With a bright flie upon his hook,
He played mankind, as anglers play a fish.
COTTER.
An hour's sleep and a cold bath restored Linton to himself, and ere the
guests of Tubbermore were stirring, he was up and ready for the day.
He dressed with more than usual care, and having ordered a horse to
be saddled and a groom to follow him, he sauntered out into the park,
taking the road that led to the village.
The groom rapidly overtook him; and then, mounting, he rode at a brisk
trot down the road, and drew up at the door of the doctor's house. To
his question, “If Mr. Tiernay were at home?” he received for answer,
that “He had set out for Limerick that morning;” nor did the servant
know when he might be expected back.
For a moment this intelligence appeared to derange his plans; but he
rallied soon, and turning his horse's head towards Tubbermore, muttered
to himself, “As well,--perhaps better as it is.” He rode fast till he
gained the wood, and then dismounting, he gave the horse to the groom,
with directions to go home, as he would return on foot.
He stood looking after the horses as they retired, and it seemed as
if his thoughts were following them, so intent was his gaze; but, long
after they had disappeared, he remained standing in the same place, his
features still wearing the same expression of highly-wrought occupation.
The spot where he stood was a little eminence, from which the view
stretched, upon one side, over the waving woods of the demesne, and, on
the other, showed glimpses of the Shannon, as, in its sweeping curves,
it indented the margin of the grounds. Perhaps not another point could
be found which displayed so happily the extent and importance of
the demesne, and yet concealed so well whatever detracted from its
picturesque effect. The neighboring village of Derra-heeny--a poor,
straggling, ruinous street of thatched hovels, like most Irish
villages--was altogether hidden from view; while of the great house
itself,--an object with few pretensions to architectural elegance,--only
so much was visible as indicated its size and extent. The little
cottage of Tubber-beg, however, could be seen entire, glittering in the
morning's sun like a gem, its bright-leaved hollies and dark laurels
forming a little grove of foliage in the midst of winter's barrenness.
If this was by far the most striking object of the picture, it was not
that which attracted most of Linton's attention. On the contrary, his
eye ranged more willingly over the wide woods which stretched for miles
along the river's side, and rose and fell in many a gentle undulation
inland. A commonplace observer, had such been there to mark him, would
have pronounced him one passionately devoted to scenery,--a man who
loved to watch the passing cloud-shadows of a landscape, enjoying with
all a painter's delight the varying tints, the graceful lines, the
sharp-thrown shadows, and the brilliant lights of a woodland picture; a
deeper physiognomist would, however, have seen that the stern stare
and the compressed lip, the intense preoccupation which every feature
exhibited, did not denote a mind bent upon such themes.
“Tom Linton, of Tubbermore,” said he, at length,--and it seemed as if
uttering the words gave relief to his overburdened faculties, for
his face relaxed, and his habitual easy smile returned to his
mouth,--“Linton, of Tubbermore; it sounds well, too.” And then the
great game! that game for which I have pined so long and wished so
ardently,--which I have stood by and seen others play and lose, where
I could have won,--ay, won rank, honor, station, and fame. The heaviest
curse that lies on men like me is to watch those who rise to eminence in
the world, and know their utter shallowness and incapacity. There will
soon be an end to that now.
“Stand by, gentlemen; make way, my Lords Charles and Harry; it is Tom
Linton's turn--not Linton the 'adventurer,' as you were gracious enough
to call him--not the bear-leader of a marquis, or the hanger-on of his
grace the duke, but your equal in rank and fortune--more than your equal
in other things; the man who knows you all thoroughly, not fancying
your deficiencies and speculating on your shortcomings, as your vulgar
adversaries, your men of cotton constituencies, are wont to do, but the
man who has seen you in your club and your drawing-room, who has eaten,
drunk, betted, played, and lived with you all! who knows your tactics
well, and can expound your 'aristocratic prejudices better than ever a
Quaker of them all!'--Not but,” said he, after a pause, “another line
would satisfy me equally. The peerage, with such a fortune as this,
is no inordinate ambition; a few years in the House, of that dogged,
unmanageable conduct Englishmen call independence--a capriciousness in
voting--the repute of refusing office, and so on. There's no originality
in the thought, but it succeeds as well as if there were! Besides, if
hard pressed, I can be a Romanist, and, as times go, with every party;
that is a strong claim. And why not Lord Linton? I have no doubt”--and
he laughed as he spoke this--“there _is_ a peerage in the family
already, if I only knew where to look for it!
