postulate of St. John of +Jerusalem, &c. &c.” + +“Your Excellency has not added your address,” said the clerk, +obsequiously. + +“The Tuileries when in Paris, Zarkoe-Zeloe when in Russia. Usually +incog, in England, I reside in a cottage near Osborne. When at this side +of the Alps, wherever be the royal residence of the Sovereign in +the city I chance to be in.” He turned to retire, and then, suddenly +wheeling round, said, “Forward any letters that may come for me to my +relative, who is now at the Trombetta, Turin.” + +“Your Excellency has forgotten to mention his name.” + +“So I have,” said he, with a careless laugh. “It is somewhat new to me +to be in a town where I am unknown. Address my letters to the care +of his Highness the Duke of Lauenburg-Gluckstein;” and with a little +gesture of his hand to imply that he did not exact any royal honors at +his departure, he strutted out of the bank and down the street. + +Few met or passed without turning to remark him, such was the contrast +between his stature and his gait; for while considerably below the +middle size, there was an insolent pretension in his swagger, a defiant +impertinence in the stare of his fiery eyes, that seemed to seek a +quarrel with each that looked at him. His was indeed that sense +of overflowing prosperity that, if it occasionally inclines the +right-minded to a feeling of gratitude and thankfulness, is just as +certain to impel the men of a different stamp to feats of aggressiveness +and insolence. Such was indeed his mood, and he would have hailed as the +best boon of Fate the occasion for a quarrel and a duel. + +The contempt he felt for the busy world that moved by, too deep in its +own cares to interpret the defiance he threw around him, so elevated him +that he swaggered along as if the flagway were all his own. + +Was he not triumphant? What had not gone well with him? Gold in his +pocket, success in a personal combat with a man so highly placed that +it was a distinction to him for life to have encountered; the very +peremptory order he received to quit Naples at once, was a recognition +of his importance that actually overwhelmed him with delight; and he saw +in the vista before him, the time when men would stop at the windows of +printshops to gaze on the features of “Le fameux M'Caskey.” + +There was something glorious in his self-conceit, for there was nothing +he would not dare to achieve that estimation which he had already +conceived of his own abilities. At the time I now speak of, there was a +momentary lull in the storm of Italian politics caused by Count Cavour's +crafty negotiations with the Neapolitan Government,--negotiations solely +devised to induce that false sense of security which was to end in +downfall and ruin. Whether M'Caskey had any forebodings of what was to +come or not, he knew well that it was not the moment for men like +himself to be needed. “When the day of action comes, will come the +question, 'Where is M'Caskey?' Meanwhile I will be off to Baden. I feel +as though I ought to break the bank.” + +To Baden he went. How many are there who can recall that bustling, +pretentious, over-dressed little fellow, who astonished the +pistol-gallery by his shooting, and drove the poor _maître d'armes_ to +the verge of despair by his skill with the rapier, and then swaggered +into the play-room to take the first chair he pleased, only too happy if +he could provoke any to resent it. How he frowned down the men and ogled +the women; smiling blandly at the beauties that passed, as though in +recognition of charms their owners might well feel proud of, for they +had captivated a M'Caskey! + +How sumptuous, too, his dinner; how rare and curious his wines; how +obsequious were they who waited on him; what peril impended over the man +that asked to be served before him! + +Strong men,--men in all the vigor of their youth and strength,--men +of honor and men of tried courage, passed and repassed, looked at, but +never dreamed of provoking him. Absurd as he was in dress, ridiculous in +his overweening pretension, not one ventured on the open sneer at what +each in his secret heart despised for its vulgar insolence. And what a +testimony to pluck was there in all this! for to what other quality in +such a man's nature had the world consented to have paid homage? + +Not one of those who made way for him would have stooped to know him. +There was not a man of those who controlled his gravity to respect a +degree of absurdity actually laughable, who would have accepted his +acquaintance at any price; and yet, for all that, he moved amongst them +there, exacting every deference that was accorded to the highest, and +undeniably inferior to none about him. + +What becomes of the cant that classes the courage of men with the +instincts of the lowest brutes in presence of a fact like this? or must +we not frankly own that in the respect paid to personal daring we read +the avowal that, however constituted men may be, courage is a quality +that all must reverence? + +Not meeting with the resistance he had half hoped for, denied none +of the claims he preferred, M'Caskey became bland and courteous. He +vouchsafed a nod to the croupier at the play-table, and manifested, by a +graceful gesture as he took his seat, that the company need not rise as +he deigned to join them.. + +In little more than a week after his arrival he had become famous; he +was splendid, too, in his largesses to waiters and lackeys; and it is +a problem that might be somewhat of a puzzle to resolve, how far the +sentiments of the very lowest class can permeate the rank above them, +and make themselves felt in the very highest; for this very estimation, +thus originating, grew at last to be at least partially entertained by +others of a very superior station. It was then that men discussed with +each other who was this strange Count,--of what nation? Five modern +languages had he been heard to talk in, without a flaw even of accent. +What country he served? Whence and what his resources? It was when +newspaper correspondents began vaguely to hint at an interesting +stranger, whose skill in every weapon was only equalled by his success +at play, &c, that he disappeared as suddenly as he had come, but not +without leaving ample matter for wonder in the telegraphic despatch he +sent off a few hours before starting, and which, in some form more or +less garbled, was currently talked of in society. It was addressed to +M. Mocquard, Tuileries, Paris, and in these words: “Tell E. I shall meet +him at the Compiègne on Saturday.” + +Could anything be more delightfully intimate? While the crafty idlers +of Baden were puzzling their heads as to who he might be who could thus +write to an imperial secretary, the writer was travelling at all speed +through Switzerland, but so totally disguised in appearance that not +even the eye of a detective could have discovered in the dark-haired, +black-bearded, and sedate-looking Colonel Chamberlayne the fiery-faced +and irascible Count M'Caskey. + +A very brief telegram in a cipher well known to him was the cause of his +sudden departure. It ran thus: “Wanted at Chambéry in all haste.” And at +Chambéry, at the Golden Lamb, did he arrive with a speed which few save +himself knew how to compass. Scarcely had he entered the arched doorway +of the inn, than a traveller, preceded by his luggage, met him. +They bowed, as people do who encounter in a passage, but without +acquaintance; and yet in that brief courtesy the stranger had time to +slip a letter into M'Cas-key's hand, who passed in with all the ease +and unconcern imaginable. Having ordered dinner, he went to his room to +dress, and then, locking his door, he read:-- + +“The Cabinet courier of the English Government will pass Chambéry on +the night of Saturday the 18th, or on the morning of Sunday the 19th. He +will be the bearer of three despatch-bags, two large and one small one, +bearing the letters F. O. and the number 18 on it. You are to possess +yourself of this, if possible--the larger bags are not required. If you +succeed, make for Naples by whatever route you deem best and speediest, +bearing in mind that the loss may possibly be known at Turin within a +brief space. + +“If the contents be as suspected, and all goes well, you are a made man. + +“C. C.” + +M'Caskey read this over three several times, dwelling each time on the +same places, and then he arose and walked leisurely up and down the +room. He then took out his guide-book and saw that a train started for +St. Jean de Maurienne at six, arriving at eight,--a short train, not +in correspondence with any other; and as the railroad ended there, the +remainder of the journey, including the passage of Mont Cenis, must be +performed by carriage. Of course, it was in this short interval the feat +must be accomplished, if at all. + +The waiter announced “his Excellency's” dinner while he thus cogitated, +and he descended and dined heartily; he even ordered a bottle of very +rare chambertin, which stood at eighteen francs in the _carte_. He +sipped his wine at his ease; he had full an hour before the train +started, and he had time for reflection as well as enjoyment. + +“You are to possess yourself of this,” muttered he, reading from a +turned-down part of the note. “Had you been writing to any other man in +Europe, Signor Conte Caffarelli, you would have been profuse enough of +your directions; you would have said, 'You are to shoot this fellow; you +are to waylay him; you are to have him attacked and come to his rescue,' +and a-score more of such-like contrivances; but--to me--to me--there was +none of this. It was just as Buonaparte said to Desaix at Marengo, 'Ride +through the centre,'--he never added how. A made man! I should think so! +The man has been made some years since, sir. Another bottle, waiter, and +mind that it be not shaken. Who was it--I can't remember--stopped a +Russian courier with despatches for Constantinople? Ay, to be sure, it +was Long Wellesley; he told me the story himself. It was a clumsy trick, +too; he upset his sledge in the snow, and made off with the bags, and +got great credit for the feat at home.” + +“The train will start in a quarter of an hour, sir,” said the waiter. + +“Not if I am not ready, my good fellow,” said the Major,--“though now I +see nothing to detain me, and I will go.” + +Alone in his first-class, he had leisure to think over his plans. Much +depended on who might be the courier. He knew most of them well, and +speculated on the peculiar traits of this or that. “If it be Bromley, +he will have his own _calèche_; Airlie will be for the cheap thing, and +take the diligence; and Poynder will be on the look-out for some one to +join him, and pay half the post-horses and all the postilions. There +are half a dozen more of these fellows on this 'dodge,' but I defy +the craftiest of them to know me now;” and he took out a little +pocket-glass, and gazed complacently at his features. “Colonel Moore +Chamberlayne, A.D.C., on his way to Corfu, with despatches for the Lord +High Commissioner. A very soldierlike fellow, too,” added he, arranging +his whiskers, “but, I shrewdly suspect, a bit of a Tartar. Yes, +that's the ticket,” added he, with a smile at his image in the +glass,--“despatches of great importance for Storks at Corfu.” + +Arrived at St Jean, he learned that the mail train from France did not +arrive until 11.20, ample time for all his arrangements. He also learned +that the last English messenger had left his _calèche_ at Susa, and, +except one light carriage with room for only two, there was nothing on +that side of the mountain but the diligence. This conveyance he at once +secured, ordering the postilion to be in the saddle and ready to start, +if necessary, when the mail train came in. “It is just possible,” said +he, “that the friend I am expecting may not arrive, in which case I +shall await the next train; but if he comes you must drive your best, my +man, for I shall want to catch the first train for Susa in the morning.” + Saying this, he retired to his room, where he had many things to do,--so +many, indeed, that he had but just completed them when the shriek of the +engine announced that the train was coming; the minute after, the long +line dashed into the station and came to a stand. + + + +CHAPTER XLIV. THE MESSENGER'S FIRST JOURNEY + +As the train glided smoothly into the station, M'Caskey passed down the +platform, peering into each carriage as if in search of an unexpected +friend. “Not come,” muttered he, in a voice of displeasure, loud enough +to be heard by the solitary first-class passenger, who soon after +emerged with some enormous bags of white linen massively sealed, and +bearing addresses in parchment. + +“I beg pardon,” said M'Caskey, approaching and touching his hat in +salute. “Are you with despatches?” + +“Yes,” said the other, in some astonishment at the question. + +“Have you a bag for _me?_” and then suddenly correcting himself with a +little smile at the error of his supposing he must be universally known, +added, “I mean for the Hon. Colonel Chamberlayne.” + +“I have nothing that is not addressed to a legation,” said the other, +trying to pass on. + +“Strange! they said I should receive some further instructions by the +first messenger. Sorry to have detained you,--good-evening.” + +The young man--for he was young--was already too deep in an attempt +to inquire in French after a carriage, to hear the last words, and +continued to ask various inattentive bystanders certain questions about +a _calèche_ that ought to have been left by somebody in somebody's care +for the use of somebody else. + +“Is it true, can you tell me?” said he, running after M'Caskey. “They +say that there is no conveyance here over the mountain except the +diligence.” + +“I believe it is quite true,” said the “Colonel,” gravely. + +“And they say, too, that the diligence never, at this season, arrives in +time to catch the early train at--I forget the place.” + +“At Susa?” + +“Yes, that's it.” + +“They are perfectly correct in all that; and knowing it so well, and +as my despatches are urgent, I sent on my own light carriage here from +Geneva.” + +“And have you despatches too?” asked the other, whom we may as well +announce to the reader as Tony Butler. “Have you despatches too?” cried +he, in great delight at meeting something like a colleague. + +“Yes; I take out orders for the Lord High Commissioner to Corfu. I am +the head of the Staff there.” + +Tony bowed in recognition of the announced rank, and said quietly: “My +name is Butler. I am rather new to this sort of thing, and never crossed +the Alps in my life.” + +“I 'll give you a lift, then, for I have a spare place. My servant +has gone round with my heavy baggage by Trieste, and I have a seat to +spare.” + +“This is most kind of you, but I scarcely dare put you to such +inconvenience.” + +“Don't talk of that. We are all in the same boat. It 's my luck to have +this offer to-day; it will be yours tomorrow. What 's your destination?” + +“First Turin, then Naples; but I believe I shall have no delay at Turin, +and the Naples bags are the most urgent ones.” + +“Is there anything going on down there, then?” asked M'Caskey, +carelessly. + +“I suspect there must be, for three of our fellows have been sent +there,--I am the fourth within a fortnight.” + +“A country that never interested me. Take a cigar. Are you ready, or do +you want to eat something?” + +“No, I am quite ready, and only anxious not to be late for this first +train. The fact is, it's all a new sort of life to me, and as I am a +wretchedly bad Frenchman, I don't get on too well.” + +“The great secret is, be peremptory, never listen to excuses, tolerate +no explanations. That's my plan. I pay liberally, but I insist on having +what I want.” + +They were now seated, and dashing along at all the speed and with all +the noise of four wiry posters, and M'Caskey went on to describe how, +with that system of united despotism and munificence, he had travelled +over the whole globe with success. As for the anecdotes he told, +they embraced every land and sea; and there was scarcely an event of +momentous importance of the last quarter of a century of which he had +not some curious private details. He was the first man to discover +the plans of Russia on the Pruth. It was he found out Louis Philippe's +intrigue about the Spanish marriages. “If you feel interest in this sort +of thing,” said he, carelessly, “just tell the fellows at home to show +you the blue-book with Chamberlayne's correspondence. It is private +and confidential; but, as a friend of mine, you can see it” And what +generosity of character he had! he had let Seymour carry off all the +credit of that detection of Russia. “To be sure,” added he, “one can't +forget old times, and Seymour was my fag at Eton.” It was he, too, +counselled Lord Elgin to send off the troops from China to Calcutta to +assist in repressing the mutiny. “Elgin hesitated; he could n't make up +his mind; he thought this at one moment and that the next; and he sent +for me at last, and said, 'George, I want a bit of advice from you.' +'I know what you mean,' said I, stopping him; 'send every man of +them,--don't hold back a drummer.' I will say,” he added, “he had +the honesty to own from whom he got that counsel, and he was greatly +provoked when he found I could not be included in the vote of thanks of +the House. 'Confound their etiquette,' said he; 'it is due to George, +and he ought to have it.' You don't know why I 'm in such haste to Corfu +now?” + +“I have not the faintest notion.” + +“I will tell you: first, because a man can always trust a gentleman; +secondly, it will be matter of table-talk by the time you get back. The +Tories are in need of the Radicals, and to buy their support intend to +offer the throne of Greece, which will be vacant whenever we like, to +Richard Cobden.” + +“How strange! and would he accept it?” + +“Some say no; _I_ say yes; and Louis Napoleon, who knows men thoroughly, +agrees with me. 'Mon cher Cham,'--he always called me Cham,--'talk as +people will, it is a very pleasant thing to sit on a throne, and it goes +far towards one's enjoyment of life to have so many people employed +all day long to make it agreeable.'” If Tony thought at times that his +friend was a little vainglorious, he ascribed it to the fact that any +man so intimate with the great people of the world, talking of them as +his ordinary every-day acquaintances, might reasonably appear such to +one as much removed from all such intercourse as he himself was. That +the man who could say, “Nesselrode, don't tell me,” or “Rechberg, my +good fellow, you are in error there!” should be now sitting beside +him, sharing his sandwich with him, and giving him to drink from his +sherry-flask; was not that glory enough to turn a stronger head than +poor Tony's? Ah, my good reader, I know well that _you_ would not have +been caught by such blandishments. You have “seen men and cities.” + You have been at courts, dined beside royalties, and been smiled on by +serene highnesses; but Tony has not had your training; he has had none +of these experiences; he has heard of great names just as he has heard +of great victories. The illustrious people of the earth are no more +within the reach of his estimation than are the jewels of a Mogul's +turban; but it is all the more fascinating to him to sit beside one who +“knows it all.” + +Little wonder, then, if time sped rapidly, and that he never knew +weariness. Let him start what theme he might, speak of what land, what +event, what person he pleased, the Colonel was ready for him. It was +marvellous, indeed,--so very marvellous that to a suspicious mind it +might have occasioned distrust,--with how many great men he had been at +school, what shoals of distinguished fellows he had served with. With +a subtle flattery, too, he let drop the remark that he was not usually +given to be so frank and communicative. “The fact is,” said he, “young +men are, for the most part, bad listeners to the experiences of men +of my age; they fancy that they know life as well, if not better, than +ourselves, and that our views are those of 'bygones.' _You_, however, +showed none of this spirit; you were willing to hear and to learn from +one of whom it would be false modesty were I not to say, Few know more +of men and their doings.” + +Now Tony liked this appreciation of him, and he said to himself, “He +_is_ a clever fellow,--not a doubt of it; he never saw me till this +evening, and yet he knows me thoroughly well.” Seeing how the Colonel +had met with everybody, he resolved he would get from him his opinion +of some of his own friends, and, to lead the way, asked if he was +acquainted with the members of the English Legation at Turin.' + +“I know Bathurst,--we _were_ intimate,” said he; “but we once were in +love with the same woman,--the mother of an empress she is now,--and as +I rather 'cut him out,' a coldness ensued, and somehow we never resumed +our old footing. As for Croker, the Secretary, it was I got him that +place.” + +“And Damer,--Skeff Damer,--do you know him?” + +“I should think I do. I was his godfather.” + +“He's the greatest friend I have in the world!” cried Tony, in ecstasy +at this happy accident. + +“I made him drop Chamberlayne. It was his second name, and I was vain +enough to be annoyed that it was not his first. Is he here now?” + +“Yes, he is attached to the Legation, and sometimes here, sometimes at +Naples.” + +“Then we 'll make him give us a dinner to-day, for I shall refuse +Bathurst: he is sure to ask me; but you will tell Darner that we are +both engaged to _him_.” + +Tony only needed to learn the tie that bound his newly made acquaintance +with his dearest friend, to launch freely out about himself and his new +fortunes; he told all about the hard usage his father had met with,--the +services he had rendered his country in India and elsewhere, and the +ungenerous requital he had met for them all. “That is why you see me +here a messenger, instead of being a soldier, like all my family for +seven generations back. I won't say I like it,--that would n't be true; +but I do it because it happens to be one of the few things I _can_ do.” + +“That's a mistake, sir,” said the Colonel, fiercely; “a mistake +thousands fall into every day. A man can make of life whatever he likes, +if only--mark me well--if only his will be strong enough.” + +“If wishing would do it--” + +“Hold! I'm not talking of wishing; schoolboys wish, pale-cheeked +freshmen at college, goggle-eyed ensigns in marching regiments wish. +Men, real men, do not wish; they will,--that's all the difference. +Strong men make a promise to themselves early in life, and they feel +it a point of honor to keep it. As Rose said one day in the club at +Calcutta, speaking of me, 'He has got the Bath, just because he said he +would get it.'” + +“The theory is a very pleasant one.” + +“You can make the practice just as pleasant, if you like it. Whenever +you take your next leave,--they give you leave, don't they?” + +“Yes, three months; we might have more, I believe, if we asked for it.” + +“Well, come and spend your next leave with me at Corfu. You shall have +some good shooting over in Albania, plenty of mess society, pleasant +yachting, and you 'll like our old Lord High; he's stiff and cold at +first, but, introduced by me, you 'll be at once amongst the 'most +favored nations.'” + +“I can't thank you enough for so kind a proposal,” began Tony; but the +other stopped him with, “Don't thank me, but help me to take care of +this bag. It contains the whole fate of the Levant in its inside. Those +sacks of yours,--I suppose you know what they have for contents?” + +“No; I have no idea what's in them.” + +“Old blue-books and newspapers, nothing else; they 're all +make-believes,--a farce to keep up the notion that great activity +prevails at the Foreign Office, and to fill up that paragraph in +the newspapers, 'Despatches were yesterday sent off to the Lord High +Commissioner of the Bahamas,' or 'Her Majesty's Minister at Otaheite.' +Here we are at the rail now,--that's Susa. Be alive, for I see the +smoke, and the steam must be up.” + +They were just in time; the train was actually in motion when they +got in, and, as the Colonel, who kept up a rapid conversation with the +station-master, informed Tony, nothing would have induced them to delay +but having seen himself. “They knew me,” said he; “they remembered my +coming down here last autumn with the Prince de Carignan and Cavour.” + And once more had Tony to thank his stars for having fallen into such +companionship. + +As they glided along towards Turin, the Colonel told Tony that if he +found the “Weazle” gunboat at Genoa, as he expected, waiting for him, +he would set him, Tony, and his despatches, down safely at Naples, as +he passed on to Malta. “If it 's the 'Growler,'” said he, “I 'll not +promise you, because Hurton the commander is not in good-humor with +me. I refused to recommend him the other day to the First Lord for +promotion--say nothing about this to the fellows at the Legation; +indeed, don't mention anything about me, except to Damer--for the +dinner, you know.” + +“I suppose I ought to go straight to the Legation at once?” said +Tony, as they entered Turin; “my orders are to deliver the bags before +anything else.” + +“Certainly; let us drive there straight,--there's nothing like doing +things regularly; I 'm a martinet about all duty;” and so they drove +to the Legation, where Tony, throwing one large sack to the porter, +shouldered the other himself, and passed in. + +“Holloa!” cried the Colonel; “I 'll give you ten minutes, and if you 're +not down by that time, I 'll go off and order breakfast at the inn.” + +“All right,” said Tony; “this fellow says that Darner is at Naples.” + +“I knew that,” muttered the Colonel to himself; and then added aloud, +“Be alive and come down as quick as you can,”--he looked at his watch as +he spoke; it wanted five minutes to eight,--“at five minutes past eight +the train should start for Genoa.” + +He seized the small despatch-bag in his hand, and, telling the cabman +to drive to the Hotel Feder and wait for him there, he made straight for +the railroad. He was just in the nick; and while Tony was impatiently +pacing an anteroom of the Legation, the other was already some miles on +the way to Genoa. + +At last a very sleepy-looking attaché, in a dressing-gown and slippers, +made his appearance. “Nothing but these?” said he, yawning and pointing +to the great sacks. + +“No; nothing else for Turin.” + +“Then why the----did you knock me up,--when it's only a shower-bath and +Greydon's boot-trees?” + +“How the----did I know what was in them?” said + +Tony, as angrily. + +“You must be precious green, then. When were you made?” + +“When was I made?” + +“Yes; when were you named a messenger?” + +“Some time in spring.” + +“I thought you must be an infant, or you 'd know that it's only the +small bags are of any consequence.” + +“Have you anything more to say? I want to get a bath and my breakfast” + +“I 've a lot more to say, and I shall have to tell Sir Joseph you 're +here! and I shall have to sign your time bill, and to see if we have n't +got something for Naples. You 're for Naples, ain't you? And I want to +send Darner some cigars and a pot of caviare that's been here these two +months, and that he must have smelled from Naples.” + +“Then be hasty, for heaven's sake, for I'm starving.” + +“You're starving! How strange, and it's only eight o'clock! Why, we +don't breakfast here till one, and I rarely eat anything.” + +“So much the worse for you,” said Tony, gruffly. “My appetite is +excellent, if I only had a chance to gratify it.” + +“What's the news in town,--is there anything stirring?” + +“Not that _I_ know.” + +“Has Lumley engaged Teresina again?” + +“Never heard of her.” + +“He ought; tell him _I_ said so. She's fifty times better than La +Gradina. Our _chef_ here,” added he, in a whisper, “says she has better +legs than Pochini.” + +“I am charmed to hear it. Would you just tell him that mine are getting +very tired here?” + +“Will Lawson pay that handicap to George Hobart?” + +Tony shook his head to imply total ignorance of all concerned. + +“He needn't, you know; at least, Saville Harris refused to book up to +Whitemare on exactly the same grounds. It was just this way: here was +the winning-post--no, here; that seal there was the grand stand; when +the mare came up, she was second. I don't think you care for racing, +eh?” + +“A steeple-chase; yes, particularly when I'm a rider. But what I care +most for just now is a plunge into cold water and a good breakfast.” + +There was something actually touching in the commiserating look the +attaché gave Tony as he turned away and left the room. What was the +public service to come to if these were the fellows to be named as +messengers? + +In a very few minutes he was back again in the room. “Where's Naples?” + asked he, curtly. + +“Where's Naples? Where it always was, I suppose,” said Tony, +doggedly,--“in the Gulf of that name.” + +“I mean the bag,--the Naples bag: it is under flying seal, and Sir +Joseph wants to see the despatches.” + +“Oh, that is below in the cab. I 'll go down and fetch it;” and without +waiting for more, he hastened downstairs. The cab was gone. “Naturally +enough,” thought Tony, “he got tired waiting; he's off to order +breakfast.” + +He hurried upstairs again to report that a friend with whom he travelled +had just driven away to the hotel with all the baggage. + +“And the bags?” cried the other, in a sort of horror. + +“Yes, the bags, of course; but I 'll go after him. What 's the chief +hotel called?” + +“The Trombetta.” + +“I don't think that was the name.” + +“The Czar de Russie?” + +“No, nor that” + +“Perhaps Feder?” + +“Yes, that's it. Just send some one to show me the way, and I 'll be +back immediately. I suspect my unlucky breakfast must be prorogued to +luncheon-time.” + +“Not a bit of it!” cried a fine, fresh-looking, handsome man, who +entered the room with a riding-whip in his hand; “come in and take share +of mine.” + +“He has to go over to Feder's for the bags, Sir Joseph,” whispered the +attaché, submissively. + +“Send the porter,--send Jasper,--send any one you like. Come along,” + said he, drawing his arm within Tony's. “You 've not been in Italy +before, and your first impression ought to be favorable; so I 'll +introduce you to a Mont Cenis trout.” + +“And I 'll profit by the acquaintance,” said Tony. “I have the appetite +of a wolf.” + + + +CHAPTER XLV. A SHOCK FOR TONY + +If Tony Butler took no note of time as he sat at breakfast with Sir +Joseph, he was only sharing the fortune of every man who ever found +himself in that companionship. From one end of Europe to the other +his equal could not be found. It was not alone that he had stores of +conversation for the highest capacities and the most cultivated minds, +but he possessed that thorough knowledge of life so interesting to men +of the world, and with it that insight into character which is so +often the key to the mystery of statecraft; and with all these he had +a geniality and a winning, grace of look, voice, and demeanor that +sent one from his presence with the thought that if the world could but +compass a few more like him, one would not change the planet for the +brightest in the firmament. Breakfast over, they smoked; then they had +a game at billiards; after that they strolled into the garden, and had +some pistol-firing. Here Tony acquitted himself creditably, and rose +in his host's esteem; for the minister liked a man who could do +anything--no matter what--very well. Tony, too, gained on him. His own +fine joyous nature understood at once the high-hearted spirit of a young +fellow who bad no affectations about him, thoroughly at his ease without +presumption; and yet, through that gentleman element so strong in him, +never transgressing the limits of a freedom so handsomely accorded him. + +While the hours rolled over thus delightfully, a messenger returned +to say that he had been at each of the great hotels, but could find no +trace of Colonel Chamberlayne, nor of the missing bags. + +“Send Moorcap,” said the minister. Moorcap was away two hours, and came +back with the same story. + +“I suspect how it is,” said Tony. “Chamberlayne has been obliged to +start suddenly, and has carried off my bags with his own; but when he +discovers his mistake, he 'll drop them at Naples.” + +Sir Joseph smiled,--perhaps he did not think the explanation very +satisfactory; and perhaps,--who knows?--but he thought that the loss of +a despatch-bag was not amongst the heaviest of human calamities. “At all +events,” he said, “we'll give you an early dinner, Butler, and you +can start by the late train to Genoa, and catch the morning steamer to +Naples.” + +Tony asked no better; and I am afraid to have to confess that he engaged +at a game of “pool” with all the zest of one who carried no weighty care +on his breast. + +When the time for leave-taking came, Sir Joseph shook his hand with +cordial warmth, telling him to be sure to dine with him as he came +through Turin. “Hang up your hat here, Butler; and if I should be from +home, tell them that you are come to dinner.” + +Very simple words these. They cost little to him who spoke them, but +what a joy and happiness to poor Tony! Oh, ye gentlemen of high place +and station, if you but knew how your slightest words of kindness--your +two or three syllables of encouragement--give warmth and glow and vigor +to many a poor wayfarer on life's high-road, imparting a sense not alone +of hope, but of self-esteem, to a nature too distrustful of itself, +mayhap you might be less chary of that which, costing you so little, +is wealth unspeakable to him it is bestowed upon. Tony went on his way +rejoicing; he left that threshold, as many others had left it, thinking +far better of the world and its people, and without knowing it, very +proud of the notice of one whose favor he felt to be fame. “Ah,” thought +he, “if Alice had but heard how that great man spoke to me,--if Alice +only saw how familiarly he treated me,--it might show her, perhaps, that +others at least can see in me some qualities not altogether hopeless.” + +If, now and then, some thought of that “unlucky bag”--so he called it to +himself--would invade, he dismissed it speedily, with the assurance that +it had already safely reached its destination, and that the Colonel +and Skeffy had doubtless indulged in many a hearty laugh over his +embarrassment at its loss. “If they knew but all,” muttered he; “I take +it very coolly. I 'm not breaking my heart over the disaster.” And so +far he was right,--not, however, from the philosophical indifference +that he imagined, but simply because he never believed in the calamity, +nor had realized it to himself. + +When he landed at Naples, he drove off at once to the lodgings of his +friend Darner, which, though at a considerable height from the ground, +in a house of the St. Lucia Quarter, he found were dignified with the +title of British Legation; a written notice on the door informed all +the readers that “H. R. M.'s Chargé d'Affaires transacted business from +twelve to four every day.” It was two o'clock when Tony arrived, and, +notwithstanding the aforesaid announcement, he had to ring three times +before the door was opened. At length a sleepy-looking valet appeared to +say that “His Excellency”--he styled him so--was in his bath, and could +not be seen in less than an hour. Tony sent in his name, and speedily +received for answer that he would find a letter addressed to him in the +rack over the chimney, and Mr. Darner would be dressed and with him by +the time he had read it. + +Poor Tony's eyes swam with tears as he saw his mother's handwriting, and +he tore open the sheet with hot impatience. It was very short, as were +all her letters, and so we give it entire:-- + +“My own darling Tony,--Your beautiful present reached me yesterday, +and what shall I say to my poor reckless boy for such an act of +extravagance? Surely, Tony, it was made for a queen, and not for a poor +widow that sits the day long mending her stockings at the window. But +ain't I proud of it, and of him that sent it! Heaven knows what it has +cost you, my dear boy, for even the carriage here from London, by the +Royal Parcel Company, Limited, came to thirty-two and fourpence. +Why they call themselves 'Limited' after that, is clean beyond my +comprehension. [If Tony smiled here, it was with a hot and flushed +cheek, for he had forgotten to prepay the whole carriage, and he was +vexed at his thoughtlessness.] + +“As to my wearing it going to meeting, as you say, it's quite +impossible. The thought of its getting wet would be a snare to take my +mind off the blessed words of the minister; and I 'm not sure, my +dear Tony, that any congregation could sit profitably within sight of +what--not knowing the love that sent it--would seem like a temptation +and a vanity before men. Sables, indeed, real Russian sables, appear a +strange covering for these old shoulders. + +“It was about two hours after it came that Mrs. Trafford called in to +see me, and Jeanie would have it that I'd go into the room with my grand +new cloak on me; and sure enough I did, Tony, trying all the while not +to seem as if it was anything strange or uncommon, but just the sort of +wrapper I 'd throw round me of a cold morning. But it would n't do, my +dear Tony. I was half afraid to sit down on it, and I kept turning out +the purple-satin lining so often that Mrs. Trafford said at last, 'Will +you forgive my admiration of your cloak, Mrs. Butler, but I never saw +one so beautiful before;' and then I told her who it was that sent it; +and she got very red and then very pale, and then walked to the window, +and said something about a shower that was threatening; though, sooth to +say, Tony, the only threat of rain I could see was in her own blue +eyes. But she turned about gayly and said, 'We are going away, Mrs. +Butler,--going abroad;' and before I could ask why or where, she told +me in a hurried sort of way that her sister Isabella had been ordered +to pass a winter in some warm climate, and that they were going to try +Italy. She said it all in a strange quick voice, as if she did n't like +to talk of it, and wanted it over; but she grew quite herself again +when she said that the gardener would take care that my flowers +came regularly, and that Sir Arthur and Lady Lyle would be more than +gratified if I would send up for anything I liked out of the garden. +'Don't forget that the melons were all of Tony's sowing, Mrs. Butler,' +said she, smiling; and I could have kissed her for the way she said it. + +“There were many other kind things she said, and in a way, too, that +made them more than kind; so that when she went away, I sat thinking +if it was not a temptation to meet a nature like hers,--so sweet, so +lovely, and yet so worldly; for in all she spoke, Tony, there was never +a word dropped of what sinful creatures we are, and what a thorny path +it is that leads us to the better life before us. + +“I was full of her visit, and everything she said, when Dr. Stewart +dropped in to say that they had been down again at the Burnside to try +and get him to let Dolly go abroad with them. 