Forester's recovery was slow, at least so his friends in the capital
thought it, for to each letter requiring to know when he might be
expected back again, the one reply forever was returned, “As soon as
he felt able to leave Gwynne Abbey.” Nor was the answer, perhaps,
injudiciously couched.
From the evening of his first introduction to Lady Eleanor and her
daughter, his visits were frequent, sometimes occupying the entire
morning, and always prolonged far into the night. Never did an intimacy
make more rapid progress; so many tastes and so many topics were in
common to all, for while the ladies had profited by reading and study in
matters which he had little cultivated, yet the groundwork of an early
good education enabled him to join in discussions, and take part
in conversation which both interested at the time, and suggested
improvement afterward; and if Lady Eleanor knew less of the late events
which formed the staple of London small-talk, she was well informed on
the characters and passages of the early portion of the reign, which
gave all the charm of a history to reminiscences purely personal.
With the wits and distinguished men of that day she had lived in great
intimacy, and felt a pride in contrasting the displays of intellectual
wealth, so common then, with the flatter and more prosaic habita since
introduced into society. “Eccentricities and absurdities,” she would
say, “have replaced in the world the more brilliant exhibitions of
cultivated and gifted minds, and I must confess to preferring the social
qualities of Horace Walpole to the exaggerations of Bagenal Daly, or the
ludicrous caprices of Buck Whaley.”
“I think Mr. Daly charming, for my part,” said Helen, laughing. “I'm
certain that he is a miracle of truth, as he is of adventure; if
everything he relates is not strictly accurate and matter of fact, it is
because the real is always inferior to the ideal. The things _ought_ to
have happened as he states.”
“It is, at least, _ben trovato_,” broke in Forester; “yet I go further,
and place perfect confidence in his narratives, and truly I have heard
some strange ones in our morning rides together.”
“I suspected as much,” said Lady Eleanor, “a new listener is such a
boon to him; so, then, you have heard how he carried away the Infanta of
Spain, compelled the Elector of Saxony to take off his boots, made
the Doge of Venice drunk, and instructed the Pasha of Trebizond in the
mysteries of an Irish jig.”
“Not a word of these have I heard as yet.”
“Indeed! then what, in all mercy, has he been talking of,--India, China,
or North America, perhaps?”
“Still less; he has never wandered from Ireland and Irish life, and I
must say, as far as adventure and incident are concerned, it would have
been quite unnecessary for him to have strayed beyond it.”
“You are perfectly right there,” said Lady Eleanor, with some
seriousness in the tone; “our home anomalies may shame all foreign
wonders: he himself could scarcely find his parallel in any land.”
“He has a sincere affection for Lionel, Mamma,” said Helen, in an accent
of deprecating meaning.
“And that very same regard gave the bias to Lionel's taste for every
species of absurdity! Believe me, Helen, Irish blood is too stimulating
an ingredient to enter into a family oftener than once in four
generations. Mr. Daly's has been unadulterated for centuries, and the
consequence is, that, although neither deficient in strong sense or
quick perception, he acts always on the impulse that precedes judgment,
and both his generosity and his injustice outrun the mark.”
“I love that same rash temperament,” said Helen, flushing as she spoke;
“it is a fine thing to see so much of warm and generous nature survive
all that he must have seen of the littleness of mankind.”
“There! Captain Forester, there! Have I not reason on my side? You
thought me very unjust towards poor Mr. Daly,--I know you did; but it
demands all my watchfulness to prevent him being equally the model for
my daughter, as he is for my son's imitation.”
“There are traits in his character any might well be proud to
imitate,” said Helen, warmly; “his life has been a series of generous,
single-minded actions; and,” added she, archly “if Mamma thinks it
prudent and safe to warn her children against some of Mr. Daly's
eccentricities, no one is more ready to acknowledge his real worth than
she is.”
“Helen is right,” said Lady Eleanor; “if we could always be certain
that Mr. Daly's imitators would copy the truly great features of his
character, we might forgive them falling into his weaknesses; and now,
can any one tell me why we have not seen him for some days past? He is
in the Abbey?”
