m^^ P'..'^' ■", :?«-: •■J'i'V-vAx.-v!-: % "1 f^. \ w «^ .aMBi^ ^tmr--» II i| UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES BARRINGTON \// BARRINGTON BY CHARLES LEVER AUTHOR OF " CHARLES O'MALLEY * WITH ILLUSTRATIONS LONDON GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS Broadway, Ludgate Hill GLASGOW, MANCHESTER, AND NEW YORK ^ CHARLES LEVER'S WORKS. THE "HAKKY LORREQUHR " EUITION. !h Crvum 8va, with Illustrations' Harry Lorrequer. Jack Hinton. Charles O'Malley, voL i. Charles O'Malley, vol. a. Con Cregan. The O'Don oghue. Tom Burke, vul. i- Tom Burke, voL a. One of Them. 'I he Daltons, vol. j- The Daltons, voL 2. The Knight of Gwj-nne, »ol. i. The Knight of Gwynne, vol. a. Arthur O'Leary. Roland Cishel vol. t. Roland Cashel, vol. >. Bairin^oo. The Dodd Family, vol. 1. Tilt Dodd Family, vol. •. Luttrell of Arran. Davenport Dunn, vol. I. Davenport Dunn, vol. a. I'he Bramleighs of Bishop's Folly. Lord Kilgobbin. The Martins of Cro' Martin, vol. u The Martins of Cro' Martin, vol. >. That Boy of Norcott's. The Fortunes of Glencore. Sir Jasper Carew. Maurice Tiemay. A Day's Ride : A Life's Romanct. Tony Butler. Sir Brooke Fosbrook . l^o^C). Templctoo. • •.•«« I ■• ( t * ^ 1 CC I « CONTENTS. ^ CHAPTER I. ** PAOK K Tme Fisherman's Home .1 (V CHAPTER IL rz A. Wit Morninq at Home 11 :5 CHAPTER III. Ohr Xkxt NKiGHBouaa .21 < CO ^ CHAPTER IV. '-^ Fred Conters ,,.., 38 <3 CHAPTER V. Dill as a Diplomatist , , • 48 CHAPTER VL The Doctor's Daughter ..,,.,,. 54 43228?' \i CONTENTS CIIAPTKU VII. Tom Dill's First Patient ti^ CHAPTER VIII. Fink Acqi'aistasces 76 CHAPTER IX. A CoDNTRY Doctor 82 CHAPTER X. Beiso "P>orkd" 91 CHAPTER XL A NoTB TO BE Answered , . 99 CHAPTER XII. Tub Aksw'er . 105 CHAPTER XIII. A Few Leavks from a Bluk-Book 114 CHAPTER XIV. Barrinotok's Ford 127 CONTENTS. Vll CHAPTER XV. PAGE An Exploring Expkduiun ....«•• 139 CnAPTER XVI. Coming IIomk , . 152 CHAPTER XVII. A Shock 160 CHAPTER XVIII. COBHAM , I 172 CHAPTER XIX. The Hour of Luncheon ........ 186 CHAPTER XX. An Interfor at the Doctor's . . . . • t . 190 CHAPTER XXI. Dark Tidings 204 t CHAPTER XXII. Leaving Homb 213 via C0KTENT8. CHAlTKli XXllI. TllK CoLONK!.'b CjlNSKLti .... CUArTKH XXIV. (JoNYEllb IIAKI.6 A .MuU.MM; CaLL • -21) CHArTEK XXV. DunuH Kkvl-itku ......... 242 CnAPTEll XXVI. A Very Sad Good-Cye 2.'j2 CIlAriEU XXVII. The Convent ox tue Mkxisx 2i3<» CHAl'TEil XXVni. Gki'Rck.'s DAur.irrKR . . ....... 2G3 LlIAPTKll XXIX. TliE llAUliLB ... ...... 2,9 CHAPTEK XXX. Ukker tme Lisuek 2S9 CONTENTS. IX CHAPTER XXXI. PAGE FiFiNB AND Polly . 297 CHAPTER XXXII. At Home Again ......... 3!)7 CHAPTER XXXIII. A Small Dinner-Pauit . . . . . . . .316 CHAPTER XXXIV. A Move in Advance 329 CHAPTER XXXV. A Cabinet Council ......... 33S CHAPTER XXXVI. An Express . 345 CHAPTER XXXVII. CRMiS-EXAMININGS ......... 3-33 CHAPTER XXXVIII. General Cukyers ......... 3G1 CONTENTS. CHAPTKR XXXIX. rAOB Major M'Cormice's Lkttkr ii'l CHAPTER XL. IsTKRCHAHOED CoKFESSI'XS ....... 384 CHAPTER XLI. SiAPtLToNS Visit at "The Home". ..... SDl CHAPTER XLTI. A Doctor a.nu his Patient . . . . . • .403 CHAPTER XLIII. Cross Purposes 410 CHAPTER XLIV. .Storms 422 CHAPTER XLV. TuK Old Leaven 43G CHAPTKR XLVL A Uai'PT Mketino . . . ,. 445 CONTENTS. XI CIIAriER XLVII. Mi.Er CeiMPAMossHip ........ 45-i CHAPTER XLYIir. Aunt Doeothea 401 CHAPTER XLIX. CuRRESPONDEKCK 4S6 CHAPTER L. The End 485 * ■so I ( -• BARRINGTON. CHAPTER L THE fisherman's HOME. If there should be, at tliis day we live in, any one bold enough to confess tliat he fished the river Nore, in Ireland, some forty years ago, he might assist me by calling to mind a small inn, about two miles from the confluence of that river with the Barrow, a spot in great favour with those who followed the "gentle craft." It was a very unpretending hostel, something wherein cottage and farmhouse were blended, and only recoo-- nizable as a place of entertainment by a tin trout sus- pended over the doorway, with the modest inscription underneath, " Fisherman's Home." Very seldom is it, indeed, that hotel pledges are as honestly fulfilled as they were in this simple announcement. The house was, in all that quiet comfort and unostentatious excellence can make, a veritable Home ! Standing in a fine old orchard of pear and damson-trees, it was only approachable by a path which led from the high road, about two miles off, or by the river, which wound round the little grassy pro- montory beneath the cottage. On the opposite side of the stream arose cliflTs of considerable height, their ter- raced sides covered with larch and ash, around whose stems the holly, the laurel, and arbutus grew in a wild and rich profusion. A high mountain, rugged with rock and precipice, shut in the picture, and gave to the river all the semblance of a naiTow lake. B 2 BARKINGTON. Tlio ITomp, ns mny bo imnj^'iiied, was only resorted toby fislitrniuii, and ot tliusu nut iiiiiny, fur the chosen few who knew the spot, with the churHshneas Of true anj^lers, were Btrennously carefVil io keep tlic- ^'jcrqt to tlicmselves. But another and stronger cause cpntrihuted- ^.o this seclusion: the hindh)rd vas u reduced aeatk'iiJiUi^ 'yho, only auxioua to add a little to bis narrow 'fortune,* would not have accepted a pfrcater prosperity at the cost of more publicity, and wlio pn)l)al)ly only consented to his occupation on finding' how scrupulously his guests resjjected his position. Indeed, it was only on leave-taking, and then far from painlully, you were reminded of being in an inn. There was no noise, no bustle ; books, magazines, flowers, lay about ; cupboards lay open, with all their cordials free to take. You might dine under tlie spreading sycamore beside the well, and have your dessert for the plucking. No obsequious waiter shook his napkin as you passed, no ringleted barmaid crossed your musing steps, no jingling of bells, or discordant cries, or high-voiced remonstrances disturbed you. The hum of the summer bee, or the flapping plash of a trout, wei-e about the only sounds in the stillness, and all was as peaceful and as calm and as dreamy as the most world-weary could have wished it. Of those who frequented the spot, some merely knew that the host had seen better days. Others, however, were aware that Peter Barriugton had once been a man of large fortune, and represented his county in the Irish Parliament. Though not eminent as a politician, he was one of the great convivial celebrities of a time that boasted of Curran, and Avanmore, and Parsons, and a score of others, any one of wlK)m, in our day, would have made a society famous. Barrington, too, was the almoner of the monks of the screw, and " Peter's pence " was immortal- ized in a song by Ned Lysaght, of which I once possessed, but have lost, a copy. One might imagine there could be no difficulty in showing how in that wild period of riotous living and costly rivalry, an Irish gentleman ran through all his jiropert}' and left himself penniless. It was, indeed, a time of utter recklessness, many seeming possessed of that devil-may-care spirit that drives a drowning crew to break open the spirit-room and go down iu an orgie. THE fisherman's HOME. 3 But Barrington's fortune was so large, and his successes on the turf so considerable, that it appeared incredible, when his estates came to the hammer, and all his personal property was sold off; so complete his ruin, that, as he said himself, the " only shelter he had was an umbrella, and even that he borrowed from Dan Driscoll, the sheriff's officer." Of course there were theories in plenty to account for the disaster, and, as usual, so many knew, many a long day ago, how hard pressed he had been for money, and what ruinous interest he was obliged to pay, till at last rumours filtered all down to one channel, and the world agreed that it was all his son's doing, and that the scamp George had ruined his father. This son, his only child, had gone out to India in a cavalry regiment, and was celebrated all over the East for a costty splendour that rivalled the great Government officials. From every retired or invalided officer who came back from Bengal were heard stories of mad Barrington's extravagance : his palace on the Hooghly, his racing stud, his elephants, his army of retainers — all narratives which, no matter in what spirit retailed, seemed to delight old Peter, who, at every fresh story of his son's spendthrift magnificence, would be sure to toast his health, with a racy enthusiasm whose sincerity was not to be doubted. Little wonder need there be if in feeding such extrava- gance a vast estate melted away, and acre followed acre, till all that remained of a property that ranked next to the Ormonds' was the little cottage over whose door the tin trout dangled, and the few roods of land around it : sorry remnant of a princely fortune ! But Barrington himself had a passion, which, inordi- nately indulged, has brought many to their ruin. He was intensely fond of law. It was to him all that gambling is to other men. All that gamesters feel of hope and fear, all the intense excitement they derive from the vacillating fortunes of play, Barrington enjoyed in a law-suit. Every step of the proceeding had for him an intense interest. The driest legal documents, musty declarations, demurrers, pleadings, replies, affidavits, and counter-affidavits were his choicest reading ; and never did a young lady hurry to her room with the last new B 2 4 BAnUINOTON. novel •with a stronf^er anticipation of dcHfrbt than did IJarrington when carrying awiiy to his little snufrgcry a roll of parchments or rough drafts, whose very itenationa and jargon would have driven most men half crazy. This same snuggery of his was a curiosity, tof), the walla being all decorated with portraits of legal celebrities, nofc selected with rofereucc to their merit or distiuctiun, hut solely irom their connection with some suit in which ho lad been engiiged ; and thus under the likeness of Chief l{;iron O'Grady might be read, "Barrington versus Brazier, l^U'2 ; a juror withdrawn : " Justice ^loore's portrait was inscribed, " Argument in Cliambers, 1808;" and soon, even to the portraits of leading counsel, all were marked and dated only as they figured in the great campaign — the more than thirty years' war he carried on against Fortune. Let not my reader suppose for one moment that this litigious taste grew out of a spirit of jarring discontent or distrust. Nothing of the kind. Barrington was merely a gambler ; and with whatever dissatisfaction the declaration may be met, I am prepared to show that gambling, however faulty in itself, is not the vice of cold, selfish, and sordid men, but of warm, rash, sometimes over-generous temperaments. Be it well remembered that the professional play-man is, of all others, the one who has least of a gamester in his heart ; his superiority lying in the simple fact that his passions are never engaged, his interest never stirred. Oh! bewai'e of yourself in company with the polished antagonist, who only smiles when he loses, whom nothing adverse ever disturbs, but is calmly serene under the most pitiless pelting of luck. To come back : Barrington's passion for law was an intense thirst for a certain species of excitement; a verdict was to him the odd trick. Let him, however, but win the game, there never was a man so in different about the stakes. I'or many a year back he had ceased to follow the great •evetii::t of the world. For the stupendous changes in Europe he cared next to nothing. He scarcely knew who reigned over this en)pire or that kingdom. Indifferent to ai't, science, letters, and even society, his interest was intense about all that went on in the law courts, and it THE fisherman's HOME. 6 •was an interest so catholic, that it took in everything and everybody, from the great judge upon the bench to the small taxing-otlicer who nibbled at the bill of costs. Fortunately for him, his sister, a maiden lady of some eighten or twenty years his junior, had imbibed nothing ot this passion, and, by her prudent opposition to it, stemmed at least the force of that current which was bearing him to ruin. Miss Dinah Barringtou had been the great belle of the Irish court — I am ashamed to say how long ago — and though at the period my tale opens there was not much to revive the impression, her high nose, and full blue eyes, and a mass of wonderfully un- changed brown hair, proclaimed her to be— what she was very proud to call herself^a thorough Barrington, a strong type of a frank nature, with a bold, resolute will, and a very womanly heart beneath it. When their reverses of fortune first befell them, Miss Barrington wished to emigrate. She thought that in Canada, or some other far-away land, their altered con- dition might be borne less painfully, and that they could more easily bend themselves to humble ofl&ces where none but strangers were to look on them ; but Barrington clung to his country with the tenacity of an old captain to a wreck. He declared he could not bring himself to the thought of leaving his bones in a strange land, but he never confessed what he felt to be the strongest tie of all, two unfinished lawsuits, the old record of Barrington v. Brazier, and a Privy Council case of Barrington and Lot Rammadahn Mohr against the India Company. To have left his country with these still undecided seemed to him — like the act of a commander taking flight on the morning of a general action — an amount of cowardice he could not contemplate. Not that he confided this opinion to his sister, though he did so, in the very fullest manner, to his old follower and servant, Darby Cassan. Darby was the last remnant of a once princely retinue, and in his master's choice of him to accompany his fallen for- tunes, there was something strangely indicative of the in9,n. Had Darby been an old butler or a body-servant, had he been a favourite groom, or, in some other capacity, one whose daily duties had made his a familiar face, and 6 BARRINGTON. whose functions coaltl still bo available in an hamblo state, thcro would havo seemed good reason for the Bflfction ; but Darby was none of these : he had never serveil in hall or jtantry ; ho had never ijrushed the cob- web from a bottle, or led a nag to the door. Of all liuman professions his were about the last that could address themselves to the cares of a little household ; for Darby was reared, bred, and passed tifty odd years of hia life as an farth-stop]K'r ! A vcrv ingenious German writer has attempted to show that thi' sympathies of the humble classes with pursuits far above their own has always its origin in something of their daily life and habits, just as the sacristan of a cathedral comes to be occasionally a tolerable art critic from his continual reference to Rubens and Vandyck. It is possible that Darby may have illustrated the theory, and that his avocations as earth-stopper may have sug- gested what he assuredly possessed, a perfect passion for law. If a suit was a great game to Barrington, to Darby it was a hunt ! and though his personal experiences never Boared beyond Quarter Sessions, he gloried in all he saw there of violence and altercation, of vituperative language and impassioned abuse. Had he been a rich man, free to enjoy his leisure, he would have passed all his days listening to these hot discussions. They were to him a Bort of intellectual bull-tight, which never could be too bloody or too cruel. Have I said enough, therefore, to show the secret link which bound the master to the man ? I hope so ; and that my reader is proud of a confidence with which Miss Barrington herself was never entrusted. She believed that Darby had been taken into favour from some marvellous abilky he was supposed to possess, applicable to their new venture as innkeepers. Phreno- logy would perhaps have pronounced Datby a heaven- born host, for his organ of acquisitiveness was grandly developed. Amidst that great household, where the thriftless habits of the master had descended to the servants, and rendered all reckless and wasteful alike, Parby had thriven and grown almost rich. Was it that the Irish climate used its influence over hira, for in his practice to " put by something for a rainy day," his sav- ings had many promptings ? As the reputation of having THE fisherman's HOME. money soon attached to him, he was often applied to in the hunting-field, or at the kennel, for small loans, by the young bloods who frequented the Hall, and being always repaid three or four fold, he grew to have a very high conception of what banking must be when done on a large scale. Besides all this, be quickl^y learned that no character atti-acts more sympathy, especially amongst the class of young squires and sporting men, than a certain quaint simplicity, so flattering in its contrast to their own consummate acuteness. Now, he was simple to their hearts' content. He usually spoke of himself as " Poor Darby, God help him!" and, in casting up those wonder- ful accounts, which, he kept by notches on a tally-stick, nothing was more amusing than to witness his bewilder- ment and confusion, the inconceivable blunders he would make, even to his own disadvantage, all sure to end at last in the heart-spoken confession, that it was "clean beyand him," and " he'd leave it all to your honour ; pay just what ye plaze, and long life to ye ! " Is it that women have some shrewd perception of char- acter denied to men ? Certainly Darby never imposed on Miss Barrington, She read him like a book, and he felt it. The consequence was a very cordial dislike, which strengthened with every year of their acquaintance. Though Miss Barrington ever believed that the notion of keeping an inn originated with her brother, it was Darby first conceived the project, and, indeed, by his own skill and crafty intelligence was it carried on ; and while the words " Peter Barrington," figured in very small letters, it is true, over the door to comply with a legal necessity, to most of the visitors he was a mere myth. Now, if Peter Barrington was very happy to be represented by deputy — or, better still, not represented at all — Miss Dinali regarded the matter in a very different light. Her theory was, that, in accepting the humble station to which reverse of fortune brought them, the world ought to see all the heroism and courage of the sacrifice. She insisted on being a foreground figure, just to show them, as she said, " that I take nothing upon me. I am the hostess of a little wayside inn — no more !" How little did she know of her own heart, and how far was she from even sus- pecting that it was the ci-devant belie making one last 8 BArtRINGTON. throw for the ndmiration and homage which once were oflercfl her freely. Sucli were the tliree chief personages who dwelt under that secluded roof, half overgrown with honeysuckle and dog-roses — specimens of that wider world without, where jealousies, and distrusts, and petty rivalries are warring : for as in one tiny globule of water are represented the elements which make oceans and seas, so is it in the moral world ; and " the family " is only humanity, as the artists say, " reduced." For years back ^liss Barrington had been plotting to depose Darby. With an ingenuity quite feminine, she managed to connect him with every chagrin that crossed and every annoyance that befell them. If the pig ploughed up the new peas in the garden, it was Darby had left the gate open ; it was his hand overwound the clock ; and a very significant hint showed that when the thunder soured the beer, Mr. Darby knew more of the matter than he was likely to tell. Against such charges as these, iterated and reiterated to satiety, Barrington would reply by a smile, or a good-natured excuse, or a mere gesture to suggest patience, till his sister, fairly worn out, resolved on another line of action. " As she could not banish the rats," to use her own words, " she would scuttle the ship." To explain her project, I must go back in my story, and state that her nephew, George Barrington, had sent over to England, some fifteen years before, a little girl, whom he called his daughter. She was consigned to the care of his banker in London, with directions that he should communicate with Mr. Peter Barrington, announce the child's safe arrival, and consult with him as to her future destination. Now, when the event took place, Barrington was in the very crisis of his disasters. Overwhelmed with debts, pursued by creditors, regularly hunted down, he was driven day by day to sign away most valuable securities for mere passing considerations, and obliged to accept any conditions for daily support. He answered the banker's letter, briefly stating his great embarrassment, and begging him to give the child his protection for a few weeks or so, till some arrangement of his affairs might enable him to offer her a home. Thia time, however, glided over, and the hoped-for amend- I THE fisherman's HOME. ment never came — far from it. "Writs were out against liim, and he was driven to seek a refuge in the Isle of Man, at that time the special sanctuary of insolvent sinners. Mr. Leonard Gower wrote again, and proposed that, if no objection would be made to the plan, the child should be sent to a certain convent near Namur, in the Netherlands, where his own daughter was then placed for her educa- tion. Aunt Dinah would have rejected — ay, or would have resented, such a proposal as an insult, had the world but gone on better with them. That her grand-niece should be brought up a Catholic was an outrage on the whole Barring- ton blood. But calamity had brought her low — very low indeed. The child, too, was a heathen — a Hindoo or a Buddhist perhaps — for the mother was a native woman, reputed, indeed, to be a princess. But who could know this ? Who could vouch that George was ever married at all, or if such a ceremony were possible? All these were " attenuating circumstances," and as such she accepted them ; and the measure of her submission was filled up when she received a portrait of the little girl, painted by a native artist. It represented a dark-skinned, heavy-browed child, with wide, full eyes, thick lips, and an expression at once florid and sullen — not any of the traits one likes to associate with infancy — and it was with a half shudder Aunt Dinah closed the miniature, and declared that " the sight of the little savage actually frightened her." Not so poor Barrington. He professed to see a great resemblance to his son. It was George all over. To be sure, his eyes were deep blue, and his hair a rich brown ; but there was something in the nose, or perhaps it was in the mouth — no, it was the chin — ay, it was the chin was George's. It was the Barrington chin, and no mis- take about it. At all events, no opposition was made to the banker's project, and the little girl was sent off" to the convent of the Holy Cross, on the banks of the Meuse. She was in- scribed on the roll as the Princess Doondiah, and bore the name till her father's death, when Mr. Gower suggested that she should be called by her family name. The letter with the proposal, by some accident, was not acknow- ledged, and the writer, taking silence to mean consent, 10 BATIKINGTON. desired the superior to address her henceforth as Miss Barriiigton ; the fii*sf Btartliiig intimation of the change being ii strangely, quaint ly-writtcn note, addressed to her grand-aunt, and signed "Josephine Barrington." It was a cold, liirnial letter — so very formal, indeed, as to read like the copy of a document — asking tor leave to enter upon a novitiate of two years' duration, at the expiration of which she would be nineteen years of age, and in a position to decide upon taking tlie veil for life. The perniission, very urgently pressed for by Jlr. Cower in another letter, was accorded, and now we have arrived at that period in which but three months only remained of tlie two years whose closure was to decide her fate for ever. Barrington had long yearned to see her. It was with deep and bitter self-reproach he thought over the cold neglect they had shown her. She was all that remained of poor Geoi'ge, his boy — for so he called him, and so he thought of him — long after the bronzed cheek and the prematurely whitened hair had tempered his manhood. To be sure all the world said, and lie knew himself, how it was chiefly through the " boy's " extravagance he came to ruin. But it was over now. The event that sobers down reproach to sorrow had come. He was dead ! All that arose to memory of him were the traits that sug- crested hopes of his childhood, or gave triumph in his riper years; and oh, is it not better thus? for what hearts would be left us if we were to carry in them the petty rancours and jealousies which once filled them, but which, one day, we buried in the cold clay of the churchyard. Aunt Dinah, moved by reasons long canvassed over in her own mind, at last began to think of recalling her grand-niece. It was so very bold a project that, at first, she could scarcely entertain it. The Popery was very dreadful ! Her imagination conjured up the cottage con- verted into a little Baal, with false gods and graven images, and holy-water fonts at every turn ; but the doubtl'ul legitimacy was worse again. She had a theory that it was by lapses of this kind the " blue blood " of old families grew deteriorated, and that the downfall of many an ancient house was traceable to these corruptions. Fat better, she deemed it, that the Barringtons should die out THE fisherman's HOME, 11 for ever tlian their line be continued by tliis base and ignoble grafting. There is a contre for every four in this world. It may be a weak and an insufBcient one, it is true, but it is a certainty that all our projects must come to a debtor or creditor reckoning, and the very best we can do is to strike an honest balance ! How Miss Dinah essnyed to do this we shall learn ia the next chapter and what follows it. CHAPTER n. A WET MORNING AT HOME. If there was anything that possessed more than common terror for Barrington, it was a wet day at the cottage ! It was on these dreary visitations that his sister took the opportunity of going into " committee of supply " — an occasion not merely for the discussion of fiscal matters, but for asking the most vexatious questions and demand- ing the most unpleasant explanations. We can all, more or less, appreciate the happiness of that right honourable gentleman on the Treasury bench, who has to reply to the crude and unmeaning inquiries of some aspiring Oppositionist, and who wishes to know if her Majesty's Government have demanded an indemnity from the King of Dahomey for the consul's family eaten by him at the last court ceremonial ? What compensation is to be given to Captain Balrothery for his week's impri- sonment at Leghorn, in consequence of his having thrown the customs officer and a landing waiter into the sea ? Or what mark of her Majesty's favour will the noble lord recommend should be conferred upon Ensign Digges for the admirable imitation he gave of the dancing dervishes at Benares, and the just ridicule he thus threw upon these degrading and heathenish rites ? It was to a torture of this order, far more reasonable 1 2 BARRINGTOy. and pertinent, however, that Burrin<^ton usually paw hi'm- selt' recliiced whunever the weather was so deci-rTS evening to play his Saturday night's rubber with Dill, lie knows the Continent well." •* There will be another saving that I didn't remember, Peter. The weekly bottle of whisky, and the candles, not to speak of the four or five shillings your pleasant A WET MORNING AT HO!HE. 21 companions invariably carry away with them ; all may be very advantageously dispensed with." " When Josephine's here I'll not miss it," said he, good- huraou redly. Then suddenly remembering that his sister might not deem the speech a gracious one to herself, he was about to add something, but she was gone. CHAPTER in. OUB NEXT NEIOHBOUBS. Should there be amongst my readers any one whose for- tune it has been in life only to associate with the amiable, the interesting, and the agreeable, all whose experiences of mankind are rose-tinted, to him I would say. Skip over two people I am now about to introduce, and take up my story at some later stage, for I desire to be truthful, and, as is the misfortune of people in my situation, I may be very disagreeable. After all, I may have made more excuses than were needful. The persons I would present are in that large category, the commonplace, and only as uninviting and as tiresome as we may any day meet in a second-class on the railroad. Flourish, therefore, penny trumpets, and announce Major M'Cormick. The Major, so confidently referred to by Barrington in our last chapter as a high aathority on matters contin'^ntal, was a very shattered remnant of the unhappy Walcheren expedition. He was a small, mean-looking, narrow-faced man, with a thin, bald head, and red whiskers. He walked very lame from an injury to his hip ; " his wound," he called it, though his candour did not explain that it was incurred by being thrown down a hatchway by a brother officer in a drunken brawl. In character he was a saving, penurious creature, •without one single sympathy outside his own immediate 22 BAUniNGTON. interps<8. Wlicn some sixteen or eighteen yenrs befnrf the Burrintijton.s had settled in the neighbourhood, the !Miij(ir Ix'ljaii to enttrlain tlioiiLrhts of miitrimony. Old soldiers are nitiier given to consider marriage as an insti- tution espeeially intended to solace age and console rlicuinntism, and so Al'Cormick debated with himself whether he had not arrived at the suitable time for this indulgence, and also whether Aliss Dinah Barrington was not the individual destined to share his lot and season his gruel. But a few years back and his ambition would as soon have aspired to an archduchess as to the sister of Bar- rington, of Barrington Hall, whose realms of social dis- tinction separated them ; but now, fallen from their high estate, forgotten by the world, and poor, they had come down — at least, he thought so — to a level in which there would be no presumption in his pretensions. Indeed, I half suspect that he thought there was something very high-minded and generous in his intentions with re- gard to them. At all events, there was a struggle of some sort in his mind which went on from year to year undecided. Now, there are men — for the most part old bachelors — to whom an unfinished project is a positive luxury, who like to add day by day, a few threads to the web of fate, but no more. To the Major it was quite enough that " some fine day or other " — so he phrased it — he'd make his ofi'er, just as he thought how, in the same propitious weather, he'd put a new roof on his cottage, and fill up that quarry-hole near his gate, into which he had narrowly escaped tumbling some half-dozen times. But thanks to his caution and procrastination, the roof, and the project, and the quarry-hole were exactly, or very nearly, in the same state they had been eighteen years before. Kumour said — as rumour will always say whatever has a tinge of ill-nature in it — that Miss Barrington would have accepted him ; vulgar report declared that she would "jump at the offer." Whether this be, or not, the appro- priate way of receiving a matrimonial proposal, the lady was not called upon to display her activity. He never told his love. It is very hard to forgive that secretary, home or foreign, OUK NEXT NEIGHBOURS. 23 who in the day of his power and patronage could, but did not, make us easy for life with this mission or that coramissionership. It is not easy to believe that our uncle the bishop could not, without any undue strain upon his conscience, have made us something, albeit a clerical error, in his diocese, but infinitely more diiBcult is it to pardon him who, having suggested dreams of wedded happiness, still stands hesitating, doubting, and canvassing — a timid bather, who shivers on the beach, and then puts on his clothes again. It took a long time — it always does in such cases — ere Miss Barrington came to read this man aright. Indeed, the light of her own hopes had dazzled her, and she never saw him clearly till they were extinguished ; but when the knowledge did come, it came trebled with compound interest, and she saw him in all that displayed his miserable selfishness ; and although her brother, who found it hard to believe any one bad who had not been tried for a capital felony, would explain away many a meanness by saying, " It is just his way — a way, and no more ! " she spoke out fearlessly, if not very discreetly, and declared she detested him. Of course she averred it was his manners, his want of breeding, and his familiarity that displeased her. He might be an excellent creature — perhaps he was — that was nothing to her ; all his moral qualities might have an interest for his friends, she was a mere acquaintance, and was only concerned for what related to his bearing in society. Then Walcheren was positively odious to her. Some little solace she felt at the thought that the expedi- tion was a failure and inglorious ; but when she listened to the fiftieth time-told tale of fever and ague, she would sigh, not for those who suffered, but over the one that escaped. It is a great blessing to men of uneventful lives and scant imagination when there is any one incident to which memory can refer unceasingly. Like some bold headland last seen at sea, it lives in the mind throughout the voyage. Such was this ill-starred expedition to the Major. It dignified his existence to himself, though his memory never soared above the most ordinary details and vulgar incidents. Thus he would maunder on for hours, telling how the ships sailed and parted company, and joined again ; how the old Brennua mistook a signal and put back 24 BARUINQTON. to Hall, and how the Sarah Reeves, his own transport, was sent after her. Then he grew picturesque about Flushiiitr, as first seen tlirouph the dull fo^rs of the Scheldt, with village spires pt'cpini^j throuj^h the heavy vapour, and the 8tranj,'e Dutch language, with its queer names for the vegetables and fruit brought by the boats alongside. "You won't believe me, !Miss Dinah, but, as I sit here, the peaches was like little melons, and the cherries as big as walnuts." " They made cherry-bounce out of them, I hope, sir," eaid she, with a scornful smile. " No, indeed, ma'am," replied he, dull to the sarcasm ; " they ate them in a kind of sauce with roast-pig, and mighty good too ! " But enough of the Major; and now a word, and only a word, for his companion, already alluded to by Barrington. Doctor Dill had been a poor " Dispensary Doctor " for Bome thirty years, with a small practice, and two or three grand patrons at some miles off, who employed him for the servants, or for the children in " mild cases," and who even extended to him a sort of contemptuous courtesy that serves to make a proud man a bear, and an humble man a sycophant. Dill was the reverse of proud, and took to the other line with much kindliness. To have watched him in his daily round you would have said that he liked being trampled on, and actually enjoyed being crushed. He smiled so blandly, and looked so sweetly under it all, as though it was a kind of moral shampooing, from which he would come out all the fresher and more vigorous. The world is certainly generous in its dealings with these temperaments; it indulges them to the top of their hearts, and gives them humiliations to their heart's con- tent. Humour — the same wicked goddess who libelled Miss Barrington — hinted that the Doctor was not, within his own walls and under his own roof, the suffering angel the world saw him, and that he occasionally did a little trampling there on his own account. However, Mrs. Dill never complained ; and though the children wore a tremulous terror and submissiveness in their looks, they were only suitable family traits, which all redounded to their credit, and made them " so like the Doctor." OUB NEXT NEIGHBOURS. 25 Such were the two worthies who slowly floated along on the current of the river of a calm summer's evening, to visit the Barringtons. As usual, the talk was of their host. They discussed his character, and his habits, and his debts, and the difficulty he had in raising that little loan ; and in close juxtaposition with this fact, as though pinned on the back of it, his sister's overweening pride and pretension. It had been the Major's threat for years that he'd " take her down a peg one of these days." But either he was mercifully unwilling to perform the act, or that the suitable hour for it had not come ; but there she remained, and there he left her, not taken down one inch, but loftier and haughtier than ever. As the boat rounded the point from which the cottage was visible through the trees and some of the outhouses could be descried, they reverted to the ruinous state everything was falling into. " Straw is cheap enough, anyhow," said the Major. "He might put a new thatch on that cow-house, and I'm sure a brush of paint wouldn't ruin any one." Oh, my dear reader ! have you not often heard — I know that I have — such comments as these, such reflections on the indolence or indifference which only needed so very little to reform, done, too, without trouble or difficulty, habits that could be corrected, evil ways reformed, and ruinous tendencies arrested, all as it were by a " brush of paint," or some- thing just as uncostly ? " There doesn't seem to be much doing here, Dill," said M'Cormick, as they landed. " All the boats are drawn up ashore. And faith ! I don't wonder, that old woman is enough to frighten the fish out of the river." " Strangers do not always like that sort of thing," modestly remarked the Doctor — the "always" being peculiarly marked for emphasis. " Some will say, an inn should be an inn." " That's my view of it. What I say is this : I want my bit of fish, and my beefsteak, and my pint of wine, and I don't want to know that the landlord's grandfatlier entertained the king, or that his aunt was a lady-in-wait- ing. ' Be as high as you like,' says I, ' but don't make the bill so,' — eh, Dill ? " And he cackled the harsh un- genial laugh which seems the birthright of all sorry 26 EAUniNGTON. jesters ; nr.d tlie Dc^ctc^r crftvc a little laugh too, more from habit, however, tiiiui enjoynicnt. " Do you know. Dill," said the Major, di!=enpfafrin\i with very grali-Cul th;inks. " From what you tell me, then, I Khali find this place stupiil eiioui,'h till I am a!jle tf) be up and al)out, eh ? Is tliere any one who can phi}' cliess hcivahout ? " "Sure there's Miss Uinah ; she's a great hand at it they tell me." " And who is Miss Dinah ? Is she young — is she pretty ? " Darl»y {jave a very cautious look all around him, and then closinj^ one eye, so as to give his face a look of intense cunning, he nodded very significantly twice. " What do you mean by that? " "I mane that she'll never see sixty ; and for the matter of beauty " "Oh, you have said quite enough; I'm not curious about her looks. Now for another point. If I should want to get away from this, what other inn or hotel is there in the neiglibourhood ? " " Tiiere's Joe M'Cabe's, at Inistioge ; but you are better where you are. Where will you see fresh butter like that ? and look at the cream, the spoon will stand in it. Far and near it's given up to her that nobody can make coHee like Miss Dinah ; and when you taste them trout you'll tell me if they are not fit for the king." " Kverything is excellent — could not be better ; but there's a dillicidty. There's a matter which to me at least makes a stay here most unpleasant. My friend tells me that he could not get his bill — that he was accepted as a guest. Now I can't permit this " " There it is, now," said Darby, approaching the table, and dropping his voice to a confidential whisper. " That's the master's way. If he gets a stranger to sit down with him to dinner or supper, he may eat and drink as long as he plases, and scn-ra sixpence he'll pay ; and it's that same ruins us, nothing else, for it's then he'll call for the best sherry, and that ould Maderia that's worth a guinea a bottle. What's the use, after all, of me infiaming the bill of the next traveller, and putting down everything maybe double? And worse than all," continued he, in a tone of horror, "let him only hear any one complain about his bill or saying, ' What's this ? ' or 'I didn't get that,' FRED CONYERS. 45 out he'll come, as mif^hty and as grand as the Lord-Liftin- int, and say, ' I'm sorry, sir, that we failed to make this place agreeable to you. Will you do me the favour not to mind the bill ft all?' and with that he'd tear it up in little bits and walk away." " To me that would only be additional offence. I'd not endure it." " What could you do ? You'd mRybe slip a five-pound note into my hand, and say, ' Darby, my man, settle this little matter for me ; you know the ways of the place.' " " I'll not risk such an annoyance, at all events, that I'm determined on." Darby began now to perceive that he had misconceived his brief, and must alter his pleadings as quickly as pos- sible ; in fact, he saw he was " stopping an earth " he had meant merely to mask. " Just leave it all to me, your honour, leave it all to me, and I'll have your bill for you every morning on the breakfast-table. And why wouldn't you ? Why would a gentleman like your honour be be- houldin' to any one for his meat and drink," burst he in, with an eager rapidity. " Why wouldn't you say, ' Darby, bring me this, get me that, fetch me the other ; expinse is no object in life to me.' " There was a faint twinkle of humour in the eye of Conyers, and Darby stopped short, and with that hair- lisping simplicity which a few Irishmen understand to perfection, and can exercise whenever the occasion re- quires, he said, "But sure isn't your honour laughing at me ? isn't it just making fun of me you are ? all because I'm a poor ignorant crayture tliat knows no better 1" *' Nothing of that kind," said Conyers, frankly. '* I was only smiling at thoughts that went through my head at the moment." " Well, faix ! there's one coming up the path now won't make you laugh," said Darby, as he whispered, " it's Doctor Dill." The Doctor was early with his patient ; if the case was not one of urgency, the sufferer was in a more elevated rank than usually fell to the chances of Dispensary prac- tice. Then, it promised to be one of the nice chronic cases, in which tact and personal agreeability — the two 43 BARRINGTOX. great strongholds of Doctor Dill in his own estimntion — were of far more importance than the materia medica. Now, if Dill's world was not a very hii,' one, he knew it thoroughly, lie was a chronicle of all the family inci- dents of the county, and could recount every disaster of every house for thirty miles round. Wln-n the sprain had, ihereiore, been duly examined, and all the pangs of the patient salKciently condoled with to establish the physician as a man of feeling. Dill pro- ceeded to his task as a man of the world. Conyers, how- ever, abruptly stojiped him, by saying, "Tell me how I'm to get out of this place ; some other inn, I mean." "You are not comfortable here, then ?" asked Dill. " In one sense perfectly so. I like the quietness, the delightful tranquillity, the scenery — everything, in short, but one circumstaia-e. I'm afraid these worthy people — whoever they are — want to regard me as a guest. Now I don't know them — never saw them — don't care to see them. My Colonel has a liking for all this sort of thing. It has to his mind a character of adventure that amuses tiim. It wouldn't in the least amuse me, and so I want to get away" " Yes," repeated Dill, blandly, after him, " wants to get away; desires to change the air." "Not at all," broke in Conyers, peevishly; "no ques- tion of air whatever. I don't want to be on a visit. I want an inn. What is this place they tell me of up the river, Inis — something?" " Inistioge. Ji'Cabu's house; the 'Spotted Duck;' very small, very poor, far from clean, besides." "Is there nothing else r* Can't you think of some other place, for I can't have my servant here, circum- stanced as I am now." The Doctor j)aiisid to reply. The medical mind is eminently ready-witted, and Dill at a glance took in all the dangers of removing his patient. Should he transfer him to his own village, the visit whicli now had to be requited as a journey of three miles and upwards, would then be an atl'air of next door. Should he .send him to Thomastown, it would be worse again, for then he would be within the precincts of a greater than Dill, himseU^ — a practitioner who had a one-horse phaeton, and whose name FEED COXTEflS. 47 was written on brass. " Would you dislike a comfortable lodging in a private family — one of the first respectability I may make bold to call it ? " "Abhor it! — couldn't endure it! I'm not essentially troublesome or exacting, but I like to be able to be either, whenever the humour takes me." " I was thinking of a house where you might freely take these liberties " " Liberties ! I call them rights, Doctor, not liberties ! Can't you imagine a man, not very wilful, not very capri- cious, but who, if the whim took him, wouldn't stand being thwarted by any habits of a so-called respectable family ? There, don't throw up your eyes, and misunder- stand me. All I mean is, that my hours of eating and sleeping have no rule. I smoke everywhere ; I make as much noise as I please ; and I never brook any impertinent curiosity about what I do, or what I leave undone." " Under all the circumstances, you had, perhaps, better remain where you are," said Dill, thoughtfully. " Of course, if these people will pei-mit me to pay for my board and lodging. If the^ '11 condescend to let me be a stranger, I ask for nothing better than this place." " Might I offer myself as a negotiator ?" said Dill, insinu- atingly ; " for I opine that the case is not of the difficulty you suppose. Will you confide it to my hands ?" "With all my heart. I don't exactly see why there should be a negotiation at all ; but if there must, pray be the special envoy." When Dill arose and set out on his mission, the young fellow looked after him with an expression that seemed to say : " How you all imagine you are humbugging me, while I read every one of you like a book." Let us follow the Doctor, and see how he acquitted him- self in his diplomacy. 43 EAr.RINOTOX. CHAPTER Y. DILL AS A DIPLOMATIST Doctor Dill had knocked twice at the door of ifiss Barringtou's little sitting-room, and no answer was returned to his summons. "Is the dear lady at home ?" asked he, blandly. But, though he waited for some seconds, no reply came. " iligiit Doctor Dill be permitted to make his compli- ments 't" " Yes, come in," said a sharp voice, very much with the expression of one wearied out by importunity. Miss Bar- rington gave a brief nod in return for the profound obei- sance of her visitor, and then turned again to a large map which covered the table before her. " I took the opportunity of my professional call here this morning " " How is that young man — is anything broken ?" *' I incline to say there is no fracture. The flexors, and perhaps indeed the annular ligameut, are the seat of all the mischief." " A common sprain, in fact ; a thing to rest for one day, and hold under tiie pump the day after." "The dear lady is always prompt — always energetic; but these sort of cases are often complicated, and require nice management." " And frequent visits," said .she, with a dry gravity. " All the world must live, dear lad}' — all the world must live." " Your profession does not always sustain your theory, sir ; at least, popular scandal says you kill as many as you cure." " I know the dear lady has little faith in physic." " Say none, sir, and you will be nearer the mark ; but, remember, 1 seek no converts ; I ask nobody to deny him- self the luxuries of senna and gamboge because 1 prefer TILL AS A DIPLOMATIST. 4& beef and mutton. You wanted to see my brotlier, I pre- sume," added she, sharply, " but he started early this morning for Kilkenny. The Solicitor-General wanted to say a few words to him on his way down to Cork." "That weary law! that weary law!" ejaculated Dill, fervently ; for he well knew with what little favour Miss Barrington regarded litigation. " And why so, sir ? " retorted she, sharply. " What greater absurdity is there in being hypochondriac about 3'our property than your person ? My brother's taste inclines to depletion by law, others prefer the lancet." " Always witty, always smart, the dear lady," said Dill, with a sad attempt at a smile. The flattery passed with- out acknowledgment of any kind, and he resumed : " I dropped in this morning to you, dear lady, on a matter which, perhaps, might not be altogether pleasing to you." " Then don't do it, sir." " If the dear lady would let me finisb " " I was warning you, sir, not even to begin." " Yes, madam," said he, stung into something like resistance, *' but I would have added, had I been per- mitted, without any due reason for displeasure on your part." " And are you the fitting judge of that, sir ? If you know, as you say you know, that you are about to give me pain, by what presumption do you assert that it must be lor my benefit ? What's it all about ? " " I come on the part of this young gentleman, dear lady, who, having learned — I cannot say where or how — that he is not to consider himself here at an inn, but, as a guest, feels, with all the gratitude that the occasion warrants, that he has no claim to the attention, and that it is one which would render his position here too painful to persist in." " How did he come by this impression, sir ? Be frank and tell me." " I am really unable to say, Miss Dinah." *' Come, sir, be honest and own that the delusion arose from yourself — yes, from yourself. Ifc was in perceiving the courteous delicacy with which you declined a fee that he conceived this flattering notion of us ; but go back to 60 IJARRINGTOX. him, Docfor, ar.d say it is a pure niistiiko ; that his broak- fiist will cost liiiu uiie sliilliiifr, and his dinner two ; the ])rice of a boat to fetch liiin up to Tliomastown is half-a- crown, and that the earlier he orders one the better. Listen to me, sir," said she, and her lips trembled with passion — "listen to me, while I speak of this for the first and last time. Whenever my brother, recurring to what he once was, has been emboldened to treat a passing Btranper as his puest, the choice has been so judiciously exercised as to fall upon one who could respect the motive ,snd not resent the liberty ; but never till this moment has it befallen us to be told that the possibility — the bare possibility — of such a presumption should be met by a declaration of refusal. Go back, then, to your patient, sir; assure him that he is at an inn, and that ho has the right to be all that his purse and his want of manners can insure him." " Dear lady, I'm, maybe, a bad negotiator," •' I trust sincerely, sir, you are a better doctor.* "Nothing on earth was further from my mind than offence " "Very possibly, sir; but, as yon are aware, blisters will occasionally act with all the violence of caustics, so an irritating theme may be pressed at a very inauspicious moment. My cares as a hostess are not in very good favour with me just now. Counsel your young charge to a change of air, and I'll think no more of the matter." Had it been a queen who had spoken, the Doctor could not more palpably have felt that his audience had termi- nated, and his only duty was to withdraw. And so he did retire, with much bowing and graciously smiling, and indicating, by all imaginable contortions, gratitude for the pjist and humility for ever. I rejoice that I am not obliged to record as history the low but fervent nnitterings that fell from his lips as he closed the door after him, and by a gesture of menace showed his feelings towards her he had just quitted. " Insolent old woman ! " he burst out as he went along, " how can she presume to forget a station that every incident of her daily life recalls 'i In the rank she once held, and can never return to, such manners would be an outrage ; but I'll not endure it again. It is your last DILL AS A DIPLOMATIST. 61 trinmpli, Miss Dinali ; make mucli of it." Tims sustained by a very Datch courage — for this national gift can come of passion as well as drink— he made his way to his patient's presence, smoothing his brow as he went, and recalling the medico-chirurgical serenity of his features. " I have not done much, but I have accomplished some- thing," said he, blandly. " I am at a loss to understand what they mean by introducing all these caprices into their means of life ; but assuredly it will not attract strangers to the house." " What are the caprices you allude to ? " " Well, it is not very easy to say ; perhaps I have not expressed my meaning qmite correctly ; but one thing is clear, a stranger likes to feel that his only obligation in an inn is to discharge the bill." " I say. Doctor," broke in Conyers, *' I have been think- ing the matter over. Why should I not go back to my quarters ? There might surely be some means contrived to convey me to the high road ; after that, there will be no difficulty whatever." The Doctor actually shuddered at the thought. The sportsman who sees the bird he has just winged flutter away to his neighbour's preserve may understand some- thing at least of Doctor Dili's discomfiture as he saw his wealthy patient threatening a departure. He quickly, therefore, summoned to his aid all those terrors which had so often done good service on like occasions. He gave a little graphic sketch of every evil consequence that might come of an imprudent journey. The catalogue was a bulky one; it ranged over tetanus, moi'tification, and disease of the bones. It included every sort and descrip- tion of pain as (jlassified by science, into " dull weary, and incessant " or " sharp lancinating agony." Now Conyers was as brave as a lion, but had, withal, one of those tem- peraments which are miserably sensitive under sufl^'ering, and to which the mere description of pain is itself an acute pang. When, therefore, the Doctor drew the picture of a case very like the present one, where ampu- tation came too late, Conyers burst in with, " For mercy's sake, will you stop ! I can't sit here to be cut up piece- meal ; there's not a nerve in ray body you haven't set ajar." The Doctor blandly took out his massive watch, E 2 52 BARRINOTON, nnd laid liis finfjors on tho yotiTif]j' man's pulso: " Ninefy- eiirlit, nnd slightly interiuittont," said he, as though to himself. " Wliat does that mean? " asked Conycrs, eagerly. " The irregnliir action of tho heart implies alninrmal condition of the nervous system, and indicates imperatively rest, repose, and tranquillity." "If lethargy itself be required, this is a capital place for it," sighed Conj'ers, drearily. " You haven't turned your tiioughts to what I said a •while ago, being domesticated, as one might call it, in a nice quiet family, with all the tender attentions of a home, and a little music in the evening." Simple as these words were, Dill gave to each of them an almost honeyed utterance. " No ; it would bore me excessively. I detest to be looked after ; I abhor what are called attentions." " Unobtrusively offered — tendered with a due delicacy and reserve ? " " Which means a sort of simpering civility that one has to smirk for in return. No, no ; I was bred up in quite a diS'erent school, where we clapped our hands twice when we wanted a servant, and the fellow's head paid for it if he was slow in coming. Don't tell me any more about your pleasant family, for they'd neither endure me, nor I them. Get me well as fast as you can, and out of this confounded place, and I'll give you leave to make a vascular preparation of me if you catch me here again! " The Doctor smiled, as doctors know how to smile when patients think they have said a smartness, and now each was somewhat on better terms with the other. " By the way. Doctor," said Conyers, suddenly, " you haven't told me what the old woman said. What arrangement did you come to ? " " Your breakfast will cost one shilling, your dinner two. She made no mention of your rooms, but only hinted that, whenever you took your departure, the charge for the boat was half-a-crown." " Come, all this is very business-like, and to the pur- pose ; but where, in Heaven's name, did any man live in this fashion for so little ? We have a breakfast-mess, but DILL AS A DIPLOMATIST. 53 it's not to he compared with this — such a variety of bread, such grilled trout, such a profusion of fruit. After all, Doctor, it is very like being a guest, the nominal charge being to escape the sense of a favour. But perhaps one can do here as at one of those ' hospices ' in tlie Alps, and make a present at parting to requite the hospitality." " It is a grnceful way to record gratitude," said the Doctor, who liked to think that the practice could be extended to other reminiscences. "I must have my servant and my books, my pipes and my Spitz terrier. I'll get a target up, besides, on that cherry-tree, and practise pistol-shooting as I sit here. Could you find out some idle fellow who would play chess or ecarte with me — a (;urate or a priest — I'm not particu- lar ; and when my man Holt comes, I'll make him string my grass-mat hammock between those two elms, so that I can fish without the bore of standing up for it. Holt is a rare clever fellow, and you'll see how he'll get things in order hei'e before he's a day in the place." The Doctor smiled again, for he saw that his patient desired to be deemed a marvel of resources and a mine of original thought. The Doctor's smile was apportioned to his conversation, just as he added syrups in his prescrip- tions. It was, as be himself called it, the " vehicle," without special efficacy in itself, but it aided to get down the " active principle." But he did more than smile. He promised l11 possible assistance to carry out his patient's plans. He was almost certain that a friend of his — an old soldier, too — a Major M'Cormick could play ecarte — though, perhaps, it might be cribbage ; and then Father Cody, he could answer for it, was wonderful at skittles, though, for the present, that game might not be practi- able ; and as for books, the library at Woodstay was full of them, if the key could only be come at, for the family was abroad ; and, in fact, he displayed a most generous willingness to oblige, although, when brought to the rude test of reality, his pictures were only dissolving views of pleasures to come. When he took his leave at last, he left Conyers in far better spirits than he found him The young fellow had begun to castle build about how he shouid pass his time, 54 liAURINOTON. and in such arHiitecture there is no room for ennui. And wlmt a rare orpin must constructiveness be, when even in its mockery it can yield such pleasure ! We are very prone to envy the rich man, whose wealth sets no limit to his caprices ; but is not a rich fancy, that wondrous imaginative power which unweariedly invents new inci- dents, new personap^cs, new situations, a very covetal)lo possession ? And can we not, in the gratification ot the very humblest exercise of this quality, rudely approximate to the ecstasy of him who wields it in all its force ? Not that Fred Conyers was one of these ; he was a mere tyro in the faculty, and could only carry himself into a region where he saw his Spitz terrier jump between the back rails of a chair, and himself sending bullet after bullet through the very centre of the bull's eye. Be it so. Perhaps you and I, too, my reader, have our Spitz terrier and bull's-eye days, and, if so, let us be grateful for them. CHAPTER YI. THB doctor's DAUOHTKR. WnETHER it was that Doctor Dill expended all the benevolence of his disposition in the course of his practice, and came home utterly exhausted, but so it was that his family never saw him in those moods of bland- ness which he invariably appeared in to his patients. In fact, however loaded he went forth with these wares of a morning, he disposed of every item of his stock before he got back at night ; and when poor Mrs. Dill hearrl, as she from time to time did hear, of the Doctor's gentle- ness, his kindness in suffering, his beautiful and touching sympathy with sorrow, she listened with the same sort of Bomi-stupid astonishment she would have tV-lt on hearing Bonie one eulogizing the climate of Ireland, and going THE doctor's daughtee. 55 rapturous about the blue sky and the glorious sunshine. Unhappy little woman, she only saw him in his dark days of cloud and rain, and she never came into his pre- sence except in a sort of moral macintosh made for the worst weather. The Doctor's family consisted of seven children, but our concern is only with the two eldest— a son and a daughter. Tom was two years younger than his sister, who, at this period of our story, was verging on nineteen, lie was an awkward, ungainly youth, large jointed, but weakly, with a sandy red head and much-freckled face, just such a disparaging counterpart of his sister as a coarse American piracy often presents of one of our well- printed, richly-papered English editions. "It was all there," but all unseemly, ungi-aceful, undignified ; for Polly Dill was pretty. Her hair was auburn, her eyes a deep hazel, and her skin a marvel of transparent white- ness. You would never have hesitated to call her a very pretty girl if you had not seen her brother, but, having seen him, all the traits of her good looks suffered in the same way that Grisi's Norma does from the horrid recol- lection of Paul Bedford's. After all, the resemblance went very little further than this "travestie," for while he was a slow, heavy-witted, loutish creature, with low tastes and low ambitions, she was a clever, intelligent girl, very eagerly intent on. making something of her advantages. Though the Doctor was a general practitioner, and had a shop, which he called " Surgery," in the village, he was received at the great houses in a sort of half-intimate, half-patroniz- ing fashion ; as one, in short, with whom it was not necessary to be formal, but it might become very incon- venient to have a coldness. These were very sorry credentials for acceptance, but he made no objection to them. A few, however, of the " neighbours " — it would be Ingenerous to inquire the motive, ibr in this world of ours it is just as well to regard one's five pound note as convertible into five gold sovereigns, and not speculate as to the kind of rags it is made of — were pleased to notice Miss Dill, and occasionally invite her to their larger gatherings, so that she not only gained opportunities of 56 BAURINGTON. cultivntinpf her social gifts, but, what is often a preater spur to ambition, of comparing them with those of oiliers. •• Now this same measnring process, if only conducted without any euvy or unj^enerous rivah'V, is not without its advantage. Polly Dill made it really profitable. I will not presume to say that, in her heart of hearts, sho did not envy the social accidents that gave others pre- cedence before hf^r, but into her heart of hearts neither you nor I have any chiitn to enter. Enough that we know nothing in her outward conduct or bearing revealed such a sentiment. As little did she maintain her position by flattery, which many in her ambiguous station would have relied upon as a stronghold. No ; Polly followed a very simple policy, which was all the more successful that it never seemed to be a policy at all. She never in any way attracted towards her the attentions of those men who, in the marriageable marker, were looked on as the choice lots ; squires in possession, elder sons, and favourite nephews, she regarded as so much forbidden fruit. It was a lottery, in which she never took a ticket. It is incredible how much kindly notice and favourable recognition accrued to her from tliis line. We all know how pleasant it is to be next to the man at a promiscuous dinner who never eats turtle nor cares for " Cliquot ;" and in the world at large there are people who represent the calabash and the champagne. Then Polly played well, but was quite as ready to play as to dance. She sang prettily, too, and had not the slightest objection that one of her simple ballads should be the foil to a grand performance of some young lady, whose artistic agonies rivalled Alboni's. So cleverly did Polly do all this, that even her father could not discover the secret of her success ; and though he saw " his little girl " as he called her, more and more sought after and invited, he continued to be persuaded that all this favouritism was only the reflex of his own popularity. How, then, could mere acquaintances ever suspect what to the eye of those nearer and closer was so inscrutable? Polly Dill rode very well and very fearlessly, and occasionally was assisted to " a mount " by some country gentleman, who combined gallantry with profit, and knew THE doctor's daughter. 57 that the horse he lent could never be seen to greater advantage. Yet, even in this, she avoided display, quite satisfied, as it seemed, to enjoy herself thoroughly, and not attract any notice that could be avoided. Indeed, she never tried for " a place," but rather attached herselt to some of the older and heavier weights, who grew to believe that they were especially in charge of her, and nothing was more common, at the end of a hard run, than to hear such self-gratulations as, " I think I took great care of you. Miss Dill?" "Eh, Miss Polly! yoa see I'm not such a bad leader!" and so on. Such was the Doctor's " little girl," wliora I am about to present to my readers under another aspect. She is at home, dressed in a neatly-fitting but very simple cotton dress, her hair in two plain bands, and she is seated at a table, at the opposite of which lounges her brother Tom, with an air of dogged and sleepy indulence, which extends from his ill-trimmed hair to his ill-buttoned waist- coat. "Never mind it to-day, Polly," said he, with a yawn. *' I've been up all night, and liave no head for work. There's a good girl, let's have a chat instead." "Impossible, Tom," said she, calmly, but with decision. " To-day is the third. You have only three weeks now and two days before your examination. We have all the bones and ligaments to go over again, and the whole vas- cular system. You've forgotten every word of Harrison." "It doesn't signify, Polly. They never take a fellow on anything but two arteries for the navy. Grove told me so." " Grove is an ass, and got plucked twice. It is a per- fect disgrace to quote him." " Well, I only wish I may do as well. He's assistant- surgeon to the Taurus gun-brig on the African station ; and if I was there, it's little I'd care for the whole lot of bones and balderdash " " Come, don't be silly. Let us go on with the scapula. Describe the glenoid cavity." " If you were the girl you might be, I'd not be bored with all this stupid trash, Polly." "What do you mean. I don't understand you." " It's easy enough to understaud me. You aro as thick 59 BAimiXGTON. ns thieves, you and that old Admiral— that Sir Charles Cobham. I saw you talking to the old fellow at the meet the other niorninf''. You've only to sny, ' There's Torn — my brother Tom — wants a navy appointment ; he's not passed yet, but if the fellows at the Board got a hint, just ns much as, " Don't be hard on him "'" " I'd not do it to make you a post-captain, sir," said she, severely. " You very much overrate my influence, and very much underrate my inte<,'rity, when you ask it." " Hoit3'-toity ! ain't we dignified ! So you'd rather see me plucked, eh ?" " Yes, if that should bo the only alternative." " Thank yon, Polly, that's all ! thank you," said he, and he drew his sleeve across his eyes. " My dear Tom," said she, laying her white soft hand on his coarse brown finfjers, " can you not see that if I even stooped to anything so unworthy, that it would compromise your whole prospects in life ? You'd obtain an assistant-surgeoncy, and never rise above it." " And do I ask to rise above it ? Do I ask anything beyond getting out of this house, and earning bread that is not grudged me?" " Nay nay ; if you talk that way, I've done." " Well, I do talk that way. He sent me oH to Kilkenny last week — you saw it yourself — to bring out that trash for the shop, and he wouldn't pay the car hire, and made me carry two stone of carbonate of magnesia and ajar of leeches fourteen miles. You were just taking that post and rail out of Nixon's lawn as I came by. You saw me well enough." " I am glad to say I did not," said she sighing. " I saw youy then, and how that grey carried you ! You were waving a handkerchief in your hand ; what was that for? " "It was to show Ambrose Bushe that the ground was good ; he was afraid of being staked ! " " That's exactly what I am. I'm afraid of being * staked up * at the Hall, and if 7/OM'd take aa much trouble about your brother as you did for Ambrose Bushe " " Tom, Tom, I have taken it for eight weary months. I believe I know Bell on the bones, and Harrison on the arteries, by heart!" THE doctor's daughter. 59 ' " Who thanks you?" said he doggedly. " "When yoa read a thing twixie yoa never forget it ; but it's not so with me." " Try what a little work will do, Tom ; be assured there is not half as much disparity between people's brains as there is between their industry." " I'd rather have luck than either, I know that. It's the only thing after all." She gave a very deep sigh, and leaned her head on lier hand. " Work and toil as hard as you may," continued he, with all the fervour of one on a favourite theme, " if you haven't luck you'll be beaten. Can you deny that, Polly?" " If you allow me to call merit what you call luck, I'll agree with you. But I'd much rather go on with our work. What is the insertion of the deltoid ? I'm sure you know that ! " "The deltoid! the deltoid!" muttered he. " I forget all about the deltoid, but of course it's like the rest of them. It's inserted into a ridge or a process, or whatever you call it " " Oh, Tom, this is very hopeless. How can you pre- sume to face your examiners with such ignorance as this?" " I'll tell you what I'll do, Polly— Grove told me he did it — if I find my pluck failing me, I'll have a go of brandy before I go in." She found it very hard not to laugh at the solemn gravity of this speech, and just as hard not to cry as she looked at him who spoke it. At the same moment Doctor Dill opened the door, calling out sharply, " Where's that fellow. Tom ? Who has seen him this morning ? " " He's here, papa," said Polly. " We are brushing up the anatomy for the last time." • " His head must be in capital order for it, after his night's exploit. I heard of you, sir, and your reputable wager. Noonan was up here this morning with the whole Btory ! " " I'd have won if they'd not put snuflf in the punch •" " You are a shameless hound " " Oh, papa ! If you knew how he was working — how 00 BAnnrxGTON. eager lie is to pass his examination, and be a credit to us all, and owe his independence to liimself " " I know more of liiin tlian you do, miss — far more, too, tlian he is aware of- and I know something of myself also; and I tell him now, that if he's rejected at the examination, he neeii not come back here with the news." " And where am 1 to go, then ? " asked the young fellow, hall insolently. " You may go " Where to, the Doctor was not suiU'red to indeati-, for already Polly had thrown herself into his aims and arrested the speech. " Well, I suppose I can 'list; a fellow need not know- much about gallipots for that." As he said this, he snatched uj) his tattered old cap and made for the door. " Stay, sir ! I have business for you to do," cried Dill, sternly. " There's a young gentleman at the ' Fisherman's Home' laid up with a bad sprain. I have prescribed tw( nty leeches on the part. Go down and upp^y them." " That's what old Molly Day used to do," said Tom, angrily. " Yes, sir, and knew more of the occa.sion that required it than you will ever do. See that you apply them all to the outer ankle, and attend well to the bleeding ; the patient is a young man of rank, with whom you had better take no liberties." " If I go at all " " Tom, Tom, none of this ! " said Polly, who drew very close to him, and looked up at him with eyes full of tears. " Am I going as your son this time ? or did you tell him — as you told Mr. Nixon — that you'd send your young man? " "There! listen to that!" cried the Doctor, turning to Polly. " I hope you are proud of your pupil." She made no answer, but whispering some hurried words in her brother's ear, and pressing at the same time something into his hand, she shuffled him out of the room and closed the door. The Doctor now paced the room, so engrossed by pas- sion that he forgot he was not alone, and uttered threats and mumbled out dark predictions with a fearful energy. 2kleauwhile, Polly put by the books and drawiutrSf and THE doctor's daughter. 61 removed everything which might recall the late misad- venture. " What's your letter about, papa?" said she, pointing to a square-shaped envelope which he still held in his hand. " Oh, by the way," said he, quietly, "this is from Cob- ham. They ask us up there to dinner to-da^', and to stop the night." The Doctor tried very hard to utter this speech with the unconcern of one alluding to some every- day occurrence. Nay, he did more, he endeavoured to throw into it a certain air of fastidious weariness, as though to say, " See how these people will have me ; mark how they persecute me with tlieii attentions ! " Polly understood the " situation " perfectly, and it was with actual curiosity in her tone she asked, " Do you mean to go, sir ? " " I suppose we must, dear," he said, with a deep sigh. *' A professional man is no more the arbiter of his social hours than of his business ones. Cooper always said dining at home costs a thousand a-year.' " So much, papa ? " asked she, with much semblance of innocence. " I don't mean to myself," said he, reddening, " nor to any physician in country practice; but we all lose by it, more or less." Polly, meanwhile, had taken the letter, and was reading it over. It was very brief. It had been originally begun, " Lady Cobham presents," but a pen was run through the words, and it ran — " Dear Doctor Dill, — If a short notice will not incon- venience you, will you and your daughter dine here to-day at seven? There is no moon, and we shall expect you to stay the night. " Truly yours, " Georgiana Cobham. " The Admiral hopes Miss D. will not forget to bring her music." " Then we go, sir?" asked she, with eagerness, for it C2 DARRINOTON. WHS a liouse to wliicli sho liad never yet been invited, though she had long wished for tlie entree. " 1 shall go, certainly," said he. " As to you, there will be the old discussion with your mother as to clothes, and the usual declaration that you have really nothing to put on." "Oil! but I have, papa. 'My wonderful-worked muslin, that was to have astonished the world at the race l)all, hut which arrived too late, is now quite ready to captivate all bchoUlers ; and I have just learned that new song, • Where's the slave so lowly ? ' which I mean to give with a most rebellious fervour; and, in fact, I am dying to assault this same fortress ot Cobham, and see what it is like inside the citadel." " Pretty much like Woodstay, and the Grove, and Mount Kelly, and the other places we go to," said Dill, pompously. " The same sort of rooms, the same sort of dinner, the same company ; nothing different but the liveries." " Very true, papa ; but there is always an interest in seeing how people behave in their own house, whom you have never seen except in strangers'. I have met Lady Cobham at the Beachers', where she scarcely noticed me. I am curious to see what sort of reception she will vouch- safe me at home." " Well, go and look after your things, for we have eight miles to drive, and Billy has already been at Dangan and over to Mooney's Mills and he's not the fresher for it." " I suppose I'd better take my hat and habit, papa ? " "What for, child?" " Just as you always carry your lancets, papa — you don't know what may turn up." And she was off before he could answer her. C3 CHAPTER YIT. TOM dill's first patient. Before Tom Dill had set out on his errand he had learned all about his father and sister's dinner engagement, nor did the contrast with the way in which his own time was to be passed at all improve his temper. Indeed, he took the opportunity of intimating to his mother how few favom-s fell to her share or his own — a piece of informa- tion she very philosophically received, all her sympathies being far more interested for the sorrows of " Clarissa Harlowe " than for any incident that occurred around her. Poor old lady ! she had read that story over and over again, till it might seem that every word and every comma in it had become her own ; but she was blessed with a memory that retained nothing, and she could cry over the sorrowful bits, and pant with eagerness at the critical ones, just as passionately, just as fervently, as she had done for years and years before. Dim, vague per- ceptions she might have retained of the personages, but these only gave them a stronger truthfulness, and made them more like the people of the real world, whom she had seen passingly once, and was now to learn more about. i doubt if Mezzofanti ever dei'ived one-tenth of the plea- sure from all his marvellous memory that she did from the want of one. Blessed with that one book, she was proof against all the common accidents of life. It was her sanctuary against duns, and difficulties, and the Doctor's temper. As the miser feels a sort of ecstasy in the secret of his hoarded wealth, so had she an intense enjoyment in thinking that all dear Clarissa's trials and sufferings were only known to her. Neither the Doctor, nor Polly, nor Tom, so much as suspected them. It was like a confidence C)i BA1UIIN3T0N, between Mr. Kicliardson and licrsclf, find On* nothing on earth wouUi she havo betrayed it. Tom had no such resource's, and he set oat on his mission with no very remarkable good feeling towards the world at large. Still, Polly hud pressed into his hand a gold half guinea — some very long- treasured keep- sake, the birthday gift of a godmother in times remote, and now to be converted into tobacco and lieer, and some articles of fishing gear which he greatly needed. Seated in one of those light canoe-shnped skiffs — "cots "as they are called on these rivers — he suffered himself to be carried lazily along by the stream, while he tied his flies and adjusted his tackle. There is sometimes a stronger sense of unhappiness attached to what is called being " hardly used " by the world, than to a direct pal- pable misfortune, for though the suHerer may not be able, even to his own heart, to set out, with clearness, one single count in the indictment, yet a general sense of hard treatment, unfairness, and so forth, brings with it great depression, atul a feeling of desolation. Like all young fellows of his stamp, Tom only saw his inflictions, not one of his transgressions. He knew that his father made a common drudge of him, employed him in all that was wearisome and even menial in his craft, admitted him to no confidences, gave him no counsels, and treated him in every way like one who was never destined to rise above the meanest cares and lowest duties. Even those little fleeting glances at a brighter future which Polly would now and then open to his ambition, never came fnmi his father, who would actually ridicule the notion of his obtaining a degree, and make the thought of a commission in the service a subject for mockery. He was low in heart as he thought over these things. "If it were not for Polly," so he said to himself, "he'd go and enlist ; " or, as his boat slowly floated into a dark angle of the stream where the water was still and the shadow deep, he even felt he could do worse. " Poor Polly ! " said he, as he moved his hand to and fro in the cold clear water, " you'd be very, very sorry for me. You, at least, knew that I was not all bad, and that 1 wanted to be better. It was no fault of mine to have a TOM dill's first patiemt. 65 bead that couldn't learn. I'd be clever if I could, and do everything as well as she does ; but when they see that I have no talents, that if they put the task before me I cannot master it, sure they ought to pity me, not blame me." And then he bent over the boat and looked down eagerly into the water, till, by long dint of gazing, he saw, or he thought he saw, the gravelly bed beneath ; and again he swept his hand through it — it was cold, and caused a slight shudder. Then suddenly, with some fresh impulse, he threw off his cap, and kicked his shoes from him. His trembling hands buttoned and unbuttoned his coat with some infirm, uncertain purpose. He stopped and listened ; he heard a sound ; there was some one near — quite near. He bent down and peered under the branches that hung over the stream, aiid there he saw a very old and infirm man, so old and infirm that he could barely creep. He had been carrying a little bundle of faggots for firewood, and the cord had given way, and his burden fallen, scattered, to the ground This was the noise Tom had heard. For a few minutes the old man seemed overwhelmed with his disaster, and stood motion- less, contemplating it ; then, as it were, taking courage, he laid down his staff, and bending on his knees, set slowly to work to gather up his faggots. There are minutes in the lives of all of us when some simple incident will speak to our hearts with a force that human words never carried — when the most trivial event will teach a lesson that all our wisdom never gave us. " Poor old fellow," said Tom, " he has a stout heart left to him still, and he'll not leave his load behind him ! " And then his own ci-aven spirit flashed across him, and he hid his face in his hand and cried bitterly. Suddenly rousing himself with a sort of convulsive shake, he sent the skiff with a strong shove in shore, and gave the old fellow what remained to him of Polly's present ; and then, with a lighter spirit than he had known for many a day, rowed manfully on his way. The evening — a soft, mellow, summer evening — was just falling as Tom reached the little boat quay at the " Fisherman's Home " — a spot it was seldom his fortune to visit, but one for whose woodland beauty and trim comfort he had a deep admiration. He would have liked V 66 BARRINGTON. to have lingered a little to inspect the boat-honse, and tlio little aviary over it, and the small cottage on the iuland, and the little terrace made to fish from, but Darby hud caught sight of him as he laiuled, and came hurriedly down to say that the young gentleman was growing very impatient for his coming, and was even hinting at bending for ai'other doctor if he should not soon appear. If Conyers was as impatient as Daiby lepresented, ho had at least surrounded himself with every appliance to allay the fervour of that spirit. He had dined U!ider a spreading sycamore-tree, and now sat with a table richly covered before him. Fruit, flowers, and wine abounded with a profu^ion that might have satisfied several guests, for, as he understood that he was to consider himself at an inn, he resolved, by ordering the most costly things, to give the house all the advantage of his presence. The most delicious hothouse Iruit had been procured from the gardener of an absent propiietor in the neighbourhood, and several kinds of wine figured on the table, over which, and half shadowed by the leaves, a lamp had been sus- pended, throwing a fitful light over all, that imparted a most picturesque effect to the scene. And yet, amidst all these luxuries and delights, Bal- shazzar was discontented ; his ankle pained him ; he had been hobbling about on it all day, and increased the in- flammation considerably ; and, besides this, he was lonely ; he had no one but Darby to talk to, and had grown to feel for that sapient functionary a perfect abhorrence. His everlasting compliance, his eternal coincidence with every- thing, being a torment infinitely worse than the most dogged and mulish opposition. When, therefore, he heard at last the Doctor's son had come with the leeches, he hailed him as a welcome guest. " Wliat a time you have kept tr.c waiting," said he, as the loutish young man came forward, so astounded by the scene before him that he lost all presence of mind. " 1 have been looking out for you since three o'clock, and ])Ottering down the river and back so often, that I have made the leg twice as thick again." " Why didn't you sit quiet r"' said Tom, in a hoarse, husky tone. " Sit quiet ! " replied Conyers, staring half angrily at I TOM dill's FIEST PATIENT. C7 him ; and then as quickly perceiving that no impertinence had been intended, which the other's changing colour and evident confusion attested, he begged him to take a chair and fill his glass. "That next you is some sort of Rhine wine: this is sherry; and here is the very best claret I ever tasted." " Well, I'll take that," said Tom : who, accepting the recommendation amidst luxuries all new and strange to him, proceeded to fill his glass, but so tremblingly, that he spilled the wine all about the table, and then hurriedly wiped it up with his handkerchief. Conyers did his utmost to set his guest at his ease. He passed his cigar-case across the table, and led him on, as well as he might, to talk. But Tom was awe-struck, not alone by the splendours around him, but by the conde- scension of his host, and he could not divest himself of the notion that he must have been mistaken for somebody else, to whom all these blandishments might be rightfully due. " Are you fond of shooting .