No stronger contrast could be presented than that offered by the house
which called Mr. Magennis master, to all the splendor and elegance
which distinguished Cro' Martin. Built on the side of a bleak, barren
mountain, without a trace of cultivation,--not even a tree beside
it,--the coarse stone walls, high pitched roof, and narrow windows
seemed all devised in some spirit of derision towards its graceful
neighbor. A low wall, coped with a formidable “frieze” of broken bottles
and crockery, enclosed a space in front once destined for a garden, but
left in its original state of shingle, intermixed with the remnants of
building materials and scaffold planks. A long shed, abutting on the
house, sheltered a cow and a horse; the latter standing with his head
above a rickety half-door, and looking ruefully out at the dismal
landscape beneath him.
Most of the windows were broken,--and in some no attempt at repair
had been made,--indicating that the rooms within were left unused. The
hall-door stood ajar, but fastened by a strong iron chain; but the roof,
more than all besides, bespoke decay and neglect, the rafters being in
many places totally bare, while in others some rude attempts at tiling
compensated for the want of the original slates. A strong colony of
jackdaws had established themselves in one of the chimneys; but from
another, in the centre of the building, a thick volume of dark-blue
smoke rolled continually, conveying, indeed, the only sign of habitation
about this dreary abode.
The inside of the house was, if possible, more cheerless than the out.
Most of the rooms had never been finished, and still remained in their
coarse brown plaster, and unprovided with grates or chimney-pieces.
The parlor, _par excellence_, was a long, low-ceilinged chamber, with
yellow-ochre walls, dimly lighted by two narrow windows; its furniture,
a piece of ragged carpet beneath a rickety table of black mahogany, some
half-dozen crazy chairs, and a small sideboard, surmounted by something
that might mean buffet or bookcase, and now served for both, being
indifferently garnished with glasses, decanters, and thumbed volumes,
intermingled with salt-cellars, empty sauce-bottles, and a powder-flask.
An atrociously painted picture of an officer in scarlet uniform hung
over the fireplace, surmounted by an infantry sword, suspended by a
much-worn sash. These were the sole decorations of the room, to which
even the great turf fire that blazed on the hearth could not impart a
look of comfort.
It was now a little after nightfall; the shutters were closed, and
two attenuated tallow candles dimly illuminated this dreary chamber.
A patched and much discolored tablecloth, with some coarse knives and
forks, bespoke preparation for a meal, and some half-dozen plates stood
warming before the fire. But the room had no occupant; and, except
for the beating of the shutters against the sash, as the wind whistled
through the broken window, all was silent within it. Now and then a loud
noise would resound through the house; doors would bang, and rafters
rattle, as the hall-door would be partially opened to permit the head of
a woman to peer out and listen if any one were coming; but a heavy
sigh at each attempt showed that hope was still deferred, and the weary
footfall of her steps, as she retired, betrayed disappointment. It was
after one of these excursions that she sat down beside the kitchen
fire, screening her face from the blaze with her apron, and then, in the
subdued light, it might be seen that, although bearing many traces of
sorrow and suffering, she was still young and handsome. Large masses of
the silkiest brown hair, escaping from her cap, fell in heavy masses
on her neck; her eyes were large and blue, and shaded by the longest
lashes; her mouth, a little large, perhaps, was still beautifully
formed, and her teeth were of surpassing whiteness. The expression
of the whole face was of gentle simplicity and love,--love in which
timidity, however, deeply entered, and made the feeling one of acute
suffering. In figure and dress she was exactly like any other peasant
girl, a gaudy silk handkerchief on her neck being the only article
of assumed luxury in her costume. She wore shoes, it is true,--not
altogether the custom of country girls,--but they were heavy and
coarsely made, and imparted to her walk a hobbling motion that detracted
from her appearance.
A large pot which hung suspended by a chain above the fire seemed to
demand her especial care, and she more than once removed the wooden
cover to inspect the contents; after which she invariably approached the
window to listen, and then came back sorrowfully to her place, her lips
muttering some low sounds inaudibly. Once she tried to hum a part of a
song to try and beguile the time, but the effort was a failure, and, as
her voice died away, two heavy tears stole slowly along her cheeks,
and a deep sob burst from her; after which she threw her apron over her
face, and buried her head in her lap. It was as she sat thus that a loud
knocking shook the outer door, and the tones of a gruff voice rose even
above the noise; but she heard neither. Again and again was the summons
repeated, with the same result; and at last a handful of coarse gravel
struck the kitchen window with a crash that effectually aroused her, and
springing up in terror, she hastened to the door.