'I never liked the notion, +Mrs. Butler,' he said; 'but I was swayed here and swayed there by my +thoughts for the lass, what was best for her body's health, and that +other health that is of far more value; when there came a letter +to me,--it was anonymous,--saying, “Before you suffer your good and +virtuous daughter to go away to a foreign land, just ask the lady that +is to protect her if she still keeps up the habit of moonlight walks in +a garden with a gentleman for her companion, and if that be the sort of +teaching she means to inculcate.” Mrs. Trafford came to the door as I +was reading the letter, and I said, “What can you make of such a letter +as this?” and as she read it her cheek grew purple, and she said, “There +is an end of our proposal, Dr. Stewart. Tell your daughter I shall +importune her no more; but this letter I mean to keep: it is in a hand I +know well.” And she went back to the carriage without another word; and +tomorrow they leave the Abbey, some say not to come back again.' + +“I cried the night through after the doctor went away, for what a world +it is of sin and misery; not that I will believe wrong of her, sweet and +beautiful as she is, but what for was she angry? and why did she show +that this letter could give her such pain? And now, my dear Tony, since +it could be no other than yourself she walked alone with, is it not your +duty to write to the doctor and tell him so? The pure heart fears not +the light, neither are the good of conscience afraid. That she is above +your hope is no reason that she is above your love. That I was your +father's wife may show that Above all, Tony, think that a Gospel +minister should not harbor an evil thought of one who does not deserve +it, and whose mightiest sin is perchance the pride that scorns a +self-defence. + +“The poor doctor is greatly afflicted: he is sorry now that he showed +the letter, and Dolly cries over it night and day. + +“Is it not a strange thing that Captain Graham's daughters, that never +were used to come here, are calling at the Burnside two or three times a +week? + +“Write to me, my dear Tony, and if you think well of what I said, write +to the doctor also, and believe me your ever loving mother, + +“Eleanor Butler. + +“Dolly Stewart has recovered her health again, but not her spirits. +She rarely comes to see me, but I half suspect that her reason is her +dislike to show me the depression that is weighing over her. So is it, +dear Tony, go where you will; there is no heart without its weary load, +no spirit without that touch of sorrow that should teach submission. +Reflect well over this, dear boy; and never forget that though at times +we put off our troubles as a wayfarer lays down his pack, we must just +strap on the load again when we take to the road, for it is a burden we +have to bear to the journey's end.” + +Not all the moral reflections of this note saved it from being crushed +passionately in his hand as he finished reading it. That walk, that +moonlight walk, with whom could it have been? with whom but Maitland? +And it was by her--by her that his whole heart was filled,--her image, +her voice, her gait, her smile, her faintest whisper, that made up the +world in which he lived. Who could love her as _he_ did? Others would +have their hopes and ambitions, their dreams of worldly success, and +such like; but he,--he asked none of these; _her_ heart was all he +strove for. With her he would meet any fortune. He knew she was above +him in every way,--as much by every gift and grace as by every accident +of station; but what did that signify? The ardor of his love glowed only +the stronger for the difficulty,--just as his courage would have mounted +the higher, the more hazardous the feat that dared it. These were his +reasonings,--or rather some shadowy shapes of these flitted through his +mind. + +And was it now all over? Was the star that had guided him so long to +be eclipsed from him? Was he never again to ask himself in a moment of +difficulty or doubt, What will Alice say?--what will Alice think? As for +the scandalous tongues that dared to asperse her, he scorned them; and +he was indignant with the old minister for not making that very letter +itself the reason of accepting a proposal he had been until then averse +to. He should have said, “_Now_ there can be no hesitation,--Dolly must +go with you _now_.” It was just as his musings got thus far that Skeffy +rushed into the room and seized him by both hands. + +“Ain't I glad to see your great sulky face again? Sit down and tell me +everything--how you came--when----how long you 're to stay--and what +brought you here.” + +“I came with despatches,--that is, I ought to have had them.” + +“What do you mean?” + +“I mean that some of the bags I left at Tarin; and one small fellow, +which I take to have been the cream of the correspondence, Chamberlayne +carried on here,--at least I hope so. Have n't you got it?” + +“What infernal muddle are your brains in? Who is Chamberlayne?” + +“Come, come, Skeffy, I 'm not in a joking mood;” and he glanced at the +letter in his hand as he spoke. “Don't worry me, old fellow, but say +that you have got the bag all right.” + +“But I have not, I never saw it,--never heard of it.” + +“And has the Colonel not been here?” + +“Who is the Colonel?” + +“Chamberlayne.” + +“And who is Chamberlayne.” + +“That _is_ cool, certainly; I think a man might acknowledge his +godfather.” + +“Whose godfather is he?” + +“Yours,--your own. Perhaps you 'll deny that you were christened after +him, and called Chamberlayne?” + +Skeffy threw up his embroidered cap in the air at these words, and, +flinging himself on a sofa, actually screamed with laughter. “Tony,” + cried he at last, “this will immortalize you. Of all the exploits +performed by messengers, this one takes the van.” + +“Look here, Damer,” said Tony, sternly; “I have told you already I 'm +in no laughing humor. I 've had enough here to take the jollity out of +me”--and he shook the letter in his hand--“for many a day to come; so +that whatever you have to say to me, bear in mind that you say it to +one little disposed to good-humor. Is it true that you have not received +these despatches?” + +“Perfectly true.” + +“Then how are we to trace him? His name is Colonel Moore Chamberlayne, +aide-de-camp to the Lord High Commissioner, Corfu.” + +Skeffy bit his lip, and by a great effort succeeded in repressing the +rising temptation to another scream of laughter, and, taking down a +bulky red-covered volume from a shelf, began to turn over its pages. +“There,” said he at last,--“there is the Whole staff at Corfu: Hailes, +Winchester, Corbett, and Ainslie. No Chamberlayne amongst them.” + +Tony stared at the page in hopeless bewilderment. “What do you know +of him? Who introduced you to each other? Where did you meet?” asked +Skeffy. + +“We met at the foot of the Mont Cenis, where, seeing that I had +despatches, and no means to get forward, he offered me a seat in his +calèche. I accepted gladly, and we got on capitally; he was immense fun; +he knew everybody, and had been everywhere; and when he told me that he +was your godfather--” + +“Stop, stop! for the love of Heaven, will you stop, or you 'll kill me!” + cried Skeffy; and, throwing himself on his back on the sofa, he flung +his legs into the air, and yelled aloud with laughter. + +“Do you know, Master Darner, I'm sorely tempted to pitch you neck and +crop out of the window?” said Tony, savagely. + +“Do so, do so, by all means, if you like; only let me have my laugh out, +or I shall burst a blood-vessel.” + +Tony made no reply, but walked up and down the room with his brow bent +and his arms folded. + +“And then?” cried Skeff,--“and then? What came next?” + +“It is your opinion, then,” said Tony, sternly, “that this fellow was a +swindler, and not on the Staff at all?” + +“No more than he was my godfather!” cried Darner, wiping his eyes. + +“And that the whole was a planned scheme to get hold of the despatches?” + +“Of course. Filangieri knows well that we are waiting for important +instructions here. There is not a man calls here who is not duly +reported to him by his secret police.” + +“And why did n't Sir Joseph think of that when I told him what had +happened? All he said was, 'Be of good cheer, Butler; the world will go +round even after the loss of a despatch-bag.'” + +“So like him,” said Skeffy; “the levity of that man is the ruin of him. +They all say so at the Office.” + +“I don't know what they say at the Office; but I can declare that so +perfect a gentleman and so fine a fellow I never met before.” + +Skeffy turned to the glass over the chimney, smoothed his moustaches, +and pointed their tips most artistically, smiling gracefully at himself, +and seeming to say, “You and I, if we were not too modest, could tell of +some one fully his equal.” + +“And what's to be done,--what's to come of this?” asked Tony, after a +short silence. + +“I 'll have to report you, Master Tony. I 'll have to write home: 'My +Lord,--The messenger Butler arrived here this morning to say that he +confided your Lordship's despatches and private instructions to a +most agreeable gentleman, whose acquaintance he made at St. Jean de +Maurienne; and that the fascinating stranger, having apparently not +mastered their contents up to the present--'” + +“Go to the------” + +“No, Tony, I shall not; but I think it not at all improbable that such +will be the destination his Lordship will assign assistant-messenger +Butler. The fact is, my boy, your career in our department is ended.” + +“With all my heart! Except for that fine fellow I saw at Turin, I think +I never met such a set of narrow-minded snobs.” + +“Tony, Tony,” said the other, “when Moses, in the 'Vicar of +Wakefield,'--and I take it he is more familiar to you than the other of +that name,--was 'done' by the speculator in green spectacles, he never +inveighed against those who had unfortunately confided their interests +to his charge. Now, as to our department--” + +“Confound the department! I wish I had never heard of it. You say it's +all up with me, and of course I suppose it is; and, to tell you the +truth, Skeffy, I don't think it signifies a great deal just now, except +for that poor mother of mine.” Here he turned away, and wiped his eyes +hurriedly. “I take it that all mothers make the same sort of blunder, +and never will believe that they can have a blockhead for a son till the +world has set its seal on him.” + +“Take a weed, and listen to me,” said Skeffy, dictatorially, and he +threw his cigar-case across the table, as he spoke. “You have contrived +to make as bad a _début_ in your career as is well possible to +conceive.” + +“What's the use of telling me that? In your confounded passion for +hearing yourself talk, you forget that it is not so pleasant for me to +listen.” + +“Prisoner at the bar,” continued Skeffy, “you have been convicted--you +stand, indeed, self-convicted--of an act which, as we regard it, is +one of gross ignorance, of incredible folly, or of inconceivable +stupidity,--places you in a position to excite the pity of compassionate +men, the scorn of those severer moralists who accept not the extenuating +circumstances of youth, unacquaintance with life, and a credulity that +approaches childlike--” + +“You 're a confounded fool, Skeffy, to go on in this fashion when a +fellow is in such a fix as I am, not to speak of other things that are +harder to bear. It's a mere toss-up whether he laughs at your nonsense +or pitches you over the banisters. I've been within an ace of one and +the other three times in the last five minutes; and now all my leaning +is towards the last of the two.” + +“Don't yield to it, then, Tony. Don't, I warn you.” + +“And why?” + +“Because you 'd never forgive yourself, not alone for having injured a +true and faithful friend, but for the far higher and more irreparable +loss in having cut short the career of a man destined to be a light to +Europe. I say it in no vanity,--no boastfuluess. No, on my honor! if I +could--if the choice were fairly given to me, I 'd rather not be a man +of mark and eminence. I 'd rather be a commonplace, tenth-rate sort of +dog like yourself.” + +The unaffected honesty with which he said this did for Tony what no +cajolery nor flattery could have accomplished, and set him off into a +roar of laughter that conquered all his spleen and ill-humor. + +“Your laugh, like the laugh of the foolish, is ill-timed. You cannot see +that you were introduced, not to be stigmatized, but to point a moral. +You fancy yourself a creature,--you are a category; you imagine you are +an individuality,--you are not; you are a fragment rent from a primeval +rock.” + +“I believe I ought to be as insensible as a stone to stand you. But stop +all this, I say, and listen to me. I 'm not much up to writing,--but you +'ll help me, I know; and what I want said is simply this: 'I have been +tricked out of one of the bags by a rascal that if ever I lay hands on +I 'll bring bodily before the Office at home, and make him confess the +whole scheme; and I 'll either break his neck afterwards, or leave him +to the law, as the Secretary of State may desire.'” + +Now, poor Tony delivered this with a tone and manner that implied he +thought he was dictating a very telling and able despatch. “I suppose,” + added he, “I am to say that I now resign my post, and I wish the devil +had me when I accepted it.” + +“Not civil, certainly, to the man who gave you the appointment, Tony. +Besides, when a man resigns, he has to wait for the acceptance of his +resignation.” + +“Oh, as for that, there need be no ceremony. They'll be even better +pleased to get rid of me than I to go. They got a bad bargain; and, to +do them justice, they seemed to have guessed as much from the first.” + +“And then, Tony?” + +“I 'll go to sea,--I 'll go before the mast; there must be many a vessel +here wants a hand, and in a few weeks' practice I'll master the whole +thing; my old yachting experiences have done that for me.” + +“My poor Tony,” said Skeffy, rising and throwing his arms round him, +“I'll not listen to it. What! when you have a home here with me, are you +to go off and brave hardship and misery and degradation?” + +“There's not one of the three,--I deny it. Coarse food and hard work +are no misery; and I 'll be hanged if there's any degradation in earning +one's bread with his hands when his head is not equal to it.” + +“I tell you I 'll not suffer it. If you drive me to it, I 'll prevent it +by force. I am her Majesty's Charge d'Affaires. I 'll order the consul +to enroll you at his peril,--I 'll imprison the captain that takes +you,--I 'll detain the ship, and put the crew in irons.” + +“Before you do half of it, let me have some dinner,” said Tony, +laughing, “for I came on shore very hungry, and have eaten nothing +since.” + +“I'll take you to my favorite restaurant, and you shall have a regular +Neapolitan banquet, washed down by some old Capri. There, spell out that +newspaper till I dress and if any one rings in the mean while, say his +Excellency has just been sent for to Caserta by the King, and will not +be back before to-morrow.” As he reached the door he put his head in +again, and said, “Unless, perchance, it should be my godfather, when, of +course, you 'll keep him for dinner.” + + + +CHAPTER XLVI. “THE BAG NO. 18” + +Almost overlooking the terraced garden where Damer and Tony dined, and +where they sat smoking till a late hour of the night, stood a large +palace, whose vast proportions and spacious entrance, as well as +an emblazoned shield over the door, proclaimed it to belong to the +Government. It was the Ministry of Foreign Affairs; and here, now, in +a room projecting over the street beneath, and supported on arches, +sat the Minister himself, with our two acquaintances, Mait-land and +Caffarelli. + +Maitland was still an invalid, and rested on a sofa, but he had +recovered much of his former looks and manner, though he was dressed +with less care than was his wont. + +The Minister--a very tall thin man, stooped in the shoulders, and with +a quantity of almost white gray hair streaming on his neck and +shoulders--walked continually up and down the room, commenting and +questioning at times, as Maitland read forth from a mass of documents +which littered the table, and with which Caffarelli supplied him, +breaking the seals and tearing open the envelopes before he gave them to +his hand. + +Though Maitland read with ease, there was yet that half-hesitation in +the choice of a word, as he went on, that showed he was translating; +and indeed once or twice the Prince-Minister stopped to ask if he had +rightly imparted all the intended force to a particular expression. + +A white canvas bag, marked “F. O., No. 18,” lay on the table; and it +was of that same bag and its possible fortunes two others, not fully one +hundred yards off, were then talking: so is it that in life we are often +so near to, and so remote from, the inanimate object around which our +thoughts and hopes, and sometimes our very destinies, revolve. + +“I am afraid,” said the Prince, at last, “that we have got nothing here +but the formal despatches, of which Ludolf has sent us copies already. +Are there no 'Private and Confidential'?” + +“Yes, here is one for Sir Joseph Trevor himself,” said Caffarelli, +handing a square-shaped letter to Maitland. Maitland glanced hurriedly +over it, and muttered: “London gossip, Craddock's divorce case, the +partridge-shooting,--ah, here it is! 'I suppose you are right about the +expedition, but say nothing of it in the despatches. We shall be called +on one of these days for a blue-book, and very blue we should look, if +it were seen that amidst our wise counsels to Caraffa we were secretly +aware of what G. was preparing.'” + +“It must be 'C. was preparing,'” broke in Caraffa; “it means Cavour.” + +“No; he speaks of Garibaldi,” said Maitland. + +“Garibaldi!” cried Caraffa, laughing. “And are there still _gobemouches_ +in England who believe in the Filibuster?” + +“I believe in him, for one,” said Maitland, fiercely, for the phrase +irritated him; “and I say, too, that such a Filibuster on our side would +be worth thirty thousand of those great hulking grenadiers you passed in +review this morning.” + +“Don't tell the King so when you wait on him to-morrow, that's all!” + said the Minister, with a sneering smile. + +“Read on,” broke in Caffarelli, who was not at all sure what the +discussion might lead to. + +“Perhaps, too, you would class Count Cavour amongst these +_gobemouches_,” said Maitland, angrily; “for he is also a believer in +Garibaldi.” + +“We can resume this conversation at Caserta to-morrow before his +Majesty,” said Caraffa, with the same mocking smile; “pray, now, let me +hear the remainder of that despatch.” + +“'It is not easy to say,'” read he aloud from the letter, “'what France +intends or wishes. C. says--'” + +“Who is C.?” asked Caraffa, hastily. + +“C. means Cowley, probably,--'that the Emperor would not willingly see +Piedmontese troops at Naples; nor is he prepared to witness a new map of +the Peninsula. We, of course, will do nothing either way--'” + +“Read that again,” broke in Caraffa. + +“'We, of course, will do nothing either way; but that resolve is not to +prevent your tendering counsel with a high hand, all the more since the +events which the next few months will develop will all of them seem +of our provoking, and part and parcel of a matured and long meditated +policy.'” + +“_Bentssimo!_” cried the minister, rubbing his hands in delight. “If we +reform, it is the Whigs have reformed us. If we fall, it is the Whigs +have crushed us.” + +“'Caraffa, we are told,'” continued Maitland, “'sees the danger, but is +outvoted by the Queen-Dowager's party in the Cabinet,--not to say that, +from his great intimacy with Pietri, many think him more of a Muratist +than a Bourbon.'” + +“_Per Bacco!_ when your countryman tries to be acute, there is nothing +too hazardous for his imagination; so, then, I am a French spy!” + +“'What you say of the army,'” read on Maitland, “'is confirmed by our +other reports. Very few of the line regiments will be faithful to the +monarchy, and even some of the artillery will go over. As to the fleet, +Martin tells me they have not three seaworthy ships in the fifty-seven +they reckon, nor six captains who would undertake a longer voyage than +Palermo. Their only three-decker was afraid to return a salute to the +“Pasha,” lest her old thirty-two-pounders should explode; and this is +pretty much the case with the monarchy,--the first shock must shake it, +even though it only come of blank cartridge. + +“'While events are preparing, renew all your remonstrances; press upon +Caraffa the number of untried prisoners, and the horrid condition of +the prisons. Ask, of course in a friendly way, when are these abuses +to cease? Say that great hopes of amelioration--speak generally--were +conceived here on the accession of the new King, and throw in our +regrets that the liberty of the press with us will occasionally lead to +strictures whose severities we deplore, without being able to arraign +their justice; and lastly, declare our readiness to meet any commercial +exchanges that might promise mutual advantage. This will suggest the +belief that we are not in any way cognizant of Cavour's projects. +In fact, I will know nothing of them, and hold myself prepared, if +questioned in the House, to have had no other information than is +supplied by the newspapers. Who is Maitland? None of the Maitlands here +can tell me.'” This sentence he read out ere he knew it, and almost +crushed the paper when he had finished in his passion. + +“Go on,” said Caraffa, as the other ceased to read aloud, while his eyes +ran over the lines,--“go on.” + +“It is of no moment, or, at least, its interest is purely personal. +His Lordship recommends that I should be bought over, but still left in +intimate relations with your Excellency.” + +“And I see no possible objection to the plan.” + +“Don't you, sir?” cried Maitland, fiercely; “then I do. Some little +honor is certainly needed to leaven the rottenness that reeks around +us.” + +“_Caro Signor Conte_,” said the Prince, in an insinuating voice, but of +which insincerity was the strong characteristic, “do not be angry with +my Ultramontane morality. I was not reared on the virtuous benches of a +British Parliament; but if there is anything more in that letter, let me +hear it.” + +“There is only a warning not to see the Count of Syracuse, nor any of +his party, who are evidently waiting to see which horse is to win. Ah, +and here is a word for your address, Carlo! 'If Caffarelli be the man we +saw last season here, I should say, Do not make advances to him; he is a +ruined gambler, and trusted by no party. Lady C--------believes in him, +but none else!'” + +This last paragraph set them all a-laughing, nor did any seem to enjoy +it more than Caffarelli himself. + +“One thing is clear,” said Caraffa, at last,--“England wishes us every +imaginable calamity, but is not going to charge herself with any part of +the cost of our ruin. France has only so much of good-will towards us +as is inspired by her dislike of Piedmont, and she will wait and watch +events. Now, if Bosco be only true to his word, and can give us a 'good +account' of his treatment of Garibaldi, I think all will go well.” + +“When was Garibaldi to set out?” asked Caffarelli. + +“Brizzi, but he is seldom correct, said the 18th.” + +“That Irish fellow of ours, Maitland, is positive it will be by the 13th +at latest. By the way, when I asked him how I could reward this last +piece of service he rendered us in securing these despatches, his reply +was, 'I want the cordon of St. Januarius.' I, of course, remonstrated, +and explained that there were certain requisites as to birth and family, +certain guarantees as to nobility of blood, certain requirements of +fortune. He stopped me abruptly, and said, 'I can satisfy them all; and +if there be any delay in according my demand, I shall make it in person +to his Majesty.'” + +“Well,” cried Caffarelli,--“well, and what followed?” + +“I yielded,” said the Prince, with one of his peculiar smiles. “We are +in such a perilous predicament that we can't afford the enmity of such a +consummate rascal; and then, who knows but he may be the last knight of +the order!” In the deep depression of the last words was apparent their +true sincerity, but he rallied hastily, and said, “I have sent the +fellow to Bosco with despatches, and said that he may be usefully +employed as a spy, for he is hand-and-glove with all the Garibaldians. +Surely he must have uncommon good luck if he escapes a bullet from one +side or the other.” + +“He told me yesterday,” said Caffarelli, “that he would not leave Naples +till his Majesty passed the Irish Legion in review, and addressed them +some words of loyal compliment.” + +“Why did n't he tell you,” said the Prince, sarcastically, “that seventy +of the scoundrels have taken service with Garibaldi, some hundreds have +gone to the hills as brigands, and Castel d'Ovo has got the remainder; +and it takes fifteen hundred foot and a brigade of artillery to watch +them?” + +“Did you hear this, Maitland?” cried Caffarelli; “do you hear what his +Excellency says of your pleasant countrymen?” + +Maitland looked up from a letter that he was deeply engaged in, and +so blank and vacant was his stare that Caffarelli repeated what the +Minister had just said. “I don't think you are minding what I say. Have +you heard me, Maitland?” + +“Yes; no--that is, my thoughts were on something that I was reading +here.” + +“Is it of interest to us?” asked Caraffa. + +“None whatever. It was a private letter which got into my hands open, +and I had read some lines before I was well aware. It has no bearing +on politics, however;” and, crushing up the note, he placed it in his +pocket, and then, as if recalling his mind to the affairs before him, +said: “The King himself must go to Sicily. It is no time to palter. +The personal daring of Victor Emmanuel is the bone and sinew of the +Piedmontese movement. Let us show the North that the South is her equal +in everything.” + +“I should rather that it was from _you_ the advice came than from _me_,” + said Caraffa, with a grin. “I am not in the position to proffer it.” + +“If I were Prince Caraffa, I should do so, assuredly.” + +“You would not, Maitland,” said the other, calmly. “You would not, and +for this simple reason, that you would see that, even if accepted, the +counsel would be fruitless. If it were to the Queen, indeed--” + +“Yes, _per Bacco!_” broke in Caffarelli, “there is not a gentleman in +the kingdom would not spring into the saddle at such a call.” + +“Then why not unfold this standard?” asked Maitland. “Why not make one +effort to make the monarchy popular?” + +“Don't you know enough of Naples,” said Caraffa, “to know that the cause +of the noble can never be the cause of the people; and that to throw +the throne for defence on the men of birth is to lose the 'men of the +street'?” + +He paused, and with an expression of intense hate on his face, and a +hissing passionate tone in his voice, continued, “It required all +the consummate skill of that great man, Count Cavour, to weld the two +classes together, and even he could not elevate the populace; so that +nothing was left to him but to degrade the noble.” + +“I think, meanwhile, we are losing precious time,” said Maitland, as he +took up his hat “Bosco should be reinforced. The squadron, too, +should be strengthened to meet the Sardinian fleet; for we have sure +intelligence that they mean to cover Garibaldi's landing; Persano avows +it.” + +“All the better if they do,” said Caraffa. “The same act which +would proclaim their own treachery would deliver into our hands this +hare-brained adventurer.” + +“Your Excellency may have him longer in your hands than you care +for,” said Maitland, with a saucy smile. The Prince bowed a cold +acknowledgment of the speech, and suffered them to retire without a +word. + +“It is fated, I believe,” said Caffarelli, as they gained the street, +“that the Prince and you are never to separate without anger; and +you are wrong, Maitland. There is no man stands so high in the King's +favor.” + +“What care I for that, Carlo mio? the whole thing has ceased to interest +me. I joined the cause without any love for it; the more nearly I saw +its working, the more I despised myself for acting with such associates; +and if I hold to it now, it is because it is so certain to fail. Ay, +my friend, it is another Bourbon bowled over. The age had got sick of +vested interests, and wanted to show what abuses they were; but you +and I are bound to stand fast; we cannot rescue the victim, but we must +follow the hearse.” + +“How low and depressed you are to-night! What has come over you?” + +“I have had a heavy blow, mio Carlo. One of those papers whose envelopes +you broke and handed to me was a private letter. It was from Alice +Trafford to her brother; and the sight of my own name in it tempted me +to see what she said of me. My curiosity has paid its price.” He paused +for some minutes, and then continued: “She wrote to refuse the villa I +had offered her,--to refuse it peremptorily. She added: 'The story of +your friend's duel is more public than you seem to know. It appeared in +the “Patrie” three weeks ago, and was partly extracted by “Galignani.” + The provocation given was an open declaration that Mr. Maitland was +no Maitland at all, but the illegitimate son of a well-known actress, +called Brancaleone, the father unknown. This outrage led to a meeting, +and the consequences you know of. The whole story has this much of +authenticity, that it was given to the world with the name of the other +principal, who signs himself Milo M'Caskey, Lieut.-Col. in the service +of Naples, Count, and Commander of various orders.' She adds,” continued +Maitland, in a shaken voice, and an effort, but yet a poor one, to +smile,--“she adds: 'I own I am sorry for him. All his great qualities +and cultivation seemed to suit and dignify station; but now that I know +his condition to have been a mere assumption, the man himself and his +talents are only a mockery,--only a mockery!' Hard words these, Carlo, +very hard words! + +“And then she says: 'If I had only known him as a passing acquaintance, +and thought of him with the same indifference one bestows on +such,-perhaps I would not now insist so peremptorily as I do on our +ceasing to know him; but I will own to you, Mark, that he did interest +me greatly. He had, or seemed to have,'--this, that, and t' other,” said +he, with an ill-tempered haste, and went on. “'But now, as he stands +before me, with a borrowed name and a mock rank--' There is half a page +more of the same trash; for this gentle lady is a mistress of fierce +words, and not over-merciful, and she ends thus: 'I think, if you are +adroit, you can show him, in declining his proffered civility, that we +had strong reasons for our refusal, and that it would be unpleasant to +renew our former acquaintance.' In fact, Carlo, she means to cut me. +This woman, whose hand I had held in mine while I declared my love, and +who, while she listened to me, showed no touch of displeasure, affects +now to resent the accident of my birth, and treat me as an impostor! +I am half sorry that letter has not reached its destination; ay, and, +strange as you will think it, I am more than half tempted to write and +tell her that I have read it The story of the stolen despatch will soon +be a newspaper scandal, and it would impart marvellous interest to her +reading it when she heard that her own 'private and confidential' was +captured in the same net.” + +“You could not own to such an act, Maitland.” + +“No. If it should not lead to something further; but I do yearn to repay +her. She is a haughty adversary, and well worth a vengeance.” + +“What becomes of your fine maxim, 'Never quarrel with a woman,' +Maitland?” + +“When I uttered it, I had never loved one,” muttered he; and they walked +on now in silence. + +Almost within earshot--so close, indeed, that had they not been +conversing in Italian, some of their words must have been overheard +by those behind--walked two other friends, Darner and Tony, in close +confab. + +“I most telegraph F. O,” said Skeffy, “that bag is missing, and that +Messenger Butler has gone home to make his report Do you hear me?” + +A grunt was the reply. + +“I 'll give you a letter to Howard Pendleton, and he 'll tell what is +the best thing to be done.” + +“I suspect I know it already,” muttered Tony. + +“If you could only persuade my Lord to listen to you, and tell him the +story as you told it to me, he 'd be more than a Secretary of State if +he could stand it.” + +“I have no great desire to be laughed at, Skeffy.” + +“Not if it got you out of a serious scrape,--a scrape that may cost you +your appointment?” + +“Not even at that price.” + +“I can't understand that; it is quite beyond me. They might put _me_ +into 'Joe Miller' to-morrow, if they 'd only gazette me Secretary of +Embassy the day after. But here's the hotel; a good sleep will set you +all right; and let me see you at breakfast as jolly as you used to be.” + + + +CHAPTER XLVII. ADRIFT + +The dawn was scarcely breaking as Tony Butler awoke and set off to visit +the ships in the port whose flags proclaimed them English. There were +full thirty, of various sizes and rigs; but though many were deficient +in hands, no skipper seemed disposed to accept a young fellow who, if he +was stalwart and well grown, so palpably pertained to a class to which +hard work and coarse usage were strangers. + +“You ain't anything of a cook, are you?” asked one of the very few who +did not reject his demand at once. + +“No,” said he, smiling. + +“Them hands of yours might do something in the caboose, but they ain't +much like reefing and clewing topsails. Won't suit _me_.” And, thus +discouraged, he went on from one craft to the other, surprised and +mortified to discover that one of the resources he had often pictured +to his mind in the hours of despondency was just as remote, just as much +above him, as any of the various callings his friends had set before +him. + +“Not able to be even a sailor! Not fit to serve before the mast! Well, +perhaps I can carry a musket; but for _that_ I must return to England.” + +He fell to thinking of this new scheme, but without any of that hope +that had so often colored his projects. He owed the service a grudge. +His father had not been fairly treated in it So, at least, from his very +childhood, had his mother taught him to believe, and, in consequence, +vehemently opposed all his plans to obtain a commission. Hard necessity, +however, left no room for mere scruples; something he must do, and that +something was narrowed to the one single career of a soldier. + +He was practical enough in a certain sense, and he soon resolved on his +line of action; he would reserve just so much as would carry him back to +England, and remit the remainder of what he had to his mother. + +This would amount to nigh eighty pounds,--a very considerable sum to one +whose life was as inexpensive as hers. The real difficulty was how to +reconcile her to the thought of his fallen condition, and the hardships +she would inevitably associate in her mind with his future life. “Ain't +I lucky,” cried he in his bitterness, and trying to make it seem like a +consolation,--“ain't I lucky, that, except my poor dear mother, I have +not one other in the whole world to care what comes to me,--none other +to console, none other before whom I need plead or excuse myself! My +failure or my disgrace are not to spread a widecast sorrow. They will +only darken one fireside, and one figure in the corner of it.” + +His heart was full of Alice all the while, but he was too proud to utter +her name even to himself. To have made a resolve, however, seemed to +rally his courage again; and when the boatman asked him where he should +go next, he was so far away in his thoughts that he had some difficulty +to remember what he had been actually engaged in. + +“Whereto?” + +“Well, I can't well tell you,” said he, laughing. “Isn't that schooner +English,--that one getting underway yonder? Shove me aboard of her.” + +“She's outward bound, sir.” + +“No matter, if they 'll agree to take me,” muttered he to himself. + +The craft was “hauling short” on the anchor as Tony came alongside +and learned that she was about to sail for Leghorn, having failed in +obtaining a freight at Naples; and as by an accident one of the crew +had been left on shore, the skipper was too willing to take Tony so far, +though looking, as he remarked, far more like a swell landsman than an +ordinary seaman. + +Once outside the bay, and bowling along with a smart breeze and a calm +sea, the rushing water making pleasant music at the bow, while the helm +left a long white track some feet down beneath the surface, Tony felt, +what so many others have felt, the glorious elation of being at sea. How +many a care “blue water” can assuage, how many a sorrow is made bearable +by the fresh breeze that strains the cordage, and the laughing waves we +cleave through so fast! + +A few very eventful days, in which Tony's life passed less like reality +than a mere dream, brought them to Leghorn; and the skipper, who had +taken a sort of rough liking to the “Swell,” as he still called him, +offered to take him on to Liverpool, if he were willing to enter himself +regularly on the ship's books as one of the crew. + +“I am quite ready,” said Tony, who thought by the time the brief voyage +was completed he should have picked up enough of the practice and the +look of a sailor to obtain another employment easily. + +Accompanied by the skipper, he soon found himself in the consul's +office, crowded with sailors and other maritime folk, busily engaged in +preferring complaints or making excuses, or as eagerly asking for relief +against this or that exaction on the part of the foreign government. + +The consul sat smoking his cigar with a friend at a window, little +heeding the turmoil around, but leaving the charge of the various +difficulties to his clerks, who only referred to him on some special +occasions. + +“Here's a man, sir,” cried one of the clerks, “who wishes to be entered +in the ship's books under an assumed name. I have told him it can't be +done.” + +“Why does he ask it? Is he a runaway convict?” asked the consul. + +“Not exactly,” said Tony, laughing; “but as I have not been brought up +before the mast, and I have a few relatives who might not like to hear +of me in that station--” + +“A scamp, I take,” broke in the consul, “who, having done his worst on +shore, takes to the sea for a refuge?” + +“Partly right,--partly wrong,” was the dry answer. + +“Well, my smart fellow, there 's no help for it. You must give your +name and your birthplace; and if they should prove false ones, take any +consequences that might result.” + +“What sort of consequences might these be?” asked Tony, calmly; and the +consul, having either spoken without any distinct knowledge attached +to his words, or provoked by the pertinacity of the question, half +irritably answered: “I 've no time to throw away in discussing +casualties; give your name or go your way.” + +“Yes, yes,” murmured the skipper. “Who knows anything about you down +here?--Just sign the sheet and let's be moving.” + +The sort of good-humored tone and look that went with the words decided +Tony, and he took the pen and wrote “Tony Butler, Ireland.” + +The consul glanced at the writing, and said, “What part of Ireland? Name +a town or a village.” + +“I cannot; my father was a soldier, quartered in various places, and I +'m not sure in what part of the island I was born.” + +“Tony Butler means Anthony Butler, I suppose?” + +“Tony Butler!” cried the consul's friend, suddenly starting up, and +coming forward; “did _you_ say your name was Tony Butler?” + +“Yes; that is my name.” + +“And are you from the North of Ireland,--near the Causeway?” + +Tony nodded, while a flush of shame at the recognition covered his face. + +“And do you know Dr. Stewart, the Presbyterian minister in that +neighborhood?” + +“I should think so. The Burnside, where he lives, is not above a mile +from us.” + +“That's it,--the Burnside,--that's the name of it. I'm as glad as fifty +pounds in my pocket to see you, Mr. Butler,” cried he, grasping Tony's +hand in both his own. “There 's not a man from this to England I 'd as +soon have met as yourself. I 'm Sam M'Grader, Robert M'Grader's brother. +You have n't forgot _him_, I hope?” + +“That I haven't,” cried Tony, warmly returning the honest pressure of +the other's hand. “What a stupid dog I have been not to remember that +you lived here! and I have a letter for you, too, from your brother!” + +“I want no letter of introduction with you, Mr. Butler; come home with +me. You 're not going to sea this time;” and, taking a pen, he drew a +broad line of ink across Tony's name; and then turning, he whispered a +few words in the consul's ear. + +“I hope,” said the consul, “Mr. Butler is not offended at the freedom +with which I commented on him.” + +“Not in the least,” said Tony, laughing. “I thought at the time, if +you knew me you would not have liked to have suggested my having been +a runaway convict; and now that you _do_ know me, the shame you feel is +more than enough to punish you.” + +“What could have induced you to go before the mast, Mr. Butler?” said +M'Gruder, as he led Tony away. + +“Sheer necessity. I wanted to earn my bread.” + +“But you had got something,--some place or other?” + +“I was a messenger, but I lost my despatches, and was ashamed to go home +and say so.” + +“Will you stop with me? Will you be a clerk?” asked the other; and a +certain timidity in his voice showed that he was not quite assured as he +spoke. “My business is like my brother's,--we 're 'in rags.'”