FAIR ARGUMENTS.
As Mollett left the house he saw two men walking down the road
away from the sweep before the hall door, and as he passed them he
recognised one as the young gentleman of the house. He also saw that
a horse followed behind them, on the grass by the roadside, not led
by the hand, but following with the reins laid loose upon his neck.
They took no notice of him or his car, but allowed him to pass as
though he had no concern whatever with the destinies of either of
them. They were Herbert and Owen Fitzgerald.
The reader will perhaps remember the way in which Owen left Desmond
Court on the occasion of his last visit there. It cannot be said
that what he had heard had in any way humbled him, nor indeed had it
taught him to think that Clara Desmond looked at him altogether with
indifference. Greatly as she had injured him, he could not bring
himself to look upon her as the chief sinner. It was Lady Desmond who
had done it all. It was she who had turned against him because of his
poverty, who had sold her daughter to his rich cousin, and robbed
him of the love which he had won for himself. Or perhaps not of
the love--it might be that this was yet his; and if so, was it not
possible that he might beat the countess at her own weapons? Thinking
over this, he felt that it was necessary for him to do something, to
take some step; and therefore he resolved to go boldly to his cousin,
and tell him that he regarded Lady Clara Desmond as still his own.
On this morning, therefore, he had ridden up to the Castle Richmond
door. It was now many months since he had been there, and he was
no longer entitled to enter the house on the acknowledged intimate
footing of a cousin. He rode up, and asked the servant with grave
ceremony whether Mr. Herbert Fitzgerald were at home. He would not go
in, he said, but if Mr. Herbert were there he would wait for him at
the porch. Herbert at the time was standing in the dining-room, all
alone, gloomily leaning against the mantelpiece. There was nothing
for him to do during the whole of that day but wait for the evening,
when the promised revelation would be made to him. He knew that
Mollett and Mrs. Jones were with Mr. Prendergast in the study, but
what was the matter now being investigated between them--that he did
not know. And till he knew that, closely as he was himself concerned,
he could meddle with nothing. But it was already past noon and the
evening would soon be there.
In this mood he was interrupted by being told that his cousin Owen
was at the door. "He won't come in at all, Mr. Herbert," Richard
had said; for Richard, according to order, was still waiting about
the porch; "but he says that you are to go to him there." And then
Herbert, after considering the matter for a moment, joined his cousin
at the front entrance.
"I want to speak to you a few words," said Owen; "but as I hear that
Sir Thomas is not well, I will not go into the house; perhaps you
will walk with me as far as the lodge. Never mind the mare, she will
not go astray." And so Herbert got his hat and accompanied him. For
the first hundred yards neither of them said anything. Owen would not
speak of Clara till he was well out of hearing from the house, and
at the present moment Herbert had not much inclination to commence a
conversation on any subject.
Owen was the first to speak. "Herbert," said he, "I have been told
that you are engaged to marry Lady Clara Desmond."
"And so I am," said Herbert, feeling very little inclined to admit
of any question as to his privilege in that respect. Things were
happening around him which might have--Heaven only knows what
consequence. He did fear--fear with a terrible dread that something
might occur which would shatter the cup of his happiness, and rob him
of the fruition of his hopes. But nothing had occurred as yet. "And
so I am," he said; "it is no wonder that you should have heard it,
for it has been kept no secret. And I also have heard of your visit
to Desmond Court. It might have been as well, I think, if you had
stayed away."
"I thought differently," said Owen, frowning blackly. "I thought that
the most straightforward thing for me was to go there openly, having
announced my intention, and tell them both, mother and daughter,
that I hold myself as engaged to Lady Clara, and that I hold her as
engaged to me."
"That is absurd nonsense. She cannot be engaged to two persons."
"Anything that interferes with you, you will of course think absurd.
I think otherwise. It is hardly more than twelve months since she and
I were walking there together, and then she promised me her love. I
had known her long and well, when you had hardly seen her. I knew her
and loved her; and what is more, she loved me. Remember, it is not I
only that say so. She said it herself, and swore that nothing should
change her. I do not believe that anything has changed her."