In an instant she had unhooked the heavy chain, and sheltering the
candle with her hand, admitted a large powerfully built man, who was
scarcely within the hall when he said angrily, “Where the devil were
you, that you could n't hear me?”
“I was in the kitchen, Tom,” said she.
“Don't call _me_ Tom, d----n you,” replied he, violently. “Don't keep
dinning into me the infernal fool that I've made of myself, or it will
be worse for you.”
“Sure I never meant any harm by it; and it was your own self bid me
do it,” said she, meekly, as she assisted him to remove his dripping
great-coat.
“And don't I rue it well?” rejoined he, through his half-closed teeth.
“Isn't it this confounded folly that has shut me out of the best houses
in the county? My bitter curse on the day and the hour I first saw you!”
“Oh, don't say them words,--don't, or you'll break my poor heart,” cried
she, clinging to him as he strode angrily into the parlor.
“Be off with you,--be off to the kitchen, and leave me quiet,” said he,
rudely.
“There 's your slippers, sir,” said she, meekly, as, bending down, she
untied his heavy shooting-shoes, and replaced them by a pair of list
ones.
“Is the dinner ready?” asked he, sternly.
“It is, sir; but Massin'bred is n't come back.”
“And who the devil is Massingbred? Don't you think he might be Mister
Massingbred out of _your_ mouth?”
“I ax your pardon, sir, and his, too; but I didn't mean--”
“There, there,--away with you!” cried he, impatiently. “I 'm never in a
bad humor that you don't make me worse.” And he leaned his face between
his hands over the fire, while she slipped noiselessly from the room.
“Maybe he thinks he's doing me honor by staying here,” burst he forth,
suddenly, as he sprang to his legs and stared angrily around him. “Maybe
he supposes that it's great condescension for him to put up with my
humble house! Ay, and that it's _my_ bounden duty to wait for _him_ to
any hour he pleases. If I thought he did,--if I was sure of it!”
added he, with a deep guttural tone, while he struck his clenched fist
violently against the chimney-piece. Then, seizing the large iron poker,
he knocked loudly with it against the back of the fireplace,--a summons
quickly answered by the appearance of the girl at the door.
“Did he come in since morning?” asked he, abruptly.
“No, sir, never,” replied she, with a half courtesy.
“Nor say what time he 'd be back?”
“Not a word, sir.”
“Then, maybe, he's not coming back,--taken French leave, as they call
it, eh, Joan?”
The sound of her name, spoken, too, in an accent of more friendly
meaning, lighted up her face at once, and her large eyes swam in tears
of gratitude towards him as she stood there.
“But he 'd scarcely dare to do that!” said he, sternly.
“No, sir,” said she, echoing half unconsciously his opinion.
“And what do _you_ know about it?” said he, turning savagely on her.
“Where were you born and bred, to say what any gentleman might do, at
any time, or in anything? Is it Joan Landy, the herd's daughter, is
going to play fine lady upon us! Faix, we 're come to a pretty pass now,
in earnest! Be off with you! Away! Stop, what was that? Did n't you hear
a shot?”
“I did, sir,--quite near the house, too.”
A sharp knocking now on the hall-door decided the question, and Magennis
hastened to admit the arrival.
It is a strange fact, and one of which we are satisfied merely to make
mention, without attempting in the least to explain, but no sooner was
Magennis in the presence of his young guest, than not only he seemed to
forget all possible cause of irritation towards him, but to behave
with a manner of, for him, the most courteous civility. He aided him
to remove his shot-belt and his bag; took his hat from his hands, and
carefully wiped it; placed a chair for him close to the fire; and
then, as he turned to address him, remarked for the first time the
blood-stained handkerchief which still bound his forehead.
“Did you fall,--had you an accident?” asked he, eagerly.
“No,” said the other, laughing; “a bit of an adventure only, which I 'll
tell you after dinner.”
“Was it any of the people? Had you a fight--”
“Come, Magennis, you must exercise a little patience. Not a word, not a
syllable, till I have eaten something, for I am actually famishing.”
A stout knock of the poker on the chimney summoned the dinner, and
almost in the same instant the woman entered with a smoking dish of
Irish stew.