. + +“And so should I be in a few days,” laughed out Tony, “if I had n't met +you. I 'll be your clerk, with a heart and a half,--that is, if I be +capable; only don't give me anything where money enters, and as little +writing as possible, and no arithmetic, if you can help it.” + +“That will be a strange sort of clerkship,” said M'Gruder, with a smile; +“but we 'll see what can be done.” + + + +CHAPTER XLVIII. “IN RAGS” + +If Tony Butler's success in his new career only depended on his zeal, +he would have been a model clerk. Never did any one address himself to +a new undertaking with a stronger resolution to comprehend all its +details, and conquer all its difficulties. First of all, he desired to +show his gratitude to the good fellow who had helped him; and secondly, +he was eager to prove, if proven it could be, that he was not utterly +incapable of earning his bread, nor one of those hopeless creatures who +are doomed from their birth to be a burden to others. + +So long as his occupation led him out of doors, conveying orders here +and directions there, he got on pretty well. He soon picked up a sort of +Italian of his own, intelligible enough to those accustomed to it; +and as he was alert, active, and untiring, he looked, at least, a most +valuable assistant. Whenever it came to indoor work and the pen, his +heart sank within him; he knew that his hour of trial had come, and he +had no strength to meet it. He would mistake the letter-book for the +ledger or the day-book; and he would make entries in one which should +have been in the other, and then, worst of all, erase them, or append an +explanation of his blunder that would fill half a page with inscrutable +blottedness. + +As to payments, he jotted them down anywhere, and in his anxiety to +compose confidential letters with due care, he would usually make three +or four rough drafts of the matter, quite sufficient to impart the +contents to the rest of the office. + +Sam M'Gruder bore nobly up under these trials. He sometimes laughed at +the mistakes, did his best to remedy,--never rebuked them. At last, +as he saw that poor Tony's difficulties, instead of diminishing, only +increased with time, inasmuch as his despair of himself led him into +deeper embarrassments, M'Gruder determined Tony should be entirely +employed in journeys and excursions here and there through the +country,--an occupation, it is but fair to own, invented to afford him +employment, rather than necessitated by any demands of the business. +Not that Tony had the vaguest suspicion of this. Indeed, he wrote to his +mother a letter filled with an account of his active and useful labors. +Proud was he at last to say that he was no longer eating the bread of +idleness. “I am up before dawn, mother, and very often have nothing to +eat but a mess of Indian corn steeped in oil, not unlike what Sir Arthur +used to fatten the bullocks with, the whole livelong day; and sometimes +I have to visit places there are no roads to; nearly all the villages +are on the tops of the mountains; but, by good luck, I am never beat by +a long walk, and I do my forty miles a day without minding it. + +“If I could only forget the past, dearest mother, or think it nothing +but a dream, I 'd never quarrel with the life I am now leading; for I +have plenty of open air, mountain walking, abundance of time to myself, +and rough fellows to deal with, that amuse me; but when I am tramping +along with my cigar in my mouth, I can't help thinking of long ago,--of +the rides at sunset on the sands, and all the hopes and fancies I used +to bring home with me, after them. Well! it is over now,--just as much +done for as if the time had never been at all; and I suppose, after a +while, I 'll learn to bear it better, and think, as you often told me, +that 'all things are for the best.' + +“I feel my own condition more painfully when I come, back here, and have +to sit a whole evening listening to Sam M'Gruder talking about Dolly +Stewart and the plans about their marriage. The poor fellow is so full +of it all that even the important intelligence I have for him he won't +hear, but will say, 'Another time, Tony, another time,--let us chat +about Dolly.' One thing I 'll swear to, she 'll have the honestest +fellow for her husband that ever stepped, and tell her I said so. Sam +would take it very kindly of you if you could get Dolly to agree to +their being married in March. + +“It is the only time he can manage a trip to England,--not but, as he +says, whatever time Dolly consents to shall be his time. + +“He shows me her letters sometimes, and though he is half wild with +delight at them, I tell you frankly, mother, they would n't satisfy _me_ +if I was her lover. She writes more like a creature that was resigned +to a hard lot, than one that was about to marry a man she loved. Sam, +however, does n't seem to take this view of her, and so much the better. + +“There was one thing in your last letter that puzzled me, and puzzles me +still. Why did Dolly ask if I was likely to remain here? The way you put +it makes me think that she was deferring the marriage till such time +as I was gone. If I really believed this to be the case, I'd go away +tomorrow, though I don't know well where to, or what for, but it is hard +to understand, since I always thought that Dolly liked me, as certainly +I ever did, and still do, _her_. + +“Try and clear up this for me in your next. I suppose it was by way of +what is called 'sparing me,' you said nothing of the Lyles in your +last, but I saw in the 'Morning Post' all about the departure for the +Continent, intending to reside some years in Italy. + +“And that is more than I 'd do if I owned Lyle Abbey, and had +eighteen blood-horses in my stable, and a clipper cutter in the Bay of +Curryglass. I suppose the truth is, people never do know when they're +well off.” + +The moral reflection, not arrived at so easily or so rapidly as the +reader can imagine, concluded Tony's letter, to which in due time came +a long answer from his mother. With the home gossip we shall not +burden the reader, nor shall we ask of him to go through the short +summary--four close pages--of the doctor's discourses on the text, “I +would ye were hot or cold,” two sensations that certainly the mere sight +of the exposition occasioned to Tony. We limit ourselves to the words of +the postscript. + +“I cannot understand Dolly at all, and I am afraid to mislead you as to +what you ask. My impression is--but mind, it is mere impression--she has +grown somewhat out of her old friendship for you. Some stories possibly +have represented you in a wrong light, and I half think you may be +right, and that she would be less averse to the marriage if she knew you +were not to be in the house with them. It was, indeed, only this morning +the doctor said, 'Young married folk should aye learn each other's +failings without bystanders to observe them,'--a significant hint I +thought I would write to you by this post.” + +When Tony received his epistle, he was seated in his own room, leisurely +engaged in deciphering a paragraph in an Italian newspaper, descriptive +of Garibaldi's departure from a little bay near Genoa to his Sicilian +expedition. + +Nothing short of a letter from his mother could have withdrawn his +attention from a description so full of intense interest to him; and +partly, indeed, from this cause, and partly from the hard labor of +rendering the foreign language, the details stuck in his mind during all +the time he was reading his mother's words. + +“So that 's the secret, is it?” muttered he. “Dolly wishes to be alone +with her husband,--natural enough; and I'm not the man to oppose it. +I hope she'll be happy, poor girl; and I hope Garibaldi will beat the +Neapolitans. I 'm sure Sam is worthy of a good wife; but I don't know +whether these Sicilian fellows deserve a better government. At all +events, my course is clear,--here I mustn't stay. Sam does not know that +I am the obstacle to his marriage; but _I_ know it, and that is enough. +I wonder would Garibaldi take me as a volunteer? There cannot be much +choice at such a time. I suppose he enrolls whoever offers; and they +must be mostly fellows of my own sort,--useless dogs, that are only fit +to give and take hard knocks.” + +He hesitated long whether he should tell Sam M'Gruder of his project; he +well knew all the opposition he should meet, and how stoutly his friend +would set himself against a plan so fatal to all habits of patient +industry. “And yet,” muttered Tony to himself, “I don't like to tell +him that I hate 'rags,' and detest the whole business. It would be so +ungrateful of me. I could say my mother wanted to see me in Ireland; +but I never told him a lie, and I can't bear that our parting should be +sealed with a falsehood.” + +As he pondered, he took out his pistols and examined them carefully; +and, poising one neatly in his hand, he raised it, as marksmen sometimes +will do, to take an imaginary aim. As he did so, M'Gruder entered, and +cried out, laughing, “Is he covered,--is he dead?” + +Tony laid down the weapon, with a flush of shame, and said, “After all, +M'Gruder, the pistol is more natural to me than the pen; and it was just +what I was going to confess to you.” + +“You 're not going to take to the highways, though?” + +“Something not very unlike it; I mean to go and have a turn with +Garibaldi.” + +“Why, what do you know about Garibaldi or his cause?” + +“Perhaps not a great deal; but I've been spelling out these newspapers +every night, and one thing is clear, whether he has right or wrong on +his side, the heavy odds are all against him. He's going in to fight +regular troops, with a few hundred trampers. Now I call that very +plucky.” + +“So do I; but courage may go on to rashness, and become folly.” + +“Well, I feel as if a little rashness will do me a deal of good. I am +too well off here,--too easy,--too much cared for. Life asks no effort, +and I make none; and if I go on a little longer, I 'll be capable of +none.” + +“I see,” said the other, laughing, “Rags do not rouse your ambition, +Tony.” + +“I don't know what would,--that is, I don't think I _have_ any ambition +now;” and there was a touch of sorrow in the last word that gave all the +force to what he said. + +“At all events, you are tired of this sort of thing,” said the other, +good-humoredly, “and it's not to be much wondered at. You began life at +what my father used to call 'the wrong end.' You started on the sunny +side of the road, Tony, and it is precious hard to cross over into the +shade afterwards.” + +“You 're right there, M'Gruder. I led the jolliest life that ever man +did till I was upwards of twenty; but I don't believe I ever knew how +glorious it was till it was over; but I must n't think of that now. See! +this is what I mean to do. You 'll find some way to send that safely to +my mother. There's forty-odd pounds in it, and I 'd rather it was not +lost I have kept enough to buy a good rifle--a heavy Swiss one, if I can +find it--and a sword-bayonet, and with these I am fully equipped.” + +“Come, come, Tony, I'll not hear of this; that you are well weary of the +life you lead here is not hard to see, nor any blame to you either, old +fellow. One must be brought up to Rags, like everything else, and +_you_ were not. But my brother writes me about starting an American +agency,--what do you say to going over to New York?” + +“What a good fellow you are!” cried Tony, staring at him till his eyes +began to grow clouded with tears; “what a good fellow! you 'd risk +your ship just to give me a turn at the tiller! But it must n't be,--it +cannot be; I 'm bent on this scheme of mine,--I have determined on it.” + +“Since when? since last night?” + +“Well, it's not very long, certainly, since I made up my mind.” + +The other smiled. Tony saw it, and went on: “I know what you mean. You +are of old Stewart's opinion. When he heard me once say I had made up +my mind, he said, 'It does n't take long to make up a small parcel;' but +every fellow, more or less, knows what he can and what he cannot do. Now +I cannot be orderly, exact, and punctual,--even the little brains I have +I can't be sure of keeping them on the matter before me; but I defy a +horse to throw me; I 'll bring you up a crown-piece out of six fathoms +water, if it 's clear; I'll kill four swallows out of six with a ball; +and though these are not gifts to earn one's bread by, the man that has +them need n't starve.” + +“If I thought that you had really reflected well over this plan,--given +it all the thought and consideration it required--” + +“I have given it just as much consideration as if I took five weeks to +it. A man may take an evening over a pint of ale, but it's only a pint, +after all,--don't you see that?” + +M'Gruder was puzzled; perhaps there was some force in the illustration. +Tony looked certainly as if he thought he had said a clever thing. + +“Well, Tony,” said the other, after a moment of grave thought, “you 'll +have to go to Genoa to embark, I suppose?” + +“Yes; the committee sits at Genoa, and every one who enrolls must appear +before them.” + +“You could walk there in four days.” + +“Yes; but I can steam it in one.” + +“Ay, true enough; what I mean to ask of you is this, that you will go +the whole way on foot; a good walker as you are won't think much of +that; and in these four days, as you travel along,--all alone,--you 'll +have plenty of time to think over your project. If by the time you reach +Genoa you like it as well as ever, I 've no more to say; but if--and +mark me, Tony, you must be honest with your own heart--if you really +have your doubts and your misgivings; if you feel that for your poor +mother's sake--” + +“There, there! I've thought of all that,” cried Tony, hurriedly. “I 'll +make the journey on foot, as you say you wish it, but don't open the +thing to any more discussion. If I relent, I 'll come back. There's my +hand on it!” + +“Tony, it gives me a sad heart to part with you;” and he turned away, +and stole out of the room. + +“Now, I believe it's all done,” said Tony, after he had packed his +knapsack, and stored by in his trunk what he intended to leave behind +him. There were a few things there, too, that had their own memories! +There was the green silk cap, with its gold tassel, Alice had given him +on his last steeple-chase. Ah, how it brought back the leap--a bold leap +it was--into the winning field, and Alice, as she stood up and waved her +handkerchief as he passed! There was a glove of hers; she had thrown it +down sportively on the sands, and dared him to take it up in full career +of his horse; he remembered they had a quarrel because he claimed the +glove as a prize, and refused to restore it to her. There was an evening +after that in which she would not speak to him. He had carried a heavy +heart home with him that night! What a fund of love the heart must be +capable of feeling for a living, sentient thing, when we see how it can +cling to some object inanimate and irresponsive. “I'll take that glove +with me,” muttered Tony to himself; “it owes me some good luck; who +knows but it may pay me yet?” + + + +CHAPTER XLIX. MET AND PARTED + +Tony went on his way early next morning, stealing off ere it was yet +light, for he hated leave-takings, and felt that they weighed upon him +for many a mile of a journey. There was enough on the road he travelled +to have interested and amused him, but his heart was too full of its own +cares, and his mind too deep in its own plans, to dispose him to such +pleasures, and so he passed through little villages on craggy eminences +and quaint old towers on mountain-tops, scarcely observing them. Even +Pisa, with its world-known Tower, and the gem-like Baptistery beside +it, scarce attracted notice from him, though he muttered as he passed, +“Perhaps on some happier day I 'll be able to come back here and admire +it” And so onward he plodded through the grand old ruined Massa and the +silent Sarzana, whose palaces display the quarterings of old crusading +knights, with many an emblem of the Holy War; and by the beauteous Bay +of Spezia he went, not stopping to see poor Shelley's home, and the +terrace where his midnight steps had almost worn a track. The road +now led through the declining ridges of the Apennines, gorgeous in +color,--such color as art would have scarce dared to counterfeit, so +emerald the dark green of the waving pines, so silver-like the olive, so +gloriously purple the great cliffs of porphyry; and then through many a +riven cleft, through feathery foliage and broad-leaved fig-trees, down +many a fathom low the sea!--the blue Mediterranean, so blue as to seem +another sky of deeper meaning than the one above it. + +He noticed little of all these; he felt none of them! It was now the +third day of his journey, and though he had scarcely uttered a word, and +been deeply intent on his own fate, all that his thinking had done was +to lead, as it were, into some boundless prairie, and there desert him. + +“I suppose,” muttered he to himself, “I am one of those creatures that +must never presume to plan anything, but take each day's life as I find +it. And I could do this. Ay, I could do it manfully, too, if I were not +carrying along with me memories of long ago. It is Alice, the thought +of Alice, that dashes the present with a contrast to the past, and makes +all I now attempt so poor and valueless.” + +As the road descends from Borghetto, there is a sudden bend, from which, +through a deep cleft, the little beach and village of Levanto are seen +hundreds of feet beneath, but yet in that clear still atmosphere so near +that not only the white foam of the breaking wave could be seen, but its +rhythm-like plash heard as it broke upon the beach. For the first time +since he set out had the charm of scenery attracted him, and, descending +a few feet from the road, he reached a large square rock, from which he +could command the whole view for miles on every side. + +He took out his bread and cheese and a melon he had bought that morning, +and disposed himself to eat his dinner. He had often partaken of a more +sumptuous meal, but never had he eaten with so glorious a prospect at +his feet. + +A little lateen-sailed boat stole out from beneath the olives and gained +the sea; and as Tony watched her, he thought if he would only have been +a fisherman there, and Alice his wife, how little he could have envied +all that the world has of wealth and honors and ambitions. His friend +Skeffy could not do this, but _he_ could. _He_ was strong of limb and +stout of heart; he could bear hardships and cold; and it would be so +fine to think that, born gentleman as he was, he never flinched from the +hardest toil, or repined at the roughest fare, he and Alice treasuring +up their secret, and hoarding it as a miser hoards his gold. + +Ay, down there, in that little gorge, with the pine-wood behind and the +sea before, he could have passed his life, with never a longing thought +for the great world and its prizes. As he ran on thus in fancy, he never +heard the sound of footsteps on the road above, nor noticed the voices +of persons talking. + +At last he heard, not the words, but the tone of the speakers, and +recognized them to be English. There is that peculiar sound in English +utterance that at once distinguishes it from all other speech; and Tony, +quite forgetting that his high-peaked Calabrian hat and massive beard +made him far more like an Italian brigand than a British gentleman, not +wishing to be observed, never turned his head to look at them. At last +one said, “The little fishing-village below there must be Levante. John +Murray tells us that this is the land of the fan palm and the cactus, so +that at length we are in Italy.” + +“Do you know--shall I confess it,” said the other, “that I am not +thinking of the view, beautiful as it is? I am envying that peasant with +his delicious melon on the rock there. I am half tempted to ask him to +share it with me.” + +“Ask him, by all means,” said the first speaker, laughing. + +“You are jesting,” replied the other, “but I am in sober earnest. I can +resist no longer. Do you, however, wait here, or the carriage may pass +on and leave us behind.” + +Tony heard nothing of these words; but he heard the light footsteps, and +he heard the rustle of a woman's dress as she forced her way, through +bramble and underwood, till at last, with that consciousness so +mysterious, he felt there was some one standing close behind him. Half +vexed to think that his isolation should be invaded, he drew his hat +deeper over his eyes, and sat steadfastly gazing on the sea below him. + +“Is that Levante I see beneath that cliff?” asked she, in Italian,--less +to satisfy her curiosity than to attract fris attention. + +Tony started. How intensely had his brain been charged with thoughts of +long ago, that every word that met his ears should seem impregnated with +these memories! A half-sulky “Si” was, however, his only rejoinder. + +“What a fine melon you have there, my friend!” said she; and now her +voice thrilled through him so strangely that he sprang to his feet and +turned to face her. “Is my brain tricking me?--are my senses wandering?” + muttered he to himself. “Alice, Alice!” + +“Yes, Tony,” cried she. “Who ever heard of so strange a meeting? How +came you here? Speak, or I shall be as incredulous as yourself!” But +Tony could not utter a word, but stood overwhelmed with wonder, silently +gazing on her. + +“Speak to me, Tony,” said she, in her soft winning voice,--“speak to me; +tell me by what curious fortune you came here. Let us sit down on this +bank; our carriage is toiling up the hill, and will not be here for some +time.” + +[Illustration: 482] + +“So it is not a dream!” sighed he, as he sat down beside her. “I have so +little faith in my brain that I could not trust it.” + +It was easy to see that his bewilderment still remained; and so, with a +woman's tact, she addressed herself to talking of what would gradually +lead his thoughts into a collected shape. She told how they were all +on their way to the South,--Naples or Palermo, not certain +which,--somewhere for climate, as Isabella was still delicate. That her +father and mother and sister were some miles behind on the road, she +having come on more rapidly with a lighter carriage. “Not all alone, +though, Master Tony; don't put on that rebukeful face. The lady you see +yonder on the road is what is called my companion,--the English word for +duenna; and I half think I am scandalizing her very much by this conduct +of mine, sitting down on the grass with a brigand chief, and, I was +going to say, sharing his breakfast, though I have to confess it never +occurred to him to offer it. Come, Tony, get up, and let me present +you to her, and relieve her mind of the terrible thoughts that must be +distressing her.” + +“One moment, Alice,--one moment,” said he, taking her hand. “What is +this story my mother tells me?” He stopped, unable to go on; but she +quickly broke in, “Scandal travels quickly, indeed; but I scarcely +thought your mother was one to aid its journey.” + +“She never believed it,” said he, doggedly. + +“Why repeat it, then? Why give bad money currency? I think we had better +join my friend. I see she is impatient.” + +The coldness with which she spoke chilled him like a wintry blast; but +he rallied soon, and with a vigorous energy said, “My mother no more +believed ill of you than I did; and when I asked you what the slander +meant, it was to know where I could find the man to pay for it.” + +“You must deny yourself the pleasure this time, Tony,” said she, +laughing. “It was a woman's story,--a disappointed woman,--and so, not +so very blamable as she might be; not but that it was true in fact.” + +“True, Alice,--true?” + +“Yes, sir. The inference from it was the only falsehood; but, really, we +have had too much of this. Tell me of yourself,--why are you here? Where +are you now going?” + +“You 've heard of my exploits as a messenger, I suppose,” said Tony, +with a bitter laugh. + +“I heard, as we all heard with great sorrow, that you left the service,” + said she, with a hesitation on each word. + +“Left it? Yes; I left to avoid being kicked out of it I lost my +despatches, and behaved like a fool. Then I tried to turn sailor, but +no skipper would take me; and I _did_ turn clerk, and half ruined the +honest fellow that trusted me. And now I am going--in good truth, Alice, +I don't exactly know where, but it is somewhere in search of a pursuit +to fit a fellow who begins to feel he is fit for nothing.” + +“It is not thus your friends think of you, Tony,” said she, kindly. + +“That's the worst of it,” rejoined he, bitterly; “I have all my life +been trying to justify an opinion that never should have been formed of +me,--ay, and that I well knew I had no right to.” + +“Well, Tony, come back with us. I don't say with me, because I must be +triple discreet for some time to come; but come back with papa; he 'll +be overjoyed to have you with us.” + +“No, no,” muttered Tony, in a faint whisper; “I could not, I could not.” + +“Is that old grudge of long ago so deep that time has not filled it up?” + +“I could not, I could not,” muttered he, evidently not hearing the words +she had just spoken. + +“And why not, Tony? Just tell me why not?” + +“Shall I tell you, Alice?” said he; and his lip shook and his cheek grew +pale as he spoke,--“shall I tell you?” + +She nodded; for she too was moved, and did not trust herself to speak. + +“Shall I tell you?” said he; and he looked into her eyes with a meaning +so full of love, and yet of sorrow, that her cheek became crimson, and +she turned away in shame. + +“No, Tony,” whispered she, faintly, “better not say--what might pain us +both, perhaps.” + +“Enough, if you know,” said he, faintly. + +“There, see, my friend has lost all patience; come up to the road, Tony. +She must see that my interview has been with an English gentleman, and +not a brigand chief. Give me your arm, and do not look so sulky.” + +“You women can look any way you will,” mumbled he, “no matter what you +may feel; that is, if you _do_ feel.” + +“You are the same old savage, Tony, as ever,” said she, laughing. “I +never got my melon, after all, Miss Lester; the sight of an old friend +was, however, better. Let me present him to you,--Mr. Butler.” + +“Mr. Tony Butler?” asked she, with a peculiar smile; and though she +spoke it low, he heard her, and said, “Yes; I am Tony Butler.” + +“Sir Arthur will be charmed to know you are here. It was but yesterday +he said he 'd not mind taking a run through Calabria if we only had you +with us.” + +“I have said all that and more to him, but he does n't mind it,” said +Alice. + +“Is this fair, Alice?” whispered he. + +“In fact,” resumed she, “he has nowhere particular to go to, provided it +be not the same road that we are taking.” + +“Is this kind, Alice?” whispered he, again. + +“And though I have told him what pleasure it would give us all if he +would turn back with us--” + +“You 'll drive me to say it,” muttered he, between his teeth. + +“If you dare, sir,” said she, in a low but clear whisper; and now +she stepped into the carriage, and affected to busy herself with her +mufflers. Tony assisted Miss Lester to her place, and then walked round +to the side where Alice sat. + +“You are not angry with me, Alice?” said he, falteringly. + +“I certainly am not pleased,” said she, coldly. “There was a time I had +not to press a wish,--I had but to utter it.” + +“And yet, Alice,” said he, leaning over, and whispering so close that +she felt his breath on her face,--“and yet I never loved you then as I +love you now.” + +“You have determined that I should not repeat my invitation,” said she, +leaning back in the carriage; “I must--I have no help for it--I must say +good-bye!” + +“Good-bye,” said he, pressing her hand, from which he had just drawn off +the glove, to his lips. She never made any effort to withdraw it, but +leaned forward as though to conceal the action from her companion. + +“Good-bye, dearest Alice,” said he, once more. + +“Give me my glove, Tony. I think it has fallen,” said she, carelessly, +as she leaned back once more. + +“There it is,” muttered he; “but I have another here that I will never +part with;” and he drew forth the glove she had thrown on the strand for +him to pick up--so long ago! + +“You will see papa, Tony?” said she, drawing down her veil; “you can't +fail to meet him before night. Say you saw us. Good-bye.” + +And Tony stood alone on the mountain, and watched the cloud of dust that +rose behind the carriage, and listened to the heavy tramp of the horses +till the sounds died off in the distance. + +“Oh if I could trust the whisper at my heart!” cried he. “If I could--if +I could--I 'd be happier than I ever dared to hope for.” + + + +CHAPTER L. THE SOLDIER OF MISFORTUNE + +The little flicker of hope--faint enough it was--that cheered up Tony's +heart, served also to indispose him to meet with Lady Lyle; for he +remembered, fresh as though it had been the day before, the sharp lesson +that lady had read him on the “absurd pretensions of certain young +gentlemen with respect to those immeasurably above them in station.” + “I am not in a humor to listen to the second part of the homily, which +certainly would not be the less pointed, seeing that I am a wayfarer on +foot, and with my knapsack strapped behind me.” It gave him no sense +of shame that Alice should have seen him thus poor and humble. He never +blushed for his pack or his hobnailed shoes. If _she_ could not think of +him apart from the accidents of his condition, it mattered very little +what he wore or how he journeyed. And as he cheered himself with these +thoughts he gained a high peak, from which he could see the pine-clad +promontory of Sestri, some thousand feet down below him. He knew the +spot from description, and remembered that it was to be one of his +resting-places for a night. It was no new thing for Tony to strike out +his own line across country--his was a practised eye--to mark the course +by which a certain point was to be reached, and to know, by something +like instinct, where a ravine--where a river must lie--where the +mountain-side would descend too precipitously for human footsteps--where +the shelving decline would admit of a path--all these were his; and in +their exercise he had that sort of pride a man feels in what he deems a +gift. + +This same pride and his hope together lightened the way, and he went +forward almost happy; so that once or twice he half asked himself if +fortune was not about to turn on him with a kindlier look than she had +yet bestowed? When about a mile from the high-road, a dull rumbling +sound, like far-away thunder, caught his ear: he looked up, and saw the +great massive carriage of the wealthy Sir Arthur rolling ponderously +along, with its six horses, and followed by a dense “wake” of dust for +half a mile behind. “I am glad that we have not met,” muttered he: “I +could have wished to see Bella, and speak to her. She was ever my fast +friend; but that haughty old woman, in the midst of all the pride of +her wealth, would have jarred on me so far that I might have forgotten +myself. Why should my poverty provoke _her_ to slight me? My poverty +is mine, just as much as any malady that might befall me, and whose +sufferings I must bear as I may, and cannot ask another to endure for +me. It may try _me_ to stand up against, but surely it is no burden +to her; and why make it seem as a gulf between us?” Ah, Master Tony! +subtler heads than yours have failed to untie this knot. It was dusk +when he reached Sestri, and found himself in the little vine-clad porch +of the “Angelo d' Oro,” a modest little inn for foot-travellers on the +verge of the sea. He ordered his supper to be served in the open +air, under the fresh foliage, and with the pleasant night-wind gently +stirring the leaves. + +As the landlord arranged the table, he informed Tony that another +traveller had come a short time before, but so ignorant of the language +was he that he was only served by means of signs; and he seemed so poor, +too, that they had scruples about giving him a bed, and were disposed to +let him pass the night under the porch. + +Tony learned that the traveller had only tasted a glass of wine and +a piece of bread, and then, as if overcome by fatigue and exhaustion, +dropped off asleep. “I will see him,” said he, rising, without partaking +of the soup that was just placed before him; “the poor fellow may +perhaps be ill.” The landlord led the way to the end of the house, +where, on a heap of chestnut leaves, the usual bedding of the cattle +in these regions, a large strongly built man, poorly clad and +travel-stained, lay sound asleep. Tony took the lantern and held it to +his face. How was it he knew the features? He knew them, and yet not the +man. He was sure that the great massive brow and that large strong cheek +were not seen by him for the first time, and though he was sorry to +disturb the poor fellow's slumber, he could not control his impatience +to resolve the doubt; and, stooping down, he shook him gently by the +shoulder. + +“What is it?” cried the man, starting up to a sitting posture; “what is +it now?” + +“You are a countryman of mine,” said Tony, “and I'm trying to think if +we have not met before.” + +The man rose to his feet, and, taking the lantern from Tony's hand, +held it up to his face. “Don't you know me, sir,” cried he; “don't you +remember me?” + +“I do, and I do not,” muttered Tony, still puzzled. + +“Don't you mind the day, sir, that you was near been run over in London, +and a man pulled you out just as the horses was on top o' you?” + +“And are you the man? Are you the poor fellow whose bundle I carried +off?”--but he stopped, and, grasping the man's hand, shook it cordially +and affectionately. “By what chance do I find you here?” + +The man looked about, as if to see that he was not overheard; and Tony, +marking the caution of the gesture, said, “None can understand us here. +Don't be afraid to say what you like; but first of all, come and share +my supper with me.” + +It was not without a modest reluctance that the poor fellow took his +seat at the table; and, indeed, for some time so overcome was he by the +honor accorded him, that he scarcely ate at all. If Tony Butler was no +finished conversationalist, able to lead the talk of a dinner-table, yet +in the tact that pertains to making intercourse with an inferior +easy and familiar he had not many his equal; and before the meal was +finished, he slapped him familiarly on the shoulder, and said, “Rory +Quin, here's your health, and a long life to you!” + +“How did you know my name, sir?” asked the poor fellow, whose face +glowed with delight at the flattery of such a recognition. + +“At first I did not trust my memory, Rory, for I wrote it down in a +note-book I have; and after a while I learned to think of you so often, +and to wish I might meet you, that I had no need of the writing. You +don't seem to remember that I am in your debt, my good fellow. I carried +off your bundle, and, what was worse, it fell overboard and was lost.” + +“It could n't have any but bad luck,” said Rory, thoughtfully; “and +maybe it was just the best thing could happen it.” + +There was a touch of sorrow in what he said that Tony easily saw; a +hidden grief had been removed, and after a little inducement he led him +on to tell his story; and which, though, narrated in Rory's own words, +it occupied hours, may, happily for my readers, be condensed into a very +few sentences. + +Rory had been induced, partly by the glorious cause itself, partly +through the glittering promises of personal advancement, to enlist for +foreign service. A certain Major M'Caskey--a man that, as Rory said, +would wile the birds off the trees--came down to the little village he +lived in at the foot of the Galtee Mountains; and there was not one, +young or old, was not ready to follow him. To hear him talk, as Rory +described, was better than a play. There wasn't a part of the world he +hadn't seen, there was n't a great man in it he did n't know; and “what +beat all,” as Rory said, “was the way he had the women on his side.” Not +that he was a fine-looking man, or tall, or handsome,--far from it; he +was a little “crith of a cray-ture,” not above five feet four or five, +and with red whiskers and a beard, and a pair of eyes that seemed on +fire; and he had a way of looking about him as he went, as much as to +say, “Where's the man that wants to quarrel with me? for I'm ready and +willin'.” + +“I won't say,” added Rory, with a touch of humility, “that one like your +honor would have thought so much of him as we did. I won't say that all +the fine people he knew, and all the wonderful things he did, would +have made your honor admire him, as I, and others like me, did. Maybe, +indeed, you 'd have found out it was lies from beginning to end.” + +“I'm not so sure of that,” muttered Tony; “there are plausible fellows +of that sort that take in men of the world every day!” And Tony sat back +in his chair and puffed his cigar in silence, doubtless recalling one +such adept in his own experience. + +“Faix, I'm proud to hear your honor say that!” cried Rory. “I 'm as glad +as a pound-note to know that even a gentleman might have been 'taken in' +by the Major.” + +“I 'll not go that far, perhaps,” remarked Tony, “as regards your Major; +but I repeat that there are certain fellows of his kind who actually +_have_ imposed on gentlemen,--yes, on gentlemen who were no fools, +either. But how was it he tricked you?” + +Now were the floodgates of Rory's eloquence thrown open, and for above +an hour did he revel, as only an Irishman or an Italian can, in a +narrative of cruel wrongs and unmerited hardships; sufferings on land +and sufferings at sea; short rations, bad language, and no pay. Rory was +to have been an officer,--a captain, at least; and when they landed at +Ancona, he was marched away hundreds of miles, with a heavy musket, and +a heavier pack, as a common soldier, and given nothing but beans and oil +for his food, and told he 'd be shot if he grumbled. But what he felt +most of all was, that he never knew whose service he was in, and what he +was going to fight for. Now it was the Holy Father,--Rory was ready to +die for him and the Blessed Virgin; now it was the King of Naples and +Saint Somebody, whose name he couldn't remember, and that Rory felt no +enthusiasm for. At one moment he was told the Pope was going to bless +the whole battalion, and sprinkle them with his own hand; and then it +was the Queen--and purty she was, no doubt--was to lead them on, God +knows where! “And that's the way we were living in the mountains for six +weeks, and every time they paraded us--about once a week--there would be +thirty or forty less of us; some gone off to be sailors, some taking to +the highway as robbers, and a few selling whatever they had and making +for home. At last the Major himself came down to inspect us,--he was +Colonel then, and covered with gold, and all over stars and crosses. We +were drawn up in a square of a little town they call Loretto, that has +houses on three sides of it, and a low sea-wall with a drop of about +twenty feet to the sea. I 'll not forget the place to my dying day. + +“There was four hundred and twenty-seven of us out of two thousand and +sixty,--the rest ran away; and when the Major heard the roll called, I +thought he 'd go out of his mind; and he walked up and down in front +of us, gnashing his teeth and blaspheming as never I heard before. 