“Yes, we rode out together yesterday morning to look at the wreck near
the Sound of Achill; strange enough, I only learned from a chance remark
of one of the sailors that Daly had been in the boat, the night before,
that took the people off the wreck.”
“So like him!” exclaimed Helen, with enthusiasm.
“He is angry with me, I know he is,” said Lady Eleanor, musingly.
“I asked his advice respecting the answer I should send to a certain
letter, and then rejected the counsel. He would have forgiven me had I
run counter to his opinions without asking; but when I called him into
consultation, the offence became a grave one.”
“I declare, Mamma, I side with him; his arguments were clear, strong,
and unanswerable, and the best proof of it is, you have never had the
courage to follow your own determination since you listened to him.”
“I have a great mind to choose an umpire between us. What say you,
Captain Forester, will you hear the case? Helen shall take Mr. Daly's
side; I will make my own statement.”
“It's a novel idea,” said Helen, laughing, “that the umpire should be
selected by one of the litigating parties.”
“Then you doubt my impartiality, Miss Darcy?”
“If I am to accept you as a judge, I 'll not prejudice the Court against
myself, by avowing my opinions of it,” said she, archly.
“When I spoke of your arbitration, Captain Forester,” said Lady Eleanor,
“I really meant fairly, for upon all the topics we have discussed
together, politics, or anything bordering on political opinions, have
never come uppermost; and, up to this moment, I have not the slightest
notion what are your political leanings, Whig or Tory.”
“So the point in dispute is a political one?” asked Forester,
cautiously.
“Not exactly,” interposed Helen; “the policy of a certain reply to a
certain demand is the question at issue; but the advice of any party in
the matter might be tinged by his party leanings, if he have any.”
“If I judge Captain Forester aright, he has troubled his head very
little about party squabbles,” said Lady Eleanor; “and in any case,
he can scarcely take a deep interest in a question which is almost
peculiarly Irish.”
Forester bowed,--partly in pretended acquiescence of this speech, partly
to conceal a deep flush that mounted suddenly to his cheek; for he felt
by no means pleased at a remark that might be held to reflect on his
political knowledge.
“Be thou the judge, then,” said Lady Eleanor. “And, first of all, read
that letter.” And she took from her work-box her cousin Lord Netherby's
letter, and handed it to Forester.
“I reserve my right to dispute that document being evidence,” said
Helen, laughing; “nor is there any proof of the handwriting being Lord
Netherby's. Mamma herself acknowledges she has not heard from him for
nearly twenty years.”
This cunning speech, meant to intimate the precise relation of the two
parties, was understood at once by Forester, who could with difficulty
control a smile, although Lady Eleanor looked far from pleased.
There was now a pause, while Forester read over the long letter with due
attention, somewhat puzzled to conceive to what particular portion of it
the matter in dispute referred.
“You have not read the postscript,” said Helen, as she saw him folding
the letter, without remarking the few concluding lines.
Forester twice read over the passage alluded to, and at once whatever
had been mysterious or difficult was revealed before him. Lord
Netherby's wily temptation was made manifest, not the less palpably,
perhaps, because the reader was himself involved in the very same
scheme.
“You have now seen my cousin's letter,” said Lady Eleanor, “and the
whole question is whether the reply should be limited to a suitable
acknowledgment of its kind expressions, and a grateful sense of the
Prince's condescension, or should convey--”
“Mamma means,” interrupted Helen, laughingly,--“Mamma means, that we
might also avow our sincere gratitude for the rich temptation offered in
requital of my father's vote on the 'nion.'”
“No minister would dare to make such a proposition to the Knight of
Gwynne,” said Lady Eleanor, haughtily.
“Ministers are very enterprising nowadays, Mamma,” rejoined Helen;
“I have never heard any one speak of Mr. Pitt's cowardice, and Lord
Castlereagh has had courage to invite old Mr. Hickman to dinner!”
Forester would gladly have acknowledged his relationship to the
Secretary, but the moment seemed unpropitious, and the avowal would have
had the semblance of a rebuke; so he covered his confusion by a laugh,
and said nothing.