“And now, sufficient of speculation! to open the campaign!” So saying,
he descended the knoll and took the path which led to the cottage. As
he drew near the wicket, he saw a man lounging beside it, in all that
careless indifference which an Irish peasant can assume, and soon
perceived it was Tom Keane, the gatekeeper.
“Good-morrow, Tom; how comes it you are up here so early?”
“'T is in throuble I am, your honer,” said he, taking off his hat, and
putting on that supplicating look so characteristic of his class. “The
master's going to turn me out of the little place beyant.”
“What for?”
“For nothing at all, your honer: that's just it; but ould Kennyfeck put
him up to it.”
“Up to what? That seems the whole question.”
“Your honer may remimber, that when you came here first, the cattle of
the neighbors was used to come and pick a mouthful of grass,--and poor
grass it was,--bekase there was no way of keeping them out. Well, when
the master came down, and all the people, by coorse the cows and pigs
couldn't be let in as afore; for, as the agint said, it was a disgrace
to see them under the nose of the quality, running about as if it was
Donnybrook fair! 'Don't let them appear here again, Tom Keane,' says he,
'or it will be worse for you.' And sorra one ever I let in since that,
till it was dark night. But ould Mr. Kennyfeck, the other evening, takes
it into his head to walk into the park, and comes right into a crowd
of two-year-old bulls, and did n't know a bit where he was, till a man
called out, 'Lie down on your face, for the love of the Virgin, or you
are a dead man! The bullsheens is comin'!' And down he lay, sure enough,
and hard work they had to get him up afterwards, for the herd went over
him as the man drov' them off; and what between bruises and fear, he
kept his bed two days; but the worst of it was, the spalpeens said
that they paid threepence apiece for the bullsheens every night for the
grass, and it was to me they gave it.”
“Which, of course, was untrue?” said Linton, smiling knowingly.
“By coorse it was!” said Tom, with a laugh, whose meaning there was no
mistaking; “and so, I 'm to be turned out of 'the gate,' and to lose my
few acres of ground, and be thrun on the wide world, just for sake of an
attorney!”
“It is very hard,--very hard indeed.”
“Is n't it now, your honer?”
“A case of destitution, completely; what the newspapers call
'extermination.'”
“Exactly, sir,--tarnination, and nothing less.”
“But how comes it that you are up here, on that account?”
“I was thinking, sir, if I saw Miss Mary, and could get her to spake a
word to the master,--they say she can do what she plazes with him.”
“Indeed!--who says so?”
“The servants' hall says it; and so does Mr. Corrigan's ould butler. He
towld me the other day that he hoped he 'd be claning the plate up at
the big house before he died.”
“How so?” said Linton, affecting not to catch the intention of the
remark.
“Just that he was to be butler at the hall when the master was married
to Miss Mary.”
“And so, I suppose, this is very likely to happen?”
“Sure yer honer knows betther than ignorant craytures like us; but faix,
if walking about in the moonlight there, among the flowers, and talking
together like whisperin', is any sign, I would n't wonder if it came
about.”
“Indeed! and they have got that far?”
“Ay, faith!” said Tom, with a significance of look only an Irishman or
an Italian can call up.
“Well, I had no suspicion of this,” said Linton, with a frankness meant
to invite further confidence.