^ " asked Conyers, trying to engage a conversation. " Yes," was the curt reply. " There must be good sport hereabouts, I should say. Is the game well preserved ? " " Too well for such as me. I never get a shot without the risk of a gaol, and it would be cheaper for me to kill a cow than a woodcock ! " There was a stern gravity in the way he said this that made it irresistibly comic, and Conyers laughed out in spite of himself. " Haven't you a game licence ? " asked he. *' Haven't I a coach-and-six ? Where would I get four pounds seven and ten to pay for it? " The appeal was awkward, and for a moment Conyers ^vas silent. At last he said, " You fish, I suppose ? " "Yes ; I kill a salmon whenever I get a quiet spot that nobody sees me, and I draw the river now and then with a net at night." "That's poaching, I take it." " It's not the worse for that ! " said Tom, whose pluck was by this time considerably assisted by tlie claret. " Well, it's an unfair way, at all events, and destroys real sport." " Heal sport is filling your basket." F 2 C8 BAimiNGTON. " Xo, no; thoro's no real sport in doinp anyfhincr tliat'a nxilliir — anytliiiig that's un " llu .stopjicd .slioit, aud swallowed ot! a plass of wine to cover his confusion. " That's all mighty fine for you, who can not only pay for a license, but you're just as sure to be invited here, there, and everywhere there's game to be killed. Jiut think of me, that never snaps a cap, never throws a line, but he knows it's worse than robbing a hen-roost, and often, maybe, just as fond of it as yourself! " AVhether it was that, coming after Darby's mawkish and servile agreement with everything, this rugged nature seemed more palatable, I cannot say, but so it was, Con- yers felt pleasure in talking to this rough unpolished creature, and hearing his opinions in turn. Had there been in Tom Dill's manner the slightest shade of any pre- tence, was there any element of that which, for want of a better word, we call " Snobbery," Conyers would not have endured him for a moment, but Tom was perfectly devoid of this vulgarity. He was often coarse in his remarks, his expressions were rarely measured by any rule of good manners, but it was easy to see that he never intended offence, nor did he so much as suspect that he could give that weight to any opinion which he uttered to make it of moment. Besides these points in Tom's favour, there was another, which also led Conyers to converse with him. There is some very subtle self-flattery in the condescension of one well to do in all the gifts of fortune associating, in an assumed equality, with some poor fellow to whom fate has assigned the shady side of the highway. Scarcely a sub- ject can be touched witiiout suggesting something for self-gratulation ; every comparison, every contrast is in his lavour, aud Conyers, without being more of a puppy than the majority of his order, constantly felt how immea- surably above all his guest's views of his life aud the world were his owu. Not alone that he was more moderate in language and less prone to attribute evil, but with a finer sense of honour and a wider feeling of liberality. When Tom at last, with some shame, remembered that he had forgotten all about the real object of his mis^ion, and had never so much as alluded to the leeches, Conyers only laugLed and said, " Never mind them to-night. TOM dill's first PATIENT. GO Come back to-morrow and put them on ; and mind — ccme to breakfast at ten or eleven o'clock." *' What am I to say to my father ? " " Say it was a whim of mine, which it is. Ton are quite ready to do this matter now. I see it ; but I say no. Isn't that enoujxh ? " " I suppose so ? " muttered Tom, with a sort of dogged miss^iving. " It strikes me that you have a very respectable fear of your governoi'. Am I right ? " "Ain't you afraid of yours ? " bluntly asked the other. " Afraid of mine ! " cried Conyers, with a loud laugh ; " I should think not. Why, ray father and myself are as thick as two thieves. I never was in a scrape that I didn't tell him. I'd sit down this minute and write to him just as I would to any fellow in the regiment." " Well, there's only one in all the world I'd tell a secret to, and it isn't my father! " "Who is it, then?" " My sister Polly ! " It was impossible to have uttered these words with a stronger sense of pride. He dwelt slowly upon each of them, and, when he had finished, looked as though he had said something utterly undeni- able. " Here's her health — in a bumper, too! " cried Conyers. " Hurray— hurray ! " shouted out Tom, as he tossed off Bis full glass, and set it on the table with a bang that smashed it. " Oh, I beg pardon ! I didn't mean to break the tumbler." "Never mind it. Dill; it's a trifle. I half hoped you had done it on purpose, so that the glass should never be drained to a less honoured toast. Is she like you? " "Like we — like me?" asked he, colouring deeply. "Polly Ukeme?" " I mean is there a family resemblance ? Could you be easily known as brother and sister? " " Not a bit of it. Polly is the prettiest girl in this county, and she's better than she's handsome. There's nothing she can't do. I taught her to tie flics, and she can put wings on a green-drake now that would take in any salmon that ever swam. Martin Keene sent her a pound-note for a book of 'brown hackles,' and, by the 70 BAUUINGTON. way, she pave it to me. And if you saw hpr on tlic back of a hiir.se! — Ainbroso 15ushe'.s ^Tcy mare, the wickeik-st devil that ever was bridled, one buek jump after another the lenj^th of a fiuUl, and the msire tryinj» to pet her head between her fure-lej^s, and Polly liandling her so quiet, never out of temper, never hot, but always saying, 'Ain't you ashamed of yourself Dido? Don't you see them all laupliing at us? ' " " I am quite curious to see her. Will you present me one of these days ? " Tom mumbled out something perfectly unintelligible. " I hope that I may be permitted to make her acquaint- ance," repeated he, not feeling very certain that his former speech was quite understood. *' Maybe so," grumbled he out at last, and sank back in his chair with a look of sulky ill-humour ; for so it was that poor Tom, in his ignorance of life and its ways, deemed the proposal one of those free-and-easy sugirestions which miirht be made to persons of very inferior station, and to whom the fact of acquaintanceship should be accounted as a great honour. Conyers was provoked at the little willingness shown to meet his oiler — an offer he felt to be a very courteous piece of condeseeiision on his part — and now both sat in silence. At last Tom Dill, long struggling with some secret impulse, gave way, and in a tone i'ar more decided and firm than heretofore, said, " Maybe you think, from seeing what sort of a fellow I am, that my sister ought to be like me ; and because I have neither iuan!)ers nor education, that she's the same ? But listen to ine now ; she's just as little like me as you are yourself. You're not more of a gentleman than she's a lady !" " I never imagined anything else." •' And what made you talk of bringing her up here to present her to you, as you called it ? Was she to be trotted out in a cavasin, like a filly ? " " Aly dear fellow," said Conyers, good humonredly, " you never made a greater mistake. 1 liegged that you would present me to your sister. I asked the sort of favour which is very common in the world, and in the language usually employed to convey such a request. I observed the recognized etiquette " TOM dill's FIEST PATIENT. 71 *' What do I know about etiquette ? If you'd have said, ' Tom Dill, I want to be introduced to your sister,' I'd have guessed what you were at, and I'd have said, ' Come back in the boat with me to-morrow, and so j'ou shall.' " " It's a bargain, then, Dill. I want two or three things in the village, and I accept your ofter gladly." Not only was peace now ratified between them, but a closer feeling of intimacy established ; for poor Tom not much spoiled by any excess of the world's sympathy, was so delighted by the kindly interest shown him, that he launched out freely to tell all about himself and his for- tunes, how hardly treated be was at home, and how ill usage had made him despondent, and despondency made him dissolute. " It's all very well to rate a fellow about his taste for low pleasures and low companions; but what if he's not rich enough for better ? He takes them just as he smokes cheap tobacco, because he can aflbrd no other. And do you know," continued he, "you are the first real gentleman that ever said a kind word to me, or asked me to sit down in his company. It's even so strange to me yet, that maybe when I'm rowing home to night I'll think it's all a dream — that it was the wine got into my head." "Is not some of this your own fault ? " broke ia Conyers. "What if you had held your head higher " "Hold my head higher!" interrupted Tom. "With this on it, eh ? " And he took up his ragged and worn cap from the ground, and showed it. " Pride is a very fine tiling when you can live up to it ; but if you can't it's only ridiculous. I don't say," added he, after a few minutes of silence, " but if I was far away from this, where nobody knew me, where I didn't owe little debts on every side, and wasn't obliged to be intimate with every idle vagabond about — I don't say but I'd try to be something better. If, for instance 1 could get into the navy " " Why not the army ? You'd like it better." " Ay ! but it's far harder to get into. There's many a rough fellow like myself aboard ship that they wouldn't take in a regiment. Besides, how could I get in without interest 'i " 72 BARRINQTON. "My father is a Lieutenant-Gencnil. I don't know ■whether he could he of service to you." " A Lieuteimiit-General ! " repeated Tom, with the reverential awe of" one alludinp; to an actual potentate. " Yes. He has a coniniand out in India, where I feel full sure he could give you something. Suppose you were to go out there ? I'd write a letter to my father and ask him to befriend you." " It would take a fortune to pay the journey," said Tom, despondingly. " Not if you went out on service ; the Government •would send you free of cost. And even if you were not, I think we might manage it. Speak to your father about it." " No," said he, slowly. *' No ; but I'll talk it over with Polly. Not but I know well she'll say, ' There you are, castle-building and romancing. J t's all moonshine ! No- body ever took notice of you — nobody said he'd interest himself about you.' " " That's easily remedied. If you like it, I'll tell your Bister all about it myself. I'll tell her it's my plan, and I'll show her what I think are good reasons to believe it ■will be successful." " Oh ! would you — would you ! " cried he with a chok- ing sensation in the throat; for his gratitude had made him almost hysterical. " Yes," resumed Conyers. " When you come up here to-morrow we'll arrange it all. I'll turn the matter all over in my mind, too, and I have little doubt of our being able to c;irry it through." " You'll not tell my father, though ? " "Not a word, if you forbid it. At the same time, yoa must see that he'll have to hear it all, later on." " I suppose so," muttered Tom, moodily, and leaned his head thoughtfully on his hand. But one half-hour back and he would have told Conyers why he desired this concealment ; he would have declared that his father, caring more for his services than his future good, would have thrown every obstacle to his promotion, and would even, if need were, so represented him to Conyers that he ■would have appeared utterly unworthy of his interest and kindness ; but now, not one word of all this escaped him. He never hinted another reproach against hia TOM dill's first PATIENT. 73 father, for already a purer spring had opened in his nature, the rocky heart had been smitten by words of gentleness, and he would have revolted against that which should degrade him in his own esteem. " Good night," said Conyers, wdth a hearty shake of the hand, " and don't forget your breakfast engagement to- morrow." "What's this?" said Tom, Washing deeply, as he found a crumpled bank-note in his palm. " It's your fee, my good fellow, that's all," said the other, laughingly. " But I can't take a fee. I have never done so. I have no right to one. I am not a doctor yet. " The very first lesson in your profession is not to anger your patient, and if you would not provoke me, say no more on this matter," There was a half-semblance of haughtiness in these words that perhaps the speaker never intended ; at all events, he was quick enough to remedy the eti'ect, for he laid his hand good naturedly on the other's shoulder and said, " For my sake. Dill — for my sake." "J[ wish I knew what I ought to do," said Tom, whose pale cheek actually trembled with agitation. " I mean," said he, in a shaken voice, " I wish I knew what would make you think best of me." " Do you attach so much value to my good opinion, then?'* " Don't you think I might ? When did I ever meet any one that treated me this way before ? " The agitation in which he uttered these few words imparted such a semblance of weakness to him, that Conyers pressed him down into a chair, and filled up his glass with wine. "Take that off, and you'll be all right presently," said he, in a kind tone. Tom tried to carry the glass to his lips, but his hand trembled so that he had to set it down on the table. " I don't know how to say it," began he, " and I don't know whether I ought to say it, but somehow I feel as if I could give my heart's blood if everybody would behave to me the way you do. I don't mean, mind you, so generously, but treating me as if — as if — as if — " gulped he out at last, " as if I was a gentleman." " And why not ? As there is nothing in your station 7 1 BARRINGTON. that should doiiy ihat claim, wiiy .should any presume to treat you othervvi.su r* " " Because I'm not one I " blurted he out; and cohering his face witli his hands, he aohlx-d bitterly. " Come, come, my poor fellow, don't be downhearted. I'm not much older than yourself, but I've seen a good deal of life ; and, mark mij words, the price a m.an puts on himself is the very liif^hest penny the woild will ev(;r bid for him ; he'll not always get that, but he'll never — no, never, get a farthing beyond it! " Tom stared vacantly at the speaker, not very sure ■whether he understood the speech, or that it had any special application to liim. " When you come to know life as well as I do," con- tinued Conyer.*:, who had now launched into a very favourite theme, " you'll learn the truth of what I say. Hold your head high, and if the world desires to see you, it must at least look up ! " "Ay, but it might laugh too! " said Tom, with a bitter gravity, which considerably disconcerted the moralist, who pitched away his cigar impatiently, and set about selecting another. " 1 suspect I understand your nature. For," said he, after a moment or two, " I have rather a knack in reading people. Just answer me frankly a few questions." " Whatever you like," said the other, in a half sulky Bort of manner. "Mind," said Conyers, eagerly, "as there can be no offence intended, you'll not feel any by -whatever I may say." " Go on," said Tom, in the same dry tone. "Ain't you obstinate ? " " I am." " 1 knew it. AV'e had not talked half an hour together ■when I detected it, and I said, to myself, ' That fellow is one so rooted in his own convictions, it is scarcely possible to shake him.' " "What next?" asked Tom " You can't readily forgive an injury ; yon find it very hard to pardon the man who has wronged you." " 1 do not ; if he didn't go on pei'secuting me I wouldn't think of him at all." TO:,I DILIi R FIRST PATIENT. 7o " Ah, that's a mistake. Well, I know you better fhnu you know yourself; you do keep up the memory of au old grudge — you can't help it." " May be so, but I never knew it." " You have, however, just as strong a sentiment of gratitude." " I never knew that eitlier," muttered lie ; " perhaps because it has had so little provocation ! " " Bear in mind," said Conyers, who was rather discon- certed by the want of concurrence he had met with, " that I am in a great measure referring to latent qualities — things which probably require time and cir- cumstances to develop." "Oh, if that's it," said Dill, "I can no more object than I could if you talked to me about what is down a dozen fathoms in the earth under our feet. It may be granite or it may be gold, for what I know, the only thing that /see is the gravel before me." " I'll tell you a trait of your character you can't gain- say," said Conyers, who was growing more irritated by the opposition so unexpectedly met with, " and it's one you need not dig a dozen fathoms down to discover — you are very reckless." "Reckless — reckless — you call a fellow reckless that throws away his chance, I suppose?" "Just so." " But what if he never had one ? " " Every man has a destiny ; every man has that in his fate which he may help to make or to mar as he inclines to. I suppose you admit that?" "I don't know," was the sullen reply. "Not know ? Surely you needn't be told such a fact to recognize it !" " All I know is this," said Tom, resolutely, " that I scarcely ever did anything in my life that it wasn't found out to be wrong, so that at last I've come to be pretty care- less what I do, and if it wasn't for Polly — if it wasn't for Polly " He stopped, drew his sleeve across his eyes, and turned away, unable to finish. " Come, then," said Conyers, lay'ng his hand affec- tionntely on the other's shoulder, " add my friendship to her love for you, and see if the two will not give 76 UARRrNGTON. you cncouraponient, for 1 nitun to be yonr friend, Dill." ♦' Do you ?" said Tom, with the tears in bis eyes. " Tbero's my baud on it." CHAPTER YIIL PIKK ACQC AIK T ANOSa Thet^e is a law of compensation even for tbe small tbings of this life, and by the wise enactments of that law, human happiness, on the whole, is pretty equally distributed. Tbe rich man, probably, never felt one tithe of the enjoyment iii his noble demesne that it yielded to some poor artisan ■who strolled through it on a holiday, and tasted at once the charms of a woodland scene with all the rapturous delight of a day of rest. Arguing from these premises, I greatly doubt if Lady Cobham, at the head of her great household, with her house crowded with distinguislicd visitors, surrounded by every accessory of luxury and splendour, tasted anything approaching to the delight felt by one, the very humblest of her guests, and who for a brief twenty-four hours par- took of her hospitality. Polly Dill, with all her desire and ambit"on for notice amongst the great people of the county, had gone to this dinner-party with considerable misgivings. She only knew the Admiral in the hunting-tield ; of her Ladyship, she had no knowledge whatever, save in a few dry .sentences uttered to her from a carriage one day at " the meet, ' ■when the Admiral, with more sailor-like frankness than politeness, presented her by .saying, "This is the heroine of the day's run, Doctor Dill's daughter." And to this was responded a stare through a douhle eye-glass, and a cold smile and a few still colder words, affecting to be FINE ACQUAINTANCES. 77 compliment, but sounding far more like a correction and a rebuke. No wonder, then, if Polly's heart was somewhat faint about approaching as a hostess one who could be so repell- ing as a mere acquaintance. Indeed, one less resolutely bent on her object would not have encountered all the mortification and misery her anticipation pictured ; but Polly fortified herself by the philosophy that said, *' There is but one road to this goal ; I must either take that one, or abandon the journey." And so she did take it. Either, however, that she had exaggerated the grievance to her own mind, or that her Ladyship was more courteous at home than abroad, but Polly was charmed with the kindness of her reception. Lady Cobham had shaken hands with her, asked her had she been hunting lately, and was about to speak of her horsemanship to a grim old lady beside her, when the arrival of other guests cut short the compliment, and Poll}' passed on — her heart lightened of a great load — to mix with the general company. I have no doubt it was a pleasant country-house ; it was called the pleasantest in the county. On the present oc- casion it counted amongst its guests not only the great families of the neighbourhood, but several distinguished visitors from a distance, of whom two at least are note- worthy — one, the great lyric poet ; the other, the first tragic actress of her age and country. The occasion which assembled them was a project originally bi-oached at the Admiral's table, and so frequently discussed afterwards that it matured itself into a congress. The plan was to get up theatricals for the winter season at Kilkenny, in which all the native dramatic ability should be aided by the first professional talent. Scarcely a country-house that could not boast of at least one promising performer. Ruthven, and Campion, and Probart had in their several walks been applauded by the great in art, and there were many others who in the estimation of friends were just as certain of a high success. Some passing remark on Polly's good looks, and the suitability of her iace and style for certain small charac- ters in comedy — the pink ribboned damsels who are made love to by smart valets — induced Lady Cobham to include her in her list ; and thus, on these meagre credentials, was 78 BAKllINGTON. bIic present. She did not want notice or desire recogni- tion ; she was far too hajjpy to be there, to hear and see, and mark, and observe all around her, to care for any especial attention. If the lian<^hty Arabellas and Geor- f^ianas who swept past her without so much as a glance, were not, in her own estimation, superior in personal at- tractions, she knew well that they were so in all the acci- dents of station and the advantages of dress ; and per- liaps — who knows ? — the reflection was not such a dis- co. i raging one. No memorable event, no incident worth recording, marked her visit. In the world of such society the machinery moves with regularity and little friction. The comedy of real life is admirably played out by the well- bred, and Polly was charmed to see with what courtesy, what consideration, what deference, people behaved to each other ; and all without an effort — perhaps without even a thought. It was on the following day, when she got home and sat beside her mother's chair, that she related all she had seen. Her heart was filled with joy, for, just as she was taking her leave. Lady Cobham had said, " You have been ]ii'omised to us for Tuesday next, Miss Dill. Pray don't lorget it ! " And now she was busily engaged in the cares of toilette ; and tliough it was a mere question of putting bows of a sky-blue ribbon on a muslin dress — one of those little travesties by which rustic beauty emulates ball-room splendour — to her eyes it assumed all the importance of a grand preparation, and one which she could not help occasionally rising to contemplate at a little distance. '• Won't it be lovely, mamma," she said, " with a moss- rose — a mere bud — on each ot" those bows ? But I haven't told you of how he sang. He was the smallest little creature in the world, and he tripped across the room with his tiny feet like a bird, and he kissed Lady Cob- ham's hand with a sort of okl-world gallantry, and pressed a little sprig of jasmine she gave him to his heart — this way — and then he sat down to the piano. I thourrht it strange to see a man play ! " " Effeminate — very," muttered the old lady, as she wiped her spectacles. FINE ACQUAINTANCES. 79 "Well, I don't know, mamma — at least after a moment I lost all thou<;ht of it, lor I never heard anything like his singing before. He had not much voice, nor, perhaps great skill, but there was an expression in the words, a rippling melody with which the verses ran from his lips, while the accompaniment tinkled on beside them, per- fectly rapturous. It all seemed as if words and air were begotten of the moment, as if, inspired on the instant, he poured forth the verses, on which he half dwelt, while thinking over what was to follow, imparting an actual anxiety as you listened, lest he should not be ready with hisryhme; and through all there was a triumphant joy that lighted up his face and made his eyes sparkle with a fearless lustre, as of one who felt the genius that was within him, and could trust it." And then he had been so complimentary to herself, called her that charm- ing little " rebel," after she had sung " Where's the Slave," and told her that until he had heard the words from her lips he did not know they were half so treason- able. " But, mamma, dearest, I have made a conquest — and such a conquest, the hero of the whole society — a Captain Stapylton, who did something, or captured some- body, at Waterloo — a bold dragoon, with a gorgeous pelisse all slashed with gold, and such a mass of splen- dour that he was quite dazzling to look upon." She went on, still very rapturously to picture him. " Not very young- — that is to say, he might be thirty-five, or perhaps a little more — tall, stately, even dignified in appearance, with a beard and moustache almost white — for he had served much in India, and he was dark-skinned as a native." And this fine soldier, so sought after and BO courted, had been markedly attentive to her, danced with her twice, and promised she should have his Arab, " Mahmoud," at her next visit to Cobham. It was very evident that his notice of her had called forth certain jealousies from young ladies of higher social pretensions, nor was she at all indifi'erent to tlie peril of such senti- ments, though she did not speak of them to her mother, for in good truth that worthy woman was not one to investigate a subtle problem, or suggest a wise counsel ; not to say that her interests were far more deeply engaged for Miss Harlowe than for her daughter Polly, 80 rAnniNOTON. seeing that in the one case every motive, and the fiprinjj to every motive, was familiar to her, while in the other she possessed but some vague and very strange notions of what was told her, Clarissa had made a full confidence to her: she had wept out her sorrows on her bosom, Jind sat sobbing on her shoulder. Polly came to her with the frivolous narrative of a ball-room flirtation, which threatened no despair nor ruin to any one. Here wero no heart-consuming miseries, no agonizing terrors, no dreadlul casuiilties that might darken a whole existence, and so Mrs. Dill scarcely followed Polly's story at all, and never with any interest. Polly went in search of her brother, but he had left home early that morning with the boat, no one knew whither, and the Doctor was in a towering rage at his absence. Tom, indeed, was so full of his success with young Conyers, that he never so much as condescended to explain his plans, and simply left a message to say, " It was likely he'd be back by dinner-time." Now Doctor Dill was not in one of his blandest humours. Amongst the company at Cobham, he had lound a great physician from Kilkenny, plainly showing him that all his social sacrifices were not to his professional benefit, and that if colds and catarrhs were going, his own services would never be called in. Captain Stapylton, too, to whom Polly had presented him, told him that he "feared a young brother officer of his, Lieutenant Conyers, had fallen into the hands of some small village practitioner, and that he would take immediate measures to get him back to head- quarters," and then moved off, without giving him the time for a correction of the mistake. He took no note of his daughter's little triumphs, the admiration that she excited, or the flatteries that greeted her. It is true he did not possess the same means of mear euring these that she had, and in all that dreary leisure which besets an unhonoured guest, he had ample time to mope, and fret, and moralize, as gloomily as might be. If, then, he did not enj(jy himself on his visit, he came away from it soured and ill-humoured. He denounced "junketings" — by which unseemly title he designated the late entertainment — as amusements too costly for persons of his means. He made a rough calcu- FINE ACQUAINTANCES. 81 lation — a very rough one — of all that the " precious tom- foolery " had cost : the turnpike which he had paid, and the perquisites to servants — which he had not; the expense of Polly's finery — a hazarded guess slie would have been charmed to have had confirmed ; and, ending the whole with a startling total, declared that a reign of ritjid domestic economy must commence from that hour. The edict was something like what one reads from the French Government, when about to protest against some license of the press, and which opens by proclaiming that " the latitude hitherto conceded to public discussion has not been attended with those gratifying results s ) eagerlv anticipated by the Imperial administration." Poor Mrs, Dill — like a mere journalist — never knew she had been enjoying blessings till she was told she had forfeited them for ever, and she heard with a confused astonishment that the household charges would be still further reduced, and yet food and fuel and light be not excluded from the sup- plies. He denounced Polly's equestrianism as a mostruinous and extravagant pursuit Poor Polly, whose field achieve- ments had always been on a borrowed mount ! Tom was a scapegrace, whose debts would have beggared half a dozen families — wretched dog, to whom a guinea was a gold-mine ; and Mrs. Dill, unhappy Mrs. Dill, who neither hunted, nor smoked, nor played skittles, after a moment's pause, he told her that his hard-earned pence should not be wasted in maintaining a " circulating libi-ary." Was there ever injustice like this? Talk to a man with one meal a day about gluttony, lecture the castaway at sea about not giving way to his appetites, yon might just as well do so as to preach to Mrs. Dill — with her one book, and who never wanted another — about the discursive costliness of her readings- Could it be that, like the cruel gaoler, who killed the spider the prisoner had learned to love, he had resolved to rob her of Claris„a ? The thought was so overwhelm- ing that it stunned her ; and thus stupified, she saw the Doctor issue forth on his daily round, without venturing one word in answer. And he rode on his way — on that strange mission of mercy, meanness, of honest sympathy, or mock philanthropy, as men's hoarts and natures make of it — and set out for the " Fisherman's Home." G 83 BAERHs-GTON. CnAPTER IX. A Country doctor. Is fl ptorj, ns in a voynp^e, one must occasionnlly travel with uncongenial conipanions. Now I have no reason for hoping that any of nny rejiders care to keep Doctor Dili's company, and yet it is with Doctor Dill we must now for a brief space foregather. He was on his way to visit his patient at the " Fisherman's Home," having started, in- tentionally very earlv, to be there before Stapylton could litive interposed with any counsels of removing him to Kilkenny. The world, in its blind confidence in medical skill, and its unbounded belief in certain practitioners of medicine, is but scantily just to the humbler members of the craft in regard to the sensitiveness with which they feel the withdrawal of a patient from their care, and the substitu- tion of another physician. The doctor who has not only heard, but felt Babington's adage, that the difference between a good physician and a bad one is only " the (litl'erence between a pound and a guinea," naturally thinks it a hard thing that his interests aie to be sacrificed for a mere question of five per cent. He knows, besides, that they can each work on the same materials with the same tools, and it can be only through some defect in his self-confidence that he can bring himself to believe that the patient's chances are not pretty much alike in his hands or his rival's. Xow Doctor Dill had no feelings of this sort ; no undervaluing of himself found a place in his nature. He regarded medical men as tax-gatherers, and naturally thought it mattered but little which received the impost ; and, tlius reflecting, he bore no good will towards that gallant Captain, who, as we have seen, stood po well in his daughter's favour. Kvon hardened men of the world — old footsore pilgrims of life — have their pre- judices, and one of these is to be pleased at thinking they A COUNTRY DOCTOR, 83 had augured unfavourably of any one they had afterwards learned to dislike. It smacks so much of acuteness to be able to say, " I was scarcely presented to him; we had not exchanged a dozen sentences when I saw this, that, and t'other." Dill knew this man was overbearing, inso- lent, and oppressive, that he was meddlesome and inter- fering, giving advice unasked for, and presuming to direct where no guidance was required. He suspected he was not a man of much fortune; he doubted he was a nian of good family. All his airs of pretensions — very high and mighty they were— did not satisfy the Doctor. As he said himself, he was a very old bird, but he forgot to add that he had always lived in an extremely small cage. The Doctor had to leave his horse on the high road and take a small footpath, which led through some meadows till it reached the little copse of beech and ilex that shel- tered the cottage and effectually hid it from all view from the road. The Doctor had just gained the last stile when, he suddenly came upon a man repairing a fence, and whose labours were being overlooked by Lliss Barrington. He had scarcely uttered his most respectful salutations, when she said, " It is, perhaps, the last time you will take that path through the Lock Meadow, Doctor Dill. We mean to close it up after this week." '" Close it up, dear lady ! — a right of way that has existed Heaven knows how long. I remember it as a boy myself." "Very probably, sir, and what you say vouches for great antiquity ; but things may be old and yet not re- spectable. Besides, it never was what you have called it — a right of way. If it was, where did it go to h" " It went to the cottage, dear lady. The Home was a mill in those days." " Well, sir, it is no longer a mill, and it will soon cease to be an inn." " Indeed, dear lady ! And am I to hope that I may congratulate such kind friends as you have ever been to me on a change of fortune ? " " Yes, sir ; we have grown so poor that, to prevent titter destitution, we have determined to keep a private station ; and with reference to that, may I ask you when this young gentleman could bear removal without injury? " g2 R i BARRINGTON. '* I have not seen liirn to-day, dear lady; butjndp^inp from the inflammatory symptoms I remarked yesterday, and tlie {^reat iutvohs di-prt'ssion " " I know iiotliiiii;abi)ut medicine, sir; but if tlie nervous depression be indicated by a great appetite and a mobt uoisv disposition, his case must be critical." " Noise, dear lady ! " ** Yes, sir; assisted by your son, he Pat over his wine till past midni^'ht, talking extremely loudly, and occasion- ally singing. They have now been at breakfast since ten o'clock, and you will very soon be able to judge by your own ears of the well-regulated pitch of the conversation." " My son, :\Iiss Dinah ! Tom Dill at breakfast here ? " " 1 don't know whether his name be Tom or Harry, sir, nor is it to the purpose ; but he is a red-haired youth, with a stoop in the shoulders, and a much-abused cap." Dill groaned over a portrait which to him was a photo- graph. " I'll see to this, dear lady. This shall be looked into," muttered he, with the purpose of a man who pledged him- self to a course of action ; and with this he moved on. Nor had he gone many paces from the spot when he heard the sound of voices, at first in some confusion, but after- wards clearly and distinctly. " I'll be hanged if I'd do it, Tom," cried the loud voice of Conyers. " It's all very fine talking about paternal authority and all that, and so long as one is a boy there's no help for it, but you and I are men. We have a right to be treated like men, haven't we?" " I suppose so," muttered the other, half sulkily, and not exa(!tly seeing what was gained by the admission. " Well, that being so." resumed Conyers, " I'd say to the governor, ' What allowance are you going to make me?'" "Did you do that with your father?'' asked Tom, earnestly. "No, not exactly," stammered out the other. "There was not, in fact, any need for it, for ni}' governor is a rare jolly fellow — such a trump! What he said to me was, ' There's a cheque-book, George ; don't spare it.' " " Which was as much as to say, ' Draw what you like.' " '* Yes, of course. He knew, in leaving it to my honour, A COUNTRY DOCTOR. 85 tliere was no risk of my committing any excess ; so you see there wfis no necessity to make my governor ' book up.' But if I was Ja your place I'd do it. I pledge you my word I would." Tom only sliook his head very mournfully, and made no answer. He felt, and felt truly, that there is a worldly wisdom learned only in poverty and in the straggles of narrow fortune, of which the well-to-do know absolutely nothing. Of what avail to talk to him of an unlimited credit, or a credit to be bounded only by a sense of honour? It presupposed so much that was impossible, that he would have laughed if his heart had been but light enough. " Well, then," said Conyers, " if you haven't courage for this, let me do it — let me speak to your father." " VVhat could you say to him ?" asked Torn, doggedly. " Say to him ? — what could I say to him ?" repeated he, as he lighted a fresh cigar, and affected to be eagerlv interested in the process. " It's clear enough w^hat I'd say to him." " Let us hear it, then," growled out Tom, for he had a sort of coarse enjoyment at the other's embarrassment. " I'll be the Doctor now, and listen to you." And with this he squared his chair full in front of Conyers, and crossed his arms imposingly on his chest. " You said vou wanted to speak to me about my son Tom, Mr. Conyers; v/hat is it you have to say ? " " Well, I suppose I'd open the matter delicately, and perhaps adroitly. I'd say, ' I have remarked. Doctor, that your son is a young fellow of very considerable abilities '" " For what ?" broke in Tom, huskily. " Come, you're not to interrupt in this fashion, or I can't continue. I'd say something about your natural clever- ness, and what a pity it would be if, with very promising talents, you should not have those fair advantages which lead a man to success in life." " And do you know what he'd say to all that ? " " No." "Well. I'll tell you. He'd say 'Bother!' Jast ♦ bother.' " " What do you mean by ' bother ' ? " 83 EARniNGTON. " Tlirit what you were saying was all nonsense. Tlmt you didn't know, nor you nevt-r could know, tiie struggles of a man like liimself, ju.st to make the two ends meet — not to be rich, mind you, or lay by money, or have shares in tills, or stocks in that, but just to live, ane, be staked to-morrow — would, perhaps, be a fortune for a fellow like me? What's that I hear coining up tiie river ? That's the Doctor, I'm sure. I'll be off till he's gone." And ■without waiting to hear a word he sprang from his chair and disappeared in the wood. Doctor Dill only waited a few seconds to compose hia features, somewhat excited by what he had overheard; and then coughing loudly, to announce his approach, moved gravely along the gravel path. " And how is my respected patient?" asked he, blandly. "Is the inflammation subsiding, and are our pains dimin- ished?" " My ankle is easier, if you mean that," said Conyers, bluntly. " Yes, much easier — much easier," said the Doctor, examining the limb ; " and our cellular tissue has less eH'usion, the sheaths of the tendons freer, and wo are gener- ally better. I perceive you have had the leeches applied. Did Tom — my son — give you satisfaction? Was he as attentive and as careful as you wished?" " Yes, I liked him. I wish he'd come up every day •while 1 remain. Is there anv objection to that arrange- ment?" "None, dear sir — none. Ilis time is fully at your ser- vice ; he ought to he working hard. It is true he should be reading eight or ten hours a day, for his examination ; but it is hard to persuade him to it. Young men will be young men !" ' I hope so, with all my heart. At least, I, for one, don't want to be an old one. "Will you do me a favour. Doctor ? and will you forgive me if I don't know how to A COUNTRY DOCTOR, 87 ask it with all becnming delicacy ? I'd like to give Tom a helping hand. He's a good fellow- I'm certain he is. Will you let me send him out to India, to my father? He has lots of places to give away, and he'd be sure to find something to suit him. You have heard of General Conyers, perhaps, the political resident at Delhi ? That's my governor." In the hurry and rapidity with which he spoke, it was easy to see how he struggled with a sense of shame and confusion. Doctor Dill was profuse of acknowledgments ; he was even moved as he expressed his gratitude. " It was true," he remarked, " that his life had been signalled by these sort of graceful services, or rather offers of services ; for we are proud if we are poor, sir. ' Dill aut nil ' is the legend of our crest, which means that we are ourselves or nothing." " I conclude everybody else is in the same predicament," broke iu Conyers, bluntly. "Not exactly, young gentleman — not exactly. I think I could, perhaps, expKin " "No, no; never mind it. I'm the stupidest fellow in the world at a nice distinction ; besides, I'll take your word for the fact. You have heard of my father, haven't you?" " I heard of him so late as last night, from a brother officer of yours. Captain Stapylton." " Where did you meet Stapylton," asked Conyers, quickly. "At Sir Charles Cobham's. I was presented to him by my daughter, and he made the most kindly inquiries after you, and said that, if possible, he'd come over here to-day to see you." " I hope he won't, that's all," muttered Conyers. Then, correcting himself suddenly, he said, " I mean, I scarcely know him ; he has only joined us a few months back, and is a stranger to every one in the regiment. I hope you didn't tell him where I was." " I'm afraid that I did, for I remember his adding, ' Oh ! I must carry him off. I must get him back to head- quarters.' " " Indeed ! Let us see if he will. That's the style of these ' Company's ' officers — he was in some Native corps 88 BARRINOTON. or nflier — tlioy alwnya fancy ilicy can bnlly a fiubaltcrn ; but Black iStapylton will lind himself niistukeii this tiim-." " Ko was afraid that you had not fallen into skilful hands ; and of course it would not have come well from me to assure him of the opposite." '* Well, but what of Tom, Doctor ? You have given me no answer." "It is a case for reflection, my dear young friend, if I may be emboldened to call you so. It is not a matter I can say yes or no to on the instant. I have only two prown-up children : rny dau'/hter, the most affectionate, the must thoughtful of girls, educated, too, in a way to grace any sphere " " You needn't tell me that Tom is a wild fellow," broke in Conyers — for he well understood the antithesis that •was coming — " he owned it all to me, himself. I have no doubt, too, that he made the worst of it ; for, after all, ■what signifies a dash of extravagance, or a mad freak or two ? You can't expect that we should all be as wise, and as prudent, and as cool-headed as Black Stapylton." "You plead very ably, young gentleman," said Dill, ■with his smoothest accent, " but you must give me a little time." " Well, I'll give you till to-morrow — to-morrow, at this hour ; for it wouldn't be fair to the poor fellow to keep him in a state of uncertainty. His heart is set on the plan ; he told me so." " I'll do my best to meet your wishes, my dear young gentleman ; but please to bear in mind that it is the whole future fate of my son I am about to decide. Your father may not, possibly, prove so deeply interested as you are : he may — not unreasonably eitliei- — take a colder view of this project : he may chance to form a lower estimate of my poor boy than it is your good nature to have done." "Look here, Doctor; I know my governor something better than you do, and if I wrote to him, and said, ' I ■want this fellow to come home with a lac of rupees,' he'd start him to-morrow with half the money. If I were to Kay, ' You are to give him the best thing in your gift,' there's nothing he'd stop at; he'd make him a judge, or a receiver, or some one of those fat things that send a luua A COUNTRY DOCTOR. '89 back to England with a fortune. What's that fellow whis- pering to you about ? It's something that concerns me." This sudden interruption was caused by the approach of Darby, who had come to whisper something in the Doctor's ear. " It is a message he has brought me ; a matter of little consequence. I'll look to it, Darby. Tell your mistress it shall be attended to." Darby lingered for a moment, but the Doctor motioned him away, and did not speak again till he had quitted the spot. " How these fellows will wait to pick up what passes between their betters," said Dill, while he continued to follow him with his eyes. " I think I mentioned to you once already, that the per- sons who keep this house here are reduced gentry, and it is now my task to add tliat, either from some change of fortune, or from caprice, they are thinking of abandoning the inn, and resuming — so far as may be possible for them — their former standing. This project dates before your arrival here ; and now, it would seem, they are growing impatient to effect it : at least, a very fussy old lady — Miss Barrington — has sent me word by Darby to say her brother will be back here to-morrow or next day, with some friends from Kilkenny, and she asks at what time your convalescence is likely to permit removal." " Turned out, in fact, Doctor — ordered to decamp ! Tou must say, I'm ready, of course ; that is to say, that I'll go at once. I don't exactly see how I'm to be moved in this helpless state, as no carriage can come here ; but you'll look to all that for me. At all events, go imme- diately, and say I shall be otf within an hour or so." " Leave it all to me — leave it in my hands. I think I see what is to be done," said the Doctor, with one of his confident little smiles, and moved away. There was a spice of irritation in Conyers's manner as he spoke. He was very little accustomed to be thwarted in anything, and scarcely knew the sensation of having a wish opposed, or an obstacle set against him, but simply because there was a reason for his quitting the place, grew all the stronger his desire to remain there. He looked around him, and never before had the foliage seemed so graceful ; never had the tints of the cojiper-beech blended so harmoniously with the stone-pine and the larch; never 90 BAHRINGTON. hiul the erldios of flie river lauphcd morp joyons'y, nor the blackliirtls sung with a more inipctuous richness of melody. " And to say that I must leave all this, just when I feel myself actually clinpiiij^ to it. 1 covild spend my whole life here. 1 }^lory in this quiet, unlirokcn ease; this life, that slips along as waveless as the stream there ! Why shouldn't I buy it; have it all my own, to come down to whenever 1 was sick and weary of the world and its dissipations ? The spot is small ; it couldn't be very costly; it would take a mere nothing to maintain. And to have it all one's own ! " There was an actual ecstasy in the thought ; for in tliat same sense of possession there is a something that resembles the sense of identity. The little child with his toy, the aged man with his proud demesne, are tasters of the same pleasure. " You are to use your own discretion, my dear young gentleman, and go when it suits you, and not before," said the Doctor, returning triumphantly, for he felt like a successful envoy. " And now I will leave you. To- morrow you shall have my answer about Tom." Conyers nodded vaguely ; for, alas ! Tom, and all about him, had completely lapsed from his memory. 91 CHAPTER X. BEING It is a 'hic^i teRtimony to that order of arcliitecture wliioli we call ciistle-building, that no man ever lived in a house so fine he could not build one more stately still out of his imat^ination. Nor is it only to grandeur and splendour this superiority extends, but it can invest lowly situations and homely places with a charm which, alas ! no reality can rival. Conyers was a fortunate fellow in a number of ways ; he was young, good-lookicg, healthy, and rich. Fate had made place for him on the very sunniest side of the causeway, and, with all that, he was happier on that day, through the mere play of his fancy, than all his wealth could have made him. He had fashioned out a life for himself in that cottage, very charming, and very enjoyable in its way. He would make it such a spot that it would have resources for him on every hand, and he hugged himself in the thought of coming down here with a friend, or, perhaps, two friends, to pass days of that luxurious indolence so fascinating to those who are, or fancy they are, wearied of lii'e's pomps and vanities. Now there are no such scoffers at the frivolity and emptiness of human wishes as the well-to-do young fellows of two or three-and-twenty. They know the " whole thing," and its utter rottenness. They smile compas- sionately at the eagerness of all around them ; they look with bland pity at the race, and contemptuously ask, of what value the prize when it is won ? They do their very best to be gloomy moralists, but they cannot. They might as well try to shiver when they sit in the sunshine. The vigorous beat of young hearts, and the full tide of young pulses, will tell against all the mock misanthropy that ever was fabricated ! It would not be exactly fair to rank Conyers in this school, and yet he was not totally 92 BARRINGTON. exempt from some of its tpacliinfrs. Wlio knows if tlioso little iiiiai^iuary glooms, these hrain-created miseries, are not a kind of moral " alterative " wliicli, thoup^li depressing at the instant, render the constitution only more vigorous alter ? At all events, he had resolved to have the cottage, and, going piactically to woik, he called Darb^' to his counsels to tell him the extent of the place, its bdundaries, and whatever information he could afiurd as to the tenure and its rent. "You'd be for buying it, yonr honour !" said Darby, with the keen quick-sightednc ss of his order. " Perhaps I had some thoughts of the kind ; and. if so, I should keep yon on." Darby bowed his gratitude very respectfully. It was too long a vi.-ta for him to strain his eyes at, and so he made no profuse display of thankfulness. With all their imaginative tendencies, the lower Irish are a very bird-in- the-hand sort of people. "Not more than seventeen acres!" cried Conyers, in astonishment. "Why, I should have guessed about forty, at least. Isn't that wood there part of it? " " Yes, but it's only a strip, and the trees that you see yonder is in Carriclongh ; and them two meadows below the salmon weir isn't ours at all ; and the island itself we have only a lease of it." " It's all in capital repair, well kept, well looked after?" " Well, it is, and isn't!" said he, with a look of dis- agreement, " He'd have one thing, and she'd have another; hed spend every shilling he could get on the place, and sIteW grudge a brush of paint, or a coat of whitewash, just to keep things together." " I see nothing amiss here," said Conyers, looking around him. " Nolx)dy could ask or wish a cottage to be neater, better furnished, or more comfortable. I confess I do not perceive anything wanting." " Oh, to be sure, it's very nate, as your honour says : but then " And he scratched his head, and looked confused. " Jiut then, what— out with it? " "The earwigs is dreadful j wherever there's roses and BEING "BOKED." 93 sweetbriar there's no livin' with them. Open the window and the place is full of them." Mistaking the surprise he saw depicted in his hearer's face for terror, Darby launched forth into a description of insect and reptile tortures that might have suited the tropics ; to hear him, all the stories of the white ant of India, or the galliuipper of Demerara, were nothing to the destructive powers of the Irish earwig. The place was known for them all over the country, and it was years and years lying empty, " by ray son of thim plagues." Now, if Conyers was not intimidated to the fall extent Darby intended by this account, he was just as far from guessing the secret cause of this representation, which was simply a long-settled plan of succeeding himself to the ownership of the " Fisherman's Home " when, either from the course of nature or an accident, a vacancy would occur. It was the grand dream of Darby's life, the island of his Government, his seat in the Cabinet, his Judgeship, his Garter, his everything, in short, that makes human ambition like a cup brimful and overflowing ; and what a terrible reverse would it be if all these hopes were to be dashed just to gratify the passing caprice of a merf traveller ! "I don't suppose your honour cares for money, and, maybe, you'd as soon pay twice over the worth ol anything ; but here, between our two selves, I can tell you, you'd buv an estate in the county cheaper than this little place. They think, because they planted most of the trees and made the fences themselves, that it's like the King's Park. It's a fancy spot, and a fancy price they'll ask for it. But I know of another, worth ten of it- — a real, elegant place ; to be sure it's a trifle out of repair, for the ould naygur that has it won't lay out a sixpence, but there's every convaniency in life about it. Thei-e's the finest cup potatoes, the biggest turnips ever I see on it, and fish jumpin' into the parlour-window, and hares runnin' about like rats." " I don't care for all that ; this cottage and these grounds here have taken my fancy." " And why wouldn't the other, when you seen it ? The ould Major that lives there wants to sell it, and you'd get 94 BAUKINGTON. it a raal barp^ain. Let me row j'onr honour up there this evening. It's not two miles oH", and the river beautiful all the way." Conyers rejected the proposal abruptly, haughtily. Darby had dared to tlirow down a very imposing card- I'ditice, and for the moment the fillow was odious to him. All the golden visions of his early morning, that poetized life he was to lead, that elegant pastoralism, which was to l)lend the splendour of Lncullus with the simplii-ity of a Tityriis, all rent, torn, and scattered by a vile hind, who had not even a conception of the ruin he had caused. And yet Darby had a misty consciousness of some success. He did not, indeed, know that his shell had exploded in a magazine, but he saw, from the confusion in the garrison, that his shot had told severely some- where. " Maybe your honour would rather go to-morrow ? or maybe you'd like the Major to come up here himself, and speak to you ? " " Once for all, I tell you. No ! Is that plain ? No ! And I may add, my good fellow, that if you knew me a little better, you'd not tender me any advice I did not ask for." " And why would I ? Wouldn't I be a baste if I did?" " I think so," said Conyers, dryly, and turned away. He was out of temper with everything and everybody — the Doctor, and his abject manner ; Tom, and his rough- ness ; Darby, and his roguish air of self-satisfied crafti- ness ; all, for the moment, displea?tion, falsehood, robbery, on every hand ! The army was little else than a brigand establishment, living on the peasants, and exact- ing, at the sword ])oint, whatever they wanted. There was no obedience to discipline. The Rajah troubled him- self about nothing but his pleasures, and, indeed, passed his days so drugged with opium as to be almost insen- silile to all around him. In the tribunals there was nothing but bribery, and the object of every one seemed A FEW LEAVES FROM A BLUE-BOOK. 119 to be to amass fortunes as rapidly as possible, and then hasten away from a country so insecui'e and dangerous. For some days after his arrival, Barrington hesitated, whether he would accept a charge so apparently hopeless ; his bold heart, however, decided the doubt, and he re- solved to remain. His first care was to look about hira for one or two more trustworthy than the masses, if such there should be, to assist him, and the Rajah referred him to his secretary for that purpose. It was with sincere pleasure Barrington discovered that this man was English — that is, his father had been an Englishman, and his mother was a Malabar slave in the Rajah's household : his name was Edwardes, but called by the natives Ali Edwardes. He looked about sixty, but his real age was about forty-six when Barrington came to the Residence. He was a man of considerable ability, uniting all the craft and subtlety of the Oriental with the dogged perseverance of the Briton. He had enjoyed the full favour of the Rajah for nigh twenty years, and was strongly averse to the appointment of an English officer to the command of the army, knowing full well the influence it would have over his own fortunes. He represented to the Rajah that the Company was only intriguing to absorb his dominions with their own ; that the new Commander-in-chief would be their servant and not his ; that it was by such machinery as this they secretly possessed themselves of all knowledge of the native sovereigns, learned their weakness and their strength, and through such agencies hatched those plots and schemes by which many a chief had been despoiled of his state. The Rajah, however, saw that if he had a grasping Government on one side, he had an insolent and rebel- lious army on the other. There was not much to choose between them, but he took the side that he thought the least bad, and left the rest to Fate. Having failed with the Eajah, Edwardes tried what he could do with Barrington ; and certainly, if but a tithe of what he told him were true, the most natural thing in the world would have been that he should give up his appoint- ment, and quit for ever a laud so hopelessly sunk in vice and corruption. Cunning and crafty as he was, however, he made one mistake, and that an irreparable one. When 120 BARRINGTON. dilating on the insubordination of the army, its lawless ways and libertine liubits, ho declared tliat nothing short ot" a superior forct' in the field could have any chance of enforcing discipline. " As to a command," said he, " it is simply ludicrous. Let any man try it and they will cut him down in the very midst of his stad"." That unlucky speech decided the question ; and Bar- rington simply said, — " I have heard plenty of this sort of thing in India — I never saw it — I'll stay." Stay he did : and he did more, he reformed that rabble, and made of them a splendid force, able, disciplined, and obedient. With the influence of his success, added to that derived from the confidence reposed in him by the Rajah, he introduced many and beneficial changes into the administration: he punished peculators by military law, and brought knavish sutlers to the drum-head. In fact, by the exercise of a salutary despotism, he rescued the state from an impending bankruptcy and ruin, placed its finances in a healthy condition, and rendered the country a model of prosperity and contentment. The Rajah had, like most of his rank and class, been in litigation, occa- sionally in armed contention, with some of his neiglibour.s, one especially, an uncle, whom he accused of having robbed him, when his guardian, of a large share of his heritage. This suit had gone on for years, varied at times by little raids into each other's territories, to burn villages £ind carry away cattle. Though with a force more than sufficient to have carried the question with a strong hand, Barrington preferred the more civilized mode of leaving the matter in dispute to others, and suggested the Company as arbitrator. The negotiations led to a lengthy correspondence, in which Edwardes and his son, a youth of seventeen or eighteen, were actively occupied, and although Barrington was not without certain misgivings as to their trustworthiness and honesty, he knew their capacity, and had not, besides, any one at all capable of replacing them. Wiiile these aflairs were yet pending, Barrington married the daughter of the Meer, a young girl whose mother had been a convert to Chris- tianity, and who had herself been educated by a Catholic missionary. She died in the second year of her marriage, A FEW LEAVES FEOM A BLUE-BOOK. 121 giving birth to a daughter; but Barrington had now become so completely the centre of all action in the state, that the Rajah interfered in nothing, leaving in his hands the undisputed control of the Government ; nay, more, he made him his son by adoption, leaving to him not alone all his immense personal property, but the inheri- tance to his throne. Though Barrington was advised by all the great legal authorities he consulted in England that such a bequest could not be good in law, nor a British subject be permitted to succeed to the rights of an Eastern sovereignty, he obstinately declared that the point was yet untried ; that however theoretically the opinion might be correct, practically the question had not been determined, nor had any case yet occurred to rule as a precedent on it. If he was not much of a lawyer, he was of a temperament that could not brook opposition. In fact to make him take any particular road in life, you. had only to erect a barricade on it. When, therefore, he was told the matter could not be, his answer was, " It shall ! " Calcutta lawyers, men deep in knowledge of Oriental law and custom, learned Moonshees and Pundits, were despatched by him at enormous cost, to England, to confer with the great authorities at home. Agents were sent over to procure the influence of great Parlia- mentary speakers and the leaders in the press to the cause. For a matter which, in the beginning, he cared scarcely anything, if at all, he had now grown to feel the most intense and absorbing interest. Half persuading himself that the personal question was less to him than the great privilege and right of an Englishman, he de- clared that he would rather die a beggar in the defence of the cause than abandon it. So possessed was he, indeed, of his rights, and so resolved to maintain them, supported by a firm belief that they would and must be ultimately conceded to him, that in tlie correspon- dence with the other chiefs every reference which spoke of the future sovereignty of Luckerabad included his own name and title, and this with an ostentation quite Oriental. Whether Edwardes had been less warm and energetic in the cause than Barrington expected, or whether liis counsels were less palatable, certain it is he grew daily 122 BAHRINGTON. more and moro rllstrnstful of bim ; lint an event aoon occurred to make this suspicion a ccrtjiintj. The negotiations between the Meer and bis uncle had been so successfully conducted by l^arrincrton, that the latter agreed to give up three " Pegunnahs," or villages he had unrightfully seized upon, and to pay a heavy mulct bi'sides for the unjust occupation of them. This settle- ment bad been, as may be imagined, a work of much time and labour, and requiring not only immense for- bearance and patience, but intt-nse watchfulness and un- ceasing skill and craft. Edwardes, of course, was con- stantly engaged in the affair, with the detiiils of which he had been for years familiar. Now, although Barrington was satisfied with the zeal he displayed, he was less so with his counsels, Edwardes always insisting that in every dealing with an Oriental you must inevitably be beaten if you would not make use of all the stratagem and deceit he is sure to employ against you. There was not a day on which the wily secretary did not suggest some cunning expedient, some clever trick, and Har- rington's abrupt rejection of them only impressed him with a notion of his weakness and deficiency. One morning — it was after many defeats — Edwardea appeared with the draft of a document he had been ordered to draw out, and in which, of his own accord, he had ninde a large use of threats to the neighbouring chief, should he continue to protract these proceedings. These threats very unmistakably pointed to the dire consequences of opposing the great Government of the Company, for, as the writer argued, the succession to the Ameer being already vested in an Englishman, it is perfectly clear the powerful nation he belongs to will take a very summary mode of dealing with this question, if not settled before he comes to the throne. He pressed, therefore, for an immediate settlement, as the best possible escape from difliculty. Han-ington scouted the suggestion indignantly ; ho would not hear of it. " What," said he, " is it while these very rights are in litigation that I am to employ them as a menace ? Who is to secure me being one day Rajah of Luckerabad ? Not you, certainly, who have never ceased to speak coldly A FEW LEAVES FROM A BLUE-BOOK. 123 of my claims. Throw that draft into the fire, and never propose a like one to me again ! " The rebuke was not forgotten. Another draft was, however, prepared, and in due time the long-pending negotiations were concluded, the Meer's uncle having him- self come to Luckerabad to ratify the contract, which, being engrossed on a leaf of the Rajah's Koran, was duly signed and sealed by both. It was during the festivities incidental to this visit that Edwardes, who had of late made a display of wealth and splendour quite unaccountable, made a proposal to the Rajah for the hand of his only unmarried daughter, sister to Barrington's wife. The Rajah, long enervated by excess and opium, probably cared little about the matter : there were indeed, but a few moments in each day when he could be fairly pronounced awake. He referred the question to Barrington. Not satisfied with an insulting rejection of the proposal, Barrington, whose passionate moments were almost madness, tauntingly asked by what means Edwardes had so suddenly acquired the wealth which had prompted this demand. He hinted that the sources of his fortune were more than suspected, and at last, carried away by anger, for the discussion grew vio- lent, he drew from his desk a slip of paper, and held it up. " When your father was drummed out of the 4th Bengal Fusiliers for theft, of which this is the record, the family was scarcely so ambitious." For an instant Edwardes seemed overcome almost to fainting; but he rallied, and, with a menace of his clenched hand, but "without one word, he hurried away before Barrington could resent the iusult. It was said that he did not return to his house, but, taking the horse of an orderly that he found at the door, rode away from the palace, and on the same night crossed the frontier into a neighbouring state. It was on the following morning, as Barrington was passing a cavalry regiment in review, that young Edwardes, forcing his way through the staif, insolently asked, " What had become of his father ? " and at the same instant levelling a pistol, he fired. The ball passed through Bar- rington's shako, and so close to the head that it grazed it. It was only with a loud shout to abstain that Barrington arrested the gleaming sabres that now flourished over his 124 BAnnrNGTON. licnd. "Tour fiifhcr has fled, ynnnpsfcr!" cried lie, *' When you show him that^' — and lie struck him across the face with his horsewhip — " toll him how near you were to liuve Ix-en an assassin!" Witli this sava^^e taunt, he jjave orders that the young fellow should ho conducted to the nearest frontier, and turned adrift. Neither father nor son ever were seen there a'/ain. Little did Geortre ]iarrin<,'ton suspect what was to coma of that morning's work. Throufrh what channel Ed wardes worked at first was not known, but that he succeeded in raisintr up for himself friends in England is certain; by their means the very gravest charges were made airaiiist Barringfon. One allegation vras that by a forged docu- ment, claiming to be the assent of the English Govern- ment to his succession, he had obtained the submission of several native chiefs to bis rule and a cession of territory to the Rajah of Luckerabad ; and another chnrged him •with having cruelly tortured a British subject named Samuel Edwardes — an investigation entered into by a Committee of the House, and becoming, while it lasted, one of the most exciting subjects of public interest. Nor was the anxiety lessened by the death of the elder Edwardes, which occurred during the inquiry, and which Barrington's enemies declared to be caused by a broken heart ; and the martyred, or murdered Edwardes, was no uncommon heading to a paragraph of the time. Conyers turned to the massive Blue-book that contained the proceedings "in Committee," but only to glance at the examination of witnesses, whose very names were unfamiliar to him. He could perceive, however, that the inquiry was a long one, and, from the tone of the member at whose motion it was instituted, angry and vindictive. Edwardes appeared to have preferred charges of long- continued persecution and oppression, and there was native testimony in abundance to sustain the allegation ; while the British Commissioner sent to Luckerabad came back BO prejudiced against Barrington, from his proud and haughty bearing, that his report was unfavourable to him in ail respects. There was, it is true, letters from various liigh quarters, all speaking of Barrington's early career aa both honourable and distinguished ; and, lastly, there was one signed Ormsby Conyers, a warm-hearted testimony A FEW LEAVES FROM A BLUE-BOOK. 125 *' to the most straightforward gentleman and truest friend I have ever known." These were words the young mau read and re-read a dozen times. Conyers turned eagerly to read what decision had been come to by the Committee, but the proceedings had come abruptly to an end by George Barrington's death. A few lines at the close of the pamphlet mentioned that, being summoned to appear bei'ore the Governor-General in Council at Calcutta, Barrington refused. An armed force was despatched to occupy Luckerabad, on the approach of which Barrington rode forth to meet them, attended by a brilliant staii^ — with what precise object none knew — but the sight of a considerable force, drawn up at a distance in what seemed order of battle, implied at least an inten- tion to resist. Coming on towards the advanced pickets at a fast gallop, and not slackening speed when challenged, the men, who were Bengal infantry, fired, and Barrington fell, pierced by four bullets. He never uttered a word after, though he lingered on till evening. The force was commanded by Lieutenant-General Conyers. There was little more to tell. The Rajah, implicated in the charges brought against Barrington, and totally unable to defend himself, despatched a confidential minister, Meer Mozarjah, to Europe to do what he might by bribery. This unhappy blunder filled the measure of his ruin, and after a very brief inquiry the Rajah was declared to have forfeited his throne and all his rights of succession. The Company took possession of Luckerabad, as a portion of British India, but from a generous compassion towards the deposed chief, graciously accorded him a pension of ten thousand rupees a month during his life. My reader will bear in mind that I have given him this recital not as it came before Convers, distorted by false- hood and disfigured by misstatements, but have presented the facts as nearly as they might be derived from a candid examination of all the testimony adduced. Ere I return to my own tale, I ought to add that Edwardes, discredited and despised by some, upheld and maintained by others, left Calcutta with the proceeds of a handsome subscription raised in his behalf Whether he went to reside in Europe, or retired to some other part of India, is not known. He was heard of no more. 126 BARRINGTON. As for the Rajah, hie efTorta Btill continued to obtain a revision of the sentence pronounced upon him, and his case was one of tliose whicli nowsjiapei-s slur over and privy councils try to escape from, leaving to Time to solve what Justice has no taste for. But every now and then a Blue-book would appear, headed " F^ast India (the deposed Rajah of Luckerabad)," while a line in an evening paper would intimate that the Envoy of Mcer Naghoer Assahr had arrived at a certain West-end hotel to prosecute the suit of hia Highness before the Judicial Committee of the Lords. How pleasantly does a paragraph dispose of a whole life-load of sorrows and of wrongs that perhaps are breaking the hearts that carry them ! While I once more apologize to my reader for the length to which this narrative has run, I owe it to myself to state that, had I presented it in the garbled and in- correct version which came before Conyers, and had I interpolated all the misconceptions he incurred, the mis- takes he first fell into and then corrected, I should have been far more tedious and intolerable still ; and now I am again under weigh, with easy canvas, but over a calm Bea, and under a sky but slightly clouded. ^B" i g 127 CHAPTER XIV. BARKiNQTON S FORD. CoxTERS had scarcely finished his reading when he wa3 startled by the galloping of horses under his window ; so close, indeed, did they come that they seemed to shake the Utile cottage with their tramp. He looked out, but they had already swept past, and were hidden from his view by the copse that shut out the river. At the same instant he heard the confused sound of many voices, and what sounded to him like the plash of horses in the stream. Urged by a strong curiosity, he hurried downstairs and made straight for the river by a path that led through the trees, but before he could emerge from the cover he heard cries of " Not there ! not there ! Lower down ! " " No, no ! up higher ! up higher ! Head up the stream, or you'll be caught in the gash." " Don't hurry; you've time enough ! " When he gained the bank it was to see three horsemen, who seemed to be cheering, or, as it might be, warning a young girl, who, mounted on a powerful black horse, was deep in the stream, and evidently endeavouring to cross it. Her hat hung on the back of her neck by its ribbon, and her hair had also fallen down, but one glance was enough to show that she was a consummate horsewoman, and whose courage was equal to her skill ; for while steadily keeping her horse's head to the swift current, she was careful not to control him overmuch, or impede the free action of his powers. Heeding, as it seemed, very little the counsels or warnings showered on her by the bystanders, not oue of whom, to Conyer's intense amaze- ment, had ventured to accompany her, she urged her horse steadily forward. " Don't hurry — take it easy ! " called out one of the 123 nAERINQTON. liorscmcn, as lie looked at his watch. "Ton have fifty- three minutes left, ami it's all tnrf." "She'll do it— 1 know slie \\ill!" "She'll lose— she must lose!" "It's ten miles to Foynes Gap!" "It's more!" "It's le.ss!" " There !- see !- she's in, hy Jove ! she's iu ! " Tliese varying comments were now arrested by the intense interest of the moment, tlie horse having impatiently plunged into a deep pool, and struck out to swim witli all the violent exertion of an afliighted animal. "Keep his head up!" "Let him tree — quite free !" " Get your loot clear of the stirrup ! " cried out the bystanders, while in luwer tones they muttered, "She would cross here ! " "It's all her own fault!" Just at this instant she turned in her saddle, and called out something, which, drowned in the rush of the river, did not reach them. " Don't you see," cried Conyers, passionately, for his temper could no longer endure the impassive attitude of this on-looking, " one of the reins is broken, her bridle is smashed ? " And, without another word, he sprang into the river, partly wading, partly swimming, and soon reached the place where the horse, restrained by one rein alone, swam in a small circle, fretted by restraint and maddened by inability to resist. " Leave him to me — let go your rein," said Conyers, as he grasped the bridle close to the bit ; and the animal, accepting the guidance, sulfered himself to be led quietly till he reached the shallow. Once there, he bounded wildly forward, and splashing through the current, leaped up the bank, where he was immediately caught by the others. By the time Conyers had gained the land, the girl had quitted her saddle and entered the cottage, never so much as once turning a look on him who had rescued her. If he could not help feeling mortiiied at this show of indif- ference, ho was not less puzzled by the manner of the others, who perfectly careless of his dripping condition, discussed amongst tliemselves how the bridle broke, and what might have happened if the leatlier had proved tougher. "It's always the way with her," muttered one, sulkily. 'u> //a^Ay. EAEr.INGTON S FORD. 129 " I told her to ride the match in a ring-snafBe, but she's a itiule in obstinacy ! She'd have won easily — ay, with five minutes to spare — if she'd have crossed at Niinsford. I passed there h\st week without wetting a girth." " She'll not thank you, young gentleman, whoever you are," said the oldest of the party, turning to Conyers, " for your gallantry. She'll only remember you as having helped her to lose a wager ! " " That's true ! " cried another. "I never got as much as thank you for catching her horse one day at Lyrath, though it threw me out of the whole run afterwards." " And this was a wager, then ? " said Conyers. "Yes. An English officer that is stopping at Sir Charles's said yesterday that nobody could ride from Lowe's Folly to Foynes as the crows flies ; and four of us took him up — twenty-five pounds apiece — that Polly Dill would do it — and against time, too — an hour and foi'ty." " On a horse of mine," chimed in another — " Bayther- shin ! '' " I must say it does not tell vei'y well for your chivalry in these parts," said Conyers, angrily. " Could no one be found to do the match without risking a young girl's life on it?" A very hearty burst of merriment met this speech, and the elder of the party rejoined, — " You must be very new to this country, or you'd not have said that, sir. There's not a man in the hunt could get as much out of a horse as that girl." "Not to say," added another, with a sly laugh, "that the Englishman gave five to one against her when he heard she was going to ride." Disgusted by what he could not but regard as a most disgraceful wager, Conyers turned away, and walked into the house. "Go and change your clothes as fast as you can," said Miss Harrington, as she met him in the porch. " 1 am quite provoked you should have wetted your feet in such a cause." It was no time to ask for explanations, and Conyers hurried away to his room, marvelling much at what he had heard, but even more astonished by the attitude of cool and easy indiff'erence as to what might have im- K 130 BAnniKf.TON. pi'iillotl a human life. He luid oKen heard of the reckless liahits and ul).surd extravaj^JHicos of Irish lile, but ho fancied tliat tluy ajipertaineil to a time h)nf^ past, and that society had gradually assumed tlie tone and the temper of the Kntjiish. Then ho bef,''an to wonder to wliat class in life these jjersons belonj^ed. Tlie girl, so well as he could see, was certainly handsome, and appeared lailyMke ; and yit, why had she not even by a word acknow- ledged the service he rendered her? And lastly, what could old Miss Barrington mean by that scornful sfieech ? These were all great puzzles to him, and like maiiy great puzzles only the more embarrassing the more they were thought over. The sound of voices drew him now to the window, and he saw one of the riding parry in converse with Darbv at the door. They talked in a low tone together, jind laughed ; and then the horseman, chucking a hall-crown towards Darby, said aloud, " And tell her that we'll send the boat down for her as soon as we get back." Darby touched his hat gratefully, and was about to retire within the house when lie caught sight of Convers at the window. He waited till the rider had turned the angle of the road, and then said, " That's jNlr. St. George, They used to call him the Slasher, he killed so many in duels long ago ; but he's like a lamb now." "And the young lady? " "The young lady is it!" said Darby, with the air of one not exactly concurring in the designation. " She's old Dill's daughter, the doctor that attends you." "What was it all about? " "It was a bet they made with an English captain this morning that she'd ride irom Lowe's Folly to the Gap in an hour and a h;df. The captain took a hundred on it, because he thouglit she'd have to go round by the bridge; and they pretuided tlie same, for they gave all kinds of directions about clearing the carts out ot the road, for it's market-day at Thoniastown ; and away went the Ca])tain as hard as he could, to be at the bridge first, to ' time her,' as she passed. But he has won the money ! " sighed Le, for the thought of so much Irish coin going into a bakrington's ford. 131 Saxon pocket completely overcame him; "and what's more," added he, " the gentleman says it was all your fault !" ^' All my fault!" cried Conyevs, indignantly. "All my fault! Do they imagine that I either knew or cared for their trumpery wager I I saw a girl struggling in a danger from which not one of them had the manliness to rescue her ! " "Oh, take my word for it," burst in Darby, "it's not courage they want ! " " Then it is something far better than even courage, and I'd like to tell them so." And he turned away as much disgusted with Darby as with the rest of his countrymen. Now, all the anger that filled his breast was not in reality provoked by the want of gallantry that he condemned ; a portion, at least, was owing to the marvellous indifference the young lady had manifested to her preserver. Was peril such an every-day incident of Irish life that no one cared for it, or was grati- tude a quality not cultivated in this strange land ? Such were the puzzles that tormented him as he descended to the drawing-room. As he opened the door, he heard Miss Barrington's voice, in a tone which he rightly guessed to be reproof, and caught the words, " Just as unwise as it is unbe- coming," when he entered. '• Mr. Conyers, Miss Dill," said the old lady, stiffly ; " the young gentleman who saved you, the heroine you rescued I " The two allocutions were delivered with a gesture towards each. To cover a moment of extreme awkwardness, Conyers blundered out soraethinc about being too happy, and a slight service, and a hope of no ill consequences to herself. " Have no fears on that score, sir," broke in Miss Dinah. " Manly young ladies are the hardiest things in natui-e. They are as msensible to danger as they are to ■" She stopped, and grew crimson, partly from anger, and partly from the unspoken word that had almost escaped her. " Nay, madam," said Polly, quietly, " I am really very much 'ashamed.'" And, simple as the words were, Miss Barrington felt the poignancy of their application to her- self, and her hand trembled over the embroidery she was working. She tried to appear calm, but in vdmi ; her K 2 132 EARRIXOTON. colour pnmo and wont, nntl the stitclics, in Rjiife of licr, grew irregular ; so that, af'tir a niornent'K st,ru^'<;le, isho pushed tlio frame away, aiid left the room. Wliile this very liiief and |>:iiiirul incident was passinij, Conyers was wondering to himself how the dashing horsewoman, with flushed cheek, flashing eye, and dishevelled hair, could possibly he tlio quiet, demure girl, with a downcast look, and almost Quaker-like simj)lieity of demeanour. It is but fair to add, though he himself did not discover it, that the contributions of Miss Dinah's wardrobe, to Avliieh poor Polly was reduced for dress, were not exactly of a nature to heighten her person.':! attractions; nor did a sort of short jacket, and a very much beflounced petticoat, set off" tlie girl's figure to advantage. Polly never raised her eyes from the work she was sewing as Aliss Barrington withdrew, but, in a low, gentle voice, said, " It was very good of you, sir, to come to my rescue, but you mustn't think ill of my countr3men ibr not having done so ; they had given their word of honour not to lead a fence, nor open a gate, nor, in fact, aid me in any way." " So that, if they could win their wager, your peril was of little matter," broke he in. She gave a little low, quiet laugh, perhaps as much at the energy as at the words of his speech. " After all." said she, "a wetting is no great misibrtune; the worst punishment of my offence was one that I never con- templated." " What do you mean ? " asked he. " Doing penance for it in this costume," said she, draw- ing out the stiff iolds of an old brocaded silk, and display- ing a splendour of flowers that might have grnceil a peacock's tail ; " I never so much as dreamed of this !" There was something so coniic in the way she conveyed her distres.s, that he laut^hed out-ight. She joined him; and they were at once at their ea.se together. " 1 think Miss Barrington called you Mr. Conyers," said she, " and if so, I have the haj)piness of feeling that m}' gratitude is bestowed where .already there has been a large instalment of the sentiment. It is you who have been so generous and so kind to n)y poor brother." " Has he told you, then, what we have been planning together? " baerington's foed. 133 " He has told me all that j/ou had planned out for bini," paid she, with a very gracious smile, which very sliglitly coloured her cheek, and gave great softness to her expres- sion. "My only fear was that the poor boy should have lost his head completely, and perhaps exaggerated to liim- self your intentions towards him, for, after all, I can scarcely think " " Wliat is it that you can scarcely think?" asked he, after a long pause. '• Nor. to say," resumed she, unheeding his question, "that I cannot imagine how this came about. What could have led him to telhyoz; — a perfect stranger to hi m- his hopes and fears, his struggles and his sorrows? How could you — by what magic did you inspire him with that trustful confidence which made him open his whole heart before you ? Poor Tom, who never before had any con- fessor than m^-self ! " " Shall I tell you how It came about ? It was talking of ^OH ! " " Of me ! talking of me !" and her cheek now flushed more deeply. "Yes, we had rambled on over fifty themes, not one of which seemed to attach him strongly, till, in some passing allusion to his own cares and difficulties, he mentioned one who has never ceased to guide and comfort him; who shared not alone his sorrows, but his hard hours of lahoui-, and turned away from her own pleasant paths to tread the dreary road of toil beside him." " I think he might have kept all this to himself," said she, with a tone of almost severitv. " How could he ? How was it possible to tell me his story, and not touch upon what imparted the few tints of better fortune that lighted it? I'm certain, besides, tliat there is a sort of pride in revealing how much of sympathy and afiection we have derived from those better than our- selves, and I could see that he was actually vain of what you had done for him." " I repeat, he might have kept this to himself. But let us leave this matter; and now tell me — for I own I can hardly trust my poor brother's triumphant tale — tell me seriously what the plan is?'' Conyers hesitated lor a few seconds, embarrassed how 134 BAKRINGTON. to nvoid mention of himself, or to allude bat pfissinply to Ills own sliiiie in the project. At last, as thouj^h decidiiif*' to dash boldly into the (niestiou, he said, " I told him, if lie'd go out to India, I'd j?ive him such a letter to my father that his fortune would be secure. My governor is Sonnthing of a swell out tiiere " — and he reddened, ]);irtly in shame, partly in pride, as lie tried to disgai.se his feeling by an affectation of ease — "and that with him lor a friend, Tom would be certain of sufcess. You smile at my conHdence, but you don't know India, and what scores of fine things are — so to say — to be had fur asking ; and although doctoring is all very well, there are filty otlier wa\'s to make a fortune faster. Tom could be a lieceiver of Revenue ; he might be a Political Resident. You don't know what they get. There's a fellow at IJaroda has four thousand rupees a month, and I don't know how much more for dak-money." " I can't help smiling," said she, " at the notion of poor Tom in a palanquin. But, .seriously, sir-, is all this possible ? or might it not be feared that your iallnr, when he camo to see my brother — who, with many a worthy quality, has not much to prepossess in his favour — when, I say, he came to see your protege, is it not likely that he might — might — hold him more cheaply tlian you do ?" " Not when he presents a letter from me — not when it's I that have taken him up. You'll believe me, perhaps, when I tell you what happened when I was but ten years old. AVe were up at Raniioon, in the Hills, ■when a dreadful hurricane swept over tiie country, destroy- ing everything belore it ; rice, paddy, the indi<_'o-crop, all ■were carried away, and the poor people left totally destitute. A sub.scription-list was handed about amongst the British residents, to atl'ord some aid in the calamity, and it was my tutor, a native ^loonshee, who went about to collect the sums. One morning he came back somewhat discon.solate at his want of success. A payment of eight thousand rupees had to be made for grain on that day, and he had not, as he hoped and expected, the money ready He talked freely to me of his disappointment, so that at last, my feelings being worked upon, I took up my pen and wrote down my name on the list, with the sum of eight thousand rupees to it. Shocked at what he regarded as barrington's ford. 135 Slio act of levity, lie carried the paper to my father, who at once said, 'Fred wrote it; his name shall not be dis- honoured ;' and the money was paid. I ask you, now, am I reckoning too much on one who could do that, and for a mere child, too ? " " That was nobly done," said she. with enthusiasm ; and though Conyers went on, with warmth, to tell more of his father's generous nature, she seemed less to listen than to follow out some thread of her own reflections. Was it some speculation as to the temperament the son of such a father might possess? or was it some pleasurable reverie regarding one who might do any extravagance and yet be forgiven ? My reader may guess this, perhaps — T cannot. Whatever her speculation, it lent a very charming expression to her features — that air of gentle, tranquil happiness we like to believe the lot of guileless, simple natures. Conyers, like many young men of his order, was very fond of talking of himself, of his ways, his habits, :ind his temper, and she listened to him very prettily — so prettily indeed, that when Darby, slyly peeping in at the half- opened door, announced that the boat had come, he felt well inclined to pitch the messenger into the stream. " I must go and say good-bye to Miss Barrington," said Polly, rising. " I hope that this rustling finery will impart some dignity to my demeanour." And drawing wide the massive fi)lds, she made a very deep curtsey, throwing back her head haughtily as she resumed her height in admirable imitation of a bygone school of manners. "Very well — very well indeed ! Quite as like what it is meant for as is Miss Polly Dill I'm- the station she counterfeits!" said Miss Dinah, as, throwing wide the door, she stood before them. " I am overwhelmed by your flattery, madam," said Polly, who, though very red, lost none of her self-posses- sion ; " but I feel that, like the traveller who tried on Charlemagne's armour, I am far more equal to combat in my every-day clothes." " Do not enter the lists with me in either." said Mis3 Dinah, with a look of the haughtiest insolence. " Mr. Conyers, will you let me show you njy flower-garden?" 