“We can scarcely contemn the hardihood of a Government that has made
Crofton a bishop, and Hawes a general,” said Helen, with a flashing
eye and a lip curled in superciliousness. “Nothing short of a profound
reliance on the piety of the Church and the bravery of the Army would
support such a policy as that!”
Lady Eleanor seemed provoked at the hardy tone of Helen's speech; but
the mother's look was proud, as she gazed on the brilliant expression of
her daughter's beauty, now heightened by the excitement of the moment.
“Is it not possible, Miss Darcy,” said Forester, in a voice at
once timid and insinuating,--“is it not possible that the measure
contemplated by the Government may have results so beneficial as to more
than compensate for evils like these?”
“A Jesuit, or a Tory, or both,” cried Helen. “Mamma, you have chosen
your umpire most judiciously; his is exactly the impartiality needed.”
“Nay, but hear me out,” cried the young officer, whose cheek was
crimsoned with shame. “If the measure be a good one,--well, let me beg
the question, if it be a good one--and yet, the time for propounding it
is either inopportune or unfortunate, and, consequently, the support it
might claim on its own merits be withheld either from prejudice,
party connection, or any similar cause,--you would not call a ministry
culpable who should anticipate the happy working of a judicious Act, by
securing the assistance of those whose convictions are easily won
over, in preference to the slower process of convincing the men of more
upright and honest intentions.”
“You have begged so much in the commencement, and assumed so much in
the conclusion, sir, that I am at a loss to which end of your speech to
address my answer; but I will say this much: it is but sorry evidence
of a measure's goodness when it can only meet with the approval of the
venal. I don't prize the beauty so highly that is only recognized by the
blind man.”
“Distorted vision, Miss Darcy, may lead to impressions more erroneous
than even blindness.”
“I may have the infirmity you speak of,” said she, quickly, “but
assuredly I'll not wear Government spectacles to correct it.”
If Forester was surprised at finding a young lady so deeply interested
in a political question, he was still more so on hearing the tone of
determination she spoke in, and would gladly, had he known how, have
given the conversation a less serious turn.
“We have been all the time forgetting the real question at issue,” said
Lady Eleanor. “I 'm sure I never intended to listen to a discussion on
the merits or demerits of the Union, on which you both grow so eloquent;
will you then kindly return to whence we started, and advise me as to
the reply to this letter.”
[Illustration: 152]
“I do not perceive any remarkable difficulty, madam,” said Forester,
addressing himself exclusively to Lady Eleanor. “The Knight of Gwynne
has doubtless strong opinions on this question; they are either in favor
of, or adverse to, the Government views: if the former, your reply is
easy and most satisfactory; if the latter, perhaps he would condescend
to explain the nature of his objections, to state whether it be to
anything in the detail of the measure he is adverse to, or to the
principle of the Bill itself. A declaration like this will open a door
to negotiation, without the slightest imputation on either side. A
minister may well afford to offer his reasons for any line of policy to
one as eminent in station and ability as the Knight of Gwynne, and I
trust I am not indiscreet in assuming that the Knight would not be
derogating from that station in listening to, and canvassing, such
explanations.”
“Lord Castlereagh, 'aut---,'” said Helen, starting up from her seat, and
making a low courtesy before Forester, who, feeling himself in a measure
detected, blushed till his face became scarlet.
“My dear Helen, at this rate we shall never--But what is this?--who have
we here?”
This sudden exclamation was caused by the appearance of a small
four-wheeled carriage drawn up at the gate of the flower-garden, from
which old Hickman's voice could now be heard, inquiring if Lady Eleanor
were at home.
“Yes, Sullivan,” said she, with a sigh, “and order luncheon.” Then, as
the servant left the room, she added, “I am always better pleased when
the visits of that family are paid by the old gentleman, whom I prefer
to the son or the grandson. They are better performers, I admit, but he
is an actor of nature's own making.”
“Do you know him, Captain Forester?” asked Helen.
But, before he could reply, the door was opened, and Sullivan announced,
by his ancient title, “Doctor Hickman.”