“Mrs. Joan, you're an angel,” said Massingbred; “if there was a dish
I was longing for on this cold, raw day, it was one of your glorious
messes. They seem made for the climate, and by Jove, the climate for
them. I say, Mac, does it always rain in this fashion here?”
“No; it sleets now and then, and sometimes blows.”
“I should think it does,” said Jack, seating himself at the table. “The
pleasant little slabs of marble one sees on the cabin-roofs to keep
down the thatch are signs of your western zephyrs. Mrs. Joan has outdone
herself today. This is first-rate.”
“There's too strong a flavor of hare in it,” said Magen-nis, critically.
“That's exactly its perfection; the wild savor lifts it out of the
vulgar category of Irish stews, and assimilates it, but not too closely,
to the ragout. I tell you, Mac, there's genius in the composition of
that gravy.”
The partial pedantry of this speech was more than compensated for by the
racy enjoyment of the speaker, and Magennis was really gratified at the
zest with which his young friend relished his meal.
“It has one perfection, at least,” said he, modestly,--“it 's very
unlike what you get at home.”
“We have a goodish sort of a cook,” said Jack, languidly,--“a fellow
my father picked up after the Congress of Verona. Truffles and treaties
seem to have some strong sympathetic attraction, and when diplomacy had
finished its work, a _chef_ was to be had cheap! The worst of the class
is, they 'll only functionate for your grand dinners and they leave your
every-day meal to some inferior in the department.”
It was strange that Magennis could listen with interest always whenever
Massingbred spoke of habits, people, and places with which he had
never been conversant. It was not so much for the topics themselves
he cared,--they were, in reality, valueless in his eyes,--it was some
singular pleasure he felt in thinking that the man who could so discuss
them was his own guest, seated at his own table, thus connecting himself
by some invisible link with the great ones of this world!
Massingbred's very name--the son of the celebrated Moore Massingbred--a
Treasury Lord--Heaven knows what else besides--certainly a Right
Honorable--was what first fascinated him in his young acquaintance,
and induced him to invite him to his house. Jack would probably have
declined the invitation, but it just came at the moment when he was
deeply mortified at Nelligan's absence,--an absence which old Dan was
totally unable to explain or account for. Indeed, he had forgotten that,
in his note to his son, he had not mentioned Massingbred by name, and
thus was he left to all the embarrassment of an apology without the
slightest clew as to the nature of the excuse.
No sooner, then, was it apparent to Massingbred that young Nelligan did
not intend to return home, than he decided on taking his own departure.
At first he determined on going back to Dublin; but suddenly a malicious
thought sprung up of all, the mortification it might occasion Joe
to learn that he was still in the neighborhood; and with the amiable
anticipation of this vengeance, he at once accepted Magennis's offer to
“accompany him to his place in the mountains, and have some shooting.”
It would not have been easy to find two men so essentially unlike in
every respect as these two, who now sat discussing their punch after
dinner. In birth, bringing-up, habits, instincts, they were widely
dissimilar, and yet, somehow, they formed a sort of companionship
palatable to each. Each had something to tell the other which he had
either not heard before, or not heard in the same way. We have already
adverted to the strong fascination Magen-nis experienced in dwelling on
the rank and social position of his young guest. Massingbred experienced
no less delight in the indulgence of his favorite pastime,--adventure
hunting. Now, here was really something like adventure,--this wild, rude
mountain home, this strange compound of gloom and passion, this poor
simple country girl, more than servant, less than wife,--all separated
from the remainder of the world by a gulf wider than mere space. These
were all ingredients more than enough to suggest matter for imagination,
and food for after-thought in many a day to come.
They had thus passed part of a week in company, when the incident
occurred of which our last chapter makes mention, and an account of
which, now, Massingbred proceeded to give his host, neither exaggerating
nor diminishing in the slightest particular any portion of the event.
He even repressed his habitual tendency to sarcasm, and spoke of his
antagonist seriously and respectfully. “It was quite clear,” said he,
in conclusion, “that he did n't know I was a gentleman, and consequently
never anticipated the consequence of a blow.”
“And he struck you?” broke in Magennis, violently.
“You shall see for yourself,” said Jack, smiling, as, untying the
handkerchief, he exhibited a deep cut on his forehead, from which the
blood still continued to ooze.
