We must now for a brief space, return to the Knight, as with a heavy
heart he journeyed homeward. Never did the long miles seem so wearisome
before, often and often as he had travelled them. The little accidental
delays, which once he had met with a ready jest, and in a spirit of
kindly indulgence, he now resented as so many intentional insults upon
his changed and ruined fortune. The gossiping landlords, to whom he
had ever extended so much of freedom, he either acknowledged coldly, or
repelled with distance; their liberties were now construed into want of
deference and respect; the very jestings of the postboys to each other
seemed so many covert impertinences, and equivocal allusions to himself;
for even so much will the stroke of sudden misfortune change the nature,
and convert the contented and happy spirit into a temperament of gloomy
sorrow and suspicion.
Unconscious of his own altered feelings, and looking at every object
through the dim light of his own calamity, he hurried along, not, as
of old, recognizing each well-known face, saluting this one, inquiring
after that; he sat back in his carriage, and, with his hat drawn almost
over his eyes, neither noticed the way nor the wayfarers.
In this mood it was he entered Castlebar. The sight of his
well-remembered carriage drew crowds of beggars to the door of the inn,
every one of whom had some special prayer for aid, or some narrative
of sickness for his hearing. By the time the horses drew up, the
crowd numbered some hundreds of every variety, not only in age, but
in raggedness, all eagerly calling on him by name, and imploring his
protection on grounds the most strange and dissimilar.
“I knew the sound of the wheels; ax Biddy if I did n't say it was his
honor was coming!” cried one, in a sort of aside intended for the Knight
himself.
“Ye 're welcome home, sir; long may you reign over us,” said an old
fellow with a beard like a pilgrim. “I dreamed I seen you last night
standing at the door there, wid a half-crown in your fingers. 'Ouid
Luke,' says you, 'come here!----'”
A burst of rude laughter drowned this sage parable, while a good-looking
young woman, with an expression of softness in features degraded by
poverty and its consequences, courtesied low, and tried to attract
his notice, as she held up a miserable-looking infant to the carriage
window. “Clap them, acushla! 't is proud he is to see you back again,
sir; he never forgets the goold guinea ye gave him on New Year's Day!
Don't be pushin' that way, you rude cray-tures; you want to hurt the
child, and it's the image of his honor.”
“Many returns of the blessed sason to you,” growled out a creature in a
bonnet, but in face and figure far more like a man than a woman; “throw
us out a fippenny to buy two ounces of tay. Asy, asy; don't be drivin'
me under the wheels--ugh! it's no place for a faymale, among such
rapscallions.”
“What did they give you, Maurice? how much did you get, honey?” cried
a tall and almost naked fellow, that leaned over the heads of several
others, and put his face close to the glass of the carriage, which, for
safety's sake, the Knight now let down, while he called aloud to the
postboys to make haste and bring out the horses.
“Tell us all about it, Maurice, my boy,--are you a lord, or a bishop?”
cried the tall fellow, with an eagerness of face that told his own sad
bereavement, for he was deranged in intellect from a fall from one of
the cliffs on the coast. “By my conscience, I think I must change my
politics myself soon; my best pantaloons is like Nat Fitzgibbon,--it has
resigned its sate! Out with a bit of silver here!--quick, I didn't kiss
the King's face this ten days.”
To all these entreaties Darcy seemed perfectly deaf; if his eyes
wandered over the crowd, they noticed nothing there, nor did he appear
to listen to a word around him, while he again asked why the horses were
not coming.
“We're doing our best, your honor,” cried a postboy, “but it's mighty
hard to get through these divils; they won't stir till the beasts is
trampling them down.”
“Drive on, then, and let them take care of themselves,” said the Knight,
sternly.
“O blessed Father! there's a way to talk of the poor! O heavenly Vargin!
but you are come back cruel to us, after all!”
“Drive on!” shouted out Darcy, in a voice of angry impatience.