Strange and grotesque as in every respect he looked, the venerable
character of old age secured him a respectful, almost a cordial,
reception; and as Lady Eleanor advanced to him, there was that urbanity
and courtesy in her manner which are so nearly allied to the expression
of actual esteem. It was true, there was little in the old man's
nature to elicit such feelings towards him; he was a grasping miser,
covetousness and money-getting filled up his heart, and every avenue
leading to it. The passion for gain had alone given the interest to his
life, and developed into activity any intelligence he possessed. While
his son valued wealth as the only stepping-stone to a position of
eminence and rank, old Hickman loved riches for their own sake. The bank
was, in his estimation, the fountain of all honor, and a strong credit
there better than all the reputation the world could confer. These were
harsh traits. But then he was old; long years of infirmity were bringing
him each hour closer to the time when the passion of his existence must
be abandoned; and a feeling of pity was excited at the sight of that
withered, careworn face, to which the insensate cravings of avarice lent
an unnatural look of shrewdness and intelligence.
“What a cold morning for your drive, Mr. Hickman,” said Lady Eleanor,
kindly. “Captain Forester, may I ask you to stir the fire? Mr.
Hickman--Captain Forester.”
“Ah, Miss Helen, beautiful as ever!” exclaimed the old man, as, with a
look of real admiration, he gazed on Miss Darcy. “I don't know how
it is, Lady Eleanor, but the young ladies never dressed so becomingly
formerly. Captain Forester, your humble servant; I'm glad to see you
about again,--indeed, I did n't think it very likely once that you'd
ever leave the library on your own feet; Mac-Donough 's a dead shot they
tell me--ay, ay!”
“I hope your friends at 'The Grove' are well, sir?” said Lady Eleanor,
desirous of interrupting a topic she saw to be particularly distressing
to Forester.
“No, indeed, my Lady; my son Bob--Mr. Hickman O'Reilly, I mean--God
forgive me, I'm sure they take trouble enough to teach me that
name--he's got a kind of a water-brash, what we call a pyrosis. I tell
him it's the French dishes he eats for dinner, things he never was
brought op to, concoctions of lemon juice, and cloves, and saffron, and
garlic, in meat roasted--no, but stewed into chips.”
“You prefer our national cookery, Mr. Hickman?”
“Yes, my Lady, with the gravy in it; the crag-end,--if your Ladyship
knows what's the crag-end of a--”
“Indeed, Mr. Hickman,” said Lady Eleanor, smiling, “I'm deplorably
ignorant about everything that concerns the household. Helen affects to
be very deep in these matters; but I suspect it is only a superficial
knowledge, got up to amuse the Knight.”
“I beg, Mamma, you will not infer any such reproach on my skill in
_menage_. Papa called my _omelette à la curé_ perfect.”
“I should like to hear Mr. Hickman's judgment on it,” said Lady Eleanor,
with a sly smile.
“If it's a plain joint, my Lady, boiled or roasted, without spices or
devilment in it, but just the way Providence intended--”
“May I ask, sir, how you suppose Providence intended to recommend any
particular kind of cookery?” said Helen, seriously.
“Whatever is most natural, most simple, the easiest to do,” stammered
out Hickman, not over pleased at being asked for an explanation.
“Then the Cossack ranks first in the art,” exclaimed Forester; “for
nothing can be more simple or easier than to take a slice of a live ox
and hang it up in the sun for ten or fifteen minutes.”
“Them's barbarians,” said Hickman, with an emphasis that made the
listeners find it no easy task to keep down a laugh.
“Luncheon, my Lady,” said old Tate Sullivan, as with a reverential bow
he opened the folding-doors into a small breakfast parlor, where an
exquisitely served table was laid out.
“Practice before precept, Mr. Hickman,” said Lady Eleanor; “will
you join us at luncheon, where I hope you may find something to your
liking?”
As the old man seated himself at the table, his eye ranged over the
cabinet pictures that covered the walls, the richly chased silver on the
table, and the massive wine-coolers that stood on the sideboard, with an
eye whose brilliancy betokened far more the covetous taste of the miser
than the pleased expression of mere connoisseurship; nor could he
recall himself from their admiration to hear Forester's twice-repeated
question as to what he would eat.
