And now, Laertes, what's the news with you?
You told us of some suit: what is't, Laertes?
He hath, my lord, wrung from me my slow' leave
By laboursome petition; and at last,
Upon his will I sealed my hard consent.
Horatio. There's no offence, my lord.
Hamlet. Yes, by Saint Patrick, but there is, Horatio,
And much offence too.
--Hamlet.
|THE Macnamara had been led away from his companionship in that old oak
room by the time his son and Miss Gerald returned from the garden,
and the consciousness of his own dignity seemed to have increased
considerably since they had left him. This emotion was a variable
possession with him: any one acquainted with his habits could without
difficulty, from knowing the degree of dignity he manifested at any
moment, calculate minutely the space of time, he must of necessity have
spent in a room furnished similarly to that he had just now left.
He was talking pretty loudly in the room to which he had been led by
Mr. Gerald when Daireen and Standish entered; and beside him was a
whitehaired old lady whom Standish greeted as Mrs. Gerald and the girl
called grandmamma--an old lady with very white hair but with large dark
eyes whose lustre remained yet undimmed.
“Standish will reveal the mystery,” said this old lady, as the young
man shook hands with her. “Your father has been speaking in proverbs,
Standish, and we want your assistance to read them.”
“He is my son,” said The Macnamara, waving his hand proudly and lifting
up his head. “He will hear his father speak on his behalf. Head of the
Geralds, Gerald-na-Tor, chief of the hills, the last of The Macnamaras,
king's of Munster, Innishdermot, and all islands, comes to you.”
“And I am honoured by his visit, and glad to find him looking so well.”
said Mr. Gerald. “I am only sorry you can't make it suit you to come
oftener, Macnamara.”
“It's that boy Eugene that's at fault,” said The Macnamara, dropping so
suddenly into a colloquial speech from his eloquent Ossianic strain
that one might have been led to believe his opening words were somewhat
forced. “Yes, my lad,” he continued, addressing Mr. Gerald; “that Eugene
is either breaking the springs or the straps or his own bones.” Here
he recollected that his mission was not one to be expressed in this
ordinary vein. He straightened himself in an instant, and as he went on
asserted even more dignity than before. “Gerald, you know my position,
don't you? and you know your 'own; but you can't say, can you, that The
Macnamara ever held himself aloof from your table by any show of pride?
I mixed with you as if we were equals.”
Again he waved his hand patronisingly, but no one showed the least sign
of laughter. Standish was in front of one of the windows leaning his
head upon his hand as he looked out to the misty ocean. “Yes, I've
treated you at all times as if you had been born of the land, though
this ground we tread on this moment was torn from the grasp of The
Macnamaras by fraud.”
“True, true--six hundred years ago,” remarked Mr. Gerald. He had been
so frequently reminded of this fact during his acquaintance with The
Macnamara, he could afford to make the concession he now did.
“But I've not let that rankle in my heart,” continued The Macnamara;
“I've descended to break bread with you and to drink--drink water with
you--ay, at times. You know my son too, and you know that if he's not
the same as his father to the backbone, it's not his father that's
to blame for it. It was the last wish of his poor mother--rest her
soul!--that he should be schooled outside our country, and you know that
I carried out her will, though it cost me dear. He's been back these
four years, as you know--what's he looking out at at the window?--but
it's only three since he found out the pearl of the Lough Suangorm--the
diamond of Slieve Docas--the beautiful daughter of the Geralds. Ay, he
confessed to me this morning where his soft heart had turned, poor
boy. Don't be blushing, Standish; the blood of the Macnamaras shouldn't
betray itself in their cheeks.”
Standish had started away from the window before his father had ended;
his hands were clenched, and his cheeks were burning with shame. He
could not fail to see the frown that was settling down upon the face of
Mr. Gerald. But he dared not even glance towards Daireen.
“My dear Macnamara, we needn't talk on this subject any farther just
now,” said the girl's grandfather, as the orator paused for an instant.
But The Macnamara only gave his hand another wave before he proceeded.