The postboys sprang into their saddles, cracked their whips, and dashed
forward, while the mob, rent in a hundred channels, fled on every side,
with cries of terror and shouts of laughter, according as the distance
suggested danger or security. All escaped safely, except the poor idiot,
Flury, who, having one foot on the step when the carriage started, was
thrown backward, when, to save himself, he grasped the spring, and was
thus half dragged, half carried along to the end of the street, and
there, failing strength and fear combining, he relinquished his hold and
fell senseless to the ground, where the wheel grazed but did not injure
him as he lay.
With a cry of terror, the Knight called out “Stop!” and, flinging wide
the door, sprang out. To lift the poor fellow up to a sitting posture
was the work of a second, while he asked, in accents the very kindest,
if he were hurt.
“Sorra bit, Maurice,” said the fellow, whose faculties sooner rallied
than if they were habitually under better control. “I was on the wrong
side of the coach, that's all; 't is safer to be within. The clothes is
not the better of it,” said he, looking at his sleeve, now hanging in
stripes.
“Never mind that, Flury; we'll soon repair that misfortune; it does not
signify much.”
“Does n't it, faith?” said the other, shaking his head dubiously; “'tis
asy talking, but I can't turn my coat without showing the hole in it. 'T
is only the rich can do that.”
The Knight bit his lip; for even from the fool's sarcasm he could
gather the imputations already rife upon his conduct. Another and a very
different thought succeeded to this, and he blushed with shame to think
how far his sense of his own misfortune had rendered him indifferent,
not only to the kindly feelings, but the actual misery, of others. The
right impulses of high-minded men are generally rapid in their action,
like the spring of the bent bow when the cord is cut asunder. It did
not cost Darcy many minutes to be again the warm-hearted, generous soul
nature had made him.
“Come, Flury,” said he to the poor fellow, as he stood ruefully
surveying his damaged drapery, “give that among the people there in the
town, and keep this for yourself.”
“This is goold, Maurice,--yellow goold!”
“So it is; but you're not the less welcome to it; tell them, too, that
I have had troubles of my own lately; and that's the reason I hurried on
without exchanging a word with them.”
“How do you know, Maurice, but I'll keep it all to myself?”.
“I'd trust you with a heavier sum,” said the Knight, smiling.
“I know why,--I know why, well enough,--because I'm a fool. Never mind,
there's greater fools nor me going. What did they give you up there for
your vote, Maurice,--tell me, how much was it?”
The Knight shook his head, and Flury resumed: “Didn't I say it? Wasn't
I right? By my ould hat! there's two fools in the country now;--Maurice
Darcy and Red Flury; and Maurice the biggest of the two! Whoop, the more
the merrier; there 's room for us all!” And with this wise reflection,
Flury gave a very wild caper and a wilder shout, and set off at the
speed of a hare towards Castlebar.
The Knight resumed his journey, and in a more contented mood. The little
incident had called on him for an exertion, and his faculties only
needed the demand to respond to the call. He summoned to his aid,
besides, every comforting reflection in his power; he persuaded himself
that there were some hopes remaining still, and tried to believe the
evil not beyond remedy. “After all,” thought he, “we are together; it is
not death has been dealing with us, nor is there any stain upon our fair
fame; and, save these, all ills are light, and can be borne.”
From thoughts like these he was aroused by the heavy clank of the iron
gate, as it fell back to admit the carriage within the park, while a
thousand welcomes saluted him.
“Thank you, Darby!--thank you, Mary! All well up at the abbey?”
But the carriage dashed past at full speed, and the answer was drowned
in the tumult. The postboys, true to the etiquette of their calling, had
reserved their best pace for the finish, and it was at the stride of a
hunting gallop they now tore along.
It was a calm night, with a young faint moon and a starry sky, which,
without displaying in bright light the details of the scenery, yet
exhibited them in strong, bold masses, making all seem even more
imposing and grander than in reality; the lofty mountain appeared
higher, the dark woods vaster, and the wide-spreading lawn seemed to
stretch away into immense plains. Darcy's heart swelled with pride as
he looked, while a pang shot through him as he thought, if even at that
hour he could call them his own.