'Ye +scoundrels,' he said at last, 'you 've disgraced me eternally, and I 'll +go back to the Holy Father and tell him it's curses and not blessings he +'d have to give you.' + +“This was too much to bear, and I cried out, 'You'd better not!' + +“'Who says that?' cries he. 'Where 's the cowardly rascal that has n't +the courage to step forward and repeat these words?' and with that I +advanced two paces, and, putting my gun to my shoulder, took a steady +aim at him. I had him covered. If I pulled the trigger, he was a dead +man; but I could n't do it,--no, if I got the whole world for it, I +could n't; and do you know why?--here it is, then: It was the way he +stood up, bould and straight, with one hand on his breast, and the other +on the hilt of his sword, and he cried out, 'Fire! you scoundrel, fire!' +Bad luck to me if I could; but I walked on, covering him all the while, +till I got within ten paces of the wall, and then I threw down my +musket, and with a run I cleared it, and jumped into the sea. He fired +both his pistols at me, and one ball grazed my head; but I dived and +swam and dived till he lost sight of me; and it was half an hour before +they got out a boat, and before that I was snug hiding between the +rocks, and so close to him that I could hear him swearing away like mad. +When it was dark I crept out, and made my way along the shore to +Pesaro, and all the way here. Indeed, I had only to say anywhere I was +a deserter, and every one was kind to me. And do you know, sir, now that +it's all over, I'm glad I didn't shoot him in cold blood?” + +“Of course you are,” said Tony, half sternly. + +“But if I am,” rejoined the other,--“if I am glad of it, it's a'most +breaking my heart to think I 'm going back to Ireland without a chance +of facing him in a fair fight.” + +“You could do that, too, if you were so very anxious for it,” said Tony, +gravely. + +“Do you tell me so? And how, sir?” + +“Easy enough, Rory. I 'm on my way now to join a set of brave fellows +that are going to fight the very soldiers your Major will be serving +with. The cause that he fights for, I need not tell you, can't be a very +good one.” + +“Indeed, it oughtn't,” said Rory, cautiously. + +“Come along with me, then; if it's only fighting you ask for, there 's a +fellow to lead us on that never balked any one's fancy that way. In four +days from this we can be in the thick of it I don't want to persuade +you in a hurry, Rory. Take a day--take two--three days, if you like, to +think of it.” + +“I won't take three minutes. I'll follow your honor to the world's end! +and if it gives me a chance to come up with the Major, I 'll bless the +hour I met you.” + +Tony now told him--somewhat more ambiguously, I 'm afraid, than +consisted with perfect candor--of the cause they were going to fight +for. He made the most of those magical words so powerful to the Celtic +heart,--oppression, cruelty, injustice; he imparted a touch of repeal +to the struggle before them; and when once pressed hard by Rory with the +home question, “Which side is the Holy Father?” he roughly answered, “I +don't think he has much to say to it one way or other.” + +“Faix, I 'm ashamed of myself,” said Rory, flushing up; “and I ought to +know that what's good enough for your honor to fight for is too good for +me.” + +They drained the last glasses of their flask in pledge of their compact, +and, resolving to keep their resting-time for the sultry heat of the +day, started by the clear starlight for Genoa. + + + +CHAPTER LI. A PIECE OF GOOD TIDINGS + +It was about a week after this event when Sam M'Grader received a few +lines from Tony Butler, saying that he was to sail that morning with a +detachment for Garibaldi. They were bound for Marsala, and only hoped +that they might not be caught by the Neapolitan cruisers which were said +to swarm along the coast. “I suppose,” he writes, “there's plenty of +'fight' amongst us; but we are more picturesque than decent-looking; and +an honest countryman of mine, who has attached himself to my fortunes, +tells me in confidence that 'they 're all heathens, every man of them.' +They are certainly a wild, dare-devil set, whom it will be difficult +to reduce to any discipline, and, I should fear, impossible to restrain +from outrage if occasion offers. We are so crowded that we have only +standing-room on deck, and those below are from time to time relieved +in squads, to come up and breathe a little fresh air. The suffering from +heat and thirst was bad yesterday, but will, perhaps, be less at sea, +with a fresh breeze to cool us. At all events, no one complains. We +are the jolliest blackguards in the world, and going to be killed in a +better humor with life than half the fine gentlemen feel as they wake in +the morning to a day of pleasure. + +“I shall be glad when we put foot on land again; for I own I 'd rather +fight the Neapolitans than live on in such close companionship with my +gallant comrades. If not 'bowled' over, I 'll write to you within a week +or two. Don't forget me.--Yours ever, + +“Tony Butler.” + +M'Gruder was carefully plodding his way through this not very legible +document, exploring it with a zeal that vouched for his regard for the +writer, when he was informed that an English gentleman was in the office +inquiring for Mr. Butler. + +The stranger soon presented himself as a Mr. Culter, of the house of Box +& Culter, solicitors, London, and related that he had been in search of +Mr. Anthony Butler from one end of Europe to the other. “I was first of +all, sir,” said he, “in the wilds of Calabria, and thence I was sent off +to the equally barbarous north of Ireland, where I learned that I must +retrace my steps over the Alps to your house; and now I am told that Mr. +Butler has left this a week ago.” + +“Your business must have been important to require such activity,” said +M'Gruder, half inquiringly. + +“Very important, indeed, for Mr. Butler, if I could only meet with him. +Can you give any hint, sir, how that is to be accomplished?” + +“I scarcely think you 'll follow him when I tell you where he has gone,” + said M'Gruder, dryly. “He has gone to join Garibaldi.” + +“To join Garibaldi!” exclaimed the other. “A man with a landed estate +and thirty-six thousand in the Three per Cents gone off to Garibaldi!” + +“It is clear we are not talking of the same person. My poor friend had +none olthat wealth you speak of.” + +“Probably not, sir, when last you saw him; but his uncle, Sir Omerod +Butler, has died, leaving him all he had in the world.” + +“I never knew he had an uncle. I never heard him speak of a rich +relation.” + +“There was some family quarrel,--some estrangement, I don't know +what; but when Sir Omerod sent for me to add a codicil to his will, he +expressed a great wish to see his nephew before he died, and sent me off +to Ireland to fetch him to him; but a relapse of his malady occurred the +day after I left him, and he died within a week.” + +The man of law entered into a minute description of the property to +which Tony was to succeed. There was a small family estate in Ireland, +and a large one in England; there was a considerable funded fortune, and +some scattered moneys in foreign securities; the whole only charged with +eight hundred a-year on the life of a lady no longer young, whom +scandal called not the widow of Sir Omerod Butler. M'Grader paid little +attention to these details; his whole thought was how to apprise Tony +of his good-luck,--how call him back to a world where he had what would +make life most enjoyable. “I take it, sir,” asked he, at last, “that +you don't fancy a tour in Sicily?” + +“Nothing is less in my thoughts, sir. We shall be most proud to act as +Mr. Butler's agents, but I 'm not prepared to expose my life for the +agency.” + +“Then, I think I must go myself. It's clear the poor fellow ought to +know of his good fortune.” + +“I suspect that the Countess Brancaleone, the annuitant I mentioned, +will not send to tell him,” said the lawyer, smiling; “for if Mr. Butler +should get knocked over in this ugly business, she inherits everything, +even to the family plate with the Butler arms.” + +“She sha'n't, if I can help it,” said M'Gruder, firmly. “I'll set out +to-night.” + +Mr. Culter passed a warm eulogium on this heroic devotion, enlarged on +the beauty of friendship in general, and concluded by saying he would +step over to his hotel, where he had ordered dinner; after which he +would certainly drink Mr. M'Grader's health. + +“I shall want some details from you,” said M'Grader,--“something written +and formal,--to assure my friend that my tidings are trustworthy. I know +it will be no easy task to persuade him that he is a man of fortune.” + +“You shall have all you require, sir,--a copy of the will, a formal +letter from our house, reciting details of the property, and, what will +perhaps impart the speediest conviction of all, a letter of credit, in +Mr. Butler's favor, for five hundred pounds for immediate use. These are +the sort of proofs that no scepticism is strong enough to resist. The +only thing that never jests, whose seriousness is above all levity, +is money;” and so M'Grader at once acknowledged that when he could go +fortified with such testimonies, he defied all doubt. + +His preparations for departure were soon made. A short letter to his +brother explained the cause of his sudden leaving; a longer one to Dolly +told how, in his love for her, he could not do enough for her friend; +and that, though he liked Tony well for his own sake, he liked him far +more as the “adopted brother and old playfellow of his dearest Dolly.” + Poor fellow! he wrote this from a full heart, and a very honest one too. +Whether it imparted all the pleasure he hoped it might to her who read +it, is none of our province to tell. It is only ours to record that he +started that night for Genoa, obtained from a friend--a subordinate in +the Government employment--a letter to Garibaldi himself, and sailed +with an agent of the General's in charge of a supply of small-arms and +ammunition. + +They were within thirty miles of Sicily when they were boarded by +the Neapolitan corvette the “Veloce,” and carried off prisoners to +Palermo,--the one solitary capture the royal navy made in the whole of +that eventful struggle. + +The proofs that they were Garibaldians were too strong and many for +denial; and for a day and a half their fate was far from hopeful. +Indeed, had the tidings of the first encounters between the King's +forces and the buccaneers been less disastrous than they were, the +prisoners would have been shot; but already a half doubt had arisen +as to the fidelity of the royal troops. This and that general, it was +rumored, had resigned; and of those who remained, it was said, more than +one had counselled “concessions.” Ominous word at such a moment, but the +presage of something darker and more ominous still. + +M'Gruder bore up with a stout heart, and nothing grieved him in all his +calamity more than the thought that all this time Tony might be exposing +his life as worthless and hopeless, while, if he only knew it, he had +already succeeded to what men are content to pass their whole existence +to grasp and gain. + +Nor was he inactive in his imprisonment He wrote letters to Garibaldi, +enclosing others to Tony; he wrote to all the consuls he could think of; +to the Minister at Naples, or to his representative; and he proclaimed +his right as a “civis Romanus,” and threatened a Palmerstonian vengeance +on all and every that had a hand in curtailing his freedom. + +In this very natural and British pursuit we must now leave him, and +betake ourselves to other cares and other characters. + + + +CHAPTER LII. ON THE CHIAJA AT NIGHT + +The night had just closed in after a hot sultry day of autumn in Naples, +as Maitland and Caffarelli sat on the sea-wall of the Chiaja, smoking +their cigars in silence, apparently deep in thought, or sometimes +startled by the distant shouts and cries of the populace who crammed +the Toledo or the Quarter of St Lucia; for all Naples was now in the +streets, and wild songs and yells resounded on every side. + +In the bay the fleet lay at anchor; but the rapid flash of lanterns, +as they rose and fell in the riggings, showed that the signalman was at +work, and that messages were being transmitted and replied to throughout +the squadron. A like activity seemed to prevail in the forts above the +city, and the roll of the drum and the bugle-call occasionally could be +heard overtopping all other sounds. + +“What would a newly come traveller say to all this?” said Caffarelli, at +last. “Would he think it was a city about to be attacked by an enemy, or +would he deem it a town in open revolt, or one given up to pillage +after the assault? I have seen to-night what might confirm any of these +impressions.” + +“And all three are present,” said Maitland, moodily. “Your traveller +could scarcely be more puzzled than we are.” + +The other sighed wearily, and Maitland went on. “What do you trust, or +whom? Is it those noisy legions up there, who only muster to disband; +or that gallant fleet that has come to anchor, only the more easily to +surrender and change its flag?” + +“There may be some traitors, but the great majority, I 'll swear, will +stand by the King.” + +“No; not one in fifty,--not one in a hundred. You don't seem to +apprehend that loyalty is not a sudden instinct. It is a thing a man +inherits. Take my word for it, Carlo, these men will not fight to keep +a certain set of priests around a bigoted old Queen, or support a King +whose highest ambition is to be a Jesuit.” + +“And if you thought so meanly of the cause, why have you adopted it?” + +“Because, ill as I think of the Court, I hate the rabble more. Remember, +Carlo,”--and now he spoke in a rapid and marked tone,--“remember that, +when I joined you, I deemed myself a rich man, and I had my ambitions, +like the rest of you. Had I known what I now know,--had I foreseen that +the day was so near wherein I was to find myself a beggar--” + +“No, no, Maitland; don't say this.” + +“And why not say it? It is true. You know as well as I do, that amongst +that yelling rabble there is none poorer than myself; and for this +reason, I repeat, I might have chosen my associates more wisely. You +yourself saw the treatment I met with this morning.” + +“Ay, but bear in mind, Maitland, what was the provocation you gave. +It is no small thing to tell a king, surrounded by his ministers and +generals, that he has not one loyal and true man in his train; that, +what between treachery and cowardice, he will find himself alone, at the +head of a few foreign regiments, who will only fight to cut their way +through towards home.” + +“I scarcely went so far as this,” said Maitland, smiling. + +“Did you not, _per Bacco!_ I was there and heard you. You accused +Laguila to his face of being bought, and named the sum; and you told +Cadorno that you had a copy of his letter promising to surrender the +flag-ship to Garibaldi.” + +“And they listened to me with an admirable patience.” + +“I don't know that; I am certain Cadorno will send you a message before +the week is over.” + +“And why not before the day was over? Are these accusations a man sleeps +upon?” + +“The King commanded them both to reply to your charges formally and +distinctly, but not with the sword; and he was right so far.” + +“At all events, was it kingly to tell me of the favors that had been +bestowed upon me, and to remind me that I was an alien, and unknown?” + +“The King was angry.” + +“He was angrier when I handed him back his patent, and told him that I +did not care to be the last-made noble of a dynasty.” + +“It was outrageous, I was shocked to hear you; and for one so young, I +was struck with the dignity with which he heard you.” + +“I don't think he understood me; he was impassive because he did not +know he was wounded. But why do I talk of these things? They have no +longer the faintest interest for me. Except yourself, there is not a man +in the cause I care for.” + +“This is a mere passing depression, my dear Maitland. All things seem +sad-colored to you now. Wait till tomorrow, or wait till there be a +moment of danger, and you will be yourself again.” + +“As for that,” said Maitland, bitterly, “I am terribly myself just +now. The last eight or ten years of my life were the dream; now is the +awakenment. But cheer up, my old friend. I will stand by _you_, though I +care very little for the cause you fight for. I will still serve on the +Staff, and play out my part to the fall of the curtain.” + +“What a strange scene that council was this morning!” said Caffarelli, +half wishing to draw him from the personal theme. + +“What a strange thing to call a council, where not merely men walked in +and out unbidden, but where a chance traveller could sit down amongst +the King's advisers, and give his opinion like a servant of the crown! +Do you even know his name?” + +“I'm not sure that I do; but it sounded like Tchernicheff. He +distinguished himself against the Turks on the Danube.” + +“And because he routed some ill-disciplined hordes with others a +mere shade more civilized, he comes here to impose his opinion on our +councils, and tell us how we are to defend ourselves!” + +“I did not hear him utter a word.” + +“No, but he handed in a paper drawn up by himself, in which he +recommends the King to withdraw all the forces in front of Capua, and +meet these marauders, where they will less like to fight, in the +open. The advice was good, even though it came from a barbarian. In +street-fighting your buccaneer is as good as, if not better than, +a regular. All the circumstances of the ground favor him. Take him, +however, where he must move and manouvre,--where he will have to form +and re-form, to dress his line under fire, and occasionally change his +flank,--then all the odds will be against him. So far the Scythian +spoke well. His only miscalculation was to suppose that we will fight +anywhere.” + +“I declare, Maitland, I shall lose temper with you. You can't surely +know what insulting things you say.” + +“I wish they could provoke any other than yourself, _mio caro_. But come +away from this. Let us walk back again. I want to have one more look at +those windows before I go.” + +“And are you really in love?” asked the other, with more of astonishment +in his voice than curiosity. + +“I wish I knew how to make _her_ believe it, that's all,” said he, +sadly; and, drawing his arm within his friend's, moved on with bent-down +head and in silence. + +“I think your friends are about the only travellers in Naples at this +moment, and, indeed, none but English would come here at such a season. +The dog-days and the revolution together ought to be too much even for +tourist curiosity.” + +Caffarelli went on to describe the arrival of the three heavy-laden +carriages with their ponderous baggage and their crowd of servants, and +the astonishment of the landlord at such an apparition; but Maitland +paid him no attention,--perhaps did not even hear him. + +Twice or thrice Caffarelli said something to arouse notice Or attract +curiosity, even to pique irritability, as when he said: “I suppose I +must have seen your beauty, for I saw two,--and both good-looking,--but +neither such as would drive a man distracted out of pure admiration. Are +you minding me? Are you listening to me?” + +“No, I have not heard one word you were saying.” + +“Civil, certainly; but, seriously, Maitland, is there not something more +pressing to do at this moment than to loiter along the Chiaja to catch +a glimpse of the closed curtains within which some blond angel may be +taking her tea?” + +“Go home, and I will join you later on. I have given orders about the +horses. My man will have all in readiness by daybreak. You seem to me +most terribly eager to have your head smashed. The King ought to reward +your valor. It will be the only 'Cross' he will have to bestow.” + +Caffarelli turned impatiently from him, and walked away. + +Maitland looked after him for a moment, and then continued his way. He +sauntered on, rather like one seeking to kill time than to reach a goal, +and once or twice he stopped, and seemed to reflect whether he would +go on. At last he reached a spot where a broad path of light streamed +across the street, and extended till it was lost in the thick foliage-of +the garden on the sea-side, and, looking suddenly up, he saw he was +in front of the great hotel of Naples, “L'Universo.” The drawing-room +windows were open on a long balcony, and Maitland could see in the +well-lighted room certain figures which he persuaded himself he could +recognize even through the muslin curtains, which slightly moved and +waved in the faint night-air. As he still strained his eyes to mark +the scene, two figures approached the window, and passed out upon the +balcony. There could be no mistake,--they were Alice and her sister; +and so perfect was the stillness of the air, and so thin withal, that he +could hear the sound of their voices, though not trace their words. + +“Is it not delicious here, Alice?” said Bella. “These are the glorious +nights of Italy Maitland used to tell us of,--so calm, so balmy, and so +starry.” + +“What was that Skeffy was saying to you about Maitland as you came +upstairs?” asked Alice, sharply. + +“Oh, it was a rumor he mentioned that Maitland had quarrelled with the +Court party. He had advised something, or rejected something; in fact, +I paid little attention, for I know nothing of these Italian plots +and schemes, and I like Maitland much better when he does not speak of +them.” + +“Is he here now, do you know?” + +“Yes; Skeff said he saw him this morning.” + +“I hope and pray he may not hear that we have arrived. I trust that we +may not see him.” + +“And why so, Alice dearest?” + +“Can you ask me?” + +“I mean, why not receive him on the terms of an easy intimacy? A person +of his tact is always quick enough to appreciate the exact amount of +favor he is held in.” + +“It is of myself I am thinking,--not of him,” said she, with something +of resentment in her tone. + +“If you speak this way, Alice, I shall believe that you care for him.” + +“The greater mistake yours, my dear Bella.” + +“Well--that you did once care for him, and regret the fact, or regret +the change,--which is it?” + +“Neither, on my honor! He interested me,--I own to that; but now that +I know his mystery, and what a vulgar mystery it is, I am half ashamed +that I even felt an interest in him.” + +“Gossip would say you did more, Alice,--that you gave him +encouragement.” + +“What an odious word you have impressed into your service! but I deny +it; nor was he one to want it. Your adventurer never does.” + +“Adventurer!” + +“I mean it in its least offensive sense; but, really, I see no reason +why this man's name is to persecute me. I left Ireland half to avoid it. +I certainly need not encounter it here.” + +“And if you meet him?” + +“I shall not meet him. I don't intend to go out so long as we are here, +and I trust I can refuse to receive him when at home.” + +“I had almost said, Poor fellow!” + +“Say it, by all means; compassionate--console him, too, if Skeff has no +objection.” + +“Oh, Alice!” + +“Your own fault, Bella, if I say provoking things. No, mamma,” added +she, to some remark from within; “our secrets, as you call them, cannot +be overheard; for, first of all, we are talking English; and secondly, +there is no person whatever in the street.” + +Lady Lyle now made her appearance on the balcony, and soon afterwards +they all re-entered the room. Maitland sat hours long on the stone +bench, watching with intense eagerness as a shadow would pass or repass +behind the curtains, and there he remained till all the lights were out +in the hotel and the whole house sunk in silence. + + + +CHAPTER LIII. UNPLEASANT RECKONINGS + +There were few busier diplomatists in Europe during these eventful days +of Naples than Skeffington Darner; and if England had not her share of +influence, it was no fault of his. He sent off special messengers every +day. He wrote to F. O. in a cipher, of which it was said no one had the +key; and he telegraphed in mystical language to the Admiral at Malta, +which went far to persuade the gallant seaman that his correspondent was +a maniac. He besieged the Court and the ministerial offices, and went +home to receive deputations from the wildest leaders of the extreme +democracy. He was determined, as he said, to “know the truth,” and he +surrounded himself for that purpose with a mass of inextricable perfidy +and falsehood; and yet, with all these occupations, he passed his entire +mornings with the Lyles, and dined with them every day. + +It was a great pleasure, as Sir Arthur said, to be “behind the scenes;” + and really the phrase did not ill represent their position, for they +knew as much of what was going on upon the stage as people usually do +who have only an occasional glimpse, and that from a wrong point of +view. Sir Arthur, however, believed Skeffy to be the rising diplomatist, +the embryo Talleyrand of Great Britain; and it was strange to see an +old, crafty, case-hardened man of the world listening with implicit +trustfulness to the hare-brained speculations of a young fellow, whose +solitary pretensions were, that he sent off his daily balderdash marked +“On Her Majesty's Service,” and sealed with the royal arms. + +Lady Lyle only half believed in him; and as for Alice, she laughed at, +but liked him; while Bella gave him all her confidence, and admired him +greatly. And a very nice thing it is of young ladies, and never to be +too much commended, how they will hang on the words, and store up the +sayings, and repeat the opinions of the man who prefers them. It is +not exactly Love, no more than gooseberry wine is champagne; but it +effervesces and exhilarates, and I 'm not sure if it does not agree very +well with weak constitutions. + +Now Skeffy told Bella every morning in the most mysterious manner how he +had checkmated Bresson, the French Minister, and outwitted Caraffa +and the Cardinal Riario. They never could make out whence he had his +information. The Queen had spent a fortune in paying spies to watch him, +but he out-manoeuvred them all. Nobody knew--nobody ever could know--the +resources of his craft; and, indeed, except Louis Napoleon, there was +not a man in Europe had fathomed the depth of his astuteness. “I have +to pretend,” would he say, “to be a light, flippant, volatile creature, +given up to pleasure, fond of play, of the ballet, and all that sort of +thing. I let them bear every day of the sums I have lost at lansquenet, +and the enormous extravagance of my daily life, but they don't know what +goes on here,” and he would tap his forehead; “they never suspect what +plots and plans and machinations are at work within that brain they +imagine to be abandoned to enjoyment. It will come out one of these +days, dearest Bella; they'll know who 'did it' yet.” And this was a +very favorite phrase with him, and Bella caught it up, and talked of the +people who had not “done it,” and never could “do it,” and hinted at one +whom an ignorant world would awake one morning to see had “done it,” and +“done it” to perfection. + +To hear him talk, you would say that he rather liked the mistaken +estimate the world had formed of him; that it was one of those excellent +jokes whose point lay in a surprise; and what a surprise would that be +one of these days when he came forth in his true character, the great +political genius of Europe! Bella believed it all; not that she was +deficient in common sense, or wanting in discernment; but she liked +him,--there was the secret. She had made her investment in a certain +stock, and would persist in regarding it as a most profitable venture; +and thus would they pass their mornings,--a strange way to make love, +perhaps; but that passion, etherealize it how you may, trades on some +one form or other of selfishness; and all these endearments were blended +with the thought of how happy they should be when they were great +people. + +Skeffy would bring with him, besides, a whole bagful of papers, +despatches, and “private and confidentials,” and such-like, and make +Bella copy out pages for him of that dreary trash, which, like a bad +tapestry, has served no other purpose than to employ the small mind that +devised it. And he would sit there, with his eyes closed, and dictate +to her endless “brief glances” at the present aspect of the Italian +question, till the poor girl was half worn out between the importance of +her task and its weariness. + +“What's that you are poring over, Bella?” he asked, as she read over a +somewhat lengthy letter. + +“It is the complaint of an Englishman at being detained by the +authorities, first at Palermo and again here: he was a mere traveller, +he asserts, and not in any way engaged in political schemes. He says +that this is his fourth appeal to you without an answer, and he declares +that if this be not replied to, he will address the Chief Secretary at +home.” + +“Tell the fellow that a Darner is inaccessible to a menace; tell him +that his stupid letter would be promptly referred back to me; and say +that, so far as this peninsula is concerned, I am F. O., and to be +propitiated by humility, and not outraged by a threat.” + +“But if it be really true--if the poor fellow should be imprisoned for +nothing, Skeff?” + +“If so, I shall liberate him;” and as he spoke, he arose and walked the +room with a haughty stride and a head erect “Write-- + +“'Sir,--I am directed by H. M.'s Chargé d'Affaires'--or rather say, 'The +undersigned has to acknowledge the receipt of'--what's his name?” + +“Samuel M'Gruder.” + +“What a name!--'of Samuel M'Gruder's letter; and although he takes +exception to the passages marked A and B, and requires explanation +of the paragraph C, beginning at the words “nor can I,” and ending at +“British subject”'--You 'll have to copy out the whole of this despatch, +Bella, and then I shall mark the passages--Where was I?” + +“'British subject.'” + +“Yes, I remember. 'Yet that, conceding much to the feelings '--no, that +is too familiar--'making allowances for an irritability--'” + +“I don't think you can say that, Skeff. He has now been seven weeks in +confinement.” + +“'Lucky dog that he has not been seven weeks worked almost to a +skeleton, like me, with the cares of a whole nation on my head, and the +eyes of Europe upon me.” + +“Just let me say that you will look into his case, and do your best to +get him out of prison.” + +“With all my heart. It is fearfully undignified; but let it go, and I'll +send off a messenger to the Prefetto Lanzi to deliver up the prisoner +M'Gruder to me to-morrow morning, and we will interrogate him here.” + +The roll of a drum was now heard in the street without, and from the +balcony could be seen an immense crowd of people moving in front of an +infantry regiment, who marched past, travel-stained and disordered, and +with an indescribable something in their air that indicated, it might be +defeat, it might be disaffection. + +“Here's strange news,” said Sir Arthur, as he joined them. “The landlord +tells me Garibaldi has landed in Calabria, near Reggio, beaten the royal +troops, and is in full march on Naples. The regiment that you see there +were ordered off to reinforce the advanced guard, but cried out, 'Viva +Garibaldi!' and have been now recalled, and are to be sent into the +fortress.” + +“Look!” cried Skeff; “here comes the Artillery after them, a strong +proof that they don't trust these fellows. Bella, I must write off the +news at once.” + +“Let me first finish about M'Gruder,” said she, as she sat down to the +table. + +“I wish we were all safe back in England,” said Lady Lyle, as she came +up. + +“I was just thinking the very same thing,” said Sir Arthur. + +“Have no fears,” interposed Skeffy; “I shall order up the fleet from +Malta. You shall have a frigate--a line-of-battle ship, if you like it +better.” + +“I'd much rather we had post-horses and an escort,” said Lady Lyle. + +“Would that be possible, Darner?” + +“All is possible, Sir Arthur, to power properly exercised. I 'll go down +at once to the War Office, and see what can be done.” + +“If it were perfectly safe,” said Bella, “I should like to drive through +the streets and see what is going on; and as Alice refuses to go out, +we are just enough for one carriage.” The project was agreed to, all the +more readily that Skeff assured them his presence was au aegis that all +parties would know how to respect; he was, in fact, as he put it, a sort +of emblematized British lion, who with folded paws was about to take an +airing for his own amusement. + +“As we drive along,” whispered he to Bella, “just watch the recognitions +fellows will throw me,--a look, a gesture, a sign, scarcely perceptible, +but enough to say, 'Your Excellency may depend upon us.'” + +And Bella felt a certain elation at the thought that she was the chosen +one of a man so eminent and so distinguished. And, oh dear, let us not +be severe upon her for it! If we could not make occasional swans of our +geese in this life, we should be very ill off in matters of ornithology. +Away they drove down the Chiaja and up the Toledo, where, amidst wild +yells and cries for the King, and at times for Garibaldi, a dense mass +of people surged and swayed like a mighty monster awaking out of slumber +and arousing to deeds of violence. + +The populace seemed intoxicated, but not with wine or with joy, but a +sort of dare-devil recklessness which sought something--anything--to +vent its passion upon. Lines of men linked arm in arm, and, filling the +full breadth of the street, marched rapidly on, chanting wild songs; and +it was strange to mark in these the old gray-headed feeble man coupled +with the stalwart youth, or, perhaps, the mere boy. Here and there were +groups listening to some street-orator, now greeting his words with a +cheer, now with a burst of vociferous laughter; and through all these +went other men, busily, eagerly whispering to this, conferring with +that, now exerting every effort of persuasiveness, now seeming to employ +incentives to vengeance. + +Except the carriage where sat the Lyles, not another vehicle of any kind +was to be seen; and as the horses moved slowly along through the dense +crowd, many a rude jest and droll comment was passed upon the _matti +Inglesi_,--the mad English,--who had taken such a time and place for a +carriage airing. Nor was the courage of the act unrecognized, and twice +or thrice a wild cheer proclaimed what they thought of a nation whose +very ladies were above all fear and timidity. + +The most striking, feature in all this tumult was that soldiers were +seen everywhere mixed up with the civilians; not merely furloughed men +in undress, but soldiers in full uniform and perfectly armed, but yet +displaying, sometimes ostentatiously, by the way they carried their +shakoes or their bayonets, or wore their coats open and unbuttoned, that +they no longer respected the claims of discipline. + +Patrols on foot or horseback would be met, too; but the men, under no +restraint, would not only exchange words of greeting with the mob, but +accept offers of wine or cigars; and it was seen that the officers were +either powerless to prevent or unwilling to curb this indiscipline. + +“What does all this portend, Damer?” asked Sir Arthur. “We hear cheers +for the King; but all I see seems to threaten his downfall.” + +Skeffy was puzzled, and a wiser man might have been puzzled; but his +diplomatic instincts forbade such a humiliating avowal, and so he merely +muttered something to the purport that “We” had not fully determined +what was to be the issue; and that till “We” had made up our minds, all +these signs and portents were mere street-noises. + +If I am not perfectly just to him in this rendering of his explanation, +I am, at least, merciful to my reader; and, leaving the party to follow +out the exploration, I shall return to the drawing-room they had just +quitted, and where Alice now sat alone, and deep in thought The yells +and cries that filled the street outside, and the continual uproar that +resounded through the city, were all unheeded by her; and so immersed +was she in her reflection, that when a servant entered the room to +present the card of a visitor, she was unaware of his presence till he +had twice addressed her. + +“It cannot be for us,” said she, looking at the name. “I do not know the +Count d'Amalfi.” + +“He hopes to be better remembered as Mr. Maitland,” said that gentleman, +as, pushing wide the half-opened door, he approached her and made a low +bow. + +The servant had time to retire and shut the door before Alice had +sufficiently recovered herself to ask Maitland to be seated. So coldly +was the request conveyed, however, that if he was not determined on +having an interview, he would have affected to make his call an offer +of some sort of attention, and taken his leave almost on the instant Far +different were his present intentions; and as he deposited his hat +and cane, and took his place in front of her, there was a methodical +slowness that indicated purpose. + +“I am almost afraid to tell you, Mr. Maitland,” she began, “that I gave +orders to be denied to all visitors. They have all gone out to drive, +and--” + +“It was for that reason that I took this opportunity to call, madam,” + said he, very quietly, but in a tone of some decision. “I desired to see +you all alone.” + +“Not, surely, if you were aware that I did not receive?” + +“Do not oblige me to convict myself, Mrs. Trafford; for I, too, shall be +almost afraid to tell the truth;” and a very faint smile moved his mouth +as he spoke. + +“But, as I conjecture, you would like to meet my father--” + +“My visit at present is for you,” said he, interrupting; “and as I +cannot assure myself how long the opportunity may last, let me profit by +it.” + +She became very pale; some fear she certainly felt; but there was more +of anger than fear in the thought that this man was, by his manner, +almost asserting a right to see and speak with her. + +“Mr. Maitland is too accomplished a man of the world to need being told +that, when a person has declared an indisposition to receive, it is +usually deemed enough to secure privacy.” + +“Usually,--yes; but there are occasions which are not in this category.” + +“And do you mean to say this is one of them, sir?” said she, haughtily. + +“Most certainly, madam, this is one of them!” As Mait-land said this, +he saw the color mount to her face; and he saw, too, how, now that +her proud spirit was, as it were, challenged, she would not think of +retreat, but brave him, whatever might come of it. + +“Indeed!” said she, with a scornful laugh,--“indeed!” and the last +syllable was drawn out in an accent of most insolent irony. + +“Yes, madam,” he continued, in a tone perfectly calm and un impassioned; +“our last relations together fully warrant me to say so much; and +however presumptuous it might have been in me to aspire as I did, the +gracious favor with which I was listened to seemed to plead for me.” + +“What favor do you speak of, sir?” said she, with evident agitation. + +“I must not risk the faint hope that remains to me, by recalling what +you may not wish to remember; but I may at least ask you to bring to +mind a certain evening--a certain night--when we walked together in the +garden at Tilney.” + +“I do not think I am likely to forget it, sir; some anonymous slanderer +has made it the pretext of a most insolent calumny. I do not, I need not +say, connect you in any way with this base scandal; but it is enough to +make the incident the reverse of a pleasant memory.” + +“And yet it was the happiest of my whole life.” + +“It is unfortunate, sir, that we should look back to an event with +feelings so diametrically opposite.” + +Maitland gave no heed to the irony of her tone, but went on: “If I was +conscious of my own unworthiness, I had certain things in my favor which +served to give me courage,--not the least of these was your brother's +friendship.” + +“Mark was always proud of being Mr. Maitland's friend,” said she, rather +touched by this haughty man's humility. + +“That friendship became very precious to me when I knew his sister. +Indeed, from that hour I loved him as a brother.” + +“Forgive me, sir, if I interrupt you. At the time to which you allude +we would seem to have been living in a perfect realm of misconceptions. +Surely it is not necessary to revive them; surely, now that we +have awoke, we need not take up the clew of a dream to assist our +reflections.” + +“What may be the misconceptions you refer to?” said he, with a voice +much shaken and agitated. + +“One was, it would appear, that Mr. Maitland made me certain +professions. Another, that he was--that he had--that is, that he held--I +cannot say it, sir; and I beg you to spare me what a rash temper might +possibly provoke me to utter.” + +“Say all that you will; I loved you, Alice.” + +“You will force me to leave you, sir, if you thus forget yourself.” + +“I loved you, and I love you still. Do not go, I beg, I implore you. +As the proof of how I love you, I declare that I know all that you have +heard of me, all that you have said of me,--every harsh and cruel word. +Ay, Alice, I have read them as your hand traced them, and through all, I +love you.” + +“I will not stoop to ask how, sir; but I will say that the avowal has +not raised you in my estimation.” + +“If I have not your love, I will never ask for your esteem; I wanted +your affection as a man wants that which would make his life a reality. +I could have worked for you; I could have braved scores of things I have +ever shrunk from; and I had a right to it.” + +“A right!