“Let Joan doctor you; she's wonderful at a cut. She has something they
call Beggarman's Balsam. I 'll fetch her.” And without waiting for a
reply he left the room. The young woman speedily after appeared with
some lint and a small pot of ointment, proceeding to her office with
all the quiet assiduity of a practised hand, and a gentleness that few
“regulars” could vie with. Her skill was more than recompensed by the
few muttered words of praise Magennis bestowed, as he grumbled out, half
to himself: “Old Cahill himself could n't do it better. I 'd back her
for a bandage against the College of Surgeons. Ain't ye easier now?--to
be sure you are. She 's good for _that_ if she is for nothing else!”
And even this much of eulogy made her bosom heave proudly, and brought a
flush of joy over her cheek that was ecstasy itself.
[Illustration: 218]
The world is not deficient in acts of kindness, benevolence, and
good-will. There is a large fountain of these running in ten thousand
rills. But how many more might there not be,--how much of this wealth
might there not be dispensed, and nobody living one jot the poorer! How
many are there toiling away in obscurity and narrow fortune, to whom one
single word of praise--one chance syllable of encouragement--would be
life's blood! What sunken cheeks and lacklustre eyes would glow and
gladden again by even a look of sympathy, withheld from no lack of
kindliness, but mere want of thought! Oh ye who have station and fame,
genius or greatness, bethink ye that these gifts are never higher
than when they elevate the humble and cheer the lowly, and there is no
physician like him who animates the drooping heart, and gives new vigor
to wearied faculties and failing energy. Joan was made happy by the
two or three words of grateful thanks Massingbred addressed to her, and
stole quietly away, leaving the two companions once more alone.
If there was any incident in life participation in which could convey
intense gratification to Magennis, it was that sort of difference or
misunderstanding that might lead to a duel. Whenever the affair offered
no other alternative, his delight was unbounded. There were, it was
rumored events in his own early life which would imply that the
taste for mortal combat extended only to cases where his friends were
concerned, and had no selfish application whatever. Of these we know
nothing; nor, indeed, have we any information to convey regarding him,
save by chance and stray words dropped by himself in the unguarded
hours of after-dinner converse. There are, however, many who like the
subordinate parts in this world's comedy,--who would rather be best man
than bridegroom, and infinitely prefer performing second to principal.
We are not, however, going into the inquiry as to the cause; enough when
we repeat that this was Magennis's great passion, and these were the
kind of events for whose conduct and management he believed himself to
possess the most consummate tact and ability.
“You 're in luck, Massingbred,” cried he, as the other concluded his
recital,--“you're in luck, sir, to have for your friend one that, though
I say it myself, has n't his equal for a case like this in the three
kingdoms. It was I, sir, took out Cahill when he shot Major Harris, of
the Fusiliers. I handled him that morning in a way that made the English
officers confess there was no chance against us! A duel seems an easy
thing to arrange. You 'd say that any fool could put up two men, twelve
or even ten paces asunder, and tell them to blaze away; and if that
was all there was in it, it would be simple enough. But consider for
a minute the real case, and just remember how much the nature of the
ground, whether level or uneven, has to do with it; what's behind,--if a
wall, or trees, or only sky; the state of the light; how the sun stands;
whether there 's wind, and what way it's coming. These are not all.
There's the pistols,--how they _'throw,'_ and with what charge; and then
there 's the size of your man. Ay, Massingbred, and let me tell you, you
now see before you the man that invented the 'invulnerable position.'”
“By Jove! that's a most valuable fact to me just now,” said Jack,
helping himself to a fresh tumbler. “I 'm glad you have not been
retained by the other side.”
“The 'invulnerable position'!” continued Magennis, perfectly heedless
of the other's remark; while, taking up the poker, he stalked out to
the middle of the room, drawing himself up to his full height, and
presenting, as though with a pistol,--“Do you see what I mean?” cried
he.
“I can't say I do,” said Jack, hesitatingly.
“I thought not,” rejoined the other, proudly; “nobody ever did that was
n't 'out' often. Pay attention now, and I 'll explain it. My head,
you perceive, is carried far behind my right shoulder, so as to be
completely protected by my pistol-hand and the pistol. I say the pistol,
because it has been proved scientifically that the steadiest eye that
ever fired never could aim at the antagonist's pistol. Morris Crofton
practised it for eight years in his own garden; and though he did
succeed, he told me that for practical purposes it was no use. Now we
come to the neck, and you may observe the bend of my elbow. Ay, that
little angle that nobody would remark masks the jugular arteries, and
all the other vital nerves in that part. John Toler used to say that
the head and neck was like the metropolis, and that a shot elsewhere was
only like a 'row' in the provinces; and a very true and wise remark it
was. Not that I neglect the trunk,” added he, proudly; “for you see
how I stand,--three-quarters of the back towards the enemy so as not to
expose the soft parts. As for the legs,” cried he, contemptuously, “let
them crack at them as long as they like.”