130 BAURINGTON, " Dcliglitccl ! But I will first see Miss Dill to her boat." " As yon please, sir," said the old lady ; and she with- drew witli a jiroud toss of her head that was very unniis- takahlc ill its import. " What a severe correction that was !" said Polly, half gaily, as she went alonj^, leaning on his arm. " And ifuii know that, whatever my oH'endiiig, there was no rnirnicrv in it. I was simply thinking of some great grandmother who had perhaps captivated-tho heroes of Dettingen ; and, talking of heroes, how courageous of you to come to my rescue." Was it that her arm only trembled sb'ghtly, or did it really press gently on his own as she 8:ii(] this ? Cer- tainly Convers inclined to the lattei- hypothesis, for be drew her more closely to his side, and said, " Of course I stood by you. She was all in the wrong, and I mean to tell her so!" " Not if you would serve me," said she, eagerly. *' I have paid the penalty, and I strongly object to be sentenced atrain Oh, here's the boat ! " " Why it's a mere skiff. Are you safe to trust yourself in such a thing ? " asked he, for the canoe-shaped " cot " was new to him. '' Of course !" said she, liglitly stepping in. "There is even room for another." Then, hastily changing her theme, she asked, " May I tell y)oor Tom what you have said to me, or is it just possible that you will come up one of these days and see us ?" " If I might be permitted " "Too much honour for us!" said she, with such a capital imitation of his voice and manner that he burst into a laugh in spite of himself. "Mayhap Miss Harrington was not so far wrong: after all you are a terrible niiiuic." " Is it a promise then ? Am I to say to my brother you will come?" said she, seriously. "Faithfully!" said he, waving his hand, for the boat- men had already got the skiff under weigh, and were Bendinjr her alonfj like an arrow from a bow. Polly turned and kissed her hand to him, and Conyers muttered something over his owu stupidity tor not being barrington's ford. 137 beside lier, and then turned sulkilj' back towards the cottage. A few hours ago and he had thought he could have passed his life here ; there was a charm in the un- broken tranquillity that seemed to satisfy the longings of his heart, and now, all of a sudden, the place appeared desolate. Have you never, dear reader, felt, in gazing on some fair landscape, with mountain, and stream, and forest before you, that the scene was perfect, wanting nothing in form, or tone, or colour, till suddenly a flash of strong sunlight from behind a cloud lit up some spot with a glorious lustre, to fade away as quickly into the cold tint it had worn before — have you not felt then, I say, that the picture had lost its marvellous attraction, and that the very soul of its beauty had departed ? In vain you try to recall the past impression ; your memory will mourn over the lost, and refuse to be comforted. And so it is often in life : the momentary charm that came unexpectedly can become all in all to our imaginations, and its departure leave a blank, like a death, behind it. Nor was he altogether satisfied with Miss Barrinsrton. The " old woman " — alas ! for his gallantry, it was so that he called her to himself — was needlessly severe. Why should a mere piece of harmless levity be so visited ? At all events, he felt certain that he himself would have shown a more generous spirit. Indeed, when Polly had quizzed him, he took it all good-naturedly, and by thus tarning his thoughts to his natural goodness and the merits of his character, he at length grew somewhat more well-disposed to the world at large. He knew he was naturally forgiving, and he felt he was very generous. Scores of fellows, bred up as he was, would have been perfectly unendurable; they would have presumed on their position, and done this, that, and t'other. Not one of them would have dreamed of taking up a poor ungainly lumpkin, a country doctor's cub, and making a man of him ; not one of them would have had the heart to con- ceive or the energy to carry out such a project. And yet this he would do. Polly herself, sceptical as she was, should be brought to admit that he bad kept his word. Selfish fellows would limit their plans to their own engagements, and weak fellows could be laughed out of tueir intentions, but he flattered himself that he was 138 HARRINGTON. neither of tliesc, nnd it was really fortunate that tlio \v(ii-l(l should si'O liow little spoiled a fine Tiature could bi-, though surrounded wiili all the temptations that aro 8up])osed to be dangerous. In this hapjiy frame — for ho was now happy — he re- entered the cottage. "What a coxcomb!" will say my reader. Be it so. But it was a coxcomb who wanted to be sf)methinfr better. Miss liarrington met him in the porch, not a trace of her late displeasure on her face, but with a pleasant smile she said, " 1 have just got a few lines from my brother. He writes in excellent spirits, for he has gained a law- suit ; not a very important case, but it puts u.s in a posi- tion to carry out a little project we are full of. He will be here by Saturday, and hopes to bring with him an old and valued friend, the Attorney-General, to spend a few days with us. I am therefore able to promise you an ample recompense for all the loneliness of your present lite. I have cautiously abstained from telling my brother who you are ; I keep the delightful surprise for the moment of your meeting. Your name, though associated with some sad memories, will bring him back to the happiest period of his life." Conyers made some not very intelligible reply about his reluctance to impose himself on them at such a time, but she stopped him with a good-humoured smile, and said, — " Your father's son should know that where a Barring- ton lived he had a home — not to say you have already ])aid some of the tribute of this homeliness, and seen mo very cross and ill-tempered. Well, let us not speak of that now. I have your word to remain here." And sho left him to attend to her household cares, while he strolled into the garden, half amused, half embarrassed by all tho strange and new interests that had grown up so suddenly around him. 139 CIL^PTER XV. AN EXPLORING EXPKDITION. Whether from simple caprice, or that Lady Cobham desired to mark her disapprobation of Polly Dill's share in the late wager, is not open to me to say, bat the festivi- ties at Cobham were not, on that day, graced or enlivened by her presence. If the comments on her absence were brief, they were pungent, and some wise reflections, too, were uttered as to the dangers that must inevitably attend all attempts to lilt people into a sphere above their own. Poor human nature ! that unlucky culprit who is flogged for everything and for everybody, bore the brunt of these severities, and it was declared that Polly had done what any other girl " in her rank of life " might have done ; and this being settled, the company went to luncheon, their appetites none the worse for the small auto-da-fe they had just celebrated. " You'd have lost your money. Captain," whispered Ambrose Bushe to Stapylton, as they stood talking toge- ther in a window recess, " if that girl had only taken the river three hundred yards higher up. Even as it was, she'd have breasted her hoi*se at the bank if the bridle had not given way. I suppose you have seen the place ? " " I regret to say I have not. They tell me it's one of the strongest rapids in the river." " Let me describe it to you," replied he ; and at once set about a picture, in which certainly no elements of peril were forgotten, and all the dangers of rocks and rapids were given with due emphasis. Stapylton seemed to listen with fitting attention, throwing out the suitable " Indeed ! is it possible ! " and such-like interjections, his mind, how- ever, by no means absorbed by the narrative, but dwell- ing solely on a chance name that had dropped from the narrator. 110 BARRIXGTON. " You cnllod tlio pliice ' J3jirrington's Ford,' " said ho at last. " Who is ]{!inini,'t()ii?" " As good a gcnlk'iniiii by blood and descent as any in this room, but now reduced to keep a little wayside inn — the ' Fisherman's Home,' it is called. All come of a spendthrift son, who went out to India, and ran through everv acre of the property before he died." " What a stiange vicissitude ! And is the old man much broken l)y it?" " Some would say he was ; my opinion is, that he bears up wonderfully. Of course, to me, he never makes any mention of the past; but while my father lived, he would frequently talk to him over bygones, and liked nothing better than to speak of his Son, Mad George as they called him, and tell all his wildest exploits and most hair-brained achievements. But you have served yourself iu India. Have you never heard of George Barrington r"' Stapylton shook his head, and dryly added that India was very large, and that even in one Presidency a man might never hear what went on in another. " Well, this fellow made noise enough to be heard even over here. He married a native woman, and he either shook otf his English allegiance, or was sus[)ected of doing so. At all events, he got himself int > trouble that finished him. It's a long complicated story, that I have never heard correctly. The upshot was, however, old Barrington was sold out stick and stone, and if it wasn't for tlie ale- house he might starve." " xVnd his former friends and associates, do they rally round him and cheer him?" " Not a great deal. Perhaps, however, that's as much his fault as tlieirs. He is very proud, and very quick to resent anything like consideration for his changed condi- tion. Sir Charles would have him up here — he has tried it scores of times, but all in vain; and now he is left to two or three of his neighbours, the Doctor and an old half- pay Major, who lives on the river, and I believe really he never sees any one else. Old M'Cormick knew George ]3arrington well ; not that tiiey were friends — two men li'ss alike never lived ; but that's enougli to make poor Peter fond of talking to him, and telling all about some lawsuits George left him for a legacy." AN EXPLORINJ EXPEDITION. 141 " This Major that you speak of, does he visit here ? I don't remember to have seen him." '' M'Cormick !" said the other, laucjhing. " ISTo he's a miserly old fellow that hasn't a coat tit to g-o out in, and he's no loss to any one. It's as much as old Peter Har- rington can do to bear his shabby ways, and his cranky temper, bat he puts up with everything because he knew his son George. That's quite enough for old Peter ; and if you were to go over to tlie cottage, and say, ' T met your son up in Bombay or Madras ; we were quartered together at Ram-something-or-other,' he'd tell you the place was your own, to stop at as long as you liked, and your home for life." "Indeed! "said Stapylton, affecting to feel interested, while he followed out the course of his own thoughts. " Not that the Major could do even that much ! " con- tinued Bushe, who now believed that he had found an eager listener. " There was only one thing in this world he'd like to talk about — Walcheren. Go how or when you liked, or where or for what — no matter, it was Wal- cheren you'd get, and nothing else." " Somewhat tiresome this, 1 take it ! " " Tiresome is no name for it ! And I don't know a stronger proof of old Peter's love for his son's memory, than that, for the sake of hearing about him, he can sit and listen to the ' expedition.' " There was a half-unconscious mimicry in the way he gave the last word that showed how the Major's accents had eaten their way into his sensibilities. "Your portrait of this Major is not tempting," said Stapjdton smiling. " Why would it? He's eighteen or twenty years in the neighbourhood, and I never heard that he said a kind word or did a generous act by any one. But I get cross if I talk of him. Where are you going this morning ? Will you come up to the Long Callows and look at the yearlings? The Admiral is very proud of his young stock, and he thinks he has some of the best bone and blood in Ireland there at this moment." " Thanks, no ; I have some notion of a long walk this morning. I take shame to myself for having seen so little of the country here since I came that 1 mean to 112 BARRINGTON. repair my fault and go oDf on a sort of voyage of dis- covery." " Follow the river from Brown's Barn down to Iiiistiofre, and if you ever saw anytliini^ prettier I'tii a Scotclniian." And with this appalling alternative, Mr. Bushe walked away, and le''t the otlier to his own fjjiiidance. reihaps Stupylton is not the companion my reader would care to stroll with, even along the grassy path beside that laughing river, with spray-like larches bend- ing overhead, and tender water-lilies streaming, like pennants, in the fast-running current. It may be that he or she would preler some one more impressionalile to the woodland beauty of the spot, and more disposed to enjoy the tranquil loveliness around him ; for it is true the swarthy soldier strode on, little heeding the picturesque effects which made every succeeding reaith of the river a subject for a piiinter. He was bent on tinding out where M'Cormick lived, and on making the acquaintance of that bland individual. " That's the Major's, and there's himself," said a countryman, as he pointed to a very shabbiiy-dressi-d old man hoeing his cabbages in a dilapidated bit of garden- ground, but who was so alisorbed in his occupation as not to notice the approach of a stranger. " Am I taking too great a liberty," said Stayplton, as he raised his hat, " if I ask leave to follow the river patli through this lovely spot." "Eh — what?- how did you come? You didn't pass round by the young wheat, eh ? " asked M'Cormick, in his most querulous voice. " I came along by the margin of the river." " That's just it ! " broke in the other. " There's no keep- ing them out that way. But I'll have a dog as sure as my name is Dan. I'll have a buU-tenier that'll tackle the first of you that's trespassing there." "I fancy I'm addressing Major ]\rC()rmick," said Stayplton, never noticing this rude s])eech, " and if so I will ask liim to accord me the privilege of a brother- soldier, and let me make myself known to him — Captain Stapylton, of the Prince's Hussars." " By the wars!" muttered old Dan; the exclamation being a favourite one with him to express astonishment AN EXPLORING EXPEDITION. 143 at any startling event. Then recovering himself, he added, " I think I heard there were three or four of ye stopping up th^re at Cobham ; but I never go out myself anywhere. I live very retired down here." " I am not surprised at that. When an old soldier can nestle down in a lovely nook like this, he has very little to regret of what the world is busy about out- side it." "And they are all ruining themselves besides," said M'Cormick, with one of his malicious grins. " There's not a man in this county isn't mortgaged over head and ears. I can count them all on my fingers for you, and tell what they have to live on." " You amaze me," said Stapylton, with a show of interest. " And the women are as bad as the men : nothing fine enough for them to wear ; no jewels rich enough to put on ! Did you ever hear them mention me ? " asked he, suddenly, as though the thought flashed upon him that he had himself been exposed to comment of a very different kind. " They told me of an old retired officer, who owned a most picturesque cottage, and said, if I remember aright, that the view from one of the windows was accounted one of the most perfect bits of river landscape in the kingdom." "Just the same as where you're standing — no difference in life," said M'Cormick, who was not to be seduced by the flattery into any demonstration of hospitality. " I cannot imagine anything finer," said Stapylton, as he threw himself at the foot of a tree, and seemed really to revel in enjoyment of the scene. " One might, per- haps, if disposed to be critical, ask for a little opening in that copse yonder. I suspect we should get a peep at the hold cliff, whose summit peers above the tree-tops." " You'd see the quarry, to be sure," croaked out the Major, " if that's what you mean." "May I off"er you a cigar? " said Stapylton, whose self- possession was pushed somewhat hard by the other. " An old campaigner is sure to be a smoker." " I am not. I never had a pipe in my mouth since Walcheren." 141 BARRINGTON. "Since AValcheren ! You don't say that you are an old Wiilclicrt'ii man y" " 1 iini, indeed. 1 was in tlie second battalion of tho 103rd — the Duke's Fusiliers, if ever you heard of them." " Heard of tliem I Tlie wlujle world has heard of them ; but I didn't know there was a man of that splendid corps surviviiifji;. Why, they lost — let me see — they lost every oflicer but " Here a vigorous eHort to keep his cigar alight interposed, and kept him occu- pied for a few seconds. " How many did you bring out of action — four was it, or five ? I'm certain you hadn't six!" " We were the same as the Buff's, man for man," said M'Cormick. " The poor Buff's ! — very gallant fellows, too!" sighed Stapyltnn. " I have always maintained, and I always will maintain, that the Walcheren expedition, though not a success, was the proudest achievement of the British arms." " The shakes always began after sunrise, and in less than ten minutes you'd see your nails growing blue." "How dreadful!" " And if you felt your nose, you wouldn't know it was your nose ; you'd think it was a bit of a cold carrot." " Why was that ? " " Because there was no cii'culation ; the blood would stop going round ; and you'd be that way for four hours — till the sweating took you — just the same as dead." " There, don't go on — I can't stand it — my nerves are all ajar already." " And then the cramps came on," continued M'Cormick, in an ecstasy over a listener whose feelings he could liaiTOW ; "first in the calves of the legs, and then all along the spine, so that you'd be bent like a fish." " For Heaven's sake, spare me ! I've seen some rough work, but that descrif)tion of yours is perfectly horrifying ! And when one thinks it was the glorious old lOoth^ — - — " " No, the 103rd ; the lOoth was at Barbadoes," broke in the ^lajor, testily. " So they were, and got their share of the yellow fever at that very time, too," said Stapylton, hazarding a not very rash conjecture. AN EXPLORING EXPEDITION. 145 " Maybe they did, and maybe they didn't," was the dry- rejoinder. It required all Stapylton's nice tact to gt^ the Major once more full swing at the expedition, bui he at last accomplished the feat, and with such success that M'Cormick suggested an adjournment within doors, and faintly hinted at a possible something to drink. The wily guest, however, declined this. " He liked," he said, " that nice breezy spot under those fine old trees, and with that glorious reach of the river before them. Could a man but join to these enjoyments," he continued, "just a neighbour or two — an old friend or so that he really- liked — gne not alone agreeable from his tastes, but to whom the link of early companionship also attached us, ■with this addition I could call this a paradise." " Well, I have the village doctor," croaked out M'Cormick, " and there's Barrington — old Peter — up at the ' Fisherman's Home.' I have them by way of society. I might have better, and I might have worse." " They told me at Cobham that there was no getting you to 'go out;' that, like a regular old soldier, you liked your own chimney-corner, and could not be tempted away from it." " They didn't try very hard, anyhow," said he, harshly. " I'll be nineteen years here if I live till November, and I think I got two invitations, and one of them to a ' dancing tea,' whatever that is ; so that you may observe they didn't push the temptation as far as St. Anthony's!" Stapylton joined in the laugh with which M'Cormick welcomed his own drollery. "Your Doctor," resumed he, "is, I presume, the father of the pretty girl who rides so cleverly ?" " So they tell me. I never saw her mounted but once, and she smashed a melon-frame for me, and not so much as ' I ask your pardon ! ' afterwards." "And Barrington," resumed Stapylton, " is the ruined gentleman I have heard of, who has turned innkeeper. An extravagant son, I believe, finished him?" " His own taste for law cost him just as much," muttered M'Cormick. " He had a trunk full of old title- deeds, and bonds, and settlements, and he was always poring over them, discovering by the way flaws in this, L lin bahrington. and omissions in that, and llicn Iie'd draw up a case for counsel, and fi;ct consultations on it, and hefore you could turn round, tlicre lie was, tryini? to break a will or get out of a coveniint, with a spuciul jury and the strongest Bar in Ireland. That's what ruined him." " 1 gather from what you tell me that he is a bold, determined, and perhaps a vindictive man. Am I right?" " You are not ; he's an easy-tempered fellow, and care- less, like every one of his name and race. If you said he hadn't a wise head on liis shoulders, you'd be nearer the mark. Look what he's going to do now!" cried he, warming with his theme : " he's going to give up the inn " "Give it up! And why?" " Ay, that's the question would puzzle him to answer ; but it's the haughty old sister persuades him that he ought to take this black girl — George Barrington's daughter — home to live with him, and that a shebeen isn't the place to bring her to, and she a negress. That's more of the family wisdom!" " There may be affection in it." " Affection ! For what — for a black ! Ay, and a black that they never set eyes on I If it was old Withering had the affection for her I wouldn't be surprised." " What do you mean ? Who is he ? " " The Attorney-General, who has been fighting the East India Company for her these sixteen years, and making more money out of the case than she'll ever get back again. Did you ever hear of Barrington and Lot Ram- madahn ^lohr again.st the India Company ? That's the case. Twelve millions of rupees and the interest on them ! And I believe in my heart and soul old Peter would be well out of it for a thousand pounds." " That is, you su.«pect he must be beaten in the end ? " " I mean that I am sure of it ! AV^e have a saying in Ireland, 'It's not fair for one man to fall on twenty,' and it's just the same thing to go to law with a great rich Company. You're sure to have the worst of it." " L)id it never occur to them to make some sort of compromise ?" " Not a bit of it. Old Peter always thinks he has the game in his hand, and nothing would make him throw up AN EXPLORING EXPEDITION. 147 the cards. N'o ; I believe if you offered to pay the stakes, he'd say, ' Play the game out, and let the winner take the money ! ' " " His lawyer may possibly have something to say to this spirit." " Of course he has ; they are always bolstering each other up. It is, ' Barrington, my boy, you'll turn the corner yet. You'll drive up that old avenue to the house you were born in, JJarrington, of Barrington Hall ; ' or, ' Withering, I never heard you greater than on that point before the twelve Judges ; ' or, ' Your last speech at Bar was finer than Currau.' They'd pass the evening that way, and call me a cantankerous old hound when my back was turned, just because I didn't hark in to the cry. Maybe I have the laugh at them after all." And he broke out into one of his most discordant cackles to corroborate his boast. " The sound sense and experience of an old Walcheren man might have its weight with them. I know it would with meJ" " Ay," muttered the Major, half aloud, for he was thinking to himself whetlier this piece of flattery was a bait for a little whisky-and-water. " I'd rather have the unbouorht iudsrment of a shrewd man of the world than a score of opinions based upon the quips and cranks of an attorney's instructions." " Ay ! " responded the other, as he mumbled to him- self, " he's mighty thirsty." " And what's more," said Stapylton, starting to his legs, " I'd follow the one as implicitly as I'd reject the other. I'd say, ' M'Cormick is an old friend ; we have known each other since boyhood.' " " No we haven't. I never saw Peter Barrington till I came to live here." " Well, after a close friendship of years with his son " " Nor that either," broke in the implacable Major. " He was always cutting his jokes on me, and I never could abide him, so that the close friendship you speak of is a mistake." " At all events," said Stapylton, sharply, " it could be no interest of yours to see an old — an old acquaintance L 2 1 43 BARRINGTON. luvisl)incr ^ii' money on lawyers and in tlio pursuit of tlio most impr3 BAr.RINGTON. anxiously for tho time when tlio wliito bells would shut out every letter of his name, and I like him not to notice the c'li:m<,'e iinraei1i;it(>Iy. There, yon are doinj*' it very handily indeed. There is uiiotlier holdlast at this corner. Ah, be careful ; that is a branch of tlie passion-tree, and thou!,''h it looks dead, you will see it covered with flowers in spring. Notliiiipf coidd bo better. Now for the last enihh'ui of our craft — can you reacii it?" " Oh, easily," said Conyers, as he raised his eyes to where the lit;le tin fish hung glittering above him. The ladder, however, was too short, and, standing on one of tho highest rungs, still he could not reach the little iron stancliion. "I must have it though," cried he; "I mean to claim that as my prize. It will be the only fish I ever took with my own hands." He now cautiously crept up another step of tho ladder, supporting himself by the frail creepers which covered the walls. " Help me now with a crooked stick, and I shall catch it." " I'll fetch you one," said she, disappearing within the porch. Still wistfully looking at the object of his pursuit, Conyers never turned his eyes downwards as the sound of steps apprised him some one was near, and, concluding it to be Miss Barrington, he said, " I'm half afraid that I have torn some of this jessamine-tree from the wall; but see here's the prize ! " A slight air of wind had wafted it towards him, and he snatched the fish from its slender chain and held it up in triumph. " A poacher caught in the fact, Barrington ! " said a deep voice from below ; and Conyers, looking down, saw two men, both advanced in life, very gravely watching his proceedings. Not a little ashamed of a situation to which he never expected an audience, he hastily descended the ladder, but before he reached the ground Miss Barrington was in her brother's arms, and welcoming him home with all the warmth of true affection . This over, she next shook hands cordially with his companion, whom she called Mr. Withering. " And now, Peter," said she, " to present one I have been longing to make know to you. You, who never forget a well-known face, will recognize him." COMING HOME. 159 "My eyes are not what they used to be," said Barring- ton, holding out his hand to Conyers, " but they are good enough to see the young gentleman I left here when I went away." " Yes, Peter," said she, hastily ; " but does the sight of him bring back to you no memory of poor George ? " " George was dark as a Spaniard, and this gentleman — • but pray, sir, forgive this rudeness of ours, and let us make ourselves better acquainted within doors. You mean to stay some time here, I hope." " I only wish I could ; but I have already overstayed my leave, and waited here only to shake your hand before I left." " Peter, Peter," said Miss Dinah, impatiently, " must I then tell whom you are speaking to ? " Barrington seemed puzzled. He looked from the stranger to his sister, and back again. She drew near and whispered in his ear : " The son of poor George's dearest friend on earth — the son of Ormsby Conyers." " Of whom ? " said Barrington, in a startled and half- angry voice. " Of Ormsby Conyers." Barrington trembled from head to foot; his face, for an instant crimson, became suddenly of an ashy paleness, and his voice shook as he said, — " I was not — I am not — prepared for this honour. I mean, I could not have expected that Mr. Conyers would have desired Say this — do this for me. Withering, for I am not equal to it," said the old man, as, with his hands pressed over his face, he hurried within the house, followed by his sister. " I cannot make a guess at the explanation my friend has left me to make," cried Withering, courteously ; " but it is plain to see that your name has revived some sorrow connected with the great calamity of his life. You have heard of his son, Colonel Barrington ? " " Yes, and it was because my lather had been his dearest friend that Miss Barrington insisted on my re- maining here. She told me, over and over again, of the joy her brother would feel on meeting me " " Where are you going — what's the matter r " asked inO BATIRINOTON. Witlipring', as a man hurriedly passed out of the house and made for the river. *' The master is taken bad, sir, and I'm going to Inis- tioge for tlie doctor." " Let me go wiCh you," said Conyers ; and, only re- turning by a nod the pood-bye of Withering, he moved past and stepped into the boat. " What an afternoon to such a morning !" muttered he to himself, as the tears started from his eyes and stole heavily along his cheeks. CHAPTER XVn. A SHOCE. If Conyers had been in the frame of mind to notice it, the contrast between the neat propriety of the " Fisher- man's Home" and the disorder and slovenliness of the little inn at luistiot^e could not have failed to impress itself upon him. The " Spotted Duck " was certainly, in all its details, the very reverse of that quiet and pic- turesque cottage he had just quitted. But what did he care at that moment for the roof that sheltered him, or the table that was spread before him ? For days back he had been indulging in thoughts of that welcome which Miss Barrington had promised him. He fancied how, on the mere mention of his father's name, the old man's affection would have poured forth in a flood of kindest words ; he had even prepared himself for a scene of such emotion as a father might have felt on seeing one who brought back to mind his own son's earlier years; and instead of all this, he found himself shunned, avoided, repulsed. If there was a thing on earth in which hia pride was greatest, it was his name, and yet it was on the A SHOCK. 161 utterance of that word, " Conyers," old Barrington turned away and left him. Over and over again had he found the spell of his father's name and title opening to him society, securing him attentions, and obtaining for him that recognition and acceptance which go so far to make life pleasurable, and now that word, which would have had its magic at a palace, fell powerless and cold at the porch of a humble cottage. To say that it was part of his creed to believe his father could do no wrong is weak. It was liis whole belief — his entire and complete conviction. To his mind his father embodied all that was noble, high-hearted, and chivalrous. It was not alone the testimony of those who served under him could be appealed to. All India, the Government at home, his own sovereign knew it. From his earliest infancy he had listened to this theme, and to doubt it seemed like to dispute the fact of his existence. How was it, then, that this old man refused to accept what the whole world had stamped with its value ? Was it that he impugned the services which had made his father's name famous throughout the entire East ? He endeavoured to recall the exact words Barrington. had used towards him, but he could not succeed. There was something, he thought, about intruding, unwai-rant- ably intruding ; or it might be a mistaken impression of the welcome that awaited him. Which was it ? or was it either of them ? At all events, he saw himself rejected and repulsed, and the indignity was too great to be borne. While he thus chafed and fretted, hours went by, and Mr. M'Cabe, the landlord, had made more than one excursion into the room, under pretence of looking after the fire, or seeing that the windows were duly closed, but in reality very impatient to learn his guest's inten- tions regarding; dinner, " Was it your honour said that you'd rather have the chickens roast than biled?" said he at last, in a very submissive tone. " I said nothing of the kind." " Ah, it was No. 5 then, and I mistook ; I crave your honour's pardon." Hoping that the chord he Ind thus M 102 BABIUNGTON. touched mi'4:lif, vibrate, lio stooped down to arrange the turf, and i^ivu time lor tlie response, hut none eauie. Mr. ^I'Oahe gave a faint sigh, but returned to the charge. " Wlien there's the histe taste of south in the wind, there's no niuking this chimney draw." Not a word of notice acknowledged this remark. " But it will do finely yet; it's just the outside of the turf is a little wet, and no wonder ; seven weeks of rain — irlory be to Him that sent it — has nearly desthroyed us!" Still Conyers vouschafcd no reply. " And when it begins to rain here, it never laves off. It isn't like in your honour's country. Your honour is English?" A grunt — it might be assent, it sounded like maledic- tion. '' 'Tis azy seen. When your honour came out of the boat, I said, ' Shusy,' says I, 'he's English; and there's a coat they couldn't make in Ireland for a king's ransom.' " " What conveyances leave this for Kilkenny ?" asked Conyers, sternly. " Just none at all, not to mislead you," said M'Cabe, in a voice quite devoid of its late whining intonation. " Is there not a chaise or a car to be had ? " " Sorrow one. Doctor Dill has a car, to be sure, but not for hire." " Oh, Doctor Dill lives here. I forgot that. Go and tell him I wish to see him." The landlord withdrew in dogged silence, but returned in about ten minutes, to say tJiat the Doctor had been sent for to the " Fisherman's Homo," and ^Ir. B.irrington was so ill it was not likely he would be back that night '* So ill, did you say ?" cried Conyers. " What was the attack — what did they call it?" " 'Tis some kind of a 'plexy, they said. He's a full man, and advanced in years, besides." " Go and tell young Mr. Dill to come over here." " He's just gone off with the cuppin' instruments. I saw him steppin' into the boat." " Let me have a messenger : I want a man to take a note up to Miss Barrington, and fetch my writing desk A SHOCK. 163 here." In liis eager anxiety to learn how Mr. Bavrington was, Conyei's hastily scratched off a few lines ; but on reading them over, he tore them up : they implied a degree of interest on his part which, considering the late treatment extended to him, was scarcely dignified. He tried again : the error was as marked on the other side. It was a cold and formal inquiry. " And yet," said he, as he tore this in fragments, " one thing is quite clear — this illness is owing to me / But for my presence there, that old man had now been hale and hearty ; the impressions, rightfully or wrongfully, which the sight of me and the announcement of my name produced are the cause of this malady. I cannot deny it." With this revulsion of feeling he wrote a short but kindly-worded note to Miss Barrington, in which, with the very faintest allusion to himself, he begged for a few lines to say how her brother was. He would have added something about the sorrow he experienced in requiting all her kindness by this calamitous return, but he felt that if the case should be a serious one, all reference to himself would be misplaced and impertinent. The messenger despatched, he sat down beside his fire, the only light now in the room, which the shade of coming night had darkened. He was sad and dispirited, and ill at ease with his own heart. Mr. M'Cabe, indeed, appeared with a suggestion about candles, and a shadowy hint that if his guest speculated of dining at all, it was full time to intimate it ; but Conyers dismissed him with a peremptory command not to dare to enter the room again until he was summoned to it. So odious to him was the place, the landlord, and all about him, that he would have set out on foot had his ankle been only strong enough to bear him. " What if he were to write to Stapylton to come and fetch him away? He never liked the man ; he liked him less since the remark Miss Barrington had made upon him from mere reading of his letter, but what was he to do ? " While he was yet doubting what course to take, he heard the voices of some new arrivals outside, and, strangle enough, one seemed to be Stapyltou's. A minute or two after, the travellers had entered the room adjoining his own, and from which a very frail partition of lath and plaster alone separated him. M 2 IGl E.UUUNGTOX. "Well, B;irnoy," said a liarsli, trrating' voiro, nddrcRfiinf^ the lamlli nl, " what have you gut in the hirder ? We mean to dine with von." " To diue here. M'ajor ! " exclaimed M'Cabc. " Well, well, wondhers will never eease." And then hnrriedly seeking to cover a speeeh not very flattering to tlie Major's liabits of hospitality — "sui'c, I've a loin of pork, and there's two chickens and a trout fresh out of the water, and there's a cheese; it isn't mine, to be sure, but Father Cody's, but he'll not miss a slice out of it; and barrin' you dined at the ' Fisherman's Home,' you'd not get betther." " That's where we were to have dined l)y right," said the Major, crankily — "myself and my friend here — but ■we're disappointed, and so we stepped in here, to do the best we can." *' Well, by all accounts there won't be many dinners up there for some time." " Why so ? " " Ould Barrington was took with a fit this afternoon, and they say he won't get over it." '' How was it ? — what brousrht it on ? " " Here's the way I had it. Ould Peter was just come home from Kilkenny, and had brought the Attorney- General with him to stay a few days at the cottage, and ■what was the first thing he seen but a man that come all the way from India with a writ out again.st him for some of mad George Barrington's debts; and he was so over- come by the shock, that he fainted away, and never came rightly to him.self since." " This is simply impos.sibic," said a voice Conyers well knew to be Stapylton's. *' Be that as it may, 1 had it from the man that came for the Doctor, and what's more, he was just outside the window, and could hear ould Barrington cursin' and swearin' about the man that ruined his son, and brought his poor boy to the grave ; but I'll go and look after your honour's dinner, for J know more about that." "I have a strange liaK-curiosity to know the correct version of this story," said Stapylton, as the host left the room. " The Doctor is a friend of yours, I tliirik. Would he step over here, and let us hear the matter accurately?" . A SHOCK. IGo *' He's up at the cottage now, but I'll get him to come in hei-e when he retui-ns." If Conyei-s was shocked to hear how even this loose version of what had occui'red serve to heighten the anxiety his own fears created, he was also angry with himself at having learned the matter as he did. It was not in his nature to play the eavesdropper, and he had, in reahty, heard what fell between his neighbours, almost ere he was aware of it. To apprise them, therefore, of the vicinity of a stranger, he coughed and sneezed, poked the fire noisily, and moved the chairs about ; but though the disturbance served to pi'event him from hearing, it did not tend to impress any greater caution upon them, for they talked away as before, and more than once above the din of his own tumult, he heard the name of Barrington, and even his own, uttered. Unable any longer to suffer the irritation of a position so painful, he took his hat, and left the house. It was now night, and so dark that he had to stand some minutes on the door-sill ere he could accustom his sight to the obscurity. By degrees, however, he was enabled to guide his steps, and, passing through the little square, he gained the bridge ; and here he resolved to walk backwards and forwards till such time as he hoped his neighbours might have concluded their convivialities, and turned homeward. A thin cold rain was falling, and the night was cheer- less, and without a star ; but his heart was heavy, and the dreariness without best suited that within him. For more than an hour he continued his lonely walk, tormented by all the miseries his active ingenuity could muster. To have brought sorrow and mourning beneath the roof where you have been sheltered with kindness is sad enough, but far sadder is it to connect the calamity you have caused with one dearer to you than yourself, and whose inno- cence, while assured of, you cannot vindicate. " My father never wronged this man, for the simple reason that he has never been unjust to any one. It is a gross injustice to accuse him ! If Colonel Barrington forfeited my father's friendship, who could doubt where the fault lay ? But I will not leave the matter questionable. I will write to my father and ask him to send me such a reply as may set the issue at rest for ever ; and then I will come down here, IC>Q BARRINGTON. and, with my futhcr'a letter in my hand, say, ' The men- tion of my name was enouj^li, once on a time, to make you turn away from nic on the very thro.sliold of your own door '" When he liad got thus far in his intended uppeal, his ear was suddenly struck by t lie word " Con- yers," uttered by one of two men who had passed him the moment belore, and now stood still in oiu; of the projec- tions of the bridge to talk, lie as hastdy recognized Doctor Dill as the speaker. He went on thus : " Of course it was mere raving, but one must bear in mind that memory very often is the prompter of these wanderings ; and it was strange how j persistently he held to the one theme, and continued to call out, ' Jt was not fair, sir! It ■was not manly ! You know it yourself, Conyers ; you cannot deny it ! ' " " But you attach no importance to such wanderings, Doctor ? " asked one, whose deep-toned voice betniyed hiia to be Stapylton. " I do ; that is to the extent I have mentioned. They are incoherencies, but they are not without some founda- tion. This Conyers may have had his share in that famfjus accusation agjiinst Colonel Bavrington — that well-known charge I told you of; and if so, it is easy to connect the name with these ravings." " And the (jld man will die of this attack," said Stapyl- ton, half musin>'lv. " I hope not. He has great vigour of constitution ; and old as he is, I think he will rub thitjugh it." " Young Conyei-s left for Kilkenny, then, immediately ?" asked he. '• Xo ; he came down here, to the village. Ho is now at the inn." " At the inn, here ? I never knew that. I am sorry I wag not aware of it, Doctor ; but since it is so, I will ask of you not to speak of having seen me here. He wtmld naturally take it ill, as his brother officer, that I did not make him out, while, as you see, I was totally ignorant of his vicinity." " I will say nothing on the subject. Captain," said the Doctor. " And now one word of advice from you on a personal matter. This young gentleman has offered to be of service to uiy sou '* A SHOCK. 167 Conyers, hitherto spellbound while the interest attached to his father, now turned hastily from the spot and walked away, his mind not alone charged with a heavy care, but full of an eager anxiety as to wherefore Stapylton should have felt so deeply interested in Barrington's illness, and the causes that led to it — Stapylton, the most selfish of men, and the very last in the world to busy liimself in the sorrows or misfortunes of a stranger. Again, too, why had he desired the Doctor to preserve his presence there as a secret ? Conyers was exactly in the frame of mind to exaggerate a suspicion, or make a mere doubt a grave question. While he thus mused, Stapylton and the Doctor passed him on their way towards the village, deep in converse, and, to all seeming, in closest confidence. " Shall I follow him to the inn, and declare that I over- heard a few words on the bridge which give me a claim to explanation ? Shall I say, ' Captain Stapylton, you spoke of my father, just now, sufficiently aloud to be overheard by me as I passed, and in your tone there was that wl ich entitles me to question you ? Then if he should say, ' Go on ; what is it you ask for ? ' shall I not be sorely puzzled to continue ? Perhaps, too, he might remind me that the mode in which I obtained my information precludes even a reference to it. He is one of those fellows not t-o throw away such an advantage, and I must prepare myself for a quarrel. Oh ! if I only had Hunter by me ! What would I not give for the brave Colonel's counsel at such a moment as this?" Of this sort were his thoughts as he strolled up and down for hours, wearing away the long " night watches," till a faint greyish tinge above the horizon showed that morning was not very distant. The whole landscape was wrapped in that cold mysterious tint in which tower, and hill-top, and spire are scarcely distinguishable from each other, while out of the low-lying meadows already arose the bluish vapour that proclaims the coming day. The village itself, overshadowed by the mountain behind it, lay a black, unbroken mass. • Not a light twinkled from a window, save close to the river's bank, where a faint gleam stole forth and flickered on the water. Who has not felt the strange interest that attaches to a 163 EARniNOXON, solitary lijrht seen thus in the tranquil (k-pth of a silent iii;,'ht ? How readily do we associate it with some incident of sorrow. The wutciier beside the sick bed rises to the mind, or the patient suderer himself trying to cheat the dull hours by a book, or perhaps some poor son of toil arising to his daily round of labour, and seated at that solitary meal which no kind word enlivens, no companion- ship beguiles. And as 1 write, in what corner of earth are not such scenes passing — such dark shadows movin" over the battle-Held of life ? ° In such a feeling did Conyers watch this light as, leav- ing the hi;;h road, he took a path that led along the river towards it. As he drew nit,^lier he saw that the light came from the open window of a rooni which gave upon a little garden — a mere strip of ground fenced oflf from the path by a low paling. With a curiosity he could not master, he stopped and looked in. At a large table, covered with books and papers, and on which a skull also stood, a young man was seated, his head leaning on his hand, apparently in deep thought, while a girl was slowly pacing the little chamber as she talked to him. " It does not require," said she, in a firm voice, " any great effort of memory to bear in mind that a nerve, an artery, and a vein always go in company." " Not for you, perhaps — not for you, Polly." "Not for any one, I'm sure. Your fine dragoon friend with the sprained ankle might be brought to that amount of instruction by one telling of it." " Oh, he's no fool, I promise you, Polly. Don't despise him because he has plenty of money and can le»d a life of idleness. " I neither despise nor esteem him, nor do I mean that he should divert our minds from what we are at. Now for the popliteal space. Can you describe it ? Do you know where it is or anything about it ? " "I do," said he, doL'gedly, as he pushed his longhair back from his eyes, and tried to think — " I do, but 1 must Lave time. You mustn't hurry me." She made no reply, but continued her walk in silence. "I know all about it, Polly, but I can't describe it. I can't describe anything ; but ask me a questioa about it." " Where is it— where does it lie? " A SHOCK. 169 " Isn't it at the lower third of the humerus, where the flexors divide ? " " You are too bad — too stupid ! " cried she, angrily. " I cannot believe that anything short of a purpose, a determination to be ignorant, could make a person so unteachable. If we have gone over this once, we have done so fifty times. It haunts me in my sleep from very iteration." " I wish it would haunt me a little when I'm awake," said he, sulkily. " And when may that be, I'd like to know ? Do you fancy, sir, that your present state of intelligence is a very vigilant one F " "I know one thing. I hope there won't be the like of you on the Court of Examiners, for I wouldn't bear the half of what you've said to me from another." " Eejection will be harder to bear, Tom. To be sent back as ignorant and incapable will be far heavier as a punishment than any words of mine. What are you laughing at, sir? Is it a matter of mirth to you? " "Look at the skull, Polly — look at the skull." And he pointed to where he had stuck his short, black pipe, be- tween the grinning teeth of the skeleton. She snatched it angrily away, and threw it out of the window, saying, " You may be ignorant, and not be able to help it. I will take care you shall not be iri^everent, sir." " There's my short clay gone, anyhow," said Tom, sub- missively, " and I think I'll go to bed." And he yawned drearily as he spoke. " Not till you have done this, if we sit here till break- fast time," said she, resolutely. "There's the plate, and there's the reference. Read it till you know it ! " " What a slave-driver you'd make, Polly ! " said he, with a half-bitter smile. " What a slave I am ! " said she, turning away her head. " That's true," cried he, in a voice tliick with emotion ; " and when I'm thousands of miles away, I'll be longing to hear the bitterest words you ever said to me, rather than never see you any more." " My poor brother," said she, laying her hand softly on his rough head, " I never doubted your heart, and I ought to be better tempered with you, and I will. Come, now, Tom " — and she seated herself at the table next 170 DALRINGTON. him " SCO, now, if I cannot make this easy to yon." Ami then the two heads were bent tofrether over the table, and the soft brown Imir of the pirl half mingled with the rouirh wool of the ^'racelcss numbskull licside ht-r. " I will stand by him, if it were only for Inr tsake," said Conyers to himself. And he stole slowly away and gained the inn. So intent n])on his purpose was he that he at once set about its fultibnent. lie began a long letter to his father, and, touching .slightly on the accident by which he made Doctor Dill's acquaintance, professed to he deeply his debtor for kindness and attention. With this prelude he introduced Tom. Hitherto his pen had glided along flipj)antly enough. In that easy mixture of fact and fancy by which he opened his case, no grave difficulty presented itself, but Tom was now to be presented, and the task was about as puzzling as it would have been to have conducted him bodily into society. " I was ungenerous enough to be prejudiced again.st this poor fellow when I first met him," wrote he. " Neither his figure nor his manners are in his favour, and in his very diffidence there is an apparent rudeness and forwardness which are not really in his nature. These, however, are not mistakes you, my dear father, will fall into. With your own quickness you will see •what sterling qualities exist beneath this rugged outside, and you will befriend him at first for my sake. Later on, I trust he will open his own account in your heart. Bear in mind, too, that it was all my scheme — the whole plan mine. It was I persuaded him to try his hick in India ; it was through me he made the venture, and if the poor fellow fail, all the fault will fall back upon w?e." From this he went into little details of Tom's circumstances, and the narrow means by which he was surrounded, adding how humble he was, and how ready to be satisfied with the most moderate livelihood. " In that great wide world of the E:ist, what scores of things there must bo for such a fellow to do ; and even should he not turn out to be a Sydenham or a Harvey, he might administei justice, or collect revenue, or assist in some other way the process of that .system which we call the Briti.sh rule in India. In a word get him something he may live by, A SHOCK. 171 and be able, in due time, to help those be has left behind bere, in a laud whose ' Paddy-fields ' are to tlie full as pauperized as those of Bengal." He had intended, having disposed of Tom Dill's case, to have addressed some lines to his father about the Barringtons, sufficiently vague to be easily answered if the subject were one distasteful or un pleasing to him ; but just as he reached the place to open this, he was startled by the ari-ival of a jaunting-car at the inn-door, whose driver stopped to take a drink. It was a chance conveyance, returning to Kilkenny, and Couyers at once engaged it ; and, leaving an order to send on the reply when it arrived from the cottage, he wrote a hasty note to Tom Dill and departed. This note was simply to say that he had already fulfilled his promise of interesting his father in his behalf, and that whenever Tom had passed his examination, and was in i-eadiness for his voyage, he should come or write to him, and he would find him fully disposed to serve and befriend him. "Meanwhile," wrote he, "let me hear of you. I am really anxious to learn how you acquit yourself at the ordeal, for which you have the cordial good wishes of your friend, P. Conyers." Oh, if the great men of our acquaintance — and we all of us, no matter how hermit-like we may live, have our *' great men" — could only know and feel what ineffable pleasure will sometimes be derived from the chance ex- pressions they employ towards us — words which, little significant in themselves, perhaps, have some touch of good fellowship or good feeling, now reviving a " by- gone," now far-seeing a future, tenderly thrilling thixjugh us by some little allusion to a trick of our temperament, noted and observed by one in whose interest we never till then knew we had a share— if, I say, they were but aware of this, how delightful they might make tliem- selves ! — what charming friends !— and, it is but fair to own, what dangerous patrons ! I leave my reader to apply the reflection to the case before him, and then follow me to the pleasant quarters of a well-maintained country-house, full of guests and abounding in gaiety. 172 BARnixaxoN. CHAPTER XVIIL OOBHAM. ;My reader is already aware that I am telling of some lorty years ago, and therefore 1 have no apologies to make for luilMts and ways which our more polished age has pronounced barbarous. Now, at Cobham, the men sat after dinner over their wine when the ladies had with- drawn, and, I grieve to say, fulfilled this usage with a zest and enjoyment that unequivocally declared it to be the best hour of the whole twenty-four. Friends could now get together, conversation could range over personalities, egotisms have their day, and bygones be disinterred witliout need of an explanation. Few, indeed, who did not unbend at such a moment, and relax in that genial atmosphere begotten of closed cur- tains, and comfort, and good claret. I am not so certain that we arc wise in our utter abandonment of what must have often conciliated a dilfereiice or reconciled a grudge. How many a lurking discontent, too subtle for inter- vention, must have been dissipated in the general burst of a common laugh, or the racy enjoyment of a good story ! Decidedly the decanter has often played peace- maker, though popular prejudice inclines to give it a different mission. On the occasion to which I would now invite my reader, the party were seated— by means of that genial discovery, a horseshoe-table— around the fire at Cobham. It was a true country-house society of neighbours who knew each other well, sprinkled with guests — strangers to every one. There were all ages and all temperaments, from the hardy old squire, whose mellow cheer was known at the fox- cover, to the young heir fresh from Oxford and loud about Leicestershire ; gentlemen-farmers and sportsmen, and parsons and soldiers, blended together with just, enough COBHAM. 173 disparity of pursuit to season talk and freshen experi- ences. The conversation, which for a wliile was partly on sporting matters, varied with little episodes of personal achievement, and those little boastings which end in a bet, was suddenly interrupted by a hasty call for Doctor Dill, who was wanted at the " Fisherman's Home." "Can't you stay to finish this bottle, Dill?" said the Admiral, who had not heard for whom he had been sent. " I fear not, sir. It is a long row down to the cottage." " So it's poor Barrington again ! I'm sincerely sorry for it! And now, I'll not ask you to delay. By the way, take my boat. Elwes," said he to the servant, " tell the men to get the boat ready at once for Doctor Dill, and come and say when it is so." The Doctor's gratitude was profuse, though probably a dim vista of the " tip " that might be expected from him detracted from the fulness of the enjoyment. " Find out if I could be of any use, Dill," whispered the Admiral, as the Doctor arose. " Your own tact will show if there be anything I could do. You understand me ; I have the deepest regard for old Barrington, and his sister, too." Dill promised to give his most delicate attention to the point, and departed. While this little incident was occurring, Stapylton, who sat at an angle of the fireplace, was amusing two or three listeners by an account of his intended dinner at the " Home," and the haughty refusal of Miss Barrington to receive hinn. " You must tell Sir Charles the story ! " cried out Mr. Bushe. " He'll soon recognize the old Major from your imitation of him." " Hang the old villain ! he shot a dog-fox the other morning, and he knows well how scarce they are getting in the country," said another. " I'll never forgive myself for letting him have a lease of that place," said a third ; " he's a disgrace to the neigh- bourhood." " You're not talking of Barrington, surely," called out Sir Charles. " Of course not. I was speaking of M'Cormick. Bar- 174 HARRIN3T0N. rinnfton is nnother stamp of man, and here's his good health ! " " He'll need all your best wishes, Jack," said the host, "for Doctor Dill has just been callsd aw^y to see him." *' To see old Peter ! Why, I never knew him to have a day's illness ! " " He's dangerously ill now," said the Admiral, gravely, *' Dill tells me that he came home from tlie Assizes hale and hearty, in iiii^h spirits at some vt^rdict in his favour, and brought back the Attorney-General to spend a day or two with him ; but that, on arriving, he found a young fellow whose father, or grandfather —for I haven't it correctly — had been concerned in some way against George Barrington, and that high words passed between old Peter and this youth, who was turned out on the spot, while poor Barrington, overcome by emofion, was struck down with a sort of paral3-sis. As I have said. I don't know the story accurately, for even Dill himself only picked it up from the scivants at the cottage, neither Miss Barrington nor AVitlioring having told him one word on the subject." " That is the very same story I heard at the village where we dined," broke in Stapylton, " and M'Cormick added that he remembered the name. Conyers — the young man is called Conyers — did occur in a certain famous accusation a^raiust Colonel Barriiicrton." " Well, but," interposed Bushe, " isn't all that an old story now' Isn't the whole thing a matter of twenty years ago ? " "Not so much as that," said Sir Charles. "I re- member reading it all when I was in command of the Madafiascar — 1 forget the exact year, but I was at Corfu." '* At all events," said Bushe, " it's long enouuh past to be forgotten, or forgiven ; and old Peter was the very last man I could ever have supposed likely to carry on an ancient grudge against any one." " Not where his son was concerned. Wherever George's name entered, forgiveness of the man that wronged him was itupossible," said another. "You are scarcely just to my old friend," interposed the Admiral. " First of all, we have not the facts before COBHAM. 175 US. Many of us here have never seen, some have never heard of the great Barrington Inquiry, and of such as have, if their memories be not better than mine, they can't discuss the matter with much profit." " 1 followed the case when it occurred," chimed in the former speaker, " but I own with Sir Charles, that it has gone clean out of my head since that time." "You talk of injustice, Cobham, injustice to old Peter Barrington," said an old man from the end of the table ; " but I would ask, are we quite just to poor George ? I knew him welL My son served in the same regiment with him before he went out to India, and no finer nor nobler-hearted fellow than George Barrington ever lived. Talk of him ruining his father by his extravagance ! Why he'd have cut off his right hand rather than caused him one pang, one moment of displeasure. Barrington ruined himself; that insane passion for law has cost him far more than half what he was worth in the world. Ask "Withering, he'll tell you something about it. Why With- ering's own fees in that case before ' the Lords ' amount to upwards of two thousand guineas." "I won't dispute the question with you, Fowndes," said the Admiral. " Scandal says you have a taste for a trial at bar yourself." The hit told, and called for a hearty laugh, in which Fowndes himself joined freely. " Fm a burned child, however, and keep away from the fire," said he, good-humouredly ; " but old Peter seems rather to like being singed. There he is again with his Privy Council case for next term, and with, I suppose, as much chance of success, as I should have in a suit to recover a Greek estate of some of my Phoenician ances- tors." It was not a company to sympatliize deeply with such a litigious spirit. The hearty and vigorous tone of squire- dom, young and old, could not understand it as a passion or a pursuit, and they mainly agreed that nothing but some strange perversion could have made the generous nature of old Barrington so fond of law. Gradually the younger members of the party slipped away to the draw- ing-room, till, in the changes that ensued, Stapylton found himself next to Mr. Fowndes. 17f) BARRINGTON. " I'm plnd to see, Cnptnin," paid the old squire, " that moderu tasliiou of deserting the claret-jug has not in- vaded your mess. I own I like a man who lingers over his wine." " We have no pretext for leaving it, remember that," said Stapylton, smiling. " Very true. The placeus uxor is sadly out of place in a soldier's life. Your married officer is but a sorry comrade ; besides, how is a fellow to be a hero to the enemy who is daily bullied by his wife?" "I think you said that you had served ?" interposed Stapylton. " No. !My son was in the army ; he is so still, but holds a Governorship in the West Indies. He it was who knew this Barrington we were speaking of." " Just so," said Sta{»ylton, drawing his chair closer, so as to converse more confidentially. •' You may imagine what very uneventful lives we country gentlemen live," said the old squire, " when we can continue to talk over one memorable case for some- thing like twenty years, just because one of the parties to it was our neighbour." " You appear to have taken a lively interest in it," said Stapylton, who rightly conjectured it was a favourite theme with the old squire. "Yes. Barringtun and my son were friends; they came down to my house together to shoot ; and with all his eccentricities — and they were many — I liked ]\lad George, as they called him." " He was a good fellow, then ?" " A thoroughly good lellow, but the shyest that ever lived ; to all outward seeming rough and careless, but sensitive as a woman all the while. He would have walked up to a cannon's mouth with a calm step, but an affecting story would bring tears to his eyes ; and then, to cover this weakness, which he was well ashamed of, he'd rush into fifty follies and extravagancies. As he said himself to me one day, alluding to some feat of rash absurdity, ' I have been taking another inch off the dog's tail ' — he referred to the story of Alcibiades, who docked his dog to take off public attention from his heavier trans- gressions" COBHAM. 177 " There was no truth in these accusations against him?" " Who knows ? George was a passionate fellow, and he'd have made short work of the man that angered him. I myself never so entirely acquitted him as many who loved him less. At all events, he was hardly treated ; he was regularly hunted down. I imagine he must have made many enemies, for witnesses sprung up against him on all sides, and he was too proud a fellow to ask for one single testimony in his favour ! If ever a man met death broken-hearted, he did ! " A pause of several minutes occurred, after which the old squire resumed, — " ]\ly son told me that after Barrington's death there was a strong revulsion in his favour, and a great feeling that he had been hardly dealt by. Some of the Supreme Council, it is said, too, were disposed to behave gener- ously towards his child, but old Peter, in an evil hour, would hear of nothing short of restitution of all the ter- ritory, and a regular rehabilitation of George's memory besides ; in fact, he made the most extravagant demands, and disgusted the two or three who were kindly and well disposed towards his cause. Had they indeed — as he said — driven his son to desperation, he could scarcely ask them to declare it to the world ; and yet nothing short of this would satisfy him ! ' Come forth,' wrote he — I read the letter myself — ' come forth and confess that your evidence was forged and your witnesses suborned ; that you wanted to annex the territory, and the only road to your object was to impute treason to the most loyal heart that ever served the king ! ' Imagine what chance of favourable consideration remained to the man who penned such words as these." " And he prosecutes the case still ? " "Ay, and will do to the day of his death. Withering — who was an old schoolfellow of mine — has got me to try what I could do to persuade him to come to some terms ; and, indeed, to do old Peter justice, it is not the money part of the matter he is so obstinate about ; it is the question of what he calls George's fair fame and honour ; and one cannot exactly say to him ' Who on earth cares a brass button whether George Barrington N 173 BAiaaxGTON. •was a rclicl or a true man? Wlietlier ho deserved to die an intUjiL-ndc'iit lliijali of some jjlace with a hard name, or the loyal suhject of his ^lajesty George the Third ? ' I own I, one day, did go so close to the wind, on that subject, that the old man started up and said, ' I hope 1 misapprehend you, Harry Fowndes. I liope sincerely that 1 do so, for if not, I'll have a shot at you, as sure as my name is Peter Barrington.' Of course I ' tried back' at once, and assured him it was a pure misconception of my meaning, and that until the East India folk fairly acknowledged that they had wronged his son, he could not, with honour, approach the question of a compromise in tiie money matter." '• That day, it may be presumed, is very far off," said Stapylton, half languidly. " Well, Withering opines not. He says that they are weary of the whole case. They have had, perhaps, some misgivings as to the entire justice of what they did. Perhaps they have learned something during the course of the proceedings which may have inHuenced their judg- ment ; and not impossible is it that they pity the old man fighting out his life ; and perhaps, too, Barrington himself may have softened a little, since he has begun to feel that liis granddaughter — for George left a child — had interests which his own indignation could not rightfully sacrifice ; so that amongst all these perhapses, who knows but some happy issue may come at last." " That Barrington race is not a very pliant one," said Stapylton, half dreamily ; and then in some haste, added, " at least, such is the character they give them here." " Some truth there may be in that. Men of a strong temperament and with a large share of self-dependence, generally get credit from the world for obstinacy, just because the road they see out of difliculties is not the popular one. But even with all this, I'd not call old Peter self-willed — at least, Withering tells me that from time to time, as he has conveyed to him the opinions and experiences of old Indiar officers, some of whom had either met with or heard of George, he has listened with much and even respectful attention. And as all their counsels have gone against his own convictions, it is some- thing to give them a patient hearing." COBHAM. 179 " He has thus permitted stranofers to come and speak with him on these topics ? " asked Stapylton, eagerly. " No, no — not he. These men had called on Withering — met him, perhaps, in society — heard of his interest in George Barrington's case, and came good-naturedly to volunteer a word of counsel in favour of an old comrade. Nothing more natural, I think." " Nothing, I quite agree with you ; so much so, in- deed, that having served some years in India, and in close proximity, too, to one of the native courts, 1 was going to ask you to present me to your friend Mr. Withering, as one not altogether incapable of affording him some information." " With a heart and a half. I'll do it." " I say, Harry," cried out the host, " if you and Captain Stapylton will neither fill your glasses nor pass the wine, I think we had better join the ladies." And now there was a general move to the drawing- roona, where several evening guests had already assembled, making a somewhat numerous company. Polly Dill was there too — not the wearied-looking, care-worn figure we last saw_ her, when her talk was of " dead anatomies," but the lively, sparkling, bright-eyed Polly, who sang the Melodies to the accompaniment of him who could make every note thrill with the sentiment his own genius had linked to it. I half wish I had not a story to tell — that is, that I had not a certain road to take — that I might wander at will through by-path and lane, and linger on the memories thus by a chance awakened ! Ah, it was no small triumph to lift out of obscui-e companionship and vulgar associations the music of our land, and wed it to words immortal, to show us that the pebble at our feet was a gem to be worn on the neck of beauty, and to prove to us, besides, that our language could be as lyrical as Anacreon's own ! "I am enchanted with your singing," whispered Stapyl- ton, in Polly's ear; " but I'd forego all the enjoyment not to see you so pleased with your companion. I begin to detest the little Poet." "I'll tell him so," said she, half gravely ; "and he'll know well that it is the coarse hate of the Saxon." " I'm no Saxon ! " said he, flushing and darkening at N -J. ISO BARRINGTON. the same time. And then, recovering liis calm, he added, " There are no Saxons left amongst us, nor any Celts for us to honour with our contempt; but come away from the piano, and don't let him fancy ho has bound you by a spell." "But he has," said she eagerly — "he has, and I don't care to break it." But the little Poet, running his fingers lightly over the keys, warbled out, in a half-plaintive whisper, — "Oh, tell me flear Polly, why is it thine eyes, Throuch their In i;:htness have something of sorrow f I cannot supjiose that the glow of such fikies Should ever mean gloom for the morrow ; " Or must I believe that your heart is afar. And you only make seml)lance to hear me, While your thoughts are away to thai splendid hnssar, And 'tis only your image is near me ?" " An unpublished melody, I fancy," said Stapylton, with a malicious twinkle of his eye. " Not even corrected as yet," said the Poet, with a glance at Polly. What a triumph it was for a mere village beauty to be thus tilted lor by such gallant knights ; but Polly was practical as well as vain, and a certain unmistakable something in Lady Cobham's eye told her that two of the most valued guests of the house were not to be thus with- drawn from circulation, and with this wise impression on her mind, she slipped hastily away, on the pretext of something to say to her father. And although it was a mere pretence on her part, there was that in her look as they talked together that betokened their conversation to be serious. " I tell you again," said he, in a sharp but low whisper, " she will not suffer it. You used not to make mistakes of this kind formerly, and I cannot conceive why you should do so now." " But, dear papa," said she, with a strange half-smile, "don't you remember your own story of the gentleman who got tipsy because he foresaw he would never be in- vited again." COBHAM. 181 Bat the Doctor was in no jesting mood, and would not accept of the illustration. He spoke now even more angrily than before. •' You have only to see how much they make of him to know well that he is out of our reach," said he, bitterly. " A lonjj shot, Sir Lucius; there is such honour in a long shot," said she, with infinite drollery; and then with a sudden gravity, added, " I have never forgotten the man you cured, just because your hand shook, and you gave him a double dose of laudanum." This was too much for his patience, and he turned away in disgust at her frivolity. In doing so, however, he came in front of Lady Cobham, who had come up to request Miss Dill to play a certain Spanish dance for two young ladies of the company. " Of course, your ladyship — too much honour for her — she will be charmed ; my little girl is ovei'joyed when she can contribute even thus humbly to the pleasure of your delightful house." Never did a misdemeanist take his " six weeks" with a more complete consciousness of penalty than did Polly sit down to that piano. She well understood it as a sen- tence, and, let me own, submitted well and gracefully to her fate. Nor was it after all such a slight trial, for the fandango was her own speciality ; she had herself brought the dance and the music to Cobham. They who were about to dance it were her own pupils, and not very proficient ones either. And with all this she did her part well and loyally. Never had she played with more spirit — never marked the tim€ with a firmer precision — never threw more tenderness into the graceful parts, nor more of triumphant daring into the proud ones. Amid the shower of " Bravos ! " that closed the performance- — for none thought of the dancers— the little Poet drew nigh and whispered, " How naughty ! " " Why so? " asked she, innocently. " What a blaze of light to throw over a sorry picture ! " said he, dangling his eye-glass, and playing that part of middle-aged Cupid he was so fond of assuming. " Do you know, sir," said Lady Cobham, coming hastily towards him, "that I will not permit you to turn the heads of my young ladies ? Dr. Dill is already so afraid of 182 BARRINOTON. your fascinations tlmt he has ordered his carriaf^^o, is it not BO ? " she wt-nt on appeidini^ to the Doctor, with increased rapidity. " JJut yoii will certainly keep your pruniiso to tis. We shall expect you on Thursday at dinner." Overwhelmed with confusion, Dill answered — ho knew not wliat -about ])leasure, punctuality, and so forth ; and then turned away to ring for that carriage he had not ordered before. "And so you tell me Barrington is better?" said the Admiral, taking him by the arm and leading him away. " The danger is over, then ? " " ] believe so ; his mind is calm, and he is only suffer- ing now from debility. Wluit with the Assizes, and a ■week's dissipation at Kilkenny, and this shock — for it was a shock —the whole thing was far more of a mental than a bodily ailment." " You gave him my message ? Yon said liow anxious 1 felt to know if I could be of any use to him ? " " Yes ; and he charged ^Ir. Withering to come and thank 3'ou, for he is passing by Cobham to-morrow on his way to Kilkenny." " Indeed ! Georgiana, don't forget that. Withering will call here to-morrow ; try and keep him to dine, at least, if we cannot secure him for longer. He's one of those fellows I am always delighted to n)eet. Where are you going, Dill ? Not taking your daughter away at this hour, are you ? " The Doctor sighed, and muttered something about dis- sipations tliat were only too fascinating, too engrossing. He did not exactly like to say that his passports had been sent him, and the authorities duly instructed to give hiin *' every aid and assistance possible." For a moment, indeed, Polly looked as though she would make some explanation of the matter; but it was only for a moment, and the slight flush on her cheek gave way quickly, and she looked somewhat paler than her wont. Meanwhile, the little Poet had fetched her shawl, and led her away, humming " Buona notte — buona sera!" as he went, in that half-caressing, half-quizzing way he could assume so jauntily. Stapylton walked behind with the Doctor, and whispered as he went, " If not inconvenient, might I ask the favour of a few minutes with you to-morrow ? " COBHAM. 183 Dill assured him he was devotedly .his servant ; and having fixed the interview for two o'clock, away they drove. The night was calm and starlight, and they had long passed beyond the grounds of Cobham, and were full two miles on their road before a word was uttered by either. " What was it her ladyship said about Thursday next, at dinner ? " asked the Doctor, half-pettishly. " Nothing to me, papa." " If I remember, it was that we had accepted the invi- tation already, and begging me not to forget it." " Perhaps so," said she, dryly. " Tou are usually more mindful about these matters," said he, tartly, " and not so likely to forget promised festivities." " They certainly were not promised to «?e," said she, " nor if they had been should I accept of them." " What do you mean?" said he, angrily. " Simply, papa, that it is a house 1 will not re-enter, that's all." " Why, your head is turned, your brains are destroyed by flattery, girl. Tou seem totally to forget that we go to these places merely by courtesy — we are received only on sufferance — we are not their equals." " The more reason to treat us with deference, and not render our position more painful that it need be." " Folly and nonsense ! Deference, indeed ! How much deference is due from eight thousand a year to a dispensary doctor, or his daughter ? I'll have none of these absurd notions. If they made any mistake towards you it was by over-attention — too much notice." " That ia very possible, papa; and it was not always very flattering for that reason," " Why, what is your head full of? Do you fancy you are one of Lord Carricklough's daughters, eh ? " *' No, papa ; for they are shockingly freckled, and very plam, "Do you know your real station?" cried he, more angrily, " and that if, by the courtesy of society, my posi- tion secures acceptance anywhere, it entails nothing — positively nothing — to those belonging to me ? " *' Such being the case, is it not wise of us not to want IRJ BARRINGTON. nnytliinp — not to look for it — not to pine after it? Tou sliall see, pupa, wlu-tlier I fret over my exclusion from Cobhani." The Doctor was not in a mood to approve ot such philosophy, and he drove on, only showing — by an extra cut of his whip — the tone and temper that beset him. " You are to have a visit from Captain Stapylton to- morrow, papa?" said she, iu the manner of a half ques- tion. " Who told you so ? " said he, with a touch of eager- ness in his voice ; for suddenly it occurred to him if Polly knew of this appointment she herself might be interested in its object. " He asked me what was the most likely time to find you at home, and also if he might venture to hope he should be presented to mamma." That was, as the Doctor thought, a very significant speech ; it might mean a great deal — a very great deal indeed ; and so he turned it over and over in his mind for some time before he spoke again. At last he said, — *' I haven't a notion what he's coming about, Polly — have you ?" " No, sir ; except, perhaps, it be to consult you. He told me he had sprained his arm. or liis shoulder, the other day, when his horse swerved." " Oh no, it can't be that, Polly ; it can't be that." *' AVtiy not the pleasure of a morning call, then? He is an idle man, and finds time heavy on his hands." A short " humph " showed that this explanation was not more successful than the former, and the Doctor, rather irritated with this game of fence, for so he deemed it, said bluntly, — " Has he been showing you any marked attentions of late ? Have you noticed anything peculiar in his manner towards you ? " " Nothing whatever, sir," said she with a frank bold- ness. " He has chatted and flirted with me, just as every one else presumes he has a right to do with a girl in a station below their own ; but he has never been more impertinent in this way than any other young man of fashion." " But there have been " — he was sorely puzzled for COBHAM. 185 the word he wanted, and ifc was only as a resource, not out of choice, he said — " attentions?" " Of course, papa, what many would call in the cognate phrase, marked attentions ; but girls who go into the world as I do no more mistake what these mean than would you yourself, papa, if passingly asked what was good for a sore-throat fancy that the inquirer intended to fee you." " I see, Polly, I see," muttered he, as the illustration came home to him. Still, after ruminating for some time a change seemed to come over his thoughts, for he said, — " But you might be wrong this time, Polly , it is by no means impossible that you might be wrong." " My dear papa," said she, gravely, "when a man of his rank is disposed to think seriously of a girl in mine, he does not begin by flattery ; he rather takes the line of correction and warning, telling her fifty little platitudes about trifles in manner, and so forth, by her docile accep- tance of which he conceives a high notion of himself, Sindi a half liking for her. But I have no need to go into these things ; enough if I assure you Captain Stapylton's visit has no concern for me ; he either comes out of pure idle- ness, or he wants to make use of you*'' The last words opened a new channel to Dill's thoughts, and he drove on in silent meditation over them. lfc;G EAIIKINGTOS. CHAPTER XIX. VnE HOUR or LUNCHBOV. If there be a special agreeahility about all the meal-times of a pleasant country-house, there is not one of them wliich, in the charm of an easy, anconstrained gaiety, can rival the hour of luncheon. At breakfast, one is too fresh ; at dinner, too formal ; but luncheon, like an open- ing manhood, is full of its own bright projects. The plans of the day have already reached a certain maturity, and fixtures have been made for riding parties, or phaeton drives, or flirtations in the garden. The very strangers who looked coldly at each other over their morning papers liave shaken into a semi-intimacy, and little traits of character and temperament, which would have been studiously shrouded in the more solemn festivals of the day, are now displayed with a frank and fearless confi- dence. The halt-toilette and the tweed coat, mutton bi'oth and '* Balmorals," seem infinitely more congenial to acquaintanceship than the full-blown splendour of evening dress and the grander discipline of dinner. Irish social life permits of a practice of which I do not, while recording, c(jnstitute myself the advocate or the apologist — a sort of good-tempered banter called quizzing — a habit I scarcely believe practicable in other lands ; that is, I know of no country where it could be carried on as harmlessly and as gracefully, where as much wit could be expended innocuously — as little good feeling jeopar- dized in the display. The happiest hour of the day for such passages as these was that of lunclieon, and it was in the very clash and clatter of the combat that a servant announced tlie Attorney- General ! "What a damper did the name prove ! Short of a bishop himself, no announcement could have spread more terror over the younger members of the company, THE HOUR OF LUNCHEON. 