“What card is this?--who left it?” said Mary, as she took up one from
her breakfast-table.
“It is a gentleman that came to the inn late last night, miss, and sent
a boy over to ask when he could pay his respects at the castle.”
“'Mr. Herman Merl,'--a name I never heard of,” muttered Mary to herself.
“Doubtless some stranger wishing to see the house. Say, whenever he
pleases, George; and order Sorrel to be ready, saddled and at the door,
within an hour. This must be a busy day,” said she, still speaking to
herself, as the servant left the room. “At Oughterard before one; a
meeting of the Loan Fund--I shall need some aid for my hospital; the
Government order for the meal to be countersigned by a justice--Mr.
Nelligan will do it. Then there 's Taite's little boy to be balloted
for in the Orphan House; and Cassidy's son to be sent up to Dublin.
Poor fellow, he has a terrible operation to go through. And I shall
need Priest Rafferty's name to this memorial from the widows; the castle
authorities seem to require it. After that, a visit to Kyle-a-Noe, to
see all my poor sick folk: that will be a long business. I hope I may be
able to get down to the shore and learn some tidings of poor Joan. She
never leaves my thoughts, and yet I feel that no ill has befallen her.”
“The gentleman that sent the card, miss, is below stairs. He is with Mr.
Crow, at the hall-door,” said George.
“Show him into the drawing-room, George, and tell Mr. Crow to come here,
I wish to speak to him.” And before Mary had put away the papers and
letters which littered the table, the artist entered.
“Good morning, Mr. Crow,” said Mary, in return for a number of most
courteous salutations, which he was performing in a small semicircle in
front of her. “Who is your friend Mr.--'Mr. Herman Merl '?” read she,
taking up the card.
“A friend of your cousin's, Miss Mary,--of the Captain's. He brought a
letter from him; but he gave it to Scanlan, and somehow Mr. Maurice, I
believe, forgot to deliver it.”
“I have no recollection of it,” said she, still assorting the papers
before her. “What is this visit meant for,--curiosity, pleasure,
business? Does he wish to see the house?”
“I think it's Miss Martin herself he'd like to see,” said Crow, half
slyly.
“But why so? It's quite clear that I cannot show him any attentions. A
young girl, living as I do here, cannot be expected to receive guests.
Besides, I have other things to attend to. You must do the honors of
Cro' Martin, Mr. Crow. You must entertain this gentleman for me. I 'll
order luncheon before I go out, and I 'm sure you 'll not refuse me this
service.”
“I wish I knew a real service to render you, Miss Mary,” said he, with
unfeigned devotedness in his look as he spoke.
“I think I could promise myself as much,” said Mary, smiling kindly on
him. “Do you happen to know anything of this stranger, Mr. Crow?”
“Nothing, miss, beyond seeing him this week back at Kilkieran.”
“Oh, I have heard of him, then,” broke in Mary. “It is of him the people
tell me such stories of benevolence and goodness. It was he that sent
the yawl out to Murran Island with oatmeal and potatoes for the poor.
But I thought they called him Mr. Barry?”
“To be sure they do; and he's another guess man from him below stairs.
This one here”--Mr. Crow now spoke in a whisper--“this one here is a
Jew, I 'd take the Testament on it, and I 'd not be surprised if he was
one of them thieving villains that they say robbed the Captain! All the
questions he does be asking about the property, and the rents, if they
're well paid, and what arrears there are, shows me that he isn't here
for nothing.”
“I know nothing of what you allude to, Mr. Crow,” said she, half
proudly; “it would ill become _me_ to pry into my cousin's affairs. At
the same time, if the gentleman has no actual business with me, I shall
decline to receive him.”
“He says he has, miss,” replied Crow. “He says that he wants to speak to
you about a letter he got by yesterday's post from the Captain.”
Mary heard this announcement with evident impatience; her head was,
indeed, too full of other cares to wish to occupy her attention with a
ceremonial visit. She was in no mood to accept the unmeaning compliments
of a new acquaintance. Shall we dare to insinuate, what after all is
a mere suspicion on our part, that a casual glance at her pale cheeks,
sunken eyes, and careworn features had some share in the obstinacy of
her refusal? She was not, indeed, “in looks,” and she knew it. “Must I
repeat it, Mr. Crow,” said she, peevishly, “that you can do all this for
me, and save me a world of trouble and inconvenience besides? If there
should be--a very unlikely circumstance--anything confidential to
communicate, this gentleman may write it.” And with this she left the
room, leaving poor Mr. Crow in a state of considerable embarrassment.
