“I think she will _see_ me,” said Davenport Dunn, to the old woman
servant who opened the door to him at the Kelletts' cottage, “if you
will tell her my name: Mr. Dunn,--Mr. Davenport Dunn.”
“She told me she 'd not see anybody, sir,” was the obdurate reply.
“Yes; but I think when you say who it is--”
“She would not see that young man that was in the regiment with her
brother, and he was here every day, wet or dry, to ask after her.”
“Well, take in my card now, and I 'll answer for it she'll not refuse
me.”
The old woman took the card half sulkily from his hand, and returned in
a few minutes to say that Miss Kellett would receive him.
Dressed in mourning of the very humblest and cheapest kind, and with all
the signs of recent suffering and sorrow about her, Sybella Kellett
yet received Mr. Dunn with a calm and quiet composure for which he was
scarcely prepared.
“If I have been importunate, Miss Kellett,” said he, “it is because I
desire to proffer my services to you. I feel assured that you will
not take ill this assistance on my part I would wish to be thought a
friend--”
“You were so to my father, sir,” said she, interrupting, while she held
her handkerchief to her eyes.
Dunn's face grew scarlet at these words, but, fortunately for him, she
could not see it.
“I had intended to have written to you, sir,” said she, with recovered
composure. “I tried to do so this morning, but my head was aching so
that I gave it up. I wanted your counsel, and indeed your assistance. I
have no need to tell you that I 'm left without means of support. I
do not want to burden relatives, with whom, besides, I have had no
intercourse for years; and my object was to ask if you could assist me
to a situation as governess, or, if not, to something more humble still.
I will not be difficult to please,” said she, smiling sadly, “for my
pretensions are of the very humblest.”
“I 'm aware how much you underrate them. I 'm no stranger to Miss
Kellett's abilities,” said Dunn, bowing.
She scarcely moved her head in acknowledgment of this speech, and went
on: “If you could insure me immediate occupation, it would serve to
extricate me from a little difficulty at this moment, and relieve me
from the embarrassment of declining ungraciously what I cannot accept
of. This letter here is an invitation from a lady in Wales to accept
the hospitality of her house for the present; and however deeply the
kindness touches me, I must not avail myself of it. You may read the
letter,” said she, handing it to him.
Dunn perused it slowly, and, folding it up, laid it on the table again.
“It is most kindly worded, and speaks well for the writer,” said he,
calmly.
“I feel all its kindness,” said she, with a slight quivering of the lip.
“It comes when such is doubly precious, but I have my reasons against
accepting it.”
“Without daring to ask, I can assume them, Miss Kellett. I am one of
those who believe that all efforts in life to be either good or great
should strike root in independence; that he who leans upon another parts
with the best features of identity, and loses himself in suiting his
tastes to another's.”
She made no reply, but a slight flush on her cheek, and an increased
brightness in her eye, showed that she gave her full concurrence to the
words.
“It is fortunate, Miss Kellett,” said he, resuming, “that I am the
bearer of a proposition which, if you approve of, meets the case at
once. I have been applied to by Lord Glengariff to find a lady who
would accept the situation of companion to his daughter. He has so far
explained the requirements he seeks for, that I can answer for Miss
Kellett being exactly everything to fulfil them.”
“Oh, sir!” broke she in, “this is in no wise what I desired. I am
utterly unfitted for such a sphere and such associations. Remember how
and where my life has been passed. I have no knowledge of life, and no
experience of society.”
“Let me interrupt you. Lord Glengariff lives completely estranged
from the world in a remote part of the country. Lady Augusta, his only
unmarried daughter, is no longer young; they see no company; indeed,
their fortune is very limited, and all their habits of the very simplest
and least expensive. It was remembering this very seclusion, I was glad
to offer you a retreat so likely to meet your wishes.”
“But even my education is not what such persons would look for. I have
not one of the graceful accomplishments that adorn society. My skill as
a musician is very humble; I cannot sing at all; and though I can read
some modern languages, I scarcely speak them.”
“Do not ask me to say how much I am aware of your capacity and
acquirements, Miss Kellett. It is about two months back a little volume
came into my hands which had once been yours; how it ceased to be so I
don't choose to confess; but it was a work on the industrial resources
of Ireland, annotated and commented on by _you_. I have it still. Shall
I own to you that your notes have been already used by me in my reports,
and that I have adopted some of the suggestions in my recommendations to
Government? Nay, if you doubt me, I will give you the proof.”
“I left such a volume as you speak of at Mr. Hawkhaw's, and believed it
had been mislaid.”
“It was deliberately stolen, Miss Kellett, that's the truth of it. Mr.
Driscoll chanced to see the book, and happened to show it to me. I could
not fail to be struck with it, the more as I discovered in your remarks
hints and suggestions, coupled with explanations, that none had ever
offered me.”
“How leniently you speak of my presumption, sir!”
“Say, rather, how sincerely I applaud your zeal and intelligence,--the
book bespeaks both. Now, when I read it, I wished at once to make your
acquaintance. There were points wherein you were mistaken; there were
others in which you evidently see further than any of us. I felt that
if time, and leisure, and opportunity of knowledge were supplied, these
were the studies in which you might become really proficient. Lord
Glengariff s proposal came at the very moment. It was all I could desire
for you,--a quiet home, the society of those whose very breeding is
acted kindliness.”
“Oh, sir! do not flatter me into the belief that I am worthy of such
advantages.”
“The station will gain most by your association with it, take my word
for that.”