“'T is elegant fine plate, no doubt of it,” muttered he, below his
breath; “and the pictures may be worth as much more--ay!”
The last monosyllable was the only part of his speech audible, and being
interpreted by Forester as a reply to his request, he at once helped the
old gentleman to a very highly seasoned French dish before him.
“Eh! what's this?” said Hickman, as he surveyed his plate with unfeigned
astonishment; “if I did n't see it laid down on your Ladyship's table, I
'd swear it was a bit of Gal way marble.”
“It's a _gélatine truffée_, Mr. Hickman,” said Forester, who was well
aware of its merits.
“Be it so, in the name of God!” said Hickman, with resignation, as
though to say that any one who could eat it might take the trouble to
learn the name. “Ay, my Lady, that 's what I like, a slice of Kerry
beef,--a beast made for man's eating.”
“Mr. Hickman's pony is more of an epicure than his master,” said
Forester, as he arose from his chair and moved towards the glass-door
that opened on the garden; “he has just eaten the top of your
lemon-tree.”
“And by way of dessert, he is now cropping my japonica,” cried Helen,
as she sprang from the room to rescue her favorite plant. Forester
followed her, and Lady Eleanor was left alone with the doctor.
“Now, my Lady, that I have the opportunity,--and sure it was luck
gave it to me,--would you give me the favor of a little private
conversation?”
“If the matter be on business, Mr. Hickman, I must frankly own I should
prefer your addressing yourself to the Knight; he will be home early
next week.”
“It is--and it is not, my Lady--but, there! they're coming back, now,
and it is too late;” and so he heaved a heavy sigh, and lay back in his
chair, as though worn out and disappointed.
“Well, then, in the library, Mr. Hickman,” said Lady Eleanor,
compassionately, “when you've eaten some luncheon.”
“No more, my Lady; 'tis elegant fine beef as ever I tasted, and the
gravy in it, but I'm not hungry now.”
Lady Eleanor, without a guess as to what might form the subject of
his communication, perceived that he was agitated and anxious; and so,
requesting Forester and her daughter to continue their luncheon, she
added: “And I have something to tell Mr. Hickman, if he will give five
minutes of his company in the next room.”
Taking a chair near the fire, Lady Eleanor motioned to the doctor to
be seated; but the old man was so engaged in admiring the room and its
furniture that he seemed insensible to all else. As his eye wandered
over the many objects of taste and luxury on every side, his lips
muttered unceasingly, but the sound was inarticulate.
“I cannot pledge myself that we shall remain long uninterrupted, Mr.
Hickman,” said Lady Eleanor, “so pray lose no time in the communication
you have to make.”
“I humbly ask pardon, my Lady,” said the old man, in a voice of
deep humility; “I'm old and feeble now, and my senses none of the
clearest,--but sure it's time for them to be worn out; ninety-one I
'll be, if I live to Lady-day.” It was his habit to exaggerate his
age; besides, there was a tremulous pathos in his accents to which Lady
Eleanor was far from feeling insensible, and she awaited in silence what
was to follow.
“Well, well,” sighed the old man, “if I succeed in this, the last act of
my long life, I 'm well content to go whenever the Lord pleases.” And
so saying, he took from his coat-pocket the ominous-looking old leather
case to which we have already alluded, and searched for some time amid
its contents. “Ay! here it is--that is it--it is only a memorandum, my
Lady, but it will show what I mean.” And he handed the paper to Lady
Eleanor.
It was some time before she had arranged her spectacles and adjusted
herself to peruse the document; but before she had concluded, her hand
trembled violently, and all color forsook her cheek. Meanwhile; the
doctor sat with his filmy eyes directed towards her, as if watching
the working of his spell; and when the paper fell from her fingers, he
uttered a low “Ay,” as though to say his success was certain.
“Two hundred thousand pounds!” exclaimed she, with a shudder; “this
cannot be true.”
“It is all true, my Lady, and so is this too;” and he took from his hat
a newspaper and presented it to her.
“The Ballydermot property! The whole estate lost at cards! This is a
calumny, sir,--the libellous impertinence of a newspaper paragraphist.
I'll not believe it.”