“And that 's the 'invulnerable position,'” said Massing-bred; with less
enthusiasm, however, than the discovery might seem to warrant.
“It is, sir; and if it was n't for it there 's many a strapping fellow
walking about this day-that would be lying with a marble counterpane
over him. Billy Welsh, that fought Brian of Deanstown, was the first man
I ever 'put up' in it. Billy had a slight crick of the neck, and could
n't get the head far enough round to the right, and the ball took him
in the bridge of the nose, and carried that feature clean off, but never
damaged him in any other respect whatever!”
“I must say that the loss was quite sufficient for a man who had the
benefit of the 'invulnerable position,'” said Massingbred, quietly.
“He thinks nothing of it. A chap in the Crow Street Theatre made him a
better nose than ever he had, out of wax, I believe; and he has a winter
one, with a blush of red on it, to make believe it was cold; and they
tell me you 'd never discover it was n't his own.”
Magennis had now resumed his place at table, and seemed bent on making
up for lost time by giving double measure of whiskey to his punch.
“You say that he's to be in Oughterard to-night; well, with the blessing
of the Virgin,”--an invocation he invariably applied to every act
of dubious morality,--“we 'll be with him before he's out of bed
to-morrow!”
“I wish he had not given me a blow,” said Jack, musingly. “He seemed
such a stout-hearted, spirited old fellow, I'm really grieved to quarrel
with him.”
“I'm glad that there's nobody to hear them words but myself, Mr.
Massingbred,” said the other, with all the slowness and deliberation of
incipient drunkenness; “I'm rejoiced, sir, that it's in the confidential
intercourse of friendly--friendly--communication--that the son of my old
and valued friend--Moore Massingbred--used expressions like that.”
Jack started with amazement at this speech; he had not the slightest
suspicion till that moment that Magennis and his father had ever known
each other, or even met. A very little patience, however, on his part
served to solve the difficulty; for he discovered that one of the
peculiarities of this stage of his friend's ebriety was to fancy
himself the intimate and associate of any one whose name he had ever
heard mentioned.
“Ay, sir, them's words your father would never have uttered. I was with
him in his first blaze. 'Moore,' says I, 'have n't you a pair of black
breeches?'--he wore a pair of web 'tights' of a light pattern--What are
you laughing at, sir?” cried he, sternly, and striking the table with
his clenched knuckles, till the glasses all rang on it.
“I was laughing at my father's costume,” said Jack, who really told
the truth; such a portrait of his parent's appearance being manifestly
unlike anything he had ever imagined.
“And the worse manners yours, sir,” rejoined Magennis, rudely. “I' ll
not suffer any man to laugh at an old friend--and--and--schoolfellow!”
It was with the very greatest difficulty that Jack could restrain
himself at this peroration, which indignation--the same, probably, that
creates poets--had suggested. He had, however, tact enough to preserve
his gravity, whilst he assured his companion that no unfilial sentiment
had any share in his thoughts.
“So far, so well,” said Magennis, who now helped himself to the whiskey,
unadulterated by any water; “otherwise, sir, it's not Lieutenant
Magennis, of the--9th Foot, would handle you on the ground to-morrow!”
“So, then, you've served, Mac? Why, you never broke that to me before!”
“Broke!” cried the other, with a voice shrill from passion, while he
made an effort to rise from his chair, and sunk back again,--“broke; who
dares to say I was broke? I left the scoundrels myself. I shook the
dust off my feet after them. There never was a court-martial about it.
Never--never!” To the deep crimson that suffused his face before, there
now succeeded an almost death-like pallor, and Massingbred really felt
terrified at the change. Some heart-rending recollection seemed suddenly
to have cleared his brain, routing in an instant all the effects of
intoxication, and restoring him to sobriety and sorrow together.