“An' why would yer honer? Sure was n't it always on the evenings, when
the company was all together in the great house, that Mr. Cashel used
to steal down here and tie his horse to the wicket, and then gallop back
again at full speed, so that the servants towld me he was never missed
out of the room!”
“And does she like him,--do they say she likes him?”
“Not like him wid a place such as this!” said Tom, waving his hand
towards the wide-spreading fields and woods of the demesne. “Bathershin!
sure the Queen of England might be proud of it!”
“Very true,” said Linton, affecting to be struck by the shrewdness of
the speaker.
“See, now,” said Tom, who began to feel a certain importance from being
listened to, “I know faymales well, and so I ought! but take the nicest,
quietest, and most innocent one among them, and by my conscience ye 'll
see, 't is money and money's worth she cares for more nor the best man
that ever stepped! Tell her 'tis silk she'll be wearin', and goold
in her ears, and ye may be as ould and ogly as Tim Hogan at the cross
roods!”
“You have n't a good opinion of the fair sex, Thomas,” said Linton,
carelessly, for he was far less interested in his speculations than his
facts. “Well, as to your own case,--leave that in my hands. I may not
have all the influence of Miss Leicester, but I suspect that I can do
what you want on this occasion.” And without waiting for the profuse
expressions of his gratitude, Linton passed on and entered the garden,
through which a little path led directly to the door of the cottage.
“At breakfast, I suppose?” said Linton to the servant who received him.
“The master is, sir; but Miss Mary isn't well this morning.”
“Nothing of consequence, I hope?”
“Only a headache from fatigue, sir.” So saying, he ushered Linton, whose
visits were admitted on the most intimate footing, into the room where
Mr. Corrigan sat by himself at the breakfast-table.
“Alone, sir!” said Linton as he closed the door behind him, and
conveying in his look an air of surprise and alarm.
“Yes, Mr. Linton, almost the only time I remember to have been so for
many a year. My poor child has had a night of some anxiety, which,
although bearing well at the time, has exacted its penalty at last in a
slight attack of fever. It will, I trust, pass over in a few hours; and
you,--where have you been; they said you had been absent for a day or
two?”
“A very short ramble, sir,--one of business rather than pleasure. I
learned suddenly--by a newspaper paragraph, too--that a distant relative
of my mother's had died in the East, leaving a considerable amount
of property to myself; and so, setting out, I arrived at Limerick,
intending to sail for Liverpool, when, who should I meet, almost the
first person I saw, but my agent, just come in haste from London, to
confer with me on the subject. The meeting was so far agreeable, that it
saved me a journey I had no fancy for, and also put me in possession of
the desired information regarding the property. My agent, speaking
of course from imperfect knowledge, calls it a large--what a man like
myself would style--a very large fortune.”
“I give you joy, with all my heart,” cried Corrigan, grasping his hand
in both his, and shaking it cordially. “When wealth descends to men who
have shown their ability to maintain an honorable station without it,
the chances are greatly in favor of its being nobly and generously
employed.”
“How I hope that I may not disgrace your theory,” said Linton, “for I am
not ashamed to assert that I have fulfilled the first condition of the
category. With little else but good birth and a fair education, I had
to start in the race against others with every aid of fortune; and if I
have not reached a more elevated position, I can say that the
obstacle lay rather in my own scruples than my incapacity. I declined
Parliamentary life because I would not be a nominee; I had a glancing
suspicion that my time would come, too, when, without other check upon
my motives than the voice of conscience, I should stand in the British
Senate a free and independent member. If I have waited patiently for
this hour, I hope I have not abused the leisure interval, and that I may
bring to the public service something besides the zeal of one who feels
the importance of his trust.”
“There is no failure with intentions pure and honorable as these,” said
Corrigan, warmly. “It does not need your talents, Mr. Linton, to insure
success in such a path; one half of _your_ ability, so nobly backed,
would reach the goal. And now tell me, if I be not indiscreet in asking
some of your plans, what place do you mean to stand for?”