How was it that these words sent a color to her cheek and a courage to
her heart that made her for a moment forget she was poor and fatherless
and friendless? What was it, too, that made them seem less flattery
than sound, just, and due acknowledgment? He that spoke them was neither
young, nor handsome, nor fascinating in manner; and yet she felt his
praise vibrate within her heart strangely and thrillingly.
He spoke much to her about her early life,--what she had read, and how
she was led to reflect upon themes so unlikely to attract a young girl's
thoughts. By degrees, as her reserve wore off, she ventured to
confess what a charm the great men of former days possessed for
her imagination,--how their devotion, their courage, their
single-heartedness animated her with higher hopes for the time when
Ireland should have the aid of those able to guide her destinies and
make of her all that her great resources promised.
“The world of contemporaries is seldom just to these,” said Dunn,
gravely; “they excite envy rather than attract friendship, and then
they have often few of the gifts which conciliate the prejudices around
them.”
“What matter if they can live down these prejudices?” cried she, warmly;
then blushing at her own eagerness, she said, falteringly, “How have I
dared to speak of these things, and to _you?_”
Dunn arose and walked to the window, and now a long pause occurred in
which neither uttered a word.
“Is this cottage yours, Miss Kellett?” said he, at last.
“No; we had rented it, and the time expires in a week or two.”
“And the furniture?”
“It was hired also, except a very few articles of little or no value.”
Dunn again turned away, and seemed lost in deep thought; then, in a
voice of some uncertainty and hesitation, said: “Your father's affairs
were complicated and confused,--there were questions of law, too, to
be determined about them,--so that, for the present, there is no saying
exactly how they stand; still, there will be a sum,--a small one,
unfortunately, but still a sum available to you, which, for present
convenience, you must allow me to advance to you.”
“You forget, sir, that I have a brother. To him, of right, belongs
anything that remains to us.”
“I had, indeed, forgotten that,” said Dunn, in some confusion, “and it
was just of him I wanted now to speak. He is serving as a soldier with a
Rifle regiment in the Crimea. Can nothing be done to bring him favorably
before the notice of his superiors? His gallantry has already attracted
notice; but as his real station is still unknown, his advancement has
been merely that accorded to the humblest merits. I will attend to it. I
'll write about him this very day.”
“How I thank you!” cried she, fervently; and she bent down and pressed
her lips to his hand.
A cold shivering passed over Dunn as he felt the hot tears that fell
upon his hand, and a strange sense of weakness oppressed him.
“It will make your task the lighter,” cried she, eagerly, “to know that
Jack is a soldier in heart and soul,--brave, daring, and high-hearted,
but with a nature gentle as a child's. There was a comrade of his here
the other day, one whose life he saved--”
“I have seen Conway,” said Dunn, dryly, while he scanned her features
closely.
No change of color nor voice showed that she felt the scrutiny, and in
a calm tone she went on: “I know so little of these things that I do
not know, if my dear brother were made an officer to-morrow, whether his
want of private fortune would prevent his acceptance of the rank, but
there surely must be steps of advancement open to men poor as he is.”
“You may trust all to me,” interrupted Dunn. “Once that you consider me
as your guardian, I will neglect nothing that concerns you.”
“Oh, how have I deserved such kindness!” cried she, trying to smother
her emotion.
“You must call me your guardian, too, and write to me as such. The world
is of such a temper that it will serve you to be thought my ward. Even
Lady Augusta Arden herself will feel the force of it.” There was a kind
of rude energy in the way these last words were uttered that gave them a
character almost defiant.
“You are, then, decided that I ought to take the situation?” said
she. And already her manner had assumed the deference of one seeking
direction.
“Yes, for the present it is all that could be desired. There will be no
necessity of your continuing there if it should ever be irksome to you.
Upon this, as upon all else, I trust you will communicate freely with
me.”
“I should approach an actual duty--a task--with far more confidence
than I feel in offering to accommodate myself to the ways and tempers of
utter strangers.”
“Very true,” said he; “but when I have told you about them they will
be strangers no longer. People are easily comprehended who have certain
strong ruling passions. They have only one, and that the very simplest
of all motives,--pride. Let me tell you of them.” And so he drew his
chair to her side, and began to describe the Ardens.
We do not ask the reader to follow Davenport Dunn in his sketch; enough
that we say his picture was more truthful than flattering, for he
portrayed traits that had often given him offence and suffering.
He tried to speak with a sort of disinterested coldness,--a kind of
half-pitying indifference about “ways and notions” that people estranged
from “much intercourse with the world _will_ fall into;” but his tone
was, in spite of himself, severe and resentful, and scarcely compensated
by his concluding words, “though, of course, to _you_ they will be
amiable and obliging.”
“How I wish I could see them, though only for a minute!” said she, as he
finished.
“Have you such confidence, then, in your power of detecting character at
sight?” asked he, with a keen and furtive glance.
“My gift is generally enough for my own guidance,” said she, frankly;
“but, to be sure, it has only been exercised amongst the country people,
and they have fewer disguises than those we call their betters.”
“I may write word, then, that within a week you will be ready,”
said Dunn, rising. “You will find in that pocket-book enough for any
immediate outlay,--nay, Miss Kellett, it is your own,--I repeat it,
all your own. I am your guardian, and no more.” And with a stiffness of
manner that almost repelled gratitude, he took his leave and withdrew.
As he gained the door, however, he stopped, and after a moment came back
into the room. “I should like to see you again before you leave; there
are topics I would like to speak with you on. May I come in a day or
two?”
“Whenever and as often as you please.”
Dunn took her hand and pressed it tenderly. A deep crimson overspread
her face as she said “Good-bye!” and the carriage had rolled away ere
she knew that he was gone.