Let's see the field, and mark it well,
For, here, will be the battle.
Ottocar.
“Does this path lead to the house, friend?” said a gentleman whose dress
bespoke recent travel, to the haggard, discontented figure of a man who,
seated on a stone beside a low and broken wicket, was lazily filling
his pipe, and occasionally throwing stealthy glances at the stranger.
A. short nod of the head was the reply. “You belong to the place, I
suppose?”
“Maybe I do; and what then?”
“Simply that, as I am desirous of going thither, I should be glad of
your showing me the way.”
“Troth, an' there's little to see when you get there,” rejoined the
other, sarcastically. “What are you by trade, if it's not displeasin' to
ye?”
“That's the very question I was about to ask you,” said Linton, for it
was himself; “you appear to have a very easy mode of life, whatever it
be, since you are so indifferent about earning half-a-crown.”
Tom Keane arose from his seat, and made an awkward attempt at saluting,
as he said,--
“'Tis the dusk o'the evening prevented me seeing yer honer, or I
wouldn't be so bowld. This is the way to the Hall sure enough.”
“This place has been greatly neglected of late,” said Linton, as they
walked along side by side, and endeavoring, by a tone of familiarity, to
set his companion at ease.
“Troth, it is neglected, and always was as long as I remember. I was
reared in it, and I never knew it other; thistles and docks as big as
your leg, everywhere, and the grass choked up with moss.”
“How came it to be so completely left to ruin?”
“Anan!” muttered he, as if not well comprehending the question, but,
in reality, a mere device employed to give him more time to scan the
stranger, and guess at his probable object.
“I was asking,” said Linton, “how it happened that a fine old place like
this was suffered to go to wreck and ruin?”
“Faix, it's ould enough, anyhow,” said the other, with a coarse laugh.
“And large too.”
“Yer honer was here afore?” said Tom, stealthily glancing at him under
his brows. “I 'm thinking I remember yer honer's faytures. You would n't
be the gentleman that came down with Mr. Duffy?”
“No; this is my first visit to these parts; now, where does this little
road lead? It seems to be better cared for than the rest, and the gate,
too, is neatly kept.”
“That goes down to the cottage, sir--Tubber-beg, as they call it. Yer
honer isn't Mr. Cashel himself?” said Tom, reverentially taking off his
tattered hat, and attempting an air of courtesy, which sat marvellously
ill upon him.
“I have not that good luck, my friend.”
“'T is good luck ye may call it,” sighed Tom; “a good luck that does n't
fall to many; but, maybe, ye don't want it; maybe yer honer--”
“And who lives in the cottage of Tubber-beg?” said Linton, interrupting.
“One Corrigan, sir; an old man and his granddaughter.”
“Good kind of people, are they?”
“Ayeh! there's worse, and there 's betther! They 're as proud as
Lucifer, and poor as naygurs.”
“And this is the Hall itself?” exclaimed Linton, as he stopped directly
in front of the old dilapidated building, whose deformities were only
exaggerated by the patchy effect of a faint moonlight.
“Ay, there it is,” grinned Tom, “and no beauty either; and ugly as it
looks without, it's worse within! There 'a cracks in the walls ye could
put your hand through, and the windows is rotten, where they stand.”
“It is not very tempting, certainly, as a residence,” said Linton,
smiling.
“Ah, but if ye heerd the rats, the way they do be racin' and huntin'
each other at night, and the wind bellowsin' down the chimbleys, such
screechin' and yellin' as it keeps, and then the slates rattlin', till
ye'd think the ould roof was comin' off altogether,--be my soul, there's
many a man would n't take the property and sleep a night in that house.”
“One would do a great deal, notwithstanding, for a fine estate like
this,” said Linton, dryly.
There was something, either in the words or the accent, that touched Tom
Keane's sympathy for the speaker; some strange suspicion perhaps, that
he was one whose fortune, like his own, was not beyond the casualties
and chances of life, and it was with a species of coarse friendship that
he said, “Ah, if we had it between us, we 'd do well.”