“''T 's true, notwithstanding, my Lady. Harvey Dawson was there himself,
and saw it all; and as for the other, the deeds and mortgages are at
this moment in the hands of my son's solicitor.”
“And this may be foreclosed--”
“On the 24th, at noon, my Lady,” continued Hickman, as he folded the
memorandum and replaced it in his pocket-book.
“Well, sir,” said she, as, with a great effort to master her emotion,
she addressed him in a steady and even commanding voice, “the next thing
is to learn what are your intentions respecting this debt? You have not
purchased all these various liabilities of my husband's without some
definite object. Speak it out--what is it? Has Mr. Hickman O'Reilly's
ambition increased so rapidly that he desires to date his letters from
Gwynne Abbey?”
“The Saints forbid it, my Lady,” said the old man, with a pious horror.
“I 'd never come here this day on such an errand as that. If it was not
to propose what was agreeable, you 'd not see me here--”
“Well, sir, what is the proposition? Let me hear it at once, for my
patience never bears much dallying with.”
“I am coming to it, my Lady,” muttered Hickman, who already felt really
ashamed at the deep emotion his news evoked. “There are two ways of
doing it--” A gesture of impatience from Lady Eleanor stopped him, but,
after a brief pause, he resumed: “Bear with me, my Lady. Old age and
infirmity are always prolix; but I'll do my best.”
It would be as unfair a trial of the reader's endurance as it proved to
Lady Eleanor's, were we to relate the slow steps by which Mr. Hickman
announced his plan, the substance of which, divested of all his own
circumlocution and occasional interruptions, was simply this: a promise
had been made by Lord Castlereagh to Hickman O'Reilly that if, through
his influence, exercised by means of moneyed arrangements or otherwise,
the Knight of Gwynne would vote with the Government on the “Union,”
he should be elevated to the Peerage, an object which, however
inconsiderable in the old man's esteem, both his son and grandson had
set their hearts upon. For this service they, in requital, would extend
the loan to another period of seven years, stipulating only for some
trifling advantages regarding the right of cutting timber, some coast
fisheries, and other matters to be mentioned afterwards,--points which,
although evidently of minor importance, were recapitulated by the old
man with a circumstantial minuteness.
It was only by a powerful effort that Lady Eleanor could control her
rising indignation at this proposal, while the very thought of Hickman
O'Reilly as a Peer, and member of that proud “Order” of which her own
haughty family formed a part, was an insult almost beyond endurance.
“Go on, sir,” said she, with a forced composure which deceived old
Hickman completely, and made him suppose that his negotiation was
proceeding favorably.
“I 'm sure, my Lady, it 's little satisfaction all this grandeur would
give me. I 'd rather be twenty years younger, and in the back parlor of
my old shop at Loughrea than the first peer in the kingdom.”
“Ambition is not your failing, then, sir,” said she, with a glance
which, to one more quick-sighted, would have conveyed the full measure
of her scorn.
“That it is n't, my Lady; but they insist upon it.”
“And is the Peerage to be enriched by the enrolment of your name among
its members? I thought, sir, it was your son.”
“Bob--Mr. Hickman, I mean--suggests that I should be the first lord in
the family, my Lady, because then Beecham's title won't seem so new when
it comes to him. 'T is the only use they can make of me now--ay!” and
the word was accented with a venomous sharpness that told the secret
anger he had himself awakened by his remark.
“The Knight of Gwynne,” said Lady Eleanor, proudly, “has often regretted
to me the few opportunities he had embraced through life of serving his
country; I have no doubt, sir, when he hears your proposal, that he will
rejoice at this occasion of making an _amende_. I will write to him by
this post. Is there anything more you wish to add, Mr. Hickman?” said
she, as, having risen from her chair, she perceived that the old man
remained seated.
“Yes, indeed, my Lady, there is, and I don't think I 'd have the heart
for it, if it was n't your Ladyship's kindness about the other business;
and even now, maybe, it would take you by surprise.”
“You can scarcely do that, sir, after what I have just listened to,”
said she, with a smile.