187 embodying? as it seemed to do all that could be inquisi- torial, intolerant, and overbearing. Great, however, was the astonishment to see, instead of the stern incarnation of Crown prosecutions and arbitrary commitments, a tall, thin, slightly stooped man, dressed in a grey shooting- jacket, and with a hat plentifully garnished with fishing- ilies. He came lightly into the room, and kissed the hand of his hostess with a mixture of cordiality and old- fashioned gallantry that became him well. " My old luck, Cobham ! " said he, as he seated himself at table. " I have fished the stream all the way from the Red House to this, and never so much as a rise to reward me." " They knew you — they knew you, Withering," chirped out the Poet, " and they took good care not to put in an appearance, with the certainty of a ' detainer.' " " Ah ! you here ! That decanter of sherry screened you completely from my view," said Withering, whose sar- casm on his size touched the very sorest of the other's susceptibilities. " And talking of recognizances, how comes it you are here, and a large party at Lord Dunraney's all assembled to meet you ? " The Poet, as not infrequent with him, had forgotten everything of this prior engagement, and was now overwhelmed with his forget fulness. The ladies, how- ever, pressed eagerly around him with consolation so like caresses, that he was speedily himself again. "How natural a mistake after all!" said the lawyer. " The old song says, — •'Tell me where beauty, and wit and wine Are met, and I'll say where I'm asked to dine." Ah ! Tommy, yours is the profession after all ; always sure of your retainer, and never but one brief to sustain — ' T. M. versus the Heart of Woman.' " " One is occasionally nonsuited, however," said the other, half pettishly. " By the way, how was it you got that verdict for old Barrington t'other day ? Was it true that Plowden got hold of your bag by mistake ? " "Not only that, bat he made a point for us none of us had discovered." 188 BARRIXGTOX. *' llow historical tlic blunder: — "The case is classical, as I and you know; He came from Venus, Ijiit made lovt- to Juno." "If Potcr llarriiiLrtnri pained liis cause by it I'm heartily rejoiced, and 1 wisli bini lualtli and years to enjoy it." The Admiral said this with a cordial good will as he drank off his pflass. "He's all right as^ain," said Withering. "I left him working away with a lioe and a rake this morning, looking as hale and hearty as he did a dozen years ago." " A man must have really high deserts in whose good fortune so many are well-wishers," said Stapylton ; and by the courteous tone of the remark Withcring's attention was attracted, and he speedily begged the Admiral to present him to his guest. They continued to converse together as they arose from table, and with such common pleasure, that when AVithering expressed a hope the acquaintance might not end there, Stapylton repli(;d by a request that he would allow him to be his fellow-traveller to Kilkenny, whither he was about to go on a regimental affair. The arrangement was quiekl}' made, to the satis- faction of each, and as they drove away, while many bewailed the departure of such pleasant members of the party, the little Poet simperingly said, — "Sliall 1 own tliat my heart is relieved of a care ? — Though you'll think the confession is petty — I cannot but feel, as I look on thf pair, It is ' Peebles' gone off with ' Dalgetty.' " As for the fellow-travellers, the}' jogged along very pleasantly on their way, as two consummate men of the world are sure to do when they meet. For what Free- masonry equals that of two shrewd students of life ? How flippantly do they discuss each theme ! how easily read each character, and unravel each motive that presents itself! Wiiat the lawyer gained by the technical subtlety of his profession, the soldier made up for by his wider experience of mankind. There were, besides, a variety of experiences to exchange. Toga could toll of much that interested the " man of war," and he, in turn, made him- THE HOUR OF LUNCHEON. 189 self extremely agreeable by his Eastern information, not to say that he was able to give a correct version of many Hindostanee phrases and words which the old lawyer eagerly desired to acquire. " All you have been telling me has a strong interest for me, Captain Stapylton," said he, as they drove into Kil- kenny. '* I have a case which has engaged my attention for years, and is likely to occupy what remains to me of life — a suit of which India is the scene, and Orientals figure as some of the chief actors — so that I can scarcely say how fortunate I feel this chance meeting with you." " I shall deem myself greatly honoured if the acquaint- ance does not end here." " It shall not, if it depend upon me," said Withering, cordially. " You said something of a visit you were about to make to Dublin. Will you do me a great — a very great — favour, and make my house your home while you stay ? This is my address, ' 18, Merrion Square,' It is a bachelor's hall ; and you can come and go without ceremony." " The plan is too tempting to hesitate about. I accept your invitation with all the frankness you have given it. Meanwhile, you will be my guest here." " That is impossible. I must start for Cork this even- mg. And now they parted ; not like men who had been strangers a few hours back, but like old acquaintances, only needing the occasion to feel as old friends. 100 BAKUINGTON. CHAPTER XX. AN IKTERIOR AT THE DOCTOR'S. "When Captain Stapylton made liis appointment to ^vait on Doctor Dill, he was not aware that the Attorney- General was expected at Cobham. No sooner, however, had he learned that fact than he changed his purpose, and intimated his intention of running up for a day to Kil- kenny, to hear what was going on in the regiment. No regret for any disappointment he might be giving to the village Doctor, no self-reproach for the breach of an engagement — all of his own making — crossed his mind. It is, indeed, a theme for a moralist to explore, the ease ■with which a certain superiority in station can divest its possessor of all care for the sensibilities of those below him ; and yet in the little household of the Doctor that promised visit was the source of no small discomfort and trouble. The Doctor's study — the sanctum in which the interview should be held — had to be dusted and smartened up. Old boots, and overcoats, and smashed driving-whips, and odd stirrup-leathers, and stable-lanterns, and garden implements, had all to be banished. Tlie great table in front of the Doctor's chair had also to be professionally littered with notes, and cards, and periodicals, not for- getting an ingenious admixture of strange instruments of torture, quaint screws, and inscrutable-looking scissors, destined, doubtless, to make many a faint heart the fainter in their dread presence. All these details had to be carried out in various ways through the rest of the estab- lishment — in the drawing-room, wherein the great man was to be ushered — in the dining-room, where he was to lunch. Upon Polly did the greater part of these cares devolve ; not alone attending to the due disposal of chairs, find sofas, and tables, but to the preparation of certain culinary delicacies, which were to make the Captain AN INTERIOR AT THE DOCTOR'S. 191 forget the dainty luxuries of Cobham. And, in truth, there is a marvellous esprit du corps in the way a woman will fag and slave herself to make the humble household she belongs to look its best, even to the very guest she has least at heart, for Polly did not like Stapylton. Flat- tered at first by his notice, she was offended afterwards at the sort of conscious condescension of his manner; a something which seemed to say, I can be charming, positively fascinating, but don't imagine for a moment that there is anything especial in it. 1 captivate — ^just as I fish, hunt, sketch, or shoot — to amuse myself And with all this, how was it he was really not a coxcomb ? Was it the grave dignity of his addi-ess, or tha quiet stateliness of his person, or was it a certain uniformity, a keeping, that pervaded all he said or did ? I am not quite sure whether all three did not contribute to this end, and make him what the world confessed — a most well-bred gentleman. Polly was, in her way, a shrewd observer, and she felt that Stapylton's manner towards her was that species of urbane condescension with which a great master of a game deigns to play with a very humble proficient. He moved about the board with an assumption that said, I can checkmate you when I will ! Now this is hard enough to bear when the pieces at stake are stained ivory, but it is less endurable still when they are our emotions and our wishes. And yet with all this before her, Polly ordered, and arranged, and superintended, and directed, with an energy that never tired, and an activity that never relaxed. As for Mrs. Dill, no similar incident in the life of Clarissa had prepared her for the bustle and preparation she saw on every side, and she was fairly perplexed between the thought of a seizure for rent and a fire, casualties Avhich, grave as they were, she felt she could meet, with Mr. Richardson beside her. The Doctor him- self was unusually fidgety and anxious. Perhaps he ascribed considerable importance to this visit — perhaps he thought Polly had not been candid with him, and that iu reality she knew more of its object than she had avowed ; and so he walked hurriedly from room to room, and out into the garden, and across the road to the river's side, 192 BARRINGTON. and onco as far as tho bridge, consultlnj^ his watch, and calcuhiting that as it now only wanted eight minutes of two o'clock the arrival could scarcely be long delayed. It was on his return he entered the drawing-room and found Polly, now plainly but becomingly dressed, seated at her work, with a seeming quietude and repose about her, strangely at variance with her late display of activity. " I've had a look down the Graigue Road," said he, " but can see nothing. You are certain he said two o'clock?" " C^uite certain, sir." " To be sure he might come by the river ; there's water enough now for the Cobham barge." 8 he made no answer, though she half suspected somo reply was expected. " And of course," continued the Doctor, " they'd have offered him the use of it. They seem to make a great deal of him up there." " A great deal, indeed, sir," said she ; but in a voice that was a mere echo of his own. " And I suspect they know why. I'm sure they know why. People in their condition make no mistakes about each other ; and if he receives much attention, it is because it's his due." No answer followed this speech, and he walked feverishly up and down the room, holding his watch in his closed hand. " I have a notion you must have mistaken him. It was not two he said." " I'm positive it was two, sir. But it can scarcely be much past that hour now." " It is seventeen minutes past two," said he, solemnly. And then, as if some fresh thought had just occurred to him, asked, " Where's Tom ? I never saw him this morning." " He's gone out to take a walk, sir. The poor fellow is dead beat by work, and had such a headache that I told him to go as far as the Red House or Snow's Mill." " And I'll wager he did not want to be told twice. Anything for idleness with him ! " " Well, papa, he is really doing his very best now. He is not naturally quick, and he has a bad memory, so that AN INTERIOE AT THE DOCTOr's. 193 labour is no common toil ; but his heart is in it, and J. never saw him really anxious for success before." " To go out to India, I suppose," said Dill, sneeringlv, " that notable project of the other good-for-nothing ; for, except in the matter of fortune, there's not much to choose between them. There's the half-hour striking now 1 " " The project has done this for him, at least," said she, firmly, — " it has given him hope ! " " How I like to hear about hope," said he, with a peculiarly sarcastic bitterness. " I never knew a fellow worth sixpence that had that cant of 'hope ' in his mouth ! How much hope had I when I began the world ! How much have I now ? " " Don't you hope Captain StapyUon may not have for- gotten his appointment, papa ? " said she, with a quick drollery which sparkled in her eye, but brought no smile to her lips. " Well, here he is at last," said Dill, as he heard the sharp click made by the wicket of the little garden ; and he started up, and rushed to the window. " May I never! " cried he in hoT^ror, "if it isn't M'Cormick! Say we're out — that I'm at Graigue — that I won't be home till evening!" But while he was multiplying these excuses, the old Major had caught sight of him, and was waving his hand in salutation from below. " It's too late — it's too late !" sighed Dill, bitterly ; ''he sees me now — there's no help for it ! " What benevolent and benedictory expressions were muttered below his breath, it is not for this history to record, but so vexed and irritated was he, that the Major had already entei'ed the room ere he could compose his features into even a faint show of welcome. " 1 was down at the Dispensary," croaked out M'Cor- mick, " and they told me you were not expected there to- day, and so I said, maybe he's ill, or maybe " — and here he looked shrewdly around him — " maybe there's some- thing going on up at the house." " What should there b" going on as you call it ?" res- ponded Dill, angrily, for he was now at home, in presence of the family, and cou''d not compound for that tone of servile acquiescence he emp'oyed on foreign service. 194 BARUINGTON, " And, faix, I believe I was rij^lit ; Miss Polly isn't so smart this morning for notliinp, no more than the saving cover is ofl' the soi'a, and the piece of gauze taken down from before the looking-glass, and the Times newspaper away from the rug!" " Are there any other domestic changes you'd like to remark upon, Major M'Corniick?" said Dill, pale with rage. " Indeed, yes," rejoined the other; "there's yourself, in the elegant black coat that I never saw since Lord Kilraney's funeral, and looking pretty much as lively and pleasant as you did at the ceremony." "A gentleman has made an appointment with papa," broke in Polly, " and may be here at any moment." "I know who it is," said M'Cormick, with a finger on the side of his nose to imply intense cunning. " I know all about it." " What do you know ? — what do you mean by all about it ?" said Dill with an eagerness he could not repress. *' Just as much as yourselves — there now ! Just as much as yourselves ! " said he, sententiously. " But apparently, Major, you know far more," said Polly. •' Maybe I do, maybe I don't ; but I'll tell you one thing, Dill, for your edification, and mind me if I'm not right: you're all mistaken about him every one of ye !" "Whom are you talking of?" asked the Doctor, sternly. " Just the very man yon mean yourself, and no other ! Oh, you needn't fuss and fume, I don't want to pry into your family secrets. Not that they'll be such secrets to- morrow or next day — the whole town will be talking of them — but as an old friend that could, maybe, give a word of advice " " Advice about what ? Will you just tell me about what?" cried Dill, now bursting with anger. " I've done now. Not another word passes my lips about it from this minute. Follow your own road, and see where it will lead ye?" " Cannot you understand, Major ^M'Cormick, that we are totally unable to guess what you allude to ? Neither AN INTERIOR AT THE DOCTOR's. 195 papa nor I have the very faintest clue to your meanincr, and if you really desire to serve us you will speak out plainly." " Not another syllable, if I sat here for two years !" The possibility of such an infliction seemed so terrible to poor Polly, that she actually shuddered as she heard it. " Isn't that your mother I see sitting up there, with all the fine ribbons in her cap ? " whispered M'Cormick, as he pointed to a small room which opened off an angle of the larger one. " That's ' the boodoo,' isn't it ? " said he, with a grin. This, I must inform my reader, was the M'Cor- mick for " boudoir." " Well, I'll go and pay my respects to her." So little interest did Mrs. Dill take in the stir and movement around her that the Major utterly failed in his endeavours to torture her by all his covert allusions and ingeniously-drawn inferences. No matter what hints he dropped or doubts he suggested, she knew " Clarissa " would come well out of her trials ; and beyond a little unmeaning simper, and a muttered, " To be sure," " No doubt of it," and, " Why not," M'Cormick could obtain nothing from her. Meanwhile, in the outer room the Doctor continued to stride up and down with impatience, while Polly sat quietly working on, not the less anxious, perhaps, though her peaceful air betokened a mind at rest. " That must be a boat, papa," said she, without lifting her head, "that has just come up to the landing-place. I heard the plash of the oars, and now all is still again." " You're right ; so it is ! " cried he, as he stopped before the window. "But how is this! That's a lady I see yonder, and a gentleman along with her. That's not Sta- pylton, surely ! " " He is scarcely so tall," said she, rising to look out, "but not very unlike him. But the lady, papa — the lady is Miss Barrington." Bad as M'Cormick's visit was, it was nothing to the possibility of such an advent as this, and Dill's expressions of anger were now neither measured nor muttered. " This is to be a day of disasters. I see it well, and no help for it," exclaimed he, passionately. " If there was 2 lOG BARRrST.TON. one liuman being I'd hate to come here this morning, it's that old woman ! She's never civil. She's not commonly decent in her manner towards me in her own house, and what she'll be in mine, is clean beyond me to gues.s. That's herself! There she goes! Look at her remark- ing — I see, she's remarking on the weeds over the beds, and the smashed paling. She's laughing, too! Oh, to be sure, it's tine lau;^'liing at people that's poor; and she might know sometiiing of that same herself. I know who the man is now. That's the Colonel, who came to the 'Fisherman's Home' on the night of the accident." " It would seem we are to hold a levee to-day," said Polly, giving a very fleeting glance at herself in the glass. And now a knock came to the door, and the man who acted gardener and car-driver and valet to the Doctor, announced that Miss Barrington and Colonel Hunter were below. " Show them up," said Dill, with the peremptory voice of one ordering a very usual event, and intentionally loud enough to be heard below stairs. If Polly's last parting with !Miss Barrington gave little promise of pleasure to their next meeting, the first look she caught of the old lady on entering the room dispelled all uneasiness on that score. Miss Dinah entered with a pleasing smile, and presented her friend. Colonel Hunter, as one come to thank the Doctor for much kindness to his young subaltern. " Whom, by the way," added he, " wo thought to find here. It is only since we landed that we learned he had left the inn for Kilkenny." AV^hile the Colonel continued to talk to the Doctor, Miss Dinah had seated herself on the sofa, with Polly at her side. " My visit this morning is to you," said she. " I have come to ask your forgiveness. Don't interrupt me, child ; your forgiveness was the veiy word I used. I was very rude to you t'other morning, and being all in the wrong — like most people in such circumstances — I was very angry with the person who placed me so." " But, my dear madam," said Polly, *' you had such good reason to suppose you were in the right, that ibia amende on your part is far too generous •" AN INTERIOR AT THE DOCTOr's. 197 " It is not at all generous — it is simply just. I was sorel}'^ vexed with you about tliat stupid wager, which you were very wrong to have had any share in ; vexed with your father, vexed with your brother — not that I believed his counsel would have been absolute wisdom — and I was even vexed with my young friend Conyers, because he hfid not the bad taste to be as angry with you as I was. When I was a young lady," said she, bridling up, and looking at once haughty and defiant, " no man would havo dared to approach me with such a proposal as complicity in a wagei". But I am told that my ideas are antiquated, and the world has grown much wiser since that da}'." " Nay, madam," said Polly, " but there is another dif- ference that your politeness has prevented you from appre- ciating. I mean the difference in station between Miss Barrington and Polly Dill." It was a well directed shot, and told powerfully, for Miss Barrington's eyes became clouded, and she turned her head away, while she pressed Polly's hand within her own with a cordial warmth. " Ah ! " said she, feelingly, " I hope there are many points of resemblance between us. I have always tried to be a good sister. I know well what you have been to your brother." A very jolly burst of laughter from the inner room, where Hunter had already penetrated, broke in upon them, and the merry tones of his voice were heard saying, " Take my word for it, madam, nobody could spare time now-a-days to make love in nine volumes. Life's too short for it. Ask my old brother-officer here if he could endure such a thirty years' war ; or rather let me turn here for an opinion. What does your daughter say on the subject? " " Ay, ay," croaked out M'Cormick. " Marry iu haste " " Or repent that you didn't. That's the true reading of the adage." " The Ma;jor would rather apply leisure to the marriage, and make the repentance come " " As soon as possible afterwards," said Miss Dinah, tartly. " Faix, I'll do better still, I won't provoke the repent- ance at all." l:)8 BARllINGTON. "Oh, ^Injor, in it tlius you treat mo?" said Polly, afl'fctin^' t(» wipe her eyes. " Are my hopes to be dashed thus cruelly ? " But the Doctor, who know how sava«;ely M'Cormick could resent even the most Imirnless jestinp, quickly inter- posed, with a question whether Polly had thouj^ht of order- intr luncheon ? It is but lair to Doctor Dill to record the bland but care- less way he ordered some entertainment for his visitors. He did it like the lord of a well-appointed household, who, when he said "serve," they served. It was in the easy conlidence of one whose knowledge told him that the train was laid, and only waited for the match to explode it. " May I have the honour, dear lady," said he, otferiug his arm to ^liss Barrington. Now Miss Dinah had just observed that she had various small matters to transact in the viilui^e, and was about to issue forth for their performance ; but such is the force of a speciality, that she could not tear herself away without a peep into the dining-room, and a glance, at least, at nrrungeraents that appeared so matrically conjured up. is'or was Dill insensible to the astonishment expressed in her face as her eyes ranged over the table. " If your daughter be your housekeeper. Doctor Dill," said she, in a whisper, " I must give her my very heartiest approbation. These are matters I can speak of with authority, and I pronounce her worthy of high com- mendation." " What admirable salmon cutlets," cried the Colonel, "Why, Doctor, these tell of a French cook." " There she is beside you, the French cook! " said the Major, with a malicious twinkle. '•Yes," said Polly, smiling, though with a slight flush on her face, " if Major M'Cormick will bo indiscreet enough to tell tales, let us hope they will never be more damaging in their import." " And do you say - do you mean to tell me, that this curry is your handiwork? Why, this is high art." " Oh, 'she's artful enough, if it's that ye're wanting," muttered the Major. AN INTERIOR AT THE DOCTOr's. 199 Miss Barrington, having apparently satisfied the curi- osity she felt about the details of the Doctor's house- keeping, now took her leave, not, however, without Doctor Dill offering his arm on one side, while Polly, with polite observance, walked on the other. " Look at that now," whispered the Major. *' They're as much afraid of that old woman as if she were the Queen of Sheba ! And all because she was once a fine lady living at Barrington Hall." " Here's their health for it," said the Colonel, filling his glass — " and in a bumper, too ! By the way," added he, looking around, " does not Mrs. Dill lunch with us?" "Oh, she seldom comes to her meals! She's a little touched here." And he laid his finger on the centre of his forehead. " And, indeed, no wonder if she is." The benevolent Major was about to give some details of secret family histoxy, when the Doctor and his daughter re- turned to the room. The Colonel ate and talked untiringly. He was de- lighted with everything, and charmed with himself for his good luck in chancing upon such agreeable people. He liked the scenery, the village, the beetroot salad, the bridge, the pickled oysters, the evergreen oaks before the door. He was not astonished Conyers should linger on such a spot ; and then it suddenly occurred to him to ask when he had left the village, and how. The Doctor could give no information on the point, and while he was surmising one thing and guessing another, M'Cormick whispered in the Colonel's ear, " Maybe it's a delicate point. How do you know what went on with " And a significant nod towards Polly finished the remark. " I wish I heard what Major M'Cormick has just said," said Polly. " And it is exactly what I cannot repeat to you." " I suspected as much. So that my only request will be that you never remember it." " Isn't she sharp ! — sharp as a needle I " chimed in the Major. Checking, and not withoat some eflfort, a smart repri- 200 BARRINOTON. inand on the last speaker, the Colonel looked hastily at his watch, and arose from table. " Past three o'clock, and to be in Kilkenny by six." " Do vou want a car ? There's one of Rice's men now in the villaj^'c, shall 1 get him for you ? " "Would you really do me the kindness ? " While the Major bustled otV on his errand, the Colonel withdrew the Doctor inside the recess of a window. " I had a word I wished to say to you in private, Doctor Dill ; but it must really be in private — you understand me? " " Strictly cuniidential, Colonel Hunter," said Dill, bowing. " It is this : a young officer of mine. Lieutenant Con- yers, has written to me a letter mentioning a plan he had conceived for the future advancement of your son, a young gentleman for whom, it would appear, he had formed a sudden but strong attachment, llis project was, as I understand it, to accredit him to his father with such a letter as must secure the General's powerful in- fluence in his behalf. Just the sort of thing a warm- hearted young fellow would think of doing for a friend he determined to serve, but, exactly the kind of pro- ceeding that might have a very unfortunate ending. I can very well imagine, from my own short experience here, that your son's claims to notice and distinction may be the very highest; I can believe readily what very little extraneous aid he would require to secure his success, but you and I are old men of the world, and are bound to look at things cautiously, and to ask, ' Is this scheme a very safe one 'i ' ' Will General Conyers enter as heartily into it as his son ? * ' Will the young surgeon be as sure to captivate the old soldier as the young one ? ' In a word, would it be quite wise to set a man's whole venture in life on such a cast, and is it the sort oi risk that, with your experience of the world, you would sanction?" It was evident, from the pause the Colonel left after these words, that he expected Dill to say something ; but, ■with the sage reserve of his order, tlie Doctor stood still, and never uttered a syllable. Let us be just to his acute- ness, he never did take to the project from the first ; he thought ill of it, in every way, but yet he did not re- AN INTEKIOR AT THE DOCTOr's. 201 linquish the idea of making the surrender of it " con- ditional," and so he slowly shook his head with an air of doubt, and smoothly rolled his hands one over the other, as though to imply a moment of hesitation and indecision. " Yes, yes," muttered he, talking only to himself — " disappointment, to be sure ! — ^yery great disappoint- ment, too ! And his heart so set upon it, that's the hardship." " Naturally enough," broke in Hunter, hastily. " Who wouldn't be disappointed under such circumstances ? Better even that, however, than utter failure, later on." The Doctor sighed, but over what precise calamity was not so clear, and Hunter continued : " Now, as I have made this communication to you in strictest confidence, and not in any concert with Conyer.-*, I only ask you to accept the view as a mere matter of opinion. I think you would be wrong to suffer your son to engage in such a venture. That's all I mean by my interference, and I have done." Dill was, perhaps, scarcely prepared for the sudden summing up of the Colonel, and looked strangely puzzled and embarrassed. " Might I talk the matter over with my daughter Polly ? She has a good head for one so little versed in the world." " By all means. It is exactly what I would have pro- posed. Or, better still, shall I repeat what I have just told you ? " " Do so," said the Doctor, " for I just remember Miss Barrington will call here in a few moments for that medi- cine I have ordered for her brother, and which is not yet made up." " Give me five minutes of your time and attention, Miss Dill," said Hunter, " on a point for which your father has referred me to your counsel." " To mine ? " "Yes," said he, smiling at her astonishment. "We want your quick faculties to come to the aid of our slow ones. And here's the case." And in a few sentences he put the matter before her, as he had done to her father. 202 BARRINGTON. While ho thus talked, they had strolled out into the garden, and walked slowly side by side down one of the alleys. " Poor Tom ! — poor fellow ! " was all that Polly said, as she listened. IJiit once or twice her handkerchief was raised to her eyes, and her chest heaved heavily. " I am heartily sorry for him — tiiat is, if his heart bo bent on it — if he really should have built upon the scheme already." " Of course he has, sir. You don't suppose that in such lives as ours these are common incidents ? If we chance upon a treasure, or fancy that we have, once in a whole existence, it is preat fortune." " It was a brief, a very brief acquaintance — a few hours, I believe. The- — - What was that? Did you hear any one cough, there ? " " No, sir ; we are quite alone. There is no one in the garden but ourselves." " So that, as I was saying, the project could scarcely have taken a very deep root, and — and — in fact, better the first annoyance, than a' mistake that should give its colour to a whole lifetime. I'm certain I heard a §tep in that walk yonder." " No, sir ; we are all alone." " I half wish I had never come on this same errand. I have done an ungracious thing, evidently very ill, and •with the usual fate of those who say disagreeable things. 1 am involved in the disgrace I came to avert." " But I accept your view." "There! I knew there was some one there!" said Hunter, sprinering across a bed and coming suddenly to the side of M'Cormick, who was ati'ecting to be making a nosegay. " The car is ready at the door. Colonel," said he, in some confusion. " Maybe you'd oblige me with a seat as far as Lyrath ? " "Yes, yes; of course. And how late it is," cried he, looking at his watch. " Time does fly fast in these regions, no doubt of it." " You see, Miss Polly, you have made the Colonel forget himself," said M'Cormick, maliciously. AN INTERIOR AT THE DOCTOr's. 203 " Don't be severe on an error so often your own, Major M'Cormick," said she fiercely, and turned away into the house. The Colonel, however, was speedily at her side, and in an earnest voice said, " I could hate myself for the im- pression I am leaving behind me here. I came with those excellent intentions which so often make a man odious, and I am going away with those regrets which follow all failures ; but I mean to come back again one of these days, and erase, if I can, the ill impression." " One who has come out of his way to befriend those who had no claim upon his kindness, can have no fear for the estimation he will be held in ; for my part, I thank you heartily, even though I do not exactly see the direct road out of this difficulty." " Let me write to you. One letter — only one," said Hunter. But M'Cormick had heard the request, and she flushed up with anger at the malicious glee his face exhibited. "You'll have to say my good-byes for me to your father, for I am sorely pressed for time ; and, even as it is, shall be late for my appointment in Kilkenny." And before Polly could do more than exchange his cordial shake hands, he was gone. 204 BAimiNaTuN. CHAPTER XXI. DARK TIUIh'08. If I am not wholly without self-reproach when I bring my reader into uncongenial company, and make him pass time with Major M'Cormick he had far rather bestow upon a pleasanter companion, I am sustained by the fjict — unpalatable fact though it be — that the highway of life is not always smooth, nor its banks flowery, and that, as an old Derry woman once remarked to me, " It takes a' kind o' folk to mak' a world." Now, although Colonel Hunter did drive twelve weary miles of road with the Major for a fellow-traveller— thanks to that unsocial conveniency called an Irish jaunting-car — they rode back to back, and conversed but little. One might actually believe that unpopular men grow to feel a sort of liking for their unpopularity, and become at length delighted with the snubbings they meet with, as though an evidence of the amount of that discomfort they can scatter over the world at large ; just, in fact, as a wasp or a scorpion might have a sort of triumphant joy in the consciousness of its power for mischief, and exult in the terror caused by its vicinity. " Splendid road— one of the best I ever travelled on," said the Colonel, after about ten miles, during which he smoked on without a word. " Why wouldn't it be, when they can assess the county for it? They're on the Grand Jury, and high up, all about here," croaked out the Major. " It is a fine country, and abounds in handsome places." "And well mortgaged, too, the most of them." " You'd not see better farming than that in Norfolk, cleaner wheat or neater drills ; in fact, one might imagine himself in England." DAKK TIDINGS. 205 " So he miglit, for the matter of taxes. I don't see much difference." " Why don't you smoke ? Things look pleasanter through the blue haze of a good Havannah," said Hunter, smiling. " 1 don't want them to look pleasanter than they are," was the dry rejoinder. Whether Hunter did, or did not, he scarcely liked his counsellor, and, re-lighting a cigar, he turned his back once more on him. " I'm one of those old-fashioned fellows," continued the Major, leaning over towards his companion, " who would rather see things as they are, not as they might be; and when I remarked you a while ago so pleased with the elegant luncheon and Miss Polly's talents for housekeeping, I was laughing to myself over it all." " How do you mean ? What did you laugh at ? " said Hunter, half fiercely. " Just at the way you were taken in, that's all." " Taken in ? — taken in ? A very strange expression for an hospitable reception and a most agreeable visit." " Well, it's the very word for it, after all ; for as to the hospitable reception, it wasn't meant for us, but for that tall Captain — the dark-complexioned fellow — Staples, I think they call him." "Captain Stapylton?" " Yes, that's the man. He ordered Healey's car to take him over here ; and I knew when the Dills sent over to Mrs. Brierley for a loan of the two cut decanters and the silver cruet-stand, something was up ; and so I strolled down, by way of to reconnoitre the premises, and see what old Dill was after." "Well, and then?" " Just that I saw it all — the elegant luncheon, and the two bottles of wine, and the ginger cordials, all laid out for the man that never came ; for it woald seem he changed his mind about it, and went back to head- quarters." " You puzzle me more and more at every word. What change of mind do you allude to ? What purpose do you infer he had in coming over here to-day ? " 206 BAIIRINGTON. The only answer M'Corniick vouchsafed to this was by closing one eye and putting liis finger signilicantly to the tip of his nose, while he said, " Catch a weasel asleep !" "I more than suspect," said llunter, sternly, "that this half-pay life works badly for a man's habits, and throws him upon very j)etty and contemptible modes of getting through his time. What possible business could it be of yours to inquire why iStapylton came, or did not come here to-day, no more than for the reason of my visit?" "Maybe I could guess tluit too, if I was hard pushed," said M'Cormick, whose tone showed no unusual irritation from the late rebuke. *' I was in the garden all the time, and heard everything." " Listened to what I was saying to Miss Dill ! " cried Hunter, whose voice of indignation could not now bo mistaken. " Every word of it," replied the unabashed Major. " I heard all you said about a short acquaintance — a few hours you called it — but that your heart was bent upon it, all the same. And then you went on about India ; what an elegant place it was, and the fine pay and the groat allowances. And ready enough she was to believe it all, for I suppose she was sworn at Iligligate, and wouldn't take the Captain if she could get the Colonel." By this time, and not an instant earlier, it flashed upon Hunter's mind that ^M'Cormick imagined he had over- heard a proposal of marriage, and so amused was he by the blunder, that he totally drowned his anger in a hearty burst of laughter. "I hope that, as an old brother-ofiicer, you'll be dis- creet, at all events," said he, at last. " You have not come by the secret quite legitimately, and I trust you will preserve it." " My hearing is good, and my eyesight too, and I mean to use them both, as long as they're spared to me." " It was your tongue that I referred to," said Hunter, more gravely. " Ay, I know it was," said the Major, crankily. " My tongue will take care of itself also." " In order to make its task the easier, then," said V— '/ '4^1^' 'k€//^i^^^- ^j^^g^^^y^^^^^ DAEK TIDINGS. 20? Hnnter, speaking in a slow and serious voice, " let me tell you that your eaves-dropping has, for once at least, misled you. I made no proposal, such as you suspected, to Miss Dill. Nor did she give me the sh'ghtest en- couragement to do so. The conversation you so unwar- rantably and imperfectly overheard had a totally different object, and I am not at all sorry you should not have guessed it. So much for the past. Now one word for the future. Omit my name, and all that concerns me, from the narrative with which you amuse your friends, or take my word for it, you'll have to record more than you have any fancy for. This is strictly between our- selves ; but if you have a desire to impart it, bear in mind that I shall be at my quarters in Kilkenny till Tuesday next." " You may spend your life there for anything I care," said the Major. " Stop, Billy ; pull up. I'll get down here." And shuffling off the car, he muttered a " Good- day " without turning his head, and bent his steps towards a narrow lane that led from the high road. "Is this the place they call Lyrath?" asked the Colonel of the driver. "No, your honour. We're a good four miles from it yet." The answer showed Hunter that his fellow-traveller had departed in anger, and such was the generosity of his nature, he found it hard not to overtake him and make his peace with him. " After all," thought he, " he's a crusty old fellow, and has hugged his ill-temper so long, it mny be more con- genial to him now than a pleasanter humour." And he turned his mind to other interests that more closely touched him. Nor was he without cares — heavier ones, too, than his happy nature had ever yet been called to deal with. There are few more painful situations in life than to find our advancement — the loner-wished and strived-for promotion — achieved at the cost of some dearly-loved friend ; to know that our road to fortune had led us across the fallen figure of an old comrade, and that he who would have been the first to hail our success is already bewailing his own defeat. This was Hunter's 208 BARRINGTON. lot at the present moment. He liad been sent for to hear of a iiiurvellous pii-ce of pood-l'ortuiie. lii.s name and character, well known in India, had recommended hini for an office of high trust — the Political Resident of a great native court ; a position not alone of power and influence, but as certain to secure, and within a very few years, a considerable fortune. It was the Governor- General who had made choice of hira, and the Prince of AVales, in the brief interview he accorded him, was delighted with his frank and soldier-like manner, hia natural cheerfulness and high spirit. " We're not going to unfrock you. Hunter," said he, gaily, in dismissing him. " You shall have your military rank, and all the steps of your promotion. We only make you a civilian till you Lave saved some lacs of rupees, which is what I hear your predecessor has forgotten to do." It was some time before Hunter, overjoyed as he was, even bethought him of asking who that predecessor was. What was his misery when he heard the name of Ormsby Conyers, his oldest, best friend ; the man at whose table he had sat for years, whose confidence he had shared, whose heart was open to him to its last secret 1 " No," said he, " this is impossible. Advancement at such a price has no temptation for me. I will not accept it." He wrote his refusal at once, not assi<;ning any definite reasons, but declaring that, after much thought and con- sideration, he had decided the post was one he could not accept of. The Secretary, in whose province the atiairs of India lay, sent for him, and, after much pressing and some ingenious cross-questioning, got at his reasons. "These may be all reasonable scruples on your part," said he, " but they will avail your friend nothing. Conj-ers must go ; for his own interest and character's sake he must come home and meet the charges made against him, and which, from their very contradictions, we all hope to see him treat triumphantly: some alleging that he has amassed untold wealth, others that it is, as a ruined man, he has involved himself in the intrigues of the native rulers- All who know hira say, that at the first whisper of a charge against him he will throw up his post and coma to England to meet his accusers. And now let me DARK TIDINGS. 209 own to you, that it is the friendship in which he held you hiy one of the suggestions for your choice. We all felt, that if a man ill-disposed or ungenerously-minded to Conyers should go out to Agra, numerous petty and vex- atious accusations might be forthcomig; the little local injuries and pressure, so sure to beget grudges, would all rise up as charges, and enemies to the fallen man spring up in every quarter. It is as a successor, then, you can best serve your friend." I need not dwell on the force and ingenuity with which this view was presented ; enough that I say it was successful, and Hunter returned to Ireland to take leave of his regiment, and prepare for a speedy departure to India. Having heard, in a brief note from young Conyers, his intentions respecting Tom Dill, Hunter had hastened off to prevent the possibility of such a scheme being carried out. Not wishing-, however, to divulge the circumstances of his friend's fortune, he had in his interview with the Doctor confined himself to arguments on the score of prudence. His next charge was to break to Fred the tidings of his father's troubles, and it was an office he shrunk from with a coward's fear. With every mile he went his heart grew heavier. The more he thought over the matter the more difficult it appeared. To treat ■'■L.e case lightly, might savour of heartlessness and *evity ; to approach it more seriously, might seem a needless severity. Perhaps, too, Conyers might have written to his son ; he almost hoped he had, and that the first news of disaster should not come from him. That combination of high-heartedness and bashfulness, a blended temerity and timidity — by no means an un- common temperament — renders a man's position in the embarrassments of life one of downriglit suiJ'ering. There are operators who feel the knife more sensitively than the patients. Few know what torments such men conceal under a manner of seeming slap-dash and carelessness. Hunter was of this order, and would, an}' day of his life, far rather have confronted a real peril than met a contin- gency that demanded such an address. It was, then, with a sense of relief he learned, on arrival at the bar- racks, that Conyers had gone out for a walk, so thut there 210 BARRINQTOX. was ft rpprievo at least of a few hours of the penalty that overhung him. The truinpct-call for the mess had jnst snnnded as Conyei'8 giiimtl the door of the Cohjnel'H quarters, and Hunter taking Fred's arm, they crossed the barrack-square together. " I have a great deal to say to you, Conyers," said he, hurriedly ; " jiart of it uiipiea.sant - none of it indeed very gratifying " " I know you are going to leave us, sir," said Fred, who perceived the more than common emotion in tlie otlier's manner. " And for myself, I own 1 have no longer any desire to remain in the regiment. I mitrht go fnrtlier, and gay, no more zest for the service. It was through your friend.ship for me I learned to curb many and many promptings to resistance, and when you go " '" I am very sorry — very, very sorry to leave you all," said Hunter, with a broken voice. " Jt is not every man that proudly can point to seven-and-twenty-years' service in a regiment without one incident to break the hearty cordiality that bound us. We had no bickerings, no petty jealousies amongst us. If a man joined us who wanted 'partisanship and a set, he soon found it better to exchange. 1 ne. r expect again to lead the happy life I have here, and I'd rather have led our bold squadrons in the field than have been a General of Division." Who could have believed that he, whose eyes ran over as he spoke these bjoken words, was, five minutes after, tlie g:iy and rattling ('olonel his officers always saw him, full of life, spirit, and animation, jocularly alluding to iiis speedy departure, and gaily speculating on the comparisons that would be formed between himself and his successor ? " I'm leaving him the horses in good condition," said he ; " and when Har- orave learns to srive the word of command above a whis- per, aiid Eyremn can ride without a backboard, he'll scarcely report you for inefficiency." It is fair to add, that the first-mentioned oHiccr had a voice like a bassoon, and the second was the beau-ideal of dragoon hor.seman- ship. It would not have consisted with military etiquette to have asked the Colonel the nature of his promotion, nor DAEK TIDINGS. 211 as to what new sphere of service he was called. Even the old Major, his contemporary, dared not have come directly to the question ; and while all were eager to hear it, the utmost approach was by an insinuation or an innuendo. Hunter was known for no quality more re- markably than for his out-spoken frankness, and some surprise was felt that in his returning thanks for his health being drank, not a word should escape him on this point ; but the anxiety was not lessened by the last words he spoke. " It may be, it is more than likely, I shall never see the regiment again : but the sight of a hussar jacket or a scarlet busby will bring you all back to my memory, and you may rely on it what whether around the mess- table or the bivouac fire ray heart will be with you." Scarcely had the cheer that greeted the words subsided, when a deep voice from the extreme end of the table said, — "If only a new-comer in the regiment, Colonel Hunter, I am too proud of my good fortune not to associate mj^self with the feelings of my comrades, and, while partaking of their deep regrets, I feel it a duty to contribute, if in my power, by whatever may lighten the grief of our loss. Am I at liberty to do so ? Have I your free permission, I mean ?" "I am fairly puzzled by your question. Captain Stapyl- ton. I have not the very vaguest clue to your meaning, but of course, you have my permission to mention what- ever you deem proper." " It is a toast I would propose, sir." " By all means. The thing is not very regular, perhaps, but we are not exactly remarkable for regularity this even- ing. Fill, gentlemen, for Captain St:ipylton's toast:" " Few words will propose it," said Stapylton. " We have just drank Colonel Hunter's health with all the enthu- siasm that behts the toast, but in doing so our tribute has been paid to the past ; of the present and the future we have taken no note whatever, and it is to these I would now recall you. I say, therefore, bumpers to the healtu, happiness, and success of Major-Geueral Hunter, Political Resident and Minister at the Court of Agra!" " No, no ! " cried young Conyers,'loudly, " this is a mia- p 2 212 BAimiNOTON. take. It is my fallier — it is Lientenant-General Conycrs — who resides at Agra. Am 1 not right, sir!" cried he, turning to the Colont'l. But Hunter's face, pale as death even to the lips, and the agitation with wliicli he grasped Fred's hand, so over- came the youth, that with a sudden cry he sprang from his seat, and rushed out of the room. Hunter as quickly followed him ; and now all were grouped around Stapyl- ton, eagerly questioning and inquiring what his tidings might mean. " The old story, gentlemen — the old story, with which we are all more or less familiar in this best of all possible worlds : General Hunter goes out in honour, and General Conyers comes home in — well, under a cloud — of course one that he is sure and certain to dispel. I conclude the Colonel would rather have had his advancement under other circumstances, but in this game of leap-frog that we call life, we must occasionally jump over our friends as well as our enemies." " How and where did you get the news ?" '* It came to me from town. I heard it this morning, and of course I imagined that the Colonel had told it to Conyers, whom it so intimately concerned. I hope I may not have been indiscreet in what I meant as a compli- ment." None cared to offer their consolings to one so fully capable of supplying the commodity to himself, and the party broke up in twos or threes, moodily seeking their own quarters, and brooding gloomily over what they had just witnessed. 213 CHAPTER XXII. lEAVING HOME. I WILL ask my reader now to turu for a brief space to the '* FisLei'iuan's Home," which is a sceue of somewhat unusual bustle. The Barringtons are preparing for a journey, and old Peter's wardrobe has been displayed for inspection along a hedge of sweet-briar in the garden — an arrangement devised by the genius of Darby, who passes up and down, with an expression of admiration on his face, the sincerity of which could not be questioned. A more reflective mind than his might have been carried away, at the sight, to thoughts of the strange passages in the late history of Ireland, so curiously ty pi tied in that motley display. There, was the bright green dress-coat of Daly's club, recalling days of political excitement, and all the plottings and cabals of a once famous opposition. There was, in somewhat faded splendour it must be owned, a court suit of the Duke of Portland's day, when Irish gentlemen were as gorgeous as the courtiers of Versailles. Here came a grand colonel's uniform, when Barrington commanded a regiment of Volunteers ; and yonder lay a friar's frock and cowl, relics of those " attic nights " with the Monks of the Screw, and recalling memories of Avonmore and Curran, and Day and Parsons ; and with them were mixed hunting-coats, and shooting-jackets, and masonic robes, and " friendly brother " emblems, and long-waisted garments, and swallow-tailed aflectations of all shades and tints — reminders of a time when Buck Whalley was the eccentric, and Lord Llandaif the beau of Irish society. I am not certain that Monmouth-street would have endorsed Darby's sentiment as he said, " There was clothes there for a king on his throne !" but it was an honestly uttered speech, and came out of the fulness of au admiring heart, and although in truth he was nothing 214 IlAimiNGTON, less tlmn an liistoriaii, lie was pDrciMy Ktriick l>y tlie tlu)aant anticipations, the brightest of all being the sight of jioor George's child ! Not that this thoiiqrlithad not its daik side, in contrition forthe loiig,long years he had left her unnoticed and neglect^'d. Of course he bad his own excuses and apologies for all this: lie could refer to his overwhelming embarrassments, and the heavy cares that surrounded him ; but then she — that poor friendless girl, that orphan — could have known nothing of these things, and what opinion might she not have tcjniied of tliose relatives who had so coldly and heartlessly abandoned her ! Barrington took down her miniature, painted when she was a mere infant, and scanned it well, as though to divine what nature might possess her ! There was little for speculation there — perhaps even less for hope ! The eyes were large and lustrous, it is true, but the brow was heavy, and the mouth, even in infancy, had something that seemed like firmness and decision — strangely at variance with the lips of childhood. Now, old Barrington's heart was deeply set on that lawsuit — that great cause against the Indian Government — that had formed the grand campaign of his life. It was his first waking thought of a morning, his last at night. All his faculties were engaged in revolving the various points of evidence, and imagining how this and that missing link might be supplied ; and yet, with all these objects of desire before him, he would have given them up, each and all, to be sure of one thing — that his granddaughter might be handsome! It was not that he ilf there ? " " The voice is certainly like him," said Miss Dinah, with a marked emphasis. "And so are — no, not her eyes, but her brow, Dinah. Yes, darling, you have his own frank look, and I feel sure you have his own generous nature." " They say I'm like my mother's picture," said she, unfastening a locket she wore from its chain and handing it. And both Peter and his sister gazed eagerly at the miniature. It was of a very dark but handsome woman in a rich turban, and who, though profusely ornamented with costly gems, did, in reality, present a resemblance to the cloistered figure before them. " Am I like her ?" asked the girl, with a shade more of earnestness in her voice. " You are, darling ; but like your father, too, and every word you utter brings back his memory ; and see, Dinah, if that isn't George's old trick — to la}' one band in the palm of the other." As if corrected, the young girl dropped her arms to her sides and stood like a statue. " Be like him in everything, dearest child," said the old man, "if you would have my heart all your own." " I must be what I am," said she, solemnly. " Just so, Josephine ; well said, my good girl. Be natural," said Miss Dinah, kissing her, "and our love will never fail you." There was the faintest little smile of acknowledgment to this speech, but faint as it was it dimpled her cheek, and seemed to have left a pleasant expression on her face, for old Peter gazed on her with increased delight as he said, " That was George's own smile ; just the way he THE CONVENT ON THE MEUSE. 267 used to look, half grave, half merry. Oh, how you bring him back to me ! " " You see, my clear child, that you are one of us ; let us hope you will shafe in the happiness this gives us." The girl listened attentively to Miss Dinah's words, and after a pause of apparent thought over them, said, "I will hope so." " May we leave this, Dinah ? Are we free to get away ? " whispered Barrington to his sister, for an unaccountable oppression seemed to weigh on him, both from the place and its belono-ino-s. " Yes ; Josephine has only one good-bye to say ; her trunks are already on the carriage, and there is nothing more to detain us." " Go and say that farewell, dear child," said he, affec- tionately ; " and be speedy, for there are longing hearts here to wish for your return." With a grave and quiet mien she walked away, and as she gained the door turned round and made a deep respectful curtsey — a movement so ceremonious that the old man involuntarily replied to it by a bow as deep and reverential. 208 BARRINQTON. CHAPTER XXVI II. George's dadouter. I SUPPOSE, nay, I fim certain, that the memory of our liappiest moments ought ever to be of the very faintest and weakest, since, could we recall them in all their fulness and freshness, the recollection would only serve to deepen the gloom of age, and embitter all its daily trials. Nor is it, altogether, a question of memory ! It is in the very essence of happiness to be indescribable. Who could impart in words the simple pleasure he has felt as he lay da^^-dreaming in the deep grass, lulled by the liumming insect, or the splash of falling water, with teeming fancy peopling the space around, and blending the possible with the actual ? The more exquisite the sense of enjoyment, the more will it defy delineation. And so, when we come to descrilx; the happiness of others, do we find our words weak, and our attempt mere failure. It is in this difSculty that I now find myself. I would tell, if I could, how enjoyably the Barringtons sauntered about through the old villages on the Rhine and up the Moselle, less travelling than strolling along in purposeless indolence, resting here, ana halting there, always in- terested, always pleased. It was ptrange into what perfect harmony these three natures — unlike as they were — blended ! Old Peter's sympathies went with all things human, and he loved to watch the village life and catch what he could of its ways and instincts. His sister, to whom the love of scenery was a passion, never wearied of the picturesque land they travelled ; and as for Josephine, she was no longer the demure pensionnaire of the convent — thoughtful and reserved, even to secrecy — but a happy George's daughter. 269 cliild, revelling in a thousand senses of enjoyment, and actually exulting in the beauty of all she saw around her. What depression must come of captivity, when even its faintest image, the cloister, could have weighed down a heart like hers ! Such was Barrington's thought as he beheld her at play with the peasant childi-en, weaving garlands for a village fete, or joyously joining the chorus of a peasant song. There was, besides, something singularly touching in the half-consciousness of her freedom, when recalled for an instant to the past by the tinkling bell of a church. She would seem to stop in her play, and bethink her how and why she was there, and then, with a cry of joy, bound away after her companions in wild delight. " Dearest aunt," said she, one day, as they sat on a rocky ledge over the little river that traverses the Lahnech, " shall I always find the same enjoyment in life that I feel now, for it seems to me this is a measure of happiness that could not endure ? " " Some share of this is owing to contrast, Fifine. Your convent life had not too many pleasures." " It was, or rather it seems to me now, as I look back, a long and weary dream ; but, at the same time, it appears more real than this ; for do what I may I cannot imagine this to be the world of misery and sorrow I have heard so much of! Can any one fancy a scene more beautiful than this before us? Where is the perfume more exquisite than these violets I now crush in my hand ? The peasants, as they salute us, look happy and contented. Is it, then, only in great cities that men make each other miserable? " Dinah shook her head, but did not speak. " I am so glad grandpapa does not live in a city. Aunt, I am never wearied of hearing you talk of that dear cottage beside the river ; and through all my present delight I feel a sense of impatience to be there, to be at 'home.'" "So that you will not hold us to our pledge to bring you back to Bramaigne, Fifine," said Miss Dinah, smiling. " Oh no, no ! Not if you will let me live with you. Never ! " 270 BAKRINGTON. "But yon hare been happy "p to this, Fifine? Tou liave said over aiul over aLraiii tliat your couveut lifo was dear to you, and all its ways pleasant." " It is just the same clmnge to me to live as I now do, as in my heart I feel chatif^od after reading out one of those delightful stories to grandpapa -Rob Roy, for instance. It all tells of a world so much more bright and beautiful than I know of, that it seems as though new senses were given to me. It is .so strange and so capti- vating, too, to hear of generous impulses, noble devotion — of faith that never swerved, and love that never faltered. "In novels, child ; these were in novels." " True, aunt , but they had found no place there had they been incredible ; at least, it is clear that he who tells the tale would liave us believe it to be true." Miss Dinah had not been a convert to her brother's notions as to Fifine's readings ; and she was now more disposed to doubt than ever. To overthrow of a sudden, as though by a great shock, all the stern realism of a cloi.s(er existence, and supply its place with fictitious incidents and people, seemed rash and perilous; but old Peter only thought of giving a full liberty to the im- prisoned spirit — striking off chain and fetter, and setting the captive free — free in all the glorious liberty of a youug imagination. " Well, here comes grandpapa," said Miss Dinah, " and, if I don't mistake, with a book in his hand for one of your morning readings." Josephine ran eagerly to meet him, and fondly drawing her arm within his own, came back at his side. "The third volume, Fihne, the third volume," said he. holding the book aloft. "Only think, child, what fates are enclosed within a third volume ! What a doal of happinci's or long-living misery are here included ! " She struggled to take the book from his hand, but he evaded her grasp, and placed it in his pocket, saying, — " Not till evening, Fifine. I am bent on a long ramble up the Glen this morning, and you shall tell me all about the sisterhood, and sing me one of those little Latin canticles I'm so fond of.'' "Meanwhile, I'll go and finish my letter to Polly Dill. George's daughter. 271 I told her, Peter, that by Thursday next, or Friday, she might expect us." " I hope so, with all my heart ; for, beautiful as all this is, it wants the greatest charm — it's not home ! Then I want, besides, to see Fifine full of household cares." " Feeding- the chickens instead of chasing the butter- flies, Fifine. Totting up the house-bills, in lieu of sighing over ' Waverley.' " " And, if I know Fifine, she will be able to do one ■without relinquishing the other," said Peter, gravely. " Our daily life is all the more beautiful when it has its landscape reliefs of light and shadow." " I think 1 could too," cried Fifine, eagerly. •' I feel as though I could work in the fields and be happy, just in the conscious sense of doing what it was good to do, and what others would praise me for." " There's a paymaster will never fail you in such hire," said Miss Dinah, pointing to her brother ; and then, turning away, she walked back to the little inn. As she drew nigh, the landlord came to tell her that a young gentleman, on seeing her name in the list of strangers, had made many inquiries after her, and begged he might be informed of her return. On learning that he was in the garden, she went thither at once. "I felt it was you. T knew who had been asking for me, Mr Conyers," said she, advancing towards Fred with her hand out. "But what sti-ange chance could have led you here? " " Tou have just said it, Miss Barrington ; a chance — a mere chance. I had got a short leave from my regiment, and came abroad to wander about with no very definite object ; but, growing impatient of the wearisome hordes of our countrymen on the Rhine, I turned aside yesterday from that great high road and reached this spot, whose greatest charm — shall I own it ? — was a fancied resem- blance to a scene I loved far better." " You are right. It was only this morning my brother said it was so like our own cottage." " And he is here also ? " said the young man, with a half-constraint. " Yes, and very eager to see you, and ask your forgive- 272 BARRINGTON. iioss for his ungracious manner to yon — not that I saw it, or umlerstiind what it could iiu'ati -hut he says that ho has a pariiou to crave at your hands." So confused was Conyers for an instant, that he made no answer, and when he did speak it was falteringly and witli embarrassment. " I never couhl have anticipated meeting you here. It is more good fortune than I ever looked for." " We came over to the Continent to fetch away my grand-niece, the daugliter of that Colonel Barrington you have heard so much of." " And is she^ " He stopped, and grew scarlet with confusion ; but she broke in, hiughingly, — " No, not black, only dark-complexioned ; in fact, a brunette, and no more." " Oh, I don't mean — I surely could not have said " " No matter what you meant or said. Your unuttered question was one that kept occurring to my brother and myself every morning as we journeyed here, though neither of us had the courage to speak it. But our wonders are over, she is a dear good girl, and we love her better every day we see her. But now a little about your- self. Why do I find you so low and depressed ? " '' I have had much to fret me, Miss Barrington. Some were things that could give but passing unhappiness ; others were of graver import." " Tell me so much as you may of them, and I will try to help you to bear up against them." "I will tell you all — everything!" cried he. "It is the very moment I have been longing for, when I could pour out all my cares belbre you and ask, What shall I do?" Miss Barrington silently drew her arm within his, and they strolled along the sliady alley without a word. " I must begin \vith my great grief — it absorbs all the rest," said he, suddenly. "My father is coming home; he has lost, or thrown up, I can't tell which, his high employment. I have heard both versions of the story ; and his own few words, in the only letter be has written me, do not confirm either. His tone is indignant ; but far more it is sad and depressed — he, who never wrote George's daughter. 273 a line but in the joyousness of his high-hearted nature — who met each accident of life with an undaunted spirit, and spurned the very thought of being cast down by for- tune. See what he says here." And he took a much crumpled letter from his pocket, and folded down a part of it. " Read that : ' The time for men of my stamp is gone by in India. We are as much bygones as the old flint musket, or the matchlock. Soldiers of a different temperament are the fashion now ; and the sooner we are pensioned or die oif the better. For my own part, I am sick of it. I have lost my liver and have not made rav fortune, and like men who have missed their opportuni- ties, I come away too discontented with myself to think well of any one. They fancied that by coldness and neg- lect they might get rid of me, as they did once before of a far worthier and better fellow ; but though I never had the courage that he had, they shall not break my heart.' Does it strike you to whom he alludes there?" asked Conyers, suddenly ; " for each time that I read the words, I am more disposed to believe that they refer to Colonel Barrington." " I am sure of it ! " cried she. " It is the testimony of a sorrow-stricken heart to an old friend's memory ; but I hear my brother's voice ; let me go and tell him you are here." But Barrington was already coming towards them. " Ah, Mr. Conyers ! " cried he. " If you knew how I have longed for this moment ! I believe you are the only man in the world I ever ill treated on my own threshold ; but the very thought of it gave me a fit of illness, and now the best thing I know on my recovery is, that I am here to ask your pardon." " I have really nothing to forgive. I met under your roof with a kindness that never befel me before ; nor do I know the spot on earth where I could look for the like to-morrow." " Come back to it, then, and see if the charm should not be there still." " Where's Josephine, brother? " asked Miss Barrington, who, seeing the young man's agitation, wished to change the theme. 274 BARRINOTON. *' She's pone to put some ferns in water ; but here she comes, now." liounding wildly along, like a child in joyous freedom, Josephine came towards them, and, suddenly halting at sight of a stranger, she stopped and curtseyed deeply, ■while Conyers, half ashamed at his own unhappy blunder about her, blushed deeply as he saluted her. Indeed, their meeting was more like that of two awkward timid children than of two young persons of their age ; and they eyed each other with the distrust schoolboys and girla exchange on a first acquaintance. " Brother, I have something to tell you," said Miss Barrington, who was eager to communicate the news she had just heard of General Conyers ; and while she drew him to one side the young people still stood there, each seeming to expect the other would make some advance towards acquaintanceship. Conyers tried to say some common-place — some one of the fifty things that would have occurred so naturally in presence of a young lady to whom he had been just presented ; but he could think of none, or else those that he thought of seemed inappro- priate. How talk, for instance, of the world and its pleasures to one who had been estranged from it ! While he thus struggled and contended with himself, she sud- denly started as if with a flash of memory, and said, " How forgetful ! " " Forgetful !— and of what?" asked he. " I have left the book I was reading to grandpapa on the rock where we were sitting. I must go and fetch it." " May I go with you? " asked he, half timidly. "Yes, if you like." " And your book — what was it ?" " Oh, a charming book — such a delightful story! So many people one would have loved to know ! — such scenes one would have loved to visit! — incidents, too, that keep the heart in intense anxiety, that you wonder how he who imagined them could have sustained the thrilling interest, and held his own heart so long in terrible suspense!" " And the name of this wonderful book is " "'Waverley.'" " I have read it," said he, coldly. George's daughter. 275 " And have you not longed to be a soldier ? Has not your heart bounded with eagerness for a life of adventure and peril?" " I am a soldier," said he, quietly. " Indeed !" replied she, slowly, while her steadfast glance scanned him calmly and deliberately. " You find it hard to recognize as a soldier one dressed as I am, and probably wonder how such a life as this con- sorts with enterpritie and danger. Is not that what is passing in your mind ? " " Mayhap," said she, in a low voice. " It is all because the world has changed a good deal since Waverley's time." " How sorry I am to hear it !" " Nay, for your sake it is all the better. Young ladies have a pleasanter existence now than they had sixty years since. They lived then lives of household drudgery, or utter weariness." " And what have they now ? " asked she, eagerly. " What have they not ! All that can embellish life is around them ; they are taught in a hundred ways to employ the faculties which give to existence its highest charm. They draw, sing, dance, ride, dress becomingly, read what may give to their conversation an added elegance, and make their presence felt as an added lustre." " How unlike all this was our convent life !" said she, slowly. " The beads in my rosary were not more alike than the days that followed each other, and but for the change of season I should have thought life a dreary sleep. Oh, if you but knew what a charm there is in the change- ful year to one who lives in any bondage ! " " And yet I remember to have heard how you hoped you might not be taken away from that convent life, and be compelled to enter the world," said he, with a malicious twinkle of the eye. " True ; and had I lived there still 1 had not asked for other. But how came it that you should have heard of me ? T never heard of you ! " " That is easily told. 1 was your aunt's guest at the time she resolved to come abroad to see you and fetch you home. I used to hear all her plans about you, so that at 'J 2 276 BARniNGTON. last — T blush to own — I talked of Josepliine as though she were my sister." " liow stniiif^cly mid you were, ilicn, when we met! " said she, quietly. '' Was it that you I'ouud me so unlike what you expected ?" "Unlike, indeed!" " Tell me how — tell me, I pray you, what you had pic- tured me ? " " It was not mere fancy I drew from. There was a miniature of you as a child at the cottage, and I have looked at it till I could recall every line of it." " Go on !" cried she, as he hesitated. " The child's face was very serious — actually grave for childhood — and had something almost stern in its expres- sion ; and yet ] see nothing of this in yours." " So that, like grandpapa." said she, laughing, *' you were disappointed in not finding me a young tiger from Bengal ; but be patient, and remember how long it is since I left the jungle Sportively as the words were uttered, her eyes flashed and her cheek coloured, and Conyers saw for the first time how she resembled her portrait in infancy. " Yes," added she, as though answering what was pas.s- ing in his mind, "you are thinking just like the sisters, * What years and years it would take to discipline one of such a race!' I have heard that given as a reason for numberless inflictions. And now, all of a sudden, comes grandpapa to say, ' We love you so because you are one of us' Can you understand this ?" " I think I can — that is, I think I can understand why " he was going to add, " why they should love you ;" but he stopped, ashamed of his own eagerness. She waited a moment for him to continue, and then, herself blushing, as though she had guessed his embarrass- ment, she turned away. " And this book that we have been forgetting' — let us go and search lor it," said she, walking on rapidly in front of him, but he was speedily at her side again. " Look there, brother Peter — look there ! " said Miss Dinah, as she pointed after them, " and see how well fitted ■we are to be guardians to a young lady ! " geokge's daughter. 277 " I see no harm in it, Dinah — I protest, I see no harm in ifc." " Possibly not, brother Peter, and it may only be a part of yonr system for making her — as you phrase it— feel a holy horror of the convent." " Well," said he, meditatively, "he seems a fine, frank- hearted young fellow, and in this world she is about to enter, her first experiences might easily be v^orse." " I vow and declare," cried she, warmly, " I believe it is your slipshod philosophy that makes me as severe as a holy inquisitor!" " Every evil calls forth its own correction, Dinah," said he, laughing. " If there were no fools to skate on the Serpentine, there had been no Humane Society." "One might grow tired of the task of resuscitating, Peter Barringtou," said she, hardly. "Not you, not you, Dinah — -at least, if I was the drowned man," said he, drawing her aff'ectionately to his side ; " and as for those young creatures yonder, it's like gathering dog-roses, and they'll stop when they have pricked their fingers." " I'll go and look after the nosegay myself," said she, turning hastily away, and following them. A real liking for Conyers, and a sincei'e interest in him, were the great correctives to the part of Dragon which Miss Dinah declared she foresaw to be her future lot in li.e. For years and years had she believed that the cares of a household and the rule of servants were the last trials of human patience. The larder, the dairy, and the garden were each of them departments with special opportunities for deception and embezzlement, and it seemed to her that new discoveries in roguery kept pace with the inventions of science ; but she was energetic and active, and kept herself at what the French would call " the level of the situation ;" and neither the cook, nor the dairymaid, nor Darby, could be vain-glorious over their battles with her. And now, all of a sudden, a new part was assigned her, with new duties, functions, and requirements ; and she was called on to exercise qualities which had lain long dormant and in disuse, and renew a knowledge she had not employed for many a year. And what a strange 273 BARRINOTON. blending of pleasure and pain must have come of that mernorv of long ago ! Old conquests revived, old rivalries, and jealousies, and triumphs — glorious little glimpses of brilliant delight, and some dark hours, too, of disappoint- ment — almost despair! " Once a bishop, always a bishop," says the canou ; but might we not with almost as much truth say, " Once a beauty, always a beauty "? — not in lineament and feature, in downy cheek or silky tresses, but in the heartfelt con- sciousness of a once sovereign power, in that sense of having been able to exact a homage and enforce a tribute. And as we see in the deposed monarch how the dignity of kingcraft clings to him, how through all he does and says there runs a vein of royal graciousness as from one the lount of honour, so it is with beauty. There lives through all its wreck the splendid memory of a despotism the most absolute, the most fascinating of all ! " I am so glad that young Conyers has no plans, Dinah," said Barrington ; " he says he will join us if we permit him." " Humph ! " said Miss Barrington, as she went on with her knitting. " I see nothing against it, sister." " Of course not, Peter," said she, snappislily ; " it would surprise me much if you did." " Do you, Dinah ?" asked he, with a true simplicity of voice and look. " I see great danger in it if that be what you mean. And what answer did you make him, Peter?" " The same answer that I make to every one — I would consult my sister Dinah. ' Le Roi s'avisera ' meant, I take it, that he'd be led by a wiser head than his own." " He was wise when he knew it," said she, sententiously, and continued her work. And from that day forth they all journeyed together, and one of them was very happy, and some were far more than happy; and Aunt Dinah was anxious even beyond her wont. 279 CHAPTER XXIX. THE RAMBLE. Day after day, week after week rolled on, and they still rambled about among the picturesque old villages on the Moselle, almost losing themselves in quaint unvisited spots, whose very names were new to them. To Barrington and his sister this picture of a primitive peasant life, with its own types of costume and custom, had an indescribable charm. Though debarred, from his ignorance of their dialect, of anything like intercourse with the people, he followed them in their ways with intense interest, and he would pass hours in the market-place, or stroll through tbe fields watching the strange culture, and wondering at the very implements of their labour. And the young people all this while ? They were never separate. They read, and walked, and sat together from dawn to dark. They called each other Fifiue and Freddy. Sometimes she sang, and he was there to listen ; sometimes he drew, and she was as sure to be leaning over him in silent wonder at his skill ; but with all this there was no love-making between them — that is, no vows were uttered, no pledges asked for. Confidences, indeed, they interchanged, and vvithout end. She told the story of her friendless infancy, and the long dreary years of convent life passed in a dull routine that had almost barred the heart against a wish for change ; and he gave her the story of his more splendid existence, charming her imagination with a picture of that glorious Eastern life, which seemed to possess an instinc- tive captivation for her. And at last he told her, but as a great secret never to be revealed, how his father and her own had been the dearest, closest friends ; that for years and years they had lived together like brothers, till separ- ated by the accidents of Hfe. Ser father went away to 280 BARRINGTON. a long distant station, and his remained to hold a liigh military charge, from which he was now relieved and on liis way back to Europe. " What happiness for you, Freddy," cried she, as lier eyes ran over, " to see him come home in honour ! What had I given that such a fate were mine ! " For an instant he accepted her words in all thei*- flattery, but the hypocrisy was brcf ; her over-full heart was bursting for sympathy, and lit was eager to declare that his sorrows were sciircoly less than her own. " No, Fifine," said he, "my father is coming back to demand satisfaction of a Government that has wronged him, and treated him with the worst ingratitude. In that Indian life men of station wield an almost boundless power, but if they are irresponsible as to the means, they are tested by the results, and whenever an adverse issue succeed.s they fall irrevocably. What my father may have done, or have left undone, I know not. I have not the vaguest clue to his present diflBculty, but, with his high spirit and his proud heart, that he would resent the very shadow of a reproof I can answer for, and so I believe, what many tell me, that it is a mere question of personal feeling — some small matter in which the Council have not shown him the deference he felt his due, but which his haughty nature would not forego." Now these confidences were not love-making, nor any- thing approaching to it, and yet Josephine felt a strange half-pride in thinking that she had been told a secret which Conyers had never revealed to any other ; that to her he had poured forth the darkest sorrow of his heart, and actually contided to her the terrors that beset him, for he owned that his father was rash and headstrong, and if he deemed himself wronged would be reckless in his attempt at justification. " You do not come of a very patient stock, then," said she, smiling. " Not very, Fifine." " Nor I," said she, as her eyes flashed brightly. " My poor Ayah, who died when I was but five years old, used to tell me such tales of my father's proud spirit and the lofty way he bore himself, so that 1 often fancy I have THE AMBLE. 281 seen him and heard him speak. You have heard he was a B-ajah ?" asked she, with a touch of pride. The youth coloured deeply as he muttered an assent, for he knew that she was ignorant of the details of her father's fate, and he dreaded any discussion of her story. " And these Rajahs," resumed she, " are really great princes, with power of life and death, vast retinues, and splendid armies. To my mind, they present a more gor- geous picture than a small European sovereignty with some vast Protectorate looming over it. And now it is my uncle," said she, suddenly, "who rules there." " I have heard that your own claims, Fifine, are in litigation," said he, with a faint smile. " Not as to the sovereignty," said she, with a grave look, half rebukeful of his levity. "The suit grandpapa prosecutes in my behalf is for my mother's jewels and her fortune : a woman cannot reign in the Tannanoohr." There was a haughty defiance in her voice as she spoke, that seemed to say, "This is a theme I will not suffer to be treated lightly — beware how you transgress here." "And yet it is a dignity would become you well," said he, seriously. " It is one I would glory to possess," said she, as proudly. " Would you give me a high post, Fifine, if you were on the throne? — would you make me Commander-in- Chief of your army ? " " More likely that I would banish you from the realm," said she, with a haughty laugh ; " at least, until you learned to treat the head of the state more respectfully." " Have I ever been wanting in a proper deference?" said he, bowing, with a mock humility. " If you had been, sir, it is not now that you had first heard of it," said she, with a proud look, and for a few seconds it seemed as though their jesting was to have a .serious ending. She was, however, the eai-liest to make terms, and in a tone of hearty kindliness said, " Don't be angry, Freddy, and I'll teli you a secret. If that theme be touched on, I lose my head : whether it be in the blood that circles in my veins, or in some early teachings that imbued my childhood, or long dreaming: over what can 282 BARRINGTON. never be, I cannot tell, but it is enough to spenk of tliesuming their distrust of him. Now, all these considerations coming down upon hitn at once were overwhelming, and they almost stunned him. Even his late attempt to enlighten his sister Dinah on a matter he so imperfectly understood now recoiled upon him, and added to his own mystification. " Well, well," muttered he, at last, " I hope Tom sees his way through it " — Tom was Withering — " and if he does there's no need of my bothering my head about it. What use would there be in lawyers if they hadn't got faculties sharper than other folk ? and as to ' making up my mind,' my mind is made up already, that I want to win the cause if he'll only show me how." From these musings he was drawn otf by watching a large pike — the largest pike, he thought, he had ever seen — which would from tiine to time dart out from beneath a bank, and after lying motionless in the middle of the pool for a minuto or so, would, with one whisk of its tail, skim back again to its hiding-place. " That fellow has instincts of its own to warn him," thought he; "he knows he wasn't safe out there. He sees some peril that / cannot see ; and that ought to be the way with Tom, for, after all, the lawyers are just pikes, neither moi-e nor less." At this instant a man leaped across the stream, and hur- riedly passed into the copse. "What! Mr. Conyers — Conyers, is that you ? " cried Barrington, and the young man turned and came towards hira. *' I am glad to see you all safe and sound again," said Peter; "we waited dinner half an hour for you, and have passed all the time since in conjecturing what might have befallen you." UNDER THE LINDEN. 