“Right well; no need to ask for better,” said Linton, with a heartiness
of assent that made the other perfectly at ease. “I'm curious to have a
look at the inside of the place; I suppose there is no hindrance?”
“None in life! I live below, and, faix, there's no living anywhere
else, for most of the stairs is burned, and, as I towld ye, the rats has
upstairs all to themselves. Nancy, give us a light,” cried he, passing
into the dark and spacious hall, “I'm going to show a gentleman the
curiosities. I ax you honer's pardon, the place is n't so clean as it
might be.”
Linton gave one peep into the long and gloomy chamber, where the whole
family were huddled together in all the wretchedness and disorder of a
cabin, and at once drew back.
“The cows is on the other side,” said the man, “and, beyond, there's
four rooms was never plastered; and there, where you see the straw,
that's the billiard-room, and inside of it again, there's a place for
play-actin', and, more by token, there's a quare thing there.”
“What's that?” asked Linton, whose curiosity was excited by the remark.
“Come, and I 'll show yer honer.”
So saying, he led on through a narrow corridor, and, passing through two
or three dilapidated, ruined chambers, they entered a large and spacious
apartment, whose sloping floor at once showed Linton that they were
standing on the stage of a theatre.
Tom Keane held up the flickering light, that the other might see the
torn and tattered remnants of the decorations, and the fragments of
scenes, as they flapped to and fro. “It's a dhroll place, anyhow,” said
he, “and there's scarce a bit of it hasn't a trap-door, or some other
contrivance of the like; but here's one stranger than all; this is what
I towld yer honer about.” He walked, as he spoke, to the back wall
of the building, where, on the surface of the plaster, a rude scene,
representing a wood, was painted, at one side of which a massive pile of
rock, overgrown with creepers, stood. “Now, ye 'd never guess what was
there,” said Tom, holding the candle in different situations to exhibit
the scene; “and, indeed, I found it by chance myself; see this,”--and he
pressed a small but scarcely perceptible knob of brass in the wall,
and at once, what appeared to be the surface of the rock, slid back,
discovering a dark space behind. “Come on, now, after me,” continued
he. Linton followed, and they ascended a narrow stair constructed in the
substance of the wall, and barely sufficient to admit one person.
Arriving at the top, after a few seconds' delay, Tom opened a small
door, and they stood in a large and well-proportioned room, where some
worm-eaten bed-furniture yet remained. The door had been once, as a
small, fragment of glass showed, the frame of a large mirror, and must
have been quite beyond the reach of ordinary powers of detection.
“That was a cunning way to steal down among the play acthers,” said
Keane, grinning, while Linton, with the greatest attention, remarked the
position of the door and its secret fastening.
“I suppose no one but yourself knows of this stair?” said Linton.
“Sorra one, sir, except, maybe, some of the smugglers that used to
come here long ago from the mouth of the Shannon. This was one of their
hiding-places.”
“Well, if this old mansion comes ever to be inhabited, one might have
rare fun by means of that passage; so be sure, you keep the secret well.
Let that be a padlock on your lips.” And, so saying, he took a sovereign
from his purse and gave it to him. “Your name is--”
“Tom, yer honer--Tom Keane; and, by this and by that, I'm ready to do
yer honer's bidding from this hour out--”
“Well, we shall be good friends, I see,” interrupted Linton; “you may,
perhaps, be useful to me, and I can also be able to serve you. Now,
which is the regular entrance to this chamber?”
“There, sir; it's the last door as ye see in the long passage. Them is
all bedrooms alone there, but it's not safe to walk down, for the floor
is rotten.”
Linton noted down in a memory far from defective the circumstances of
the chamber, and then followed his guide through the remainder of the
house, which in every quarter presented the same picture of ruin and
decay.
“The bit of candle is near out,” said Tom, “but sure there is n't much
more to be seen; there's rooms there was never opened, and more on the
other side, the same. The place is as big as a barrack, and here we are
once more on the grand stair.”