Resolving to make the best of his difficulty, he returned to the
drawing-room, and apologizing to Merl for Miss Martin's absence on
matters of great necessity, he conveyed her request that he would stop
for luncheon.
“She ain't afraid of me, I hope?” said Merl.
“I trust not. I rather suspect she is little subject to fear upon any
score,” replied Crow.
“Well, I must say it's not exactly what I expected. The letter I hold
here from the Captain gives me to understand that his cousin will not
only receive me, but confer with and counsel me, too, in a somewhat
important affair.”
“Oh, I forgot,” broke in Crow; “you are to write to her, she said,--that
is, if there really were anything of consequence, which you deemed
confidential, you know,--you were to write to her.”
“I never put my hand to paper, Mr. Crow, without well knowing why. When
Herman Merl signs anything, he takes time to consider what's in it,”
said the Jew, knowingly.
“Well, shall I show you the house,--there are some clever specimens of
the Dutch masters here?” asked Crow, anxious to change the topic.
“Ay, with all my heart. I suppose I must accept this privilege as my
experience of the much-boasted Irish hospitality,” said he with a sneer,
which required all Crow's self-control to resist answering. To master
the temptation, and give himself a few moments' repose, he went about
opening windows and drawing back curtains, so as to admit a fuller and
stronger light upon the pictures along the walls.
“There now,” said he, pointing to a large landscape, “there's a Both,
and a fine one too; as mellow in color and as soft in distance as ever
he painted.”
“That's a copy,” said the other. “That picture was painted by Woeffel,
and I 'll show you his initials, too, A. W., before we leave it.”
“It came from the Dordrecht gallery, and is an undoubted Both!”
exclaimed Crow, angrily.
“I saw it there myself, and in very suitable company, too, with a
Snyders on one side and a Rubens on t' other, the Snyders being a Faltk,
and the Rubens a Metziger; the whole three being positively dear at
twenty pounds. Ay, here it is,” continued he, pointing to the hollow
trunk of a decayed tree: “there's the initials. So much for your
original by Both.”
“I hope you'll allow that to be a Mieris?” said Crow, passing on to
another.
“If you hadn't opened the shutters, perhaps I might,” said Merl; “but
with a good dash of light I see it is by Jansens,--and a clever copy,
too.”
“A copy!” exclaimed the other.
“A good copy,” I said. “The King of Bavaria has the original. It is in the
small collection at Hohen Schwangau.”
“There, that's good!” cried he, turning to a small unfinished sketch in
oils.
“I often wondered who did it,” cried Crow.
“That! Why, can you doubt, sir? That's a bit of Vandyke's own. It was
one of the hundred and fifty rough things he threw off as studies for
his great picture of St. Martin parting his cloak.”
“I'm glad to hear you say so,” said Crow, in delight. “I felt, when I
looked at it, that it was a great hand threw in them colors.”
“You call this a Salvator Rosa, don't you?” said Merl, as he stood
before a large piece representing a bandit's bivouac in a forest, with a
pale moonlight stealing through the trees.
“Yes, that we do,” said Crow, stoutly.
“Of course, it's quite sufficient to have blended lights, rugged
foregrounds, and plenty of action to make a Salvator; but let me tell
you, sir, that it's not even a copy of him. It is a bad--ay, and a very
bad--Haemlens,--an Antwerp fellow that lived by poor facsimiles.”
“Oh dear, oh dear!” cried Crow, despairingly. “Did I ever hear the like
of this!”
“Are these your best things, Mr. Crow?” said Merl, surveying the room
with an air of consummate depreciation.
“There are others. There are some portraits and a number of small
cabinet pictures.”
“Gerard Dows, and Jansens, and such like?” resumed Merl; “I understand:
a mellow brown tint makes them, just as a glossy white satin petticoat
makes a Terburg. Mr. Crow, you 've caught a Tartar,” said he, with a
grin. “There's not a man in Europe can detect a copy from the original
sooner than him before you. Now seven out of every eight of these here
are veritable 'croûtes,'--what we call 'croûtes,' sir,--things sold at
Christie's, and sent off to the Continent to be hung up in old châteaux
in Flanders, or dilapidated villas in Italy, where your exploring
Englishman discovers them by rare good luck, and brings them home with
him as Cuyps or Claudes or Vandykes. I'll undertake,” said he, looking
around him,--“I'll undertake to furnish you with a gallery, in every
respect the duplicate of this, for--let me see--say three hundred
pounds. Now, Mr. Crow,” said Merl, taking a chair, and spreading out his
legs before the fire, “will you candidly answer me one question?”