They had now reached a little glen, where the postboys were obliged to
walk their blown cattle; emerging from this, they passed a thick grove
of beech, and at once came in sight of the abbey. Darcy leaned anxiously
from the window to catch the first sight of home, when what was his
amazement to perceive that the whole was lighted up from end to end. The
great suite of state rooms were a blaze of lustres, which even at that
distance glittered in their starry brilliancy, and showed the shadows of
figures moving within. He well knew that Lady Eleanor never saw company
in his absence,--what could this mean? Tortured with doubts that in his
then state of mind took every painful form, he ordered the postilions to
get on faster, and at the very top of their speed they tore along, over
the wide lawn, across the terrace drive, up the steep ascent to the gate
tower into the courtyard.
This was also brilliantly lighted by lamps from the walls, and also by
the lights of numerous carriage lamps which crowded the ample space.
“What is this? Can no one tell me?” muttered the Knight, as he leaped
from the carriage, and, seizing a livery servant who was passing, said,
“What is going on here? What company has the abbey?”
“Full of company,” said the man, in an English accent; “there 's my
Lord--”
“Who do you mean?”
“The Earl of Netherby, sir, and Sir Harry Beauclerk, and Colonel
Crofton, and--”
“When did they arrive?” said the Knight, interrupting a catalogue, every
name of which, although unknown, sent a feeling like a stab through his
heart.
“They came the evening before last, sir; Mr. Lionel Darcy, who arrived
the same morning--”
“Is he here?” cried the Knight; and, without waiting for more, hastened
forward.
The servants, of whom there seemed a great number about, were in strange
liveries, and unknown to the Knight; nor was it without undergoing a
very cool scrutiny from them that Darcy succeeded in gaining admittance
to his own house. At last he reached the foot of the great stair, whence
the sounds of music and the din of voices filled the air; servants
hurried along with refreshments, or carried orders to others in waiting;
all was bustle and excitement, in the midst of which Darcy stood only
half conscious of the reality of what he saw, and endeavoring to reason
himself into a conviction of what he heard. It was at this moment that
several officers of a newly quartered regiment passed up, admiring, as
they went, the splendor of the house, and the magnificent preparations
they witnessed on every side.
[Illustration: 330]
“I say, Dallas,” cried one, “you're always talking of your uncle
Beverley: does he do the thing in this style, eh?”
“By Jove!” interposed a short, thick-set major, with a bushy beard and
eyebrows, “this is what I call going the pace: do they give dinners
here?”
“Yes, that they do,” said a white-faced, ghostly looking ensign; “I
heard all about this place from Giles of the 40th; he was quartered
six months in this county, and used to grub here half the week. The old
fellow is n't at home now, but they say he's a trump.”
“Let's drink his health, Watkins,” cried the first speaker, “here's
champagne going up;” and so saying, the party gathered around two
servants, one of whom carried an ice-pail with some bottles, and the
other a tray of glasses.
“Does any one know his name, though?” said the major, as he held his
glass to be filled.
“Yes, it's something like--Oh, you know that fellow that joined us at
Coventry?”
“Brereton, is it?”
“No, hang it! I mean the fellow that had the crop-eared cob with the
white legs. Never mind, here he goes, anyhow.”
“Oh, I know who you mean,--it was Jack Quin.”
“That's the name; and your friend here is called 'Gwynne,' I think.
Here, gentlemen, I give you Gwynne's health, and all the honors; may he
live a few centuries more--”
“With a warm heart and a cool cellar,” added one.
“Pink champagne, and red-coats to drink it,” chimed in the ensign.
“May I join you in that pleasant sentiment, gentlemen?” said the Knight,
bowing courteously, as he took a glass from the tray and held it towards
the servant.
“Make no apology, sir,” said the major, eying him rather superciliously,
for the travelling dress concealed the Knight's appearance, and
distinguished him but slightly from many of those lounging around the
doors.
“Capital ginger-beer that! eh?” said the ensign, as, winking at his
companions, he proceeded to quiz the stranger.
“I have certainly drunk worse,” said the Knight, gravely,--“at an
infantry mess.”