For once, the name was not ill applied, as, constructed of Portland
stone, and railed with massive banisters of iron, it presented features
of solidity and endurance, in marked contrast to the other portions of
the edifice. Linton cast one more glance around the gloomy entrance, and
sallied forth into the free air. “I 'll see you to-morrow, Tom,” said
he, “and we'll have some talk together. Good night.”
“Good night, and good luck to yer honer; but won't you let me see your
honer out of the grounds,--as far as the big gate, at least?”
“Thanks; I know the road perfectly already, and I rather like a lonely
stroll of a fine night like this.”
Tom, accordingly, reiterated his good wishes, and Linton was suffered
to pursue his way unaccompanied. Increasing his speed as he arrived at a
turn of the road, he took the path which led off the main approach, and
led down by the river-side to the cottage of Tubber-beg. There was a
feeling of strong interest which prompted him to see this cottage, which
now he might call his own; and as he went, he regarded the little clumps
of ornamental planting, the well-kept walks, the neat palings, the
quaint benches beneath the trees, with very different feelings from
those he had bestowed on the last-visited scene. Nor was he insensible
to the landscape beauty which certain vistas opened, and, seen even by
the faint light of a new moon, were still rich promises of picturesque
situation.
Suddenly, and without any anticipation, he found himself on turning a
little copse of evergreens, in front of the cottage, and almost
beneath the shadow of its deep porch. Whatever his previous feelings of
self-interest in every detail around, they were speedily routed by the
scene before him.
In a large and well furnished drawing-room, where a single lamp was
shining, sat an old man in an easy-chair, his features, his attitude,
and his whole bearing indicating the traces of recent illness. Beside
him, on a low stool almost at his feet, was a young girl of singular
beauty,--the plastic grace of her figure, the easy motion of the
head, as from time to time she raised it to throw upwards a look of
affectionate reverence, and the long, loose masses of her hair, which,
accidentally unfastened, fell on either shoulder, making rather one
of those ideals which a Raphael can conceive than a mere creature of
every-day existence. Although late autumn, the windows lay open to the
ground, for, as yet, no touch of coming winter had visited this secluded
and favored spot. In the still quiet of the night, _her_ voice, for she
alone spoke, could be heard; at first, the mere murmur of the accents
reached Linton's ears, but even from them he could gather the tone of
cheering and encouragement in which she spoke. At length he heard her
say, in a voice of almost tremulous enthusiasm, “It was so like you,
dear papa, not to tell this Mr. Cashel that you had yourself a claim,
and, as many think, a rightful one, to this same estate, and thus not
trouble the stream of his munificence.”
“Nay, child, it had been as impolitic as unworthy to do so,” said the
old man; “he who stoops to receive a favor should detract nothing from
the generous sentiment of the granter.”
“For my part, I would tell him,” said she, eagerly, “that his noble
conduct has forever barred my prosecuting such a claim, and that if,
to-morrow, the fairest proofs of my right should reach me, I'd throw
them in the fire.”
“To get credit for such self-sacrifice, Mary, one must be independent
of all hypothesis; one must do, and not merely promise. Now, it would
be hard to expect Mr. Cashel to feel the same conviction I do, that this
confiscation was repealed by letters under the hand of Majesty itself.
The Brownes, through whom Cashel inherits, were the stewards of my
ancestors, entrusted with all their secret affairs, and cognizant of
all their family matters. From the humble position of dependents, they
suddenly sprang into wealth and fortune, and ended by purchasing the
very estate they once lived on as day-laborers,--sold as it was, like
all confiscated estates, for a mere fraction of its value.”
“Oh, base ingratitude!”
“Worse still; it is said, and with great reason to believe it true, that
Hammond Browne, who was sent over to London by my great grandfather to
negotiate with the Government, actually received the free pardon and the
release of the confiscation, but concealed and made away with both, and,
to prevent my grandfather being driven to further pursuit, gave him the
lease of this cottage on the low terms we continue to hold it.”
A low, faint cough from the old man warned his granddaughter of the
dangers of the night air, and she arose and closed the windows. They
still continued their conversation, but Linton, unable to hear more,
returned to his inn, deeply reflecting over the strange disclosures he
had overheard.