291 " Didn't Miss Barrington say — did not Miss Barrington know " he stopped in deep confusion, and could not tinish his speeeh. " My sister knew nothing — at least, she did not tell me any reason for your absence." " No, not for my absence," began he once more in the same embarrassment ; " but as I had explained to her that I was obliged to leave this suddenly — to start this evening " *' To start this evening ! and whither ? " "I cannot tell; I don't know — that is, I have no plans." " My dear boy," said the old man, affectionately, as he laid his hand on the other's arm, " if you don't kuow where you are going, take my word for it there is no such great necessity to go." "Yes, but there is." replied he, quickly; "at least Miss Barrington thinks so, and at the time we spoke together she made me believe she was in the right." " And are you of the same opinion now? " asked Peter, with a humorous drollery in his eye. " I am — that is, I was a few moments back. I mean, that whenever I recall the words she spoke to me, I feel their full conviction." " Come, now, sit down here beside me ! it can scarcely be anything I may not be a party to. Just let me hear the case like a judge in chamber"— and he smiled at an illustration that recalled his favourite passion, " I wou't pretend to say my sister has not a wiser head — as I well know she has a far better heart^than myself, but now and then she lets a prejudice, or a caprice, or even a mere apprehension, run away with her, and it's just possible it is some whim of this kind is now uppermost." Conyers only shook his head dissentingly, and said nothing. " Maybe I guess it — I suspect that I guess it," said Peter, with a sly drollery about his mouth. " My sister has a notion that a young man and a young woman ought no more to be in propinquity than saltpetre and charcoal. She has been giving me a lecture on my blindness, and asking if I can't see this, that, and the other ; but, besides u 2 202 BARRINGTON. beinfr the least observant of mankind, I'm one of tlie most lidjiofiil as regards wliatever I wish to be. iSuw wo havo all of us gone on so pleasantly together, with such a thorough good understjinding — such loyalty, as the French would call it — that I can't, for the life of me, detect any ground for mistrust or dread. Haven't T hit the blot, Conyers— eh ? " cried he, as the young fellow grew redder and redder, till his face became crimson. " I assured Miss Harrington," began he, in a faltering, broken voice, " that I .set too much store on the generous con- fidence you extended to me to abuse it ; that, received as I was, like one of your own blood and kindred, I never could forget the frank trustfulness with which you dis- cussed everything before me, and made me, so to say, ' One of you.' The moment, however, that my intimacy suggested a sense of constraint, I felt the whole charm of my privilege would have departed, and it is for this reason I am going!" The last word was closed with a deep sigh, and he turned away his head as he concluded. " And for this reason you shall not go one step," said Peter, slapping him cordially on the shoulder, " I verily believe that women think the world was made for nothing but love-making, just as the crack engineer believed rivers were intended by Providence to feed navigable canals; but you and [ know a little better, not to say that a young fellow with the stamp gentleman indelibly marked on his forehead would not think of making a young girl fresh from a convent — a mere child in the ways of life — the mark of his attentions. Am I not right?" " I hope and believe you are ! " " Stay where you are, then ; be happy, and help us to feel so; and the only pledge 1 ask is, that whenever you suspect Dinah to be a shrewder obsiervcr and a truer prophet than her brother — you understand me — you'll just come and say, ' Peter I3;irrington, I'm otf; good- bye ! "• " There's my hand on it," said he, grasping the old man's with warmth. " There's only one point — I have told ^Miss Barrington that I would start this evening." " She'll scarcely hold you very closely to your pledge." UNDER THE LINDEN. 293 " But, as I understand her, you are going back to Ii'e- land?" " And you are coming along with us. Isn't that a very simple arrangement r* " " I know it would be a very pleasant one." " It ^hall be, if it, depenu on uie. I want to make you a fisherman, too. When I was a young man, it was niv passion to make every one a good horseman. If I liked a fellow, and found out that he couldn't ride to hounds, it save me a shock little short of hearing that there was a blot on his character, so associated in my mind had become personal dash and prowess in the field with every bold and manly characteristic. As I grew older, and the rod usurped the place of the hunting-whip, I grew to fancy that your angler would be the truest type of a com- panion ; and if you but knew," added he, as a glassy fulness dulled his eyes. " what a flattery it is to an old fellow when a young one will make a comrade of him — what a smack of bygone days it brings up, and what sunshine it lets in on the heart, take ray word for it, you young fellows are never so vain of an old companion as we are of a young one ! What are you so thoughtful about ?" " I was thinking how I was to make this explanation to Miss Barrington." "You need not make at it all ; leave the whole case in my hands. My sister knows that I owe you an amende. and a heavy one. Let this go towards a part payment ot it. But here she comes in search of me. Step away quietly, and when we meet at the tea-table all will have been settled." Conyers had but time to make his escape, when Miss Barrington came up. " I thought I should find you mooning down here, Peter," said she, sharply. "Whenever there is anything to be done or decided on, a Barrington is always watchinc a fly on a fish-pond." " Not the women of the family, Dinah — not the women. But what great emergency is before us now ? " "No great emergency, as you phrase it, at all, but what to men like yourself is frequently just as trying — an occasion that requires a little tact. I have discovered — 294 HARRINGTON. what T long nnticipiited has come to pass -Conycrs and Fitine are on very close terms of intimacy, which iniirht Hoon hi-come attachment. I have charged him \\\i\\ it, and he lia.s not altogether d(!nied it. On the whole he has behaved well, and he goes away to-night." " T have just seen him, I)iti!ih. 1 got at his secret, not without a little dexterity on my ]i:irt, and learned what had passed between you. We talked tlie thing over very calmly together, and the upshot is — he's not going." "Not going! not going! alter the solemn assurance ho gave me ! " " But of which I absolved him, sister Dinah ; or rather, which I made him retract." " Peter Barrington, stop ! " cried she, holding her hands to her temples. " 1 want a little time to recove* myself. I must have time, or I'll not answer for my senses Just reply to one question. I'll ask you, have you taken an oath — are you under a vow to be the ruin of your family ? " " I don't think I have, Dinah. I'm doing everything for the best." " If there's a phrase in the language condemns the person that uses it, it's ' Doing everything for the best.' \Vhat does it mean but a blind, uninquiring, inconsiderate act, the work of a poor brain and sickly conscience? Don't talk to me, sir, of doing for the best, but do the best, the very best, according to the lights that guide you. You know well, perfectly well, that Fitine has no fortune, and that this young man belongs to a very rich and a very ambitious family, and that to encourage what might lead to attachment between them would be to store up a cruel wrong and a great disappointment." "My flear Dinah, you speak like a book, but I don't agree with you." " You don't. Will you please to state why ? " " In the first place, Dinah, forgive me for saying it, but we men do not take your view of these cases. We neither think that love is as catching or as dangerous as the small-pox. We imagine that two young people can associate together every day and yet never contract a lien that might break their hearts to dissolve." UNDER THE LINDEN. 295 " Talking' politics together, perhaps ; or the state of the Three per Cents ? " "Not exactly that, but talking of fifty other things that interest their time of life and tempers. Have they not songs, drawings, flowers, landscapes, and books, with all their thousand incidents, to discuss ? Just remember what that writer who calls himself 'Author of Waverley* — what he alone has given us of people to talk over just as if we knew them." " Brother Peter, I have no patience with you. You enumerate one by one all the ingredients, and you dis- parage the total. You tell of the flour, and the plums, and the suet, and the candied lemon, but you cry out against the pudding ! Don't you see tliat the very themes you leave for them all conduce to what you ignore, and that your music, and painting, and romance-reading, only lead to love-making ? Don't you see this, or are you in leality — I didn't want to say it, but you have made me — aie you an old fool ? " ' I hope not, Dinah ; but I'm not so sure you don't thitk me one." " -t's nothing to the purpose whether I do or not," said i\e ; " the question is, have you asked this young man tc come back with us to Ireland ? " " I hve, and he is coming." " I c»uld have sworn to it," said she, with a sudden energy ;" and if there was anything more stupid, you'd have don it also." And with this speech, more remark- able for is vigour than its politeness, she turned away and left hm. Ere I else the chapter and the subject, let me glance, and only g^nce, at the room where Conyers is now stand- ing beside osephine. She is drawing, not very atten- tively, or ca^fully, perhaps, and he is bending over her and relating, s it seems, something that has occurred to him, and hascome to the end with the words, " And though I wa&to have gone this evening, it turns out that now I amo stay and accompany you to Ireland." "Don't sigh-,0 painfully over it, however," said she, gravely, " for W;^n you come to mention how distressing it is I'm sure tht'H Jet you off." 29G BARRINOTON, "Fifine/'said he, reproachfully, "is this fair? is this generous ? " " I don't know whether it be unfair, I don't want it to be generous," saiti siie, boldly. " In point of fact, then, you only wish for me here to quarrel with, is that the truth ? " " I tiiinkit better fun disagreeing with you than always saying how accurate you are, and how wise, and how well- judging. That atmosphere of eternal agreement chokes me ; I feel as if I were suflbcating." "It's not a very happy temperament ; it's not a dis- position to boast of." " You never did hear me boast of it ; but I have heard you very vain-gloi-ious about your easy temper and your facile nature, which were simply indolence. Now, I have had more than enough of that in the convent, and I long for a little activity." " Even if it were hazardous ? " " Even if it were hazardous," echoed she. " But he'e comes Aunt Dinah, with a face as stern as one of ^he sisters, and an eye that reminds me of penance and bead and water, so help me to put up my drawings, ar4 saj nothing: of what we were talking." " My brother has just told me, Mr. Conyers," s?d she, in a whisper, " a piece of news which it only lepends upon you to make a most agreeable arrangement' " I trust you may count upon me, madam," &id he, in the same tone, and bowed low as he spoke. "Then come with me and let us talk it over, said she, as she took his arm and led him away. 297 CHAPTER XXXI. FIFINK AK» POLLY. There are a few days in our autumnal season — very few and rare ! — when we draw the curtain against the glare of the sun at breakfast, and yet in the evening are glad to gather around the cheerful glow of the fire. These are days of varied skies, with fleecy clouds lying low beneath a broad expanse of blue, with massive shadows on the mountains, and here and there over the landscape tips of sunlight that make the meanest objects pictm'es ; and, with all these, a breezy wind that scatters the yellow leaves and shakes the tree-tops, while it curls the current of the bright river into mimic waves. The sportsman will tell you that on such days the birds are somewhat wild, and the angler will vow that no fish will rise to the fly, nor is it a scent-lying day for the harriers ; and yet, with all this, there is a spring and elasticity in the air that impart themselves to the temperament, so that the active grow energetic, and even the indolent feel no touch of lassitude. It was on the morning of such a day that Barringtou, •with his sister and granddaughter, drew nigh the Home. Conyers had parted with them at Dublin, where his regiment was now stationed, but was to follow in a day or two. All the descriptions — descriptions which had taken the shape of warnings — which they had given Josephine of the cottage could not prevent her asking at each turn of the road if that large house yonder, if that sombre tower over the trees, if that massive gate-lodge were not theirs? " I know this is it, grandpapa," said she clapping her hands with delight as they came opposite a low wall within which lay the spacious lawn of Cobhara Park, a portion of the house itself being just visible through 21)3 BARRINOTON. the trees ; " don't tell me, aunt," cried sbc, " but let me guess it." " It is the scat of Sir Charles Cobham, child, one of the richest baronets in the kingdom." "There it is at last — there it is! " cried she, straining out of the carriage to see the handsome portico of a very large building, to which a straight avenue of oaks led up from the high road. " My heart tells me, aunt, that this Id ours ! " It was once on a time, Fifine," said the old man, with a quivering voice, and a gl;i.ssy film, over his eyes; "it was once ; but it is so no longer." " Barrington Hall has long ceased to belong to us," said Aliss Dinah ; " and after all the pains I have taken in description, I cannot see how you could possibly confound it with our little cottage." The young girl sat back without a word, and whether from disappointment or the rebuke, looked forth no more. " We are drawing very near, now, Fifine," said the old man, after a long silence, which lasted fully two miles of the way. " Where you see the tall larches yonder — not there — lower down, at the bend of the stream ; those are the trees. I declare, Dinah, I fancy they have grown since we saw them last." " I have no doubt you do, Peter ; not that you will find the cottage far more commodious and comfortable than you remembered it." " Ah, they've repaired that stile, I see," cried he ; " and very well they've done it, without cutting away the ivy. Here we are, darling; here we are! " and he grasped the young girl's hand in one of his, while he drew the other across his eyes. " They're not very attentive, I must say, brother Peter, or they would not leave us standing, with our own gate locked against us." " I see Darby running as fast as he can. Here he comes ! " " Oh, by the powers, ye'r welcome home, your honour's reverence, and the mistresses ! " cried Darby, as he fumbled at the lock, and then failing in all his efforts — not very wonderful, seeing that he had taken a wrong key — he FiriNE AND POLLY. 299 seized a huge stone, and smashed the padlock at a blow, threw wide the gate to admit them. "You are initiated at once into our Irish ways, Fifine," said Miss Barrington. " All that you will see here is in the same style. Let that be repaired this evening, sir, and at your own cost," whispered she to Darby, into whose hand at the same moment Peter was pressing a crown piece. " 'Tis the light of my eyes to see your honours home again ! 'Tis like rain to the new potatoes what I feel in my heart, and looking so fresh and well, too ! And the young lady, she isn't " From what dread anticipation Darby's sudden halt saved him the expression is not for me to say, but that Peter Barrington guessed it is probable, for he lay back in the carriao'e and shook with laug-hter. " Drive on, sir," said Miss Dinah to the postilion, " and pull up at the stone cross." "You can drive to the door now, ma'am," said Darby, " the whole way ; Miss Polly had the I'oad made while yoa were away." " What a clever girl ! Who could have thought it ? " said Barrington. " I opine that we might have been consulted as to the change. On a matter as important as this, Peter, I think our voices might have been asked." "And how well she has done it, too!" muttered he, half aloud ; " never touched one of those copper beeches, and given us a peep of the bright river through the meadows." As the carriage rolled briskly along, Darby, who trotted alongside, kept up a current narrative of the changes effected during their absence. " The oukl pigeon-house is tuck down, and an iligant new one put up in the island ; and the calves' paddock is thrown into the flower-garden, and there's a beautiful flight of steps down to the river, paved with white stones — sorrow one isn't white as snow." " It is a mercy we had not a sign over the door, brother Peter," whispered Miss Dinah, " or this young lady's zeal would have had it emblazoned like a shield in heraldry." 800 BAnniNGTON. "Oh, how lovely, how beautiful, how exquisite!" cried Josephine, as they came suddenly round the angle oi' a copse and directly in front of the coLta;i:e. Nor was tlic praise exatr'^erated. It was all that she had said. Over a li<^ht trellis-work, carried along under tlie thatch, the roses and jessamine blended with the clematis and the passion-flower, turniiiif^ a deep eave of flowers, droopin;^ in heavy festoons across the spaces between the windows, and meeting the geraniums which grew below. Through the open saslies the rooms might be seen, looking more like beautiful bowers than the chambers of a dwelling-house. And over all, in sombio grandeui', bent the great ilex-trees, throwing their grand and tranquil shade over the cottage and tlie little grass- plot and even the river itself, as it swept smoothly by. Tliere was in the stillness of that perfumed air, loaiied with the sweet-briar and the rose, a something of calm and tranquillity ; while in the isolation of the spot there was a sense of security that seemed to fill up the measure of the young girl's hopes, and made her exclaim with rapture, " Oh, this indeed is beautiful ! " Yes, my darling Fitine ! " said the old man, as he pressed her to his heart ; " your home, your own home ! I told you, my dear child, it was not a great castle, no fine chateau, like those on the Meuse and the Sambre, but a lowly cottage with a thatched roof and a rustic porch." " In all this ardour tor decorati(jn and smartness," broke in Miss Dinah, " it would not surprise me to find that the peacock's tail had been picked out in fresh colours and varnislied." " Faix ! your honour is not far wrong," interposed Darby, who had an Irish tendency to side with the majority. " She made us curry and wash onld Sheela, the ass, as if she was a race-horse. " 1 hope poor Wowsky escaped," said Barrington, laughing. " That's what he didn't ! lie has to be scrubbed with Boap and water every morning, and his hair divided all the way down his back, like a Christian's, and his tail looks like a bunch of switch grass. " That's the reason he hasn't come out to meet me ; the FIFINE AND POLLY. 301 poor fellow is like his betters — he's not quite sure that his altered condition improves him," " You have at least one satisfaction, brother Peter," said Miss Dinah, sharply ; "you find Darby just as dirty and uncared for as you left him." " By my conscience, there's another of us isn't much changed since we met last," muttered Darby ; but in a voice only audible to himself. " Oh, what a sweet cottage! What a pretty summer- house," cried Josephine, as the carriage swept round the copse, and drew short up at the door. " This summer-house is your home, Fifine," said Miss Barrington, tartly. " Home ! home ! Do you mean that we live here — live here always, aunt ?" " Most distinctly I do," said she, descending and addressing herself to other cares. " Where's Jane ? Take these trunks round by the back door. Carry this box to the green-room — to Miss Josephine's room," said she, with a stronger stress on the words. " Well, darling, it is a very humble, it is a very lowly," said Barrington, " but let us see if we cannot make it a very happy home ;" but as he turned to embrace her she was gone. " I told you so, brother Peter — I told you so, more than once; but of course yoii have your usual answer, 'We must do the best we can ! ' which simply means, doing worse than we need do." Barrington was in no mood for a discussion ; he was too happy to be once more at home to be ruffled by any pro- vocation his sister could give him. Wherever he turned, some old familiar object met his eye and seemed to greet him, and he bustled in and out from his little study to the garden, and then to the stable, where he patted old Roger; and across to the cow-house, where Maggie knew him, and bent her great lazy eyes softly on him ; and then down to the river-side, where, in gilt letters, " Josephine " shone on the trim row-boat he had last seen half rotten on the bank ; for Polly had been there too, and her thought- ful good nature, forgetting nothing which might glad them on their coming. 802 BARRINOTON. ^Meanwhile, Joscpliino had readied lier chamber, and locking the door, sat down and leaned her head on the tiible. Though no toars fell from her eyes, her bosom heaved and fell heavily, and more than one deep sigh es- caped her. Was it disappointment that had so overcome her? Had she fancied .something grander and more |)re- tentious than tliis lonely cottage 'i Was it that Aunt Dinah's welcome was wanting in affection. What revul- sion could it be that so suddenly overwhelmed her ? Wlio can tell these things, who can explain how it is that, with- out any detinite picture of an unexpected joy, imagination will so work upon us that reality will bring nothing but a blank ? It is not that the object is less attractive than is hoped for, it is simply that a dark shadow has passed over our own hearts — the sense of enjoyment has been dulled, juid we are sad without a reason. If we underrate sor- rows of our youth — and this is essentially one of them — it is because our mature age leaves us nothing of that temperament on which such afflictions preyed. Josephine, without knowing why, without even a rea- son, wished herself back in the convent. There, if there was a life of sombre monotony and quietude, there was at least companionship — she had associates of her own age. They had pursuits in common, shared the same hopes, and wishes, and fears ; but here, but here Just as her thoughts had carried her so far, a tap — a very gentle tap — came to the door. Josephine heard it, but made no answer. It was repeated a little louder, and then a low pleasing voice she had never heard before, said, " ^lay I come in? " "No," said Josephine — "yes — that is — who are you t' " Polly Dill," was the answer ; and Josephine arose and unlocked the door. " Miss Barrington told me I might take this liberty," said Polly, with a faint smile. " She said, ' Go and make acquaintance for yourself, I never play master of the cere- monies.' " " And you are Polly — the Polly Dill I have heard so much of?" said Josephine, regarding her steadily and fixedly. FIFINE AND POLLY. S03 " How stranded your friends must have been for a topic when they talked of me" said Polly, laughing. " It is quite true you have beautiful teeth — I never saw such beautiful teeth," said Josephine to herself, while she still gazed earnestly at her. "And you," said Polly, "are so like what I had pic- tured you — what I hoped you would be. I find it hard to believe I see you for the first time." " So, then, you did not think the Rajah's daughter should be a Moor ?" said Josephine, half haughtily. '' It is very sad to see what disappointments I had caused." Neither the saucy toss of the head, nor the tone that accoraijanied these words, were lost upon Polly, who began to feel at once that she understood the speaker. "And your brother," continued Josephine, "is the famous Tom Dill I have heard such stories about ? " " Poor Tom, he is anything rather than famous." *' Well, he is remarkable ; he is odd, original, or what- ever you would call it. Fred told me he never met any one like him. " Tom might say as much of Mr. Conyers, for in truth no one ever showed him such kindness." " Fred told me nothing of that ; but perhaps," added she, with a flashing eye, " you were more in his confidence than I was." " I knew very little of Mr. Conyers ; I believe I could count on the fingers of one hand every time I met him." " How strange that you should have made so deep au impression, Miss Dill!" " I am flattered to hear it ; but more surprised thau flattered." " But I don't wonder at it in the least," said Josephine, boldly. " You are very handsome, you are very graceful, and then " she hesitated and grew confused, and stam- mered, and at last said, " and then there is that about you which seems to say, * I have only to wish, and I can do it.' " " I have no such gift, I assure you," said Polly, with a half sad smile. " Oh, I know you are very clever ; T have heard how accomplished you were, how bea.utifully you rode, how 804 BARRTNGTON. charmirifjly you sang. I wish be Lad not told me of it all— for it— for if " " If what ? say on ! " " If you were not so superior to me, I feel that I could love you," and then with a bound she threw her arms around Polly's nt'ck, and clasped her allbctionatcly to her bosom. Synipatliy, like a fashionable physician, is wonderfully successful where there is little the matter. In the great ills of life, when the real afflictions come down to crush, to wound, or to stun us, we are comparatively removed from even the kindest of our comforters. Great sorrows are very seltish things. In the lighter maladies, however, in the smaller casualties of fortune, sympathy is a great remedy, and we are certain to find that, however various our temperaments, it has a sort of specific for each. Now Josephine Barrington had not any great cares upon her heart ; if the balance were to be struck between them, Polly Dill could have numbered ten, ay, twenty, for her one, but she thought hers was a case for much commisera- tion, and she liked commiseration, for there are moral h)-pochondrias as well as physical ones. And so she told Polly how she had neither father nor mother^ nor any other belongings than " dear old grandpapn, and austere Aunt Dinah ;" that she had been brought up in a convent, never knowing one of the pleasures of youth, or her mind being permitted to stray beyond the dreary routine of prayer and penance. Of music she knew nothing but the solemn chants of the organ, and even flowers were to her eyes but the festal decorations of the hi^h altar; and, lastly, she vaguely balanced between going back to the dismal existence of the cloister, or entering upon the troubled sea of lite, so full of perils to one unpractised and unskilled as she was. Now Polly was a very pretty comforter through these afflictions ; her own home experi- ences were not all rose-coloured, but the physician who whispers honeyed consolations to the patient, has often the painful consciousness of a deeper malady within than that for which he ministers. Polly knew something of a life of struggle and small fortune, with its daily incident of debt and dun. She knew what it was to see money mix itself with every phase of exis'.ence, throwing its FIFINE AND POLLY. 305 damper overjoy, arresting the hand of benevolence, even denying to the sick-bed the little comforts that help to cheat misery. She knew how penury can eat its canker into the heart till all things take the colour of thrift, and life becomes at last the terrible struggle of a swimmer storm-tossed and weary ; and yet, with all this experience in her heart, she could whisper cheerful counsels to Jose- phine, and tell her that the world had a great many plea- sant paths through it, though one was occasionally foot- sore before reaching them ; and in this way they talked till they grew very fond of each other, and Josephine was ready to confess that the sorrow nearest to her heart was parting with her. " But must you go, dearest Polly • — must you really go ? " " I must indeed," said she, laughing; "for if I did not, two little sisters of mine would go supperless to bed, not to speak of a small boy who is waiting for me with a Latin grammar before him ; and the cook must get her orders for to-morrow ; and papa must have his tea ; and this short, stumpy little key that you see here unlocks the oat-bin, without which an honest old pony would share in the family fast ! so that, all things considered, my absence would be far from advisable." " And when shall we meet again, Polly?" " Not to-morrow, dear ; for to-morrow is our fair at Inistioge, and I have yarn to buy, and some lambs to sell." " And could you sell lambs, Polly?" said Josephine, with an expression of blank disappointment in her face. Polly smiled, but not without a certain sadness, as she said, " There are some sentimentalities which, to one in my condition, would just be as unsuitable as Brussels iace or diamonds. They are born of luxury and indolence, and pertain to those whose existence is assured to them ; and my own opinion is, they are a poor privilege. At all events," added she, rapidly, " they are not for me, and I do not wish for them." " The day after to-morrow, then, you will come here — promise me that." " It will be late, then, towards evening, for I havo made an engagement to put a young horse in hai-ness— a three-year-old, and a sprightly one, they tell me — bo 806 BARRINGTON. tbnt I iiiny look on the mominp as filled. I see, my dear child, how shocked you are with all these unladylike cares and duties ; but poor Tom and I used to weld our lives together, and while 1 took my share of boat-building one day, he hel|ied me in the d;nry the day after; but now that he is gone, our double functions devolve upon me." " How happy you must be ! " " 1 thitik 1 am ; at least, I have no time to spare for unhap])iness." " If I could but chancre with you, Polly !" " Change what, my dear child ?" " Condition, fortune, belongings — everything." " Take my word for it, you are just as well as you are ; but 1 suppose it's very natural for oue to fancy he could carry another's buiden easier than his own, for it was only a few moments back 1 thought how I should like to be you." '"'To heme— to be me!" " Of course I was wrong, dearest. It was only a pass- ing, fleeting thought, and 1 now see how absurd I was to wish to be very beautiiul, dearly loved, and aflectionately cared for, with a beautiful home to live in, and every hour free to be happy. Oh, what a sigh, dearest, what a sigh ! but I assure you I have my calamities too ; the mice have got at the seeds in my onion-bed, and I don't expect to see one come up." If Josephine's first impulse was to feel angry, her next was to laugh out, which she did heartily; and passing her arm fondly round Polly's waist, she said, " I'll get used to your raillery, Polly, and not feel sore at it; but remember, too, it's a spirit 1 never knew before." " How good and generous, then, to bear it so well," said Polly, atiectionately ; "your friend Air. Conyers did not show the same patience." " You tried him, then?" said Josephine, with a half eager glance. " Of course ; I talked to him as I do to every one. But there goes your dinner-bell." Checking herself on a reflection over the pretension of this summons of three people to a family meal in a cottage, Polly tied on her bonnet and said " Good-bye." 307 CHAPTER XXXIL AT HOME AGAIN. The Barringtons had not been quite a fortnight settled in their home, when a note came from Conyers, lamenting, in most feeling terms, that he could not pay them his promised visit. If the epistle was not very long, it was a grumble from beginning to end. " Nobody would know," wrote he, " it was the same regiment poor Colonel Hunter commanded. Our Major is now in command — the same Stapylton you have heard me speak of; and if we never looked on him too favourably, we now especially detest him. His first step was to tell us we were disorderly, ill dressed, and ill disciplined ; but we were even less pre- pared to hear that we could not ride. The result of ail this is, we have gone to school again — even old captains, who have served with distinction in the field, have been consigned to the riding-house ; and we poor subs are treated as if we were the last refuse of all the regiments of the array, sent here to be reformed and corrected. We have incessant dinlls, parades, aud inspections, and, worse again, all leave is stopped. If I was not in the best of temper with the service before, you may judge how I feel towards it now. In fact, if it were not that I expect my father back in England by the middle of May, I'd send in my papers and leave at once. How I fall back now in memory to the happy days of my ramble with you, and wonder if I shall ever see the like again. And how I hate myself for not having felt at the time how immeasurably delightful they were ! Trust me never to repeat the mis- take if I have the opportunity given me. I asked this morning for three days — only three — to run down and see you once more before we leave — for we are ordered to Hounslow — and I was refused. But this was not all : not X 2 8C3 BARRINOTON. content with rcjocting' my request, ho added what he callt'd an expreasion of astonislimeut that an officer so deticient in his duties should care to absent himself from regimentjil discipline." " Poor boy ! — this is, indeed, too bad," said Miss Dinah, as she had read thus far; "only think, Peter, how this young fellow, spoiled and petted as he was as a child — denied nothing, pampered as though he were a prince — should find himself the mark of so insulting a tyranny. Are you hstening to me, Peter liarrington ?" " Eh — what? No, thank you, Dinah ; I have made au excellent breakfast," said Barrington, hurriedly, and again addressed himself to the letter he was reading. " That's what I call a Trump, Dinah — a regular Trump." " Who is the especial favourite that has called for the very choice eulogy ? " said she, bridling up. " Gone into the thing, too, with heart and soul — a noble fellow!" continued Barrington. " Pray enlighten us as to the name that calls forth such enthusiasm." " Stapylton, my dear Dinah — Major Stapylton. In all my life I do not remember one instance to parallel with this generous and disinterested conduct. Listen to what Withering says — not a man given to take np rash im- pressions in favour of a stranger. Listen to this : ' Stapyl- ton has been very active — written to friends, both at Calcutta and Agra, and shown, besides, an amount of acuteness in pursuit of what is really important, that satisfies me a right good common lawyer has been lost by his being a soldier.' And here, again he recurs to him : it is with reference to certain documents : ' S. persists in believing that with proper diligence these may be re- covered ; he says that it is a common practice with the Moonshees to retain papers, in the hope of their being one day deemed of value ; and he is fully persuaded that they have not been destroyed. There is that about the man's manner of examining a question — his patience, his instinc- tive seizure of what is of moment, and his invariable rejection of whatever is immaterial; and, lastly, his thorough appreciation of the character of that evidence ■which would have most weight with the Indian Board, AT HOME AGAIN. 309 wln'cli dispose me to regard him as an invaluable ally to our cause.' " " Do me the favour to regard this picture of your friend now," said Miss Barrington, as she handed the letter from Conyers across the table. Barrincfton read it over attentivelv. *' And what does this prove, my dear sister," said he. " This is the sort of stereotyped complaint of every young fellow who has been refused a leave. I have no doubt Hunter was too easy tempered to have been strict in discipline, and the chauce-t are these young dogs had everything their own way till Stapylton came amongst them. I find it hard to believe that any man likes unpopularity." " Perhaps not, Peter Barrington ; but he may like tyranny more than he hates unpopularity ; and, for my own part, this man is odious to me." " Don't say so, Dinah — don't say so, I entreat of you, for he will be our guest here this very day." " Our guest ! — why, is not the regiment under orders to leave? " " So it is ; but Withering says it would be a great matter if we could have a sort of consultation together before the Major leaves Ireland. There are innumerable little details which he sees ought to be discussed between us ; and so he has persuaded him to give us a day — perhaps two days — no small boon, Dinah, from one so fully occupied as he is." " I wish he would not make the sacrifice, Peter." " My dear sister, are we so befriended by Fortune that we can aiford to reject the kindness of our fellows ? " " I'm no believer in chance friendships, Peter Barring- ton ; neither you nor I are such interesting orphans as to inspire sympathy at first sight." Josephine could not help a laugh at Miss Dinah's illus- tration, and old Barrington himself heartily joined in the merriment, not sorry the while to draw the discussion into a less stern field. " Come, come, Dinah," said he, gaily, " let us put out a few bottles of that old Madeira in the sun; and if Darby can find us a salmon-trout, we'll do our best to entertain our visitors." " It never occurred to me to doubt the probability of 310 BARRINGTON. their enjoyinpf tliemselves, Peter; my anxieties were quite on anotliur scorL-." " Now, Filine," continued Barriugton, " wo shall see if Polly Dill has really made you the perfect housekeeper kIio boasted. The next day or two will put your talents to the test." " Oh, if we could only have Polly herself here!" " What for? — on what pretext, Miss Barriugton ?" said Dinah, hauglitily. " I have not, so far as I am aware, been accounted very ignorant of household cares." " Withering declares that your equal is not in Europe, Dinah." " Mr, Withering's suffrage can always be bought by a raock-turtle soup and a glass of Roman punch after it." " How ho likes it — how he relishes it! He says that he conies back to the rest of the dinner with the fresh- ness of a man at an assize case." " So like him !" said Dinah, scornfully ; "he has never an illustration that is not taken from tlie Four Courts. I remember one day, when asking for the bill of fare, he said, ' Will you kindly let me look at the cause list.' Prepare yourself, Josephine, for an avalanche of law anecdotes and Old Bailey stories, for I assure you you will hear nothing for the next three days but drolleries that have been engrossed on parchment and paid stamp duty to the Crown." Barriugton gave a smile, as though in protest against the speech, and left the room. In truth, he was very anxious to be alone, and to think over, at his leisure, a short pas.sage in his letter which he had not summoned courage to read aloud. It was Withering's opinion that to institute the inquiries in India a considerable sum of money would be required, and he had left it for Barring- ton's consideration whether it were wiser to risk the great peril of this further involvement, or once more to try what chance there might be of a compromise. Who knows what success might have attended the suggestion if the old lawyer had but employed any other word ! Compromise, however, sounded to his ears like an un- worthy concession — a surrender of George's honour. Compromise might mean money for his granddaughtci", AT HOME AGAIN. 311 and shame to her father's memory. Not, indeed, that Withering was, as a man, one to counsel such a course, but Withering was a lawyer, and in the same spirit that he would have taken a verdict for half his claim if he saw an adverse feeling in the jury-box, so he would bow to circumstances that were stronger than him, and accept the best he could, if he might not have all that he ought. But could Barrington take this view ? He thought not. His conviction was that the main question to establish was the fair fame and honour of his son ; his guide was, how George himself would have acted — would have felt — in the same contingency ; and he muttered, " He'd have been a hardy fellow who would have hinted at com- promise to him.'* The next point was how the means for the coming campaign were to be provided. He had already raised a small sum by way of mortgage on the Home, and nothing remained but to see what fux"ther advance could be made on the same security. When Barrington was a great estated gentleman with a vast fortune at his command, it cost him wouderfnlly little thought to contract a loan, or even to sell a farm. A costly election, a few weeks of unusual splendour, an unfortunate night at play, had made such sacrifices nothing very unusual, and he would give his orders on this score as unconcernedly as he would bid his servant replenish his glass at table. Indeed, he had no more fear of exhausting his fortune than he felt as to outdrinking his cellar. There was enough there, as he often said, for those who should come after him. And now, what a change ! He stood actually appalled at the thouo^ht of a mortsafje for less than a thousand pounds. But so it is ; the cockboat may be more to a man than was once the three-decker. The cottage was his all now ; that lost, and they were houseless. Was it not a bold thing to risk everything on one more throw? There was the point over which he now pondered as he walked slowly along in the little shady alley between the laurel hedges. He had no friend neai-er his heart than Withering, no one to whom he could unbosom himself so frankly and so freely, and yet this was a case on which he could not ask his counsel. All his life long he had 312 BARRIXGTON. strenuously avoided safTt-rinp a question of the kind to intervene between them. Of his means, his resources, his straits, or his demands, Withering knew positively notliing. It was with liarringtou a point of delicacy to maintain this reserve towards one who was always his lawyer, and often his guest. The very circumstance of his turning innkeeper was regarded by Withering as savouring far more of caprice than necessity, and Barrington took care to strengthen this impression. If, then, Witliering's good sense and worldly know- ledge would have been invaluable aids to him in this con- junction, he saw he could not have them. The same delicacy which debarred him heretofore would still inter- pose against his appeal to that authority. And then he thought how he wiio had once troops of friends to whom he could address himself for counsel ? There is nothing more true, indeed, than the oft-uttered scolf on the hollowness of those friendships which attach to the days of prosperous fortune, and the world is very prone to point to the utter loneliness of him who has been ship- wrecked by Fate ; but let us be just in our severity, and let us own that a man's belongings, his associates, his, ■what common parlance calls, friends, are the mere acci- dents of his station, and they no more accompany him in his fall than do the luxuries he has forfeited. From the level from which he has lapsed they have not descended. They are there, living to-day as they lived yesterday. If their sympathy is not with him, it is because neither are they themselves, they cross each other no more. Such friendships are like the contracts made with a crew for a particular voyage — they end with the cruise. No man ever understood this better than Barrington — no man ever bore the world less of ill will for its pai"t towards himself. If now and then a sense of sadness would cloud him at some mark of passing forgetfulness, he would not own to the gloomy feeling ; while to any show of recogni- tion, to any sign of a grateful remembrance of the past, he would grow boastful to very vanity. " Look there, Dinah," he would say, " what a noble-hearted fellow that is. I scarcely was more than commonly civil to him formerly, and you saw how courteous he was in making AT HOME AGAIN. 313 a place for us, how heartily he hoped I was in good health." " I'll send over to Dill and have a talk with him," was Barrington's last resolve, as he turned the subject over and over in his mind. " Dill's a shrewd fellow, and I'm not sure that he has not laid by a little money ; he might feel no objection to a good investment for it, with such secu- rity." And he looked around as he spoke on the trees, some of which he planted, every one of which he knew, and sighed heavily. " He'll scarce love the spot more than I did," muttered he, and walked along with his head down. After awhile he took out Withering's letter from his pocket and re-read it. Somehow, it was hard to say why, it did not read so promisingly as at first. The difficulties to be encountered were very stubborn ones, so much so that he very palpably hinted how much better some amicable settlement would be than an open contest wherein legal subtlety and craft should be evoked. There was so much of that matter always taken for granted, to be proved — to be demonstrated true on evi- dence, that it actually looked appalling. " Of the searches and inquiries instituted in India," wrote Wither- ing, " I can speak but vaguely, but I own the very distance magnifies them immensely to my eyes." " Tom is growing old, not a doubt of it," muttered Barrington ; " these were not the sort of obstacles that could have terrified him once on a time. He'd have said, * If there's evidence we'll have it; if there's a document, we'll find it.' It's India, that far away land, that has frightened him. These lawyers like certain sportsmen, lose their nerve if you take them out of their own country. It's the new style of fences they can't face. Well, thanks to him who gave it, I have my stout heart still, and I'll go on." " Going on " was, however, not the easy task it first seemed, nor was the pleasantest part of it the necessity of keeping the secret from his sister. JVliss Dinah had from the first discouraged the whole suit. The adversary was too powerful, the odds against them were too great j the India Board had only to protract and prolong the case and they must be beaten from sheer exhaustion. 31 i BARUrNGTON. IIow, tlicn, should lie reconcile her to mortfrnglng the lust remnant of all tlioir furtune for " one niorL- tlirow on the table?" " No chance ol' persuading a woman that this would be wise," said he. And he thought, when ho had laid the prejudice of sex as the ground of error, he liad completed his argument. " (joiiig on" had its fine generous side about it, also, that cheered and elevated him. It was for George he was doing it, and that dear girl whose every trait recalled her lather; for let those explain it who can, she, who had never seen, nor even heard of her father, since her in- fancy, inherited all his peculiar ways and habits, and every trick of his manner. Let me own that these, even more than any qualities of sterling worth, endeared her to her grandfather; and just as he had often declared no rank or position that could befrdl George would have been above his deserts, so he averred that if Josephine were to be the greatest heiress in England to-morrow, she would be a grace and an ornament to the station. If Aunt Dinah would occasionally attempt to curb this spirit, or even limit its extravagance, his invariable an- swer was, " It may be all as you say, sister, but for the life of me I cannot think my swans to be geese." As he thus mused and meditated, he heard the wicket of the garden open and shut, and shortly afterwards a half shambling shuffling step on the gravel. Before he had time to speculate on whose it should be, he saw Major M'Cormick limping laboriously towards him. " How is this, Major?" cried he; " has the change of ■weather disagreed with your rheumatism ? " " It's the wound; it's always worse in the fall of the year," croaked the other. " I'd have been up to see you before but for the pains, and that old fool Dill — a greater fool myself for trusting him — made me put on a blister down what he calls the course of the nerve, and I never knew torture till I tried it." " My sister Dinah has, I verily believe, the most sove- reign remedy for these pains." " Is it the green draught ^ Oh, don't I know it," burst out the Major. " You might hear my shouts the day I took it down at Inistioge. There wasn't a bit of skin left AT HOME AGAIN. S15 on my lips, and when I wiped the perspiration off my head my hair came oti' too. Aquafortis is like egg-flip com- pared to that blessed draught ; and I remember well how I crawled to my writing-desk and wrote, ' Have me opened,' for I knew I was poisoned." " Did you tell my sister of your sufferings?" " To be sure I did, and she only smiled and said that I took it when I was fasting, or when I was full, I forget which ; and that I ought to have taken a brisk walk, and I only able to creep ; and only one spoonful at a time, and it was the whole bottle I swallowed. In fact, she owned afterwards that nothing but the strength of a horse could liave saved me." Peter found it very hard to maintain a decent gravity at the play of the Major's features, which during the nar- rative, recalled every dire experience of his medicine. " Well, come into the house and we'll give you some- thing better," said Barrington, at last. " I think I saw your granddaughter at the window as I came by — a good-looking young woman, and not so dark as I suspected she'd be." " There's not a handsomer girl in Ireland ; and as to skin, she's not as brown as her father." " It wouldn't be easy to be that ; he was about three shades deeper than a Portuguese." " George Barrington was confessedly the finest-looking fellow in the King's army, and as English-looking a gentleman as any man in it." The tone of this speech was so palpably that of one who would not stand the very shadow of a rejoinder, that the Major held his peace, and shuffled along without a word. The thought, however, of administering a rebuke to any one within the precincts of his home was so repugnant to Barringtijn's nature, that he had scarcely uttered the words, than he was eager to repair them, and with a most embarrassed humility he stammered out something about their recent tour abroad and all the enjoyment it had given them. "May be so," rejoined the other dryly; "bat I never saw any pleasure in spending money you could keep." 815 BARRINOTON. *' My tlonr M;ijor, that is precisely the very money that does procure pleiisure." " AV^isn't timt a post-chaise I saw throu^'h the trees ? There it is n^Min ; it's inakint^ strai;.'ht for tlie iiomo," said M"Cormick, poiiitin^^ with his stick. " Yes," said Peter; " I was expectiiif; a couple of friends to pass a day or so with me here. AVill you excuse me if I hurry forward to welcome them ?" " Don't make a stranj^er of me ; I'll saunter alnncr at my leisure," said tlie Miijor, as Barrinytou walked briskly oa towards the cottage. Zii U ', CHAPTER XXXIII. A SMALL DINNF.K-PARTT. WiTeERiXG and Stapylton had arrived fully two hours earlier than they were expected, and Miss IJinah was too deeply engaged in the household cares that were to do them honour to receive him. Josephine, too, was not less busily occupied, for her conventual education had made her wonderfully skilful in all sorts of confectionery, and she was mistress of devices in spun sugar and preserved fruits, which rose in Aunt Dinah's eyes to the dignity of high art. Barrington, however, was there to meet them, and with a cordial welcome which no man could express more gracefully. The luncheon hour passed pleasantly over, for all were in good humour and good spirits. Withering's holiday always found him ready to enjoy it, and when could old Peter feel so happy as when he had a guest beneath his roof who thoroughly appreciated the cottage, and entered into the full charm of its lovely scenery ! Such was Stapylton — he blended a fair liking A SMALL DINNER-PARTY. 817 for the picturesque with a natural instinct for comfort and homeliness, and he saw in this spot what precisely embraced both elements. It was very beautiful — but, better still, it was very lovable. '* It was so rare " so at least he told Barringt(jn — *' to find a cottage wherein in- ternal comfort had not been sacrificed to some requirement of outward show. There was only one way of doing this," said he, as Barrington led liim through the little flower- garden, giving glimpses of the rooms within as they passed — " only one way Mr. Barrington ; a man must have con- summate taste, and strong credit at his banker's." Barrington's cheek grew a thought redder, and he smiled that faint sad smile which now and then will break from one who feels that he could rebut what he has just heard, if it were but right or fitting he should do so. Of course, amongst really distressing sensations this has no place, but yet there is a peculiar pain in being compli- mented by your friend on the well-to-do condition of your fortune when your conscience is full of the long watching hours of the night, or worse still, the first awaking thought of difiiculties to which you open your eyes of a morning. It is not often, nor are there many to whom you can say, " I cannot tell the day or the hour when all this shall pass away from me ; my head is racked with care, and my heart heavy with anxiety." How jarring to be told of all the things you ought to do. You who could so well afford it! And how trying to have to take shelter from your necessity under the shadow of a seeming stinginess, and to bear every reflection on your supposed thrift rather than own to your poverty ! If Withering had been with them as they strolled, this, perhaps, might have been avoided ; he had all a lawyer's technical skill to change a topic — but Withering had gone to take his accustomed mid-day nap, the greatest of all the luxuries his time of idleness bestowed upon him. Now, although Stapylton's alludings— and they were no more — to Barrington's gifts of fortune were such as per- fectly consisted with good taste and good breeding, Bar- rington felt them all painfully, and probably nothing re- strained him from an open disclaimer of their fitness save the thought tliat from a host sach an avowal would sound 818 B.VRRINGTON. unprrace fully. "It is my duty now," reasoned be, "to make my j^ucst feel that all the attentions he rect'ivea exact nosacrilice, and that the pleasure his presence allords is unalloyed by a sin;^'Ie embarrassment. It' he must hear of my dilliculties, let it be when he is not beneath my roof." And so ho lot Stapylton talk away about the bless- inp;s of tranquil aflliicnce, and the h:ip])ines8 of him whoso only care was to tind time for the enjoyments that were secured to him. He let him quote Pope, and Wharton, and Edmund Burke, and stuilctl the blandest concurrence with what was irritating him almost to fever. " This is "Withering's favourite spot," said Peter, as thoy gained the shade of a huge ilex-tree, from which two dis- tinct reaches of the river were visible. " And it shall be mine, too," said Stapylton, throwing himself down in the deep grass; "and as I know you have scores of things which claim your attention, let me release you, while I add a cigar — the only possible en- hancement — to the deligl)t of this glorious nook." " Well, it shall be as you wish. AV' e dine at six. I'll go and look after a fish for our entertainment ; " and Bar- rington turned away into the copse, not sorry to release his heart by a heavy sigh, and to feel he was alone with his cares. Let us turn for a moment to ^I'Cormick who continued to saunter slowly about the garden, in the expectation of Barrington's return. Wearied at length with waiting, and resolved that his patience should not go entirely un- requited, he turned into a little shady walk on which tiio windows of the kitchen opened. Stationing himself there, in a position to see without being seen, he took what ho called an observation of all within. The sight was inter- esting even if he did not bring to it the appreciation of a painter. There, upon a spacious kitchen table, lay a lordly sirloin, richly and variously coloured, flanked by a pair of plump guinea-hens and a fresh salmon of fully twenty pounds' weight. Luscious fruit and vegetables were heaped and mingled in a wild profusion, and the speckled plumage of game was half hidden under the massive bunches of great hot-house grapes. It is doubt- ful if Sneyders himself could have looked upon the dis A SMALL DINNEK-PARTY. 319 play with a higher sense of enjoyment. It is, indeed, a question between the relative merits of two senses, and the issue lies between the eye and the palate. Wisely reasoning that such preparations were not made for common guests, M'Cormick ran over in his mind all the possible and impossible names he could think of. end- ing at last with the conviction it was some " Nob " he must have met abroad, and whom in a moment of his expansive hospitality he had invited to visit him. " Isn't it like them!" muttered he. "It would be long before they'd think of such an entertainment to an old neigh- bour like myself; but here they are spending — who knows how much ? — for somebody that to-morrow or next day won't remember their names, or may be, perhaps, laugh when they think of the funny old woman they saw — the ' Fright ' with the yellow shawl and the orange bonnet. Oh, the world, the world ! " It is not for me to speculate on what sort of thing the world had been, if the Miijor himself had been entrusted with the control and fashion of it ; but I have my doubts that we are just as well off as we are. " Well, though they haven't the manners to say ' M'Cormick, will you stop and dine ? ' they haven't done with me yet ; not a bit ! " And with this resolve he entered the cottage, and found his way to the drawing-room. It was unoccupied, so he sat himself down in a comfortable arm-chair, to await events and their issue. There were books and jour- nals and newspapers about, but the Major was not a reader, and so he sat musing and meditating, while the time went by. Just as the clock struck five. Miss Dinah, whose various cares of housewifery had given her a very busy day, was about to have a look at the drawing-room before she went to dress, and being fnUy aware that one of her guests was asleep, and the other full stretched be- side the river, she felt she could go her " rounds " with- out fear of being observed. Now, whatever had been tho peculiar functions she was lately engaged in, they had exacted from her certain changes in costume more pictur- esque than flattering. In the first place, the sleeves of her dress were rolled upabove the elbows, displaying arms more remarkable for bone than beauty. A similar curtailment of 320 BARRINGTON. her petticoats pxlilbitcd feet and niiklos which — not to bo unLrallant — mit^ht be called massive rather than elepint ; and lastly her two long curls of aul)urn hair — curls which, in the splendour of her full toilette, were supposed to be no mean aids to her captivating powers — were now taste- fully fc'stof)ned and fastened to the back of her head, pretty much as a pair of hawsers are occasionally disposed on the bow of a merchantman ! Thus costumed, she had advanced into the middle of tlie room before she saw tho Major. '■ A pleasure quite unexpected, sir, is this," said she, with a vigorous etfort to shake out what sailors would call her " lower courses." " I was not aware that you were here." " Indeed, then, I came in myself, just like old times. 1 said this morning, if it's tine to-day, I'll just go over to the ' Fisherman's Home.' " " * The Home,' sir, if you please. We retain so much of the former name." But just as she uttered tho correction, a chance look at the glass conveyed the condi- tion of her head gear — a startling fact which made her cheeks perfectly crimson. " I lay stress upon the change of name, sir" continued she, " as intimating that we are no longer innkeepers, and expect something at least, of the deference rendered to those who call their house their own." " To be sure, and why not ?" croaked out the Major, with a malicious grin. " And I forgot all about it, little thinking, indeed, to surprise you in ' dishabille,' as they call it." *' You surprise me, sir, every time we meet," said she, with flashing eyes. " And you make me feel surprised with myself for my endurance ! " And so saying, she retired towards the door, covering her retreat as she went by every object of furniture that presented itself, and, like a skilful general, defending her rear by every artifice of the ground. Thus did she exit, and with a bang of the door — as eloquent as any speech — close the colloquy. " Faix ! and the Swiss costume doesn't become you at all ! " said the ^fajor, as he sat back in his chair, and cackled over the scene. A SMALL DINNER-PARTY. 321 As Miss Barrington, boiling with passion, passed her brotlier's door, she stopped to knock. "Peter!" cried she. "Peter Barrington, I say!" The words were, however, not well out, when she heard a step ascending the stair. She could not risk another discovery like the last ; so, opening the door, she said, " That hateful M'Cormick is below. Peter, take care that on no account " There was no time to finish, and she had barely an instant to gain her own room, when Stapylton reached the corridor. Peter Barrington had, however, heard enough to inform him of his sister's high behest. Indeed, he was as quick at interpreting brief messages as people have grown in these latter days of telegraphic communication. Oracular utterings had been more than once in his life bis only instructors, and he now knew that he had been peremptorily ordered not to ask the Major to dinner. There are, doubtless, people in this world — I almost fancy 1 have met one or two such myself — who would not have felt peculiar difficulty in obeying this command ; who would have gone down to the drawing-room and talked coolly to the visitor, discussing common-places, easily and carelessly, noting the while how at every pause of the conversation each was dwelling on the self-same point, and yet, with a quiet abstinence, never touching it, till with a sigh, that was half a malediction, the uninvited would rise to take leave. Barrington was not of this number. The man who sat under his roof was sacred. He could have no faults ; and to such a pitch had this punctilio carried him, that had an actual enemy gained the inside of his threshold, he would have spared nothing to treat him with honour and respect, " Well, well," muttered he, as he slowly descended the stairs, "it will be the first time in my life I ever did it, and I don't know how to go about it now." When a frank and generous man is about to do some- thing he is ashamed of, how readily will a crafty and less scrupulous observer detect it. M'Cormick read Barring- ton's secret before he was a minute in the room. It was in vain Peter affected an off-hand easy manner, incidentally T 322 HARRINGTON. dropping ft hint that the Attorney-Genernl and another friend had just arrived — a visit, a mere business visit it was — to be passed with law papers and parchments. " Poor fun when the partridfrcs were in the stubble, but thei-e was no lielp for it. Who knew, however, if he couUl not induce them to pive him an extra day, and if I can, Major, you must promise to come over and meet them. You'll be charmed with Withering, he has such a Jund of apreeability. One of the old school, but not the less delightful to you and me. Come, now, give me j'our word — for — shall we say Saturday ? — Yes, Saturday ! " " I've nothing to say against it," grumbled out M'Cormick, whose assent was given, as attorneys say, without prejudice to any other claim. "You shall hear from me in the morning, then," gaid Peter. " I'll send you a line to say what success I have had with my friends." " Any time in the day will do," said the Major, uncon- cernedly ; for, in truth, the future never had in his estima- tion the same interest as the present. As for the birds in the bush, he simply did not believe in them at all. "No, no," said Barrington, hurriedly. "You shall hear from me early, for 1 am anxious you should meet Withering and his companion, too — a brother-soldier." " Who may he be ? " asked M'Cormick. " That's my secret, Major — that's my secret," said Peter, with a forced laugh, for it now wanted but it — when lio should step into possession of this place, and settle down htrt" as its owner." Uaniiigton's face grew pale, and a glassy film spread over his eyes, as bis sister's words sunk into his heart. " I declare, Dinah," said be, falteringly, " that never did strike me before." " ' It never rains bat it pours,' says the Iri.sh adage," resumed she. *' ^ly brother and I were just discussing anotlier proposal of the same kind when you knocked. Read that letter. It is from a more adroit courtier than the other, and at least he doesn't preface his intentions with a bargain." And she banded Stapylton's letter to "Withering. " Ah! " said the lawyer, "this is another guess sort of roan, and a very different sort of proposal." " I .suspected that he was a favourite of yours," said Miss Dinah, significantly. " Well, I own to it. He is one of those men who bave a great attraction for me — men who come out of the conflict of life and its interests without any exaggerated notions of human perfectibility or the opposite, who recog- nize plenty of good and no small share of bad in the world, hut, on the whole, are satistiel that, saving ill health, very few of our calamities are not of our own providing." " All of which is perfectly compatible with an odious egotism, sir," said she, warmly ; " but I feel proud to say such characters find few admirers amongst women." " From which I opine that he is not fortunate enough to number Miss Dinah Barrington amongst his sup- porters?" " You are right there, sir. The pi-ejudice I had against him before we met has been strengthened since I have Been him." " It is candid of you, however, to call it a prejudice," said he, with a smile. " Be it so, Mr. Withering; but prejudice is only anothel word for an instinct." "I'm afraid if we gt into ethics we'll forget all about the proposal," said Barrington. A CABINET COUNCIL. 843 " What a sarcasm ! " cried "Withering, " that if we talk of morals we shall ignore matrimony." " I like the man, and I like his letter," said Barrington. " I distrust both one and the other," said Miss Dinah. " I almost fancy I could hold a brief on either side," interposed Withering. " Of course you could, sir : and if the choice were open to you, it would be the defence of the guilty." " My dear Miss Barrington," said Withering, calmly, "when a great legal authority once said that he only needed three lines of any man's writing 'to hang him,' it ought to make us very lenient in our construction of a letter. Now, so far as I can see in this one before us, he neither asks nor protests too much. He begs simply for time, he entreats leave to draw a bill on your aflFections, and he promises to meet it." " No, sir, he wishes to draw at sight, though he has never shown us the letter of credit." " I vow to Heaven it is hopeless to expect anything practical when you two stand up together for a sparrinc- match," cried Barrington. " Be practical, then, brother Peter, and ask this gentle- man to give you a quarter of an hour in your study. Find out who he is ; I don't expect you to learn what he is, but what he has. With his fortune we shall get the clue to himself." " Yes," chimed in Withering, " all that is very business- like and reasonable." "And it pledges us to nothing," added she. *' We take soundings, but we don't promise to anchor." " If you go off again with your figures of speech, Dinah, there is an end of me, for I have one of those unhappy memories that retain the illustration and forget what it typified. Besides this, here is a man who, out of pure good nature and respect for poor George's memory, has been doing us most important services, written letters innumerable, and taken the most active measures for our benefit. What sort of a figure shall I prc.-ent if I bring him to book about his rental and the state of his bank account." 314 BAIIRINGTON. " With the exorcise of a little tact, Barrington — a little iimnagL'iiu'iit " " Ask a man with a club-foot to walk gingerly ! I have no more notion of gutting at anything by address than I have of tying the feinorul artery." " The more blunt the better, Peter Barrington. You may tumble into the truth though you'd never pick your way into it. ^Meanwhile, leave me to deal with ilajor M'Cormick." " You'll do it courteously, Dinah ; you'll bear in mind that he is a nei'jhhour of some twenty years' standing ? " said Barrington, in a voice of anxiety. " I'll do it in a manner that shall satisfy my conscience and Ids presumption." She seated herself at the table as she said this, and dashed off a few hasty lines. Indeed, so hurried was the action, that it looked far more like one of those instances of correspondence we see on the stage than an event of real life. "Will that do?" said she, showing the lines to Withering. The old lawyer read them over to himself, a faint twitch- ing of the mouth being the only sign his face presented of any emotion. "I should say admirably — nothing better." " May I see it, Dinah ? " asked Peter. " You shall hear it, brother," said she, taking the paper and reading, — " * Miss Barrington informs Mr. Kinshela that, if he does not at once retract his epistle of this morning's date, she will place it in the hands of her legal adviser, and proceed against it as a threatening letter.' " " Oh, sister, you will not send this ?" " As sure as my name is Dinah Barrington." 845 CHAPTER XXXVI. AN EXPRESS. In the times before telegraphs — and it is of snch I am writing — a hurried express was a far more stirring event than in these our days of incessant oracles. While, there- fore, Barrington and his sister and Withering sat in deep consultation on Josephine's fate and future, a hasty sum- mons arrived from Dublin, requiring the instantaneous departure of Stapylton, whose regiment was urgently needed in the north of England, at that time agitated by those disturbances called the Bread Riots. They were very formidable troubles, and when we look back upon them now, with the light which the great events of later years on the Continent afford us, seem more terrible still. It was the fashion, however, then, to treat them lightly, and talk of them contemptuously ; and as Stapylton was eating a hasty luncheon before departure, he sneered at the rabble, and scoffed at the insolent pretension of their demands. Neither Barrington nor Withering sympathized with the spirit of the revolt, and yet each felt shocked at the tone of haughty contempt Stapylton assumed towards the people. " You'll see," cried he, rising, " how a couple of brisk charges from our fellows will do more to bring these rascals to reason than all the fine pledges of your Parliament folk ; and I promise you, for my own part, if I chance upon one of their leaders, I mean to lay my mark on him." " I fear, sir, it is your instinctive dislike to the plebeian that moves you here," said Miss Dinah. " You will not entertain the question whether these people may not have some wrongs to complain of." *' Perhaps so, madam," said he ; and his swarthy face 346 BARRINGTON. grew darker as lio spoke. "I suppose this is the case where the blood of a prLMitleman boils indignantly at the challi'npi of the cauftillr." " 1 will not have a French word applied to our own people, sir," said she angrily. " Well said," chimed in Withering. "It is wonderful how a phrase can seem to carry an argument along with it." And old Peter smiled, and nodded his concurrence with this speech. " Wliat a sad minority do I stand in," said Stapylton, with an efibrt to smile very far from successful. " Will not Miss Josephine Harrington have generosity enough to aid the weaker side ? " " Not if it be the worst cause," interposed Dinah, " My niece needs not to be told she must be just before she is generous." " Then it is to your own generosity I will appeal," said Stapylton, turning to her; " and I will ask you to ascribe some at least of my bitterness to the sorrow I feel at being t])us summoned away. Believe me it is no light matter to leave this place and its company." " But only for a season, and a very brief season, too, I trust," said Barrington. " You are going away in our debt, remember." " It is a loser's privilege, all the world over, to with- draw when he has lost enough," said Stapylton, with a sad smile towards Miss Dinah ; and though the speech was made in the hope it might elicit a contradiction, none came, and a very awkward silence ensued. "You will reach Dublin to-night, I suppose?" said Withering, to relieve the painful pause in the conversa- tion. " It will be late — after midnight, perhaps." "And embark the next morning?" " Two of our squadrons have sailed already ; the others will, of course, follow to-morrow." " And young Conyers," broke in Miss Dinah^" he will, I suppose, accompany this — what shall I call it — this raid?" " Yes, madam. Am I to convey to him your compli- AN EXPRESS. 847 ments upon the first opportunity to flesh his maiden sword :"' " You are to do nothing of the kind, sir; but tell him from nie not to forget that the angi-y passions of a starving multitude are not to be confounded with the vindictive hate of our natural enemies." "Natural enemies, my dear Miss Barrington ! I hope you cannot mean that there exists anything so monstrous in humanity as a natui^al enemy ?" "I do, sir; and 1 mean all those whose jealousy of us ripens into hatred, and who would spill their heart's blood to see us humbled. When there exists a people like this, and who at every fresh outbreak of a war with us have carried into the new contest all the bitter animosities of long past struggles as debts to be liquidated, I call these natural enemies ; and, if you prefer a shorter word for it, I call them Frenchmen." " Dinah, Dinah I " " Peter, Peter ! don't interrupt me. Major Stapylton Las thought to tax me with a blunder, but 1 accept it as a boast ! " " Madam, I am proud to be vanquished by you," said Stapylton, bowing low. " And I trust, sir," said she, continuing her speech, and as if heedless of his interruption, " that no similarity of name will make you behave at Peterloo — if that be the name — as though you were at Waterloo." *' Upon my life ! " cried he, with a saucy laugh, " I don't know how I am to win your good opinion, except it be by tearing off my epaulettes, and putting myself at the head of the mob." " You know very little of my sister, Major Stapylton," said Barrington, "or you would scarcely have selected that mode of cultivating her favour." " There is a popular belief that ladies always side with the winning cause," said Stapylton, affecting a light and easy manner ; " so I must do my best to be successful. May I hope I carry your good wishes away with me ? " said he, in a lower tone, to Josephine. " I hope that nobody will hurt you and you hurt nobody,'* said she, laughingly. 813 BAURINOTON. " And this, I take it, is about as much sympathy as ever attends a man on such a campaif^n. Mr. Barrington, will you pnint nie two minutes of coiivcr.siition in your own room?" And, with a bow of acquiescence, Barrington led the way to his study, " 1 ought to have anticipated your request. Major Stapylton," said Barrington, when they found thcrnselves alone. " I owe you a rejily to your letter, but the simple fact is, I do not know what answer to give it, for while most sensible of the honour you intend us, I feel still there is much to be explained on both sides. We know scarcely anything of each other, and though I am conscious of the generosity which prompts a man with yoicr prospects and h\ your position to ally himself with persons in our*, yet I owe it to myself to say, it hangs upon a contingency to restore us to wealth and station. Even a portion of what I claim from the East India Company would make my granddaughter one of the richest heiresses in England." Stapylton gave a cold, a very cold smile, in reply to this t;j)eech. It might mean that he was incredulous or indiilerent, or it might iniply that the issue was one which need not have been introduced into the case at all. Whatever its signification, Barrington felt hurt by it, and hastily said, — " Not that I have any need to trouble you with these details : it is rather my province to ask for information regarding your circumstances than to enter upon a dis- cussion of ours.^' " I am quite ready to give you the very fullest and clearest — 1 mean to yourself personally, or to your sister — tor except where the lawyer intervenes of necessity ana de droit, 1 own that I resent his presence as an insult. I suppose few of us are devoid of certain family circum- stances which it would bo more agreeable to deal with iu confidence ; and though, perhaps, 1 am as fortunate as most men in this respect, there are one or two small matters on which I would ask your attention. These, however, are neither important nor pressing. My first care is to know — and I hope I am not peremptory in asking it — have I your consent to the proposition contained in my letter J am 1 at liberty to address Miss Barrington i " AN EXPRESS. 349 Barrington flushed deeply and fidgeted ; he arose and sat down again. All his excitement only aggravated by the well-bred composure of the other, who seemed utterly unconscious of the uneasiness he was causing. " Don't you think, Major, that this is a case for a little time to reflect — that in a matter so momentous as this, a few days at least are requisite for consideration ? We ought to ascertain sometliiuar at least of my grand- daughter's own sentiments — i mean, of course, in a general way. It might be, too, that a day or two might give us some better insight into her future prospects." " Pardon my interrupting you ; but, on the last point, I am perfectly indifferent. Miss Barrington with half a province for her dower, would be no more in my eyes than Miss Barrington as she sat at breakfast this morning. Nor is there anything of high-flown sentiment in this declaration, as my means are sufl&ciently ample for all that I want or care." •' There, at least, is one diflBculty disposed of. You are an eldest son ? " said he, and he blushed at his own bold- ness in making the inquiry. " I am an only son.'' " Easier again," said Barrington, trying to laugh ofi" the awkward moment. " No cutting down one's old timber to pay off the provisions for younger brothers." " In my case there is no need of this." " And your father. Is he still living, Major Stapylton? " " My father has been dead some years." Barrington fidgt-ted again, fumbled with his watch- chain and his eye-glass, and would have given more than he could afibrd for any casualty that should cut short the interview. He wanted to say, " What is the amount of your fortune? What is it? Where is it? Are you Wiltshire or Staffordshire? Who are your uncles and aunts, and your good friends that you pray for, and where do you pray for them ? " A thousand questions of this sort arose in his mind, one only more prying and impertinent than another. He knew he ought to asli them ; he knew Dinah would have asked them. Ay, and would have the answers to them as plain and palpable as the replies to a life assurance circular ; but he couldn't do it. No ; 350 BARRINOTON. not if his life depended on it. IIo had already gone further in his triiusgres.sion of good manners than it ever occurred to him belurc to do, and he felt sumetliiug between a holy inquisitor and a spy of the police. Stapylton looked at his watch, and gave a slight start. " Later than you thought, eh ? " cried I'eter, over- joyed at the diversion. Stapylton smiled a cold assent, and put up his watch without a word, lie saw all tlie confusion and em- barrassment of the otlier, and made no ell'ort to relieve him. At last, but not until after a considerable pause, he said, — " I believe, Mr. Barrington — I hope, at least — I have satisfactorily answered the questions which, with every right on your part, you have deemed proper to put to me. I cannot but feel bow painful the task has been to you, and I regret it the more, since probably it has set a limit to inquiries which you are perfectly justiBed in making, but which closer relations between us may make a matter far less formidable one of these days." "Yes, yes — ^just so; of course," said Barrington, hur- riedly assenting to he knew not what. " And I trust 1 take my leave of you with the under- standing that when we meet again, it shall be as in the commencement of these pleasanter relations. I own to you I am the more eager on this point, that I perceive your sister, ]\liss Barrington, scarcely regards me very favourably, and I stand the more in need of your alli- ance." " I don't think it possible, Major Stapylton," said Barrington, boldly, " that my sister and 1 could have two opinions upon anything or anybody." " Then I only ask that she may partake of yours on this occasion," said Stapj-lton, bowing. " But 1 must start; as it is, I shall be very late in Dublin. Will you present my most respectful adieux to the ladies, and say also a good-bye for me to Mr. Withering r* " " You'll come in for a moment to the drawing room, won't you ? " cried Barrington. " 1 think not. I opine it would be better not. There would be a certain awkwardness about it — that is, until AN EXPRESS. 351 you have informed Miss Dinah Barrington of the extent to which you have accorded me your confidence, and how completely I have opened every detail of my circum- stances. I believe it would be in better taste not to present myself. Tell Withering that if he writes, Man- chester will find me. I don't suspect he need give himself any more trouble about establishing the proofs of mar- riage. They will scarcely contest that point. The great question will and must be, to ascertain if the Company will cease to oppose the claim on being fully convinced that the letter to the Meer Busherat was a forgery, and that no menace ever came from Colonel Barrington's hand as to the consequences of opposing his rule. Get them to admit this — let the issue rest upon this — and it will narrow the whole suit within manageable limits." " Would you not say this much to him before you go ? It would come with so much more force and clearness from yourself." " I have done so till I was wearied. Like a true lawyer, he insists upon proving each step as he goes, and will not condescend to a hypothetical conclusion, though I have told him over and over again we want a settle- ment, not a victory. Good-bye, good-bye ! If I once launch out into the cause, I cannot tear myself away again." " Has your guest gone, Peter ? " said Miss Dinah, as her brother re-entered the drawing-room. " Yes ; it was a hurried departure, and he had no great heart for it, either. By the way, Withering, while it is fresh in my head, let me tell you the message he has sent you." " Was there none for we. Peter ? " said she, scofBngly. " Ay, but there was, Dinah ! He left with me I know not how many polite and charming things to say for him." " And am I alone forgotten in this wide dispensation of favours ? " asked Josephine, smiling. " Of course not, dear," chimed in Miss Dinah. "Tour grandpapa has been charged with them all. You could not expect a gentleman so naturally timid and bashful as our late guest to utter them by his own lips." S52 BARRINGTON. " I see," enid "Withering, laugliing, " that you have not forgiven the haughty aristocrat tor his insolent esti- mate of tlie people ! " "He an aristocrat! Such bitter words as his never fell from any man who had a grandfather ! " " Wrong for once, Dinah," broke in Barrington. " I can answer for it that you are unjust to him." "We shall sec," said she. " Come, .Tns.'pliine, I have a whole morning's work before me in the flower-garden, and I want your help. Don't forget, Peter, that Major M'Cormick's butler, or boatman, or bailiff, whichever ho be, has been up here with a present of seakale this morning. Give him something as you pass the kitchen ; and you, Mr. Withering, whose trade it is to read and unravel mysteries, explain if you can the meaning of this unwonted generosity." "I suppose we can all guess it," said he, laughing. " It's a custom that begins in the East and goes round the whole world till it reaches the vast prairie in the Far West." " And what can that custom be, Aunt Dinah ? " asked Josephine, innocently. " It's an ancient rite Mr. Withering speaks of, child, pertaining to the days when men ofi'cred sacrifices. Come along; I'm going! " 353 CHAPTER XXXVn. OROSS-EXAMININGS. "While Barrington and his lawyer sat in conclave over the details of the great suit, Stapylton hurried along his road with all the speed he could summon. The way, which for some miles led along the river-side, brought into view M'Cormick's cottage, and the Major himself, as he stood listlessly at his door. Halting his carriage for a moment, Stapylton jumped out and drew nigh the little quickset hedge which flanked the road. " What can I do for you in the neighbourhood of Manchester, Major ? We are just ordered off there to ride down the Radicals." " I wish it was nearer home you were going to do it," said he, crankily. '• Look here " — and he pointed to some fresh turned earth — " they were stealing my turnips last night." " It would appear that these fellows in the north are growing dangerous," said Stapylton. " 'Tis little matter to us," said M'Cormick, sulkily. " I'd care more about a blight in the potatoes than for all the politics in Europe." " A genuine philosopher ! How snug you are here, to be sure. A man in a pleasant nook like this can well afford to smile at the busy ambitions of the outer world. I take it you are about the very happiest fellow I know ? " " Maybe I am, maybe I'm not," said he, peevishly. *' This spot only wants what I hinted to you t'other evening, to be perfection." " Ay ! " said the other, dryly. " And you agree with me heartily, if you had the can- dour to say it. Come, out with it, man, at once. I saw A A 35-1 BAURINGTON. your gardener this ninrniiig with a great basketful of greenery, and a large bouquet on the top of it — are not tliese signilicant signs of a ])rojectrd campaign ? You arc wrong, Major, upon my lite you arc wrong, not to be trunk with me. I could, by a strange hazard, as the newspapers say, 'tell you something to your advantage.'" "About what?" "About tlie very matter you were thinking of as I drove up. Come, I will be more generous than you deserve." And, laying his arm on !M'Cormick's shoulder, he half whispered in his ear, "It is a good thing — a deuced good thing 1 and I promise you, if I were a marrying man, you'd have a competitor. I won't say she'll have one of the great fortunes people rave about, but it will be considerable — very considerable." " How do you know, or what do you know ? " " I'll tell you in three words. How I know i.s, because I have been the channel for certain inquiries they made in India. What I know is, the Directors are sick of the oase, they are sorely ashamed of it, and not a little uneasy lest it should come before the public, perhaps belore the Parliament. Old Barrington has made all negotiation difficult by the extravagant pretensions he puts forward al)Out his sou's honour, and so forth. If, h.owever, the girl were married, her husband would be the person to treat with, and I am assured with him they would deal handsomely, even generously." "And why wouldn't all this make a marrying man of you, though you weren't before?" " There's a slight canonical objection, if you must know," said Stapylton, with a smile. " Oh, I perceive — a wife already ! In India, perhaps ?" "I have no time just now for a long story, jM'Cormick," said he, familiarly, " nor am I quite certain I'd tell it if I had. However, you know enough for all practical purposes, and I repeat to you, this is a stake I can't enter for — you understand me? " " There's another thing, now," said il'Cormick, "and as we are talking so freely together there's no harm in mentioning it. It's only the other day, as I may call it, that we met for the Grst time ? " CROSS-EXAMININGS. 