“I have promised my boy to make him happy,” he said, “and you know what
the word of a Macnamara is worth even to his son; so, though I confess
I was taken aback at first, yet I at last consented to throw over my
natural family pride and to let my boy have his way. An alliance between
the Macnamaras and the Geralds is not what would have been thought about
a few years ago, but The Macnamaras have always been condescending.”
“Yes, yes, you condescend to a jest now and again with us, but really
this is a sort of mystery I have no clue to,” said Mr. Gerald.
“Mystery? Ay, it will astonish the world to know that The Macnamara
has given his consent to such an alliance; it must be kept secret for
a while for fear of its effects upon the foreign States that have their
eyes upon all our steps. I wouldn't like this made a State affair at
all.”
“My dear Macnamara, you are usually very lucid,” said Mr. Gerald, “but
to-day I somehow cannot arrive at your meaning.”
“What, sir?” cried The Macnamara, giving his head an angry twitch.
“What, sir, do you mean to tell me that you don't understand that I
have given my consent to my son taking as his wife the daughter of the
Geralds?--see how the lovely Daireen blushes like a rose.”
Daireen was certainly blushing, as she left her seat and went over to
the farthest end of the room. But Standish was deadly pale, his lips
tightly closed.
“Macnamara, this is absurd--quite absurd!” said Mr. Gerald, hastily
rising. “Pray let us talk no more in such a strain.”
Then The Macnamara's consciousness of his own dignity asserted itself.
He drew himself up and threw back his head. “Sir, do you mean to put
an affront upon the one who has left his proper station to raise your
family to his own level?”
“Don't let us quarrel, Macnamara; you know how highly I esteem you
personally, and you know that I have ever looked upon the family of the
Macnamaras as the noblest in the land.”
“And it is the noblest in the land. There's not a drop of blood in our
veins that hasn't sprung from the heart of a king,” cried The Macnamara.
“Yes, yes, I know it; but--well, we will not talk any further to-day.
Daireen, you needn't go away.”
“Heavens! do you mean to say that I haven't spoken plainly enough,
that----”
“Now, Macnamara, I must really interrupt you----”
“Must you?” cried the representative of the ancient line, his face
developing all the secret resources of redness it possessed. “Must you
interrupt the hereditary monarch of the country where you're but an
immigrant when he descends to equalise himself with you? This is the
reward of condescension! Enough, sir, you have affronted the family that
were living in castles when your forefathers were like beasts in caves.
The offer of an alliance ought to have come from you, not from me; but
never again will it be said that The Macnamara forgot what was due to
him and his family. No, by the powers, Gerald, you'll never have the
chance again. I scorn you; I reject your alliance. The Macnamara seats
himself once more upon his ancient throne, and he tramples upon you all.
Come, my son, look at him that has insulted your family--look at him for
the last time and lift up your head.”
The grandeur with which The Macnamara uttered this speech was
overpowering. He had at its conclusion turned towards poor Standish, and
waved his hand in the direction of Mr. Gerald. Then Standish seemed to
have recovered himself.
“No, father, it is you who have insulted this family by talking as you
have done,” he cried passionately.
“Boy!” shouted The Macnamara. “Recreant son of a noble race, don't
demean yourself with such language!”
“It is you who have demeaned our family,” cried the son still more
energetically. “You have sunk us even lower than we were before.” Then
he turned imploringly towards Mr. Gerald. “You know--you know that I am
only to be pitied, not blamed, for my father's words,” he said quietly,
and then went to the door.
“My dear boy,” said the old lady, hastening towards him.
“Madam!” cried The Macnamara, raising his arm majestically to stay her.
She stopped in the centre of the room. Daireen had also risen, her pure
eyes full of tears as she grasped her grandfather's hand while he laid
his other upon her head.
From the door Standish looked with passionate gratitude back to the
girl, then rushed out.
But The Macnamara stood for some moments with his head elevated, the
better to express the scorn that was in his heart. No one made a motion,
and then he stalked after his son.