There was a pause before he uttered the last three words, which gave
them a more direct application; a stare, half stupid, half impertinent,
was, however, all they elicited, and the group moved on, while the
Knight, disencumbering himself of his travelling gear, slowly followed
them.
“Grim old gentlemen these, ain't they?” said the major, gazing at the
long line of family portraits that covered the walls; “that fellow with
the truncheon does not seem to like the look of us.”
“Here's a bishop, I take it, with the great wig.”
“That's a chancellor, man; don't you see the mace? But he's not a whit
more civil-looking than the other; commend me to the shepherdess yonder,
in blue satin. But come on, we 're losing time; I hear the flourish of
a new dance. I say,” said he, in a whisper, “do you see who we've got
behind us?” And they turned and saw the Knight as he mounted the stairs
behind them.
“A friend of the family, sir?” asked the major, in a voice that might
bear the equivocal meaning of either impertinence or mere inquiry.
The Knight seemed to prefer taking it in the latter acceptation, as he
answered mildly, “I have that honor.”
“Ah! indeed; well, we 've the misfortune to be strangers in these
parts; only arrived in the neighborhood last week, and were invited here
through our colonel. Would you have any objection to present us?--Major
Hopecot of the 5th, Captain Mills, Mr. Dallas, Mr. Fothergill, Mr.
Watkins.”
“How the major _is_ going it!” lisped the ensign, while his goggle eyes
rolled fearfully, and the others seemed struggling to control their
enjoyment of such drollery.
“It will afford me much pleasure, sir, to do your bidding,” said the
Knight, calmly.
“Take the head of the column, then,” resumed the major, making way for
him to pass; and the Knight entered, with the others after him.
“My father--my dearest father!” cried a voice at the moment, and,
escaping from her partner, Helen was in a moment in bis arms. The next
instant Lionel was also at his side.
“My dear children!--my sweet Helen!--and Lionel, how well you 're
looking, boy! Ah! Eleanor, what a pleasant surprise you have managed for
me.”
“Then perhaps you never got our letter,” said Lady Eleanor, as she took
his arm and walked forward. “I wrote the moment I heard from Lionel.”
“And I, too, wrote you a long letter from London,” said Lionel.
“Neither reached me; but the last few days I have been so busy, and so
much occupied.--How are you, Conolly? Delighted to see you, Martin.--And
Lady Julia, is she here? I must take a tour and see all my friends.
First of all, I have a duty to perform; let me introduce these
gentlemen. But where are they? Oh, I see them yonder.” And, as he spoke,
he led Lady Eleanor across the room to the group of officers, who,
overwhelmed with shame at their discovery, stood uncertain whether they
should remain or retire.
“Let me introduce Major Hopecot and the officers of the 5th,” said he,
bowing courteously. “These gentlemen are strangers, Lady Eleanor; will
you take care that they find partners.”
While the abashed subalterns left their major to make his speeches to
Lady Eleanor, the Knight moved round the room with Helen still leaning
on his arm. By this time Darcy's arrival was generally known, and all
his old friends came pressing forward to see and speak to him.
“Lord Netherby,” whispered Helen in the Knight's ear, as a tall and very
thin old man, with an excessive affectation of youthfulness, tripped
forward to meet him.
“My dear Lord,” exclaimed Darcy, “what a pleasure, and what an honor to
see you here!”
“You would not come to me, Knight, so there was nothing else for it,”
replied the other, laughing, as he shook hands with a great display of
cordiality. “And you were quite right,” continued he; “I could not have
received you like this. There 's not so splendid a place in England,
nor has it ever been my fortune to witness so much beauty.” A half bow
accompanied the last words, as he turned towards Helen.
“Take care, my Lord,” said the Knight, smiling; “the flatteries of a
courtier are very dangerous things when heard out of the atmosphere that
makes them commonplace. We may take you literally, and have our heads
turned by them.”
At this moment Lionel joined them, to introduce several of his friends
and brother officers who accompanied him from England, all of whom were
received by the Knight with that winning courtesy of manner of which he
was a perfect master; for, not affecting either the vices or frivolities
of youth as a claim to the consideration of younger men, the Knight
possessed the happy temper that can concede indulgence without asking
to partake of it, and, while losing nothing of the relish for wit and
humor, chasten both by the fruits of a life's experience.