“Tell me what it is,” said Crow, cautiously.
“I suppose by this time,” said Merl, “you are tolerably well satisfied
that Herman Merl is not very easily duped? I mean to say that at least
there are _softer_ fellows to be found than the humble individual who
addresses you.”
“I trust there are, indeed,” said the other, sighing, “or it would be a
mighty poor world for Simmy Crow and the likes of him.”
“Well, I think so too,” said Merl, chuckling to himself. “The wide-awake
ones have rather the best of it. But, to come back to my question, I
was simply going to ask you if the whole of the Martin estate--house,
demesne, woods, gardens, quarries, farms, and fisheries--was not pretty
much of the same sort of thing as this here gallery?”
“How? What do you mean?” asked Crow, whose temper was barely, and with
some difficulty, restrainable.
“I mean, in plain words, a regular humbug,--that's all! and no more the
representative of real value than these daubs here are the works of the
great masters whose names they counterfeit.”
“Look here, sir,” said Crow, rising, and approaching the other with a
face of angry indignation, “for aught I know, you may be right about
these pictures. The chances are you are a dealer in such wares,--at
least you talk like one,--but of the family that lived under this roof,
and whose bread I have eaten for many a day, if you utter one word that
even borders on disrespect,--if you as much as hint at--”
What was to be the conclusion of Mr. Crow's menace we have no means of
recording, for a servant, rushing in at the instant, summoned the artist
with all speed to Miss Martin's presence. He found her, as he entered,
with flushed cheeks and eyes flashing angrily, in one of the deep
recesses of a window that looked out upon the lawn.
“Come here, sir,” cried she, hurriedly,--“come here, and behold a sight
such as you scarcely ever thought to look upon from these windows. Look
here!” And she pointed to an assemblage of about a hundred people,
many of whom were rudely armed with stakes, gathered around the chief
entrance of the castle. In the midst was a tall man, mounted upon a
wretched horse, who seemed from his gestures to be haranguing the mob,
and whom Crow speedily recognized to be Magennis of Barnagheela.
“What does all this mean?” asked he, in astonishment.
“It means this, sir,” said she, grasping his arm and speaking in a voice
thick from passionate eagerness. “That these people whom you see there
have demanded the right to enter the house and search it from basement
to roof. They are in quest of one that is missing; and although I have
given my word of honor that none such is concealed here, they have dared
to disbelieve me, and declare they will see for themselves. They might
know me better,” added she, with a bitter smile,--“they might know me
better, and that I no more utter a falsehood than I yield to a menace.
See!” exclaimed she, “they are passing through the flower-garden,--they
are approaching the lower windows. Take a horse, Mr. Crow, and ride for
Kiltimmon; there is a police-station there,--bring up the force with
you,--lose no time, I entreat you.”
“But how--leave you here all alone?”
“Have no fears on that score, sir,” said she, proudly; “they may insult
the roof that shelters me, to myself they will offer no outrage. But be
quick; away at once, and with speed!”
Had Mr. Crow been, what it must be owned had been difficult, a worse
horseman than he was, he would never have hesitated to obey this behest.
Ere many minutes, therefore, he was in the saddle and flying across
country at a pace such as he never imagined any energy could have
exacted from him.
“They have got a ladder up to the windows of the large drawing-room,
Miss Mary,” said a servant; “they'll be in before many minutes.”
Taking down two splendidly ornamented pistols from above the
chimney-piece, Mary examined the priming, and ordering the servant away,
she descended by a small private stair to the drawing-room beneath.
Scarcely, however, had she crossed the threshold than she was met by
a man eagerly hurrying away. Stepping back in astonishment, and with a
face pale as death, he exclaimed, “Is it Miss Martin?”
“Yes, sir,” replied she, firmly; “and your name?”
“Mr. Merl--Herman Merl,” said he, with a stealthy glance towards
the windows, on the outside of which two fellows were now seated,
communicating with those below.
“This is not a moment for much ceremony, sir,” said she, promptly; “but
you are here opportunely. These people will have it that I am harboring
here one that they are in pursuit of. I have assured them of their
error, I have pledged my word of honor upon it, but they are not
satisfied. They declare that they will search the house, and _I_ as
firmly declare they-shall not.”
“But the person is really not here?” broke in Merl.
“I have said so, sir,” rejoined she, haughtily.