355 *' Very true : when I was down here al Cobhatn." "And never heard of each other before ? " " Not to my knowledge, certainly." " That being the case, I'm curious to hear how you took this wonderful interest in me. It wasn't anything in my appearance, I'm sure, nor my manner ; and as to what you'd hear about me among those blackguards down here, there's nothing too bad to say of me." " I'll be as frank as yourself," said Stapylton, boldly; " you ask for candour, and you shall have it. I hadn't talked ten minutes with you till I saw that you were a thorough man of the world ; the true old soldier, who Lad seen enousfh of life to know that whatever one wets for nothing in this world, is just worth nothing, and so I said to myself, ' If it ever occurs to me to chance upon a good opportunity of which I cannot from circum- stances avail myself, there's my man. I'll go to him and say, " M'Cormick, that's open to you, there's a safe thing ! " And when in return he'd say, " Stapyl- ton, what can I do for you ? " my answer would be, " Wait till you are satisfied that I have done you a good turn ; be perfectly assured that I have really served you." And then, if I wanted a loan of a thousand or fifteen hundred to lodge for the lieutenant- colonelcy, I'd not be ashamed to say, " M'Cormick, let me have so much." ' " "That's it, is it?" said M'Cormick, with a leer of intense cunning. " Not a bad bargain for you^ any- how. It is not every day that a man can sell what isn't his own." " I might say, it's not every day that a man regards a possible loan as a gift, but I'm quite ready to reassure all your fears on that score ; I'll even pledge myself never to borrow a shilling from you." " Oh, I don't mean that; you took me up so quick," said the old fellow, reddening with a sense of shame he had not felt for many a year. " I may be as stingy as they call me, but for all that I'd stand to a man who stands to me." " Between gentlemen and men of the world these things are better left to a sense of an houourable uuder- A A 2 850 BARRINQTON. htiinding tliun made matters of compact. There is no ut'cil ot unotlier word on tlio matter. I sliall be curious, however, to know Ijow your project Kpeeds. Write to me — you have plenty of time — and write often. I'm not uiiliki-ly to learn something about the Indian claim, and if I do, you shall hear of it." " I'm not over good at pen and ink work ; indeed I haven't much practice, but I'll do my best." " Do, by all means. Tell me how you get on with Aunt ])inah, who i suspect has no strong affection for either of us. Don't be precipitate ; hazard nothing by a rash step ; secure your way by intimacy, mere intimacy : avoid particular attentions strictly ; be always there, and on some pretext or other — but why do I say all this to an old soldier, who has made such sieges scores of times ! " " Well, I think I see my way clear enough," said ihz old fellow, with a grin. " I wish I was as sure I knew •wliy you take su-h an interest in me." " I believe I have told you already ; I hope there is nothing so strange in the assurance as to require corrobor- ation. Come, I must say good-bye ; I meant to have said five words to you, and I have stayed here five-and- twenty minutes." " Wouldn't you take something? — couldn't I offer you anything?" said M'Cormick, hesitatingly. " Nothing, thanks. I lunched before I started, and although old Dinah made several assaults upon me while I ate, I managed to secure two cutlets and part of a grouse-pie, and a rare glass of Madeira to wash them down." •' That old woman is dreadful, and I'll take her down a peg yet, as sure as my name is Dan." " No, don't. Major ; don't do anything of the kind. The people who tame tigers are sure to get scratched at last, and nobody thanks them for their pains. Regard her as the sailors do a tire-ship ; give her a wide berth, and steer away from her." " Ay, but she sometimes gives chase." " Strike your flag, then, if it must be ; for, trust me, you'll not conquer her." CKOSS-EXAMININGS. 357 " We'll see, we'll see," muttered the old fellow as he waved his adieux, and then turned back into the house again. As Stapylton lay back in his carriage he could not help muttering a malediction on the " dear friend " he had just parted with. When the bourgeois gentilhomme objected to his adversary pushing him " en tierce''^ while he attacked him " en quarte" he was expressing a great social want, applicable to those people who in conversa- tion will persist in saying many things which ouglit not to be uttered, and expressing doubts and distrusts which, however it be reasonable to feel, ai'e an o itrage to avow. •' The old fox," said Stapylton, aloud, " taunted me with selling what did not belong to me ; but he nevei* suspects that I have bought something without paying for it, and that something himself! Yes, the mock siege he will lay to the fortress will occupy the garrison till it suits me to open the real attack, and I will make use of him, besides, to learn whatever goes on in my absence. How the old fellow swallowed the bait! What self-esteem there must be in such a rugged nature, to make him imagine he could be successful in a cause like this ! He is, after all, a clumsy agent to trust one's interest to. If the choice had been given me, I'd far rather have had a woman to watch over them. Polly Dill, for instance, the very girl to understand such a mission well. How adroitly would she have played the game, and how clearly would her letters have shown me the exact state of events." Such were the texts ot ms musings as he drove along, and deep as were his thoughts, they never withdrew him, when the emergency called, from attention to every detail of the journey, and he scrutinized the post-horses as they were led out, and apportioned the rewards to the postilions as though no heavier care lay on his heart than the road and its belongings. While he rolled thus smoothly along, Peter Barrington had been summoned to his sister's presence, to narrate in full all that he had asked, and all that he had learned of Stapylton and his fortunes. Miss Dinah was seated in a deep arm-chair, behind a 853 BARRINGTON. IbrmidaMe embroidery-fnime — a thing so complex and mysterious in form as to sutf<^e.stan implement of tortuie. At a short distance off sat Witlurinj^, with pen, ink, and paper before him, as if to set down any details of unusual importance; and into this imposing presence poor Bar- rington entered with a woelul sense of misgiving and humiliation. " We have got a quiet moment at last, Petor," said ^liss Barrington. " I have sent the girls over to Brown's Baru for the tulip-roots, and I have told Darby that if any visitors came they were to be informed we were par- ticularly occupied by business, and could see no one." " Just so," added Withering; " it is a case belbre the judge in chamber." " But what have we got to hear?" asked Barrington, with an air of innocence. " We have got to hear your report, brother Peter ; the narrative of your late conversation with Major Stapyltou; given, as nearly as your memory will serve, in the exact words and in the precise order everything occurred." " October the twenty-third," said Withering, writing as he spoke ; " minute of interview between P. B. and Major S. Taken on the same moining it occurred, with remarks and observations explanatory." " Bejin," said Dinah, imperiously, while she worked away without lilting her head. "And avoid, so far as possible, anything beyond the precise expression em- ployed." " But you don't suppose I took notes in short-hand of what we said to each other, do you ? " " I certainly suppose you can have retained in your memory a conversation that took place two hours ago," said Miss Dinah, sternly. '* And can relate it circumstantially and clearly," added Withering. " Then I'm very sorry to disappoint you, but I can do nothing of the kind." " Do you mean to say that you had no interview with Major Stapylton, Peter ? " " Or that you have forgotten all about it ? " said Withering. CEOSS-EXAMININGS. 859 " Or is it that you have taken a pledge of secrecy, brother Peter ? " " No, no, no ! It is simply this, that though I retain a pretty fair general impression of what I said myself, and what he said afterwards, I could no more pretend to recount it accurately, than I could say off by heart a scene in Romeo and Juliet.^'' " Why don't you take the Comedy of Errors for your illustration, Peter Barrington? I ask you, Mr. Withering, have you in all your experience met anything like this ? " " It would go hard with a man in the witness-box to make such a declaration, I must say." "What would a jury think of, what would a judge say to, liim?" said she, using the most formidable of all penalties to her brother's imagination. " Wouldn't the court tell him that he would be compelled to speak out ? " " They'd have it out on the cross-examination, at all events, if not on the direct." " In the name of confusion, what do you want with me ? " exclaimed Peter, in despair. " We want everything ; everything that you heard about this man. Who he is, what he is ; what by the father's side, what by the mother's ; what are his means, and where; who knows him, who are his associates. Bear in mind that to us, here, he has dropped out of the clouds." " And gone back there too," added Withering. " I wish to Heaven he had taken me with him ! '' sighed Peter, drearily. " I think in this case, Miss Barrington," said Withering, with a well affected gravity, '* we had better withdraw a juror, and accept a nonsuit." " I have done with it altogether," said she, gathering up her worsted and her needles, and preparing to leave the room. " My dear Dinah," said Barrington, entreatingly, " imagine a man as wanting in tact as I am — and as timid, too, about giving casual odence — conducting such an inquiry as you committed to my hands. Fancy how, at every attempt to obtain information, his own boldness, I might call it rudeness, stared him in the face, till at last, 3G0 BARRINGTON. rather than push his investigations, he grow puzzled how to apologize for hin prying curiosity." " Brother, brotlier, this is too bad 1 It had been better to have thought more of your granddiiughter's fate and less of your own feelings." And with this she flounced out of the room, upsetting a spider-table, and a case of stuffed birds that stood on it, as she passed. " I don't doubt but she's right, Tom," said Peter, when the door closed. " Did he not tell you who he was, and what his fortune ? Did you really learn nothing from him ? " "lie told me everything; and if I had not been so cruelly badgered, I could have repeated every word of it ; but you never made a hound true to the scent by flogging him, Tom ; isn't that a fact, eh ?" And consoled by an illustration that seemed so pat to his case, he took his hat and strolled out into the garden. 861 CHAPTER XXXYm. GENERAL C0NYEE8. In a snug little room of the Old Ship Hotel, at Dover, a large, heavy man, with snow-white hair, and moustaches — the latter less common in those days than the present — sat at table with a younger one, so like him that no doubt could have existed as to their being father and son. They had dined, and were sitting over their wine, talking occa- sionally, but oftener looking fondly and affectionately at each other ; and once, by an instinct of sudden love, grasping each other's hand, and sitting thus several minutes without a word on either side. " You did not expect me before to-morrow, Fred," said the old man, at last. " No, father," replied young Conyers. ** I saw by the newspapers that you were to dine at the Tuileries on Tuesday, and I thought you would not quit Paris the same evening." "Yes ; I started the moment I took off my uniform. I wanted to be with you, my boy ; and the royal politeness that detained me was anything but a favour. How you have grown, Fred — almost my own height, I believe." " The more like you the better," said the youth, as his eyes ran over, and the old man turned away to hide his emotion. After a moment he said, " How strange you should not have got my letters, Fred ; but, after all, it is just as well as it is. T wrote in a very angry spirit, and was less just than a little cool reflection might have made me. They made no charges against me, though I thought they had. There were grumblings, and discontents, and such-like. They' called me a Rajah, and raked up all the old stories CG2 BARRINOTON. tlioy used to circulate once on a time about a far better fellow " " You itican roldiiel I'mrinpton, don't you ?" said Fred. "^Vliere or how did you hear of that name?" said tho old man, almost sternly. " All accident made mo the guest of his family, at a little cotta^'e they live in on an Irish river. I passed weeks there, and, through the favour of the name 1 bore, I received more kindness tlian I ever before met in life." "And tliey knew you to be a Conyers, and to be my Bon 't " "It was Colonel Barrington's aunt was my hostess, and hhe it was who. on hearing my name, admitted me at once to all the ju-ivileges of old triendsliip. She told me of the close companionship which once subsisted between you and her nephew, and gave me rolls of his letters to read, wherein eveiy line spoke of you." " And Mr. Barrington, the father of George, how did he receive you ?" " At first with such coolness that I couldn't bring my. self to recross his threshold. He had been away from home when I arrived, and the day of his return 1 was un- expectedly presented to him by his sister, who evidently was as unprepared as myself for the reception I met with." "And what was that reception — how was it? Tell me all as it happened." " It was the affair of a moment. Miss Barrington in- troduced me, saying, ' This is the son of poor George's dearest friend — this is a Con^-ers ;* and the old man faltered, and seemed like to faint, and after a moment stammered out something about an honour he had never counted upon — a visit he scarcely could have hoped for; and, indeed, so overcome was he, that he staggered into the house only to take to his bed, where he lay seriously ill for several days after." " Poor fellow ! It was hard to forgive — very hard." " Ay, but he has forgiven it — whatever it was— heartily, and wholly forgiven it. We met afterwards by a chance in Germany, and while I was hesitating how to avoid a repetition of the painful scene which marked our first meeting, he came manfully towards me with his hand out. GEXER^VL C0NYER3. 8G3 and said, ' I have a forgiveness to beg of you ; and if you only know how I loug to obtain it, you would scarce say me no.' " " The worthy father of poor George ! I think I hear him speak the very words himself. Go on, Fred — go on, and tell me further," " There is no more to tell, sir, unless I speak of all the affectionate kindness he has shown — the trustfulness and honour with which he has treated me. I have been in his Louse like his own son." " Ah ! if you had known that son ! If you had seen what a type of a soldier he was! The most intrepid, the boldest fellow that ever breathed: but with a heart of childlike simplicity and gentleness. 1 could tell you traits of him, of his forbeai-ance, his forgiveness, his generous devotion to I'riendship, that would seem to bespeak a nature that had no room for other than soft and tender emotion ; and yet, if ever there was a lion's heart within a man's bosom it was his." For a moment or two the old man seemed overcome by his recollections, and then, as if by an effort, rallying himself, he went on: "You have often heard the adage, Fred, that enjoins watching one's pennies and leaving the pounds to take care of themselves ; and yet, trust me, the maxim is truer as applied to our morals than our money. It is by the smaller, finer, and least impox'tant traits of a man that his fate in life is fashioned. The caprices we take no pains to curb, the tempers we leave unchecked, the petty indulgences we extend to our vanity and self-love — these are the gresit sands that wreck us far oftener than the more stern and formidable features of our character. I ought to know i.his truth — I myself lost the best, and truest, and the }ioblest friend that ever man had, just from the exercise cf a spirit of bantering and ridicule which amused those about me, and gave me that pre-eminence which a sar- castic and witty spirit is sure to assert. You know ali'eady how George Barringron and I lived together like brothers. I do not believe two men ever existed more thoroughly and sincerely attached to each other. All the contrarieties of our dispositions served but to heighten the interest that linked us together. As for myself, I was 3G4 HARRINGTON. never wearied in exploring the stranpe recesses of that great niituro that seemed to unite all that could be dariupf and dashing in man with the tenderness of a woman. I believe 1 knew him far better than he knew himself. But to come to what 1 wanted to tell jou, and which is an agony to me to dwell on. Though for a long while our close friendship was known in the regiment, and spoken of as a thing ineapable of change, a sort of rumour — no, not even a rumour, but an impression — seemed to gain, that the ties between us were looser on my side than his ; that George looked up to me, and that I, with the ])ride of a certain superiority, rather lorded it over lihn. This feel- ing became painfully strengthened when it got about that Bari'ingtun had lent me the greater part of the purchase- money for my troop — a promotion, by the way, which barred his own advancement — and it was whispered, so at least I heard, tliat Barrington was a mere child in my hands, whom I rebuked or rewarded at pleasure. If I could have traced these rumours to any direct source, I could have known how to deal with them. As it was, they were vague, shadowy, and unreal ; and their very unsubstantiality maddened me the more. To have told Gec^rge of them ■would have been rasher still. The thought of a wrong done to me would have driven him beyond all reason, and he would infallibly have coinproiiiised himself beyond recall. It was the very first time in ray life I had a secret from him, and it eat into my heart like a virulent disease. The consciousness that I was watched, the feeling that eyes were upon me marking all I did, and tonguea were commenting on all I said, exasperated me, and at one moment 1 would parade my friendship for Barrington in a sort of spirit of defiance, and at another, as though to give the lie to my slanderers, treat him with indiderenee and carelessness, as it were to show that I was not bound to him by the weight of a direct obligation, and that our relations involved nothing of dependence. It was when, by some cruel mischance, I had been pursuing this sj)irit to its extreme, that the conversation one night at mess turned upon sport and tiger-hunting. Many stories were told, of course, and we had the usual narratives of hair- breadth escapes and perils of the mosta])paliing kind ; till GENERAL CONYEES. 3G5 at length some one— I forget exactly who it was — narrated a single-handed encounter with a jaguar, which in horror exceeded anything we had heard before. The details were alone not so terrible, but the circumstances so marvellous, that one and all who listened cried out, ' Who did it ? ' " * The man who told me the tale,' replied the narrator, *and who will probably be back to relate it here to you in a few days — Colonel Barrington.' '' I have told you the devilish spirit which had me in. possession. I have already said that I was in one of those moods of insolent mockery in which nothing was sacred to me. No sooner, then, did I hear Barrington's name than I burst into a hearty laugh, and said, ' Oh ! if it was one of George Barrington's tigers you ought to have men- tioned that fact at the outset. You have been exciting our feelings unfairly.' " ' I assume that his statement was true,' said the other, gravely. " ' Doubtless ; just as battle pieces are true, that is, pic- torially true. The tiger did nothing that a tiger ought not to do, nor did George transgress any of those *' unities " which such combats require. At the same time, Barrington's stories have always a something about them that stamps the authorship, and you recognize this trait just as you do a white horse in a picture by Wouvermans.' "In this strain I went on, heated by my own warmed imagination, andtheapprovinglaughter of thosearound me. I recounted more than one feat of Barrington's — things which I knew he had done, some of them almost incredible in boldness. These I told with many a humorous addi- tion an many and absurd commentary, convulsing the listeners with laughter, and rendering my friend ridiculous. " He came back from the hills within the week, and be- fore he was two hours in his quarters he had heard the whole story. We were at luncheon in the mess-room when he entered, flushed and excited, but far more moved by emotion than resentment. " ' Ormsby,' said he, ' you may laugh at me to your heart's content and I'll never grumble at it, but there are some young officers here who, not knowing the ties that attach us, may fancy that these quizzings pass the limits 3G6 BARRINGTON. of mero drullcry, and even juopardize something of my truthfulness. You, I know, nover meant this any more than I have felt it, but others miL,'ht, and mij^ht, besides, on leaving this and sittiiipf at other tables, lepeat what they had heard here. Tell them, that you spoke of me as you have a free rii;ht to do, in jest, and that your ridioulo was the good-humoured banter of a friend — of a friend who never did, never eould, impugn my honour.' " His eyes were swimming over, and his lips trembling, as he uttered the last words. I see him now, as he stood there, his very eheek shakitig in agitation. That brave, bold fellow, who would have marched up to a battery with- out quailing, shook like a siekly girl. " ' Am I to say that you never -draw the long-bow, George r" asked I, half ins{dently. " ' You are to say, sir, that I never told a lie,' cried he, dark with passion. " ' Oh, this discussion will be better carried on else- where,' said I, as I arose and left the room. "As I was in the wrong, totally in the wrong, I was passionate and headstrong. I sat down and wrote a most insolent letter to Barrington. I turned all the self-hate that was consuming me fi gainst my friend, and said I know not what of outrage and insult. I did worse ; I took a copy of my letter, and declared that I would read it to the officers in the mess-room. He sent a friend to me to beg I would not take this course of open insult. My answer was, ' Colonel Barrington knows bis remedy.' W^hen I sent this message I prepared for what I felt cer- tain would follow. I knew Barrington so well that I thought even the delay of an hour, then two hours, strange. At length evening drew nigh, and, though I sat waiting in my quarters, no one came from him — not a letter nor a line apprised me what course he meant to take. " Not caring to meet the mess at such a moment, I ordered my horses and drove up to a small station about twenty miles oil', leaving word where I was to be found. I passed three days there in a state of fovered expectancy. Barrington made no sign, and at length, racked and dis- tressed by the conflict with myself — now summoning up an insolwnt spirit of defiance to the whole world, uuw GENEEAL CONYEKS. 8G7 liurnblmg myself in a consciousness of the evil line I had adopted — I returned one night to my quarters. The first news that greeted me was that Barrington had left us. He had accepted the offer of a Native command which had been made to him some months before, and of which we had often canvassed together all the advantages and disadvantages. I heard that he had written two letters to me before he started and torn them up after they were sealed. I never heard from him, never saw him more, till I saw his dead body carried into camp the morning he fell. " I must get to the end of this quickly, Fred, and I will tell you all at once, for it is a theme I will never go back on. I came to England with despatches about two years after Barrington's death. It was a hurried visit, for I was ordered to hold myself in readiness to return almost as soon as I arrived. I was greatly occupied, going about from place to place, and person to person, so many great people desired to have a verbal account of what was doing in India, and to hear confidentially what I thought of matters there. In the midst of the mass of letters which the post brought me eveiy morning, and through which, without the aid of an officer on the staff", I could never have got through, there came one whose singular address struck me. It was to ' Captain Ormsby Conyers, 22nd Lio-ht Draffoons,' a rank I had held fourteen years before that time in that same regiment. I opmed at once that my correspondent must have been one who had known me at that time and not followed me in the interval. I was right. It was from old Mr. Barrington — George Barring- ton's father. What version of my quarrel with his son could have reached him, I cannot even guess, nor by what light he read my conduct in the affair ; but such a letter I never read in my life. It was a challenge to meet him anywhere, and with any weapon, but couched in language so insulting as to impugn my courage, and hint that I would probably shelter myself behind the pretext of his advanced age. ' But remember,' said he, ' if God has permitted me to be an old man, it is you who have made me a childless one ! ' " For a few seconds he paused, overcome by emotion, and then went on: "I sat down and wrote him a letter of 8C8 BATiniNOTON. coutrition, almost abject in its terms. I entreated him to believe that ior every wronp I had done his noble- hearted son, my own conscience had repayed mo in misery ten times told ; that if he deemtd my Kelf-condemnation insnflicient, it was open to him to add to it whatever he wished of obloquy or shame ; that if he proclaimed me a coward befort- the world, and degraded mo in the eyes of men, I would not ofl'cr one word in my defence. I cannot repeat all that I said in my deep humiliation. His answer came a-t last one single line, re-enclosing my own letter to me : ' Lest I should be tempted to make use of this letter, I send it back to you ; there is no need of more between us.' " "With this our intercourse ceased. When a corres- pondence was published in the * Barrington Inquiry,' as it was called, I half hoped he would have noticed some letters of mine about George, but he never did, and in his silence I thought I read his continued unforgiveness." *' I hope, father, that you never believed the charges that were made against Captain Barrington?" " Not one of them ; disloyalty was no more his than cowardice. I never knew the Englishman with such a pride of country as he had, nor could you have held out a greater bribe to him, for any achievement of peril, than to say, ' What a gain it would be for England " " " How was it that such a man should have had a host of enemies ?" " Nothing so natural. Barrington was the most diffi- dent of men ; his bashfulness amounted to actual pain. With strangers, this made him cold to very sternness, or, as is often seen in the eS'ort to conquer a natural defect, gave him a manner of over-easy confidence that looked like impertinence. And thus the man who would not have wounded the self-love of the meanest beggar, got the reputation of being haughty, insolent, and oppressive. Besides this, when he was in the right, and felt himself 80, he took no pains to convince others of the fact. His maxim was — have I not heard it from his lips scores of times — 'The end will show.'" " And yet the end will not show, father ; his fame has not been vindicated, nor his character clcnred." GENERAL CONYERS. 869 " In some measure the fault of those who took up his cause. They seemed less to insist on reparation than punishment. They did not say, ' Do justice to this man's memory ; * but, ' Come forward and own you wronged him, and broke his heart.' Now, the accusation brought against George Barrington of assuming sovereign power was not settled by his death ; his relatives forgot this, or merged it in their own charge against the Company. They mismanaged everything." " Is it too late to put them on the right track, father ; or could you do it?" asked the youth, eagerly. " It is not too late, boy ! T liere is time for it yet. There is, however, one condition necessary, and I do not see how that is to be secured." "And what is that?" " I should see Mt. Barrington and confer with him alone ; he must admit me to his confidence, and I own to you, I scarcely deem that possible." " May I try — may I attempt this ? " " I do not like to refuse you, Fred : but if I say Yes, it will be to include you in my own defeated hopes. For many a year Mr. Barrington has refused to give one sign of his forgiveness ; for in his treatment of you I only recognize the honourable feeling of exempting the son from the penalty due to the father. But perhaps defeat is better than self-reproach, and as I have a strong conviction I could serve him, I am ready to risk a failure." " I may make the attempt, then ? " said Fred, eagerly. " I will write to Miss Barrington to-day." " And now of yourself. What of your career ? How do you like soldiering, boy ? " " Less than ever, sir ; it is only within the last week or two that we have seen anything beyond barrack or parade duty. Now, however, we have been called to repress what are called risings in the northern shires ; and our task has been to ride at large unarmed mobs and charge down masses, whose grape-shot are brickbats. Not a very glorious campaign ! " The old man smiled, but said nothing for a moment. " Your colonel is on leave, is he not ? " asked he. B B 370 BARIUNGTON- " Yes. We are comumiidcd by that Mnjor Stapylton T told you of." " A smart ofTioer, but no friend of yours, Fred," said the General, eiiiilinp. " No, sir; certainly no friend of mine," said the young man, resolutely. " To refuse me a week's leave to go and meet my father, whom 1 have not seen for years, and, when pressed, to accord me four days, is to disgust me with liimself :iiid the service together." "Well, as you cannot be my guest, Fred, I will be yours. I'll go back with you to head-quarters. Stapylton is a name I used to be familiar with long ago It may turn out that 1 know his family ; but let us talk of Bar- rington. I have been thinking it would he better not to link any question of his own interests with my desire to meet him, but simply to say I'm in England, and wish to know if he would receive me." " It shall be as you wish, sir. I will write to his sister by this post." " And after one day in town, Fred, I am ready to accom- pany you anywhere." 371 CHAPTER XXXIX. MAJOR m'cormick's letter. As it was uot often that Major M'Cormick performed the part of a letter-writer, perhaps my reader will pardon me if I place him before him on one of these rare occasions. If success would always respond to labour, his would have been a real triumph, for the effort cost him many days, two sleepless nights, a headache, and half a quire of paper. Had not Stapylton retained him by an admirably- selected hamper of good things from a celebrated Italian warehouse in the Strand, I am afraid that M'Cormick's zeal might have cooled down to the zero of forgetfuhiess ; but the reindeer hams and the Yarmouth bloaters, the potted shrimps and the preserved guavas, were an appeal that addressed themselves (o that organ which with him paid the double debt of digestion and emotion. He felt that such a correspondent was worth a sacrifice, and he made it. That my reader may appreciate the cost of the achievement, I would have him imagine how a mason about to build a wall should be obliged to examine each stone before he laid it, test its constituent qualities, its shape and its size — for it was thus that almost every word occasioned the Major a reference to the dictionary, spelling not having been cultivated in his youth, nor much practised in his riper years. Graces of style, how- ever, troubled him little -. and, to recur to my figure of the stone-mason, if he was embarrassed in his search for the materials, he cared wonderfully little for the archi- tecture. His letter ran thus, and the reader will perceive that it must have been written some weeks after the events recorded in the last chapter :— B B 2 372 BAURINGTON. " Mac's Nest, October, Thursday. ** Dear S., — A touch of my old Wiilchert'n coinj)liiint has laid mo up since Tuesday, and if the shakes make iiie illegible now, that's the reason why. Besides this the weather is dreadlul ; cold east winds and rains, sometimes sleet, every day ; and the turf so wet, it's only smoke, not lire. I helieve it is the worst climate in Europe, and it gets wetter every year. " The hamper came to hand, but though it was marked ' Carriage paid, this side up,' they upset it and broke two bottles, and charged seven and fourpence-halfpenny for the bringing it, which is, I think, enormous; at least, Tim Hacket got over a thrashing-machine from Scotland last spring for twelve and four, and there's no comparison between the two. Thanks to you, however, all the same; but if you can get any of this chiirge reduced, so much the better, not to speak of the bottles — both mixed pickles — which they ouglit to make good. " I am glad to see you are touching up the Radicals in the North ; powder and ball will do more to bring them to reason than S))outing in Parliament. The papers say there was nine killed and twenty-three wounded ; and one fellow, the Stockport Bee, says, that, ' if the Butcher that led the dragoons isn't turned out of the service with disgrace no gentleman will degrade himself by entering the army.* Isn't the Butcher yourself ? Miss Barrington, always your friend, says it is; and that if the account of another paper, called the ^[ii-'<, be true, you'll have to go to a court-martial. I stood stoutly to you through it all, and declared that when the niggers was up at Jamaica, we hadn't time to take the names of the prisoner-s, and we always cut one of their ears otf to know them again. Old Peter laughed till the tears ran down his face, but Dinah said, 'If I did not suppose, sir, that you weie inventing a very graceless joke, I'd insist on your leaving this room and this house on the instant.' It was ten o'clock at night, and raining hard, so you may guess I gave in. Bad as she is, the young one is her equal, and [ gave up all thoughts of what you call ' prosecuting my suit ' in that quarter. She isn't even commonly civil to MAJOR M'cORMICK's LETTER. 873 me, and when I ask her for, maybe, the mustard at dinner, she turns away her head, and says, ' Darby, give Major M'Cormiek the salt.' That's French politeness, perhaps ; but I'll pay them all off yet, for they can't get sixpence on the mortgage, and I'm only drinking out that bin of old Madeira before 1 tell them that I won't advance the money. Why should I ? The women treat me woi-se than a dog, and old B. is neither more nor less than a fool. Dill, the doctor, however he got it, says it's all up about the suit with the India Company ; that there's no proof of the Colonel's marriage at all, that the charges against him were never cleared up, and that nothing can come out of it but more disgrace and more exposure. " I wish you'd send me the correct account of what took place between you and one of your subalterns, for old Dinah keeps harping on it in a sort of mysterious and mischievous way of her own, that provokes me. Was it that he refused to obey orders, or that you, as she sa3's, used such language towards him, that he wrote to report you ? Give it to me in black and white, and maybe I won't try her temper with it. At all events, make out some sort of a case, for the old woman is now intolerable. She said yesterday, ' Major Stapylton, to whom I write by this post, will see that his visit here must be preceded by an explanation.' There's her words for you, and I hope you like them ! " I think you are right to be in no hurry about purchasing, for many say the whole system will be changed soon, and the money would be clean thrown away. Besides this, I have been looking over my baidi- book, and I find I couldn't help you just now. Two bad harvests, and the smut in the wheat last year, are running me mighty close. I won't finish this till to-morrow, for I'm going to dine at ' The Home ' to-day. It is the granddaughter's birthday, and there was a regular shindy about who was going to be asked. Old Peter was for a grand celebration, and inviting the Admiral, and the Gores, and God knows who besides ; and Dinah was for what she called a family party, consisting, I suppose, of herself and Darby. I'll be able, before I close this, to tell S7t BAURINUTON'. you how it wns ended ; for I only know now tliat Dill and his (l:ui<,''hfer are to be tlicre. " Wfdiicsday. — I sit down with a murdering headache to finish this letter. Maybe it was the pickled lobster, or the iff punch, or the other drink they called cliatnpjigne- cup, tliat did it. I'lit I never passed such a ni<,'ht since I was in the trenches, and 1 am shaking still, so that 1 can scarce hold the pen. It was a grand dinner, to be sure, for ruined people to give. Venison from Ciirrick Woods, and game of every kind, with all kinds of wine ; and my Lord Carrickmore talking to ^liss Dinah, and the Admiral following up with the niece, and Tom Brabazon, and Dean of Deanspaik, and the devil knows who besides, bringing up the rear, with Dill and your obedient servant. Every dish that came in, and every bottle that was uncorked, I said to niy.self, 'There goes anotlier strap on the property:' and I felt as if we were eating the trees, and the timber, and the meadows, all the time at table. " It'.s little of the same sympathv troubled the others. Mj lord was as jolly as if he was dining with the King ; and old Cobhani called for more of the Madeira, as if it was an inn ; and Peter himself — the heartless old fool — • when he got up to thank the company for drinking hi.s granddauirliter's health, said, 'May I trust tluit, even at my advanced age, this may not be the last time I m:iy have to speak my gratitude to you all for the generous warmth with which you have pledged this toast; but even should it be so, I shall carry away with rae from this evening's happiness a glow of pleasiu-e that will animate me to the last. It was only this morning I learned what I know you will all hear with satisfaction, that there is ever\' probability of a speed}' arrangement of my long- pending suit with the Company, and that my child here will soon have her own again.' Grand applause; and huzzas, with a noise that drowned ' Bother ! ' from niyselt, and in the middle of the row up jumps the Admiral, and cries out, ' Three cheers more for the Rnjah's daughter! ' I thought tlie old roof would come down ; and the black- guards in the kitchen took up the cry and shouted like mad, and then we yelled again, and this went on tor MAJOR m'CORMICK*S LETTER. 375 maybe five minutes. ' What does it all mean,' says I, 'but a cheer for the Court of Bankruptcy, and Hip, hip, hurray ! for the Marshalsea Prison ! ' Alter that, we had half an hour or more of flatteries and compliments. My Lord was so happy, and Peter Barrington so proud, and the Admiral so delighted, and the rest of us so much honoured, that I couldn't stand it any longer, but stole away, and got into the garden, to taste a little fresh air and quietness. I hadn't gone ten paces, when I came plump upon Miss Dinah, taking her cofiee under a tree. ' You are a deserter, I fear, sir,' said she, in her own snappish way ; so I thought I'd pay her off, and I said, ' To tell you the truth. Miss Barrington, at our time of life these sort of things are more lull of sadness than pleasure. We know how hollow they are, and how little heart there is in the cheers of the people that are so jolly over your wine, but wouldn't stop to talk to you when you came down to water ! ' " ' The worse we think of the world, Major M'Cormick,' says she, ' the more risk we run of making ourselves mean enough to suit it.' "' 1 don't suspect, ma'am,' says I, 'that when people have known it so long as you and I, that they are greatly in love with it.' " ' They may, however, be mannerly in their dealings with it, sir,' said she, fiercely ; and so we drew the game, and settled the men for another battle. " ' Is there anything new, ma'am ? ' says I, after a while. " I believe not, sir. The bread riots still continue in the North, where what would seem the needless severity of some of the military commanders have only exas- perated the people. You have heard, I suppose, of Major Stapylton's business ? ' " ' Not a word, ma'am,' says I ; ' for I never see a paper.' " ' I know very little of the matter myself,' says she. ' It was, it would appear, at some night assemblage at a place called Lund's Common. A young officer sent for- ward by Major Stapylton to disperse the people, was so struck by the destitution and misery he witnessed, and 376 HARRINGTON. the respectful attitude tliey exhibiterl, that he hesitated about employint^ torce, mid restricted hiinneH' to C(;unsel8 of quietnt'SH and Kubinission. lie did more — not perhaps very prudently, as some would say — lie actually emptied his pockets of all tlie money lie liad, givinj; even his watch to aid the starving horde before him. What precise ver- sion of his conduct readied his superior, I cannot say ; but certainly Major Stiipylton commented on it in terms of the harshest severity, and he even hinted at a reason for the forbearance too offensive for any soldier to endure.' " She did not seem exactly to know what followed after this, but some sort of inquiry appeared to take jilace, and witnesses were examined as to what really occurred at Lund's Common ; and amongst others, a Lascar, who was one of the factory hands — having come to England a great many years before with an oQicer from India. This fel- low's evidence was greatly in favour of young Oonyers, and was subjected to a very severe cross-examination from yourself, in the middle of which he said something in Hindostanee that nobody in the court understood but you ; and after this he was soon dismissed and the case closed for that day. " ' What do you think. Major M'Cormick,' said she, ' but when the court of inquiry opened the next morning, Lal- Adeen, the Lascar, was not to be found high or low. The court have suspended their sittings to search for him ; but only one opinion prevails — that Major Stapylton knows more of this man's escape than he is likely to tell.' I have taken great pains to give you her own very words in all this business, and 1 wrote them down the moment I got home, for I thought to myself you'd, maybe, write about the matter to old Peter, and you ought to be pre- pared for the way they look at it ; the more because Miss Dinah has a liking for young Conyers — what she calls a motherly affection ; but 1 don't believe in the motherly part of it I But of course you care very little what the people here say about you at all. At least, I know it wouldn't trouble vie much, if I was in your place. At al) events, whatever you do, do with a high hand, and the Horse Guards is sure to stand to you. Moderation may be an elegant thing in civil life, but I never knew it MAJOR M'CORMICK's LETTER. 377 succeed in the army. There's the rain coming on again, and I just sent out six cars to the bog for turf; so I must conclude, and remain, yours sincerely, " Daniel T. M'Cormick. " I'm thinking of foreclosing the small mortgage I hold on ' The Home,' but as they pay the interest regularly, five per cent., I wouldn't do it if I knew things were going on reasonably well with them ; send me a line about what is doing regarding the ' claim,' and it will guide me," While Major M'Cormick awaited the answer to his post- script, which to him — ^as to a lady — was the important part of his letter, a short note arrived at ' The Home ' from Mr. Withering, enclosing a letter he had just received from Major Stapylton. Withering's communication was in answer to one from Barrington, and ran thus : — " Dear B., — All things considered, I believe you are right in not receiving General Conyers at this moment. It would probably, as you suspect, enable calumnious people to say that you could make your resentments play second when they came in the way of your interests. If matters go on well, as I have every bupe they will, you can make the amende to him more satisfactorily and more gracefully hereafter. Buxton has at length consented to bring the case before the House ; of course it will not go to a division, nor, if it did, could it be carried ; but the discussion will excite interest, the Press will take it up, and after a few regretful and half-civil expressions from the Ministry, the India Board will see the necessity of an arrangfement. " It is somewhat unfortunate and 7nal a propos that Stapylton should at this moment have got into an angry collision with young Conyers. I have not followed tho case closely, but, as usual in such things, they seem each of them in the wrong — the young sub wanting to make his generous sympathy supply the place of military obedi- ence, and the old officer enforcing discipline at the cost of very harsh language. I learn this morning that Conyers 078 HARRINGTON. has sold ont, intomlirifj to demand a personal satisfaction. You will see by S.'s letter that he scarcely alludes to this part of tlif tnitisactioii at all. S. feels very painfully the att'icks of tlie Press, and sees, perhaps, more forcibly than I should in his place, the necessity of an exchange. Head attentively the portion I have underlined." It is to this alone I have to direct my reader-s' attention, the first two sides of the letter being entirely filled with details about the " claim : " — " ' The newspapers have kept me before you for some days back, much more, I doubt not, to their readers' amusement than to ni}' own gratiticution. I could, if I pleased, have told these slanderers that I did not charge a crowd of women and children — that I did not cut down an elderly man at his own door-sill — that I did not use language " offensive and unbecoming " to one of my oilicers, for his having remonstrated in the name of humanity against the cruelty of my orders. In a word, I might have shown the contemptible scribblers that I knew how to temper duty with discretion, as I shall know liow, wlien the occasion offers, to make the punishment of a calumniator a terror to his colleagues. However, there is a very absurd story going about of a fellow whose in- solence I certainly did reply to with the flat of my sabre, and whom I should be but too happy to punish legally, if he could be appreliended. That he made his escape after being captured, and that I connived at, or assisted in it — I forget which — you have probably heard. In fact there is nothing too incredible to say of me for the moment ; and what is worse, I begin to suspect that the Home Secretar}-, having rather burned his tintrers in the business, will not be very sorry to make an Admiral Byng of a Major of Hussars. For each and all these reasons I mean to eychan«re, and, if possible, into a regiment in India. This will, of course, take sometime; meanwhile, I have asked for and obtained some months' leave. You will be surprised at my troubling you with so much of purely jjcrsonal matters, but they are the necessary pre- lace to what 1 now come. You are aware of the letter I MAJOR M'CORMICK'S LETTER. 379 wrote some time back to Mr. Barrington, and the request it preferred. If the reply I received was not discounig- ing, neither was it conclusive. The ordinary common- places as to the shortness of our acquaintance, the want of sufficient knowledge of each other's tastes, chai'acters, &c., were duly dwelt upon ; but I could not at the end say, was I an accepted or a rejected suitor. Now that the critical moment of my life draws nigh — for such I feel the present emergency — an act of confidence in me would liave more than double value. Can you tell me that this is the sentiment felt towards me, or am I to learn that the yells of a rabble have drowned the voices of my friends ? Jn plain words, will Miss Josephine Barrington accept my offer? Will she entrust her happiness to my keeping, and change the darkest shadow that ever lowered OA^er my life into a gleam of unspeakable brightness ? You have g-iven me too many proofs of a friendly disposition towards me, not to make me feel that you are the best fitted to bring this negotiation to a good issue. If I do not mistake you much, you look with favour on my suit and wish it success. I am ashamed to say how deeply my hopes have jeopardized my future happiness, but I tell you frankly life has no such prize to my ambition, nor, in fact, any such alternative of despair before me.' "Now, my dear Barrington," contijiued Withering's letter, " there is a great deal in this that I like, and some- thing with which I am not so much pleased. If, however, I am not the Major's advocate to the extent he asks, or expects me, it is because I feel that to be unjustly dealt with is a stronger claim on your heart than that of any- other man I ever met with, and the real danger here would be that you should sutier that feeling to predomi- nate over all others. Consult your granddaughter's interests, if you can, independently of this; I'eflect well if the plan ba one likely to promise her happiness. Take your sensible, clear-headed sister into your counsels ; but, above all, ascertain Josephine's own sentiments, and do nothing in direct opposition to them." "There, Dinah," said Barrington, placing the letter in ber hands, "this is as much to your address as to mine. 880 BATinrNGTON. Read it over carefully, and you'll find me in the garden when you liave done." ^liss Biirrincrton laid down her proat vuW of worsted work, and began her t^isk witliout a word. Slie had not proceeded very far, however, when Josephine entered in search of a book. " I beg pardon, aunt, if I derange you. " We say disturb, or inconvenience, in English, Miss Barrington. What is it you are looking for?" "The 'Legend of Montrose,' aunt. I am so much amused by lliat Major Dalgetty that I cau think «jf nothing but him." "Uinph!" muttered the old lady. "It was of a character not altogether dissimilar I was thinking myself at that moment. Sit down here, child, and let me talk to you. This letter that I hold here, Josephine, concerns you." " Me, aunt — concerns me ? And who on earth could have written a letter in which I am interested ?" "You shall hear it." She coughed only once or twice, and then went on : " It's a proposal of marriiige — no less. That gallant soldier who left us so lately has fallen in love with you — so he says, and of course he knows best. He seems fully aware that, being older tiian you, and graver in temperament, his otier must come heralded with certain expressions almost apologetic ; but he deals with the matter skilfully, and tells us that being well off as re- gards fortune, of good blood, and with fair prospects before him, he does not wish to regard his suit as hope- less. Your grandfather was mintled to learn how you might feel disposed to accept his addresses by oljscrving your demeanour, by watching what emotion mention of him might occasion, by seeing how lar you felt interested in his good or ill repute. 1 did not agree with him. I am never for the long road when there is a short one, and therefore I mean to let you hear his letter. This is what he writes." While Miss Dinah read the extract which the reader has just seen, she never noticed, or, if noticed, never attended to, the agitation in her niece's manner, or seemed to remark that from a deep crimson at first her cheeks grew pale as death, and her lips tremulous. MAJOR m'CORMICK's LETTER. 881 " There, child," said Miss Dinah, as she finished — " there are his own words ; very ardent words, bat withal re- spectful. What do you think of them — of them and of him ? " Josephine hung down her head, and with her hands firmly clasped together, she sat for a few moments so motionless that she seemed scarcely to breathe. " Would you like to think over this before you speak of it, Josephine ? Would you like to take this letter to your room and ponder over it alone Y " No answer came but a low, half-subdued sigh. " If you do not wish to make a confidante of me, Josephine, I am sorry for it, but not ofi'ended." " No, no, aunt, it is not that," burst she in ; " it is to you and you alone, I wish to speak, and I will be as candid as yourself. I am not surprised at the contents of this letter. I mean, I was in a measure prepared for them." "That is to say, child, that he paid you certain attentions? " She nodded assent. "And how did you receive them? Did you let him understand that you were not indiilerent to him — that his addresses were agreeable to you ? " Another, but shorter nod replied to this question. " I must confess," said the old lady, bridling up, '' all this amazes me greatly. Why, child, it is but the other day you met eacli other for the first time. How, when, and where you found time for such relations as you speak of, I cannot imagine. Do you mean to tell me, Josephine, that you ever talked alone together ? " "Constantly, aunt! " " Constantly ! " " Yes, aunt. We talked a great deal together." " Bat how, child — where V " "Here, aunt, as we used to stroll together every morn- ing through the wood, or in the garden; then, as we went on the river or to the waterfall." " I can comprehend nothing of all this, Josephine. I know you mean to deal openly with me, so say at once, how did this intimacy begin ? " "I can scarcely say how, aunt, because I believe we 882 BAr.nixGTON. drifted into it. We used to talk a great deal of ourselv^es, and at length we grew to tiilk of each other: of our likings and dislikin^'s : our tastes and our tempers. And these did nut always agree ! " " Indeed ! " " No, aunt," said she, with a heavy sigh. " We quar- relled very olton ; and unee — 1 shall not easily forget it — ODce seriously." " What was it about ? " " It was about India, aunt ; and he was in the wrong, and had to own it afterwards, and ask [)ard()n." " He must know much more of that country than you, child. How came it that yoa presumed to set up your opinion against his ? " " The presumption was his," said she, haughtily. " He spoke of his father's position as sometlitng the same as my father's. Ho talked of hira as a Rajah ! " " I did not know that he spoke of his father," said Miss Dinah, thoughtfully. " Oh, he spoke much of him. He told me, amongst other things, how he had been a dear friend of pafia's ; that as young men they lived together like brothers, and never were separate till the fortune of life divided them." " What is all this I am listening to ? Of whom are you telling me, Josephine? " " Of Fred, Aunt Dinah ; of Fred, of course." "Do you mean young Conyers, child?" " Yes. How could I mean any other? " " Ta, ta, ta ! " said the old lady, drumming with her heel on the floor and her fingers on the table. " It has all turned out as I said it would ! Peter, Peter, will you never be taught wisdom ! Listen to me. child," said she, turning almost sternly towards Josepliine. " We have been at cross-purposes with each other all this time. This letter which I have just read for you " She stopped suddenly as slie reached thus far, and after a second's pause, said, " Wait for me here ; I will be back presently. I have a word to say to your grandfather." Leaving poor Josephine in a state of trepidation and bewilderment — ashamed at the confession she had just made, and trembling with a vague sense of some danger MAJOR m'cORMICk's LETTER. 883 that impended over her— Miss Dinah hurried away to the garden. " Here's a new sort of worm got into the celery, Dinah," said he, as she came up, " and a most destructive fellow he is. He looks like a mere ruffling of the leaf, and you'd never suspect him." " It is your peculiarity never to suspect anything, brother Peter, even after you have had warning of peril. Do you remember my telling you, when we were up the E!iine, what would come of that intimacy between Conyers and Josephine ?" " I think I do," said he, making what seemed an effort of memory. " And can you recall the indolent slipshod answer you made me about it? But of course you cannot. It was an old maid's apprehensions, and you forgot the whole thing. Well, Peter, I was right and you were wrong." *' Not the first time that the double event has come off so!" said he, smiling. "You are too fond of that cloak of humility, Peter Barrington. The plea of Guilty never saved any one from transpoi'tation ! " Waiting a moment to recover her breath after this burst of passion, she went on : " After I had read that letter you gave me, I spoke to Josephine; I told her in a few words how it referred to her, and frankly asked her what she thought of it. She was very candid and very open, and I must say, also very collected and com- posed. Young ladies of the present day possess that in- estimable advantage over their predecessors. Their emo- tions do not overpower them." This was the second time of " blowing off the steam," and she had to wait a moment to rally. " She told me, frankly, that she was not unpre- pared for such an offer ; that tender passages had already been exchanged between them. The usual tomfoolery, I conclude — that supreme effort of selfishness people call love- — -in a word, Peter, she was in no wise disinclined to the proposal ; the only misfortune was, she believed it came from young Conyers." Barrington would have laughed, and laughed heartily, if he dared. As it was, the effort to restrain himself sent the blood to his head, and made his ejes run over. 881 BARnrNGTON. " You may well blush, Peter Barrington," said she, shakiii"^ her finger at liim. " It's all your own doing." "And when yon undeceived her, Dinah, what did she Bay?" " I have not done so yet, but my impression is, that so susceptible a young lady should find no great difliculty in transferring her all'ections. For the present I mean to limit myself to declaring that this ofler is not from Conyers ; if slie has curiosity to know the writer she shall learn it. I always had my doubts about those convents! Bread and water diet makes more epicures than absti- nents ! " CHAPTER XL. WTERCHANGED CONFESSIONS. Miss BARRrs'GTON, with Josephine at one side and Polly Dill on the other, sat at work in her little room that opened on the garden. Each was engaged in some pecu- liar task, and each seemed bent upon her labour in that preoccupied way, which would imply that the cares of needlework make no mean call upon human faculties. A close observer would, however, have remarked that though Miss Barrington stitched vigorously away at t'o back- ground for a fierce tiger with measly spots over him, Polly seemed oftener to contemplate than continue her handiwork ; while Josephine's looks strayed constantly from the delicate tracery she was following, to the garden, where the roses blended with the jasmine, and the droop- ing honeysuckles hung listlessly over the boughs of the apple-tree. " If your work wearies you, Fifine," said Miss Dinah, "you had better read for us." " Oh no, not at all, aunt ; I like it immensely. I was INTERCHANGED CONFESSIONS. 885 only wondering why one should devise such impossible foliage, when we have the real thing before us, in all its grace and beauty." "Humph!" said the old lady; "the sight of a real tiger would not put me out of countenance with my own." " It certainly ought not, ma'am," said Polly ; while she added, in a faint whisper, " for there is assuredly no rivalry in the case." " Perhaps Miss Dill is not too absorbed in her study of nature, as applied to needlework, to read out the news- paper." " I will do it with pleasure ma'am. Where shall I begin?" " Deaths and marriages first, of course, child. Then fashion and varieties ; take the accidents afterwards, and close with anything remarkable in politics, or any dis- astrous occurrence in high life." Polly obeyed to the letter ; once only straying into an animated account of a run with the Springfield fox-hounds, where three riders out of a large field came in at the death ; when Miss Dinah stopped her abruptly, saying, "I don't care for the obituary of a fox, young lady. Go on with something else," "Will you have the recent tragedy at Ring's End, ma am i " I know it by heart. Is there nothing new in the fashions — how are bonnets worn ? What's the latest sleeve ? What's the colour in vogue ? " " A delicate blue, ma'am ; a little off the sky, and on the hyacinth." " Very becoming to fair people," said Miss Dinah, with a shake of her blonde ringlets. " ' The Prince's Hussars ! ' Would you like to hear about ihem^ ma'am ?" " By all means." " It's a very short paragraph. ' The internal troubles of this unhappy regiment would seem to be never ending. We last week informed our readers that a young subaltern of the corps, the son of one of our most distinguished generals, had thrown up his commission and repaired to the Continent, to enable him to demand a personal satis- c c 386 BAUIUNGTON. faction from liis coTnTiinndiiifj ofTiccr, nnrl we now lenrn that tlio uiajur in qiK-.stiou is pifcludt'd from uccH-ptiiij^ the gage of battle by something stronger than military etiqiK'tte.' " " Head it again, child ; that vile newspaper slang always puzzles me." Pt^lly recited the passage in a clear and distinct voice. " What do you understand by it, Polly?" " I take it to mean nothing, madam. One of those stirring pieces of intelligence which excites curiosity, and are no more expected to be explained than a bao riddle." "It cannot surely be that he shelters himself under his position towards us ? That I conclude is hardly possible ! " Though Miss Barrington said this as a reflection, she addressed herself almost directly to Josephine. "As far as I am concerned, aunt," answered Josephine, promptly, "The ilajor may fight the monster of the Drachentels to-morrow, if he wishes it." " Oh, here is another mystery apparently on the same subject. 'The Lascar, Lal-Adeen, whom our readers will remember as having figured in a police-court a few day.s back, and was remanded till the condition of his wound — a severe sabre cut on the scalp — should permit his further examination, and on the same night niade his escape from the hospital, has once again, and very unexpectedly, turned up at Boulogne-sur-Mer. His arrival in this country, some say voluntarily, others under a warrant issued for his appre- hension, will probably take place to-day or to-morrow, and, if report speak truly, be followed by some of the most singular confessions which the public has heard for a long time back.' The Post contradicts the statement, and declares ' no such person has ever been examined before the magistrate, if he even have any existence all.' " " And what interest has all this for us r " asked Miss Dinah, sharply. " You do not forget, ma'am, that this is the same man Major Stapylton was said to have wounded ; and whose escape, scandal hinted, he had connived at, and who now, ' does not exist.' " " I declare, Miss Dill, T remember no such thing ; but it INTERCHANGED CONFESSIONS. 387 appears to me that Major Sfcapylton occupies a very con- siderable space in your own thoughts." "I fancy Polly likes him, aunt," said Josephine, with a slight smile. " Well, I will own he interests me ; there is about him a mysterious something that says, ' I have more in my head and on my heart, than you think of; and more perhaps than you could carry, if the burden were yours.' " " A galley-slave might say the same, Miss Dill." *' No doubt of it, ma'am ; and if there be men who mix in the great world, and dine at grand houses, with some- thing of the galley-slave on their conscience, they assuredly impress us with an amount of fear that is half a homage. One dreads them as he does a tiger, but the terror is mingled with admiration." *' This is nonsense, young lady, and baneful nonsense too, begotten of French novels and a sickly sentimentality. I hope Fifine despises it as heartily as I do," The pas- sionate wrath which she displayed extended to the materials of her work-basket, and while rolls of worsted were upset here, needles were thrown there ; and at last, pushing her embroidery-frarae rudely away, she arose and left the room. " Dearest Polly, how could you be so indiscreet. You know, far better than I do, how little patience she has with a paradox." " My sweet Fifine," said the other in a low whisper, " I was d^nng to get rid of her, and I knew there was only one way of effecting it. You may remark that whenever she gets into a rage, she rushes out into the flower-garden, and walks round and round till she's ready to drop. There she is already ; you may gauge her anger by the numbers of her revolutions in a minute." ** But why did you wish her away, Polly ?" *' I'll tell you why ; that is, there is a charming French word for what I mean, the verb ' Agacer,' all untranslat- able as it is. Now there are moments when a person working in the same room — reading, writing, looking out of the window — becomes an insupportable infliction. You reason, and say, ' How absurd, how childish, how ungen- erous,' and so forth. It won't do ; for as you look round c 2 888 BARIUNGTON. lie is there still, nnd by his mere presence Tcceps np the fertnont in your thoughts. You fancy, at lust, that ho stands between you and your inner self, a witness that won't let your own conscience whisper to you, and you come in the end to hate him. Your dear aunt was on the high road to this goal, when I bethought me of my ex- pedient I And now we are all alone, dearest, make me a confession." "What is it?" *♦ You do not like Major Stapylton?" "No." " And you do like somebody else ?" " Perhaps," said she, slowly, and dividing the syllables as she spoke them. " That being the case, and seeing, as you do, that your aunt is entirely of your own mind, at least as to the man you do not care for, why don't you declare as much frankly to your grandfather, and break off the negotiation at once ? " "Just because that dear old grandpapa asked me not to be precipitate — not to be rash. He did not tell me that I must love Major Stapylton, or must marry him ; but he said, ' If you only knew, Fifine, what a change in our fortune would come of a change in your feelings; if you could but imagine, child, how the whole journey of life might be rendered easier, all because you took the right-hand road instead of the left; if you could guess these things, and what might follow them ' " She stopped. " Well, go on." " No. I have said all that he said ; he kissed my cheek as he got thus far, and hurried away from the room." " And you, like a sweet obedient child, hastened away to yours; wrote a farewell, a heart-broken farewell, to Fred Conyers ; and solemnly swore to your own con- science you'd marry a man you disliked. These are the sort of sacrifices the world has a high admiration for; but do you know, Fifine, the world limps a little in its morality sometimes, and is not one half the fine creature it thiuks itself. For instance, in the midst of all its INTERCHANGED CONFESSIONS. 389 enthusiasm for you, it has forgotten that in accepting for vour husband a man you do not love, you ai'e doing a dishonesty; and that besides this, you really love another. It is what the French call the aggravating circumstance." " I mean to do nothing of the kind!" broke in Fitine, boldly, " Your lecture does not address itself to we." " Do not be angry, Fitine," said the other, calmly. " It is rather too hard to be rebuked for the faults one might have, but has not committed. It's like saying how wet you'd have been had yon fallen into that pool ! " " Well it also means, don't fall into the pool ! " " Do you know, Polly," said Josephine, archly, " I have a sort of suspicion that you don't dislike this Major yourself! Am I right?" " I'd not say you were altogether wrong ; that is, he interests me, or rather he puzzles me, and it piques my ingenuity to read him, just as it would to make out a cipher to which I had only one-half the key." " Such a feeling as that would never inspire a tender interest, at least with me." " Nor did I say it was, Fifine. I have read in some book of my father's how certain physicians inoculated themselves with plague, the better to note the phenomena, and trace the course ; and I own I can understand their zeal, and I'd risk something to decipher this man." "' This may be very nice in medicine, Polly, but very bad in morals ! At all events, don't catch the plague for the sake of saving ?ne?" " Oh ! I assure you any step I take shall be done in the interests of science solely; not but nt even bis curiosity liad its priKh-ntial limits ; 80 he merely took out his watch, and, lookin<^ at it, remarked that the mail would pass in about twenty minutes or so. " By the way, I musn't forpet to send a servant to wait on the roadside ;" and he ranp^ the bell and said, " Let Darby go up to the road and take Major Stapylton's lu2:u'!<,u:e when he ari-ives." " Is that the Major Stapylton is poinqr to be broke for the doings at ^Mancliestor, sir 'f " asked Kiiishela. " lie is the same M;ijor Stapvlton that a I'ascally press is now libelling and calumniatinfr," said Uarrington, hotly. "As to being broke, I don't believe that we have come yet to that pass in England, that the discipline of our army is administered by every scribVder in a newspaper. "1 humbly crave your pardon, sir, if I have said the eb'ghtost thing to offend ; but I only meant to ask, was he the ollicer they were making such a fuss about ? " " He is an officer of the highest distinction, and a well- born gentleman to boot — two admirable reasons for the assaults of a contemptible party. Look you, Kinshela ; 30U and I are neither of us very young or inexperienced men, but I would ask you, have we learned any wiser lesson from our intercourse with life than to withhold our judgment on the case of one who rejects the sentence of a mob, and appeals to the verdict of his equals ? " " But if he cut the jieople down in cold V)lood — if it be true that he laid open that poor black fellow's cheek from the temple to the chin " " If he did no such thing," broke in Barrington ; *' that is to say, if there is no evidence whatever that he did so, what will your legal mind say then, Joe Kin- Bhela ? " " Just this, sir. I'd say — what all the newspapers are saying — that he got the man out of the way — bribed and Bent him of!'." " Why not hint that he murdered him, and buried hira within the precincts of the gaol ? I declare I wonder at your moderation." *' I am sure, sir, that if 1 suspected he was an old friend of yours " STAPYLTON's visit at " THE HOME." 395 "Nothing of the kind — a friend of very short standing; but what has that to say to h? Is he less entitled to lair play whether he knew me or not ?" " All I know of the case is from the newspapers, and as I scarcely see one word in his favour, I take it there is not much to be said in his defence." " Well, if my ears don't deceive me, that was the guard's horn I hoard then. The man himself will be here in five minutes or so. You shall conduct the prosecution, Kinshela, and I'll be judge between you." " Heaven tbibid, sir ; on no account whatever ! " said Kinshela, trembling all over. " I'm sure, Mr. Barrington, you couldn't think of repeating what 1 said to you in confidence " •'No, no, Kinshela. You shall do it yourself; and it's only fair to tell you that he is a right clever fellow, and fully equal to the task of defending himself." Peter arose as he spoke, and walked out upon the lawn, affec- tedly to meet his coming guest, but in reality to cover a laugh that was half smothering him, so comical was the misery expressed in the attorney's face, and so ludicrous was his look of terror. Of course I need not say that it never occurred to Barrington to realize his threat, which he merely uttered in the spirit of that quizzing habit that was familiar to him. "Yes, Kinshela," cried he, "here he comes. I recognize his voice already ; "and Barrington now walked forward to welcome his friend. It was not till after some minutes of conversation, and when the light fell strongly on Stapylton's features, that Barrington saw how changed a few weeks of care had made him. He looked at the least ten years older than before. His eyes had lost their bold and daring expres- sion, too, and were deep sunk, and almost furtive in their glance. " You are tired, I fear," said Barrington, as the other moved his hand across his forehead, and, with a slight sigh, sank down upon a sola. " Less tired than worried — harassed," said he, faintly. "Just as at a gaming table a man may lose more in half an hour's high play than years of hard labour could 896 BAKUINOTON. npquiro, tliore are times of life wlien we dissipate more strength ami vigour than wu ever regain. 1 have had rough usage since I saw you last," said he, with a very sickly smile. " How are the ladies — well, 1 liope ? " "Perfectly well. They have gone to pass the day with a neighbour, and will be home presently. By the way, 1 left a friend here a few moments ago. What can have become of him ? " and he rang the bell hastily. " Where's Mr. Kinshela, Darby?" " Gone to bed, sir. He said he'd a mnrthering head- ache, and hoped your honour would excuse him." Tliough liarrington laughed heartily at this message, Stapylton never asked the reason, but sat immersed in thougiit and unmindful of all around him. " 1 half suspect you ought to follow his good example, Major," said Peter. " A mug of mulled claret for a nightcap, and a good sleep, will set you all right." " It will take more than that to do it," said the Major, sadly. Then suddenly rising, and pacing the room with quick, impatient steps, he said, "What could have induced you to let them bring your claim before the House? They are going to do so, ain't they ?" " Yes. Tom Withering says that nothing will be so efl'ectaal, and I thought you agreed with him." " Never. Nothing of the kind. I said, threaten it — insist that if they continue the oj)position, that you will — that you must do so ; but I never was the fool to imagine that it could really be a wise step. What's the fate of all such motions ? I ask you. There's a speech — sometimes an able one — setting forth a long catalogue of unmerited injuries and long sutlering. There's a claim made out that none can tind a flaw in, and a story that, if Parliament was given to softness, might move men almost to tears, and at the end of it up rises a Minister to say how deeply he sympathizes witli the calamity of the case, but that this house is, after all, not the fitting locality for a discussion which is essentially a question of law, and that, even if it were, and if all the allegations were established — a point to which he by no means gave adhesion — there was really no available fund at the dis- posal of the Crown to make reparation for such losses. STAPYLTON's visit at " THE HOME." 397 Have you not seen this, or something like this, scores of times ? Can you tell me of one that succeeded ? " " A case of such wrong as this cannot go without re- paration," said Peter, with emotion. " The whole country will demand it." " The country will do no such thing. If it were a question of penalty or punishment — yes ! the country would demand it. Fine, imprison, transport, hang him ! are easy words to utter, and cheap ones ; but pay him, reinstate him, reward him ! have a very diflerent sound and significance. They figure in the budget, and are for- midable on the hustings. Depend on it, Mr. Barrington, the step will be a false one." " It has been my fate never to have got the same advice for two weeks together since the day I entered on this weary suit," said Barrington with a peevishness not natural to him. " I may as well tell you the whole truth at once," said Stapylton. *' The Board have gone back of all their good intentions towards us: some recent arrivals from India, it is said, have kindled again the old fire of oppo- sition, and we are to be met by a resistance bold and uncompromising. They are prepared to deny everything we assert ; in fact, they have resolved to sweep all the pieces off the board and begin the whole game again, and all because you have taken this unfortunate course of appeal to Parliament." " Have you told Withering this ? " " Yes ; I have talked the matter over for nearly four hours with him. Like a lawyer, he was most eager to know from what source came the new evidence so damaging to us. I could only guess at this." " And your guess was " "I scarcely like to own to you that I take a less favourable view of mankind than you do, who know it better; but in this case my suspicion attaches to a man who was once your son's dearest friend, but grew to be alterwards his deadliest enemy." " I will not have this said, Major Stapylton. I know ■whom you mean, and I don't believe a word of it." Stapylton simply shrugged his shoulders, and continued 398 BARRINGTON. to pace the room without spcakinpr, while Harrington went on mutterinp, half ahjud, "No, no, impossible; quite impossible. These things are not in Duture. 1 don't credit them." "You like to think very well of the world, sir!" said the Major, with a faint scoru, no faint as scarcely to colour his words. " Think very hadly of it, and you'll Roon come down to the level you assign it," said Peter, boldly. " I'm afraid I'm not in the humour just now to give it my best suflrages. You've seen, I doubt not, somethinj^ of the treatment I have met with from the Press for the last few weeks; not very generous usage — not very just. Well 1 what will you say when I tell you that I have been refused an inquiry into my conduct at Manchester; that the Government is of opinion that such an investigation might at the moment be prejudicial to the public peace, without any counterbalancing advantage on the score of a personal vindication ; that they do not deem the time favourable for the calm and unbiassed judgment of the country ; in one short word, sir, they'd rather ruin a Major of Hussars than risk a Cabinet. I am to exchsmge into any corps, or any service, I can ; and they are to tide over these troubles on the assumption of having degraded me. " I hope you wrong them — I do hope you wrong them!" cried Barrington passionately. " You shall see if I do," said he, taking several letters from his pocket, and searching for one in particular. " Yes, here it is. This is from Aldridge, the private secretary of the Commander-in-chief. It is very brief, and strictly secret :— '* 'Dear S., — The " Chief" does not like your scrape at all. You did rather too much, or too little — a fatal mis- take dealing with a mob. You must consent — there's no help for it — to be badly used, and an injured man. If you don't like the half-pay list — which would, in my mind, be the best step' — there's the Seventeenth ordered to Baroda, and ^Maidstone refuses to go. Tliis, or ttie Second West India, are the only things open. Above BTAPYLTON's visit at " THE HOME." 399 all, don't show fight ; don't rally a party round you, for there is not a man in England whose influence is suffi- ciently great to stand between you and the public. A couple of years' patience and a hot climate will set all right, and reinstate you everywhere. Come over here at once and I'll do my best for you. *' ' Yours ever, " ' St. George Aldridge.' '* *' This is a friend's letter," said Stapylton, with a sneer; " and he has no better counsel to give me than to plead guilty, and ask for a mitigated punishment." Barrington was silenced ; he would not by any expres- sion of indignation add to the great anger of the other, and he said nothing. At last he said, " I wish from my heart — I wish I could be of any service to you." "You are the only man living who can," was the prompt answer. " How so — in what way ? Let me hear." " When I addressed a certain letter to you some time back, I was in a position both of fortune and prospect to take at least something from the presumption of my offer. Now, though my fortune remains, my future is more than clouded, and if I ask you to look favourably on my cause now, it is to your generosity I must appeal ; I am, in fact, asking you to stand by a fallen man." This speech, uttered in a voice slightly shaken by agita- tion, went to Barrington's heart. There was not a sentiment in his nature so certain to respond to a call upon it as this one of sympathy with the beaten man ; the weaker side was always certain of his adherence. "With a nice tact Stapylton said no more, but pushing open the window, walked out upon the smooth sward, on which a laint moon light flickered. He had shot his bolt, and saw it as it quivered in his victim's flesh. Barring- ton was after him in an instant, and drawing an arm within his, he said in a low voice, " You may count upon me." Stapylton wrung his hand warmly, without speaking. After walking for a few moments, side by side, he said : 400 BAIllUNGTON. •' T must be frank with you, Mr. Barrin^ton. I have little time ami no taste tor circumlocution; I cannot conceal from myself that I am no favourite with your sister. I was not as eager as 1 oupht to have been to cultivate her good opinion ; I was a little piqued at what I thought mere injustices on her part — small ones, to be sure, but they wounded me, and with a temper that always revolted against a wroiiL', I resented thom, and I fear me, in doing 80, I jeopardized her esteem. If she is as generous as her brother, she will not remember these to me in my day of defeat. "Women, however, have their own ideas of mercy, as they have of everything, and she may not choose to regard me as you have done." " I suspect you are wrong about this," said BarringtoD, breaking in. " Well, I wish I may be ; at all events, I must put the feeling to the test at once, for I have formed my plan, and mean to begin it immediately." "And what is it? " "Very few words will tell it. I intend to go on half- pay, or sell out if that be refused me ; set out for India by the next mail, and, with what energy remains to me, vindicate your son's claim. I have qualifications that will make me better than a better man. 1 am well versed in Hindostanee, and a fair Persian scholar ; I have a wide acquaintance with natives of every rank, and I know how and where to look for information. It is not my disposi- tion to feel over sanguine but I would stake all I possess on my success, fori see exactly the flaws in the chain, and I know where to go to repair them. You have witnessed with what ardour I adopted the suit before ; but you can- not estimate the zeal with wliich I tlirow myself into it now — now that, like George Barrington himself, I am a man wronged, outraged, and insuhed." For a few seconds he seemed overcome by passion and unable to continue ; then he went on : " If your granddaughter will accept me, it is my intention to settle on her all I possess. Our marriage can be private, and she shall be free to accompany me, or to remain here, as she likes." " But how can all this be done so hurriedly ? You talk of starting at once." STAPYLTOn's visit at *' THE HOME.'* 401 ** I must, if I would save your son's cause. The India Board are sending out their emissaries to Calcutta, and I must anticipate them — if I cannot do more, by gaining them over to us on the voyage out. It is a case for energy and activity, and I want to employ both." " The time is very short for all this," said Harrington, again. " So it is, sir, and so are the few seconds which may rescue a man from drowning ! It is in the crisis of my fate that I ask you to stand by me." " But have you any reason to believe that my grand- daughter will hear you favourably 'i You are almost strangers to each other ? " " If she will not give me the legal right to make her my heir, I mean to usurp the privilege. I have ah-eady been with a lawyer for that purpose. My dear sir," added he, passionately, " I want to break with the past for ever ! When the world sets up its howl against a man, the odds are too great I To stand and defy it he must succumb or retreat. Now, I mean to retire, but with the honours of war, mark you." "My sister will never consent to it," muttered Bar- rington. " Will you ? Have I the assurance of your support ? " " I can scarcely venture to say ' yes,' and yet I can't bear to say ' no ' to you ! " "This is less than I looked for from you," said Stapyl- ton, mournfully. " I know Dinah so well. I know how hopeless it would be to ask her concurrence to this plan." " She may not take the generous view of it ; but there is a worldly one worth considering," said Stapylton, bitterly. *' Then, sir, if you count on that, I would not give a copper halfpenny for your chance of success ! " cried Barrington, passionately. "You have quite misconceived me; you have wronged me altogether," broke in Stapylton, in a tone of apology, for he saw the mistake he had made, and hastened to repair it. " My meaning was this " " So much the better. I'm glad I misunderstood you. But here comes the ladies. Let us go and meet them." D D 402 BARIIIXGTON'. "One word — only one word. Will you befriend me? " " 1 will do all that I can ; that is, all that I ou^fht," said Barrinj^^ou, as lie led liim away, and re-entered the cottage. " I will not meet tliem to-niglit," said Stapylton, hurriedly. "I am nervous and agitated. 1 will say good-night, now." This was the second time within a few days that Stapylton had shown an unwillingness to confront Miss Barrington, and Peter thought over it long and anxiouHly. " What can he mean by it ? " said he, to him.self. " Why should he be so frank and outspoken with me, and so reserved with her? What can Dinah know of him? What can she suspect, that is not. known to me ? It is true they never did like each other — never 'hit it off' together; but that is scarcely his fault. My excellent si.ster throws away little love on strangers, and opens every fresh acquaintance with a very fortifying prejudice against the newly presented. However it happens," muttered he, with a sigh, " she is not often wrong, and I am very seldom right ; " and, with this reflection, he turned once again to resume his walk in the garden. 403 CHAPTER XLII. A DOCTOR ANI) HI3 VATIENT. Stapylton did not make his appearance at breakfast ; lie sent down a message that he had passed a feverish night, and begged that Doctor Dill might be sent for. Though Bariiugton made two attempts to see his guest, the quiet- ness of the room on each occasion implied that he was asleep, and, fearing to disturb him, he went down stairs again on tiptoe. '' This is what the persecution has done, Dinah," said he. " They have brought that stout-hearted fellow so low, that he may be the victim of a fever to-morrow." " Nonsense, Peter. Men of courage don't fall sick because the newspapers calumniate them. They have other things on tlieir minds than such puny attacks." " So he may, likuly enough, too. He is bent heart and soul on what I told you last night, and I'm not surprised if he never closed his eyes thinicing of it." " Neither did I ! " said she, curtly, and left the room. The Doctor was not long in arriving, and, after a word or two with Barrington, hastened to the patient's room. " Are we alone," asked Stapylton, cutting short the bland speech with which Dill was making his approaches. " Draw that curtain a bit, and take a good look at me. Are my eyes bloodshot ? Are the pupils dilated ? I had a bad sun-stroke once ; see if there be any signs of congestion about me." " No, I see none. A little flushed ; your pulse, too, is accelerated, and the heart's action is laboured " " Never mind the heart ; if the head be well, it will take care of it. Reach me that pocket-book ; I want to acquit one debt to you before I incur another. No D o 2 404 BARRIKGTON. liumbnp between us;'* and he pressed some notes into the otlier's palm as ho spoke. " Let u.s uiidurKtaiid each other fully, aud at ouce. " I'm not very ill ; but I want " And I am at vonr orders." •' Fnitlifnlly— loyally ? " " Faithfully — loyally ! " repeated the other after him. "You've read the papers lately — you've seen these attacks on nie ? " " Yes." "Well, what do they say and think here — I mean in this house — about them ? llow do they discuss them ? Remember, I want candour and frankness ; no humbug. I'll not stand humbug." " The women are against you." "Both of them?" " Both." *' How comes that ? — on what grounds ?" " The papers accused you of cruelty ; they affirmed that there was no cause for the measures of severity you adopted ; and they argued " " Don't bore me with all that balderdash. I asked you how was it that these women assumed I was in the ■wrong ?" " And I was about to tell you, if you had not inter- rupted me." " That is, they believed what they read in the news- papers ? ' " Yes." " And, of course, swallowed that fine story about the Hindoo fellow that I first cut down, and afterwards bribed to make his escape from the hospital ?" " I suspect they half believed it." " Or rather, believed half of it, the cutting down part! Can you tell me physiologically — for 1 think it comes into that category — why it is that women, not otherwise ill- natured, in nine cases out of ten take the worst alterna- tive as the credible one ? But never mind that. They condemn me. Isn't it so?" "Yes ; and while old Barrington insists " " Who cares what be insists ! Such advocacy as bis A DOCTOR AND HIS PATIENT. 