“Ay,” said he, in a low, broken voice, and still speaking to himself,
“that finished me! I never held my head up again! Who could, after such
a business? I came here, Mr. Massingbred,” continued he, but addressing
his guest in a tone of deep respect,--“I came back here a ruined man,
and not eight-and-twenty! You see me now, a dirty, drunken sot, not
better dressed nor better mannered than the commonest fellow on the
road, and yet I'm a gentleman born and bred, well nurtured, and well
educated. I took a college degree and went into the army.” He paused, as
if trying to gather courage to go on; the effort was more than he could
accomplish, and, as the heavy tears stole slowly down his cheeks, the
agony of the struggle might be detected. Half mechanically he seized
the decanter of whiskey and poured the tumbler nearly full; but Jack
good-humoredly stretched out his hand towards the glass, and said,
“Don't drink, Mac; there's no head could stand it.”
“You think so, boy,” cried he, with a saucy smile. “Little you know the
way we live in the West, here;” and he tossed off the liquor before the
other could stop him. The empty glass had scarcely been replaced on the
table, when all the former signs of drunkenness had come back again, and
in his bloodshot eyes and swollen veins might be seen the very type of
passionate debauch.
“Not ask me to their houses!” cried he, hoarse with passion. “Who wants
them? Not invite me! Did I ever seek them? The dirty, mean spalpeens,
don't I know the history of every one of them? Could n't I expose them
from one end of the county to the other? Who 's Blake of Harris-town? He
's the son of Lucky Magarry, the pedler. You don't believe me. I had
it from Father Cole himself. Lucky was hanged at Ennis. 'Ye want a
confession!' says Lucky, when he came out on the drop; 'ye want a
confession! Well, I suppose there's no use in keeping anything back
now, for ye 'll hang me at any rate, and so here it's for you. It was I
murdered Mr. Shea, and there was nobody helping me at all. I did it all
myself with a flail; and be the same token, it 's under Mark Bindon's
tombstone this minute. There now, the jury may be azy in their minds,
and the judge, and the hangman, too, if he cares about it. As for his
honor the high sheriff,' said he, raising his voice, 'he 's a fine
man, God bless him, and the county may be proud of him; for it was he
ferreted out all about this business! And faix, notwithstanding all, I
'm proud of him myself, for he 's my own son!' And as he said that he
dropped on his knees and cried out that he might never see glory if
there was a word of lie in anything he said then! So that's what Blake
got for his zeal for justice!”
And as Magennis finished, he burst into a wild, fiendish laugh, and
said,--
“There 's the country gentry--there 's the people won't know Magennis
and his wife!--ay, sir, his lawful, married wife! Let me see that you
or any other man will deny it, or refuse to treat her as becomes her
station.--Joan! Joan!” shouted he, striking the poker violently against
the chimney; and with hot haste and intense anxiety the poor girl rushed
into the room the moment after. “Sit down here, ma'am,” said Magennis,
rising, and placing a chair for her beside his own, with an affectation
of courtesy that savored of mockery,--“sit down, I say,” cried he,
stamping his foot passionately. “That's my wife, sir! No man that sits
at _my_ board shall behave to her as anything else.”
“I have ever treated her with respect,” said Massingbred, “and shall
always continue to do so.”
“And it's better for you to do so,” said the other, fiercely, the
bullying spirit rising on what he deemed the craven submission of his
guest.
Meanwhile the girl sat trembling with terror, not knowing what the scene
portended, or how it was to end.
“The herd's daughter, indeed! No, sir, Mrs. Magennis, of Barnagheela,
that's her name and title!”
At these words the poor girl, overcome with joy and gratitude, fell
down upon her knees before him, and, clasping his hand, covered it with
kisses.
“Is n't that pretty breeding!” cried Magennis, violently. “Get up,
ma'am, and sit on your chair like a lady. The devil a use in it, do what
you will, say what you will,--the bad 'drop' is in them; and whatever
becomes of you in life, Massingbred, let me give you this advice,--never
marry beneath you!”
Jack contrived at this juncture to signal to the girl to step away;
and by appearing to attend with eagerness to Magennis, he prevented his
remarking her exit.
“A man 's never really ruined till then,” continued he, slowly, and
evidently sobering again as he went on. “Friends fall away from you, and
your companions are sure to be fellows with something against them!