--what right?” + +“The right of him who loved as I did, and was as ready to prove his +love. The man who has done what I have is no adventurer, though that +fair hand wrote him one. Remember that, madam; and remember that you are +in a land where men accept no such slights as this you would pass upon +me.” His eyes glared with passion as he spoke, and his dark cheeks grew +purple. “You are not without those who must answer for your levity.” + +“Now, sir, I leave you,” said she, rising. + +“Not yet. You shall hear me out. I know why you have treated me thus +falsely. I am aware who is my rival.” + +“Let me pass, sir.” + +He placed his back to the door, and folded his arms on his breast; +but though he made an immense effort to seem calm, his lip shook as he +spoke. “You shall hear me out. I tell you, I know my rival, and I am +ready and prepared to stake my pretensions against his.” + +“Go on, sir, go on; very little more in this strain will efface any +memory I preserved of what you first appeared to me.” + +“Oh, Alice!” cried he, in a voice of deep anguish. “It is despair has +brought me to this. When I came, I thought I could have spoken with calm +and self-restraint; but when I saw you--saw what I once believed might +have been mine--I forgot all--all but my misery.” + +“Suffer me to pass out, sir,” said she, coldly. He moved back, and +opened the door wide, and held it thus as she swept past him, without a +word or a look. + +Maitland pressed his hat deep over his brow, and descended the stairs +slowly, one by one. A carriage drove to the door as he reached it, and +his friend Caffarelli sprang out and grasped his hand. + +“Come quickly, Maitland!” cried he. “The King has left the palace. The +army is moving out of Naples to take up a position at Capua. All +goes badly. The fleet is wavering, and Garibaldi passed last night at +Salerno.” + +“And what do I care for all this? Let me pass.” + +“Care for it! It is life or death, _caro mio!_ In two hours more the +populace will tear in pieces such men as you and myself, if we 're found +here. Listen to those yells, _Morte ai Reali!_ Is it with 'Death to the +Royalists!' ringing in our ears we are to linger here?” + +“This is as good a spot to die in as another,” said Maitland; and he +lighted his cigar and sat down on the stone bench beside the door. + +“The Twenty-fifth of the Line are in open revolt, and the last words of +the King were, 'Give them to Maitland, and let him deal with them.'” + +Maitland shrugged his shoulders, and smoked on. + +“Genario has hoisted the cross of Savoy over the fort at Baia,” + continued the other, “and no one can determine what is to be done. They +all say, 'Ask Maitland.'” + +“Imitate him! Do the same over the Royal Palace!” said the other, +mockingly. + +“There, there! Listen to that cry! The mob are pouring down the Chiaja. +Come away.” + +“Let us look at the scoundrels,” said Maitland, taking his friend's arm, +and moving into the street Caffarelli pushed and half lifted him into +the carriage, and they drove off at speed. + + + +CHAPTER LIV. SKEFF DAMER TESTED + +When the Lyles returned from their drive, it was to find that Alice was +too ill to come down to dinner. She had, she said, a severe headache, +and wished to be left perfectly quiet and alone. This was a sore +disappointment to Bella, brimful of all she had seen and heard, and +burning with impatience to impart how Skeffy had been sent for by the +King, and what he said to his Majesty, and how the royal plans had +been modified by his sage words; and, in fact, that the fate of the +Neapolitan kingdom was at that moment in the hands of that “gifted +creature.” + +It was such she called him; and I beg my kind reader not to think the +less of her that she so magnified her idol. The happiest days of our +lives are the least real, just as the evils which never befall us are +the greatest. + +Bella was sincerely sorry for her sister's headache; but with all that, +she kept stealing every now and then into her room to tell what +Skeff said to Caraffa, and the immense effect it produced. “And then, +dearest,” she went on, “we have really done a great deal to-day. We have +sent off three 'formal despatches,' and two 'confidential,' and Skeff +has told my Lord B., Secretary of State though he be, a piece of his +mind,--he does write so ably when he is roused; and he has declared +that he will not carry out his late instructions. Few men would have had +courage to say that; but they know that, if Skeff liked, he has only to +go into Parliament: there are scores of boroughs actually fighting for +him; he would be positively terrible in opposition.” + +A deep wearied sigh was all Alice's response. + +“Yes, dearest, I 'm sure I am tiring you; but I must tell how we +liberated Mr. M'Gruder. He has been, he says, fifty-three days in +prison, and really he looks wretched. I might have felt more for the +man, but for the cold good-for-nothing way he took all Skeff's kindness. +Instead of bursting with gratitude, and calling him his deliverer, all +he said was, 'Well, sir, I think it was high time to have done this, +which, for aught I see, might just as easily have been done three or, +perhaps, four weeks ago.' Skeff was magnificent; he only waved his hand, +and said, 'Go; you are free!' 'I know that well enough,' said he, in the +same sturdy voice; 'and I intend to make use of my freedom to let the +British people know how I have been treated. You 'll see honorable +mention of it all, and yourself, too, in the “Times,” before ten days +are over.'” + +“My dear Bella, my head is racking; would you just wet that handkerchief +and lay it on my forehead?” + +“My poor sweet Alice! and I so cruel, with all my stupid stories; but I +thought you 'd like to hear about Tony.” + +“Tony!--what of Tony?” asked she, raising herself on one elbow and +looking up. + +“Well, dearest, it was while in search after Tony that M'Grader got +imprisoned. They were sworn friends, it seems. You know, dear, Tony was +never very particular in his choice of friends.” + +“But what of him,--where is he?” + +“I'll tell you everything, if you'll only have a little patience. Tony, +who was living with M'Grader in Leghorn,--a partner, I think, in some +odious traffic,--cast-off clothes, I believe,--grew tired of it, or got +into debt, or did something that brought him into trouble, and he ran +away and joined that mad creature Garibaldi.” + +“Well, go on.” + +“Well, he had not been gone more than ten days or so, when a lawyer came +out from England to say that his uncle, Sir Somebody Butler, had died +and left him all he had,--a fine estate, and I don't know how much +money. When Mr. M'Grader was quite satisfied that all this was +true,--and, like a canny Scotchman, he examined it thoroughly,--he set +off himself to find Tony and tell him his good news; for, as he said, +it would have been a terrible thing to let him go risk his life for +nothing, now that he had a splendid fortune and large estate. Indeed, +you should have heard Mr. M'Gruder himself on this theme. It was about +the strangest medley of romance and worldliness I ever listened to. +After all, he was a stanch friend, and he braved no common dangers in +his pursuit. He had scarcely landed, however, in Sicily, when he was +arrested and thrown into prison.” + +“And never met Tony?” + +“Never,--of course not; how could he? He did not even dare to speak of +one who served under Garibaldi till he met Skeffy.” + +“But where is Tony? Is he safe? How are we to hear of him?” asked Alice, +hurriedly. + +“Skeff has undertaken all that, Alice. You know how he has relations +with men of every party, and is equally at home with the wildest +followers of Mazzini and the courtiers about the throne. He says he 'll +send off a confidential messenger at once to Garibaldi's camp with a +letter for Tony. Indeed, it was all I could do to prevent him going +himself, he is so attached to Tony, but I begged and implored him not to +go.” + +“Tony would have done as much for him,” said Alice, gloomily. + +“Perhaps he would; but remember the difference between the men, Alice. +If anything should befall Skeffy, who is there to replace him?” + +Alice, perhaps, could not satisfactorily answer this, for she lay back +on her bed, and covered her face with her hands. + +“Not, indeed, that he would listen to me when I made that appeal to him, +but he kept on repeating, 'Tony is the finest, truest-hearted fellow I +ever met. _He_'d never have left a friend in the lurch; he'd never have +thought of himself if another was in danger; and help him I must and +will:' and that's the reason we are waiting dinner, dear, for he would +go off to the Minister of War or the President of the Council; and he +told papa, as he shook hands, on no account to wait for him, for he +might be detained longer than he expected.” + +As she spoke, a tap came to the door, and a servant announced dinner. + +“Has Mr. Damer arrived?” asked Bella, eagerly. + +“No, ma'am, but Sir Arthur has just got a note from him.” + +“I must see what he says!” cried she, and left the room. + +Sir Arthur was reading the letter when she entered. + +“Here's Skeff gone off to what he calls the 'front;' he says that Tony +Butler has joined the insurgents, and he must get him out of their hands +at any price.” + +“But of course, papa, you 'll not permit it; you 'll forbid him +peremptorily,” broke in Bella. + +“I 'm not so sure of that, Bella; because, amongst other reasons, I +'m not so sure he 'd mind me. Our gifted friend is endowed with +considerable self-will.” + +“Immense determination, I should rather call it, papa; but, pray, try to +stop this mad freak. He is not certainly called on to expose such a life +as his, and at such a moment.” + +“What am I to do?” + +“Go over to him at once; declare that you have the right to speak on +such a subject. Say that if he is pleased to overlook the necessity of +his presence here at this crisis, he ought to remember his position with +regard to us,--ought to think of _me_,” said she, with a burst of grief +that ended in a shower of tears, and drove her from the room. + +Sir Arthur was far more disposed to sit down to his dinner than go off +on this mission of affection; but Lady Lyle took the same view of the +case as her daughter, and there was no help for it. And although the +bland butler repeated, “Soup is served, sir,” the poor man had to step +downstairs to his carriage and drive off to the Legation. + +On arriving there, he learned that his Excellency had gone to see the +Prime Minister. Sir Arthur set off in the pursuit, which led him from +one great office of the state to another, always to discover that the +object of his search had just left only five minutes before; till, at +length, his patience became exhausted on hearing that Mr. Darner was +last seen in company with an officer of rank on the road to Castelamare, +whither, certainly, he determined not to follow him. + +It was near nine o'clock when he got home to report himself +unsuccessful, to meet dark looks from his wife and daughter, and sit +down alone to a comfortless dinner, chagrined and disconcerted. + +Lady Lyle tried to interest him by relating the news of Tony Butler's +accession to fortune; but the re-heated mutton and the half-cold +_entrées_ were too trying to leave any portion of his nature open +to such topics, and he sulkily muttered something about the folly of +“having snubbed the young fellow,”--a taunt Lady Lyle resented by rising +and leaving him to his own reflections. + +And now to turn to Skeff Darner. I am forced to confess, and I do not +make the confession without a certain pain, that our gifted friend had +not that amount of acceptance with the Ministers of the King that his +great talents and his promise might be supposed to have inspired; +nor had he succeeded in acquiring for the country he represented the +overwhelming influence he believed to be her due. When, therefore, he +drove to Caraffa's house, the Prince frankly told him, what certainly +was true, that he had affairs far too weighty on his mind to enter upon +that small question H. M.'s Chargé d'Affaires desired to discuss. “Try +Carini,” said he, “the Minister of Grace and Justice; he looks after the +people who break the law.” Skeff grew angry, and the Minister bowed him +out. He went in succession to some five or six others, all occupied, +all overwhelmed with cares, troubles, and anxieties. At last, by a mere +accident, he chanced upon Filangieri going off to wait on the King; he +was accompanied by a small man, in a very gorgeous uniform, studded over +with stars and decorations. + +In a few hurried words Skeff told how his friend, a man of rank and +fortune, had been seduced by some stupid representations to take service +with Garibaldi, and that it was all-important to rescue him from such +evil associations, and restore him at once to his friends and country. + +“Where is he?” + +“Wherever Garibaldi may be,--I can't tell.” + +“He's nearer than we like,” said the other, with a faint smile. “Are +you sure your friend will return with you, even if you should track him +out?” + +“I think I can answer for him. I am almost certain that I can.” + +“Can you answer for Garibaldi, too?--will _he_ give him up?” + +“I believe Garibaldi cares a great deal for the good opinion of England; +and when he sees me, her Majesty's--” + +“Yes, yes, I can understand that. Well, I have no time to give you for +more consideration of the matter; but I 'll do better. I'll give you +this gentleman,--my aide-decamp, Colonel the Count M'Caskey; he'll pass +you through our lines, and go, as flag of truce, to the head-quarters +of the rebels. The whole thing is a blunder, and I am doing exceedingly +wrong; but here we are, making one mistake after another every day, and +all regularity and order are totally forgotten.” Turning to M'Caskey, he +took him aside for a few seconds and spoke eagerly and rapidly to him, +and then, once more shaking Skeff's hand, he wished him well through his +adventure and drove off. + +“Whenever you have all in readiness, sir,” said M'Cas-key, slightly +raising his hat,--“and I hope your carriage is a comfortable one,--take +me up at the Aquila d' Oro, two doors from the Café di Spagno;” uttering +the words in a tone of such positive command that Skeffy had only to +accede; and, coldly bowing to each other, they separated. + + + +CHAPTER LV. AMONGST THE GARIBALDIANS + +By heavy bribery and much cajolery, Skeff Darner secured a carriage +and horses, and presented himself at the Café di Spagna a little before +midnight. It was not, however, till he had summoned M'Caskey for the +third time that the gallant Colonel arose and joined him. + +“I suspect that waiter did not tell you I was here, and waiting for +you?” said Skeff, somewhat irritated. + +“I rather apprehend,” replied M'Caskey, “that you were not aware I was +at supper.” + +With this brief passage of arms each sank back into his corner, and +nothing more was said. + +For a long while the way led through that long suburb of Naples that +lies on the south of the city, and the tramp of the horses over the +pavement would have made any conversation difficult to hear. At length, +however, they gained the smooth road, and then Skeff discovered, from +the long-drawn breathings of his companion, that he was sound asleep. + +By the small wax taper with which he lighted his cigar, Skeff examined +the features of the man; and, brief as was the inspection, there was +enough seen to show him that he was not a subject for either dictation +or raillery. The hard, stern, thin-lipped mouth, the knitted brows, the +orbits marked with innumerable wrinkles, and an ugly scar, evidently +from a sabre, that divided one whisker, and reached from nigh the ear +to the chin, presented enough to show that he might easily have chanced +upon a more genial fellow-traveller. + +Skeff knew that the Neapolitan service had for some years back attracted +adventurers from various countries. Poles, Americans, with Irish and +Hungarian refugees, had flocked to the scene of what they foresaw must +be a struggle, and taken their side with the Royalists or against +them as profit or inclination prompted. Now this man's name, M'Caskey, +proclaimed him as Irish or Scotch; and the chances were, in either case, +if a renegade from his own country, he would not be over well disposed +towards one who represented the might and majesty of England. + +“If I could only let him see,” thought Skeff, “that I am one of those +fellows who have done everything and know every one, a thorough man of +the world, and no red-tapist, no official pendant, we should get on all +the better.” He puffed away at his cigar as he thus mused, turning over +in his mind by what species of topic he should open acquaintance with +his companion. + +“That's good tobacco,” said M'Caskey, without opening his eyes. “Who's +smoking the cheroot?” + +“I am. May I offer you one?” + +“A dozen if you like,” said the Colonel, giving himself a shake, and +sitting bolt upright. + +Skeff held out his cigar-case, and the other coolly emptied it, throwing +the contents into his hat, which lay on the cushion in front of him. + +“When old Olozaga was Captain-General of Cuba, he always supplied me +with havannahs; but when O'Donnell's party came into power, I came down +to cheroots, and there I have been ever since. These are not bad.” + +“They are considered particularly good, sir,” said Skeff, coldly. + +“_That_ I will not say; but I own I am not easy to please either in +wine, women, or tobacco.” + +“You have had probably large experiences of all three?” + +“I should like much to meet the man who called himself my equal.” + +“It might be presumptuous in me, perhaps, to stand forward on such +ground; but I, too, have seen something of life.” + +“You! you!” said M'Caskey, with a most frank impertinence in his tone. + +“Yes, sir, I, I,--Mr. Skeffington Darner, Her Majesty's Representative +and Chargé d'Affaires at this Court.” + +“Where the deuce was it I heard your name? +Darner--Darner--Skeff--Skeffy--I think they called you? Who could it be +that mentioned you?” + +“Not impossibly the newspapers, though I suspect they did not employ the +familiarity you speak of.” + +“Well, Skeff, what's all this business we're bent on? What wildgoose +chase are we after here?” + +Darner was almost sick with indignation at the fellow's freedom; he +nearly burst with the effort it cost him to repress his passion; but he +remembered how poor Tony Butler's fate lay in the balance, and that if +anything should retard his journey by even an hour, that one hour might +decide his friend's destiny. + +“Might I take the liberty to observe, sir, that our acquaintance is of +the very shortest; and until I shall desire, which I do not anticipate, +the privilege of addressing you by your Christian name--” + +“I am called Milo,” said M'Caskey; “but no man ever called me so but the +late Duke of Wellington; and once, indeed, in a moment of enthusiasm, +poor Byron.” + +“I shall not imitate them, and I desire that you may know me as Mr. +Damer.” + +“Damer or Skeffy--I don't care a rush which--only tell me where are we +going, and what are we going for?” + +Skeff proceeded in leisurely fashion, but with a degree of cold reserve +that he hoped might check all freedom, to explain that he was in search +of a young countryman, whom he desired to recall from his service with +Garibaldi, and restore to his friends in England. + +“And you expect me to cross over to Garibaldi's lines?” asked M'Caskey, +with a grin. + +“I certainly reckon on your accompanying me wherever I deem it essential +to proceed in furtherance of my object. Your General said as much when +he offered me your services.” + +“No man disposes of M'Caskey but the Sovereign he serves.” + +“Then I can't see what you have come for!” cried Skeff, angrily. + +“Take care, take care,” said the other, slowly. + +“Take care of what?” + +“Take care of Skeffington Darner, who is running his head into a very +considerable scrape. I have the most tenacious of memories; and +there's not a word--not a syllable--falls from you, I 'll not make you +accountable for hereafter.” + +“If you imagine, sir, that a tone of braggadocio--” + +“There you go again. Braggadocio costs blood, my young fellow.” + +“I'm not to be bullied.” + +“No; but you might be shot.” + +“You 'll find me as ready as yourself with the pistol.” + +“I am charmed to hear it, though I never met a fellow-brought up at a +desk that was so.” + +Skeff was by no means deficient in courage, and, taken with a due regard +to all the conventional usages of such cases, he would have “met +his man” as became a gentle-man; but it was such a new thing in his +experiences to travel along in a carriage arranging the terms of a duel +with the man who ought to have been his pleasant companion, and who +indeed, at the very moment, was smoking his cheroots, that he lost +himself in utter bewilderment and confusion. + +“What does that small flask contain?” said M'Caskey, pointing to a +straw-covered bottle, whose neck protruded from the pocket of the +carriage. + +“Cherry brandy,” said Skeff, dryly, as he buttoned the pocket-flap over +it. + +“It is years upon years since I tasted that truly British cordial.” + +Skeff made no reply. + +“They never make it abroad, except in Switzerland, and there, too, +badly.” + +Still Skeff was silent. + +“Have you got a sandwich with you?” + +“There is something eatable in that basket,--I don't know what,” said +Skeff, pointing to a little neatly corded hamper. “But I thought you had +just finished supper when I drove up.” + +“You 're a Londoner, I take it,” said M'Caskey. + +“Why so, sir? for what reason do you suppose so?” + +“The man who reminds another of the small necessity there is to press +him to take something--be it meat or drink--must be a Cockney.” + +“I am neither a Cockney, nor accustomed to listen to impertinence.” + +“Hand me your flask and I 'll give you my opinion of it, and that will +be better than this digression.” + +The impudence seemed superhuman, and in this way overcame all power of +resistance; and Skeffy actually sat there looking on while M'Caskey cut +the cords of the little provision-basket, and arranged the contents on +the front seat of the carriage, assuring him, as he ate, that he “had +tasted worse.” + +For some time the Major continued to eat and drink, and was so +completely immersed in this occupation as to seem quite oblivious of +his companion. He then lighted his cigar and smoked on till they reached +Caserta, where the carriage halted to change horses. + +“The fellow is asking for something for the ostler,” said M'Caskey, +nudging Skeffy with his elbow as he spoke. + +“My servant, sir, looks to these details,” said Skefify, haughtily. + +“Take these, old boy,” said M'Caskey, pitching out to him the basket +with the fragments of his late meal, and the silver forks and cup it +contained; and the horses whirled the carriage along at full speed as he +did so. + +“You are perfectly munificent, sir,” cried Skefif, angrily, “with what +does not belong to you. The proprietor of the Hotel d'Universo will +probably look to you for payment for hi s property.” + +“If your friend of the Universo has a salt spoon of his own this time +to-morrow, he 'll be a lucky dog.” + +“How so? What do you mean?” + +“I mean, sir, that as the troops withdraw, pillage will begin. There is +but one force in Naples that could control a mob.” + +“And that is?” + +“The Camorra! and but one man could command the Camorra, and he is +here!” + +“Indeed!” said Skeff, with the very faintest possible sarcasm. + +“As I tell you, sir. Colonel M'Caskey might have saved that city; and, +instead of it, he is rumbling along over a paved road, going heaven +knows where, with heaven knows whom, for heaven knows what!” + +“You are either rude or forgetful, sir. I have already told you my name +and quality.” + +“So you have, Skeff; but as a man rises in the service, he forgets the +name of the uncommissioned officers. You are attaché, or what is it?” + +“I am Chargé d'Affaires of Great Britain.” + +“And devilish few will be the affairs you 'll have in your charge this +day week.” + +“How do you make out that?” + +“First of all, if we are to pass through our lines to reach Garibaldi, +all our fellows will fire a parting salute after us as we go,--ay, and +with ball. Secondly, as we approach the rebels, they 'll pay us the same +attention.” + +“Not with our flag of truce flying.” + +“Your flag of truce, Skeffy, will only show them that we come unarmed, +and make their aim all the steadier in consequence.” + +“And why was I told that your presence would be protection?” + +“Because, sir, if it should fail to be, it is that no other man's in +Europe could be such.” + +“I 'll not turn back, if you mean that,” said Skeff, boldly; and for +the first time on the journey M'Caskey turned round and took a leisurely +survey of his companion. + +“You are, I hope, satisfied with my personal appearance,” said Skeff, +insolently. + +“Washy, washy,” said M'Caskey, dryly; “but I have met two or three of +the same stamp who had pluck.” + +“The freedom of your tongue, sir, inclines me very considerably to doubt +_yours_.” + +M'Caskey made a bound on his seat, and threw his cigar through the +window, while he shouted to the postilion to stop. + +“Why should he stop?” asked Skeff. + +“Let us settle this at once; we 'll take each of us one of the carriage +lamps and fire at the word three. One--two--three! Stop, I say.” + +“No, sir; I shall hold myself at your orders, time and place fitting, +but I 'll neither shoot nor be shot at like a brigand.” + +“I have travelled with many men, but in my long and varied experience, +I never saw a fellow so full of objections. You oppose everything. Now I +mean to go asleep; have you anything against _that_, and what is it?” + +“Nothing,--nothing whatever!” muttered Skeff, who for the first time +heard words of comfort from his companion's lips. + +Poor Skeff! is it too much to say that, if you had ever imagined the +possibility of such a fellow-traveller, you would have thought twice +ere you went on this errand of friendship? Perhaps it might be unfair +to allege so much; but unquestionably, if his ardor were not damped, his +devotion to his friend was considerably disturbed by thoughts of himself +and his own safety. + +Where could this monster have come from? What land could have given +him birth? What life had he led? How could a fellow of such insolent +pretensions have escaped being flayed alive ere he reached the age he +looked to be? + +Last of all, was it in malice and out of malevolence that Filangieri had +given him this man as his guide, well knowing what their companionship +must end in? This last suspicion, reassuring so far, as it suggested +dreams of personal importance, rallied him a little, and at last he fell +asleep. + +The hours of the night rolled over thus; and just as the dawn was +breaking the _calèche_ rattled into the ruinous old piazza of Nocera. +Early as it was, the market-place was full of people, amongst whom were +many soldiers, with or without arms, but, evidently, under no restraint +of discipline, and, to all seeming, doubtful and uncertain what to do. + +Aroused from his sleep by the sudden stoppage of the carriage, M'Caskey +rubbed his eyes and looked out. “What is all this?” cried he. “Who are +these fellows I see here in uniform? What are they?” + +“Part of Cardarelli's brigade, your Excellency,” said a café-keeper who +had come to the carriage to induce the travellers to alight. “General +Cardarelli has surrendered Soveria to Garibaldi, and his men have +dispersed.” + +“And is there no officer in command here to order these fellows into +arrest?” cried M'Caskey, as he sprang out of the carriage into the midst +of them. “Fall in!” shouted he, in a voice of thunder; “fall in, and be +silent: the fellow who utters a word I 'll put a bullet through.” + +If the first sight of the little fellow thus insolently issuing his +orders might have inspired laughter, his fierce look, his flashing +eye, his revolver in hand, and his coat blazing with orders, speedily +overcame such a sentiment, and the disorderly rabble seemed actually +stunned into deference before him. + +“What!” cried he, “are you deserters? Is it with an enemy in front that +I find you here? Is it thus that you show these civilians what stuff +soldiers are made of?” There was not a degrading epithet, not a word of +infamous reproach, he did not hurl at them. They were Vili! Birbanti! + +Ladri! Malandrini! Codardi! They had dishonored their fathers and +mothers, and wives and sweethearts. They had degraded the honor of the +soldier, and the Virgin herself was ashamed of them. “Who laughs there? +Let him come out to the front and laugh here!” cried he. And now, though +a low murmur little indicative of mirth ran through the crowd, strange +to say, the men began to slink away, at first one by one, then in groups +and parties, so that in very few minutes the piazza was deserted, +save by a few of the townsfolk, who stood there half terrified, half +fascinated, by the daring insolence of this diminutive hero. + +Though his passion seemed almost choking him, he went on with a +wonderful fluency to abuse the whole nation. They were brigands +for three centuries, and brigands they would be for thirty more, if +Providence would not send an earthquake to swallow them up, and rid the +world of such rascals. He scoffed at them, he jeered them; he told them +that the few Sicilians that followed Garibaldi would make slaves of the +whole kingdom, taking from the degenerate cowards of Calabria wives, +daughters, home, and households; and it was only when the last straggler +shuffled slowly away, and he stood alone in the square, that he would +consent to re-enter the carriage and pursue his journey. + +“I 'll know every face amongst them if I meet them again,” said he to +Skeffy, “and it will be an evil day for the scoundrels when that time +comes.” His wrath continued during the entire stage, and never flagged +in its violence till they reached a cluster of poor cabins, around which +a guard of soldiers was stationed. Here they were refused a further +passage, since at Mauro, three miles further on, Melani, with a force +of three thousand men and some guns, held the pass against the +Garibaldians. M'Caskey was not long in explaining who he was, nor, +indeed, very modest in proclaiming his personal importance; and the +subaltern, with every show of deference to such greatness, detached a +corporal of his guard to accompany them to the General's quarters. The +General was asleep when they reached Mauro; he had been, they said, “up +all night,” but they did not add it was in the celebration of an orgie, +in which the festivities were more classic than correct. M'Caskey, +however, learned that at about five miles in front, Garibaldi's +advanced guard was posted, and that Garibaldi himself had ridden up and +reconnoitred their position on the evening before. + +“We expect to be attacked by noon,” said the officer, in a tone the very +reverse of hopeful or encouraging. + +“You can hold this pass against twenty thousand,” said M'Caskey. + +“We shall not try,” said the other. “Why should we be the only men to +get cut to pieces?” + +The ineffable scorn of the little Colonel as he turned away was not lost +on the other; but he made no reply to it, and retired. “We are to +have an escort as far as Ravello; after that we are to take care of +ourselves; and I own to you I think we shall be all the safer when we +get out of the reach of his Majesty's defenders.” + +“There,” cried the Sergeant who acted as their guard,--“there, on that +rock yonder, are the Reds. I'll go no further.” + +And as they looked they saw a small group of red-shirted fellows lying +or lounging on a small cliff which rose abruptly over a stream crossed +by a wooden bridge. Attaching his handkerchief to his walking-stick, +M'Caskey stepped out boldly. Skeffy followed; they reached the bridge, +and crossed it, and stood within the lines of the Garibaldians. A very +young, almost boyish-looking, officer met them, heard their story, +and with much courtesy told them that he would send one of his men to +conduct them to head-quarters. “You will not find the General there,” + said he, smiling; “he's gone on in that direction;” and he pointed, as +he spoke, towards Naples. + +Skeff asked eagerly if the young officer had ever heard of Tony Butler, +and described with ardor the handsome face and figure of his friend. +The other believed he had seen him. There was, he knew, a _giovane +Irlandese_ who was wounded at Melazzo, and, if he was not mistaken, +wounded again about four days back at Lauria. “All the wounded are at +Salerno, however,” said he, carelessly, “and you are sure to find him +amongst them.” + + + +CHAPTER LVI. THE HOSPITAL AT CAVA + +Had Skeff been in any mood for mirth, he might have enjoyed as rich +drollery the almost inconceivable impertinence of his companion, who +scrutinized everything, and freely distributed his comments around him, +totally regardless that he stood in the camp of the enemy, and actually +surrounded by men whose extreme obedience to discipline could scarcely +be relied on. + +“Uniformity is certainly not studied here,” cried M'Cas-key, as he +stared at a guard about to be detached on some duty; “three fellows have +gray trousers; two, blue, one a sort of canvas petticoat; and I see only +one real coat in the party.” + +A little further on he saw a group of about a dozen lying on the grass +smoking, with their arms in disorderly fashion about, and he exclaimed, +“How I 'd like to surprise those rascals, and make a swoop down here +with two or three companies of Cacciatori! Look at their muskets; there +has n't been one of them cleaned for a month. + +“Here they are at a meal of some sort. Well, men won't fight on beans +and olive oil. My Irish fellows are the only devils can stand up on +roots.” + +These comments were all delivered in Italian, and listened to with a +sort of bewildered astonishment, as though the man who spoke them must +possess some especial and peculiar privilege to enable him to indulge so +much candor. + +“That's not a knapsack,” said he, kicking a soldier's pack that he saw +on the grass; “that's more like a travelling tinker's bundle. Open it, +and let's see the inside!” cried he to the owner, who, awed by the tone +of command, immediately obeyed; and M'Caskey ridiculed the shreds and +patches of raiment, the tattered fragments of worn apparel, in which +fragments of cheese and parcels of tobacco were rolled up. “Why, the +fellows have not even risen to the dignity of pillage,” said he. “I +was sure we should have found some saintly ornament or a piece of the +Virgin's petticoat among their wares.” + +With all this freedom, carried to the extreme of impertinence, none +molested, none ever questioned them; and as the guide had accidentally +chanced upon some old friends by the way, he told M'Caskey that they had +no further need of him; that the road lay straight before them, and that +they would reach Cava in less than an hour. + +At Cava they found the same indifference. They learned that Garibaldi +had not come up, though some said he had passed on with a few followers +to Naples, and others maintained that he had sent to the King of Naples +to meet him at Salerno to show him the inutility of all resistance, and +offer him a safe-conduct out of the kingdom. Leaving M'Caskey in the +midst of these talkers, and not, perhaps, without some uncharitable +wish that the gallant Colonel's bad tongue would involve him in serious +trouble, Skeffy slipped away to inquire after Tony. + +Every one seemed to know that there was a brave _Irlandese_,--a daring +fellow who had shown himself in the thick of every fight; but the +discrepant accounts of his personal appearance and looks were most +confusing. Tony was fair-haired, and yet most of the descriptions +represented a dark man, with a bushy black beard and moustache. At all +events, he was lying wounded at the convent of the Cappuccini, on a hill +about a mile from the town; and Father Pantaleo--Garibaldi's Vicar, as +he was called--offered his services to show him the way. The Frate--a +talkative little fellow, with a fringe of curly dark-brown hair around +a polished white head--talked away, as they went, about the war, and +Garibaldi, and the grand future that lay before Italy, when the tyranny +of the Pope should be overthrown, and the Church made as free--and, +indeed, he almost said as easy--as any jovial Christian could desire. + +Skeffy, by degrees, drew him to the subject nearest his own heart at the +moment, and asked about the wounded in hospital. The Frate declared that +there was nothing very serious the matter with any of them. He was an +optimist. Some died, some suffered amputations, some were torn by shells +or grape-shot. But what did it signify? as he said. It was a great cause +they were fighting for, and they all agreed it was a pleasure to shed +one's blood for Italy. “As for the life up there,” said he, pointing +to the convent, “it is a _vita da Santi_,--the 'life of saints +themselves.'” + +“Do you know my friend Tony the Irlandese?” asked Skeff, eagerly. + +“If I know him! _Per Bacco!