"Do you mean to say that at present she cares nothing for me? Owen,
you must be mad on this matter."
"Mad; yes, of course; if I think that any girl can care for me while
you are in the way. Strange as it may appear, I am as mad even as
that. There are people who will not sell themselves even for money
and titles. I say again, that I do not believe her to be changed.
She has been weak, and her mother has persuaded her. To her mother,
rank and money, titles and property, are everything. She has sold
her daughter, and I have come to ask you, whether, under such
circumstances, you intend to accept the purchase."
In his ordinary mood Herbert Fitzgerald was by no means a quarrelsome
man. Indeed we may go further than that, and say that he was very
much the reverse. His mind was argumentative rather than impulsive,
and in all matters he was readier to persuade than overcome. But his
ordinary nature had been changed. It was quite new with him to be
nervous and fretful, but he was so at the present moment. He was
deeply concerned in the circumstances around him, but yet had been
allowed no voice in them. In this affair that was so peculiarly his
own,--this of his promised bride, he was determined that no voice
should be heard but his own; and now, contrary to his wont, he was
ready enough to quarrel with his cousin.
Of Owen we may say, that he was a man prone to fighting of all sorts,
and on all occasions. By fighting I do not mean the old-fashioned
resource of putting an end to fighting by the aid of two pistols,
which were harmless in nineteen cases out of twenty. In saying that
Owen Fitzgerald was prone to fight, I do not allude to fighting of
that sort; I mean that he was impulsive, and ever anxious to contend
and conquer. To yield was to him ignoble, even though he might know
that he was yielding to the right. To strive for mastery was to
him noble, even though he strove against those who had a right to
rule, and strove on behalf of the wrong. Such was the nature of his
mind and spirit; and this nature had impelled him to his present
enterprise at Castle Richmond. But he had gone thither with an
unwonted resolve not to be passionate. He had, he had said to
himself, right on his side, and he had purposed to argue it out
fairly with his more cold-blooded cousin. The reader may probably
guess the result of these fair arguments on such a subject. "And I
have come to ask you," he said, "whether under such circumstances you
intend to accept the purchase?"
"I will not allow you to speak of Lady Desmond in such language; nor
of her daughter," said Herbert, angrily.
"Ah! but, Herbert, you must allow me; I have been ill used in this
matter, and I have a right to make myself heard."
"Is it I that have ill used you? I did not know before that gentlemen
made loud complaints of such ill usage from the hands of ladies."
"If the ill usage, as you please to call it--"
"It is your own word."
"Very well. If this ill usage came from Clara Desmond herself, I
should be the last person to complain of it; and you would be the
last person to whom I should make complaint. But I feel sure that it
is not so. She is acting under the influence of her mother, who has
frightened her into this thing which she is doing. I do not believe
that she is false herself."
"I am sure that she is not false. We are quite agreed there, but it
is not likely that we should agree further. To tell you the truth
frankly I think you are ill-judged to speak to me on such a topic."
"Perhaps in that respect you will allow me to think for myself. But I
have not yet said that which I came to say. My belief is that unfair
and improper restraint is put upon Clara Desmond, that she has been
induced by her mother to accept your offer in opposition to her
own wishes, and that therefore it is my duty to look upon her as
still betrothed to me. I do so regard her, and shall act under such
conviction. The first thing that I do therefore is to call upon you
to relinquish your claim."
"What, to give her up?"
"Yes, to give her up;--to acknowledge that you cannot honestly call
upon her to fulfil her pledge to you."
"The man must be raving," Herbert said.
"Very probably; but remember this, it may be that he will rave to
some purpose, when such insolence will be but of little avail to you.
Raving! Yes, I suppose that a man poor as I am must be mad indeed to
set his heart upon anything that you may choose to fancy."
"All that is nonsense; Owen, I ask for nothing but my own. I won her
love fairly, and I mean to keep it firmly."