“Now, Helen, you must go back to your partner; that young guardsman
looks very sulkily at me for having taken you off--yes, I insist on
it. Lionel, look to your friends, and I 'll join Lord Netherby's
whist-table, and talk whenever permitted. Where 's poor Tate?” whispered
he in Lady Eleanor's ear, as she just came up.
“Poor fellow! he has been ill for some days back; you know what
a superstitious creature he is; and about a week since he got a
fright,--some warning of a Banshee, I think; but it shook his nerves
greatly, and he has kept his bed almost ever since. Lionel brought over
some of these servants with him; but Lord Netherby's people are Legion,
and the servants' hall now numbers something like seventy, I hear.”
The Knight heaved a sigh; but, catching himself, tried to conceal it by
a cough. Lady Eleanor had heard it, however, and stole a quick glance
towards him, to evade which he turned abruptly round and spoke to some
one near.
“Seventy, my dear Eleanor!” said he, after a pause, and as if he had
been reflecting over his last observation; “and what a Babel, too, it
must be! I heard French, German, and Italian in the hall; I think we can
promise Irish ourselves.”
“Yes,” said Lionel, “it is the most amusing scene in the world. They had
a ball last night in the lower gallery, where boleros and jigs succeeded
each other, while the refreshments ranged from iced lemonade to burnt
whiskey.”
“And what did our worthy folk think of their visitors?” said Darcy,
smiling.
“Not over much. Paddy Lennan looked with great contempt at the men
sipping _orgeat_, and when he saw the waltzing, merely remarked, 'We've
a betther way of getting round the girls in Ireland;' while old Pierre
Dulange, Netherby's valet, persists in addressing the native company as
'Messieurs les Sauvages.'”
“I hope, for the sake of the public peace, they 've not got an
interpreter among them.”
“No, no, all's safe on that score, and freedom of speech has suggested
the most perfect code of good manners; for it would seem, as they can
indulge themselves in the most liberal reflections on each other, they
have no necessity of proceeding to overt acts.”
“Now,” said the Knight, “let me not interrupt the revelry longer. To
your place, Lionel, and leave me to pay my devoirs to my friends and
kind neighbors.”
The Knight's presence seemed alone wanting to fill up the measure of
enjoyment. Most of those present were his old familiar friends, glad
to see once more amongst them the great promoter of kind feeling and
hospitality, while from such as were strangers he easily won golden
opinions, the charm of courtesy being with him like a well-fitting
garment, which graced, but did not impede, the wearer's motions.
He had a hundred questions to ask and to answer. The news of the capital
travelled in those days by slow and easy stages, and the moment was
sufficiently eventful to warrant curiosity; and so, as he passed from
group to group, he gave the current gossip of the time as each in turn
asked after this circumstance or that.
At length he took his place beside Lord Netherby, as he sat engaged at
a whist-table, where the gathering crowd that gradually collected soon
converted the game into a social circle of eager talkers.
Who could have suspected that easy, unconstrained manner, that winning
smile, that ready laugh, the ever-present jest, to cover the working of
a heart so nigh to breaking? And yet he talked pleasantly and freely,
narrating with all his accustomed humor the chit-chat of the time; and
while of course, the great question of the hour occupied every tongue
and ear, all Lord Netherby's practised shrewdness could not enable him
to detect the exact part the Knight himself had taken.
“And so they have carried the bill,” said Conolly, with a sigh, as he
listened to Darcy's account of the second reading. “Well, though I never
was a Parliament man, nor expected to be one, I'm sorry for it. You
think that strange, my Lord?”
“By no means, sir. A man may love monarchy without being the heir
apparent.”
“Quite true,” chimed in the Knight. “I would even go further, and say
that, without any warm devotion to a king, a man may hate a regicide.”
Lord Netherby's eyes met Darcy's, and the wily peer smiled with a
significance that seemed to say, “I know you _now_.”