_ I think I know him. I was with him when he +had his leg taken off.” + +Skeff's heart sickened at this terrible news, and he could barely steady +himself by catching the Fra's arm. “Oh, my poor dear Tony,” cried he, as +the tears ran down his face,--“my poor fellow!” + +“Why did you pity him? Garibaldi gave him his own sword, and made him an +officer on the day of the battle. It was up at Calanzaro, so that he 's +nearly well now.” + +Skeff poured in innumerable questions,--how the mischance occurred, and +where; how he bore up under the dreadful operation; in what state he +then was; if able to move about, and how? And as the Fra was one of +those who never confessed himself unable to answer anything, the details +he obtained were certainly of the fullest and most circumstantial. + +“He's always singing; that's how he passes his time,” said the Frate. + +“Singing! how strange! I never knew him to sing. I never heard him even +hum a tune.” + +“You 'll hear him now, then. The fellows about curse at him half the day +to be silent, but he does n't mind them, but sings away. The only quiet +moment he gives them is while he's smoking.” + +“Ah, yes! he loves smoking.” + +“There--stop. Listen. Do you hear him? he's at it now.” Skeff halted, +and could hear the sound of a full deep voice, from a window overhead, +in one of those prolonged and melancholy cadences which Irish airs +abound in. + +“Wherever he got such doleful music I can't tell, but he has a dozen +chants like that.” + +Though Skeff could not distinguish the sounds, nor recognize the voice +of his friend, the thought that it was poor Tony who was there singing +in his solitude, maimed and suffering, without one near to comfort him, +so overwhelmed him that he staggered towards a bench, and sat down sick +and faint. + +“Go up and say that a friend, a dear friend, has come from Naples to +see him; and if he is not too nervous or too much agitated, tell him my +name; here it is.” The friar took the card and hurried forward on his +mission. In less time than Skeff thought it possible for him to have +arrived, Pantaleo called out from the window, “Come along; he is quite +ready to see you, though he doesn't remember you.” + +Skeff fell back upon the seat at the last words. “Not remember me! my +poor Tony,--my poor, poor fellow,--how changed and shattered you must +be, to have forgotten me!” With a great effort he rallied, entered the +gate, and mounted the stairs,--slowly, indeed, and like one who dreaded +the scene that lay before him. Pantaleo met him at the top, and, seeing +his agitation, gave him his arm for support. “Don't be nervous,” said +he, “your friend is doing capitally; he is out on the terrace in an +armchair, and looks as jolly as a cardinal.” + +Summoning all his courage, Skeflf walked bravely forwards, passed down +the long aisle, crowded with sick and wounded on either side, and passed +out upon a balcony at the end, where, with his back towards him, a man +sat looking out over the landscape. + +“Tony, Tony!” said Skeffy, coming close. The man turned his head, and +Skeff saw a massive-looking face, all covered with black hair, and a +forehead marked by a sabre cut. “This is not my friend. This is not +Tony!” cried he, in disappointment. “No, sir; I'm Rory Quin, the man +that was with him,” said the wounded man, submissively. + +“And where is he himself? Where is Tony?” cried he. + +“In the little room beyond, sir. They put him there when he began to +rave; but he's better now, and quite sensible.” + +“Take me to him at once; let me see him,” said Skefif, whose impatience +had now mastered all prudence. + +The moment after, Skefif found himself in a small chamber, with a single +bed in it, beside which a Sister of Charity was seated, busily employed +laying cloths wet with iced water on the sick man's head. One glance +showed that it was Tony. The eyes were closed, and the face thinner, and +the lips dry; but there was a hardy manhood in the countenance, sick +and suffering as he was, that told what qualities a life of hardship +and peril had called into activity. The Sister motioned to Skefif to +sit down, but not to speak. “He's not sleeping,” said she, softly, “only +dozing.” + +“Is he in pain?” asked Skefify. + +“No; I have no pain,” said Tony, faintly. + +Skefif bent down to whisper some words close to his ear, when he heard a +step behind. He looked up and saw it was M'Caskey, who had followed +him. “I came here, sir,” said the Colonel, haughtily, “to express my +astonishment at your unceremonious departure, and also to say that I +shall now hold myself as free of all further engagement towards you.” + +“Hush, be quiet,” said Skefif, with a gesture of caution. + +“Is that your friend?” asked M'Caskey, with a smile. + +Tony slowly opened his eyes at these words, looking at the speaker, +turning his gaze then on Skeff, gave a weak, sickly smile, and then in +a faint, scarce audible voice, said, “So he _is_ your godfather, after +all.” + +Skeff's heart grew full to bursting, and for a moment or two he could +not speak. + +“There--there, no more,” whispered the Sister; and she motioned them +both to withdraw. Skeff arose at once, and slipped noiselessly away; +but the Colonel stepped boldly along, regardless of everything and every +one. + +“He 's wandering in his mind,” said M'Caskey, in a loud, unfeeling tone. + +“By all that's holy, there's the scoundrel I 'm dying to get at,” + screamed Rory, as the voice caught his ear. “Give me that crutch; let me +have one lick at him, for the love of Mary.” + +“They're all mad here, that's plain,” said M'Caskey, turning away with +a contemptuous air. “Sir,” added he, turning towards Skeff, “I have +the honor to salute you;” and with a magnificent bow he withdrew, +while Rory, in a voice of wildest passion and invective, called +down innumerable curses on his head, and inveighed even against the +bystanders for not securing the “greatest villain in Europe.” “I shall +want to send a letter to Naples,” cried out Skeff to the Colonel; “I +mean to remain here;” but M'Caskey never deigned to notice his words, +but walked proudly down the stairs, and went his way. + + + +CHAPTER LVII. AT TONY'S BEDSIDE + +My story draws to a close, and I have not space to tell how Skeff +watched beside his friend, rarely quitting him, and showing in a hundred +ways the resources of a kind and thoughtful nature. Tony had been +severely wounded; a sabre-cut had severed his scalp, and he had been +shot through the shoulder; but all apprehension of evil consequences +was now over, and he was able to listen to Skeff's wondrous tidings, +and hear all the details of his accession to wealth and fortune. His +mother--how she would rejoice at it! how happy it would make her!--not +for her own sake, but for his; how it would seem to repay to her all she +had suffered from the haughty estrangement of Sir Omerod, and how proud +she would be at the recognition, late though it came! These were Tony's +thoughts; and very often, when Skeflf imagined him to be following the +details of his property, and listening with eagerness to the description +of what he owned, Tony was far away in thought at the cottage beside the +Causeway, and longing ardently when he should sit at the window with his +mother at his side planning out some future in which they were to be no +more separated. + +There was no elation at his sudden fortune, nor any of that anticipation +of indulgence which Skeff himself would have felt, and which he indeed +suggested. No. Tony's whole thoughts so much centred in his dear mother, +that she entered into all his projects; and there was not a picture of +enjoyment wherein she was not a foreground figure. + +They would keep the cottage,--that was his first resolve: his mother +loved it dearly; it was associated with years long of happiness and of +trials too; and trials can endear a spot when they are nobly borne, and +the heart will cling fondly to that which has chastened its emotions and +elevated its hopes. And then, Tony thought, they might obtain that long +stretch of land that lay along the shore, with the little nook where +the boats lay at anchor, and where he would have his yacht. “I suppose,” + said he, “Sir Arthur Lyle would have no objection to my being so near a +neighbor?” + +“Of course not; but we can soon settle that point, for they are all +here.” + +“Here?” + +“At Naples, I mean.” + +“How was it that you never told me that?” he asked sharply. + +Skeff fidgeted--bit his cigar--threw it away; and with more confusion +than became so distinguished a diplomatist, stammered out, “I have had +so much to tell you--such lots of news;” and then with an altered voice +he added, “Besides, old fellow, the doctor warned me not to say anything +that might agitate you; and I thought--that is, I used to think--there +was something in that quarter, eh?” + +Tony grew pale, but made no answer. + +“I know she likes you, Tony,” said Skeff, taking his hand and pressing +it. “Bella, who is engaged to me--I forget if I told you that--” + +“No, you never told me!” + +“Well, Bella and I are to be married immediately,--that is, as soon as +I can get back to England. I have asked for leave already; they 've +refused me twice. It 's all very fine saying to me that I ought to know +that in the present difficulties of Italy no man could replace me at +this Court. My answer to that is: Skeff Darner has other stuff in him as +well as ambition. He has a heart just as much as a head. Nor am I to go +on passing my life saving this dynasty. The Bourbons are not so much to +me as my own happiness, eh?” + +“I suppose not,” said Tony, dryly. + +“You 'd have done the same, would n't you?” + +“I can't tell. I cannot even imagine myself filling any station of +responsibility or importance.” + +“My reply was brief: Leave for six months' time, to recruit an +over-taxed frame and over-wrought intellect; time also for them to look +out what to offer me, for I 'll not go to Mexico, nor to Rio; neither +will I take Washington, nor any of the Northern Courts. Dearest Bella +must have climate, and I myself must have congenial society; and so I +said, not in such terms, but in meaning, Skeff Darner is only yours at +_his_ price. Let them refuse me,--let me see them even hesitate, and I +give my word of honor, I'm capable of abandoning public life altogether, +and retiring into my woods at Tilney, leaving the whole thing at sizes +and sevens.” + +Now, though Tony neither knew what the “whole thing” meant, nor the dire +consequences to which his friend's anger might have consigned it, he +muttered something that sounded like a hope that he would not leave +Europe to shift for herself at such a moment. + +“Let them not drive me to it, that's all,” said he, haughtily; and he +arose and walked up and down with an air of defiance. “The Lyles do not +see this,--Lady Lyle especially. She wants a peerage for her daughter, +but ambition is not always scrupulous.” + +“I always liked her the least of them,” muttered Tony, who never could +forget the sharp lesson she administered to him. + +“She 'll make herself more agreeable to you now, Master Tony,” said +Skeff, with a dry laugh. + +“And why so?” + +“Can't you guess?” + +“No.” + +“On your word?”. + +“On my word, I cannot.” + +“Don't you think Mr. Butler of something or other in Herefordshire is +another guess man from Tony Butler of nowhere in particular?” + +“Ah! I forgot my change of fortune: but if I had ever remembered it, I +'d never have thought so meanly of _her_.” + +“That's all rot and nonsense. There's no meanness in a woman wanting +to marry her daughter well, any more than in a man trying to get +a colonelcy or a legation for his son. You were no match for Alice +Trafford three months ago. Now both she and her mother will think +differently of your pretensions.” + +“Say what you like of the mother, but you shall not impute such motives +to Alice.” + +“Don't you get red in the face and look like a tiger, young man, or +I 'll take my leave and send that old damsel here with the ice-pail to +you.” + +“It was the very thing I liked in you,” muttered Tony, “that you never +did impute mean motives to women.” + +“My poor Tony! the fellow who has seen life as I have, who knows +the thing in its most minute anatomy, comes out of the investigation +infernally case-hardened; he can't help it. I love Alice. Indeed, if I +had not seen Bella, I think I should have married Alice. There, you are +getting turkey-cock again. Let us talk of something else. What the deuce +was it I wanted to ask you?--something about that great Irish monster +in the next room, the fellow that sings all day: where did you pick him +up?” + +Tony made no reply, but lay with his hand over his eyes, while Skeff +went on rambling over the odds and ends he had picked up in the course +of Rory Quin's story, and the devoted love he bore to Tony himself. “By +the way, they say that it was for you Garibaldi intended the promotion +to the rank of officer, but that you managed to pass it to this fellow, +who could n't sign his name when they asked him for it.” + +“If he could n't write, he has left his mark on some of the +Neapolitans!” said Tony, fiercely; “and as for the advancement, he +deserved it far more than I did.” + +“It was a lucky thing for that aide-de-camp of Filangieri who +accompanied me here, that your friend Rory had n't got two legs, for +he wanted to brain him with his crutch. Both of you had an antipathy to +him, and indeed I own to concurring in the sentiment. My godfather you +called him!” said he, laughing. + +“I wish he had come a little closer to my bedside, that's all,” muttered +Tony; and Skeff saw by the expression of his features that he was once +more unfortunate in his attempt to hit upon an unexciting theme. + +“Alice knew of your journey here, I think you said?” whispered Tony, +faintly. + +“Yes. I sent them a few lines to say I was setting out to find you.” + +“How soon could I get to Naples? Do you think they would let me move +to-morrow?” + +“I have asked that question already. The doctor says in a week; and I +must hasten away to-night,--there's no saying what confusion my absence +will occasion. I mean to be back here by Thursday to fetch you.” + +“Good fellow! Remember, though,” added he, after a moment, “we must take +Rory. I can't leave Rory here.” + +Skeff looked gravely. + +“He carried _me_ when I was wounded out of the fire at Melazzo, and I am +not going to desert him now.” + +“Strange situation for her Majesty's Chargé d'Affaires,” said +Skeff,--“giving protection to the wounded of the rebel army.” + +“Don't talk to me of rebels. We are as legitimate as the fellows we were +fighting against. It was a good stand-up fight, too,--man to man, some +of it; and if it was n't that my head reels so when I sit or stand up, I +'d like to be at it again.” + +“It is a fine bull-dog,--just a bull-dog,” said Skeff, patting him on +the head, while in the compassionate pity of his voice he showed how +humbly he ranked the qualities he ascribed to him. “Ah! now I remember +what it was _I_ wished to ask you (it escaped me till this moment): who +is the creature that calls himself Sam M'Gruder?” + +“As good a fellow as ever stepped, and a true friend of mine. What of +him?” + +“Don't look as if you would tear me in pieces, and scatter the fragments +to the four winds of heaven. Sir, I 'll not stand it,--none of your +buccaneering savageries _to me!_” + +Tony laughed, and laughed heartily at the air of offended dignity of the +other; and Skeff was himself disposed at last to smile at his own anger. +“That 's the crying sin of _your_ nature, Tony,” said he. “It is the one +defect that spoils a really fine fellow. I tell you frankly about it, +because I 'm your friend; and if you don't curb it, you 'll never be +anything,--never! never!” + +“But what is this fault? you have forgotten to tell it.” + +“Over and over again have I told it It is your stupid animal confidence +in your great hulking form: your coarse reliance on your massive +shoulders,--a degenerate notion that muscle means manhood. It is here, +sir,--here;” and Skeff touched his forehead with the tip of his finger; +“here lies the godlike attribute. And until you come to feel that, you +never will have arrived at the real dignity of a great creature.” + +“Well, if I be the friend of one, Skeffy, it will satisfy all my +ambition,” said he, grasping his hand warmly; “and now what of M'Gruder? +How did you come to know of him?” + +“Officially,--officially, of course. Skeffington Darner and Sam M'Gruder +might revolve in ether for centuries and their orbits never cross! +but it happened this honest fellow had gone off in search of you into +Sicily; and with that blessed propensity for blundering the British +subject is gifted with, had managed to offend the authorities and get +imprisoned. Of course he appealed to me. They all appeal to _me!_ but at +the moment unhappily for him, the King was appealing to me, and Cavour +was appealing to me, and so was the Emperor; and, I may mention in +confidence, so was Garibaldi!--not in person, but through a friend. I +know these things must be. Whenever a fellow has a head on his shoulders +in this world, the other fellows who have no heads find it out and work +_him_. Ay, sir, work him! That 's why I have said over and over again +the stupid dogs have the best of it. I declare to you, on my honor, +Tony, there are days I 'd rather be you than be Skeff Darner!” + +Tony shook his head. + +“I know it sounds absurd, but I pledge you my sacred word of honor I +_have_ felt it.” + +“And M'Gruder?” asked Tony. + +“M'Gruder, sir, I liberated! I said, Free him! and, like the fellow in +Curran's celebrated passage, his chains fell to the ground, and he +stood forward, not a bit grateful,--far from it,--but a devilish crusty +Scotchman, telling me what a complaint he 'd lodge against me as soon as +he arrived in England.” + +“No, no; he 's not the fellow to do that.” + +“If he did, sir, _it_ would crush him! The Emperor of Russia could not +prefer a complaint against Skeff Darner, and feel the better of it!” + +“He 's a true-hearted, fine fellow,” said Tony. + +“With all my heart I concede to him all the rough virtues you may desire +to endow him with; but please to bear in mind, Master Tony, that a man +of your station and your fortune cannot afford such intimacies as your +friend Rory here and this M'Gruder creature.” + +“Then I was a richer man when I had nothing, for I _could_ afford it +then,” said Tony, sturdily; “and I tell you more, Skeffy,--I mean to +afford it still. There is no fellow living I love better--no, nor as +well--as I love yourself; but even for your love I'll not give up the +fine-hearted fellows who were true to me in my days of hardship, +shared with me what they had, and gave me--what was better to me--their +loving-kindness and sympathy.” + +“You'd bring down the house if you said that in the Adelphi, Tony.” + +“It 's well for you that I can't get out of bed,” said Tony, with a grim +laugh. + +“There it is again; another appeal to the brute man and the man brute! +Well, I 'll go to dinner, and I 'll tell the fair Sister to prepare your +barley-water, and administer it in a more diluted form than heretofore;” + and, adjusting his hat so as to display a favorite lock to the best +advantage, and drawing on his gloves in leisurely fashion, Skeff +Darner walked proudly away, bestowing little benevolent gestures on the +patients as he passed, and intimating by certain little signs that he +had taken an interest in their several cases, and saying, by a sweet +smile, “You 'll be the better of this visit of mine. You 'll see, you +will.” + + + +CHAPTER LVIII. THE SIXTH OF SEPTEMBER + +On the evening of the 6th of September a corvette steamed rapidly out of +the Bay of Naples, threading her way deviously through the other ships +of war, unacknowledged by salute,--not even an ensign dipped as she +passed. + +“There goes the King and the monarchy,” said Skeff, as he stood on the +balcony with the Lyles, and pointed to the fast-retreating vessel. + +“I suppose the sooner _we_ leave the better,” said Lady Lyle, whose +interest in political affairs was very inferior to that she felt on +personal matters. + +“Skeff says that the 'Talisman' will take us on board,” said Sir Arthur. + +“Yes,” said Skeff; “Captain Paynter will be here by and by to take your +orders, and know when he is to send in his boats for you; and though I +feel assured my general directions will be carried out here, and that +no public disturbance will take place, you will all be safer under the +Union Jack.” + +“And what of Tony Butler? When is he to arrive?” asked Bella. + +“Tony,” said Skeff, “is to arrive here to-night I have had a note +from his friend M'Gruder, who has gone down to meet him, and is now at +Salerno.” + +“And who is his friend M'Gruder?” asked Lady Lyle, superciliously. + +“A rag-merchant from Leghorn,” said Skeff; “but Tony calls him an +out-and-out good fellow; and I must say he did n't take five minutes to +decide when I told him Tony was coming up from Cava, and would be glad +to have his company on the road.” + +“These are, of course, exceptional times, when all sorts of strange +intimacies will be formed; but I _do_ hope that Tony will see that his +altered circumstances as to fortune require from him more care in the +selection of his friends than he has hitherto been distinguished for.” + +“Don't trouble yourself about that, my dear,” said Sir Arthur; “a man's +fortune very soon impresses itself on all he says and does.” + +“I mistake him much,” said Bella, “if any wealth will estrange him from +one of those he cared for in his humbler days. Don't you agree with me, +Alice?” + +Alice made no reply, but continued to gaze at the ships through a glass. + +“The danger is that he'll carry that feeling to excess,” said Skeff; +“for he will not alone hold to all these people, but he 'll make you and +me hold to them too.” + +“That would be impossible, perfectly impossible,” said my Lady, with a +haughty toss of her head. + +“No, no; I cannot agree to go that far,” chimed in Sir Arthur. + +“It strikes me,” said Alice, quietly, “we are all of us deciding a +little too hastily as to what Tony Butler will or will not do. Probably +a very slight exercise of patience would save us some trouble.” + +“Certainly not, Alice, after what Mr. Darner has said. Tony would seem +to have thrown down a sort of defiance to us all. We must accept him +with his belongings, or do without him.” + +“He shall have me on his own terms,” said Skeffy. “He is a noble savage, +and I love him with all my heart.” + +“And you will know his rag friend?” asked Lady Lyle. + +“Ay, that will I; and an Irish creature, too, that he calls Rory,--a +fellow of six feet four, with a voice like an enraged bull and a hand as +wide as one of these flags!” + +“It is Damon and Pythias over again, I declare!” said Lady Lyle. “Where +did he pick up his monster?” + +“They met by chance in England, and, equally by chance, came together to +Italy, and Tony persuaded him to accompany him and join Garibaldi. The +worthy Irishman, who loved fighting, and was not very particular as to +the cause, agreed; and though he had originally come abroad to serve in +the Pope's army, some offence they had given him made him desert, and +he was well pleased not to return home without, as he said, 'batin' +somebody.' It was in this way he became a Garibaldian. The fellow, it +seems, fought like a lion; he has been five times wounded, and was left +for dead on the field; but he bears a charm which he knows will always +protect him.” + +“A charm,--what is the charm?” + +“A medallion of the Pope, which he wears around his neck, and always +kisses devoutly before he goes into battle.” + +“The Pope's image is a strange emblem for a Garibaldian, surely,” said +Sir Arthur, laughing. + +“Master Rory thinks it will dignify any cause; and as he never knew what +or for whom he was fighting, this small bit of copper saved him a world +of trouble and casuistry; and so in the name of the Holy Father he has +broken no end of Neapolitan skulls.” + +“I must say Mr. Butler has surrounded himself with some choice +associates,” said Lady Lyle; “and all this time I have been encouraging +myself to believe that so very young a man would have had no +connections, no social relations, he could not throw off without +difficulty.” + +“The world will do all his sifting process for him, if we only have +patience,” said Sir Arthur; and, indeed, it is but fair to say that he +spoke with knowledge, since, in his own progress through life, he had +already made the acquaintance of four distinct and separate classes in +society, and abandoned each in turn for that above it. + +“Was he much elated, Mr. Damer,” asked Lady Lyle, “when he heard of his +good fortune?” + +“I think he was at first; but it made so little impression on him, that +more than once he went on to speculate on his future, quite forgetting +that he had become independent; and then, when he remembered it, he +certainly did look very happy and cheerful.” + +“And what sort of plans has he?” asked Bella. + +“They're all about his mother; everything is for _her_. She is to keep +that cottage, and the ground about it, and he is to make a garden for +her; and it seems she likes cows,--she is to have cows. It's a lucky +chance that the old lady had n't a taste for a plesiosaurus, or he 'd be +offering a prize for one to-morrow.” + +“He's a dear good fellow, as he always was,” said Bella. + +“The only real change I see in him,” said Skeffy, “is that now he is +never grumpy,--he takes everything well; and if crossed for a moment, he +says, 'Give me a weed; I must smoke away that annoyance.'” + +“How sensual!” said my Lady; but nobody heeded the remark. + +At the moment, too, a young midshipman saluted Darner from the street, +and informed him that the first cutter was at the jetty to take the +party off to the “Talisman;” and Captain Paynter advised them not to +delay very long, as the night looked threatening. Lady Lyle needed +no stronger admonition; she declared that she would go at once; and +although the Captain's own gig, as an attention of honor, was to be in +to take her, she would not wait, but set out immediately. + +“You 'll take care of me, Skeffy,” said Alice, “for I have two letters +to write, and shall not be ready before eleven o'clock.” + +For a while all was bustle and confusion. Lady Lyle could not make up +her mind whether she would finally accept the frigate as a refuge or +come on shore again the next day. There were perils by land and by +water, and she weighed them and discussed them, and turned fiercely +on everybody who agreed with her, and quarrelled with all round. Sir +Arthur, too, had his scruples, as he bethought him of the effect that +would be produced by the fact that a man of his station and importance +had sought the protection of a ship of war; and he asked Skeffy if +some sort of brief protest--some explanation--should not be made in the +public papers, to show that he had taken the step in compliance with +female fears, and not from the dictates of his own male wisdom. “I +should be sorry, sincerely sorry, to affect the Funds,” said he; and +really, the remark was considerate. As for Bella, she could not bear +being separated from Skeffy; he was so daring, so impulsive, as she +said, and with all this responsibility on him now,--people coming to him +for everything, and all asking what was to be done,--he needed more than +ever support and sympathy. + +And thus is it the world goes on, as unreal, as fictitious, as +visionary as anything there ever was put on the stage and illuminated +by footlights. There was a rude realism outside in the street, however, +that compensated for much of this. There, all was wildest fun and +jollity; not the commotion of a people in the throes of a revolution, +not the highly wrought passion of an excited populace mad with triumph; +it was the orgie of a people who deemed the downfall of a hated +government a sort of carnival occasion, and felt that mummery and +tomfoolery were the most appropriate expressions of delight. + +Through streets crowded with this dancing, singing, laughing, embracing, +and mimicking mass, the Lyles made their way to the jetty reserved for +the use of the ships of war, and soon took their places, and were rowed +off to the frigate, Skeffy waving his adieux till darkness rendered his +gallantry unnoticed. + +All his late devotion to the cares of love and friendship had made such +inroads on his time that he scarcely knew what was occurring, and had +lamentably failed to report to “the Office” the various steps by which +revolution had advanced, and was already all but installed as master of +the kingdom. Determined to write off a most telling despatch, he entered +the hotel, and, seeing Alice engaged letter-writing at one table, he +quietly installed himself at another, merely saying, “The boat will +be back by midnight, and I have just time to send off an important +despatch.” + +Alice looked up from her writing, and a very faint smile curled her lip. +She did not speak, however, and after a moment continued her letter. + +For upwards of half an hour the scraping sounds of the pens were the +only noises in the room, except at times a low murmur as Skeff read over +to himself some passage of unusual force and brilliancy. + +“You must surely be doing something very effective, Skeff,” said Alice, +from the other end of the room, “for you rubbed your hands with delight, +and looked radiant with triumph.” + +“I think I have given it to them!” cried he. “There 's not another man +in the line would send home such a despatch. Canning wouldn't have done +it in the old days, when he used to bully them. Shall I read it for +you?” + +“My dear Skeff, I 'm not Bella. I never had a head for questions of +politics. I am hopelessly stupid in all such matters.” + +“Ah, yes; Bella told me that Bella herself, indeed, only learned to feel +an interest in them through me; but, as I told her, the woman who would +one day be an ambassadress cannot afford to be ignorant of the great +European game in which her husband is a player.” + +“Quite true; but I have no such ambitions before me; and fortunate it +is, for really I could not rise to the height of such lofty themes.” + +Skeff smiled pleasantly; her humility soothed him. He turned to the last +paragraph he had penned and re-read it. + +“By the way,” said Alice, carelessly, and certainly nothing was less +apropos to what they had been saying, though she commenced thus,--“by +the way, how did you find Tony looking,--improved, or the reverse?” + +“Improved in one respect; fuller, browner, more manly, perhaps, but +coarser; he wants the--you know what I mean--he wants this!” and he +swayed his arm in a bold sweep, and stood fixed, with his hand extended. + +“Ah, indeed!” said she, faintly. + +“Don't you think so--don't you agree with me, Alice?” + +“Perhaps to a certain extent I do,” said she, diffidently. + +“How could it be otherwise, consorting with such a set? You 'd not +expect to find it there?” + +Alice nodded assent all the more readily that she had not the vaguest +conception of what “it” might mean. + +“The fact is, Alice,” said he, arising and walking the room with immense +strides, “Tony will always be Tony!” + +“I suppose he will,” said she, dryly. + +“Yes; but you don't follow me. You don't appreciate my meaning. I +desired to convey this opinion, that Tony being one of those men +who cannot add to their own natures the gifts and graces which a man +acquires who has his successes with your sex--” + +“Come, come, Skeff, you must neither be metaphysical nor improper. +Tony is a very fine boy,--only a boy, I acknowledge, but he has noble +qualities; and every year he lives will, I feel certain, but develop +them further.” + +“He won't stand the 'boy' tone any longer,” said Skeff, dryly. “I tried +it, and he was down on me at once.” + +“What did he say when you told him we were here?” said she, carelessly, +while putting her papers in order. + +“He was surprised.” + +“Was he pleased?” + +“Oh, yes, pleased, certainly; he was rather afraid of meeting your +mother, though.” + +“Afraid of mamma! how could that be?” + +“Some lesson or other she once gave him sticks in his throat; something +she said about presumption, I think.” + +“Oh, no, no; this is quite impossible,--I can't credit it.” + +“Well, it might be some fancy of his; for he has fancies, and very queer +ones too. One was about a godfather of mine. Come in,--what is it?” + cried he, as a knock came to the door. + +“A soldier below stairs, sir, wishes to speak to you,” said the waiter. + +“Ah! something of importance from Filangieri, I've no doubt,” said +Skeff, rising and leaving the room. Before he had gone many paces, +however, he saw a large, powerful figure in the red shirt and small cap +of the Garibaldians, standing in the corridor, and the next instant he +turned fully round,--it was Tony. + +“My dear Tony, when did you arrive?” + +“This moment; I am off again, however, at once, but I would n't leave +without seeing you.” + +“Off, and whereto?” + +“Home; I've taken a passage to Marseilles in the Messageries boat, and +she sails at two o'clock. You see I was no use here till this arm got +right, and the General thought my head would n't be the worse of a +little quiet; so I 'll go back and recruit, and if they want me they +shall have me.” + +“You don't know who's there?” whispered Skeff. Tony shook his head. “And +all alone, too,” added the other, still lower. “Alice,--Alice Trafford.” + +Tony grew suddenly very pale, and leaned against the wall. + +“Come in; come in at once, and see her. We have been talking of you all +the evening.” + +“No, no,--not now,” said Tony, faintly. + +“And when, if not now? You 're going off, you said.” + +“I'm in no trim to pay visits; besides, I don't wish it. I 'll tell you +more some other time.” + +“Nonsense; you look right well in your brigand costume, and with an old +friend, not to say--Well, well, don't look sulky;” and as he got thus +far--he had been gradually edging closer and closer to the door--he +flung it wide open, and called out, “Mr. Tony Butler!” Pushing Tony +inside, and then closing the door behind, he retreated, laughing +heartily to himself over his practical joke. + + + +CHAPTER LIX. AN AWKWARD MOMENT + +Alice started as she heard the name Tony Butler, and for a moment +neither spoke. There was confusion and awkwardness on either side; all +the greater that each saw it in the other. She, however, was the first +to rally; and, with a semblance of old friendship, held out her hand, +and said, “I am so glad to see you, Tony, and to see you safe.” + +“I 'd not have dared to present myself in such a dress,” stammered he +out; “but that scamp Skeffy gave me no choice: he opened the door and +pushed me in.” + +“Your dress is quite good enough to visit an old friend in. Won't you +sit down?