“Well, there 's no use in going round about the bush, and this is what
I mean. We thought there might be a difficulty, perhaps, about the vote;
that the Knight might have promised his friends, or said something or
other how he 'd go, and would n't be able to get out of it so easily,
so we saw another way of serving his views about the money. You see, my
Lady, we considered it all well amongst us.”
“We should feel deeply grateful, sir, to know how far this family has
occupied your kind solicitude. But proceed.”
“If the Knight does n't like to vote with the Government, of course
there is no use in Bob doing it; so he 'll be a Patriot, my Lady,--and
why not? Ha! ha! ha! they 'll be breaking the windows all over Dublin,
and he may as well save the glass!--ay!”
“Forgive me, sir, if I cannot see how this has any reference to my
family.”
“I'm coming to it--coming fast, my Lady. We were thinking then how we
could help the Knight, and do a good turn to ourselves; and the way we
hit upon was this: to reduce the interest on the whole debt to five per
cent, make a settlement of half the amount on Miss Darcy, and then, if
the young lady had no objection to my grandson, Beecham--”
“Stop, sir,” said Lady Eleanor; “I never could suppose you meant to
offend me intentionally,--I cannot permit of your doing so through
inadvertence or ignorance. I will therefore request that this
conversation may cease. Age has many privileges, Mr. Hickman, but there
are some it can never confer: one of these is the right to insult a lady
and--a mother.”
The last words were sobbed rather than spoken: affection and pride, both
outraged together, almost choked her utterance, and Lady Eleanor sat
down trembling in every limb, while the old man, only half conscious of
the emotion he had evoked, peered at her in stolid amazement through his
spectacles.
Any one who knew nothing of old Hickman's character might well have
pitied his perplexity at that moment; doubts of every kind and sort
passed through his mind as rapidly as his timeworn faculties permitted,
and at last he settled down into the conviction that Lady Eleanor might
have thought his demand respecting fortune too exorbitant, although
not deeming the proposition, in other respects, ineligible. To this
conclusion the habits of his own mind insensibly disposed him.
“Ay, my Lady,” said he, after a pause, “'tis a deal of money, no doubt;
but it won't be going out of the family, and that's more than could be
said if you refuse the offer.”
“Sir!” exclaimed Lady Eleanor, in a tone that to any one less obtusely
endowed would have been an appeal not requiring repetition; but the old
man had only senses for his own views, and went on:--
“They tell me that Mr. Lionel is just as free with his money as his
father; throws it out with both hands, horse-racing and high play, and
every extravagance he can think of. Well, and if that's true, my Lady,
sure it 's well worth while to think that you 'll have a decent house to
put your head under when your daughter's married to Beecham. He has no
wasteful ways, but can look after the main chance as well as any boy
ever I seen. This notion about Miss Helen is the only thing like
expense I ever knew him take up, and sure”--here he dropped his voice to
soliloquy--“sure, maybe, that same will pay well, after all--ay!”
“My head! my head is bursting with blood,” sighed Lady Eleanor; but the
last words alone reached Hickman's ears.
“Ay! blood's a fine thing, no doubt of it, but, faith, it won't pay
interest on a mortgage; nor I never heard of it staying the execution of
a writ! 'T is little good blood I had in my veins, and yet I contrived
to scrape a trifle together notwithstanding--ay!”
“I do not feel myself very well, Mr. Hickman,” said Lady Eleanor; “may
I request you will send my daughter to me, and excuse me if I wish you a
good morning.”
“Shall I hint anything to the young lady about what we were saying?”
said he, in a tone of most confidential import.
“At your peril, sir!” said Lady Eleanor, with a look that at once seemed
to transfix him; and the old man, muttering his adieu, hobbled from
the room, while Lady Eleanor leaned back in her chair, overcome by the
conflict of her emotions.
“Is he gone?” said Lady Eleanor, faintly, as her daughter entered.
“Yes, Mamma; but are you ill? You look dreadfully pale and agitated.”
“Wearied--fatigued, my dear, nothing more. Tell Captain Forester I must
release him from his engagement to us to-day; I cannot come to dinner.”
And, so saying, she covered her eyes with her hand, and seemed lost in
deep thought.