You begin by thinking you 're doing a grand and a courageous thing! You
string up your resolution to despise the world, and, take my word for
it, the world pays you off at last. Ay,” said he, after a long pause, in
which his features settled down into an expression of deep sorrow, and
his voice quivered with emotion,--“ay, and I 'll tell you something
worse than all,--you revenge all your disappointment on the poor girl
that trusted you! and you break _her_ heart to try and heal your own!”
With these last words he buried his head between his hands and sobbed
fearfully.
“Leave me now,--leave me alone,” said he, without lifting his head.
“Good-night--good-night to you!”
Massingbred arose without a word, and, taking a candle, ascended to his
chamber, his last thoughts about his host being very unlike those with
which he had first regarded him. From these considerations he turned
to others more immediately concerning himself; nor could he conquer his
misgivings that Magennis was a most unhappy selection for a friend in
such an emergency.
“But then I really am without a choice,” said he to himself. “Joe
Nelligan, perhaps, might--but no, he would have been infinitely more
unfit than the other. At all events, Nelligan has himself severed the
friendship that once existed between us.” And so he wandered on to
thoughts of his former companionship with him. Regretful and gloomy
enough were they, as are all memories of those in whose hearts we once
believed we had a share, and from which we cannot reconcile ourselves to
the exclusion.
“He had not the manliness to meet me when I had become aware of his real
station! What a poor-spirited fellow! Just as if I cared what or who his
father was! _My_ theory is, Jack Massingbred can afford to know any man
he pleases! Witness the roof that now shelters me, and the character of
him who is my host!”
It was a philosophy he built much upon, for it was a form of self-love
that simulated a good quality, many of his acquaintances saying, “At all
events, there 's no snobbery about Massingbred; he 'll know, and even
be intimate with, anybody.” Nor did the deception only extend to others.
Jack himself fancied he was an excellent fellow,--frank, generous, and
open-hearted.
It is a very strange fact--and fact it certainly is--that the men who
reason most upon their own natures, look inwardly at their own minds,
and scrutinize most their own motives, are frequently the least natural
of all mankind! This self-inquiry is such thorough self-deception that
he who indulges in it often becomes an actor. As for Massingbred, there
was nothing real about him save his egotism! Gifted with very good
abilities, aided by a strong “vitality,” he had great versatility; but
of all powers, this same plastic habit tends most to render a man
artificial.
Now, his present difficulty was by no means to his taste. He did not
like his “quarrel;” he liked less the age and station of his adversary;
and least of all was he pleased with the character of his “friend.” It
was said of Sheridan, that when consulted about the music of his operas,
he only asked, “Will it grind?”--that is, would it be popular enough for
a street organ, and become familiar to every ear? So Jack Massingbred
regarded each event in life by the test of how it would “tell,” in what
wise could a newspaper report it, and how would it read in the Clubs? He
fancied himself discussing the adventure at “White's,” and asking, “Can
any one say what Massingbred's row was about? Was he poaching?--or how
came he there? Was there a woman in it? And who is his friend Magennis?”
In thoughts like these he passed hour after hour, walking his room from
end to end, and waiting for morning.
At length he bethought him how little likely it was that Magennis would
remember anything whatever of the transaction, and that his late debauch
might obliterate all memory of the affair. “What if this were to be
the case, and that we were to arrive too late at Oughterard? A pretty
version would the papers then publish to the world!” Of all possible
casualties this was the very worst; and the more he reflected on it, the
more probable did it seem. “He is the very fellow to wake up late in the
afternoon, rub his eyes, and declare he had forgotten the whole thing.”
“This will never do!” muttered he to himself; and at once determined
that he would make an endeavor to recall his friend to consciousness,
and come to some arrangement for the approaching meeting. Massingbred
descended the stairs with noiseless steps, and gently approaching the
door of the sitting-room, opened it.
Magennis was asleep, his head resting upon the table, and his heavy
breathing denoting how deeply he slumbered. On a low stool at his feet
sat Joan, pale and weary-looking, her cheeks still marked with recent
tears, and the dark impression of what seemed to have been a blow
beneath her eye. Jack approached her cautiously, and asked if it were
his custom to pass the night thus.
“Sometimes, when he 's tired--when he has anything on his mind,” replied
she, in some confusion, and averting her head so as to escape notice.
“And when he awakes,” said Jack, “he will be quite refreshed, and his
head all clear again?”
“By coorse he will!” said she, proudly. “No matter what he took of a
night, nobody ever saw the signs of it on him the next morning.”
