The castle which had been built by the ancestors of Mr Rainscourt, and
which, in feudal times, had been one of strength and importance, was
about two miles from the town of ---, in the county of Galway, on the
west coast of Ireland; and, as Mr Rainscourt had correctly surmised,
when he returned to it, no officer could be found who was bold enough to
venture his life by an attempt at caption, surrounded as he was by a
savage and devoted peasantry, who had no scruples at bloodshed. Immured
within its walls, with little to interest, and no temptation to expend
money, Mr and Mrs Rainscourt lived for nearly two years, indulging
their spleen and discontent in mutual upbraidings,--their feelings
towards each other, from incessant irritation, being now rather those of
hatred than any other term that could be applied. The jewels of Mrs
Rainscourt, and every other article that could be dispensed with, had
been sold, and the purse was empty. The good-will of the tenants of the
mortgaged property had for some time supplied the ill-assorted couple
with the necessaries of life; every day added to their wants, to their
hatred, and their despair.
They were seated at the table, having finished a dinner off some game
which Mr Rainscourt had procured with his gun, and which had been their
fare, with little variety, ever since the shooting season had commenced,
when the old nurse, the only domestic they retained,--probably the only
one who would remain with them without receiving wages,--made her
appearance. "And sure there's a letter for the master; Barney, the
post-boy, is just bringing it."
"Well, where is it?" replied Rainscourt.
"He says that it's two thirteens that must be paid for it, and the dirty
spalpeen of a postmaster told him not to give you the letter without the
money for it in his fist."
"Tell Barney to step in here--have you two shillings, Mrs Rainscourt?"
"Not one, Mr Rainscourt," replied the lady, gloomily.
The nurse reappeared with Barney.
"Well, Barney, where's the letter?" said Mr Rainscourt; "let me look at
it."
"Sure, your honour, it's not me that's refusing it ye. But the master
tould me--`Barney,' says he, `if you give his honour the letter without
the two thirteens in your fist, it's a good bating that I'll give ye
when ye come back.'"
"Well, but, Barney, let me look at it, and see by the postmark where
it's from. I shall know, directly, whether I will take it up or not."
"And suppose that your honour should wish to open the letter! It's not
for gentlemen like ye to be standing against the temptation;--and then,
the two thirteens, your honour."
"Well, Barney, since you won't trust me, and I have no money, you must
take the letter back. It might bring me good news--I have had nothing
but bad of late."
"And sure enough it might bring you good news. Then, your honour shall
take the letter and I'll take the _bating_;" and the good-natured lad
pulled out the letter from his pocket, and gave it to Rainscourt.
Rainscourt, who first wished to ascertain whether it was one of his
usual dunning correspondents, examined the post-mark and handwriting of
the superscription, that he might return it unopened, and save poor
Barney from the beating which he had volunteered to receive for his
sake, but the hand was unknown to him, and the post-mark was so faint
and illegible that he could not decipher it. He looked into the sides
of the letter, and the few words which he could read whetted his
curiosity.
"I'm afraid, Barney, that I must open it."
"Good luck to your honour, then, and may it prove so."
The letter was opened, and the contents threw a gleam of pleasure, which
had been rarely seen of late on the brow of the reader. His wife had
watched his countenance. "Barney," cried Rainscourt, with delight,
"call to-morrow, and I'll give you a guinea."
"Sure your honour's in luck, and me too," replied Barney, grinning, and
backing out of the room. "I'll go take my bating at once."
But, to explain the contents of this letter, we must narrate events of
which we have lost sight in following up the naval career of our hero.
About three weeks after the death of Admiral de Courcy, the
line-of-battle ship in which old Adams had sailed with our hero under
his protection, returned into port. The vicar, who anxiously awaited
her arrival, immediately proceeded there, that he might claim Willy in
the capacity of his guardian. Having obtained the address of Captain
M---, he called upon him, and opened his case by requesting that the boy
might be permitted to come on shore. He was proceeding to narrate the
change which had taken place in his ward's prospects, when he was
interrupted by Captain M---, who, first detailing the death of old
Adams, and the conduct of Willy, stated that he had sent the boy home in
the prize for an outfit. It was with great feeling that Captain
M--- was forced to add the apparent certainty, that the vessel, which
had never been heard of, had foundered at sea. Shocked at the
intelligence, which was communicated at a moment when his heart was
expanded, at the idea of having been instrumental in repairing the
injustice and neglect which had been shown towards his _protege_, the
vicar, not caring to mention to a stranger the family particulars upon
which his request had been grounded, withdrew, without even giving his
name or address. Three years afterwards, when, as we have narrated, our
hero again made his appearance, Captain M--- had no clue to guide him,
by which he might communicate the intelligence of his recovery to one
whom he naturally concluded did not make such inquiries without having
some interest in our hero's welfare.