--sit here.” As she spoke, she seated herself on an ottoman, +and pointed to a place at her side. “I am longing to hear something +about your campaigns. Skeff was so provoking; he only told us about what +he saw at Cava, and his own adventures on the road.” + +“I have very little to tell, and less time to tell it I must embark in +about half an hour.” + +“And where for?” + +“For home.” + +“So that if it had not been for Skeff's indiscretion I should not have +seen you?” said she, coldly. + +“Not at this moment,--not in this guise.” + +“Indeed!” And there was another pause. + +“I hope Bella is better. Has she quite recovered?” asked he. + +“She is quite well again; she 'll be sorry to have missed you, Tony. She +wanted, besides, to tell you how happy it made her to hear of all your +good fortune.” + +“My good fortune! Oh, yes--to be sure. It was so unlooked for,” added +he, with a faint smile, “that I have hardly been able to realize it yet; +that is, I find myself planning half-a-dozen ways to earn my bread, when +I suddenly remember that I shall not need them.” + +“And I hope it makes you happy, Tony?” + +“Of course it does. It enables me to make my mother happy, and to secure +that we shall not be separated. As for myself alone, my habits are +simple enough, and my tastes also. My difficulty will be, I suppose, to +acquire more expensive ones.” + +“It is not a very hard task, I believe,” said she, smiling. + +“Not for others, perhaps; but I was reared in narrow fortune, Alice, +trained to submit to many a privation, and told too--I 'm not sure very +wisely--that such hardships are all the more easily borne by a man of +good blood and lineage. Perhaps I did not read my lesson right. At all +events, I thought a deal more of my good blood than other people were +willing to accord it; and the result was, it misled me.” + +“Misled you! and how--in what way?” + +“Is it you who ask me this--you, Alice, who have read me such wise +lessons on self-dependence, while Lady Lyle tried to finish my education +by showing the evils of over-presumption; and you were both right, +though I did n't see it at the time.” + +“I declare I do not understand you, Tony!” said she. + +“Well, I 'll try to be clearer,” said he, with more animation. “From the +first day I knew you, Alice, I loved you. I need not say that all the +difference in station between us never affected my love. You were too +far above me in every gift and grace to make rank, mere rank, ever +occur to my mind, though others were good enough to jog my memory on the +subject.” + +“Others! of whom are you speaking?” + +“Your brother Mark, for one; but I don't want to think of these things. +I loved you, I say; and to that degree that every change of your manner +towards me made the joy or the misery of my life. This was when I was an +idle youth, lounging about in that condition of half dependence that, +as I look back on, I blush to think I ever could have endured. My only +excuse is, however, that I knew no better.” + +“There was nothing unbecoming in what you did.” + +“Yes, there was, though. There was this: I was satisfied to hold an +ambiguous position,--to be a something, neither master nor servant, in +another man's house, all because it gave me the daily happiness to be +near you, and to see you, and to hear your voice. That was unbecoming, +and the best proof of it was, that with all my love and all my devotion, +you could not care for me.” + +“Oh, Tony! do not say that.” + +“When I say care, you could not do more than care; you couldn't love +me.” + +“Were you not always as a dear brother to me?” + +“I wanted to be more than brother, and when I found that this could not +be, I grew very careless, almost reckless, of my life; not but that it +took a long time to teach me the full lesson. I had to think over, not +only all that separated us in station, but all that estranged us in tone +of mind; and I saw that your superiority to me chafed me, and that if +you should ever come to feel for me, it would be through some sense of +pity.” + +“Oh, Tony!” + +“Yes, Alice, you know it better than I can say it; and so I set my pride +to fight against my love, with no great success at first. But as I lay +wounded in the orchard at Melazzo, and thought of my poor mother, and +her sorrow if she were to hear of my death, and compared her grief with +what yours would be, I saw what was real in love, and what was mere +interest; and I remember I took out my two relics,--the dearest objects +I had in the world,--a lock of my mother's hair and a certain glove,--a +white glove you may have seen once on a time; and it was over the little +braid of brown hair I let fall the last tears I thought ever to shed in +life; and here is the glove--I give it back to you. Will you have it?” + +She took it with a trembling hand; and in a voice of weak but steady +utterance said, “I told you that this time would come.” + +“You did so,” said he, gloomily. + +Alice rose and walked out upon the balcony; and after a moment Tony +followed her. They leaned on the balustrade side by side, but neither +spoke. + +“But we shall always be dear friends, Tony, sha'n't we?” said she, while +she laid her hand gently over his. + +“Oh, Alice,” said he, plaintively, “do not--do not, I beseech you--lead +me back again into that land of delusion I have just tried to escape +from. If you knew how I loved you--if you knew what it costs me to tear +that love out of my heart--you'd never wish to make the agony greater to +me.” + +“Dear Tony, it was a mere boyish passion. Remember for a moment how +it began. I was older than you--much older as regards life and the +world--and even older by more than a year. You were so proud to attach +yourself to a grown woman,--you a mere lad; and then your love--for +I will grant it was love--dignified you to yourself. It made you more +daring where there was danger, and it taught you to be gentler and +kinder, and more considerate to every one. All your good and great +qualities grew the faster that they had those little vicissitudes of +joy and sorrow, the sun and rain of our daily lives; but all that is not +love.” + +“You mean there is no love where there is no return of love?” + +She was silent + +“If so, I deny it. The faintest flicker of a hope was enough for me; the +merest shadow, a smile, a passing word, your mere 'Thank you, Tony,' as +I held your stirrup, the little word of recognition you would give when +I had done something that pleased you,--these--any of them--would send +me home happy,--happier, perhaps, than I ever shall be again.” + +“No, Tony, do not believe that,” said she, calmly; “not,” added she, +hastily, “that I can acquit myself of all wrong to you. No; I was in +fault,--gravely in fault I ought to have seen what would have come of +all our intimacy; I ought to have known that I could not develop all +that was best in your nature without making you turn in gratitude--well, +in love--to myself; but shall I tell you the truth? I over-estimated my +power over you. I not only thought I could make you love, but unlove me; +and I never thought what pain that lesson might cost--each of us.” + +“It would have been fairer to have cast me adrift at first,” said he, +fiercely. + +“And yet, Tony, you will be generous enough one of these days to think +differently!” + +“I certainly feel no touch of that generosity now.” + +“Because you are angry with me, Tony,--because you will not be just to +me; but when you have learned to think of me as your sister, and +can come and say, Dear Alice, counsel me as to this, advise me as to +that,--then there will be no ill-will towards me for all I have done to +teach you the great stores that were in your own nature.” + +“Such a day as that is distant,” said he, gloomily. + +“Who knows? The changes which work within us are not to be measured by +time; a day of sorrow will do the work of years.” + +“There! that lantern at the peak is the signal for me to be off. The +skipper promised to give me notice; but if you will say 'Stay!' be it +so. No, no, Alice, do not lay your hand on my arm if you would not have +me again deceive myself.” + +“You will write to me, Tony?” + +He shook his head to imply the negative. + +“Well, to Bella, at least?” + +“I think not. I will not promise. Why should I? Is it to try and knot +together the cords we have just torn, that you may break them again at +your pleasure?” + +“How ungenerous you are!” + +“You reminded me awhile ago it was my devotion to you that civilized me; +is it not natural that I should go back to savagery, as my allegiance +was rejected?” + +“You want to be Garibaldian in love as in war,” said she, smiling. + +The deep boom of a gun floated over the bay, and Tony started. + +“That's the last signal,--good-bye.” He held out his hand. + +“Good-bye, dear Tony,” said she. She held her cheek towards him. He +hesitated, blushed till his face was in a dame, then stooped and kissed +her. Skeff's voice was heard at the instant at the door; and Tony rushed +past him and down the stairs, and then, with mad speed, dashed along to +the jetty, leaped into the boat, and, covering his face with his hands, +never raised his head till they were alongside. + +“You were within an inch of being late, Tony,” cried M'Gruder, as he +came up the side. “What detained you?” + +“I 'll tell you all another time,--let me go below now;” and he +disappeared down the ladder. The heavy paddles flapped slowly, then +faster; and the great mass moved on, and made for the open sea. + + + +CHAPTER LX. A DECK WALK + +The steamer was well ont to sea when Tony appeared on deck. It was +a calm, starlight night,--fresh, but not cold. The few passengers, +however, had sought their berths below, and the only one who lingered on +deck was M'Grader and one other, who, wrapped in a large boat-cloak, lay +fast asleep beside the binnacle. + +“I was thinking you had turned in,” said M'Grader to Tony, “as you had +not come up.” + +“Give me a light; I want a smoke badly. I felt that something was wrong +with me, though I did n't know what it was. Is this Rory here?” + +“Yes, sound asleep, poor fellow.” + +“I 'll wager a trifle he has a lighter heart than either of us, Sam.” + +“It might easily be lighter than mine,” sighed M'Grader, heavily. + +Tony sighed too, but said nothing, and they walked along side by side, +with that short jerking stride men pace a deck with, feeling some sort +of companionship, although no words were exchanged between them. + +“You were nigh being late,” said M'Grader, at last “What detained you on +shore?” + +“I saw her!” said Tony, in a low muffled voice. + +“You saw her! Why, you told me you were determined not to see her.” + +“So I was, and so I intended. It came about by mere accident That +strange fellow, Skeffy, you've heard me speak of,--he pushed me plump +into the room where she was, and there was nothing to be done but to +speak to her.” + +“Well?” + +“Well! I spoke,” said he, half gruffly; and then, as if correcting the +roughness of his tone, added, “It was just as I said it would be; just +as I told you. She liked me well enough as a brother, but never thought +of me as anything else. All the interest she had taken in me was out of +friendship. She didn't say this haughtily, not a bit; she felt herself +much older than me, she said; that she felt herself better was like +enough, but she never hinted it, but she let me feel pretty plainly that +we were not made for each other; and though the lesson wasn't much to my +liking, I began to see it was true.” + +“Did you really?” + +“I did,” said he, with a deep sigh. “I saw that all the love I had borne +her was only paid back in a sort of feeling half compassionately, half +kindly; that her interest in me was out of some desire to make +something out of me; I mean, to force me to exert myself and do +something,--anything besides living a hanger-on at a great house. I have +a notion, too,--Heaven knows if there 's anything in it,--but I 've a +notion, Sam, if she had never known me till now,--if she had never +seen me idling and lounging about in that ambiguous position I +held,--something between gamekeeper and reduced gentleman,--that I might +have had a better chance.” + +M'Gruder nodded a half-assent, and Tony continued: “I'll tell you why +I think so. Whenever she asked me about the campaign and the way I was +wounded, and what I had seen, there was quite a change in her voice, and +she listened to what I said very differently from the way she heard me +when I talked to her of my affection for her.” + +“There 's no knowing them! there's no knowing them!” said M'Gruder, +drearily; “and how did it end?” + +“It ended that way.” + +“What way?” + +“Just as I told you. She said she'd always be the same as a sister to +me, and that when I grew older and wiser I 'd see that there should +never have been any closer tie between us. I can't repeat the words she +used, but it was something to this purport,--that when a woman has been +lecturing a man about his line of life, and trying to make something out +of him, against the grain of his own indolence, she can't turn suddenly +round and fall in love, even though _he_ was in love with _her_.” + +“She has a good head on her shoulders, she has,” muttered M'Gruder. + +“I'd rather she had a little more heart,” said Tony, peevishly. + +“That may be; but she's right, after all.” + +“And why is she right? why should n't she see me as I am now, and not +persist in looking at me as I used to be?” + +“Just because it's not her humor, I suppose; at least, I don't know any +better reason.” + +Tony wheeled suddenly away from his companion, and took two or three +turns alone. At last he said, “She never told me so, but I suppose the +truth was, all this time she _did_ think me very presumptuous; and that +what her mother did not scruple to say to me in words, Alice had often +said to her own heart.” + +“You are rich enough now to make you her equal.” + +“And I 'd rather be as poor as I used to be and have the hopes that have +left me.” + +M'Gruder gave a heavy sigh, and, turning away, leaned on the bulwark and +hid his face. “I'm a bad comforter, Tony,” said he at last, and speaking +with difficulty. “I did n't mean to have told you, for you have cares +enough of your own, but I may as well tell you,--read that.” As he +spoke, he drew out a letter and handed it to him; and Tony, stooping +down beside the binnacle light, read it over twice. + +“This is clear and clean beyond me,” exclaimed he, as he stood up. “From +any other girl I could understand it; but Dolly,--Dolly Stewart, who +never broke her word in her life,--I never knew her tell a lie as a +little child. What can she mean by it?” + +“Just what she says--there--she thought she could marry me, and she +finds she cannot.” + +“But why?” + +“Ah! that's more than she likes to tell me,--more, mayhap, than she 'd +tell any one.” + +“Have you any clew to it?” + +“None,--not the slightest.” + +“Is your sister-in-law in it? Has she said or written anything that +Dolly could resent?” + +“No; don't you mark what she says at the end? 'You must not try to +lighten any blame you would lay on me by thinking that any one has +influenced me. The fault is all my own. It is I myself have to ask your +forgiveness.'” + +“Was there any coldness in your late letters? Was there anything that +she could construe into change of affection?” + +“Nothing,--nothing.” + +“What will her father say to it?” said Tony, after a pause. + +“She's afraid of that herself. You mind the words?--'If I meet +forgiveness from you, I shall not from others, and my fault will bear +its heavy punishment on a heart that is not too happy.' Poor thing! I +do forgive her,--forgive her with all my heart; but it's a great blow, +Tony.” + +“If she was a capricious girl, I could understand it, but that's what +she never was.” + +“No, no; she was true and honest in all things.” + +“It may be something about her father; he's an old man, and failing. She +cannot bear to leave him, perhaps, and it's just possible she could n't +bring herself to say it. Don't you think it might be that?” + +“Don't give me a hope, Tony. Don't let me see a glimpse of light, my +dear friend, if there 's to be no fulfilment after.” + +The tone of emotion he spoke in made Tony unable to reply for some +minutes. “I have no right to say this, it is true,” said he, kindly; +“but it's the nearest guess I can make: I know, for she told me so +herself, she 'd not go and be a governess again if she could help it.” + +“Oh, if you were to be right, Tony! Oh, if it was to be as you suspect; +for we could make him come out and live with us here! We've plenty of +room, and it would be a pleasure to see him happy, and at rest, after +his long life of labor. Let us read the letter over together, Tony, and +see how it agrees with that thought;” and now they both crouched down +beside the light, and read it over from end to end. Here and there were +passages that they pondered over seriously, and some they read twice +and even thrice, and although they brought to this task the desire to +confirm a speculation, there was that in the tone of the letter that +gave little ground for their hope. It was so self-accusing throughout, +that it was plain she herself laid no comfort to her own heart in the +thought of a high duty fulfilled. + +“Are you of the same mind still?” asked M'Gruder, sadly, and with little +of hopefulness in his voice; and Tony was silent. + +“I see you are not. I see that you cannot give me such a hope.” + +“Have you answered this yet?” + +“Yes, I have written it; but it's not sent off. I kept it by me to read +over, and see that there was nothing harsh or cruel,--nothing I would +not say in cold blood; for oh, Tony! I will avow it was hard to forgive +her; no, I don't mean that, but it was hard to bring myself to believe +I had lost her forever. For a while I thought the best thing I could do +was to comfort myself by thinking how false she was, and I took out all +her letters, to convince me of her duplicity; but what do you think I +found? They all showed me, what I never saw till then, that she was only +going to be my wife out of a sort of resignation; that the grief and +fretting of her poor father at leaving her penniless in the world was +more than she could bear; and that to give him the comfort of his +last few days in peace, she 'd make any sacrifice; and through all +the letters, though I never saw it before, she laid stress on what she +called doing her best to make me happy, but there was no word of being +happy herself.” + +Perhaps Tony did not lay the same stress on this that his friend did; +perhaps no explanation of it came readily to his mind; at all events, he +made no attempt at comment, and only said,-- + +“And what will your answer be?” + +“What can it be?--to release her, of course.” + +“Ay, but how will you say it?” + +“Here's what I have written; it is the fourth attempt, and I don't much +like it yet, but I can't do it better.” + +And once more they turned to the light while M'Gruder read out his +letter. It was a kind and feeling letter; it contained not one word of +reproach, but it said that, into the home he had taken, and where he +meant to be so happy, he 'd never put foot again. “You ought to have +seen it, Tony,” said he, with a quiver in his voice. “It was all so neat +and comfortable; and the little room I meant to be Dolly's own was +hung round with prints, and there was a little terrace, with some +orange-trees and myrtles, that would grow there all through the +winter,--for it was a sheltered spot under the Monte Nero; but it's all +over now.” + +“Don't send off that letter. I mean, let me see her and speak to her +before you write. I shall be at home, I hope, by Wednesday, and I'll go +over to the Burnside,--or, better still, I 'll make my mother ask Dolly +to come over to us. Dolly loves her as if she were her own mother, and +if any one can influence her she will be that one.” + +“But I'd not wish her to come round by persuasion, Tony. Dolly's a girl +to have a will of her own, and she's never made op her mind to write me +that letter without thinking well over it.” + +“Perhaps she'll tell my mother her reasons. Perhaps she'll say why she +draws back from her promise.” + +“I don't even know that I'd like to drive her to that; it mightn't be +quite fair.” + +Tony flung away his cigar with impatience; he was irritated, for he +bethought him of his own case, and how it was quite possible that no +such scruples of delicacy would have interfered with him if he could +only have managed to find out what was passing in Alice's mind. + +“I 'm sure,” said M'Gruder, “you agree with me, Tony; and if she says, +'Don't hold me to my pledge,' I have no right to ask why.” + +A short shrug of the shoulders was all Tony's answer. + +“Not that I 'd object to your saying a word for me, Tony, if there was +to be any hope from it,--saying what a warm friend could say of one he +thought well of. You 've been living under the same roof with me, and +you know more of my nature, and my ways and my temper, than most men, +and mayhap what you could tell her might have its weight.” + +“That I know and believe.” + +“But don't think only of me, Tony. _She's_ more to be considered than +I am; and if this bargain was to be unhappy for her, it would only be +misery for both of us. You'd not marry your own sweetheart against her +own will?” + +Tony neither agreed to nor dissented from this remark. The chances were +that it was a proposition not so readily solved, and that he 'd like to +have thought over it. + +“No; I know you better than that,” said M'Gruder, once more. + +“Perhaps not,” remarked Tony; but the tone certainly gave no positive +assurance of a settled determination. “At all events, I 'll see what I +can do for you.” + +“If it was that she cares for somebody else that she could n't +marry,--that her father disliked, or that he was too poor,--I 'd never +say one word; because who can tell what changes may come in life, and +the man that could n't support a wife now, in a year or two may be well +off and thriving? And if it was that she really liked another,--you +don't think that likely? Well, neither do I; but I say it here because I +want to take in every consideration of the question; but I repeat, if +it were so, I 'd never utter one word against it. Your mother, Tony, is +more likely to find _that_ out than any of us; and if she says Dolly's +heart is given away already, that will be enough. I 'll not trouble nor +torment her more.” + +Tony grasped his friend's hand and shook it warmly, some vague suspicion +darting through him at the time that this rag-merchant was more generous +in his dealing with the woman he loved than he, Tony, would have been. +Was it that he loved less, or was it that his love was more? Tony could +n't tell; nor was it so very easy to resolve it either way. + +As day broke, the steamer ran into Leghorn to land some passengers and +take in others; and M'Gruder, while he took leave of Tony, pointed to +a red-tiled roof rising amongst some olive-trees,--the quaint little +pigeon-house on top surmounted with a weather-vane fashioned into an +enormous letter S. + +“There it is,” said he, with a shake in his voice; “that was to have +been her home. I 'll not go near it till I hear from you, and you may +tell her so. Tell her you saw it, Tony, and that it was a sweet little +spot, where one might look for happiness if they could only bring a +quiet heart to it. And above all, Tony, write to me frankly and openly, +and don't give me any hopes if your own conscience tells you I have no +right to them.” + +With a strong grasp of the hand, and a long full look at each other +in silence, M'Grader went over the side to his boat, and the steamer +ploughed on her way to Marseilles. + + + +CHAPTER LXI. TONY AT HOME AGAIN + +Though Tony was eager to persuade Rory to accompany him home, the poor +fellow longed so ardently to see his friends and relations, to tell all +that he had done and suffered for “the cause,” and to show the rank he +had won, that Tony yielded at last, and only bound him by a promise +to come and pass his Christmas at the Causeway; and now he hastened on +night and day, feverishly impatient to see his mother, and yearning for +that affection which his heart had never before so thirsted after. + +There were times when he felt that, without Alice, all his good fortune +in life was valueless; and it was a matter of utter indifference whether +he was to see himself surrounded with every means of enjoyment, or rise +each morning to meet some call of labor. And then there were times when +he thought of the great space that separated them,--not in condition, +but in tastes and habits and requirements. She was of that gay and +fashionable world that she adorned,--made for it, and made to like it; +its admiration and its homage were things she looked for. What would +he have done if obliged to live in such a society? His delight was the +freedom of an out-of-door existence,--the hard work of field-sports, +dashed with a certain danger that gave them their zest. In these he +admitted no man to be his superior; and in this very conscious strength +lay the pride that sustained him. Compel him, however, to live in +another fashion, surround him with the responsibilities of station, and +the demands of certain ceremonies, and he would be wretched. “Perhaps +she saw all that,” muttered he to himself. “With that marvellous +quickness of hers, who knows if she might not have foreseen how unsuited +I was to all habits but my own wayward careless ones? And though I hope +I shall always be a gentleman, in truth there are some forms of the +condition that puzzle me sorely. + +“And, after all, have I not my dear mother to look after and make happy? +and what a charm it will give to life to see her surrounded with the +little objects she loved and cared for! What a garden she shall have!” + Climate and soil, to be sure, were stiff adversaries to conquer, +but money and skill could fight them; and that school for the little +girls--the fishermen's daughters--that she was always planning, and +always wondering Sir Arthur Lyle had never thought of, she should have +it now, and a pretty building, too, it should be. He knew the very spot +to suit it, and how beautiful he would make their own little cottage, +if his mother should still desire to live there. Not that he thought of +this positively with perfect calm and indifference. To live so near +the Lyles, and live estranged from them, would be a great source of +unpleasantness, and yet how could he possibly renew his relations there, +now that all was over between Alice and himself? “Ah,” thought he, at +last, “the world would stand still if it had to wait for stupid fellows +like me to solve its difficulties. I must just let events happen, and do +the best I can when they confront me;” and then mother would be there, +mother would counsel and advise him; mother would warn him of this, and +reconcile him to that; and so he was of good cheer as to the future, +though there were things in the present that pressed him sorely. + +It was about an hour after dark of a starry, sharp October evening, that +the jaunting-car on which he travelled drove up to the spot where the +little pathway turned off to the cottage, and Jeanie was there with her +lantern waiting for him. + +“You've no a' that luggage, Maister Tony?” cried she, as the man +deposited the fourth trunk on the road. + +“How's my mother?” asked he, impatiently,--“is she well?” + +“Why wouldn't she be weel, and hearty too?” said the girl, who rather +felt the question as savoring of ingratitude, seeing what blessings of +fortune had been showered upon them. + +As he walked hurriedly along, Jeanie trotted at his side, telling him, +in broken and disjointed sentences, the events of the place,--the joy of +the whole neighborhood on hearing of his new wealth; their hopes that +he might not leave that part of the country; what Mrs. Blackie of Craigs +Mills said at Mrs. Dumphy's christening, when she gave the name of Tony +to the baby, and wouldn't say Anthony; and how Dr. M'Candlish improved +the occasion for “twa good hours, wi' mair text o' Scripture than wad +make a Sabbath-day's discourse; and ech, Maister Tony, it's a glad heart +I'll hae o' it all, if I could only think that you 'll no be going to +keep a man creature,--a sort of a butler like; there 's no such wastefu' +bodies in the world as they, and wanting mair ceremonies than the best +gentleman in the land.” + +Before Tony had finished assuring her that no change in the household +should displace herself, they had reached the little wicket; his mother, +as she stood at the door, caught the sound of his voice, rushed out to +meet him, and was soon clasped in his arms. + +“It's more happiness than I hoped for,--more, far more,” was all she +could say, as she clung to him. Her next words were uttered in a cry of +joy, when the light fell full upon him in the doorway,--“you 're just +your father, Tony; it's your own father's self I see standing before me, +if you had not so much hair over your face.” + +“I 'll soon get rid of that, mother, if you dislike it.” + +“Let it be, Master Tony,--let it be,” cried Jeanie; “though it +frightened me a bit at first, it 's no so bad when one gets used to it.” + +Though Mrs. Butler had determined to make Tony relate every event that +took place from the day he left her, in regular narrative order, nothing +could be less connected, nothing less consecutive, than the incidents he +recounted. Now it would be some reminiscence of his messenger +days,--of his meeting with that glorious Sir Joseph, who treated him so +handsomely; then of that villain who stole his despatches; of his +life as a rag-merchant, or his days with Garibaldi. Rory, too, was +remembered; and he related to his mother the pious fraud by which he had +transferred to his humble follower the promotion Garibaldi had bestowed +upon himself. + +“He well deserved it, and more; he carried me, when I was wounded, +through the orchard at Melazzo on his back, and though struck with a +bullet himself, never owned he was hit till he fell on the grass beside +me,--a grand fellow that, mother, though he never learned to read.” And +there was a something of irony in his voice as he said this, that showed +how the pains of learning still rankled in his mind. + +“And you never met the Lyles? How strange!” exclaimed she. + +“Yes, I met Alice; at least,” said he, stooping down to settle the log +on the fire, “I saw her the last evening I was at Naples.” + +“Tell me all about it” + +“There 's no all. I met her, we talked together for half an hour or so, +and we parted; there's the whole of it.” + +“She had heard, I suppose, of your good fortune?” + +“Yes, Skeff had told them the story and, I take it, made the most of our +wealth; not that rich people like the Lyles would be much impressed by +our fortune.” + +“That may be true, Tony, but rich folk have a sympathy with other +rich folk, and they 're not very wrong in liking those whose condition +resembles their own. What did Alice say? Did she give you some good +advice as to your mode of life?” + +“Yes, plenty of that; she rather likes advice-giving.” + +“She was always a good friend of yours, Tony. I mind well when she used +to come here to hear your letters read to her. She ever made the same +remark: 'Tony is a fine true-hearted boy; and when he's moulded and +shaped a bit by the pressure of the world, he 'll grow to be a fine +true-hearted man.'” + +“It was very gracious of her, no doubt,” said he, with a sharp, short +tone; “and she was good enough to contribute a little to that self-same +'pressure' she hoped so much from.” + +His mother looked at him to explain his words, but he turned his head +away and was silent. + +“Tell me something about home, mother. How are the Stewarts? Where is +Dolly?” + +“They are well, and Dolly is here; and a dear good girl she is. +Ah, Tony! if you knew all the comfort she has been to me in your +absence,--coming here through sleet and snow and storm, and nursing me +like a daughter.” + +“I liked her better till I learned how she had treated that good-hearted +fellow Sam M'Gruder. Do you know how she has behaved to him?” + +“I know it all. I read her letters, every one of them.” + +“And can you mean that you defend her conduct?'” + +“I mean that if she were to marry a man she did not love, and were +dishonest enough not to tell him so, I 'd not attempt to defend her. +There's what I mean, Tony.” + +“Why promise him, then,--why accept him?” + +“She never did.” + +“Ah!” exclaimed he, holding up both his hands. + +“I know what I say, Tony. It was the doctor answered the letter in which +Mr. M'Gruder proposed for Dolly. He said that he could not, would not, +use any influence over his daughter; but that, from all he had learned +of Mr. M'Gruder's character, he would give his free consent to the +match.” + +“Well, then, Dolly said--” + +“Wait a bit, I am coming to Dolly. She wrote back that she was sorry he +had not first written to herself, and she would frankly have declared +that she did not wish to marry; but now, as he had addressed her +father,--an old man in failing health, anxious above all things about +what was to become of her when he was removed,--the case was a more +difficult one, since to refuse his offer was to place herself in +opposition to her father's will,--a thing that in all her life had never +happened. 'You will see from this,' said she, 'that I could not bring +to you that love and affection which would be your right, were I only +to marry you to spare my father's anxieties. You ought to have more than +this in your wife, and I cannot give you more; therefore do not persist +in this suit, or, at all events, do not press it.'” + +“But I remember your writing me word that Dolly was only waiting till I +left M'Gruder's house, or quitted the neighborhood, to name the day she +would be married. How do you explain that?” + +“It was her father forced her to write that letter: his health was +failing, and his irritability had increased to that degree that at times +we were almost afraid of his reason, Tony; and I mind well the night +Dolly came over to show me what she had written. She read it in that +chair where you are sitting now, and when she finished she fell on her +knees, and, hiding her face in my lap, she sobbed as if her poor heart +was breaking.” + +“So, in fact, she was always averse to this match?” + +“Always. She never got a letter from abroad that I could n't have told +it by her red eyes and swelled eyelids, poor lassie!” + +“I say, 'poor fellow!' mother; for I declare that the man who marries a +woman against her will has the worst of it.” + +“No, no, Tony; all sorrows fall heaviest on the helpless. When at last +the time came that she could bear no more, she rallied her courage +and told her father that if she were to marry M'Gruder it would be the +misery of her whole life. He took it very ill at first; he said some +very cruel things to her; and, indeed, it was only after seeing how +I took the lassie's side, and approved of all she had done, that he +yielded and gave way. But he isn't what he used to be, Tony. Old age, +they say, makes people sometimes sterner and harder. A grievous thing +to think of, that we 'd be more worldly just when the world was slipping +away beneath us; and so what do you think he does? The same day +that Dolly writes that letter to M'Gruder, he makes her write to Dr. +M'Candlish to say that she 'd take a situation as a governess with +a family going to India which the doctor mentioned was open to any +well-qualified young person like herself. 'Ye canna say that your “heart +will be broke wi' treachery” here, lassie,' said her father, jeering at +what she said in her tears about the marriage.” + +“You oughtn't to suffer this, mother; you ought to offer Dolly a home +here with yourself.” + +“It was what I was thinking of. Tony; but I did n't like to take any +step in it till I saw you and spoke to you.” + +“Do it, by all means,--do it to-morrow.” + +“Not to-morrow, Tony, nor even the next day; for Dolly and the doctor +left this to pass a few days with the M'Candlishes at Articlave, and +they 'll not be back before Saturday; but I am so glad that you like the +plan,--so glad that it came from yourself too.” + +“It's the first bit of pleasure our new wealth has given us, mother; may +it be a good augury!” + +“That's a heathenish word, Tony, and most unsuited to be used in +thankfulness for God's blessings.” + +Tony took the rebuke in good part, and, to change the topic, laughingly +asked if she thought Garibaldians never were hungry, for she had said +nothing of supper since he came. + +“Jeanie has been in three times to tell you it was ready, and the last +time she said she 'd come no more; but come, and we'll see what there's +for us.” + + + +CHAPTER LXII. SKEFF DAMER'S LAST “PRIVATE AND CONFIDENTIAL” + +After some four or five days passed almost like a dream--for while he +stood in the midst of old familiar objects, all Tony's thoughts as to +the future were new and strange--there came a long letter from Skeff +Darner, announcing his approaching marriage with Bella,--the “dear old +woman of Tilney” having behaved “beautifully.” “Short as the time has +been since you left this, my brave Tony, great events have occurred. The +King has lost his throne, and Skeff Darner has gained an estate. I would +have saved him, for I really like the Queen; but that his obstinacy is +such, the rescue would have only been a reprieve, not a pardon. Sicily I +meant for us,--I mean for England,--myself to be the Viceroy. The silver +mines at Stromboli have never been worked since the time of Tiberius; +they contain untold wealth: and as to coral fishery, I have obtained +statistics will make your teeth water. I can show you my calculations +in hard figures, that in eight years and four months I should be +the richest man in Europe,--able to purchase the soil of the island +out-and-out, if the British Government were stupid enough not to see +that they ought to establish me and my dynasty there. These are now but +visions,--grand and glorious visions, it is true,--and dearest Bella +sheds tears when I allude to them. + +“I have had a row with 'the Office;' they blame me for the downfall of +the monarchy, but they never told me to save it. To you I may make the +confession, it was the two days I passed at Cava cost this Bourbon his +crown. Not that I regret, my dear Tony, this tribute to friendship. +During that interval, as Caraffa expresses it, they were paralyzed. +'Where is Damer?' 'Who has seen Skeff?' 'What has become of him?' 'With +whom is he negotiating?' were the questions on every side; and in the +very midst of the excitement, back comes the fellow M'Caskey, the +little fiery-faced individual you insisted in your raving on calling my +'godfather,' and declares that I am in the camp of the Garibaldians, and +making terms and stipulations with the General himself. The Queen-Mother +went off in strong hysterics when she heard it; the King never uttered a +word,--has never spoken since,--and the dear Queen merely said, 'Darner +will never betray us.' + +“These particulars I learned from Francardi. Meanwhile Garibaldi, seeing +the immense importance of my presence at his head-quarters, pushes +on for the capital, and enters Naples, as he gives out, with the +concurrence and approval of England! You will, I have no doubt, hear +another version of this event. You will be told bushels of lies about +heroic daring and frantic popular enthusiasm. To your friendly breast +I commit the truth, never to be revealed, however, except to a remote +posterity. + +“One other confession, and I have done,--done with politics forever. +You will hear of Garibaldi as a brave, straightforward, simple-minded, +unsuspectful man, hating intrigues of all kinds. This is totally wrong. +With all his courage, it is as nothing to his craft He is the deepest +politician, and the most subtle statesman in Europe, and, to my +thinking,--mind, it is _my_ estimate I give you,--more of Machiavelli +than any man of his day. Bear this in mind, and keep your eye on him in +future. We had not been five minutes together till each of us had read +the other. We were the two 'Augurs' of the Latin satirist, and if we did +n't laugh, we exchanged a recognition just as significant. I ought to +tell you that he is quite frantic at my giving up political life, and +he says that my retirement will make Cavour's fortune, for there is no +other man left fit to meet him. There was not a temptation, not a bribe, +he did not throw out to induce me to withhold my resignation; and when +he found that personal advantages had no weight with me, he said, 'Mind +my words, Monsieur Darner; the day will come when you will regret this +retirement. When you will see the great continent of Europe convulsed +from one end to the other, and yourself no longer in the position to +influence the course of events, and guide the popular will, you will +bitterly regret this step.' But I know myself better. What could the +Peerage, what could the Garter, what could a seat in the Cabinet do for +me? I have been too long and too much behind the scenes to be dazzled by +the blaze of the 'spectacle.' I want repose, a home, the charms of +that domestic life which are denied to the mere man of ambition. Bella, +indeed, has her misgivings, that to live without greatness--greatness +in action, and greatness to come--will be a sore trial to me; but I tell +her, as I tell you, my dear friend, that it is exactly the men who, +like myself, have moved events, and given the spring to the greatest +casualties, who are readiest to accept tranquillity and peace as the +first of blessings. Under the shade of my old elms at Tilney--I may call +them mine already, as Reeves and Tucker are drawing out the deeds--I +will write my memoirs,--one of the most interesting contributions, when +it appears, that history has received for the last century. I can afford +to be fearless, and I will be; and if certain noble lords go down to +posterity with tarnished honor and diminished fame, they can date the +discovery to the day when they disparaged a Darner. + +“Now for a minor key. We led a very jolly life on board the 'Talisman;' +only needing yourself to make it perfect. My Lady L. was 'out of +herself' at your not coming; indeed, since your accession to fortune, +she has discovered some very amiable and some especially attractive +qualities in your nature, and that if you fall amongst the right +people--I hope you appreciate the sort of accident intended--you will +become a very superior article. Bella is, as always, a sincere friend; +and though Alice says, nothing, she does not look ungrateful to him +who speaks well of you. Bella has told me in confidence--mind, in +confidence--that all is broken off between Alice and you, and says it +is all the better for both; that you were a pair of intractable tempers, +and that the only chance for either of you is to be allied to somebody +or something that would consent to think you perfection, and yet manage +you as if you were not what is called 'absolute wisdom.' + +“Bella also said, 'Tony might have had some chance with Alice had he +remained poor; the opposition of her family would have had its weight +in influencing her in his favor; but now that he is a prize in the +matrimonial lottery, she is quite ready to see any defects he may have, +and set them against all that would be said in his behalf. Last of all, +she likes her independence as a widow. I half suspected that Maitland +had been before you in her favor; but Bella says not. By the way, it +was the fortune that has fallen to you Maitland had always expected; +Sir Omerod having married, or, as some say, not married, his mother, and +adopted Maitland, who contrived to spend about eighty thousand of the +old man's savings in ten or eleven years. He is a strange fellow, and +mysterious to the last. Since the overthrow of the Government, we have +been reduced to ask protection to the city from the secret society +called the Camorra, a set of Neapolitan Thugs, who cut throats in +reciprocity; and it was by a guard of these wretches that we were +escorted to the ship's boats when we embarked. Bella swears that the +chief of the gang was no other than Maitland, greatly disguised, of +course; but she says that she recognized him by his teeth as he smiled +accidentally. It would be, of course, at the risk of his life he was +there, since anything that pertained to the Court would, if discovered, +be torn to fragments by the people. My 'godfather' had a narrow escape +on Tuesday last. He rode through the Toledo in full uniform, amidst all +the people, who were satisfied with hissing him instead of treating him +to a stiletto, and the rascal grinned an insolent defiance as he went, +and said, as he gained the Piazza, 'You 're not such bad _canaille_, +after all; I have seen worse in Mexico.' He went on board a +despatch-boat in the bay, and ordered the commander to take him to +Gaeta; and the oddest of all is, the officer complied, overpowered, +as better men have been, by the scoundrels impertinence. Oh, Tony, +to you,--to yourself, to your heart's most secret closet, fast to be +locked, when you have my secret inside of it,--to _you_, I own, that +the night I passed in that wretch's company is the darkest page of my +existence. He overwhelmed me with insult, and I had to bear it, just as +I should have to bear the buffeting of the waves if I had been thrown +into the sea. I 'd have strangled him then and there if I was able, but +the brute would have torn me limb from limb if I attempted it. Time may +diminish the acuteness of this suffering, but I confess to you, up to +this, when I think of what I went through, my humiliation overpowers me. +I hope fervently you may meet him one of these days. You have a little +score of your own, I suspect, to settle with him; at all events, if +the day of reckoning comes, include my balance, and trust to my eternal +gratitude. + +“Here have come Alice and Bella to make me read out what I have written +to you; of course I have objected. This is a 'strictly private and +confidential.' What we do for the blue-books, Master Tony, we do in +a different fashion. Alice, perhaps, suspects the reasons of my +reserve,--'appreciates my reticence,' as we say in the 'Line.' + +“At all events, she tells me to make you write to her. 