“I did not ask out of any impertinent curiosity,” continued Massingbred;
“but we have, both of us, some rather important business to-morrow in
Oughterard. We ought to be there at an early hour.”
“I know,” said she, interrupting. “He bid me bring down these;” and
she pointed to a case of pistols lying open beside her, and in cleaning
which she had been at the moment engaged. “I brought the wrong ones,
first.” Here she stammered out something, and grew crimson over her
whole face; then suddenly recovering herself, said, “I did n't know it
was the 'Terries' he wanted.”
“The 'Terries'?” repeated Jack.
“Yes, sir. It was these Terry Callaghan shot the two gentlemen with,
the same morning, at Croghaglin,--father and son they were!” And saying
these words in a voice of the most perfect unconcern possible, she took
up a flannel rag and began to polish the lock of one of the weapons.
“They 're handsome pistols,” said Jack, rather amused with her remark.
“They 're good, and that's better!” replied she, gravely. “That one in
your hand has seven double crosses on the stock and nine single.”
“The seven were killed on the ground, I suppose?”
A short nod of assent was her reply.
“Such little events are not unfrequent down here, then?”
“Anan!” said she, not understanding his question.
Jack quickly perceived that he had not taken sufficient account of
Joan's limited acquaintance with language, and said,--
“They often fight in these parts?”
“Ayeh! not now,” replied she, in a half-deploring tone. “My father
remembers twenty duels for one that does be nowadays.”
“A great change, indeed.”
“Some say it's all for the better,” resumed she, doubtfully. “But
hush,--he's stirring; leave him quiet, and I 'll call you when he's
ready.”
“And I can depend--”
“To be sure you can. He forgets many a thing; but no man living can
say that he ever misremembered a duel.” And with these words, in a low
whisper, she motioned Massingbred to the door.
Jack obeyed in silence, and, ascending to his room, lay down on the bed.
He determined to pass the interval before morning in deep thought and
self-examination; but, somehow, he had scarcely laid his head on the
pillow when he fell off into a heavy sleep, sound and dreamless.
The day was just breaking when he was aroused by a somewhat rude shake,
and a voice saying,--
“Come, up with you. We 've a sharp ride before us!”
Jack started up, and in an instant recalled all the exigencies of the
hour.
“I have sent the 'tools' forward by a safe hand,” continued Magennis;
“and Joan has a cup of tea ready for us below stairs. So lose no time
now, and let us be off.”
The humble meal that awaited them was soon despatched, and they were
speedily mounted on the pair of mountain ponies Magennis had provided,
and whose equipments, even in the half-light of the morning,
rather shocked Mas-singbred's notions of propriety,--one of his
stirrup-leathers being a foot shorter than the other, while an old
worsted bell-rope formed the snaffle-rein of his bridle.
The road, too, was rugged and precipitous, and many a stumble and
scramble had they in the uncertain light; while the swooping rain
dashed violently against them, and effectually precluded all thought of
conversation. Two hours, that seemed like ten, brought them at length
upon the highroad; after which, by a brisk canter of forty minutes, they
reached Oughterard.
“Let us dismount here,” said Jack, as they gained the outskirts of the
town, not fancying to make a public appearance on his humble steed.
“Why so?” answered Magennis. “It's ashamed of the pony you are! Oh, for
the matter of that, don't distress yourself; we 're too well used to
them in these parts to think them ridiculous.”
There was a soreness and irritation in his tone which Jack quickly
remarked, and as quickly tried to obviate, by some good-natured remark
about the good qualities of the animals; but Magennis heard him without
attention, and seemed entirely immersed in his own thoughts.
“Turn in there, to your left,” cried he, suddenly, and they wheeled into
an arched gateway that opened upon the stable-yard of the inn. Early
as it was, the place was full of bustle and movement; for it was the
market-day, and the farmers were already arriving.
Carts, cars, gigs, and a dozen other nameless vehicles crowded the spot,
with kicking ponies and mules of malicious disposition; grooming and
shoeing and unharnessing went on, with a noise and merriment that was
perfectly deafening; and Massingbred, as he threaded his way through the
crowd, soon perceived how little notice he was likely to attract in such
an assembly. Magennis soon dismounted, and having given directions about
the beasts, led Jack into the house, and up a narrow, creaking stair
into a small room, with a single window, and a bed in one corner. “This
is where I always put up,” said he, laying down his hat and whip, “and
it will do well enough for the time we 'll want it.”