“Our good borough of Derraheeny,” said Linton, half smiling. “I am in
a measure committed to continue my canvass there, and, indeed, have
already entered into securities to keep my pledge. I see these words
sound a little mysteriously, but I intend to explain them; only I must
ask one favor of you. I hope, before I leave the room, to show that I
have, if not a claim upon your generosity, at least a plea to warrant
my request. My entreaty is this, that you will never divulge to any one
what I shall now tell you.”
“Pray, my dear friend, consider for a moment what you are asking. Why
make me the depositary of a secret? An old man, whose very years
are like 'fissures in the strong keep,' where mysteries should be
imprisoned.”
“Could I participate in your reasonings, my dear sir, there is yet
enough in the present instance to make it an exception. This is a matter
you ought to know for _your_ sake, and to keep secret for _mine_.”
“Then you have my promise,” said Corrigan, frankly.
“I 'll be brief with my explanation,” said Linton. “When there was
a design, some time back, of my accepting the representation of the
borough, Cashel offered me his property of Tubber-beg, on terms which
very nearly approached a gift. This--though at the time our relations
were those of the closest friendship--I refused; but, as I had made
some progress in my canvass of the borough, there was a difficulty in
abandoning the position; and so the matter hung, each hoping that the
other would suggest some arrangement that might satisfy both. This
fortunate device, however, was not to be discovered, and as, for some
time back, our intercourse had become gradually less intimate, the
chance of such a solution diminished daily.
“In this way the affair stood, when, a couple of mornings since, I felt
it my duty, as one who really felt an interest in him, to remonstrate
with Roland on a circumstance which, without any affectation of prudery,
would have gravely compromised himself, and, worse still, another
person. It was a case,--I know not exactly how to touch upon a matter
of such delicacy; enough if I say it was one where a persistence in his
conduct must have ended in disgrace to him, ruin and misery to another.
Poor thing! she is, indeed, to be pitied; and if there be extenuation
for such cases, hers is one to claim it. I knew her as Laura
Gardiner,--the handsomest creature I ever beheld. Well, well, it is a
theme I must not linger on. Cashel, so far from receiving my counsel as
I hoped, and indeed expected, resented it with anger and rudeness, and
even questioned the degree of intimacy on which I presumed to give my
unasked advice.
“I am fortunately a man of cool temper, and so I bore this ungenerous
return better than most others might; and seeing that it would possibly
be the last occasion I should ever have of giving even unwilling
counsel, I spoke to him freely and openly. I told him that his mode of
living, while derogatory to the hopes conceived of him, was one that
must end at last in ruin; that no fortune could stand his losses at
play, and the wasteful extravagance of his caprices. I pressed the
matter as strongly as I was able, and represented that his habits bore
no reference whatever to his income.
“'It is quite true,' said he, with a sneering tone; 'I cannot readily
forget I am chargeable with all these wasteful ways you speak of, nor
do I feel that I make any the slightest defence of myself, in regard
to habits where my generosity has been as lavish as it has been
ill-bestowed.'
“'I wish I knew if I understand you aright,' said I.
“'Your comprehension is of the quickest where there is question of a
favor to be received.'
“I did not trust myself with any answer to this speech, which I well
knew was a trait of his old buccaneer life. I withdrew, and hastening
to his law-agent, Kennyfeck, I at once arranged for the purchase of this
small property. The moment for me was propitious; they were in want of
ready money, and the treaty was completed the same day. There is the
title.”
As he spoke, he threw down the parchment deed upon the table, and lay
back in his chair, watching with intense delight the expression of
sadness and disappointment on Corrigan's features.
“Good heavens!” exclaimed the old man at last, “how deceived I have been
in him!”