"You may possibly have won her hand, but never her heart. You are
rich, and it may be that even she will condescend to barter her hand;
but I doubt it; I altogether doubt it. It is her mother's doing, as
it was plain enough for me to see the other day at Desmond Court; but
much as she may fear her mother, I cannot think that she will go to
the altar with a lie in her mouth."
And then they walked on in silence for a few yards. Herbert was
anxious to get back to the house, and was by no means desirous of
continuing this conversation with his cousin. He at any rate could
get nothing by talking about Lady Clara Desmond to Owen Fitzgerald.
He stopped therefore on the path, and said, that if Owen had nothing
further to say, he, Herbert, would go back to the house.
"Nothing further! Nothing further, if you understand me; but you
do not. You are not honest enough in this matter to understand any
purpose but your own."
"I tell you what, Owen: I did not come out here to hear myself
abused; and I will not stand it. According to my idea you had no
right whatever to speak to me about Lady Clara Desmond. But you are
my cousin; and therefore I have borne it. It may be as well that we
should both understand that it is once for all. I will not listen to
you again on the same subject."
"Oh, you won't. Upon my word you are a very great man! You will tell
me next, I suppose, that this is your demesne, and will warn me off!"
"Even if I did that, I should not be wrong, under such provocation."
"Very well, sir; then I will go off. But remember this, Herbert
Fitzgerald, you shall live to rue the day when you treated me with
such insolence. And remember this also, Clara Desmond is not your
wife as yet. Everything now seems happy with you, and fortunate; you
have wealth and a fine house, and a family round you, while I am
there all alone, left like a dog, as far as my own relatives are
concerned. But yet it may come to pass that the Earl of Desmond's
daughter will prefer my hand to yours, and my house to your house.
They who mount high may chance to get a fall." And then, having
uttered this caution, he turned to his mare, and putting his hand
upon the saddle, jumped into his seat, and pressing her into a
gallop, darted off across the grass.
He had not meant anything specially by his threat; but his heart was
sore within him. During some weeks past, he had become sick of the
life that he was leading. He had begun to hate his own solitary
house--his house that was either solitary, or filled with riot and
noise. He sighed for the quiet hours that were once his at Desmond
Court, and the privilege of constant entrance there, which was now
denied him. His cousin Herbert had everything at his command--wealth,
station, family ties, society, and all the consideration of high
place. Every blessing was at the feet of the young heir; but every
blessing was not enough, unless Clara Desmond was also added. All
this seemed so cruel to him, as he sat alone in his parlour at Hap
House, meditating on his future course of life! And then he would
think of Clara's promise, of her assurance that nothing should
frighten her from her pledge. He thought of this as though the words
had been spoken to him only yesterday. He pondered over these things
till he hated his cousin Herbert; and hating him, he vowed that Clara
Desmond should not be his wife. "Is he to have everything?" he would
say to himself. "No, by heavens! not everything. He has enough, and
may be contented; but he shall not have all." And now, with similar
thoughts running through his mind, he rode back to Hap House.
And Herbert turned back to Castle Richmond. As he approached the
front door, he met Mr. Prendergast, who was leaving the house; but
they had no conversation with each other. Herbert was in hopes that
he might now, at once, be put out of suspense. Mollett was gone; and
would it not be better that the tale should be told? But it was clear
that Mr. Prendergast had no intention of lessening by an hour the
interval he had given himself. He merely muttered a few words passing
on, and Herbert went into the house.
And then there was another long, tedious, dull afternoon. Herbert sat
with his sisters, but they had not the heart to talk to each other.
At about four a note was brought to him. It was from Mr. Prendergast,
begging Herbert to meet him in Sir Thomas's study at eight. Sir
Thomas had not been there during the day; and now did not intend to
leave his own room. They dined at half-past six; and the appointment
was therefore to take place almost immediately after dinner.
"Tell Mr. Prendergast that I will be there," he said to the servant.
And so that afternoon passed away, and the dinner also, very slowly
and very sadly.