405 only provokes attack, and invites persecution. I'd rather have no such allies ! " " I believe you are right." " I want fellows like yourself, Doctor — sly, cautious, subtle fellows — accustomed to stealing strong medicines into the system in small doses ; putting the patient, as you call it in your slang, ' under the influence ' of this, that, and t'other — eh ?" Dill smiled blandly at the compliment to his art, and Stapylton went on : " Not that I have time just now for this sort of chronic treatment. I need a heroic remedy, Doctor. I'm in love." "Indeed!" said Dill, with an accent nicely balanced between interest and incredulity. " Yes, and I want to marry ! " "Miss Barrington?" *' The granddaughter. There is no need, I hope, to make the distinction, for I don't wish to be thought in- sane. Now you have the case. What's your prescrip- tion?" ^ J' F P *' Propose for her ! " *' So I have, but they hesitate. The old man is not unfavourable ; he is, perhaps, more ; he is, in a measure, friendly; but what avails such advocacy ? I want another guess sort of aid — a clever man ; or, what is better still, a clever woman, to befriend me." He waited some seconds for a reply, but Dill did not speak, so he went on : "A clever woman, to take a woman's view of the case, balancing this against that, never ignoring an obstacle, but inquiring what there may be to compensate for it. jJo you know such a one, Doc- tor?" " Pei'haps I may ; but I have my doubts about securing her services." " Even with a retainer?" " Even with a retainer. You see. Major " — here Dill dropped his voice to a most confidential whisper — " my daughter Polly — for I know we both have her in mind — Polly is a strange sort of girl, and very hard to under- stand ; for while, if the case were her own, she'd n.o more 406 HARRINGTON. think of roTtinnce than she would of givj'n"' ten puinens for a dress, if slie was advisiiiL,'' anofluT wliose position and ])rospL'fts were highi'r tlian hers, it's tl;e romantic part of it she'd hiy all the stress on." " From whieli I gatlier, that my suit will not stand this test!" said Stapylton, with a peculiar smile. "Eh, isn't that your meaning ? " " You are certainly some years older than the lady," said Dill, blandly. *• Xot old enough to be, as the world would surely say, * her father,' but fully old enough to give license for sar- casm." " Then, as she will be a great fortune " " Not a sixpence — she'll not have sixpence. Doctor. That bubble has burst at last, and can never be blown again. The whole claim has been rejected, refused, thrown out, and there's an end of it. It amuses the old man to sit on the wreck and fancy he can repair the shattered timbers and make them seaworthy; and, for the time he is likely to last, it is only kindness to leave bim to hi.s delusion ; but he is ruined — ruined beyond recall, and as I have told you, the girl will have nothing." "Do they know this — has Barrington heard it?" " Yes, I broke it to him last night, but I don't think he fully realized the tidings ; he has certain reserves — certain little conceits of his own — which are to supply him with a sort of hope ; but let us talk of something more practical. How can we secure Miss Dill's services ?" " A few days ago, the easiest way would have been to offer to befriend her brother, but this morning brings us news that this is not needed — he is coming home." " How so ? " " It is a great event in its way ; at least, it may be for Tom. It seems there was a collision at sea, somewhere near the Cape, between the ship St. Heletis, that carried out General Hunter and his staff", and the Eeguluis, with the forty-ninth on board. It was at night, and a terrible sea on at the time. In the shock, the S\ Helen's took fire, and as the two shijjS were inextricably locked together, the danger was common to each. While the boats were being lowered and manned — for it was soon seen the A DOCTOH AND HIS PATIENT. 407 vessel could not be saved — a cry was raised that the fire was gaining on the fore-hold, and would soon reach the magazine. The wolul news spread at once, and many jumped overboard in their terror. Just then, Tom heard that there was a means of drowning the powder by open- ing a certain sluice, and, without waiting for more, he clambered across into the sinking vessel, made his way through smdke and fire, gained the spot, and succeeded, just as the very ladder itself had caught the flames. How he got back he cannot tell, for the vessel foundered in a few minutes, and he was so burned — face, cheek, and one shoulder — that he was unconscious of everything ; and even when the account came, was still in bed, and not able to see." " He v,as a wild sort of lad, was he not — a scamp in short?" " No, not exactly that ; idle — careless — kept bad com- pany at times." " These are the fellows who do this kind of tiling once m their lives — mark you, never twice. They never have more than one shot in their locker, but it will suffice in this case." Though the worthy Doctor was very far from enthusi- astic about his son's gallantry, there was a degree of coolness in the Major's estimate of it that almost shocked him, and he sat staring steadily at the stern bronzed face, and the hard lineaments of the man, and wondering of what strange stuff" such natui'es were fashioned. " It's quite clear, then, that for Master Tom we can do nothing half so good as chance has done for him," said Stapylton, after a short interval. " Chance and himself, too," added the Doctor. Stapylton made no answer, but covering his eyes with his hand, lay deep in thought. " If you only had the Attorney- General, Mr. Withering, on your side," said Dill. " There is no man has the same influence over this family. " It is not what i/ou call influence I want, my good sir. It is a far more subtle and more delicate agent. 1 require the sort of aid, in fact, which your daughter could supply, ii' she would. An appointment awaits me in India, hut I 403 BAUUINGTON. must occupy it at once. T Imve no time for a lonp conrt- hliip. I'm just iis hunit'ii as tliat boy of yours was ■when he swamped the powder-magazine. It's a skirmish where' I can't wait fur the heavy artillery, but must do my best with the light tield guns — do you understand me?" Dill nodded, and Stapyiton resumed: "The thing can be done just by the very road that you have pronounced impossible — that is, by the romantic side of it— making it a case of violent love at first sight, the passion of a man past the heyday of youth, but yet young enough to feel a most ardent atl'ection. I am, besides," said he, laughing ■with a strange blending of levity and sarcasm, " a sort of Brummagem hero ; have been wounded, led assaults, and that kind of thing, to a degree that puffery can take the benefit of. And, last of all. Doctor, 1 am rich enough to satisfy greater ambitions than ought to live under such a roof as this. Do you see the part your daughter can take iu this drama ? " " Perhaps I do." " And could you induce her to accept it? '* " I'm not very certain — I'd be slow to pledge myself to it." " Certainly," said Stapyiton, mockingly ; " the passing glimpses we bachelors obtain of the working of that vaunted institution, The Family, fail to impress us with all its imputed excellence; you are, it seems tome, just as powerless within your own doors, as I am regarding what goes on in a neighbour's house. I take it, however, that it can't be helped. Children, like colonies, are only governable when helpless." " I suspect you are wrong, sir ; at least, I fancy I have as much of the sort of influence you speak of as others ; but still, I think, here, in this particular case, you would yourself be your best ambassador, if you were strong enough to come down with me, in the boat to-day." " Of course I am ! " cried Stapyiton, starting up to a sitting posture ; " and what then ? " *' You would be better in my house than this," said Dill, mysteriously. *' Speak out, and speak clearly, Doctor ; I have very A DOCTOR AND HIS PATIENT. 409 little tlie matter with me, and am in no want of change of air. What I need is the assistance of one dexterous enough to advocate my plans with persons and in places to which I have no access. Tour daughter is just such a one — will she do it?" " We can ask her." " Well, how will you explain my absence to these people here ? What will you say for my not appearing at breakfast, and yet being able to take an airing with you ? " " I will put it on hygienic grounds," said Dill, smiling acutely. " My profession has a number of sanctuaries the profane vulgar can never enter. I'll just step down now and ask Barrington to lend me his boat, and I'll throw out a dark hint that I'd like to manage a consultation on your case without alarming you, for which purpose I'd ask Doctor Tobin to be at my house, when we arrive there, by mere accident, so that a conference would follow as a matter of course. " Very wily — very subtle all this. Doctor. Do you know, I'm half frightened at the thought of trusting myself to such a master of intrigue and mysti6catiou." " Have no fears ; I reserve all my craft for my clients." And with this he left the room, but only for a few minutes, for he met Barrington on the stairs, and speedily obtained permission to take his boat to Inistioge, having first pledged himself to come back with Stapylton to dinner. " We shall see, we shall see," muttered Stapylton to himself. "Your daughter must decide where I am to dine to-day." By the way — that is, as they glided along the bright river — Dill tried to prepare Stapylton for the task before him, by sundry hints as to Polly's temper and disposi- tion, with warnings against this, and cautions about that. " Above all," said he, " don't try to overreach her." " Perfect frankness — candour itself — is my device. Won't that do ? " " You must first see will she believe it," said the Doctor, slyly ; and for the remainder of the way there was a silence between them. iiO liARlllNGION. CHAPTER XLIII. ORU»S PURPOSES. " Where's ^liss Polly ? " said Dill, hastily, as he passed bis threshold. " She's niakiiie the confusion of roses in the kitchen, sir," said the maid, whose chemistry had been a neglected study. " Tell her that I have come back, and that there is a gentleman along with me," said he, imperiously, as he led the way into his study. " I have brought you into this den of mine. Major, because I would just say one word more by way of caution before you see Polly. You may imagine, from the small range of her intercourse \N'ith the world, and her village life, that her acuteness will not go very far ; don't be too sure of that — don't reckon too much on her want of experience." " I suppose I have encountered as sharp wits as hers before this time o' day," replied he, half peevishly ; and then, with an air of better temper, added, "1 have no pecrets to hide, no mystery to cloak. If I want her alliance, she shall herself dictate the terms that shall n quite it." The Doctor shook his head dubiously, but was silent. "I half suspect, my good Doctor," said Stapylton, laughing, " that your charming daughter is a little, a very little, of a domestic despot; you are all afraid of her ; never very sure of what she will say, or do, or think, on any given circumstances, and nervously alive to the risk of her displeasure." " There is something in what you say," remarked Dill, with a sigh ; " but it was always my mistake to bring up my children with too much liberty of action. From the CROSS PURPOSES. 411 fime tliey were so hifjh " — and he held his hand out ahouf; a yard above the floor — " they were their own masters." Just as the words had fallen from him, a little chubby, shock-headed fellow, about five years old, burst into the room, which he believed unoccupied, and then suddenly seeing his papa, set up a howl of terror that made the house ring. " What is it, Jimmy — what is it, my poor man ?" said Polly, rushing with tucked-up sleeves to the spot ; and, catching him up in her arms, she kissed him affection- ately. " Will you take him away? — will you take him out of that ? " hissed out Dill between his teeth. " Don't you see Major Stapylton here ? " "Oh, Major Stapylton will excuse a toilette that was never intended for his presence." " I will certainly say there could not be a more becoming one, nor a more cnarming tableau to display it in ! " "There, Jimmy," said she, laughing; "you must have some bread and jam for getting me such a nice compli- ment." And she bore away the still sobbing urchin, who, burying his head in her bosom, could never summon courage to meet his father's eye. " What a spacious garden you appear to have here ! '* said Stapylton, who saw all the importance of a diversion to the conversation. " It is a very much neglected one," said Dill, pathe- tically. "My poor dear boy Tom used to take care of it when he was here ; he had a perfect passion for flowers." Whether that Tom was associated in the Major's mind with some other very different tastes or not, Stapylton smiled slightly, and after a moment said, " if you permit me, I'll take a stroll through your garden, and think over what we have been talking of." " Make yourself at home in every respect," said Dill. ** I have a few professional calls to make in the village, but we'll meet at luncheon." "He's in the garden, Polly," said Dill, as he passed his daughter on the stairs ; " he came over here this morning to have a talk with you." "Indeed, sir!" 412 HARRINGTON. " Yc'S ; lie lias got it into his head that you can be of service to him." " It is not impossible, sir; I think I mifjlit." "I'm ghid to lioar it, Polly ; I'm duliglited to see you take a good sensible view of things. I need not tell you he's a knowing one." "No, sir. But, as T have heard you card players say, * he shows his hand.' " " So he does, Polly ; but I have known fellows do that just to niiskad the adversary." " Sorry adversaries that could be taken in so easily." And with a saucy toss of her head she passed ou, scarcely noticing the warning gesture of her father's linger as she went. When she had found her work-basket and supplied her- self with the means of occupying her lingers ior an hour or so, she repaired to the garden and took her seat under a large elm, around whose massive trunk a mossy bench ran, divided by rustic-work into a series of separate places. '' What a churlish idea it was to erect these barricades, Miss Dill," said Stapylton, as he seated himself at her side; *'how unpicturesque, and how prudish." " It was a simple notion of my brother Tom's," said she, smiling, '* who thought people would not be less agree- able by being reminded that they had a place of their own, and ought not to invade that of their neighbour." " What an unsocial thought !" " Poor Tom ! A strange reproach to make against you," said she, laughing out. " By the way, hasn't he turned out a hero — saved a ship and all she carried from the flames — and all at the hazard of his own life ?" " He has done a very gallant thing ; and, what's more, I'll venture to say there is not a man who saw it thinks so little of it as himself." " I suppose that every brave man has more or less of that feeling." " I'm glad to learn this fact from such good authority," eaid she, with a slight bend of the head. " A prettily turned compliment. Miss Dill. Are you habitually given to flattery?" CROSS PURPOSES. 413 " No ; I rather tliink not. I believe the world is plaased to call me more candid than courteous." " Will you let me take you at the world's estimate — • that is, will you do me the inestimable favour to bestow a little of this same candour upon me f" ♦' Willingly. What is to be the subject of it ? '* " The subject is a very humble one — myself!" *' How can I possibly adjudicate on such a theme ?'* "Better than you think for, perhaps!" And for a moment he appeared awkward and ill at ease. " Miss Dill," said he, after a pause, " fortune has been using me roughly of late, and, like all men who deem themselves hardly treated, I fly at once to any quarter where I fancy I have found a more kindly disposition towards me. Am I indulging a selt-delusion in believing that such senti- ments are yours ?" Polly Dill, with her own keen tact, had guessed what was the real object of Stapylton's visit. She had even read in her father's manner how he himself was a share- holder in the scheme, and she had made up her mind for a great frankness on each side; but now, seeing the dip- lomatic mysteriousness with which the Major opened his attack, that love of mischievous drollery which entered into her nature suggested a very different line. She determined, in fact, to seem to accept the Major's speech as the preliminary to an offer of his hand. She therefore merely turned her head slightly, and in a low voice said, " Continue I " "I have not deceived myself, then," said he, with more warmth of manner. " I have secured one kind heart in my interest?" " You must own," said she, with a half-coquettish look of pique, *' that you scarcely deserve it." " How — in what way ? " asked he, in astonishment. " What a very short memory you are blessed with ! INlust I, then, remind you of a certain evening at Cobham ? Must I recall what I thought at the time very particular, as they certainly were very pleasant, attentions on your part ? Must 1, also, bring to mind a certain promised visit from you, the day and hour all named by yourself— a visit Trthich never came off"? And after all this, Major, are 414 BAKUiNGTON. you not roallya bold man to come down nnd take up your ncLjotiiition where you dropped it? Is there not in tliis a strong conviction of the greatness of ilajor Stupyltou, and the littleness of the Doctor's daughter?" Stapylton was struck dumb. When a genernl sees that what he meant as a feint has been converted into a real attack, tho situation is often imminent; liut what com- parison in dilliculty is there between that mistake and that of him who assails what he never desired to conquer? How he inwardly cursed the stupidity with which he liad opened his negotiation. "I perceive," said she, triumphing over Lis confusion, " that your calmer judgment does not renssare you. You feel that there is a certain levity in this conduct not quite excusable ! Own it frankly, and at once !" " I will own, if you like, that I was never in a situation of greater embarrassment!" "Shall 1 tell you why?" " You couldn't; it would be totally impossible.** " I will try, however, if you permit me. You do ! Then here goes. You no more intended anything to come of your little flirtation at Cobham than you now do of a more serious blunder. You never came here tbis morning to make your court to me. You are much pained at tho awkwardness of a situation so naturally wounding to me, and for the life of you, you cannot imagine what; escape there is out of such a difficulty." "You are wonderfully clever. Miss Dill," said he; and there was an honest admiration in his look that gave the words a full significance. " No," said she, " but I am wonderfully good-natured. I forgive you what is the hardest thing lu the world to forgive ! " " Oh ! if you would but be my friend," cried he, warmly. " What a want of tact there was in that speech, Major Stapylton! " said she, with a laugh; " but perhaps you wanted to reverse the line of our dear little poet, who tells of some one ' that came but lor Fi'ieudship, and took away Love ! ' " " How cruel you are in all this mockery of me! " CROSS PUEPOSES. 415 " Does not the charsfe of cruelty come rather ill from you? — you, who can ati'orcl to sport with the affections of poor village maidens. From the time of that ' Major bold of Haliiiix' the song tells of, I never heard your equal." " Could you prevail upon yourself to be serious for a few minutes r " said he, gravely. " I think not — at least not just now ; but why should I make the attempt ? " " Because I would wish your aid in a serious contin- gency — a matter in which I am deeply interested, and which involves, probably, my future happiness." " Ah, Major ! is it possible that you are going to trifle with my feelings once more ? " " My dear Miss Dill, must I plead once more for a little mercy?" " No, don't do any such thing ; it would seem ungener- ous to refuse, and yet I could not accord it." " Fairly beaten," said he, with a sigh ; " there is no help for it. You are the victor ! " " How did you leave our friends at ' The Home ? ' said she, with an easy indifference in her tone. " All well, perfectly well ; that is to say, I believe so, for I only saw my host himself." " What a pleasant house; how well they understand receiving their friends ! " " It is so peaceful and so quiet ! " said he, with an effort to seem at ease. " And the garden is charming ! " " And all this is perfectly intolerable," said he, rising, and speaking in a voice thick with suppressed anger. " I never came here to play a part in a vaudeville I Your father led me to believe, Miss Dill, that you might not be indisposed to lend me your favouring aid in a suit which I am interested in. He told me I should at least find you frank and outspoken; that if you felt inclined to assist me, you'd never enhance the service by a seeming doubt or hesitation " " And if I should not feel so inclined, what did he theu give you to expect?" " That you'd say so 1 " 41 G BARRINGTON. ** So I do then, clearly nml distinctly tdl you, if mr counsels offer a bar to your wishes, they are all enlisted against you." '* This is the acme of candour. You can only equal it by saying how I could have incurred your disfavour ?" " There is nothing of disfavour in the matter. I think you charming. You are a hero — very clever, very fasci- nating, very accomplished; but I believe it would be a great mistake for Fiiine to marry you. Your tempers liave that sort of resemblance that leave no reliefs in their mutual play. You are each of you hot and hasty, and a little imperious ; and if nhe were not very much in love, and consequently disposed to think a great deal of you, and very little of herself, these traits that 1 speak of would work ill. But if every one of them were other- wise, there would still be one obstacle worse than all! " " And that is " " Can you not guess what I mean, Major Stapylton ? You do not, surely, want confidences from me that are more than candour ! " " Do I understand 5'ou aright ? " said he, growing red and pale by turns, as passion worked within him ; " do I ajjprehend you correctly ? These people here are credu- lous enough to be influenced by the shadowy slanders of the newspapers, and they listen to the half-muttered accu- sations of a hireling press ?" " They do say very awkward thincs in the daily press, certainly," said she, dryly ; " and your friends marvel at the silence with which you treat them." " Then I have divined your moaning," said he. " It is by these cowardly assailants I am supposed to be van- quished. I suspect, however, that Colonel Harrington himself was, once on a time, indulged with the same sort of flattery. They said that he had usurped a sovereignty, falsified documents, purloined jewels of immense value. I don't know what they did not charge him with. And what do they say of me? Tiiat I exhibited great seve- rity — cruelty, if you will — towards a mob in a state of rebellion. That 1 reprimanded a very silly subaltern for a misplaced act of humanity. That I have been cashiered, too, they assert, in face of the Gaxctte, which an- CROSS PUEPOSES. 417 nounces my appointment to an unattached majority. In a word, the enormity of the falsehood has never stayed their hand, and they write of me whatever their unthink- ing malevolence can suggest to them. You have, perhajjs, seen some of these paragraphs?" " Like every one else, I have read them occasionally ; not very attentively, indeed. But, in truth, I'm not a i-eader of newspapers. Here, for instance, is this morn- ing's as it came from Dublin, still unopened ; " and she handed it as she spoke. " Let us see if I be still honoured with their notice," said he, unfolding the paper, and running his eyes hastily over it. " Debate on the Sugar Bill — Pi-ison Ket'orms — China — Reinforcements for Canada — Mail Service to the Colonies — Bankruptcy Court. Ob, here we have it — here it is ! " and he crushed the paper while he folded down one part of it. '• Shall I read it for you? The heading is very tempting : ' Late Military Scandal. — A very curious report is now going through our West-end Clubs, and especially such as are the resort of military officers. It is to the purport that a certain Field-officer of Cavalry — whose conduct has been the subject of severe stinctures from the Press — will speedily be called to answer for a much graver offence than the transgression of regimental discipline. The story which has reached us is a very strange one, and we should call it incredible, if we wer^ not informed on authority, that one of our most distin- guished Indian generals has declared himself fully satisfied of its truth in every particular.' Can you fancy anything worse than that, Miss Dill? An unknown somebody is alleged to be convinced of an unknown something that attaches to me; for, of course, I am designated as the * Field-officer of Cavalry,' and the public is graciously pleased to hold me in abhorrrence till I have found out my calumniator and refuted him ! " " It seems very hard. Who do you suspect is the Indian General alluded to ? " " Tell me, first of all — does he exist ? " " And this, too, you will not reply to, nor notice? " " Not, certainly, through such a channel as it reaches me. If the slanderer will stand forth and avow himself, E £ 413 BARRINGTON. I niiiy know how to (kal witli liim. But what lias led ns into lliia diti^rt'ssion ? 1 uni Kure it is as little to your taste as to mine. I have faik-d in my mission, and if I were able to justify every act of my life, what would it avail me? You have pronounced against me; at least, yon will not take my lirief." ' Wli.it if I were retained by the other side?" said sIk!, smilinj/. " I never suspected tluit there was another side," said be, with an air of extreme indifierence " Who is my foniiidahle rival ? " '• I mij^ht have told you if I saw you were really anxious on t.lie subject." "'• It would be but hypocrisy in me to pretend it. If, for example, Major M'Cormick " " Oh, that is too bad ! " cried Polly, interrupting. " This would mean an impertinence to Miss Barrington." " How jjli'asant we must have been ! Almost live o'clock, and I scarcely thought it could be three ! " said he, with an affected languor. " ' Time's loot is not heard when he treads upon flowers,' " said she, smiling. " Where shall I find your father, Miss Dill? I want to tell him what a charming creature his daughter is, and how wretched I feel at not being able to win her favour." " Pray don't ; or he might fall into my own mistake, and imagine that you wanted a lease of it for life." " Still cruel, still inexorable! " said he, with a mockery of affliction in his tone. " AVill you say all the proper tilings — the regrets, and such like — I feel at not meeting hitn again; and if he has asked me to dinner — which I really forget — will you make the fitting apology?" " And what is it, in the present case? " " I'm not exactly sure whether I am engaged to dine elsewhere, or too ill to dine at all." '' Why not .say it is the despair at being rejected renders you unequal to the efibrt? I mean, of course, by myself. Major Stapylton." " 1 have no objection ; say so, if you like," said he, with an insulting indifference. " Good day. Miss Dill. This is the way to the road, I believe," and, with a low bosv, CROSS PURPOSES. 419 very deferential, but very distant, he turned away to leave the garden. He had not, however, gone many paces, when he stopped and seemed to ponder. He looked up at the sky, singularly clear and cloudless as it was, without a breath of wind in the air ; he gazed around him on every side, as if in search of an object he wanted ; and then, taking out his purse, he drew forth a shilling and examined it. " Yes," muttered he, " Chance has been my only counsellor for many a year, and the only one that never takes a bribe ! And yet, is it not taking to the raft before the ship has foundered? True; but shall I be sure of the raft if I wait for the shipwreck ? She is intensely crafty. She has that sort of head that loves a hard knot to unravel ! Here goes ! Let Destiny take all the consequences!" and, as he flung up the piece of money in the air, he cried, " Head ! " It was some minutes ere he could discover where it had fallen, amongst the close leaves of a border of strawberries. He bent down to look, and exclaimed, " Head ! she has won ! " Just as he arose from his stooping attitude, he perceived that Polly was engaged in the adjoining walk, making a bouquet of roses. He sprang across the space, and stood beside her. " I thought you had been a mile off by this time, at least," said she, calmly. " So I meant, and so I intended ; but just as I parted from you, a thought struck me — one of those thoughts which come from no process of reasoning or reflection, but seem impelled by a force out of our own natures — that I would come back and tell you something that was passing in my mind. Can you guess it ? " " No ; except it be that you are sorry for having trifled so unfeelingly with my hopes, and have come back to make the best reparation in your power, asking me to forgive and accept you." " You have guessed aright ; it was for that I returned." "What a clever guess I made! Confess I am very ready-witted ! " " You are ; and it is to engage those ready wits in my behalf that I am now before you." " At my feet, sir, is the appropriate expression. I £ E 2 420 l?AURrNGTON. w'ondor Viow a gentleman so suited to be the hero of a story could forget the huignage of tlie novel." " 1 want you to be serious," said lie. almost sternly. " And why should that provoke seriousness from me ■which only costs ;/ow levity?" " Levity ! — where is the levity?" " Is it not this instant that you flung a shilling in the air, and cried out, as you looked on it, ' She has won ? ' Is it not that you asked Chance to decide for you whiit most men are led to by their afl'ectioiis, or at least their interests ; and if so, is levity not the name for this ?" *' True in part, but not in whole ; for I felt it was I who had won when ' head ' came uppermost." " And yet you have lust." "How so! You refuse me?" " I forgive your astonishment. It is really strange, but I do refuse you." " But why ? Are you piqued with me for anything that occurred this morning ? Have I offended you by any- thing that dropped Irom me in that conversation ? Tell me frankly, that I may, if in my power, rectify it." " No ; I rather felt flattered at the notion of being con- sulted. I thought it a great tribute to my clear-headed- ness and my tact." " Then tell me what it was." " Yoii really wish it ? " "I do." " Insist upon it?" " I insist upon it." " Well, it was this. Seeing that you were entrusting your future fortune to chance, I thought that I would do the same, and so I tossed up wliether, opportunity serv- ing, I should accept you or a certain other, and the other won!" " May I ask for the name of my fortunate rival?" " I don't think it is very fair, perhaps not altogether delicate of you ; and the more since he has not proposed, nor possibly ever may. But no matter, you shall hear his name. It was Major M'Cormick." " M'Cormick ! You meuu this for an insult to me, Miss DiU?" CROSS PURPOSES. 421 ''Well, it certainly is open to that objection," said she, with a very slight closure of her eyes, and a look of steady, resolute defiance. " And in this way," continued he, " to tlirow ridicule over the offer I have made you P" " Scarcely that ; the proposition was in itself too ridicu- lous to require any such aid from me." For a moment Stapylton lost his self-possession, and he turned on her with a look of savage malignity. "An insult, and an intentional insult!" said he; "a bold thing to avow." " I don't think so, Major Stapylton. We have been playing a very rough game with each other, and it is not very wonderful if each of us should have to complain of hard treatment." " Could not so very clever a person as Miss Dill per- ceive that I was only jesting?" said he, with a cutting insolence in his tone. " I assure you that I did not," said she, calmly ; " had I known, or even suspected it was a jest, I never should have been angry. That the distinguished Major Stapylton should mock and quiz — or whatever be the name for it — the Doctor's daughter, however questionable the good taste, was, after all, only a passing slight. The thought of asking her to marry him was different — that was au outrage ! " " You shall pay for this one day, perhaps," said he, biting his lip. "No, Major Stapylton," said she, laughing; "this is not a debt of honour ; you can afford to ignore it." " I tell you again, you shall pay for it." " Till then, sir !" said she, with a curtsey ; and without giving him time for another word, she turned and re- entered the house. Scarcely had Stapylton gained the road when he was joined by M'Cormick. " Faith, you didn't get the best of that brush, anyhow," said he, with a grin. "What do you mean, sir ?" replied Stapylton, savagely. " 1 mean that 1 heard every word that passed between you, and I wouldn't have been standing in your shoes for a fifty-pound note." 422 BARRINQTON. tt Uow is yonr rheuniiitism this morninc;?" ftskcd Stapylton, blandly. " I'retty inucii as it always is," croaked oat the other. " Be thankful to it, then, for if you were not a cripple, I'd throw you into that river as sure as 1 stand here to say it." Major M'Cormick did not wait for a less merciful moment, but hobljh-d away from the spot with all the speed ho could muster. CHAPTER XLIV. STORMS. When Stapylton stepped out of his boat and landed at " The Home," the first person he saw was certainly the last in his wishes. It was ^liss Dinah, who stood at the jetty, as though awaiting him. Scarcely deigning to notice, beyond a faint smile of acquiescence, the some- what bungling explanation he gave of his absence, she asked if he had met her brother H " No," said lie. " I left the village a couple of hours ago ; rather loitering as I came along, to enjoy the river scenery." " He took the road, and in this way missed you," said she, dryly. " How unfortunate ! for me, I mean, of course. I own to you. Miss Barrington, wide as the difference between our ages, I never yet met any one so thoroughly com- panionable to me as your brother. To meet a man so consummately acquainted with the world, and yet not soured by his knowledge ; to see the ripe wisdom of hlto blended with the generous warmth of youth ; to find one STOKMS. 423 whose experiences only make him more patient, more forffivinsr, more trustful " " Too trustful, Major Stapylton ; far too trustful." And her bold grey eyes were turned upon him as she spoke, with a significance that could not be mistaken. " It is a noble feeling, madam," said he, haughtily. " It is a great misfortune to its possessor, sir." " Can we deem that misfortune. Miss Barrington, which enlarges the charity of our natures, and teaches us to be Blow to think ill?" Not paying the slightest attention to his question, she said, — " My brother went in search of you, sir, to place in your hands some very urgent letters from the Horse Guards, and which a special messenger brought here this morning." " Truly kind of him. They relate, I have no doubt, to my Indian appointment. They told me I should have news by to-day or to-morrow." " He received a letter also for himself, sir, which he desired to show you." " About his lawsuit, of course? It is alike a pleasui'e and a duty to me to serve him in that affair." " It more nearly concerns yourself, sir," said she, in the same cold, stern tone ; " though it has certainly its bearing on the case you speak of." " More nearly concerns myself! " said he, repeating her words slowly. " I am about the worst guesser of a riddle in the world, Miss Barrington. Would you kindly relieve ray curiosity? Is this letter a continuation of those cowardly attacks, which, in the want of a worthier theme, the Press have amused themselves by making upon me ? Is it possible that some enemy has had the malice to attack me through my friends?" " The writer of the letter in question is a sufficient guarantee for its honour- — Mr. Withering." " Mr. Withering ! " repeated he, with a start, and then, as suddenly assuming an easy smile, added : " I am per- fectly tranquil to find myself in such hands as Mr. Wither- ing's. And what pray, does, he say of me ? " " Will you excuse me, Major Stapylton, if I do not enter 424 BARRINQTON. upon a subject onwliich I am not merely very imperfectly informed, but on wliicli ho liunible a judfrnieut as iniiio would be valueless? ^ly brother showed nie the letter very hurriedly; I had but time to see to what it referred, and to be aware that it was his duty to let you see it at once — if possible, indeed, before you were again under his roof." " ^Vhat a grave significance your words have, M\sh Barrington," said he, with a cold smile. " They actually set me to think over all my faults and failings, and wonder for which of them I am now arraigned." " We do not profess to judge you, sir." By this time they had sauntered up to the little garden in front of the cottage, within the paling of which Jose- phine was busily engaged in training a japonica. She arose as she heard the voices, and, in her aet-ustomed tone, wished Stapylton good evening. " She, at least, has heard nothing of all this," muttered he to himself, as he saluted her. He then opened the little wicket, and Miss Bar- rington passed in, acknowledging his attention by a short nod, as she walked hastily forward aiid entered the cottage. Instead of following her, Stapylton closed the wicket again, remaining on the outside, and leaning his arm on the upper rail. " Why do you perform sentry ? Are you not free to enter the fortress ? " said Fifine. " I half suspect not," said he, in a low tone, and to hear which, she was obliged to draw nigher to where he stood. " What do you mean? I don't understand you ! " " No great wonder, for I don't understand myself. Your aunt has, however, in her own most mysterious way, given me to believe that somebody has written some- thing about me to somebody else, and until I clear up what in all probability I shall never hear, that I had better keep to what the Scotch call the * back o' the gate.'" "This is quite unintelligible." " I hope it is, for it is almost unendurable. I am sorely afraid," added he, after a minute, " that I am not so patient as I ought to bo under Miss Barrington's stric- tures. I am so much more in the habit of command than STOKMS. 425 of obedience, that I may forget myself now and tlien. To you, however, I am ready to submit all my past life and conduct. By you I am willing to be judo-ed. If these cruel calumnies which are going the round of the papers on me have lowered me in your estimation, my case is a lost one ; but if, as I love to think, your woman's heart resents an injustice — if, taking counsel of your courage and your generosity, you feel it is not the time to withdraw esteem when the dark hour of adversity looms over a man — then, I care no more for these slanders than for the veriest trifles which cross one's every-day life. In one word — your verdict is life or death to me." "In that case," said she, with an effort to dispel the seriousness of his manner, " I must have time to consider my sentence." " But that is exactly what you cannot have, Josephine," said he ; and there was a certain earnestness in his voice and look, which made her hear him call her by her name without any sense of being offended. " First relieve the suffering — there will be ample leisure to question the sufferer afterwards. The Good Samaritan wasted {q\v words, and asked for no time. The noblest services are those of which the cost is never calculated. Tour own heart can tell you : can you befriend me, and will you ? " "I do not know what it is you ask of me," said she, with a frank boldness which actually disconcerted him. "Tell me distinctly, what is it?" " I will tell you," said he, taking her hand, but so gently, so respectfully withal, that she did not at first withdraw it. " I will tell you. It is that you will share that fate on which fortune is now frowning — that you will add your own high-couraged heart to that of one who never knew a fear till now — that you will accept my lot in this the day of my reverse, and enable me to turn upon my pursuers and scatter them. To-morrow or next day will be too late. It is now, at this hour, that friends hold back, that one more than friend is needed. Can you be that, Josephine ? " " No ! " said she, firmly. ** If I read your meaning aright, I cannot." " You cannot love me, Josephine," said he, in a voice 42G B.UIRINGTON. of intense emnt'on ; niul thouijli he waited some time for her to speak, she was silent. " It is true, then,'' said he, jjassionatcly, "the shiiicleri-rs have done their work ! " " I know nothino^ of these calumnies. When my grand- father told me that they accused yon falsely, and con- demned you unfairly, I believed him. I am as ready as ever to say so. I do not understand your cause; but 1 believe you to be a true and pallant frentleman ! " " But yet, not one to love! " whispered he, faintly. Af^ain she was silent, and for some time he did not 8peak. "A true and p^allant gentleman!" said he, slowly repeating her own words ; " and if so, is it an unsale keeping to which to entrust your happiness? It is no graceful task to have oneself for a theme ; but I cannot help it. I have no witnesses to call to character; a few brief lines in an army list, and some scars — old reminders of French sabres — are poor certificates, and yet 1 have no others." There was something which touched her in the sadness of his tone as he said these words, and if she knew how, she would have spoken to him in kindliness. He mistook the struggle for a change of purpose, and with greater eagerness continued, "After all I am scarcely more alone in the world than you are! The dear friends who now surround you cannot be long spared, and what isolation will be your fate then ! Think of this, and think, too, how in assuring your own future, you rescue mine." Very differently from his former speech did the present affect her ; and her cheeks glowed and her eyes flashed as she said, "I have never entrusted my fate to your keeping, sir; and you may spare yourself all anxiety about it." " You mistake me. You wrong me, Josephine " "You wrong yourself, when you call me by my christian name ; and you arm me with distrust of one who would presume upon an interest he has not created." " You refuse me, then ? " said he, slowly and calmly. " Once, and for ever! " " It may be that you are mistaken, Miss Barrington. It may be that this other affection, which you prefer to mine, STORMS. 427 is hut the sickly sentiment of a foolish boy, whose life up to tliis has not given one single guarantee, nor shown one single trait, of those which make ' true and gallant gentle- men.' But you have made your choice." " I have," said she, with a low but firm voice. " You acknowledge then that I was right," cried he, suddenly ; " there is a prior attachment ? Your heart is not your own to give ? " " And by what right do you presume to question me ? Who are you, that dares to do this ? " " Who am I ? " cried he, and for once his voice rose to the discordant ring of passion. " Yes, that was my question," repeated she, firmly. ** So, then, you have had jonr lesson, young lady," said he; and the words came from him with a hissing sonnd, that indicated intense anger. " Who am I ? You want my birth, my parentage, my bringing up ! Had you no friend who could have asked this in your stead ? Or were all those around you so bereft of courage that they deputed to a young girl what should have been the office of a man ? " Though the savage earnestness of his manner startled, it did not affright her ; and it was with a cold quietness she said, " If you had known my father. Major Stapylton, I suspect you would not have accused his daughter of cowardice ! '* " Was he so very terrible ? " said he, with a smile that was half a sneer. " He would have been, to a man like you." *' To a man like me — a man like me ! Do you know, young lady, that either your words are very idle words, or very offensive ones ?" " And yet I have no wish to recall them, sir." " It would be better you could find some one to sustain hem. Unfortunately, however, you cannot ask that gallant gentleman we were j ust talking of ; for it is only the other day, and after passing over to Calais to meet me, his friends pretend that there is some obstacle to our meeting. I owe my tailor or my bootmaker something ; or I have not paid my subsci'iption to a club ; or I have left an unsettled bill at Baden. I really forget the precise 423 BARRINGTON. pii'ti'xt ; 1 nt it was one wliicl), to tl.em, seemed quito Kuflicieiit to balk me ot" a redress, and at the sanie time to shelter their tiieiid." " I will not believe one word of it, sir ! " " Well, we have at kaht arrived at a perfect frankness in our intercourse ? ^lay I ask you, young lady, which of your relatives has sULij^esteil your piescnt course! Is it to your aunt or to your grandfather 1 must go lor au explanation ?" " 1 suspect it is to me, ^lajor Stapylton," said Barring- ^a\\, as he came from behimi .Josej)liiiie. " It is to me you. must address yourself. Fitine, my dear, your aunt is looking for you ; go and tell her, too, that 1 am quite ready for tea, and you will find me here when it is ready. Major Stapylton and I will take a stroll along tlie river- side." Now this last was less an invitation than a sort of significant hint to Stapylton that his host had no intention to ask him to cross his threshold, at least for the present ; and, indeed, as Barringtou passed out and closed the wicket after him, he seemed as though closing the entrance ibr ever. With a manner far more assured than his wont, Barrington said, " I have been in pursuit of you, Major Stapylton, since four o'clock. I missed you by having taken the road instead of the river ; and am much grieved that the communication I have to make you should not take place anywhere rather than near my roof, or within my own gates." " I am to suppose from your words, sir, that what you are about to say can scarcely be said to a friei)d. And if so, cannot you hit upon a more convenient mode of making your communication ? " " I think not. I believe that I shall be dealing more fairly with you by saying what I havi' to say in person." " Go on," said Stapylton, calmly, as the other paused. "You are aware," continued Barrington, "that the chief obstacle to a settlement of the claims I have long preferred against the India Company has been a certain document which they possess, declaring that a largo portion of the territory Jield by the Kajah of Luckerabad was not amenable to the laws that regulate succession, STORMS. 429 being -what is called ' Lurkar-teea ' — conquered country — over which, under no circumstances, could the Rajah exercise prospective rights. To this deed, for their better protection, the Company obtained the signature and seal of the Rajah himself, by means, which, of course, we could never discover ; but they held it, and always declared that no portion of my son's claim could extend to these lands. Now, as they denied that he could succeed to what are called the ' Turban lands,' meaning the right of sovereignty — being a British subject — on the one hand, and rejected his claim to these conquered countries on the other — they excluded him altogether." *' My dear sir," said Stapylton, mildly, " I'm shocked to interrupt you, but I am forced to ask, what is the intimate bearing of all this upon me, or on your position towards me ? " " Have a little patience, sir, and suffer me to proceed. If it should turn out that this document — I mean that which bears the signature and seal of the Rajah — should be a forgery ; if, I say, it could be shown that what the India Board have long relied on to sustain their case and corroborate their own view could be proved false, a great point would be gained towards the establishment of our claim." "Doubtless," said Stapylton, with the half-peevish indifference of one listeningr asrainst his will. "Well, there is a good prospect of this," said Barring- ton, boldly. " Nay, more, it is a certainty." " Mr. Barrington," said Stapylton, drawing himself haughtily up, " a few hours ago this history would have had a very great interest for me. My hopes pointed to a very close relationship with your family ; the last hour has sufficed to dispel those hopes. Your granddaughter has rejected me so decidedly, that I cannot presume to suppose a change in her opinion possible. Let me not, then, obtain any share in your conhdeuce to which i have no risfht whatever." " What I am about to say will have more interest for you, sir," continued Barrington. " I am about to men- tion a name that you will recognize — the Moonshee, All Gohur." 430 B.VRRINGTON. Stapylton started, ami dmppod tlie cipar he was smok- ing. To take out aiiotlier and light it, howover, Kulliccd to employ him, as he murmured between hia teeth, " Go on." "This man says " continued Barrintrton. "Said, perhaps, if yon like," broke iu Slapylton, "for he died some nioutlis ago." "No; he is alive at tiiis hour, lie was on board the Indiaman that was run down by the transport. He was saved and carried on board the liiynlus by the in- trepidity of young Dill. He is now recovering rapidly from the injuries he received, and at the date of the letter which I hold here, was able to be in daily communication with Colonel Hunter, who is the writer of this." " I wish the gallant Colonel honester company. Aro you aware, Mr. Uarrington, that you are speaking of one of the greatest rascals of a country not famed for its integrity ?" '• He lays no claim to such for the past ; but he would seem desirous to make some reparation for a long course of iniquity." " Cliaruied for his sake, and that of bis well-wishers, if he have any. But, once again, sir, and at all the risk of appearing very impatient, what concei'n has all this for me.'' " A great deal, sir. The Moonshee declares that he hns been for years back in close correspondence with a man we long since believed dead, and that this man was known to have communicated constantly with the law advisei'S of the India Board in a manner adverse to us, he being none other than the son of the nfjtorions Sam Edwardes, whom he always addressed under cover to Captain Horace Stapylton, Prince's Hussars." "This is — strange enough, when one thinks of the quarter it comes from — perfectly true. I came to know Edwardes when on my voyage home, invalided. He took immense trouble about me, nursed and tended me, and, in return, asked as a favour to have some letters he wai expecting addressed to my care. 1 neither knew who he was, nor cared. He got his letters, and I suppose read STOKMS. 431 tliem ; but of their contents, I, it is needless to say, know nothing, I am speaking of a dozen years ago, or at least eight or ten, tor since that time I have never heard of either Edwardes or his friend." " He tells a different story. He asserts that to his letters, forwarded to the same address up to the period of last March, he regularly received replies ; but at last finding that the writer was disposed to get rid of him, he obtained means to circulate a report of his death, and sailed for Europe to prefer his claims, whatever they be, in person." " And if every word of this were true, Mr. Barrington, which I don't suspect it is, how, in the name of common sense, does it concern me ? I don't suppose I ever took my own letters at a post-office twice in my life. My servant, who has lived with me fourteen years, may, for aught I know, have been bribed to abstract these letters on their arrival ; they would be easily recognized by the very superscription. This is one way the thing might have been done. There may have been fifty more, for aught I know or care." "But you don't deny that you knew Edwardes, and had a close intimacy with him? — a circumstance which you never revealed to Withering or myself." " It is not at all impi-obable I may have known half a dozen of that name. It is by no means an uncommon one, not to say that I have a singularly infelicitous memory for people's names. But for the last time, sir, I must protest against this conversation going any further. You have taken upon you, I would hope without intend- ing it, the tone of a French Juge (Tlnstruciion in the interrogation of a prisoner. You have questioned and cross-questioned me, asking how I can account for this, or explain that. Xow, I am ready to concede a great deal to your position as my host, and to j^our years, but really I must entreat of you not to push my deference for these beyond the limits of the respect I owe myself. You very properly warned me at the opening of this conversa- tion that it ought not to have the sanction of your roof- tree. I have only to beg, that if it is to go any further, that it be conducted in such a shape as is usual between 432 BARniNGTON. gentlomon who have an explanation to ask, or a satisfaction to demand." There was consummate craft in givinj^ the discussion tliis turn. Stnpyltoii well knew tlie nature of the man he was addressing, and tliat after the passing allusion to his character as a host, he only needed to hint at the pos- sil)ility of a meeting to recall him to a degree of respect only short of deference for his opponent. " I defer to you at once, ^fajor Stapylton," said the old man, with a bland courtesy, as ho uncovered and bowed. " Tlierc was a time wlien 1 should scarcely have required the admonition you have given me." " I am glad to perceive that you understand me bo readily," said Stapylton, who could scarcely repress the joy he felt at the success of his diversion ; " and that nothing may mar our future understanding, this is ray address in London, where I shall wait your orders for a . Though the stroke was shrewdlv intended, and meant to throw upon Barrington all the onus of the provocation, the ]Major little suspected that it was the one solitary subject of which his opponent was a master. On the " duello " Barrington was an authority beyond appeal, and no subtlety, however well contrived, could embarrass or involve him. " I have no satisfaction to claim at your hands. Major Stapylton," said he, calmly. " My friend, Mr. Withering, when he sent me these letters, knew you were my guest, and he said, ' Kead them to Major Stapylton. Let him know what is said of him, and who says it.' " " And, perhaps, you ought to add, sir, who gives it the sanction of his belief," V)roke in Stapylton, angrily. " You never took the trouble to recite these charges till they obtained your credence." "You have fcaid nothing to disprove them," said the old man, quickly. " That is enough — quite enough, sir ; we understand each other perfectly. You allege certain things against me as injuries done you, and you wait for me to resent the imputation. I'll not baulk you, be assured of it. The address I have given you in London will enable you to BTORMS. 433 communicate ■with me when you arrive there ; for I presume this matter had better be settled in France or Holland." " I think so," said Harrington, with the air of a mau thoroughly at his ease. " I need not say, Mr. Barrington, the regret it gives m© that it was not one of my detractors himself, and not their dupe, that should occupy this place.'' " The dope, sir, is very much at your service." " Till we meet again," said Stapylton, raising his hat as Le turned away. In his haste and the confusion of the moment, he took the path that led towards the cottage ; nor did he discover his mistake till he heard Barrington's voice calling out to Darby, — " Get the boat ready to take Major Stapylton to Inistioge." " You forget none of the precepts of hospitality," said Stapylton, wheeling hastily around, and directing his steps towards the river. Barrington looked after him as he went, and probably in his long and varied life, crossed with many a ca -e and many troubles, he had never felt the pain of such severe self-reproach as in that moment. To see his guest, the man who had sat at his board and eaten his salt, eroino- out mto the dreary night without one hospitable effort to detain him, without a pledge to his health, without a warm shake of his hand, or one hearty wish for his return. " Dear, dear ! " muttered he, to himself, " what is the world come to ! I thought I had no more experiences to learn of suffering ; but here is a new one. Who would have thought to see the day that Peter Barrington would treat his guest this ikshion ? " " Are you coming in to tea, grandpapa ? " cried Josephine, from the garden. " Here I am, my dear ! " " And your guest, Peter, what has become of him ? " said Dinah. "He had Fome very urgent business at Kilkenny; something that could not admit of delay, I opine." " But you have not let him go without his letters, F F 434 BARRFNr.TON. Burely. Here are all these formidable-looking dcspatclicB, on His ^Iiijcsty's service, on the chimney-piece." "How Ibrgftrui of mo ! " cried he, as, snatching them up, he hastened down to the river side. The boat, however had just gone; and although he shouted and called at the top of his voice, no answer came, and he turned back at last, vexed and disai>p()iiitcd. " I shall have to start for l)ul)lin to-morrow, Dinah," said ho, as he walked thoughtfully up and down the room. " I must have Withering's advice on these letters. Tlure are very pressing matters to be thought of here, and I cfiu take ^lajor Stapylton's despatches with me. I am certain to hear of him somewhere." Miss Barrington turned her eyes full upon him, and watched him narrowly. She was a keen detector of motives, and she scanned her brother's face with no common keenness, and yet she could see nothing beyond the preoccupation she had often seen. There was no impatience, no anxiety. A shade more thoughtful, perhaps, and even that passed off, as he sat down to his tea, and asked Fifine what commissions she had for the capital. •' You will leave by the evening mail, I suppose?" said Miss Barrington. "No, Dinah, night travelling wearies me. I will take the coach as it passes the gate to-morrow at five ; this will bring me in time to catch Withering at his late dinner, and a pleasanter way to finish a day's travel no man need ask for." Nothing could be more easily spoken than these words, and Miss Dinah felt reassured by them, and left the room to give some orders about his journey. " Fifine, dailiiig," said Barrington, after a pause, " do you like your life here ? " " Of course I do, grandpapa. How could I wish for one more happy ? " "But it is somewhat dull for one so young — somewhat solitary for a lair, bright creature, who might reasonably enough care for pleasure and the world." "To me it is a round of gaiety, grandpapa; so that I almost felt inclined yesterday to wish for some quiet days STORMS. 435 with aunt and yourself — some of those dreamy days like what we had in Germany." "I fear me much, darling, that I contribute but little to the pleasure. My head is so full of one care or another, I am bat sorry company, Fifine." "If you only knew how dull we are without you ! How heavily the day drags on even with the occupations you take no share in; how we miss your steps on the stairs and your voice in the garden, and that merry laugh that sets ourselves a laughing just by its own ring." "And you would miss me, then ?" said he, as he pushed the hair from her temples, and stared steadfastly at her face — " you would miss me ?" "It would only be half life without you," cried she, passionately. " So much the worse — so much the worse! " muttered he ; and he turned away, and drew his hand across his eyes. " This life of ours, Fifine, is a huge battle-field, and though the comrades fall fast around him, the brave soldier will tight on to the last." " You don't want a dress coat, brother Peter, to dine with Withering, so I have just put up what will serve you for three days, or four, at furthest," said Dinah, entering. " What will be the extent of your stay ? " " Let me have a black coat, Dinah ; there's no saying what great man may not ask for my company ; and it might be a week before I get back again." " There's no necessity it should be anything of tlie kind, Peter ; and with your habits an hotel life is scarcelv an economy. Come, Fitine, get to bed, child. You'll have to be up at daybreak. Your grandpapa won't think his coH'ee drinkable, if it is not made by your hands." And with this reinark, beautifully balanced between a reproof and a flattery, she proceeded to blow out the candles, which was her accustomed mode of sending her company to their rooms. P F 2 43G liAUUINQTOil. CHAPTER XLV. THE OLD LKAVEN. WiTnFriN'G arrived at his own door jnst as Barrington drove up to it. " T knew my letter would bring you up to town, Barriii^'ton," said he; "and 1 was so sure of it, tliiit 1 ordered a saddle of mutton for your dinner, and refused an invitation to the Chancellor's." " And quite rii,'lit too. I am far better company, Tom. Are we to be all alone?" "All alone." " That was exactly what I wanted. Now, as I need a long evening with you, the sooner they serve the soup the better ; and be sure you give yuur orders that nobody bo admitted." If Mr. Withering's venerable butler, an official long versed in the mysteries of his office, were to have been questioned on the subject, it is not improbable he would liave dic'.ared that he never assisted at a plcasanter ictr-a- tcte than that day's dinner. They enjoyed their good dinner and their good wine like men who bring to the enjoyment a ripe experience of such pleasures, and tliey talked with the rare zest of frood talkers and old friends. "• We are in favour with Nicliolas," said Withering, as the butler withdrew, and left them alone, " or he would never have given us that bottle of port. Do you mark, Barrington, it's the green seal that John Bushe begged so hard for one night, and all unsuccessfully." *' It is rare stuti!" said Barrington, looking at it be- tween him and the light. ind it was that story of yours of the Kerry election that won it. The old fellow had to rush out of the room to have his laugh out." " Do you know, Tom," said Barrington, as he sipped THE OLD LEAVEN. 437 hiB wine, " I believe, in another generation, nobody will laugh at all. Since you and I were boys, the world has taken a very serious turn. Not that it is much wiser, or better, or more moral, or more cultivated, but it is graver. The old jollity would be now set down simply lor vulgarity, and with many people a joke is only short of an insult." " Sliall I tell you why, Peter? We got our reputation for wit, just as we made our name for manufacture, and there sprung up a mass of impostors in consequence — fel- lows who made poor jokes and rotten calicoes, that so dis- gusted the world, that people have gone to France for their fun, and to Germany for their furniture. That is, to my taking, the reason of all this social reaction." " Perhaps you are right, Tom. Old Joe Millers are not unlike cloch made out of devil's dust. One can't expect much wear out of either." " We must secure another bottle from that bin before Nicholas changes his mind," said Withering, rising to ring the bell. " No, Tom, not for me. I want all the calm and all the judgment I can muster, and don't ask me to take more wine. I have much to say to you." " Of course you have. I knew well that packet of letters would bring you up to town; but you have had scarcely time to read them." "Very hurriedly, I confess. They reached me yester- day afternoon ; and when I had run ray eyes hastily over them, I said ' Stapylton must see this at once.' The man was my guest — he was under my roof — there could not be a question about how to deal with him. He was out, however, when the packet reached my hands, and while the pony was being harnessed, I took another look over that letter from Colonel Hunter. It shocked me, Tom, I confess ; because there flashed upon me quite suddenly the recollection of the promptitude with which the India Board at home here were provided with an answer to each demand we made. It was not merely that when we advanced a step they met us ; but we could scarcely meditate a move that they were not in activity to repel it." 438 BARRINGTON. " I saw that, too, and was struck by it," said Wither^ inor. " True enough, Tom. I remember a remark of yours one day. 'Tliese people,' said you, 'have our range so accurately, one would suspect they had Btepi)ed the ground."* The lawyer smiled at the compliment to his acuteness, and the other went on : " As 1 read further, ] thought Stapylton had been betrayed — his correspondent in India had shown his letters. ' Our enemies,' said I, ' iiave seen our despatches, and are playing with our cards on the table.' No thought of distrust — not a suspicion airainst his loyalty had ever crossed me till I met him. I came unexpectedly upon him, however, before the door, and there was a ring and resonance in bis voice as I came up that startled me ! Passion forgets to shut the door some- times, and one can see in an angry mind what you never suspected in the calm one. I took him up at once, with- out suffering him to recover his composure, and read him a part of Hunter's letter. He was ready enough with his reply ; he knew the Moonshee by reputation as a man of the worst character, but had suffered him to address certain letters under cover to him, as a convenience to the person they were meant for, and who was no other than the son of the notorious Sam Edwardes. 'Whom you have known all this while,' said I, ' without ever acknowledging to us?' " ' "Whom I did know some years back,' replied he, ' but never thought of connecting with the name of Colonel Barrington's enemy.' All this was possible enough, Tom; besides, his manner was frank and open in the extreme. It was only at last, as I dwelt, what he deemed too pertinaciously, on this point, tliat he suddenly lost control of himself, and said, ' I will have no more of this ' — or, ' This must go no further ' — or some words to that effect." " Ha ! the probe had touched the sore spot, eh ? " cried Withering. " Go on ! " " * And if you desire further explanations from me, you must ask for them at the price men pay lor indicting unmerited insult.' " "Cleverly turned — cleverly done," said Withering; THE OLD LEAVEN. 439 •* but you were not to be deceived and drawn off by that- feint, eh r" " Feint, or not, it succeeded, Tom. He made me feel that I had injured him, and as he would not accept of my excuses — as, in fact, he did not give me time to make them ' " He got you into a quarrel, isn't that the truth ? " asked Withering, hotly. " Come, come, Tom, be reasonable ; he had perfect right on his side. There was what he felt as a very grave imputation upon him ; that is, I had made a charge, and his explanation had not satisfied me — or, at all events, I had not said I was satisfied — and we each of us, I take it, were somewhat warmer than we need have been." "And you are going to meet him — going to fight a duel?" " Well, if I am, it will not be the first time." "And can you tell for what? Will you be able to make any man of common intelligence understand for what you are going out ? " " I hope so. I have the man in my eye. No, no, don't make a wry face, Tom. It's another old friend I was thinking of to help me through this affair, and I sincerely trust he will not be so hard to instruct as you imagine." '• How old are you, Barrington ? " " Dinah says eighty-one ; but I suspect she cheats me, I think I ana eighty-three." '■ And is it at eighty-three that men fight duels ? " " Not if they can help it, Tom, certainly. I have never been out since I shot Tom Connelly in the knee, which was a matter of forty years ago, and I had good hopes it was to be my last exploit of this kind. But what is to be done if a man tells you that your age is your pro- tection ; that if it had not been for your white hairs and your shaking ankles, that he'd have resented your conduct or your words to him ? Faith, I think it puts a fellow oa his mettle to show that his heart is all right, though his hand may tremble." " I'll not take any share in such a folly. I tell you, Barrington, the world for whom you are doing this will 440 BAURINOTON. be the very first to Rcout its absurdity. Just rcmeml>er lor a moment we are not living in the old days before tlio Union, and we have not tlie rif^lit, if we had the power, to throw our ago back into tlie barbarism it has escaped from." " Barbarism ! The days of poor Yclverton, and Poii- ponby, and llarry G rattan, and Parsons, and Ned Lysagtit, barbarism ! All ! my dear Tom, I wish we had a few of such barbarians here now, and I'd ask for another bottio or two of that port." "I'll not give it a milder word ; and what's more, I'll not suBer you to tarnish a time-honoured name by a folly which even a boy would be blamed for. My dear old friend, just grant me a little patience." " This is cool, certainly," said Ba,rrington, laughing. *' You have said all manner of outrageous things to me for half an hour iinopposed, and now you cry havo patience." " Give me your honour now that this shall not go further." " I cannot, Tom — I assure you, I cannot." " What do you mean by you cannot ? " cried Withering, angrily. " I mean just what I said. If you had accepted a man's brief, Tom Withering, there is a professional etiquette which would prevent your giving it up and abandoning him ; and so there are situations between men of the world which claim exactly as rigid an observance. I told Htapylton I would be at his orders, and I mean to keep my word." " Not if you had no right to pledge it ; not if I can prove to you that this quarrel was a mere got-up alter- cation to turn you from an inquiry which this man dare not face." '• This is too subtle for me, Withering — far too subtle.'* " No such thing, liarrington ; but I will make it plainer. How if the man you are going to meet had no right to the name ho bears ? ' '• What do I care for his name ? " " Don't you care for the falsehood by which he has asbumed one that is not his own ? " THE OLD LEAVEN. 441 " I may be sorry that he is not more clean-handed ; but I tell you again, Tom, they never indulged such punc- tilios in our young days, and I'm too old to go to school again ! " " I declare, Barrington, you provoke me," said the lawyer, rising, and pacing the room with hasty strides. *' After years and years of weary toil, almost disheartened by defeat and failure, we at last see the outline of land ; a few more days — or it may be hours — of perseverance may accomplish our task. Since I arose this morning I have learned more of our case, seen my way moi'e clearly through matters which have long puzzled me, than the cost of years has taught me. I have passed four hours ■with one who would give his life to serve you, but whose name I was not at liberty to divulge, save in the last necessity, and the reasons for which reserve I heartily concur in ; and now, by a rash and foolish altercation, you would jeopardy everything. Do you wonder if I lose temper ?" " You have got me into such a state of bewilderment, Tom, that I don't know what I am asked to agree to. But who is your friend — isn't it a woman ? " " It is not a woman." " I'd have bet five pounds it was ! When as sharp a fellow as you takes the wrong line of country, it's generally a woman is leading the way over the fences." " This time your clever theory is at fault." " Well, who is it ? Out with him, Tom. I have not so many staunch friends in the world that I can afford to ignore them." " I will tell you his name on one condition." " I agree. What is the condition ?" " It is this : that when you hear it you will dismiss from you mind — though it be only for a bi-ief space — all the prejudices that years may have heaped against him, and suffer me to show you that you, with all your belief in your own fairness, are not just; and with a firm con- viction in your own generosity, might be more generous. There's my condition ! " " Well, it must be owned I am going to pay pretty smartly for my information," said Barrington, laughing. 442 BAnniNOTON. " And if you are about to preach to mc, it will not be a ' cliiirity ' sermon : but, as I said before, I agree to every- tliin^r." Withering stopped his walk and resumed it again. It was evident he had not satisfied himself how he sliould ])roceed, and he looked agitated and uiuh-ciiled. " Har- rington," said he, at last, " you have hiid altout as many reverses in life as most men, and must have met with fully your share of ingratitude and its treatment. Do you feel, now, in looking back, that there are certain fellows you caHinot forgive ? " " One or two, perhaps, push me harder than the rest ; but if I have no gout flying about me, I don't think I bear them any malice." " Well, you have no gouty symptoms now, I take it?" " Never felt better for the last twenty years." " That is as it should be ; for I want to talk to you of a man who, in all our friendship, you have never men- tioned to me, but whose name I know will open an old wound — Ormshy Conyers." Burlington laid down the glass he was lifting to his lips, and covered his face with both his hands, nor for some moments did he speak a word. " Withering," said he, and his voice trembled as he spoke, " even your friendship has scarcely the right to go this far. The injury the man you speak of did me meets me every inorning as I open my eyes, and my first prayer each day is that I may forgive him, for every now and then as my lone lot in life comes strongly before me, I have need to pray for this; but I have succeeded at hist— I have for- given him from my heart; but, dear friend, let us not talk of what tears open wounds that bleed afiesh at a touch. I beseech you, let all that be a bygone." " That is more than I can do, Barriugton ; for it is not to me you must acknowledge you have forgiven this man — you must tell it to himself." '• That is not needed, Tom. Thousands of long miles separate us, and will in all likelihood separate us to the last. What does he want with my forgiveness, which is less a question between him and me, than between me and my own heart ? " THE OLD LEAVEN. 443 " And yet it is what he most desires on earth ; he told me so within an hour ! " " Told you so — and within an hour ? " "Yes, Barrington, he is here. Not in the house," kidded he, hastily, for the suddenness of the announce- ment had startled the old man, and agitated him greatly. '• Be calm, my dear friend," said Withering, laying a hand on the other's shoulder. " He who is now come to claim your forgiveness has never injured you to the extent you believe. He asks it as the last tribute to one lie loved only less than you loved him. He has told me everything ; never sparing himself, nor seeking by any subtlety to excuse a particle of his conduct. Let me tell you that story as I heard it. It will be some solace to you to know that your noble-hearted son inspired a friendship which, after the long lapse of years, extracts such an atonement as one act of disloyalty to it could demand. This was Ormsby Conyers's one and only treason to the love that bound them. Listen to it ! " Barrington tried to speak, but could not, so he nodded an assent, and Withering continued. His story was that which the reader has already heard from the lips of Conyers himself, and the old lawyer told it well. If he did not attempt to extenuate the offence and wrong of Conyers, he showed the power and strength of an affec- tion which could make one of the haughtiest of men come forward to accuse himself, and at every cost of humilia- tion vindicate the noble nature of his friend. " And why not have avowed all this before ? — why not have spared himself years of self-accusing, and me years of aggravated misery?" cried Barrington. " He did make the attempt. He came to England about eighteen years ago, and his first care was to write to you. He asked to be allowed to see you, and sent you at the same time an admission that he had injured you, and was come to seek your forgiveness." " That's true, Tom ; all strictly true. I remember all about it. His letter was such a one as an enemy might have used to crush him. My own temper at the time was not to be trusted too far ; sorrow was making me cruel, and might make me vindictive ; so I sent it back 414 BAnniNGTON. 1o liini, niid liiiited it was safer in his hands than " And he has never for^j^otten your generosity. He said, ' It was what well became the I'utlicr ol' Gooryo Jjarriugtou.' " '' If he is here in this city, now, let me see him. RomcnilHT, Witlieiiner, when a man comes to my age his time is sliort. Cannot we go to him at once?" " Not feeling certain of your coming up to town to- day, I had arranged with Conyers to start for ' The Hume* to-morrow ; we were to await the post hour, and, il no letter came from you, to leave at ten o'clock. 1 was to take liim up at Elvidge's Hotel. AV'hat say you if I diive him down to Reynold's? You stop there, I know." " With all my heart, Tom. I am fully as impatient as he can be to sign and seal our reconciliation. Indeed, I feel myself already less sinned against than sinnin<^ ; and an act of forgiveness is only an exchange of prisoners between us. H' you knew how young I feel again at all this, Withering," said he, grasping his I'riend's hand. " What a happiness to know that poor George's memory is so revered, that one who has failed towards him in fidelity should come to expiate the wrong thus openly ! My fine noLle-hcai-ted boy deserved this tribute ! And he told you how they loved each other ; in what a brother- hood they lived; and what a glorious fellow George was? Did he tell you of his gentleness ? womanly softness it was, Tom. A careless observer might have said there was no stuff in him to make a soldier, and yet where was there his equal ? You heard what ho did at Naghapoor and Weerutan, where he held a mountain-pass with three squadrons against a whole army corps, and never owned to being wounded till he fell fainting from bis horse on the retreat. Oh, let me not speak of these things, or my heart will burst. I must leave you, old friend; this agitation will unfit me for much that is before me; let me go, I beseech you, and when you see me to-morrow, you'll find I am all myself again." It was in silence they grasped each other's hand, and parted. 445 CHAPTER XLVI. A HAPPY MEETING. Barrington scarcely closed his eyes that night after he had parted with Wiihering, so full was he of thinking over all he had heard. " It was," as he repeated to him- self over and over again, " ' such glorious news ' to hear that it was no long-laid plot, no dark treachery, had brought poor George to his grave, and that the trusted friend had not turned out a secret enemy. How prone we are," thought he, " to sutier our suspicions to grow into convictions, just by the mere force of time. Conyers was neither better nor worse than scores of young fellows entering on life, undisciplined in self-restraint, and un- tutored by converse with the world ; and in his sorrow and repentance he is fur and away above most men. It was fine of him to couie thus, and become his own acuser, rather than suffer a shade of reproach to I'est upon the fame of his friend. And this reparation he would have made years ago, but for my impatience. It was I that would not listen — would not admit it. " I believe in my heart, then, this confession has a higher value for me than would the gain of our gi-eat suit. It is such a testimony to my brave boy as but one man living could ofi'er. It is a declai-ation to the world that says, ' Here am I, high in station, covered with dig- nities and rich in rewards ; yet there was a man whose late has never interested you ! over whose fall you never sorrowea ! hundreds of times my superior.' What a reward is this for all my life of toil and struggle^ — wlmt a glorious victory, wiien the battle looked so doubtful ! People will see at last it is not an old man's phantasy — it is not the headlong affection of a father for his son has made me pursue this reparation for him here. There is 41G llAimiNGTON. a witness ' come to judi^'nieiit,' who will tell tlicni wliat Geori^e B;iiringtou was; liuw nuljlo as u luiiii, liow ghjii- ous as a soldier." Wliilo the old man revellod in the hajipiness of tlicso thoughtH, so absorbed whs he by tlieiii tliiit lie utterly forgot the immediate object which had occasioned hiH journey— forgot Stapylton and the meeting, and all that had led to it. Thus passed the hours of tiie Tiight, and as the day broke he arose, impatient to actual leveri.sh- iiess for the coming interview. He tried by some occu- pation to till up the time. He sat down to write to his sister an account of all Withering had told him, leavin"- the rest to be added alter the meeting; but he found, as he read it over, that al'ter the meiilion of George's name, nothing dropped from his pen but prai-es of him. It was all about his generosity, his open-heartedness, and his bravery. " This would seem downright extravagant," said he, as he crushed the paper in his hand, ''till sno hears it from the lips of Coiiycrs himself." He began another letter, but, somehow, again he glided into the self-same channel, " Tliis will never do," said he ; " tliere's nothing foi- it but a brisk walk." So saying he sallied out into the deserted streets, for few were about at that early hour, liarringtou turned his steps towards the country, and soon gained one of those shady alleys which lead towards Finglas. It was a neighbourhood he had once known well, and a favourite resort of those pleasant I'ellows who thought they compensated for a hard ni:^lit at Daly's by isipping syllabub of a morning on a dewy meadow. IIo once had rented a little cottage there ; a fancy of poor George's it was, that there were some trout in the stream beside it; and Barrington strolled along till he came to a little niound, from which he could see the place, sadlv changed and dilapidated since he knew it. Instead of the rustic bridge that crossed the river, a single plank now spanned tlie stream, and in the disorder and neglect of all around, it was easy to see it had fallen to the lot of a peasant to live in it. As Barrington was about to turn away, he saw an old man — unmistakably a gentleman — • ascending the hill, with a short telescope in his hand. As A HAPPY MEETING. 447 the path was a narrow one, he waited therefore for Hie other's arrival, before he began to descend himself. Wifh a politeness which in his younger days Irish gentlemen derived from intercoui'se with France, Barrington touched his hat as he passed the stranger, and the otlier, :is if encouraged by the show of courtesy, smiled as he returned the salute, and said, — " Might I take the liberty to ask you if you are ac- quainted with this locality?" " Few know it better, or, at least, knew it once," said Barrington. " It was the classic ground of Ireland in daj's past." said the stiaiigcr. " I have heard that Swift lived here." " Yes ; but you cannot see his house from this. It was nearer to Siintry, where you see that wood yonder. There was, however, a celebrity once inhabited that small cottage before us. Ifc was the home of Parnell." " Is that Parnell's cottage ? " asked the stranger, with eagerness ; " that ruined spot, yonder? " " Yes. It was there he wrote some of his best poems. I knew the room well he lived in." " How I would like to see it! " cried the other. " You are an admirer of Parnell, then ? " said Bar- rington, with a smile of courteous meaning. " I will own to you, sir, it was less of Parnell I was thinking than of a dear friend who once talked to me of that cottage. He had lived there, and cherished the memory of that life when far away from it ; and so well had he described every walk and path around it, each winding of the river, and every shady nook, that I had hoped to recognize it without a guide." " Ah, it is sadly changed of late. Your friend had not probably seen it for some years ? " " Let me see. It was in a memorable year he told me he lived there — when some great demonstration was made by the Irish volunteers, with the Bishop of Down at their head. The Bishop dined there on that day." " The Earl of Bristol dined that day with me, there," said Barrington, pointing to the cottage. "May I ask with whom I have the honour to speak, sir? " said the stranger, bowing. 4 13 BAUUINOTON. "Was it Georpe Barritigton toKl you this?" paid the old mail, tromblinj^ with eacenioss : " was it ho, who lived hero? I may ask, sir, for I am his father I " " And I am Ormsby Conyers," said the other; and his face became pale, and his knees tremljjed as he said it. " Give me your hand, Conyers," cried Barrinyton ; "the hand that my dear boy has so often presseil in friendship. 1 know all that; you were to each other ; all that yon would be to his memory." " Can you forgive me? " said Conyers. " I have, for many a year. I forgave you when I thought you had been his enemy. I now know you had oidy been your own to sacrifice such love, such aH'ection as he bore you." " I never loved him more than I have hated myself for my conduct towards him." " Let us talk of George — he loved us both," said Har- rington, who still held Conyers by the hand. " It is a theme none but yourself can rival me in interest for." It was not easy for Conyers to attain that calm which could enable him to answer the other's questions ; but by degrees he grew to talk freely, assisted a good deal by the likeness of the old man to his son — a resemblance in manner even as much as look — and thus, before they reached town again, they had become like familiar friends. Barrington could never hear enough of George ; even of the incidents he had heard of by letter, he liked to listen to the details again, and to mark how all the traits of that dear boy had been appreciated by others. " I must keep you my prisoner," said Barrington, as they gained the door of his hotel. " The thirst I have is not easily slaked ; remember, that for more than thirty years 1 have had none to talk to me of my boy! I know all about your appointment with Withering: he was to have brought you here this morning to see me, and my old friend will rejoice when he comes and finds us here together." " He was certain you would come up to town," said Conyers, " when you got his letters. You would see at once that there were matters which should be promptly A HAPPY MEETING. 