“I confess that is what wounds me most in the whole transaction,” said
Linton, with a mock emotion in his manner. “One is well accustomed
through life to meet sordid motives in mere men of the world, and who
deem their low-born subtilty cleverness; but to find a young fellow,
beginning life with an ample fortune and a fair position, surrounded by
all the blandishments that wealth charms up--”
“Hold!” cried Corrigan, laying his hand on Linton's arm, “I cannot bear
this. It is not at my age, sir, that disappointments like these can be
borne easily. I have too short a time before me here to hope to recover
from such shocks.”
“I would not willingly give you pain, my dear sir; nor indeed, is this
the topic on which I am most anxious to address you. Another and a very
different interest led me hither this morning; and, although I have
thought long and maturely on the subject, I am as far as ever from
knowing how to approach it. My own unworthiness to what I aspire recoils
upon me at every instant, and nothing but the indulgent kindness with
which you have always regarded me could give me courage. Forgive me this
prolixity; I am like one who fears to plunge, lest he should never rise
again.”
“If my estimate of you be correct,” said the old man, laying his hand
upon Linton's, “the goal must needs be high to which you dare not
aspire.”
“It is indeed so!” cried Linton, as if carried away by an irresistible
emotion. “To me it means station, hope, worldly success, happiness,--ay,
life itself. I cannot longer tamper with your feelings, nor my own.
The ambition of which I speak, is to be your son; not alone in the
affectionate love which already I bear you, but by the closest and
dearest ties, to be bound to you in the same chain by which she is, who
owns all my heart and all my destiny.”
He stopped as if overcome; and Corrigan, compassionating the agitation
he seemed to suffer, said,--
“Be calm, my dear friend; this takes me by surprise. I was not in any
way prepared for such an announcement; nor have I courage to look at its
consequences; poor, old, companionless as I should be--”
“Nay, such cruelty was not in my thoughts. It was with far other
intentions I became possessed of the property; it was in the glorious
hope that it would be our home,--yours and mine together; not to render
your hearth desolate, but to give it another guest, whose duty would be
his title to be there.”
“Let me think,--let me reflect on this,--let me separate my own selfish
thoughts from the higher ones that should guide me. You have not spoken
to my daughter?”
“No, sir; I deemed the more honorable course to have your sanction; or,
if not that, to bury my sorrows in silence forever.”
“There is so much to consider, and I am so weak and infirm, so
inadequate to decide. Your proposal is a proud one for any girl,--I
know it; and we are proud, although poor. Ay, Mr. Linton, poor to very
necessity! If her affections were engaged by you, if I saw that your
high qualities had made the impression upon her that they have on me, I
own this offer would delight me; but can you say this is the case?”
“I hope, sir, I am not indifferent to Miss Leicester. The humble fortune
which has restrained me hitherto, and prevented my prosecuting an
attachment to which I felt I had no claim, exists no longer. I am
independent in means, as in opinion; and, however conscious of my
personal unworthiness, in all that regards station and condition I 'm
in a position to satisfy you. I only ask your sanction to address Miss
Leicester, to know, in fact, that if I should prove acceptable to _her_,
that _you_ will not look unfavorably upon me.”
“This appears most candid and fair on your part; and it is a time
when we must both use candor and fairness. Now, Mr. Linton, there
are circumstances which at this moment involve me in considerable
difficulty; I cannot enter into them just yet; but they may offer grave
obstacles to what you propose. I will, therefore, beg of you not to
press me for my answer. I see this delay is displeasing--”
“Nay, sir, I am ready to yield to anything you suggest; but is it not
possible that my assistance and advice might be of service in these
difficulties you speak of?”
“There is another point, Mr. Linton,--and I know you will think better
of me for all my frankness. Are your friends--your family I mean--aware
of this step of yours? are you certain of their concurrence in it?”
“I have few relatives living, sir,” said Linton, reddening; “but I
can answer for their participation in all that so nearly concerns my
happiness.”
“This evening, then; come to me this evening, then,” said Mr. Corrigan,
“and you shall hear my sentiments.”
“This is most kind; I can ask for nothing more,” said Linton; and, with
a most affectionate pressure of the old man's hand, departed.