'When Tony,' said +she, 'has found out that he was only in love with me because I made him +better known to his own heart, and induced him to develop some of his +own fine qualities, he 'll begin to see that we may and ought to be +excellent friends; and some day or other, when there shall be a +Mrs. Tony, if she be a sensible woman, she 'll not object to their +friendship.' She said this so measuredly and calmly that I can almost +trust myself to say I have reported her word for word. It reads to me +like a very polite _congé_. What do you say to it? + +“The Lyles are going back at the end of the month, but Alice says +she 'll winter at Cairo. There is an insolent independence about these +widows, Tony, that adds one more terror to death. I protest I 'd like +to haunt the woman that could employ her freedom of action in this +arbitrary manner. + +“Dearest Bella insists on your coming to our wedding; it will come off +at Tilney, strictly private. None but our nearest relatives, not even +the Duke of Dullchester, nor any of the Howards. They will feel it; but +it can't be helped, I suppose. Cincinnatus had to cut his connections, +too, when he took to horticulture. You, however, must not desert me; and +if you cannot travel without Rory, bring him with you. + +“I am impatient to get away from this, and seek the safety of some +obscure retreat; for I know the persecution I shall be exposed to to +withdraw my resignation and remain. To this I will never consent. I give +it to you under my hand, Tony, and I give it the more formally, as +I desire it may be historic. I know well the whining tone they will +assume,--just as well as if I saw it before me in a despatch. 'What are +we to tell the Queen?' will be the cry. My dignified answer will be, +'Tell her that you made it impossible for one of the ablest of her +servants to hold his office with dignity. Tell her, too, that Skeff +Darner has done enough for honor; he now seeks to do something for +happiness.' Back to office again I will not go. Five years and two +months of unpaid services have I given to my country, and England is +not ashamed to accept the unrewarded labors of her gifted sons! My very +'extraordinaries' have been cavilled at. I give you my word of honor, +they have asked me for vouchers for the champagne and lobsters +with which I have treated some of the most dangerous regicides of +Europe,--men whose language would make your hair stand on end, and whose +sentiments actually curdled the blood as one listened to them. + +“The elegant hospitalities which I dispensed, in the hope--vain +hope!--of inducing them to believe that the social amenities of life had +extended to our insular position,--these the Office declares they have +nothing to do with; and insolently asks me, 'Are there any other items +of my pleasure whose cost I should wish to submit to Parliament?' + +“Ask Talleyrand, ask Metternich, ask any of our own people,--B., or S., +or H.--since when have cookery and the ballet ceased to be the lawful +weapons of diplomacy? + +“The day of reckoning for all this, my dear Tony, is coming. At first +I thought of making some of my friends in the House move for the +corrrespondence between F. O. and myself,--the Damer papers they would +be called, in the language of the public journals,--and thus bring on +a smashing debate. Reconsideration, however, showed me that my memoirs, +'Five Years of a Diplomatist on Service,' would be the more fitting +place; and in the pages of those volumes you will find revelations more +astounding, official knaveries more nefarious, and political intrigues +more Machiavellian, than the wildest imagination for wickedness has +ever conceived. What would they not have given rather than see such an +exposure? I almost think I will call my book '“Extraordinaries” of a +Diplomatist.' Sensational and taking both, that title! You mustn't +be provoked if, in one of the lighter chapters--there must be light +chapters--I stick in that little adventure of your own with my +godfather.” + +“Confound the fellow!” muttered Tony, and with such a hearty indignation +that his mother heard him from the adjoining room, and hastened in +to ask who or what had provoked him. Tony blundered out some sort of +evasive reply, and then said, “Was it Dr. Stewart's voice I heard there +a few minutes ago?” + +“Yes, Tony; he called in as he was passing to Coleraine on important +business. The poor man is much agitated by an offer that has just been +made him to go far away over the seas, and finish his days, one may call +it, at the end of the world. Some of this country folk, it seems, who +settled in New Zealand, at a place they call Wellington Gap, had invited +him to go out there and minister among them; and though he 's not minded +to make the change at his advanced time of life, nor disposed to lay his +bones in a far-away land, yet for Dolly's sake--poor Dolly, who will be +left friendless and homeless when he is taken away--he thinks, maybe, +it's his duty to accept the offer; and so he's gone into the town to +consult Dr. M'Candlish and the elder Mr. Mc Elwain, and a few other +sensible men.” + +“Why won't Dolly marry the man she ought to marry,--a good true-hearted +fellow, who will treat her well and be kind to her? Tell me that, +mother.” + +“It mauna be,--it mauna be,” said the old lady, who, when much moved, +frequently employed the Scotch dialect unconsciously. + +“Is there a reason for her conduct?” + +“There is a reason,” said she, firmly. + +“And do you know it? Has she told you what it is?” + +“I'm not at liberty to talk over this matter with you, Tony. Whatever I +know, I know as a thing confided to me in honor.” + +“I only asked, Was the reason one that you yourself were satisfied +with?” + +“It was, and is,” replied she, gravely. + +“Do you think, from what you know, that Dolly would listen to any +representations I might make her? for I know M'Grader thoroughly, and +can speak of him as a friend likes to speak.” + +“No, no, Tony; don't do it! don't do it!” cried she, with a degree of +emotion that perfectly amazed him, for the tears swam in her eyes, and +her lips trembled as she spoke. He stared fixedly at her; but she turned +away her head, and for some minutes neither spoke. + +“Come, mother,” said Tony, at last, and in his kindliest voice, “you +have a good head of your own; think of some way to prevent the poor old +doctor from going off into exile.” + +“How could we help him that he would not object to?” + +“What if you were to hit upon some plan of adopting Dolly? You have long +loved her as if she were your own daughter, and she has returned your +affections.” + +“That she has,” muttered the old lady, as she wiped her eyes. + +“What use is this new wealth of ours if it benefit none but ourselves, +mother? Just get the doctor to talk it all over with you, and say to +him, 'Have no fears as to Dolly; she shall never be forced to marry +against her inclinations,--merely for support; her home shall be here +with us, and she shall be no dependant, neither.' I'll take care of +that.” + +“How like your father you said these words, Tony!” cried she, looking at +him with a gaze of love and pride together; “it was his very voice too.” + +“I meant to have spoken to her on poor M'Grader's behalf,--I promised +him I would; but if you tell me it is of no use--” + +“I tell you more, Tony,--I tell you it would be cruel; it would be worse +than cruel,” cried she, eagerly. + +“Then I 'll not do it, and I 'll write to him to-day, and say so, +though, Heaven knows, I 'll be sorely puzzled to explain myself; but +as he is a true man, he 'll feel that I have done all for the best, and +that if I have not served his cause it has not been for any lack of the +will!” + +“If you wish it, Tony, I could write to Mr. M'Gruder myself. A letter +from an old body like me is sometimes a better means to break a +misfortune than one from a younger hand. Age deals more naturally with +sorrow, perhaps.” + +“You will be doing a kind thing, my dear mother,” said he, as he drew +her towards him, “and to a good fellow who deserves well of us.” + +“I want to thank him, besides, for his kindness and care of you, Tony; +so just write his address for me there on that envelope, and I 'll do it +at once.” + +“I'm off for a ramble, mother, till dinner-time,” said Tony, taking his +hat. + +“Are you going up to the Abbey, Tony?” + +“No,” said he, blushing slightly. + +“Because, if you had, I'd have asked you to fetch me some fresh flowers. +Dolly is coming to dine with us, and she is so fond of seeing flowers on +the centre of the table.” + +“No; I have nothing to do at the Abbey. I 'm off towards Portrash.” + +“Why not go over to the Burnside and fetch Dolly?” said she, carelessly. + +“Perhaps I may,--that is, if I should find myself in that quarter; but +I'm first of all bent on a profound piece of thoughtfulness or a good +smoke,--pretty much the same thing with me, I believe. So good-bye for a +while.” + +His mother looked after him with loving eyes till the tears dulled them; +but there are tears which fall on the affections as the dew falls on +flowers, and these were of that number. + +“His own father,--his own father!” muttered she, as she followed the +stalwart figure till it was lost in the distance. + + + +CHAPTER LXIII. AT THE COTTAGE BESIDE THE CAUSEWAY + +I must use more discretion as to Mrs. Butler's correspondence than I +have employed respecting Skeff Damer's. What she wrote on that morning +is not to be recorded here. It will be enough if I say that her letter +was not alone a kind one, but that it thoroughly convinced him who read +it that her view was wise and true, and that it would be as useless as +ungenerous to press Dolly further, or ask for that love which was not +hers to give. + +It was a rare event with her to have to write a letter. It was not, +either, a very easy task; but if she had not the gift of facile +expression, she had another still better for her purpose,--an honest +nature steadfastly determined to perform a duty. She knew her subject, +too, and treated it with candor, while with delicacy. + +While she wrote, Tony strolled along, puffing his cigar or re-lighting +it, for it was always going out, and dreaming away in his own misty +fashion over things past, present, and future, till really the actual +and the ideal became so thoroughly commingled he could not well +distinguish one from the other. He thought--he knew, indeed, he ought to +be very happy. All his anxieties as to a career and a livelihood ended, +he felt that a very enjoyable existence might lie before him; but +somehow,--he hoped he was not ungrateful,--but somehow he was not so +perfectly happy as he supposed his good fortune should have made him. + +“Perhaps it will come later on; perhaps when I am active and employed; +perhaps when I shall have learned to interest myself in the things money +brings around a man; perhaps, too, when I can forget,--ay, that was +the lesson was hardest of all.” All these passing thoughts, a good +deal dashed through each other, scarcely contributed to enlighten his +faculties; and he rambled on over rocks and yellow strand, up hillsides, +and through fern-clad valleys, not in the least mindful of whither he +was going. + +At last he suddenly halted, and saw he was in the shrubberies of Lyle +Abbey, his steps having out of old habit taken the one same path they +had followed for many a year. The place was just as he had seen it last. +Trees make no marvellous progress in the north of Ireland, and a longer +absence than Tony's would leave them just as they were before. All +was neat, orderly, and well kept; and the heaps of dried leaves and +brushwood ready to be wheeled away, stood there as he saw them when he +last walked that way with Alice. He was poor then, without a career, +or almost a hope of one; and yet it was possible, could it be possible, +that he was happier then than he now felt? Was it that love sufficed for +all, and that the heart so filled had no room for other thoughts +than those of her it worshipped? He certainly had loved her greatly. +She,--she alone made up that world in which he had lived. Her smile, her +step, her laugh, her voice,--ay, there they were, all before him. What a +dream it was! Only a dream, after all; for she never cared for him. +She had led him on to love her, half in caprice, half in a sort of +compassionate interest for a poor boy,--boy she called him,--to whom a +passion for one above him was certain to elevate and exalt him in his +own esteem. “Very kind, doubtless,” muttered he, “but very cruel too. +She might have remembered that this same dream was to have a very rough +awaking. I had built nearly every hope upon one, and that one, she well +knew, was never to be realized. It might not have been the most gracious +way to do it, but I declare it would have been the most merciful, to +have treated me as her mother did, who snubbed my pretensions at once. +It was all right that I should recognize her superiority over me in a +hundred ways; but perhaps she should not have kept it so continually in +mind, as a sort of barrier against a warmer feeling for me. I suppose +this is the fine-lady view of the matter. This is the theory that young +fellows are to be civilized, as they call it, by a passion for a woman +who is to amuse herself by their extravagances, and then ask their +gratitude for having deceived them. + +“I 'll be shot if I _am_ grateful,” said he, as he threw his cigar into +the pond. “I 'm astonished--amazed--now that it's all over” (here his +voice shook a little), “that my stupid vanity could ever have led me +to think of her, or that I ever mistook that patronizing way she had +towards me for more than good-nature. But, I take it, there are scores +of fellows who have had the selfsame experiences. Here's the seat I +made for her,” muttered he, as he came in front of a rustic bench. For +a moment a savage thought crossed him that he would break it in pieces, +and throw the fragments into the lake,--a sort of jealous anger lest +some day or other she might sit there with “another;” but he restrained +himself, and said, “Better not; better let her see that her civilizing +process has done something, and that though I have lost my game I can +bear my defeat becomingly.” + +He began to wish that she were there at that moment. Not that he might +renew his vows of love, or repledge his affection; but to show her how +calm and reasonable--ay, reasonable was her favorite word--he could be, +how collectedly he could listen to her, and how composedly reply. He +strolled up to the entrance door. It was open. The servants were busy in +preparing for the arrival of their masters, who were expected within the +week. All were delighted to see Master Tony again, and the words +somehow rather grated on his ears. It was another reminder of that same +“boyhood” he bore such a grudge against “I am going to have a look +out of the small drawing-room window, Mrs. Hayles,” said he to the +housekeeper, cutting short her congratulations, and hurrying upstairs. + +It was true he went up for a view; but not of the coastline to Fairhead, +fine as it was. It was of a full-length portrait of Alice, life-size, +by Grant. She was standing beside her horse,--the Arab Tony trained for +her. A braid of her hair had fallen, and she was in the act of arranging +it, while one hand held up her drooping riding-dress. There was that in +the air and attitude that bespoke a certain embarrassment with a sense +of humorous enjoyment of the dilemma. A sketch from life, in fact, +had given the idea of the picture, and the reality of the incident was +unquestionable. + +Tony blushed a deep crimson as he looked, and muttered, “The very smile +she had on when she said good-bye. I wonder I never knew her till now.” + +A favorite myrtle of hers stood in the window; he broke off a sprig of +it, and placed it in his button-hole, and then slowly passed down the +stairs and out into the lawn. With very sombre thoughts and slow steps +he retraced his way to the cottage. He went over to himself much of his +past life, and saw it, as very young men will often in such retrospects, +far less favorably as regarded himself than it really was. He ought to +have done--Heaven knows what. He ought to have been--scores of things +which he never was, perhaps never could be. At all events, there was one +thing he never should have imagined, that Alice Lyle--she was Alice +Lyle always to him--in her treatment of him was ever more closely drawn +towards him than the others of her family. “It was simply the mingled +kindness and caprice of her nature that made, the difference; and if I +had n't been a vain fool, I 'd have seen it. I see it now, though; I +can read it in the very smile she has in her picture. To be sure I have +learned a good deal since I was here last; I have outgrown a good many +illusions. I once imagined this dwarfed and stinted scrub to be a wood. +I fancied the Abbey to be like a royal palace; and in Sicily a whole +battalion of us have bivouacked in a hall that led to suites of rooms +without number. If a mere glimpse of the world could reveal such +astounding truths, what might not come of a more lengthened experience?” + +“How tired and weary you look, Tony!” said his mother, as he threw +himself into a chair; “have you overwalked yourself?” + +“I suppose so,” said he, with a half smile. “In my poorer days I thought +nothing of going to the Abbey and back twice--I have done it even +thrice--in one day; but perhaps this weight of gold I carry now is too +heavy for me.” + +“I 'd like to see you look more grateful for your good for time, Tony,” + said she, gravely. + +“I'm not ungrateful, mother; but up to this I have not thought much of +the matter. I suspect, however, I was never designed for a life of ease +and enjoyment Do you remember what Dr. Stewart said one day?--'You may +put a weed in a garden, and dig round it and water it, and it will only +grow to be a big weed after all.'” + +“I hope better from Tony,--far better,” said she, sharply. “Have you +answered M'Carthy's letter? Have you arranged where you are to meet the +lawyers?” + +“I have said in Dublin. They couldn't come here, mother; we have no room +for them in this crib.” + +“You must not call it a 'crib' for all that. It sheltered your father +once, and he carried a very high head, Tony.” + +“And for that very reason, dear mother, I'm going to make it our +own home henceforth,--without you 'd rather go and live in that old +manor-house on the Nore; they tell me it is beautiful.” + +“It was there your father was born, and I long to see it,” said she, +with emotion. “Who 's that coming in at the gate, Tony?” + +“It is Dolly,” said he, rising, and going to the door to meet her. + +“My dear Dolly,” cried he, as he embraced her, and kissed her on either +cheek; “this brings me back to old times at once.” + +If it was nothing else, the total change in Tony's appearance abashed +her; the bronzed and bearded man, looking many years older than he was, +seemed little like the Tony she had seen last; and so she half shrank +back from his embrace, and, with a flushed cheek and almost constrained +manner, muttered some words of recognition. + +“How well you are looking,” said he, staring at her, as she took off her +bonnet, “and the nice glossy hair has all grown again, and I vow it is +brighter and silkier than ever.” + +“What's all this flattery about bright een and silky locks I'm listening +to?” said the old lady, coming out laughing into the ball. + +“It's Master Tony displaying his foreign graces at my expense, ma'am,” + said Dolly, with a smile. + +“Would you have known him again, Dolly? Would you have thought that +great hairy creature there was our Tony?” + +“I think he is changed,--a good deal changed,” said Dolly, without +looking at him. + +“I did n't quite like it at first; but I'm partly getting used to it +now; and though the Colonel never wore a beard on his upper lip, Tony's +more like him now than ever.” The old lady continued to ramble on about +the points of resemblance between the father and son, and where certain +traits of manner and voice were held in common; and though neither Tony +nor Dolly gave much heed to her words, they were equally grateful to her +for talking. + +“And where 's the doctor, Dolly? Are we not to see him at dinner?” + +“Not to-day, ma'am; he's gone over to M'Laidlaw's to make some +arrangements about this scheme of ours,--the banishment, he calls it.” + +“And is it possible, Dolly, that he can seriously contemplate such a +step?” asked Tony, gravely. + +“Yes; and very seriously too.” + +“And you, Dolly; what do you say to it?” + +“I say to it what I have often said to a difficulty, what the old Scotch +adage says of 'the stout heart to the stey brae.'” + +“And you might have found more comforting words, lassie,--how the +winds can be tempered to the shorn lamb,” said the old lady, almost +rebukefully; and Dolly drooped her head in silence. + +“I think it's a bad scheme,” said Tony, boldly, and as though not +hearing his mother's remark. “For a man at the doctor's age to go to the +other end of the globe, to live in a new land, and make new friendships +at his time of life, is, I 'm sure, a mistake.” + +“That supposes that we have a choice; but my father thinks we have no +choice.” + +“I cannot see that. I cannot see that what a man has borne for +five-and-thirty or forty years--he has been that long at the Burnside--I +believe he can endure still longer. I must have a talk with him myself +over it.” And unconsciously--quite unconsciously--Tony uttered the last +words with a high-sounding importance, so certain is it that in a +man's worldly wealth there is a store of self-confidence that no mere +qualities of head or heart can ever supply; and Dolly almost smiled at +the assured tone and the confident manner of her former playfellow. + +“My father will be glad to see you, Tony,--he wants to hear all about +your campaigns; he was trying two nights ago to follow you on the map, +but it was such a bad one he had to give up the attempt.” + +“I'll give you mine,” cried the old lady,--“the map Tony brought over to +myself. I 'll no just give it, but I 'll lend it to you; and there's +a cross wherever there was a battle, and a red cross wherever Tony was +wounded.” + +“Pooh, pooh, mother! don't worry Dolly about these things; she 'd rather +hear of pleasanter themes than battles and battle-fields. And here is +one already,--Jeanie says, 'dinner'.” + +“Where did you find your sprig of myrtle at this time?” asked Dolly, as +Tony led her in to dinner. + +“I got it at the Abbey. I strolled up there to-day,” said he, in a +half-confusion. “Will you have it?” + +“No,” said she, curtly. + +“Neither will I, then,” cried he, tearing it out of his button-hole and +throwing it away. + +What a long journey in life can be taken in the few steps from the +drawing-room to the dinner-table! + + + +CHAPTER LXIV. THE END + +As Dr. Stewart had many friends to consult and many visits to +make,--some of them, as he imagined, farewell ones,--Dolly was +persuaded, but not without difficulty, to take up her residence at the +cottage till she should be able to return home. And a very pleasant week +it was. To the old lady it was almost perfect happiness. She had her +dear Tony back with her after all his dangers and escapes, safe and +sound, and in such spirits as she had never seen him before. Not +a cloud, not a shadow, now ever darkened his bright face; all was +good-humor, and thoughtful kindness for herself and for Dolly. + +And poor Dolly, too, with some anxious cares at her heart,--a load that +would have crushed many,--bore up so well that she looked as cheery as +the others, and entered into all the plans that Tony formed about his +future house, and his gardens and stables, as though many a hundred +leagues of ocean were not soon to roll between her and the spots she +traced so eagerly on the paper. One evening they sat even later than +usual. Tony had induced Dolly, who was very clever with her pencil, +to make him a sketch for a little ornamental cottage,--one of those +uninhabitable little homesteads, which are immensely suggestive of all +the comforts they would utterly fail to realize; and he leaned over her +as she drew, and his arm was on the back of her chair, and his face +so close at times that it almost touched the braids of the silky hair +beside him. + +“You must make a porch there, Dolly; it would be so nice to sit there +with that noble view down the glen at one's feet, and three distinct +reaches of the Nore visible.” + +“Yes, I'll make a porch; I'll even make you yourself lounging in it See, +it shall be perfect bliss!” + +“What does that mean?” + +“That means smoke, sir; you are enjoying the heavenly luxury of tobacco, +not the less intensely that it obscures the view.” + +“No, Dolly, I'll not have that. If you put me there, don't have me +smoking; make me sitting beside you as we are now,--you drawing, and I +looking over you.” + +“But I want to be a prophet as well as a painter, Tony. I desire to +predict something that will be sure to happen, if you should ever build +this cottage.” + +“I swear I will,--I 'm resolved on it.” + +“Well, then, so sure as you do, and so sure as you sit in that little +honeysuckle-covered porch, you 'll smoke.” + +“And why not do as I say? Why not make you sketching--” + +“Because I shall not be sketching; because, by the time your cottage is +finished, I shall probably be sketching a Maori chief, or a war-party +bivouacking on the Raki-Raki.” + +Tony drew away his arm and leaned back in his chair, a sense almost of +faintish sickness creeping over him. + +“Here are the dogs too,” continued she. “Here is Lance with his great +majestic face, and here Gertrude with her fine pointed nose and piercing +eyes, and here's little Spicer as saucy and pert as I can make him +without color; for one ought to have a little carmine for the corner of +his eye, and a slight tinge to accent the tip of his nose. Shall I +add all your 'emblems,' as they call them, and put in the fishing-rods +against the wall, and the landing-net, and the guns and pouches?” + +She went on sketching with inconceivable rapidity, the drawing keeping +pace almost with her words. + +But Tony no longer took the interest he had done before in the picture, +but seemed lost in some deep and difficult reflection. + +“Shall we have a bridge--a mere plank will do--over the river here, +Tony? and then this zigzag pathway will be a short way up to the +cottage.” + +He never heard her words, but arose and left the room. He passed out +into the little garden in front of the house, and, leaning on the gate, +looked out into the dark still night. + +Poor Tony! impenetrable as that darkness was, it was not more difficult +to peer through than the thick mist that gathered around his thoughts. + +“Is that Tony?” cried his mother from the doorway. + +“Yes,” said he, moodily, for he wanted to be left to his own thoughts. + +“Come here, Tony, and see what a fine manly letter your friend Mr. +M'Gruder writes in answer to mine.” + +Tony was at her side in an instant, and almost tore the letter in his +eagerness to read it. It was very brief, but well deserved all she +had said of it. With a delicacy which perhaps might scarcely have been +looked for in a man so educated and brought up, he seemed to appreciate +the existence of a secret he had no right to question; and bitterly +as the resolve cost him, he declared that he had no longer a claim on +Dolly's affection. + +“I scarcely understand him, mother; do you?” asked Tony. + +“It 's not very hard to understand, Tony,” said she, gravely. “Mr. +M'Gruder sees that Dolly Stewart could not have given him her love and +affection as a man's wife ought to give, and he would be ashamed to take +her without it.” + +“But why could n't she? Sam seems to have a sort of suspicion as to the +reason, and I cannot guess it.” + +“If he does suspect, he has the nice feeling of a man of honor, and sees +that it is not for one placed as he is to question it.” + +“If any man were to say to me, 'Read that letter, and tell me what does +it infer,' I'd say the writer thought that the girl he wanted to marry +liked some else.” + +“Well, there's one point placed beyond an inference, Tony; the +engagement is ended, and she is free.” + +“I suppose she is very happy at it.” + +“Poor Dolly has little heart for happiness just now. It was a little +before dinner a note came from the doctor to say that all the friends +he had consulted advised him to go out, and were ready and willing to +assist him in every way to make the journey. As January is the stormy +month in these seas, they all recommended his sailing as soon as he +possibly could; and the poor man says very feelingly, 'To-morrow, +mayhap, will be my farewell sermon to those who have sat under me +eight-and-forty years.'” + +“Why did you not make some proposal like what I spoke of, mother?” asked +he, almost peevishly. + +“I tried to do it, Tony, but he would n't hear of it. He has a pride +of his own that is very dangerous to wound, and he stopped me at once, +saying, 'I hope I mistake your meaning; but lest I should not, say no +more of this for the sake of our old friendship.'” + +“I call such pride downright want of feeling. It is neither more nor +less than consummate selfishness.” + +“Don't tell him so, Tony, or maybe you 'd fare worse in the argument. He +has a wise, deep head, the doctor.” + +“I wish he had a little heart with it,” said Tony, sulkily, and turned +again into the garden. + +Twice did Jeanie summon him to tea, but he paid no attention to the +call; so engrossed, indeed, was he by his thoughts, that he even forgot +to smoke, and not impossibly the want of his accustomed weed added to +his other embarrassments. + +“Miss Dolly's for ganging hame, Master Tony,” said the maid at last, +“and the mistress wants you to go wi' her.” + +As Tony entered the hall, Dolly was preparing for the road. Coquetry was +certainly the least of her accomplishments, and yet there was something +that almost verged on it in the hood she wore, instead of a bonnet, +lined with some plushy material of a rich cherry color, and forming +a frame around her face that set off all her features to the greatest +advantage. Never did her eyes look bluer or deeper,--never did the +gentle beauty of her face light up with more of brilliancy. Tony never +knew with what rapture he was gazing on her till he saw that she was +blushing under his fixed stare. + +The leave-taking between Mrs. Butler and Dolly was more than usually +affectionate; and even after they had separated, the old lady called her +back and kissed her again. + +“I don't know how mother will bear up after you leave her,” muttered +Tony, as he walked along at Dolly's side; “she is fonder of you than +ever.” + +Dolly murmured something, but inaudibly. + +“For my own part,” continued Tony, “I can't believe this step necessary +at all. It would be an ineffable disgrace to the whole neighborhood to +let one we love and revere as we do him, go away in his old age, one may +say, to seek his fortune. He belongs to us, and we to him. We have +been linked together for years, and I can't bear the thought of our +separating.” + +This was a very long speech for Tony, and he felt almost fatigued when +it was finished; but Dolly was silent, and there was no means by which +he could guess the effect it had produced upon her. + +“As to my mother,” continued he, “she'd not care to live here any +longer,--I know it. I don't speak of myself, because it's the habit to +think I don't care for any one or anything,--that's the estimate people +form of me, and I must bear it as I can.” + +“It's less than just, Tony,” said Dolly, gravely. + +“Oh, if I am to ask for justice, Dolly, I shall get the worst of it,” + said he, laughing, but not merrily. + +For a while they walked on without a word on either side. + +“What a calm night!” said Dolly, “and how large the stars look! They +tell me that in southern latitudes they seem immense.” + +“You are not sorry to leave this, Dolly?” murmured he, gloomily; “are +you?” + +A very faint sigh was all her answer. + +“I 'm sure no one could blame you,” he continued. “There is not much to +attach any one to the place, except, perhaps, a half-savage like myself, +who finds its ruggedness congenial.” + +“But you will scarcely remain here, now, Tony; you'll be more likely to +settle at Butler Hall, won't you?” + +“Wherever I settle it sha'n't be here, after you have left it,” said he, +with energy. + +“Sir Arthur Lyle and his family are all coming back in a few days, I +hear.” + +“So they may; it matters little to me, Dolly. Shall I tell you a secret? +Take my arm, Dolly,--the path is rough here,--you may as well lean on +me. We are not likely to have many more walks together. Oh dear! if you +were as sorry as I am, what a sad stroll this would be!” + +“What's your secret, Tony?” asked she, in a faint voice + +“Ah! my secret, my secret,” said he, ponderingly: “I don't know why I +called it a secret,--but here is what I meant. You remember, Dolly, how +I used to live up there at the Abbey formerly. It was just like my +home. I ordered all the people about just as if they had been my own +servants,--and, indeed, they minded my orders more than their master's. +The habit grew so strong upon me, of being obeyed and followed, that I +suppose I must have forgot my own real condition. I take it I must have +lost sight of who and what I actually was, till one of the sons--a young +fellow in the service in India--came back and contrived to let me make +the discovery, that, though I never knew it, I was really living the +life of a dependant. I 'll not tell you how this stung me, but it did +sting me--all the more that I believed, I fancied, myself--don't laugh +at me--but I really imagined I was in love with one of the girls--Alice. +She was Alice Trafford then.” + +“I had heard of that,” said Dolly, in a faint voice. + +“Well, she too undeceived me--not exactly as unfeelingly nor as +offensively as her brother, but just as explicitly--you know what I +mean?” + +“No; tell me more clearly,” said she, eagerly. + +“I don't know how to tell you. It's a long story,--that is to say, I was +a long while under a delusion, and she was a long while indulging it. +Fine ladies, I 'm told, do this sort of thing when they take a caprice +into their heads to civilize young barbarians of my stamp.” + +“That's not the generous way to look at it, Tony.” + +“I don't want to be generous,--the adage says one ought to begin by +being just. Skeffy--you know whom I mean, Skeff Darner--saw it clearly +enough--he warned me about it. And what a clever fellow he is! Would you +believe it, Dolly? he actually knew all the time that I was not really +in love when I thought I was. He knew that it was a something made up +of romance and ambition and boyish vanity, and that my heart, my real +heart, was never in it.” + +Dolly shook her head, but whether in dissent or in sorrow it was not +easy to say. + +“Shall I tell you more?” cried Tony, as he drew her arm closer to him, +and took her hand in his; “shall I tell you more, Dolly? Skeff read me +as I could not read myself. He said to me, 'Tony, this is no case +of love, it is the flattered vanity of a very young fellow to be +distinguished not alone by the prettiest, but the most petted woman of +society. _You_,' said he, 'are receiving all the homage paid to her at +second-hand.' But more than all this, Dolly; he not merely saw that I +was not in love with Alice Trafford, but he saw with whom my heart was +bound up, for many and many a year.” + +“Her sister, her sister Bella,” whispered Dolly. + +“No, but with yourself, my own own Dolly,” cried he; and turning, and +before she could prevent it, he clasped her in his arms, and kissed her +passionately. + +“Oh, Tony!” said she, sobbing, “you that I trusted, you that I confided +in, to treat me thus.” + +“It is that my heart is bursting, Dolly, with this long pent-up love, +for I now know I have loved you all my life long. Don't be angry with +me, my darling Dolly; I'd rather die at your feet than hear an angry +word from you. Tell me if you can care for me; oh, tell me, if I strive +to be all you could like and love, that you will not refuse to be my +own.” + +She tried to disengage herself from his arm; she trembled, heaved a deep +sigh, and fell with her head on his shoulder. + +“And you are my own,” said he, again kissing her; “and now the wide +world has not so happy a heart as mine.” + +Of those characters of my story who met happiness, it is as well to say +no more. A more cunning craftsman than myself has told us that the +less we track human life the more cheerily we shall speak of it. Let +us presume, and it is no unfair presumption, that, as Tony's life was +surrounded with a liberal share of those gifts which make existence +pleasurable, he was neither ungrateful nor unmindful of them. Of Dolly +I hope there need be no doubt. “The guid dochter is the best warrant for +the guid wife:” so said her father, and he said truly. + +In the diary of a Spanish guerilla chief, there is mention of a “nobile +Inglese,” who met him at Malta, to confer over the possibility of a +landing in Calabria, and the chances of a successful rising there. The +Spaniard speaks of this man as a person of rank, education, and talents, +high in the confidence of the Court, and evidently warmly interested in +the cause. He was taken prisoner by the Piedmontese troops on the +third day after they landed, and, though repeatedly offered life under +conditions it would have been no dishonor to accept, was tried by +court-martial, and shot. + +There is reason to believe that the “nobile Inglese” was Maitland. + +From the window where I write, I can see the promenade on the Pincian +Hill; and if my eyes do not deceive me, I can perceive that at times +the groups are broken, and the loungers fall back, to permit some one to +pass. I have called the waiter to explain the curious circumstance, and +asked if it be royalty that is so deferentially acknowledged. He smiles, +and says: “No. It is the major domo of the palace exacts the respect you +see. He can do what he likes at Rome. Antonelli himself is not greater +than the Count M'Caskey.” + +As some unlettered guide leads the traveller to the verge of a cliff, +from which the glorious landscape beneath is visible, and winding river +and embowered homestead, and swelling plain and far-off mountain, are +all spread out beneath for the eye to revel over, so do I place you, +my valued reader, on that spot from which the future can be seen, and +modestly retire that you may gaze in peace, weaving your own fancies +at will, and investing the scene before you with such images and such +interests as best befit it. + +_My_ part is done: if I have suggested something for _yours_, it will +not be all in vain that I have written “Tony Butler.” + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Tony Butler, by Charles James Lever + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TONY BUTLER *** + +***** This file should be named 33604-0.txt or 33604-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/3/6/0/33604/ + +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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