The vicar, in the mean time, although he had every reason to believe
that Willy was no more, resorted to every means that his prudence could
suggest to ascertain the positive fact. For many months the most strict
inquiries were set afloat by his agents, whether a captured vessel had
been wrecked on the French coast. The prisoners at Verdun and other
depots were examined--rewards were offered, by emissaries in France, for
the discovery of the boy, but without success. Having waited two years,
all hope became extinct, and the letter now received by Mr Rainscourt
was from the vicar, acquainting him with the circumstances, and
surrendering up the property to him, as next of kin.
"Pray, Mr Rainscourt, may I ask the contents of a letter, the perusal
of which not only makes you so generous, but implies that you expect to
have the means of being so?"
When happy ourselves, especially when unexpectedly so, we feel kindly
disposed towards others. For a moment Rainscourt seemed to have
forgotten all his differences with his wife; and he as readily imparted
to her his good fortune as he had, on a previous occasion, his
disappointment.
"My dear Clara, the grandchild is dead, and we have possession of the
property."
"My dear Clara!" Such an epithet had never been used since the first
week of their marriage. Overcome by the joyful intelligence, but more
overcome by the kind expression of her husband, which recalled the days
when she fondly loved. Mrs Rainscourt burst into tears, and throwing
herself down with her face on his knees, poured out, in sobs, her
gratitude to Heaven, and her revived affection for her husband.
Their daughter Emily, now ten years old, astonished at so unusual a
scene, ran up, impelled as it were by instinct, and completed the family
group, by clinging to her father. Rainscourt, who was affected, kissed
the brow of the child, and congratulated her on becoming an heiress.
"I never knew before that money would do so much good," observed the
child, referring to the apparent reconciliation of her parents.
Mrs Rainscourt rose from her position, and sat down at the table,
leaning her face upon her hands. "I am afraid that it has come too
late," said she, mournfully, as she recalled the years of indifference
and hostility which had preceded.
Mrs Rainscourt was correct in her supposition. Respect and esteem had
long departed, and without their aid, truant love was not to be
reclaimed. The feeling of renewed attachment was as transient as it was
sudden.
"I must be off to England immediately," observed the husband. "I
presume that I shall have no difficulty in obtaining money from the bank
when I show this letter. Old --- will be ready enough to thrust his
notes into my hands now."
"Shall we not go with you, Mr Rainscourt?"
"No; you had better remain here till I have arranged matters a little.
I must settle with three cursed money-lenders, and take up the bonds
from J---. Little scoundrel! he'll be civil enough."
"Well, Mr Rainscourt, it must, I suppose, be as you decide: but neither
Emily nor I are very well equipped in our wardrobes and you will not be
exactly competent to execute our commissions."
"And therefore shall execute none."
"Do you, then, mean to leave us here in rags and beggary, while you are
amusing yourself in London?" replied Mrs Rainscourt, with asperity.
"With your altered circumstances, you will have no want of society,
either male or _female_," continued the lady, with an emphasis upon the
last word--"and a wife will probably be an encumbrance."
"Certainly not such a kind and affectionate one as you have proved, my
dear," replied the gentleman, sarcastically; "nevertheless I must
decline the pleasure of your company till I have time to look about me a
little."
"Perhaps, Mr Rainscourt, now that you will be able to afford it, you
will prefer a separate establishment? If so, I am willing to accede to
any proposition you may be inclined to make."
"That's a very sensible remark of yours, my dear, and shall receive due
consideration."
"The sooner the better, sir," replied the piqued lady, as Mr Rainscourt
quitted the room.
"My dear child," said Mrs Rainscourt to her daughter, "you see how
cruelly your father treats me. He is a bad man, and you must never pay
attention to what he says."
"Papa told me just the same of you, mamma," replied the girl, "yesterday
morning, when you were walking in the garden."
"Did he! The wretch, to set my own child against me!" cried Mrs
Rainscourt, who had just been guilty of the very same offence which had
raised her choler against her husband.