“Then why not let them search? Egad, I'd say, look away to your heart's
content, pry into every hole and corner you please, only don't do any
mischief to the furniture--don't let any--”
“I was about to ask your assistance, sir, but your counsel saves me from
the false step. To one who proffers such wise advice, arguments like
these”--and she pointed to the pistols--“arguments like these would be
most distasteful; and yet let us see if others may not be of your mind
too.” And steadily aiming her weapon for a second or two, she sent
a ball through the window, about a foot above the head of one of the
fellows without. Scarcely had the report rung out and the splintering
glass fallen, than the two men leaped to the ground, while a wild cheer,
half derision, half anger, burst from the mob beneath. “Now, sir,”
continued she, with a smile of a very peculiar meaning, as she turned
towards Merl,--“now, sir, you will perceive that you have got into very
indiscreet company, such as I 'm sure Captain Martin's letter never
prepared you for; and although it is not exactly in accordance with the
usual notions of Irish hospitality to point to the door, perhaps you
will be grateful to me when I say that you can escape by that corridor.
It leads to a stair which will conduct you to the stable-yard. I'll
order a saddle-horse for you. I suppose you ride?” And really the glance
which accompanied these words was not a flattery.
[Illustration: 222]
However the proposition might have met Mr.' Merl's wishes there is no
means of knowing, for a tremendous crash now interrupted the colloquy,
and the same instant the door of the drawing-room was burst open, and
Magennis, followed by a number of country people, entered.
“I told you,” cried he, rudely, “that I'd not be denied. It's your own
fault if you would drive me to enter here by force.”
“Well, sir, force has done it,” said she, taking a seat as she spoke. “I
am here alone, and you may be proud of the achievement!” The glance she
directed towards Merl made that gentleman shrink back, and eventually
slide noiselessly from the room, and escape from the scene altogether.
“If you'll send any one with me through the house, Miss Martin,” began
Magennis, in a tone of much subdued meaning--“No, sir,” broke she
in--“no, sir, I'll give no such order. You have already had my solemn
word of honor, assuring you that there was not any one concealed
here. The same incredulous disrespect you have shown to my word would
accompany whatever direction I gave to my servants. Go wherever you
please; for the time you are the master here. Mark me, sir,” said she,
as, half crestfallen and in evident shame, he was about to move from
the room--“mark me, sir, if I feel sorry that one who calls himself
a gentleman should dishonor his station by discrediting the word, the
plighted word, of a lady, yet I can forgive much to him whose feelings
are under the impulse of passion. But how shall I speak my contempt
for _you_,”--and she turned a withering look of scorn on the men who
followed him,--“for you, who have dared to come here to insult me,--I,
that if you had the least spark of honest manhood in your natures, you
had died rather than have offended? Is this your requital for the part I
have borne amongst you? Is it thus that you repay the devotion by which
I have squandered all that I possessed, and would have given my life,
too, for you and yours? Is it thus, think you, that your mothers and
wives and sisters would requite me? Or will they welcome you back from
your day's work, and say, Bravely done? You have insulted a lone girl in
her home, outraged the roof whence she never issued save to serve you,
and taught her to believe that the taunts your enemies cast upon you,
and which she once took as personal affronts to herself, that they are
just and true, and as less than you merited. Go back, men,” added she,
in a voice trembling with emotion,--“go back, while it is time. Go back
in shame, and let me never know who has dared to offer me this insult!”
And she hid her face between her hands, and bent down her head upon her
lap. For several minutes she remained thus, overwhelmed and absorbed by
intensely painful emotion, and when she lifted up her head, and looked
around, they were gone! A solemn silence reigned on every side; not a
word, nor a footfall, could be heard. She rushed to the window just in
time to see a number of men slowly entering the wood, amidst whom she
recognized Magennis, leading his horse by the bridle, and following the
others, with bent-down head and sorrowful mien.
“Oh, thank Heaven for this!” cried she, passionately, as the tears
gushed out and coursed down her face. “Thank Heaven that they are not as
others call them--cold-hearted and treacherous, craven in their hour of
trial, and cruel in the day of their vengeance! I knew them better!”
It was long before she could sufficiently subdue her emotion to think
calmly of what had occurred. At last she bethought her of Mr. Merl, and
despatched a servant in his pursuit, with a polite request that he would
return. The man came up with Merl as he had reached the small gate
of the park, but no persuasions, no entreaties, could prevail on that
gentleman to retrace his steps; nay, he was frank enough to say, “He
had seen quite enough of the West,” and to invoke something very unlike
benediction on his head if he ever passed another day in Galway.