449 dealt with ; and he said, * Barrington will be my guest at dinner to-morrow.' " "Eh? — how? — what was it all about? Georgre has driven all else out of my head, and I declare to you that I have not the very vaguest recollection of what Wither- ing's letters contained. Wait a moment; a light is break- ing on me. I do remember something of it all now. To be sure ! What a head I have ! It was all about Sta- pylton. By the way, General, how you would have laughed had you heard the dressing Withering gave me last night, when I told him I was going to give Stapylton a meeting." " A hostile meeting ? " " Well, if you like to give it that new-fangled name, General, which I assure you was not in vogue when I was a young man. Withering rated me soundly for the notion, reminded me of my white hairs and such other disquali- fications, and asked me indignantly, ' What the world would say when they came to hear of it ? ' ' What would the world say if they heard I declined it, Tom ? ' was ray answer. Would they not exclaim, ' Here is one of that fire-eating school who are always rebuking us for our laxity in matters of honour, look at him and say, are these the principles of his sect ? ' " Conyers shook his head dissentingly, and smiled. " No, no ! " said Barrington, replying to the other's look, "you are just of my own mind! A man who believes you to have injured him claims reparation as a matter of right. I could not say to Stapylton, ' I will not meet you ! ' " " I did say so, and that within a fortnight." " You said so, and under what provocation ? " " He grossly insulted my son, who was his subaltern ; he outraged him by offensive language, and he dared even to impugn his personal courage. It was in one of those late riots where the military were called out; and my boy, entrusted with the duty of dispersing an assemblage, stopped to remonstrate where he might have charged, and actually relieved the misery he had his orders to have trampled under the feet of his squadron. Major Sta- pylton could have reprimanded, he might have courU G a 450 BARUINGTON. inartialcd him ; he had no riglit to attempt to dishonour him. My son left the service — I made him leave on the spot — and we went over to France to meet this man. I Bent for Proctor to be my boy's friend, and my letter found him at Sir Gilbert Stapylton's, at Hollowclitl'e. To explain his hurried dcprirture, Proctor told what called him away. ' And will you suffer your friend to meet that adventurer,' said Sir Gilbert, ' who stole my nephew's name if he did not steal more ? ' To be brief, he told that this fellow had lived with Colonel Howard Stapylton, Biitish Resident at Gliurtnapore, as a sort of liumble private secretary. ' In the cholera that swe]>t the district Howard died, and altli()u<:^h his will, deposited at, Calcuttjj, contained several legacies, the etl'ects to redeem them were not to be discovered. Meanwhile; this young fellow assumed the name of Stap}lton, gave himself out for his heir, and even threatened to litigate some landed property in England with Howard's brother. An intimation, that if he dared to put his menace in action a full inquiry into his conduct should be made, stopped him, and we heard no more of him — at least for a great many years. When an old ^ladras friend of Howard's who came down to spend his Christmas, said, " Who do you think I saw in town last week, but that young scamp Howard used to call his Kitmagar, and who goes by the name of Stapylton?" ■we were so indignant at first that we resolved on ail manner of exposures ; but learning that he had tho repu- tation of a good officer, and had actually distinguished himself at Waterloo, we relented. Since that, other things have come to our knowledge to make us repent our lenity. In fViet, he is an adventurer in its very worst sense, and has traded upon a certain amount of personal courage to cover a character of downright ignominy.' Proctor, on hearing all this, recalled me to England ; and declared that he had traced enough to this man's charge to sliow he was one whom no gentleman could meet. It would appear that some recent discoveries had been made about him at the Horse Guards also, for when Proctor asked for a certain piece of information from one of his friends in office there, he heard, for answer, ' We hope to kiiow that, and more, in a day or two.' " A HAPPY MEETING. 451 " Do you know that I'm sorry for it — heartily sorry ? " said Barrington. " The fellow had that stamp of manli- ness about him that would seem the pledge of a bold, straightforward nature." " I have a high value for courage, but It won't do everything." " More's the pity, for it renders all that it aids of ten- fold more worth." " And on the back of all this discovery comes Hunter's letter, which Withering has sent you, to show that this Stapylton has for years back been supplying the Indian Directors with materials to oppose your claims." " Nothing ever puzzled us so much as the way every weak point of our case was at once seized upon, and every doubt we ourselves entertained exaggerated into an impassable barrier. Withering long suspected that some secret enemy was at work within our own lines, and repeatedly said that we were sold. The difficulty is, why this man should once have been our enemy, and now should strive so eagerly to be, not alone our friend, but one of us. Tou have heard he proposed for ray granddaughter ? " " Fred suspected his intentions in that quarter, but we were not certain of them." " And it is time I should ask after your noble-hearted boy. How is he, and where ? " " He is here, at my hotel, impatiently waiting your permission to go down to ' The Home.' He has a question to ask there, whose answer will be his destiny." " Has Josephine turned another head then ? " said Barrington, laughing. " She has won a very honest heart ; as true and as honourable a nature as ever lived," said Conyers, with emotion, " Tour granddaughter does not know, nor needs ever to know, the wrong I have done her father ; and, if you have forgiven me you will not remember it against my boy." " But what do you yourself say to all this ? You have never seen the girl ? " " Fred has." "You know nothing about her tastes, her temper, her bringing up." C- G 2 452 BARRINGTON. " Fred docs." " Nor aro you aware that the claim we have so long relied ou is almost certain to be disallowed. I have scarcely a hope now remaining with regard to it." " I have more than I need, and if Fred will let me have a bungalow in his garden, I'll make it all over to him to- morrow." " It is then witli your entire consent ho would make this offer?" " With my whole heart in it ! I shall never feel I have repaired tlie injury I have done George Barrington till I have called his daughter my own." Old liarrington arose, and walked up and down with plow and measured steps. At last he halted directly in I'ront of General Conyers, and said, — " If you will do me one kindness I will agree to every- thing. What am I saying ? I agree already ; and I would not make a bargain ot my consent; butyou will not reluse me a favour ? " " Ask me anything, and I promise it on the faith of a gentleman." " It is this, then ; that you will stand by me in this affair of Stapylton's. 1 have gone too far for subtleties or niceties. It is no question of who was his father, or wliat was his own biinging up. I have told him I should be at his orders, and don't let me breik ray word." " If you choose me for your friend, Barrington, you must not dictate how I am to act for you." " That is quite true ; you are perlectly correct there," said the other, in some confusion. " On that condition, then, that I am free to do for you what I would agree to in my own case, I accept the charge." " And there is to be no humbug of consideration for my age and my white hairs ; none ot that nonsense about a fellow with one leg in the grave. Mark you, Conyers, I will stand none of these; I have never taken a writ of ease not to serve on a jury, nor will I hear of one that exempts me from the rights of a gentleman." " I have got your full powers to treat, and you must trust me. Where are we to find Stapylton's friend ? " A HAPPY MEETING. 453 " He gave me an address which I never looked at. Here it is ! " and he drew a card from his pocket. " Captain Duff Brown, late Fifth Fusiliers, Holt's Hotel, Charing Cross." "Do you know him ?" asked Bari'Ington, as the other stood silently re-readiug the address. " Yes, thoroughly," said he, with a dry significance. " The man who selects Duff Brown to act for him in an affair of honour must be in a sore strait. It is a sorry endorsement to character. He had to leave the service from the imputation of foul play in a duel himself j and I took an active part against him." " Will this make your position unpleasant to you — would you rather not act for me ? " *' Quite the reverse. It is more than ever necessary you should have some one who not only knows the men he is to deal with, but is known himself to them. It is a preliminary will save a world of trouble." " When can we set out ? " "To-night by the eight o'clock packet, we can sail for Liverpool ; but let us first of all despatch Fred to ' The Home.' The poor boy will be half dead with anxiety till he knows I have your permission." *' I'll accredit him with a letter to my sister ; not that he needs it, for he is one of her prime favourites. And now for another point. Withering must be made believe that we are all off together for the country this evening. He is so opposed to this affair with Stapylton, that he is in a mood to do anything to prevent it." "Well thought of; and here comes the man himself in search of us." " I have been half over the town after you this morning. General," said Withering as he entered ; "and your son, too, could make nothing of your absence. He is in the carriage at the door now, not knowing whether he ought to come up." " I'll soon reassure him on that score," said Barrington, as he left the room, and hastened downstairs with the step of one that defied the march of time. 454 LAIIRINGIUN. CHAPTER XLVn. HEET COMPANIONSHIP. In a very modest chamber of a house in one of the streets which lead from the Strand to the Thames, two persons sat at supper. It is no time for lengthened introductions, and I must present Captain Duff ISrown very hurriedly to my reader, as he confronted his friend Stapyltoa at table. The Captain was a jovial-lookinp-, full-wliis- kered, somewhat corpulent man, with a ready reply, a ready laugh, and a hand readier than either, whether the weapon wielded was a billiard-cue or a pistol. The board before them was covered with oysters and oyster-shells, porter in its pewter, a square-shaped decan- ter of gin, and a bundle of cigars. Tiie cloth was dirty, the knives unclean, and the candles ill-matched and of tallow ; but the guests did not seem to have bestowed much attention to these demerits, but ate and drank like men who enjoyed their fare, " The best country in Europe — the best in the world — I call England for a fellow who knows life," cried the Captain. " There is nothing you cannot do ; nothing you cannot have in it." " With eight thousand a year, perhaps," said Stapylton, sarcastically. " No need of anything like it. Does any man want a better supper than we have had to-night ? What better could he have ? And the whole cost not over five, or at most six shillings for the pair of us." " You may talk till you are hoarse. Duff, but I'll not stay in it. When once I have settled these two or three matters I have told you of, I'll start for' 1 don't much care whither. I'll go to Persia, or perhaps to the Yankees." " / always keep America for the finish 1 " said the MEET COMPANIONSHIP. 455 other, " It is to the rest of the world what the copper liell is to Crockford's — the last refuge when one walks in broken boots and in low company. But tell me, what have you done to-day ; where did you go after we parted ? " " I went to the Horse Guards, and saw Blanchard — pompous old humbug that he is. I told him thai 1 had made up my mind to sell out ; that I intended to take ser- vice in a foreign army — he hates foreigners — and begged he would expedite my affairs with his Royal Highness, as my arrangements could not admit of delay." " And he told you that there was an official routine, out of which no officer need presume to expect his busi- ness could travel?" " He told me no such thing. He flatly said, * Your case is already before the Commander-in-Chief, Major Stapylton, and you may rely on it there will be no need- less delay in dealing with it.' " " That was a threat, I take it." "Of course it was a threat ; and I only said, * It will be the first instance of the kind, then, in the department,* and left him." " Where to, after that ? " " I next went to Gregory's, the magistrate of police. I wanted to see the informations the black fellow swore to ; and as I knew a son of Gregory's in the Carbiniers, I thousfht I could manajje it ; but bad luck would have it that the old fellow should have in his hands some unsettled bills with my indorsements on them — fact; Gregory and I used to do a little that way once — and he almost got a fit when he heard my name." " Tried back after that, eh ?" " Went on to Renshaw's and won fifty pounds at hazard, took Blake's odds on Diadem, and booked myself for a berth in the Boulogne steamer, which leaves at two this morning." " You secured a passport for me, didn't you ?" " No. You'll have to come as my servant. The Embassy fellows were all strangers to me, and said they would not give a separate passport without seeing the bearer." 456 BARRINGTON. *• All rjpht. I don't dislike tlie second cabin, nor the ladies'-maids. Wliat about the pistols?" " They are yonder under the great-coat. Ri-nshaw lent them. They are not very good, he says, and one of them hangs a little in the fire." " They'll be better tlian the old Irishman's, that's cer- tain. You may swear that his tools were in use early in the last century." " And himself too ; that's the worst of it all. I wish it was not a fellow that might be my grandfjither." " I don't know. I rather suspect, if I was given to compunctions, I'd have less of them for shaking down the rotten ripe fi-uit than the blossom." " And he's a fine old fellow too," said Stapylton, half sadly. " Why didn't you tell him to drop in this evening and have a little ecarie /" For a while Stapylton leaned his head on his hand moodily, and said nothing. " Cheer up, man ! Taste that Hollands. I never mixed better," said Brown. " I begin to regret now, Duff, that I didn't take your advice." " And run away with her ? " " Yes, it would have been the right course, after all ! " " I knew it. I always said it. I told you over and over again what would happen if you went to work in orderly fashion. They'd at once say, ' Who are your people- — where are they — what have they ? ' Now, let a man be as inventive as Daniel Defoe himself, there will always slip out some flaw or other about a name, or a date — dates are the very devil ! But when you have once carried her off, what can they do but compromise? " " She would never have consented." " I'd not have asked her. I'd have given her the benefit of the customs of the land she lived in, and made it a regular abduction. Paddy somebody and Terence something else are always ready to risk their necks for a pint of whisky and a breach of the laws." " I don't think I could have brought myself to it." " I could, I promise you." MEET COMPANIONSHIP. 457 *' And there's an end of a man after such a thing." " Tes, if he fails. If he's overtaken and thrashed, I grant you he not only loses the game, but gets the cards in his face besides. But why fail ? Nobody fails when he wants to win — when he determines to win. When I shot De Courcy at Asterabad " " Don't bring up that affair, at least as one of prece- dent, Dufi". I neither desire to be tried for a capital felony, nor to have committed one." " Capital fiddlesticks ! As if men did not fight duels every day of the week ; the ditference between guilt and innocence being, that one fellow's hand shook, and the other's was steady. De Courcy would have ' dropped * me, if I'd have let him." " And &oyou would have carried her off, Master Daflf?" said Stapylton, slowly. " Tes ; if she had the pot of money you speak of, and no Lord Chancellor for a guardian. I'd have made the thing sure at once." " The money she will and must have ; so much is certain." " Then I'd have made the remainder just as certain." " It is a vulgar crime, Duff; it would be very hard to stoop to it." " Fifty things are harder — no cash, no credit are harder. The Fleet is harder. But what is that noise ? Don't you hear a knock at the door ? Yes, there's some one without who hasn't much patience." So saying, he arose and walked to the door. As he opened it, he started back a little with surprise, for it was a police constable stood before him. " Not you, Captain, notyow, sir! it's another gentleman I want. 1 see him at the table there — Major Stapylton." By this time the man had entered the room and stood in front of the fire. " I have a warrant against you. Major," said he, quietly. " Informations have been sworn before ]\lr. Colt that you intend to fight a duel, and you must appear at the office to-morrow, to enter into your bond, and to give securities to keep the peace." " Who swore the informations? " cried Brown. "What have we to do with that?" said Stapylton, 453 BARRINGTON. impatiently. " Isn't the world full of meddling old women ? Who wants to know the names ? " " I'll lay the odds it was old Conyers ; the greatest humbut,' in that land of hunibuj.'S — lienfral. It was he that insisted on my leaving the Fifth. Come, sergeant, out with it. This was General Conyers's doing? " " I'm sorry to he obliged to declare you in custody. Major," said the policeman; "but if you like to come over to Mr. Colt's private residence, I'm sure he'd settle the matter this evening." "He'll do no sucli tiling, by George!" cried Brown. " The sneaking dogs who have taken this shabby course shall be exposed in open court. We'll have the names in full, and in every newspaju-r in England. Don't com- promise the case, Stapylton ; make- them eat the mess they have cooked, to the last mouthful. We'll show the world what the lighting Irishman and his gallant friend are made of. Major Stapylton is your prisoner, sersreant? " The man smiled slightly at the passionate energy of the speaker, and turned to Stapylton. " There's no objection to your going to your lodgings. Major. You'll be at the chief office by ten to-morrow." Stapylton nodded assent, and the other retired and closed the door. " What do you say now?" cried Brown, triumphantly. "Didn't I tell you this? Didn't I say that when old Conyers heard my name, he'd say, ' Oh, there'll be no squaring this business ? ' " " It's just as likely that he said, ' I'll not confer with that man — he had to leave the service.' " " More fool you, then, not to have had a more respect- able friend. Had you there, Stapylton— eh?" " I acknowledge that. All I can say in extenuation is, that I hoped old Barrington, living so long out of the world, would have selected another old mummy like him- self, who had never heard of Captain Dufi" Brown, nor his famous trial at Calcutta." " There's not a man in the kingdom has not heard of me. I'm as well known as the first Duke in the land." MEET COMPANIONSHIP, 459 " Don't boast of it, Duff; even notoriety is not always a cheap luxury." " Who knows but you may divide it with me to-morrow or next day ? '' " What do you mean, sir ? — what do you mean ? " cried Stapylton, slapping the table with his clenched hand. " Only what I said — that Major Stapylton may furnish the town with a nine-days wonder, vice Captain Duff Brown, forgotten." Evidently ashamed of his wrath, Stapylton tried to laugh off the occasion of it, and said, " I suppose neither of us would take the matter much to heart." "I'll not go to the office with you to-morrow, Stapylton," added he, after a pause ; " that old Sepoy General would certainly seize the opportunity to open some old scores that I'd as soon leave undisturbed." "All right, I think you are prudent there." " But I'll be of use in another way. I'll lay in wait for that fellow who reports for the Chronicle, the only paper that cares for these things, and I'll have him deep in the discussion of some devilled kidneys when your case is called on." " I fancy it does not matter what publicity it obtains." " Ah, I don't know that. Old Braddell, our major, used to say, ' Reputation, after forty, is like an old wall. If you begin to break a hole in it, you never know how much will come away.' " "I tell you again. Duff, I'm past scandalizing ; but have your way, if you will ' muzzle the ox,' and let us get away from this as soon as may ue. 1 want a little rest after this excitement." " Well, I'm pretty much in the same boot myself, though I don't exactly know where to go. France is dangerous. In Prussia there are two sentences recorded against me. I'm condemned to eight years' hard labour in Wurtemburg, and pronounced dead in Austria for my share in that Venetian disturbance." " Don't tell me of these rascalities. Bad enough when a man is driven to them, bat downright infamy to be proud of." 400 BAnniNOTON. " Hcve you never thoup^lit of poing into the Church ? I've a notion you'd be a stunning prcjicher." " Give up this bantering, Dull', and t<>ll me how I shall pet hold of young Conyers. I'd rather put a ball in that fellow than be a Licutenant-Gcneral. He has ever been my rock ahead. That silly coxcomb has done more to mar my destiny tluui scores of real enemifs. To shoot liim would be to throw a shell in the very midst of them." " I'd ratlier loot liim, if I had the choice ; the old General has lots of money. Stapylton, scuttle the ship. if you like, but first let me land the cargo. Of all the vengeances a man can wreak on another the weakest is u"> kill him. For my part, I'd cherish the fellow that injured me. I'd set myself to study his tastes and learn his ambitions. I'd watch over him and follow him, being, as it were, his dearest of all friends — read backwards ! " '• This is tiresome scoundrelism. I'll to bed," said Sta- pylton, taking a candle from the table. "Well, if you must shoot this fellow, wait till he's married — wait for the honeynioon." " There's some sense in that. I'll go and sleep over it." 461 CHAPTER XLYin. AUNT DOROTHEA. " You must come down with me for one day, Tom, to see an old aunt of mine at Bournemouth," said Hunter to young Dill, " I never omitted going to see her the first thing whenever I landed in England, and she'll not for- give me if I were to do so now.'* " But why should I go, sir? My presence would only trouble the comfort of a family meeting." " Quite the reverse. She'll be delighted to see yon. It will be such a triumph to her, amongst all her neigh- bours, to have had a visit from the hero of the day — the fellow that all the print-shops are full of. Why, man, yoa are worth five hundred pounds to me. I'm not sure I might not say double as much." " In that case, sir, I'm perfectly at your orders." And down they went, and arrived late on the day after this conversation at an old fashioned manor-house, where Miss Dorothy Hunter hadpassed some sixty odd yearsofher life. Tiiough to Tom she seemed to bear a great resem- blance to old Miss BaiTington, there was really little like- ness between them, beyond an inordinate pride of birth, and an intense estimation for the claims of family. Miss Hunter's essential characteristic was a passion for cele- brities ; a taste somewhat difficult to cultivate in a very remote and little visited locality. The result was that she consoled herself by portraits, or private letters, or autographs of her heroes, who ranged over every imagin- able career in life, and of whom, by mere dint of iteration, she had grown to believe herself the intimate friend or correspondent. No sooner had she learned that her nephew was to be accompanied by the gallant young soldier whose name 4G2 BARRINGTON. was in every newspaper than slio made what she deemed the most suitable j)reparation3 for his reception. Her bedroom was hunrr round with portraits of naval heroes, or pictures of sea-liglits. Grim old admirals, telescope in hand, or with streaming hair, shoutini; out orders to boaril the enemy, were on every side ; while, in the place of honour, over the fireplace, hung a vacant frame, des- tined one day to contain the hero of the hour, Tom Dill himself. Never was a poor fellow in this world less suited to adulation of this sort. He was either overwhelmed with the flattery, or oppressed by a terror of what some sensible spectator — if such there were — would think of the absurd position in which he was forced to stand. And when ho found himself obliged to inscribe his name in a long column of illustrious autographs, the sight of his own scarce legible charactci's filled up the measure of his shame. " lie writes like the great Turenne," said Miss Dorothy ; "he always wrote from above downwards, so that no other name than his own could figure on the page." " I got many a thrashing for it at school, ma'am," said Tom, apologizing, " and so I gave up writing, altogether." " All, yes ! the men of action soon learn to despise the pen — they prefer to make histor}'^ rather than record it." It was not easy for Hunter to steer his bashful friend through all the shoals and quicksands of such flattery, but, on the plea of his broken health and strength, he hurried him early to his bed, and returned to the fireside, where his aunt awaited him. "He's charming, if lie were only not so dififident. Why will he not be more confiding — more at his ease with me — like Mungo Park, or Sir Sidney Smith ? " " After a while, so he will, aunt. You'll see what a chany-e there will be in him at our next visit. All these flatteries he meets with are too much for him ; but when we come down again, you'll see him without these dis- tracting influences. Then bear in mind his anxieties — he has not yet seen his family ; he is eager to be at home agiin. I carried him off here positively in spite of himself, and on the strict pledge of only for one day." AUNT DOROTHEA, 4G3 ** One day ! And do you mean that you are to go to- morrow ?" " No help for it, aunt. Tom is to be at "Windsor on Saturday. But for that, he would already have been on his way to Ireland." " Then there's no time to be lost. What can we do for him ? He's not rich ? " " Hasn't a shilling ; but would reject the very shadow of such assistance." " Not if a step were purchased for him ; without his knowledge, I mean." '• It would be impossible that he should not know it." " But surely there is some way of doing it. A hand- some sum to commemorate his achievement might be subscribed. I would begin it with a thousand pounds." " He'd not accept it. I know him thoroughly. There's only one road to him through which he would not deem a favour a burden." " And what of that ? " "A kindness to his sister. I wish you saw her, aunt! " "Is she like him?" " Like him ? Yes ; but very much better-looking. She's singularly handsome, and such a girl ! so straight- forward, and so downright. It is a positive luxury to meet her after all the tiresome conventionalities of the every-day young lady." "Shall 1 ask her here?" " Oh, if you would, aunt! — if you only would ! " " That you may fall in love with her, I suppose ? " " No, aunt, that is done already." " 1 think, sir, I might have been apprised of this at- tachment ! " said she, bridling. " I didn't know it myself, aunt, till I was close to the Cape. I thought it a mere fancy, as we dropped down Channel ; grew more thoughtful over it, in the Bay of Biscay ; began to believe it, as we discovered St. Helena ; and came back to England resolved to tell you the whole truth, and ask you, at least, to see her and know her." " So I will, then. I'll write and invite her here." 4C4 BATinTNOTON. "You're the best and kindest aunt in Cliristendom ! " said lie, rushing over and kissing her. " I'm not going to let you read it, sir," said she, with a Bmile. " If she show it to you she may. Ollicrwise it is a matter between ourselves." " Be it entirely as you wish, aunt." "And if all tliis goes hopeluliy on," said she, after a pause, "is Aunt Dorothea to be utterly forgotten? No more visits here — no happy summer evenings — no more merry Christinases ? " " Nay aunt, I mean to be your neighbour. That cottage you have often offered me, near the rocks, I'll not refuse it again — that is, if you tempt me once more." " It is yours, and the farm along with it. Go to bed row, and leave me to write my note, "which will require some thought and reflection." " I know you'll do it well, I know none who could equal you in such a task." " I'll try and acquit myself with credit," said she, aa she sat down to the writing-desk. "And what is all this about — a letter from Miss Doro- thea to Polly," said Tom, as they drove along the road back to town. " Surely they never met ? " " Never ; but my aunt intends that they shall. She writes to ask your sister to come on a visit here." " But why not have told her the thing was impossible ? You know us. You have seen the humble way we live — how many a care it costs to keep up that little show of respectability that gets us sufierance in the world, and how one little attempt beyond this is quite out of our reach. Why not have told her frankly, sir, ' These people are not in. our station ' ? " " Just because I acknowledge no such distinction as you want to draw, my good fellow. If my aunt has asked your sister to come three hundred miles to see her, she has thought over her request with more foresight than you or I could have given it, take my word for it. When she means kindly, she plans thoughtfully. And now I will tell you what I never meant to have spoken of, that it was only last night she asked mo how could she be of use to you ?" AUNT DOROTHEA. 465 " To me ! " said he, blushing, " and why to me? " '* Can you never be brought to see that you are a hero, Tom — that all the world is talking of you just now, and people feel a pride in being even passingly mixed up with your name? " " If they only knew how much I have to be ashamed of before I can begin to feel vain, they'd not be so ready with their praise or their flattery." " I'll talk over all that with your sister Polly," Baiii Hunter, gaily ; for he saw the serious spirit that was gaining over the poor fellow. "Do so, sir; and you'll soon see, if there's anythioj^ good or hopeful about me, where it comes from and wiio gave it." £ H 4GG UAIUILNGIUN. CHAPTER XLIX. FROM GENERAL CONYERS TO HIS SON. Beddwys, N. Wales. My dear Fred, — How happy I am that you are enjoying yourself; short of being with you, n(jtliing could have given me greater pleasure than your letter. I like your portrait of the old lady, whose eccentricities are never inconsistent with some charming traits of disposition, and a nature eminently high-minded and honourable; but why not more about Josephine ? She is surely oftener in your thoughts than your one brief paragraph would bespeak, and has her due share in making the cottage the delightful home you describe it to be. 1 entreat you to be more open and more explicit on this theme, for it may yet be many days before I can explore the matter for myself; since, instead of the brief absence I calculated on, we may, for aught I know, be detained here for some weeks. It is clear to me, from your last, a note of mine from Liverpool to you must have miscarried. You ask me where you are to address me next, and what is the nature of the business which has called me away so suddenly '^ I gave you in that letter all the information that I was myself possessed of, and which, in three words, amounted to this: Old IJarriiigton, having involved himself in a serious personal quarrel with Stapyltou, felt, or believed, that he ought to give him a meeting. Seeing how useless all attempt at dissuasion proved, and greatly fearing what hands he might fall into, I agreed to be his friend on the occasion ; trusting, besides, that by a little exercise of tact and tem])er, extreme measures might be avoided, and the affair arranged. You may well believe, without uiy CORRESPONDENCE. 4R7 insisting further upon it, that I felt very paiufullj how we shoald both figure before the world — a man of eighty- three or four, accompanied to the ground by another of sixty odd ! I know well how, in the changed temper of the age, such acts are criticized, and acquiesce, besides, in the wiser spirit that now prevails. However, as I said before, if Barriugton must go on, it were better he should do so under the guidance of a sincere friend than of one casually elevated to act as such, in a moment of emer- gency. We left Dublin, by the mail packet, on Wednesday; and after a rough passage of twenty-three hours, reached Liverpool too late to catch the evening coach. Thus detained, we only arrived here on Sunday night late. At my club I found a note from Stapylton, stating that he had daily called there to learn if we had come, but the boisterous state of the weather sufficiently explained our delay, and giving an address where he might be found, as well as that of " his friend." Now, it so chanced that this friend was a very notorious person well known to me in India, where he had been tried for an unfair duel, and narrowly escaped — I should say unjustly escaped — being hanged. Though I had fully made up my mind not to be placed in any relations with such a man, I thought it would be as well thatBarrington should know the character of his antagonist's friend from other sources, and so I invited an old Bengal companion of mine to dine with us the day after we arrived. S tamer was a judge of the criminal court, and tried Duff Brown, the man I speak of. As we sat over our wine together we got upon this case, and Stamer declared that it was the only criminal cause in his whole life wherein he regretted the escape of the guilty party. *' The fellow," said he, " defended him- self in a three hours' speech, ably and powerfully ; but enunciated at times — as it wereunconsciously — sentiments so abominable and so atrocious as to destroy the sympathy a part of his discourse excited. But somewhow boldnet^s has its fascination, and he was acquitted." Barrington's old-fashioned notions were not, howevei', to be shocked even by this narrative, and he whispered to me, " Unpleasant for you, Conyers. Wish it might have H u 2 4Ci3 BARRINOTON. Iieen otherwise, but it can't bo helped." We next turned to (h'se'uss Dull' IJnnvii's fVii'iid, iiiid Staiiier e.\c'l}»inicd, " Wliy that's the man they have been making all this I'liss about in India. He was, or he said he was, the adopted son of Howard Stapylton ; but the family never believed the adoption, nor consented to receive him, and at this moment a Moonshce, who acted as Persian secretary to old Stapylton, has turned up with some curious disclosures, which, if true, would show that this young fellow held a very humble position in Stapylton's household, and never was in his confidence. This Moonsiiee was at Miilta a few weeks ago, and may be, for aught 1 know, in England now. I asked and obtained Barrington's -permission to tell how we were ourselves involved with this Major Stapylton, and he quickly declared that, while the man stood thus accused, there could be no thought of according him a satisfaction. The opinion was not the less stringent, that Stamer was himself an Irishman, and of a fighting family. I am not very sure that we made Barrington a convert to our opinions, but we at bast, as we separated for the night, lelt hira doubtful and hesitating. 1 had not been in bed above an hour, when Mr. Withering awoke me. He had followed us from Dublin as soon as he learned fmr departure, and, going straiglit to a magistrate, swore informations against both Barrington and Stapylton. " My old friend will never forgive me, 1 know," said he; " but if I had not done this, I should never have for- given myself.'' It was arranged between us that I was t(» mention the fact of such informations having been sworn, without stating by whom, to Barrington, and then persuade him to get privately away from town before a warrant could be served. I leave you to imagine that my task was not without its dithculties, but, before the day broke, I succeeded in inducing him to leave, and travelling by post without halt, we arrived at tliis quiet spot yester- day evening, Barrington, with all his good temper, is marvellously put out and irritable, saying, " This is not the way such things were done once ; " and peevishly muttered, " I wonder what poor Harry Beamish, or Guy CORRESPONDENCE. 4G9 Hutchinson, would say to it all ?" One thing is quite clear, we had got into a wasps' nest ; Stapylton and his fi'iend were both fellows that no honourable man would like to deal with, and we must wait with a little patience to find some safe road out of this troublesome atiair. A letter came to B. from the India House the evening before we left town, but he handed it to me before he finished reading it, merely remarking, " The old story, ' Yours of the ninth or ninteenth has duly been received,' &c." But I found that it contained a distinct admis- sion tliat his claim was not ill founded, and that some arrangement ougfUt to be come to. I now close my very lengthy epistle, promising, however, that as soon as 1 hear from town, either from Withering or Stamer, you shall have my news. We are, of course, close prisoners here for the present, for though the warrant would not extend to Ireland, Barrington's apprehensions of being " served " with such a writ at all would induce him to hide for six months to come. I scarcely ask you to write to me here, not knowing our probable stay ; but to-morrow may, perhaps, tell us something on this head. Till when, believe me, Tours afiectionately, Oemsby Conters. My most cordial greeting to Miss Bai-rington, and my love to her niece. FEOM PETER BAREmGTGN TO HIS SISTER MISS DINAH BARKINGTON. Long's Hotel, Bond Street. My dear Dinah, — I hardly know how to tell you what has happened, or what is happening around me. I came over here to meet Major Stapylton, but find that there is no such person — the man who calls himself so being a mere adventurer, who had taken the name, and, I believe, no small share of the goods, of its owner, got into the 470 DARRINOTON. liunfjal army, tlienco into our own service, and though not undistinguislied for gallantry, seems to have led a life of ceaseless roguery and intrigue, lie knew all about poor George's business, and was in correspondence with those we believe to bo our friends in India, but who now turn out to be our inveterate enemies. This we have got at by the confession of one of those Oriental fellows they call Moonshees, who has revealed all their intercourse for years back, and even shown a document set- ting forth the number of rupees he was to receive when Stapyltun had been married to Josephine. The Moonshee is very ill, and his examination can only be conducted at intervals, but he insists on a point of much importance to us, which is, that Stapylton induced him to tear out of the lliijah's Koran the page on which the adoption of George was written, and signed by the Meer himself, lie received a large sum for this service, which, however, he evaded by a fraud, sending over to England not the real document itself but a copy made by himself, and admirably counterfeited. It was the possession of this by Stapylton which enabled him to exercise a great control over our suit: now, averring that it was lost; now, under pledge of secrecy, submitting it to the inspection of some of the Indian autliorities. Stapylton, in a word, saw himself in a position to establish our claim, whenever the time came that, by making Josephine his wife, he could secure the fortune. This is all that we know up to this, but it is a great deal, and shows in what a maze of duplicity and treachery we have been involved for more than twenty years. The chief point, however, is, that the real deed, written in the iMeer's Koran, and torn out of it by the Moonshee, in his first impulse to forward it to Stapylton, is now extant, and the Koran itself is there to show the jagged margin of the torn-out leaf, and the corresponding page on the opposit-e side of the volume. Stapylton refuses to utter one word since the accusation against him has been made, and as the charges stand to falsifying documents, abstraction of funds, and other derelictions in India, he is now under a heav)^ bail to appear when called on. The whole business has made me so nervous and excit- CORRESPONDENCE. 471 able, that I cannot close my eyes at night, and 1 feel feverish and restless all day. It is very shocking to think of a man one has never injured, never heard of, animated with a spirit so inimical as to pass years of life iu working ill to us. He would appear to have devoted himself to the task of blackening poor George's character and defaming him. It would seem that Mr. Howard Stapylton was one of those who took an active part against George. Whether this young fellow caught the contagion of this antipathy, or helped to feed it, I cannot tell ; but it is certain that all the stories of cruelty and oppression the India Board used to trump up to us came from this one source ; and at the end of all he seeks to be one of a family he has striven for years to ruin and to crush ! I am lost in my efforts to understand this, though Stamer and Withering assure me they can read the man like print. Indeed, they see inferences and motives in fifty things which convey nothing to me ; and whenever I feel myself stopped by some impassable barrier, to them it is only a bridge that conducts to a fresh discovery. The Stapyltons are all in arms now that another sports- man has winged the bird for them ; and each day increases the number of accusations against this unfortunate fellow. It is true, dear Dinah, that our own prospects bi'ighten through all this. I am constantly receiving civil messages and hopeful assurances ; and even some of the directors have called to express sympathy and good wishes. But how chilled is the happiness that comes dashed with the mis- fortune of another ! What a terrible deal it detracts from our joy to know that every throb of pleasure to ourselves has cost a pang of misery elsewhere ! I wish this fellow could have gone his way, never minding us ; or, if that couldn't be, that he'd have grown tired of persecuting those who had never harmed him, and given us up ! They are now assailing him on all sides. One has found that he forged a will ; another that he falsified a signature ; and a miserable creature — a native Indian, who happened to be in that Manchester riot the other da}' — has now been ferreted out to swear that Stapylton followed him through a suburb, down a lane, and into a brick-field, where he cat him down and left him for dead. There 472 BARRINGTON. seems a preat deal of voiiom and acrinmn}'^ iti all tliiB ; and thoupli the man ih unquestioiiubly not my I'rieiid, and 1 hee that this persecution continues, I find it very hard not to stand by him. As for Witherinp, it has made the veteran ten years younger. He is up every morning at five, and I hear that he never goes to his room till long past midnight. These are the pastimes that to such men replace the sports of the field and the accidents of the chase. They have their vacillations of hope and fear, their moments of depression and of triumph in them; and they run a fellow-creature to earth with all the zest of a hard rider after a fox. Tell my darling Fifine that I am longinp to be at home again — longing for the quiet roof, and the roses at the ■window, and the murmur of the river, and her own sweet voice better than them all. And what a deal of happiness is in our power if we would ojily consent to enjoy it, with- out running after some imaginary good, some fancied blessing, which is to crown our wishes ! If I could but only have guessed at the life of anxiety, doubt, and vacil- lation the pursuit of this claim would have cost me — the twenty years of fever — I give you my word, Dinah, I'd ruther have earned my daily bread with a spade, or when too old for that, taken to fishing for a livelihood. But why do I complain of anything at this moment ? When have I been so truly happy for many a long year? Conyers never leaves me — he talks of George from morn- ing to night. And I now see that with all my affection for that dear boy, I only half knew his noble nature, his fine and generous character. If you only heard of the benevolent things he has done; the poor fellows he has sent home to their families at his own cost ; the sums he has transmitted to wives and widows of soldiers in England; the children whose care and support he has provided for ! These were the real drains on that fortune that the world thought wasted and squandered in extravagance. And do you know, Dinah, there is a vein of intense egotism in my heart that I never so much as suspected ! I found it out by chance — it was in marking how far less 1 was touched by the highest and best traits of my poor boy than by the signs of love to myself! ai.d when Conyera CORRESPONDENCE. 473 said, ** He was always talking about you he never did anything important without the question, ' How would " Dad " like this, I wonder ? would " Dad " say " God speed " in this case ?' And his first glass of wine every day was to the health of that dear old father over the seas." To you who loved him only a little less than myself, I have no shame in the confession of this weakness. I suppose Conyers, however, has hit upon it, for he harps on this theme continually, and, in sheer pride of heart, I feel ten years younger for it. Here comes Withering to say, " Some more wonderful news;" but I have begged him to keep it till I have sealed this letter, which if it grows any longer, I'll never have courage to send to you. A dozen kisses to Fifine I can, however, transmit without any increase to the post- age. Give my love to young Conyers ; tell him 1 am charmed with his father — I never met any one so com- panionable to me, and I only long for the day when the same roof shall cover all of us. Yours, my dearest sister, ever affectionately, Peter Babrington. FROM T. WITHERING, ESQ , TO MISS DINAH BARRINGTON, " THE HOME." Long's Hotel, Bond Street. My dear Miss Barrington, — If your brother has deputed me to write to you, it is not that he is ill, but simply that the excitement caused by some late events here has so completely mastered him, that he can neither sit quiet a moment, nor address him steadily to any task. Nor am I surprised it should be so. Old, weather-beaten sailor on the ocean of life as I am, I feel an amount of feverishness and anxiety I am half ashamed of. Truth is, my dear Miss Dinah, we lawyers get so much habituated to certain routine rogueries, that we are almost shocked when we hear of a wickedness not designated by a statute. But I must not occupy your time with such speculations, the 474 BARRINGTON. more, since I have only a brief space to give to that report of proceedings to which I want your attention. And, first of all, I will entreat you to forijivo me for all want of sequence or connection in what 1 may say, since events have grown so juml)led together in my mind, that it is perfectly impossible for me to be certain whether what I relate should come before or after some other recorded fact. In a word, I mean to give you an outline of our discoveries, without showing the track of our voyage on the map, or even saying how we came by our knowledge. You are aware, Barrington tells me, how Stapylton came by the name he bears. Aware that he was for some of his earlier years domesticated with old Howard Stapylton at Ghurtnapore, in some capacity between con- fidential valet and secretary — a position that was at once one of subordination and trust — it would now appear that a Moonshee, who had long served Colonel Barrington as Persian correspondent, came into Howard Stapylton's service in the same capacity : how introduced, or by whom, we know not. With this Moonshee, the young fellow I speak of became an intimate and close friend, and it is supposed obtained from him all that knowledge of your nephew's atiairs which enabled him to see to what his claim pretended, and what were its prospects of success. It is now clear enough that he only regarded this knowledge at first as a means of obtaining favour from the Indian Government. It was, in fact, by ceding to them in detail certain documents, that he got his first commission in the Madras Fusiliers, and afterwards his promotion in the same regiment; and when, grown more ambitious, he determined to enter the King's service, the money for purchase came from the same source. Being, however, a fellow of extravagant habits, his demands grew at last to be deemed excessive and importunate •, and though his debts had been paid three several times, he was again found involving himself as before, and again requiring assistance. This application was, however, resisted ; and it was apparently on the strength of that refusal that he suddenly changed his tactics, turned hia attention towards us, and bethought him that by forward- ing your grandniece's claim — if he could but win her CORRESPONDENCE. 475 affections in the meanwhile — he would secure as a wife one of the richest heiresses in Europe. An examination of dates proves this, by showing that his last application to the Indian Board was only a few weeks before ho exchanged into the regiment of Hussars he lately served with, and just then ordered to occupy Kilkenny. In one word, when it was no longer prohtable to oppose Josephine's claim, he determined to support it and make it his own. The "Company," however, fully assured that by the papers in their possession they could prove their own cause against Colonel Barrington, resisted all his menaces — when, what does he do ? It was what only a very daring and reckless fellow would ever have thought of — one of those insolent feats of boldness that succeed by the very shock they create. He goes to the Secret Committee at the India House and says : " Of the eighteen documents I have given you, seven are false. I will not tell you which they are, but if you do not speedily com- promise this claim and make a satisfactory settlement on Colonel Barrington's daughter, I'll denounce you, at all the peril it may be to myself." At first they agree, then they hesitate, then they treat again, and so does the affair proceed, till suddenly — no one can guess why — they assume a tone of open defiance, and flatly declare they "will hold no further intercourse with him, and even threaten with exposure any demand on his part. This rejection of him came at a critical moment. It was just when the press had begun to comment on the cruelty of his conduct at Peterloo, and when a sort of cry was got up through the country to have him dismissed from the service. We all saw, but never suspected, why he was so terribly cut up at this time. It was hard to believe that he could have taken mere newspaper censure so much to heart. We never guessed the real cause, never saw that he was driven to his last expedient, and obliged to prejudice all his hope of success by precipitancy. If he could not make Josephine his v?ife at once, on the very moment, all was lost. He made a bold effort at this. Who knows if he might not have succeeded but for you, as Josephine was very young, my old friend himself utterly unfit to cope with anything but open hostility ? I 476 BAnnrNGTON. say again, I'd not have answered for the result if you had not been in command of the fortress. At all events, he faili'd ; and in the failure lost his temper so far as to force a quarrel u})on your brother. He failed, however; and no sooner was he down, tlian the world was atop of hira : creditors Jews, bill-discounters, and, last of all the Stapyltons, who, so long as he bore tlieir family name thousands of miles oil", or associated it with deeds of gallantry, said nothing; now, that they saw it held up to attack and insult, came forward to declare tliat he never belonged to them, and at length appealed formally to the Horse Guards, to learn under what designation he had entered the service, and at what period taken the name he went by. Stapylton's application for leave to sell out had just been sent in ; and once more the newspapers set up the cry that this man should not be permitted to carry aw.'iy to Aix and Baden the proceeds of a sale which belonged to his " creditors." You know the world, and I need not tell you all the pleasant things it told this fellow, for men are pretty nigh as pitiless as crows to their wounded. I thought the complication had reached its limit, when I learned yesterday evening that Stapylton had been sum- moned before a police magistrate for a case of assault committed by him when in command of his regiment at ^Manchester. The case had evidently been got up by a political party, who, seeing the casual unpopularity of the man, determined to profit by it. The celebrated radical bai-rister, Hesketh, was engaged for the plaintiif. When I arrived at the court, it was so full that it was with dillicult}' I got a passage to a seat behind the bench. There were crowds of fashionables present, the well- known men about town, and the idlers of the clubs, and a large sprinkling of military men, ibr the news of the case had got wind already. Stapylton, dressed in black, and looking pale and worn, but still diguiiied and like a gentleman, had not a single friend with hmi. 1 own to you, I felt ashamed to be there, and was right glad when he did not recognize me. Though the case opened by a declaration that this was no common assault case, wherein in a moment of passion CORRESPONDENCE. 477 a man had been betrayed into an excess, I knew the cant ot ray ci'aft too well to lay any stress on such asf^ertion, and received it as the ordinary exordium. As 1 listened, however, I was struck by hearing that the injured man was asserted to be one well known to Stapylton, with whom he had been for years in intimacy, and that the assault was in reality a deliberate attempt to kill, and not as had been represented, a mere passing act of savage severity com- mitted.in hot blood. " My client," said he, " will be brought before you ; he is a Hindoo, but so long a resident of this country, that he speaks our language fluently. You shall hear his story youi^selves, and yourselves decide on its truth- fulness. His wounds are, however, of so serious a nature, that it will be advisable his statement should be a brief one." As he said this, a dark-complexioned fellow, with a look half-frightened, half-defiant, was carried forwards in a chair, and deposited, as he sat, on the table. He gave his name as Lai Adeen, his age as forty-eight, his birth- place Majamarha, near Agra. He came to this country twelve years ago, as servant to an officer who had died on the passage, and after many hardships in his endeavour to earn a livelihood, obtained employment at Manchester in the mill of Brandling and Bennett, where he was employed to sweep the corridors and the stairs ; his wages were nine shillings a week. All this, and much more of the same kind, he told simply and collectedly. I tried to see Stapylton while this was going on, but a pillar of the gallery, against which he leaned, concealed him from my view. I omit a great deal, not without its interest, but reserv- ing it for another time, and come to his account of the night on which he was wounded. He said, that as the cavalry marched on that morning into Manchester, he was struck by seeing at the head of the regiment one he had never set his eyes on for years, but whose features he knew too well to be deceived in. '* I tried to get near him, that he might recognize me," said he, " but the crowd kept me back, and I could not. I thought, indeed, at one moment he had seen me, and knew me, but as he turned bis head away, I supposed I was mistaken. 478 BAURINOTON. "It was on the followinpf eveiiiiif^, when the riot broke out in Mill Stroot, tliiit I saw him next. I was KtaiidiiiL,'' at the dour of a chemist's shop when tho cavalry rode by at a walk. There was a small body of them in front, at about forty or fifty paces, and who, findiuL,' a sort of bar- ricade across the street, returned to the nmin body, where they seemed to bo reporting this. A cry arose that tho troops had heen blocked up at the rear, and at the samo instant a shower of stones came Irum the side-streets and the house-tops. Tliinking to do him a service, I made my way towards him I knew, in order to tell hira by what way he could make liis escape; and jostled and pushed, and hall-ridilen down, 1 laid my hand on his horse's shoulder to keep myself from falling. ' Stand back, you scoundrel !' said he, striking me with the hilt of his sword in the face. ' Uon'tyou know me, master?' cried J, in tenor. He bent dov/n in his saddle till his face was almost close to mine, and then, reining his his horse back to give hira room for a blow, he aimed a desperate cut at me. I saw it coming, and threw myself down, but I rose the next instant and ran. The street was already so clear by this time, I got into Cleever's Alley, down Grange Street, up the lane that leads to the brick-tields, and at last into the fields themselves. I was just tliinking 1 was safe, when I saw a horseman behind me. He saw me, and dashed at me. I fell upon my knees to ask mercy, and he gave me this ;" and he pointed to tho bandages which covei-ed his forehead, stained as they wen5 with clotted blood. '' I fell on my face, and he tried to make his horse trample on me, but the beast would not, and ho only touched mc with his hoof as he sjirang across me. Ho at last dismounted to see, perhaps, if I were dead, but a shout from some of the rioters warned him to mount again, and he rode away, and I lay there till morning. It is not true that I was in prison and escaped — that I was taken to the liospital, ,ind ran away from it. I was sheltered in one of the clay-huts of the brickmakers for several weeks, afraid to come abruad, for I knew that the Sahib was a great man and could take my life. It was only by the persua- sions of others that I left my hiding-place and have come here to tell my story." CORRESPONDENCE. 479 On being questioned why this officer could possibly desire to injure him — what grudge one in such a station could bear him, he owned he could not say ; they had never been enemies, and, indeed, it was in the hope of a friendly recognition and assistance that he approached him in Mill Street. Stapylton's defence was very brief, given in an off- hand, frank manner, which disposed many in his favour. He believed the fellow meant to attack him ; he certainly caught hold of his bridle. It was not his intention to give him more than a passing blow ; but the utterance of a Hindoo curse — an expression of gross outrage in the East — recalled prejudices long dormant, and he gave the rascal chase, and cut him over the head — not a severe cut — and totally unaccompanied by the other details narrated. " As for our former acquaintance, I deny it altogether. I have seen thousands of his countrymen, and may have seen him ; but, I repeat, I never knew him, nor can he presume to say he knew me ! " The Hindoo smiled a faint, sickly smile, made a gesture of deep humility, and asked if he might put a few ques- tions to the "Saliib." " Were you in Naghapoor in the year of the floods ? " " Yes," said Stapylton, firmly, but evidently with an effort to appear calm. " In the service of the great Sahib, Howard Star pylton?" " In his service? Certainly not. I lived with him as his friend, and became his adopted heir." " What office did you fill when you first came to the ♦Residence'?" " I assisted my friend in the duties of his government ; I was a good Oriental scholar, and could write and speak a dialect he knew nothing of. But I submit to the court that this examination, prompted and suborned by others, has no other object than to insult me, by leading to dis- closures of matters essentially private in their natui-e." " Let me ask but one question," said the barrister. " What name did you bear before you took that of Stapylton ? " 480 BARRINOTON. *' I rcfnso to submit to tliis insolence," said Stnpylton, risin;^, ani^rily. " It" the laws of the country only can lend themselves to assist the persecutions of a rascally Press, the sooner a num of honour seeks another land the better. Adjudicate on this case, sirs ; I will not stoop to bandy words with these men." " I now, sir," said Hesketh, openinf^ his bap^and takinc^ out a roll of papers, " am here to demand a committal f(jr forgery against the person before you, passing under the name of Horace Stapylton, but whose real designation is Samuel Scott Edwardes, son of Samuel Edwardes, a name notorious enough once." I cannot go on, my dear friend ; the emotions that over- powered me at the time, and compelled me to leave the court, are again threatening me, and my brain reels at the recollection of a scene which, even to my fast-fading senses, was the most trying of my life. To General Conyers 1 must refer you for what ensued after I left. I cannot even say who came home with me to the hotel, though I am aware I owed that kindness to some one. The face of that unhappy man is yet before me, and all the calm in which I have written up to this leaves me, as I think over one of the most terrible inci- dents of my life. Your brother, shocked of course, bears up bravely, and hopes to write to you to-morrow. One word of good cheer before I close this miserable record. The Indian Directors have written to offer excel- lent terms — splendidly liberal terms, Conyers calls them, and I agree with him. We have had a very busy week of it here, but it will be well requited if all that I now anti- cipate be confirmed to us. Barrington begs you will tell your neighbours, the Dills, that Tom — I think that is the name — has just arrived at Southampton with General Hunter, and will be here to-morrow evening. I have cut out a short passage from the newspaper to finish my narrative. I will send the full report, as pub- lished, to-morrow. Your attached friend, T. Withering. CORRESPONDENCE. 481 *' The chief police-office in Marlborough Street was yesterday the scene of a very shocking incident. The officer whose conduct at the head of his regiment in Manchester has of late called for the almost unanimous reprobation of the Press, was, while answering to a charge of aggravated assault, directly charged with forgery. Scarcely was the allegation made, than he drew a pistol from his pocket, and placing the muzzle to his mouth, pulled the trigger. The direction of the weapon, how- ever, was accidentally turned, and the ball, instead of proceeding upwards, passed through the lower jaw, frac- turing the bone, and created a terrible wound. It is sup- posed that the large vessels are not injured, and that be may yet recover. All who witnessed the scene describe it as one of intense horror. " The unhappy man was at once removed to the Mid- dlesex Hospital. He has not uttered a word since the event ; and when asked if there were any relatives or friends whom he wished might be sent for, merely shook his head negatively. It is said that when the result of the consultation held on him was announced to him as favourable, he seemed rather grieved than otherwise at the tidings." PROM PETER BARRINGTON TO DINAH, HIS SISTER. My Dear Dinah, — How glad I am to tell you that wa leave this to-morrow, and a large party of us, too, all lor *' The Home." Put young Conyers in my dressing-room, so that the large green bedroom can be free for the General, at least for one of the generals — for we have another here. Hunter, who will also be our guest. Then there will be Withering. As for myself, 1 can be stowed away anywhere. What happiness would there be to us all at such a meeting, if it were not for that poor wretch who lies in all his agony a few streets off, and who is never out of my thoughts. I went twice to the hospital to see him. The first time I lost courage, and came away. The second, I sent up my name, and asked if he would wish to see me. The only answer I got was my I 1 49,2 iJAnniNGTox. visitiiip-card torn in two! JIow liard it is for an injunr to torsive him he hii8 injured I I have arranged with the Stapyltons, however, who instigated the oliarge of forgery, not to press it ; at least, they are to take bail, and the hail will be forfeited, so I understand it, but Withering will explain all more clearly. Our own aflairs are all as bright and prosperoas as our best wishes could desire. The Council have had all the evidence before them, and the Moonshee has produced his copy of the Koran, with the torn leaf fitting into the jagged margin, and George is vindicated at last in every- thing. His loyalty, his disintei-estedness, his honesty, all established. The ceremony of his marriage has been fully recognized ; and General Conyers tells me, that the lowest estimate of our claim is a little sliort of a quarter of a million sterling. He counsels me not to be exigent in my terms ; if he knew me better, perhaps, he would not have deemed the advice so necessary. What will Fifine say to all this wealth ? Will sha want to go back to India, and be a princess, and rido about on an elephant? or will she reconcile herself to such humble ways as ours ? I am most eager to hear how she will take the tidings. Withering says it will not spoil her ; that knowing nothing of life in its moneyed relations, she runs no risk of being carried away by any vulgar notions of her own importance through riches. Conyers has never once hinted at his son's pretensions since Fifine has become an heiress ; and I fancy — it may be only fancy — is a shade or so cool towards me, so that I have not referred to them. But what can I do ? I cannot offer him my granddaughter, nor — if what you tell me be true, that they are always quarrelling — would the proposal be a greal kindness to either. Here is Tom Dill, too, and what a change! He is the image of Polly : and a fine, well-grown, straight-figured fellow, that looks you manfully in the face — not the slouching, loutish, shame-faced creature you remember him. Hunter has had him gazetted to an Ensigncy in the 10th Foot, and he will, or I much mistake him, do ho'-est credit to the recommendation. Hunter takes him about with him wherever he goes, telling all about the CORRESPONDENCE. 483 shipwreck and Tom's gallantry — enougU to turn the lad's head with vanity, but that he is a fine simple- hearted creature, who thinks very little of himself or his achievement. He seems to have no other thought than what Polly, his sister, will say and think of him. He also will be one of our party ; that is if I can per- suade him to make " The Home " his head-quarters while our friends are with us. What a strong muster we shall be ; and how we'll astonish that old bin of Madeira, Dinah ! By the way, I have been rather boastful about it to Conyers, and let some bottles have the sun on them for a couple of hours every da3^ I should like to try my chance once more of seeing that poor fellow at the hospital, but Withering will not hear of it ; he got positively ill-tempered at the bare mention of such a wish. Even Conyers says '' Better not," with an air that may mean for the sick man's sake as much as my own. A little more of this life of noise, confusion, and excite- ment would iinish me. This city existence, with its incessant events and its never-ending anxieties, is like walking in a high wind with the chimnej^-pots falling and cx'ashiug on every side of one — while I am pitying the fellow whose skull is just cracked, I am forced to remem- ber that my own is in danger. And yet there are people who like it ; who tell you that out of London there is no living; that the country is a grave, aggravated by the consciousness that one is dead and buried there! On Tuesday— Wednesday, at farthest — Dinah, look out for us. I do not believe there is that prize in the wheel that would tempt me again away from home ! and till I reach it, believe, my dear Dinah, — Tour loving brother, Peter Bareinqtoit. I have jnst seen Conyers. He met Sir Harvey Heth- rington, the Home Secretary, this morning, and they got into a talk over our business, and H. said how cruelly I had been treated all this time back, and how nnfairW 1 I 2 481 BAUUINOTON. poor George's memory was dealt with. "We want," said he, "to show your friend our respect and our Hyin- pathy, and we have thought of submitting his name to the King for a Baronetcy. How do you think Mr. Barrington himself would take our project ? " " I'll find out," said Conyers, as he told me of the conversa- tion. "If they won't let me off, Conyers," said I, "ask them to commute it to Knighthood, for the heralds' fees will be smaJler; but I'll try, meanwhile, if I can't escape either." t)o tluxt now, Dinah, you may expect me on Saturday. 1 VA^*iii you what a place this was ; you are never sure wh&t uv^y befall you from one moment to another I >N. iX POST HOO-^t '^--^ C^oM^y^m^^ 485 CHAPTER L. THB END. FoRTUNK had apparently ceased to persecute Peter Bar- rington. The Minister did not press honours upon him, and he was free to wait for his companions, and in their company he returned to Ireland. The news of his success — great as it was, magnified still more- — had preceded him to his own country ; and he was met, as all lucky men are met, and will be met to the end of time, by those who know the world and feelingly estimate that the truly profitable are the fortunate ! Not that he remarked how many had suddenly grown so cordial; what troops of passing acquaintances had become in a moment warm friends, well-wishing and affectionate. He never so much as suspected that "Luck" is a deity worshipped by thousands, who even in the remotest way are not to be benefited by it. He had always regarded the world as a far better thing than many moralists would allow it to be — unsteady, wilful, capricious, if you like — but a well-intentioned, kindly- minded world, that would at all times, where passion or prejudice stood aloof, infinitely rather do the generous thing than the cruel one. Little wonder, then, if he journeyed in a sort of ova- tion ! At every change of horses in each village they passed, there was sure to be some one who wanted to shake his hand. People hobbled out on crutches and quitted sick beds to say how "glad they were;" mere acquaintances most of them, who felt a strange mysteri- ous sort of self-consequence in fancying themselves for the moment the friends of Peter Barrington, the million- aire ! This is all very curious, but it is a fact — a fact which I make no pretence to explain, however. "And here comes the heartiest well- wisher of thera 4SG BARUINGTON. all !" cried Barrinf:;ton, as he s.nv his sisfcr staiidinp on the ruad.sidi.', near the gate. With thouglitlul delicacy, his companions lingered behind, while he went to meet and embraced her. " Was I not a true prophet, Dinah, dear ? Did I not often furetcl this day to you ?" said he, as he drew her arm, and led her along, forgetting all about his friends and companions. " Have they paid the money, Peter? " said she, sharply. "Of course they have not; such things are not settled like the fare of a hackney-coach. But our claim is ac- knowledged, and, fifty thousand times better, George Harrington's name absolved from every shadow of an imputation." " What is the amount they agree to give ?" " Upon my life, I don't know ; that is, I don't recollect, there were so many interviews and such discussions ; but Withering can tell you everything. Withering knows it all. Without him and Conyers I don't know how I could have got on. If you had heard how he spoke of George at the Council! 'You talk of my services,* said he, ' they are no more fit to be compared with those of Colonel Barringtou, than are my petty grievances with the gross wrongs that lie on his memory.' Withering was there ; he heard the words, and described the effect of them as actually overwhelming." " And Withering believes the whole thing to be settled ? " " To be sure he does ! Why should he oppose his belief to that of the whole world ? Why, my dear Dinah, it is not one, nor two, but some hundreds of people have come to wish me joy. They had a triumphal arch at Naas, with ' Welcome to Barrington ' over it. At Carlow, Fishbourne came out with the corpoiation to otler me congratulations." She gave a hasty, impatient shake of the head, but re- pressed the sharp reply that almost trembled on her lips. "By George !" cried he, " it does one's heart good to •witness such a burst of generous sentiment. You'd have thought some great national benefit had befallen, or that some one — his country's idol — had just reaped the recom- pense of his great services. They came flocking out of THE END, 437 tlie towns as we wliirled past, elieering lustily, and shout- ing ' Barriugton for ever ! ' " " I detest a mob ! " said she, pursing up her lips. " These were no mobs, Dinsih ; these were groups of honest fellows, with kind hearts, and generous wishes." Another, but more decisive toss of the head, warned Peter that the discussion had gone far enough ; indeed she almost said so, by asking abruptly, " What is to be done about the boy Conyers ? He is madly in love with Josephine." " Marry her, I should say ! " " As a cure for the complaint, I suppose. But what if she will not have him ? What if she declares that she'd like to go back to the convent again — that she hates the world, and is sorry she ever came out into it — that she was happier with the sisters " " Has she said all this to you, sister ? " " Certainly not, Peter," said Dinah, bridling up. " These were confidences imparted to the young man himself. It was he told me of them : he came to me last night in a state bordering on distraction. He was hesi- tating whether be would not throw himself into the river, or go into a marching regiment." " This is only a laughing matter, then, Dinah ? " said Peter, smiling. " Nothing of the kind, brother! He did not put the alternatives so much in juxtaposition as I have ; but they lay certainly in that manner on his thoughts. But when do your friends arrive ? I thought they were to have come with you ? " " What a head I have, Dinah ! They are all here ; two carriages of them. I left them on the road when I rushed on to meet you. Oh, here they come ! here they are ! " " My brother's good foi-tune, gentlemen, has made hira seem to Ibrget what adversity never did ; but I believe you all know how welcome you are here ? Your son. General Conyers, thought to meet you earlier, by taking boat down to the village, and the girls went with him. Your friend, Polly Dill, is one of them. General Hunter." Having thus, with one sweep of the scythe, cut down ^ little of ail around her, she led the way towards the 488 BARRINGTON. cottage, Rcceptiiip the arm of General Conyers with an aiitiqaated grace that Burcly tried Huutcr's good muuuers not to smile at. " I know what you are looking at — what you are think- ing of", Barrington," said Withering, as he saw the other stand a moment gazing at the landscape on the opposite side of the river. " I don't think you do, Tom," said he, smiling. " You were thinking of buying that mountain yonder. You were saying to yourself, 'I'll be the owner of that beech wood before I'm a month older! ' " " Upon my life, you're right ! though I haven't the remotest notion of how you guessed it. The old fellow that owns it shall name his own terms to-morrow morning. Here come the girls, and they've got Tom Dill with them. How the fellow rows ! and Fifine is laughing away at Con- yers 's attempt to keep the boat straight. Look at Hunter, too ; he's off to meet them. Is he ' going in ' for the great heiress prize, eh, Torn ? " said he, with a knowing smile. Though Hunter assisted the ladies to land with becom- itig gallantry, he did not offer his arm to Josephine, but dropped behind, where Tom Hill brought up the rear with his sister. "We have no confidences that you may not listen to,'* snid Polly, as she saw that he hesitated as to joining them. " Tom, indeed, has been telling of yourself, and you may not care to hear your own praises." " If they come from you, I'm all ears for them." *' Isn't that pretty, Tom ? Did you ever hear any one ask more candidly for — no, not flattery — whatisitto be called?" Tom, however, could not answer, for he had stopped to shake hands with Darby, whose " May I never!" had just arrested him. " What an honest, fine-hearted fellow it is ! " said Hunter, as they moved on, leaving Tom behind. " But xi you hadn't found it out, who would have known, or who acknowledged it ? / know — for he has told me — all you have been to him." "Pooh, pooh! nothing; less than nothing. He owes all that he is to himself. He is one of those fellows who, once they get into the right groove in life, are sure to go THE END. 489 aliead. Not even you could make a doctor of him. Nature made him a soldier." Polly blushed slightly at the compliment to those teach- ings she believed a secret, and he went on, — " What has the world been doing here since I left ? " "Pretty much what it did while you were here. It looked after its turnips and asparagus, took care of its young calves, fattened its chickens, grumbled at the dear- ness of everything, and wondered when Doctor Buck would preach a new sermon." " No deaths — no marriages ? " '' None. There was only one candidate for both, and he has done neither — Major M'Cormick." " Confound that old fellow ! I had forgotten him. Do you remember the last day I saw you here ? We were in the garden, talking, as we believed, without witnesses. Well, he overheard us. He heard every word we said, and a good deal more that we did not say." " Yes ; so he informed me, a few days after." "You don't mean to say that he had the imperti- nence " "The frankness, General — the charming candour — to tell me that I was a very clever girl, and not to be discouraged by one failure or two ; that with time and perseverance — I think he said perseverance — some one was sure to take a fancy to me : he might not, perhaps, be handsome, possibly not very young ; his temper, too, might chance to be more tart than was pleasant : in a word, he drew such a picture, that I had to stop him short and ask was he making me a proposal ? He has never spoken to me since ! " " I feel as if I could break his neck," muttered Hunter, below his bi*eath ; then added, " Do you remember that I asked leave to write to you once — only once ? " "Yes, I remember it." " And you would not answer me. You shook your head, as though to say the permission would be of no service to me ; that I might write, but, you understand, that it would only be to indulge in a delusion- ' " What an expressive shake of jhe head that meant all that ! " " Ah ! there it is again ; never serious, never grave I 490 BAUUFNGTON. And now I want you to be both. Since I landeil in Knf^Iand, I ran down for a day to Devonshire, I saw an old aunt of mine, who, besides beinp very rieh, has retained no small share of the ronianee of her life. Siie always had a dash of hero-worship about her, and so I took down Tom with me to sliow lier the y:al!ant fellow whose name was in all the newspapers, and of whom all the world was talking. She was charmed with him — with his honest, manly simplicity, his utter want of all affecta- tion. She asked me ten times a day, 'Can I not be of ser- vice to him ? Is there no step he wishes to purchase ? Is there nothing we can do for him ?' ' Nothing,' said I ; ' he is quite equal to his own fortune.' ' He may have brothers,' said she. ' He has a sister,' said I — ' a sister who has made him all that he is, and it was to repay her love and affection that he has shown himself to be the gallant fellow we have seen him.' ' Tell her to come and see me — that is,' said she, correcting herself, ' give her a letter I shall write, and persuade her, if you can, to oblige me by doing what I ask.' Here is the letter ; don't say no till you have read it. Nay, don't shake your head so deploringly ; things maybe hard without being impossible. At all events, read her note carefully. It's a droll old hand, but clear as print." '* I'll read it," said she, looking at the letter ; but the sor- rowful tone revealed how hopelessly she regarded the task. "Ask Tom aloither; and make Tom tell you what she is like. By Jove ! he has such an admiration for the old damsel, I was half afraid he meant to be my uncle." They reached the cottage laughing pleasantly over this conceit, and Polly hurried up to her room to read the letter. To her surprise, Josephine was there already, her eyes very red with crying, and her cheeks flushed and feverish-looking. "My dearest Fifine, wha.t is all this for, on the happiest day of your life? " said she, drawing her arm around her. " It's all your fault — all your doing," said the other, averting her head, as she tried to disengage herself from the emiirace. " My fault — my doing ? What do you mean, dearest ; what cuu I have done to deserve this \ " THE END. 491 ** Ton know very well what you have done. You knew all the time how it would turn out." Polly protested firmly that she could not imagine what was attributed to her, and only after a considerable time obtained the explanation of the charge. Indeed it was not at first easy to comprehend it, given, as it was, in the midst of tears, and broken at every word by sobs. The substance was this : that Fifine, in an attempted imitation ot Polly's mannei' — an eifort to copy the coquetting which she fancied to be so captivating — had ventured to trifle so far with young Couyers, that, after submitting to every alternative of hope and fear for weeks long, he at last gave way, and determined to leave the house, quit the country, and never meet her more. " It was to be like you, 1 did it," cried she, sobbing bitterly, " and see what it has led me to." "Well, dearest, be really like me for half an hour; that is, be very patient and very quiet. Sit down here, and don't leave this till I come back to you." Polly kissed her hot cheek as she spoke, and the other sat down where she was bade, with the half-obedient sulkiness of a naughty child. " Tell young Mr. Conyers to come and speak to me. I shall be in the garden," said she to his servant; and before she had gone many paces he was beside her. " Oh, Polly dearest ! have you any hope for me i'" cried he, in agony. " If you knew the misery I am enduring." " Come and take a walk with me," said she, passing her arm within his. " I think you will like to hear what I have to tell 3'ou." The revelation was not a very long one, and as they passed beneath the room where Josephine sat, Polly called out, " Come down here. FiHne, we are making a bouquet ; try if you can find ' heart's-ease.' " What a happy party met that day at dinner. All were in their best spirits, each contented with the other. " Have you read my aunt's note ? " whispered Hunter to Polly, as they passed into the drawing-room. " Yes. I showed it also to l^liss Dinah. I asked her advice." 4C2 BARRrST.TON. "And what did she say — what did she advise ?" " She said she'd tliiiik over it and tell nie to-morrow." " To-niDrrow ! Why not now — why not at once ? " cried he, impatiently. " I'll speak to her myself; " and he hurried to the little room where Miss Dinah was making^ tea. It was not a very long interview, and Hunter returned, fond, radiant, and triumphant. " She's the cleverest old woman I ever met in my life," said he ; " and the best, besides, after my Aunt Dorothy. She said that such an invitation as that was too cordial to be coldly declined ; that it meant more — far more — than a politeness ; that you ought to go, yes, by all means ; and if there was any difficulty about the journey, or any awkwardness in travelling so far, why, there was an easy remedy for it, as well as for meeting my aunt a perfect stranger." " And what was that ? " " To go as her niece, dearest Polly — to be the wife of a man who loves you." " Is it possible that you have so much to say to each other that you won't take tea ? " cried Aunt Dinah ; while she whispered to Withering, " I declare we shall never have a sociable moment till they're all married oft', and learn to conduct themselves like reasonable creatures." Is it not the best testimony we can give to happiness, that it is a thing to feel and not describe ; to be enjoyed, but not pictured ? It is like a debt that I owe to my reader, to show him " The Home " as it was when blissful hearts were gathered under its roof; and yet, for the life of me, I cannot acquit myself of it. To say that there were old people with their memories of the past, and young ones with their hopes of the future ; that there were bygones to sigh over, and vistas to gnze at, conveys but little of the kindliness by which heart opened to heart, and sorrow grew lighter by mutual endurance, and joys became brighter as they were imparted to another." " So I find," said Barrington, as they sat at breakfiasfc together, " that Josephine insists on going back to the convent, and Fred is resolved on an exchange into the Iniantry, and is oil" for Canada immediately." THE END, 493 "Not a bit of it!" broke in Hunter, wbo remarked notbing of tbe roguisb drollery of old Peter's eye, nor even suspected tbat tbe speech was made in mockery. " Master Fred is coming witb me into Kilkenny ibi3 morning, for a visit to the Dean, or whatever he is, who dispenses those social handcuffs they call licenses." " Why, they were quarrelling all the morning," repeated Barrington. " So we were, sir, and so we mean to do for many a year," said Josephine ; " and to keep us in countenance, I hear tbat General Hunter and Polly have determined to follovr our example." " What do I bear. Miss Dill ? " said Miss Barrington, witb an affected severity. "I'm afraid, madam, it is true; there has been what my father calls ' a contagious endemic ' here lately, and we have both caught it ; but ours are mild cases, and we hope soon to recover." " What's this I see here ! " cried Fred ; who, to conceal his shame, bad taken up tbe newspaper. " Listen to this : 'The notorious Stapylton, alias Edwardes, whose case, up to yesterday, was reported all but hopeless, made bis escape from the hospital, and has not since been heard of. It would appear that some of tbe officials bad been bribed to assist his evasion, and a strict inquiry will be imme- diately set on foot into tbe affair.' " " Do you think be has got over to France ? " whispered Peter to Withering. " Of course be has ; the way was all open, and every- thing ready for him ! " " Then I am thoroughly happy ! " cried Barrington, "and there's not even the shadow of a cloud over our present sunshine." THE END. Woodfall & Kindijr, Priuters, 70 to 76. Long Acre, London, AV.C \ UNIVERSITY of CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. orm L9-25m-8, '46(9852)444 4 8 84 LeTTAr - B27 Harrington 187Q O X EY A!^- y^S9^: / ^ J ' • \ ,