And while the scene around them smiled,
With pleasant talk the way beguiled.
Haile: Rambles.
As Roland Cashel strolled along alone, he could not divest himself of
a certain feeling of disappointment, that, up to the present, at least,
all his wealth had so little contributed to realize those illusions he
had so often fancied. The plots, the wiles and cunning schemes by which
he had been surrounded, were gradually revealing themselves to his
senses, and he was rapidly nearing the fatal “bourne” which separates
credulity from distrust.
If we have passed over the events which succeeded the loss of the yacht
with some appearance of scant ceremony to our reader, it is because,
though in themselves not totally devoid of interest, they formed a
species of episode which only in one respect bore reference to the
current of our story. It is not necessary, no more than it would be
gratifying, to us to inquire with what precise intentions Lady Kilgoff
had sought to distinguish Roland by marks of preference. Enough, if we
say that he was neither puppy enough to ascribe the feeling to anything
but a caprice, nor was he sufficiently hackneyed in the world's ways to
suspect it could mean more.
That he was flattered by the notice, and fascinated by the charms of
a very lovely and agreeable woman, whose dependence upon him each day
increasing drew closer the ties of intimacy, is neither strange nor
uncommon, no more than that she, shrewdly remarking the bounds of
respectful deference by which he ever governed his acquaintance, should
use greater freedoms and less restricted familiarity with him, than
had he been one of those fashionable young men about town with whom the
repute of a conquest would be a triumph.
It is very difficult to say on what terms they lived in each other's
society. It were easier, perhaps, to describe it by negatives, and say
that assuredly if it were not love, the feeling between them was just
as little that which subsists between brother and sister. There was an
almost unbounded confidence--an unlimited trust--much asking of advice,
and, in fact, as many of my readers will say, fully as much peril as
need be.
From her, Cashel first learned to see the stratagems and schemes by
which his daily life was beset. Too proud to bestow more than a mere
passing allusion to the Kennyfecks, she directed the whole force of her
attack upon that far more dangerous group in whose society Roland had
lately lived. For a time she abstained altogether from even a chance
reference to Linton; but at length, as their intimacy ripened, she
avowed her fear of him in all its fulness. When men will build up the
edifice of distrust, it is wonderful with what ingenuity they will
gather all the scattered materials of doubt, with what skill arrange and
combine them! A hundred little circumstances of a suspicious nature
now rushed to Roland's memory, and his own conscience corroborated
the history she drew of the possible mode by which Linton acquired an
influence over him.
That Linton had been the “evil genius” of many, Cashel had often heard
before, but always from the lips of men; and it is astonishing, whether
the source be pride, or something less stubborn, but the warning which
we reject so cavalierly from our fellows, comes with a wondrous force of
conviction from the gentler sex.
For the heavy sums he had lost at play, for all the wasteful outlay of
his money, Cashel cared little; but for the humiliating sense of being
a “dupe” and a “tool,” his outraged pride suffered deeply; and when Lady
Kilgoff drew a picture, half real, half imaginary, of the game which his
subtle associate was playing, Roland could scarce restrain himself from
openly declaring a rupture, and, if need be, a quarrel with him.
It needed all her persuasions to oppose this course; and, indeed, if she
had not made use of one unanswerable argument, could she have succeeded.
This was the inevitable injury Linton could inflict upon _her_, by
ascribing the breach to her influence. It would be easy enough, from
such materials as late events suggested, to compose a history that would
ruin her. Lord Kilgoff's lamentable imbecility, the result of that fatal
night of danger; Cashel's assiduous care of her; her own most natural
dependence upon him,--all these, touched on with a woman's tact and
delicacy, she urged, and at last obtained his pledge that he would leave
to time and opportunity the mode of terminating an intimacy he had begun
to think of with abhorrence.
If there be certain minds to whom the very air they breathe is doubt,
there are others to whom distrust is absolute misery. Of these latter
Cashel was one. Nature had made him frank and free-spoken, and the
circumstances of his early life had encouraged the habit. To nourish a
grudge would have been as repulsive to his sense of honor as it would be
opposed to all the habits of his buccaneering life. To settle a dispute
with the sword was invariably the appeal among his old comrades; and
such arbitraments are those which certainly leave the fewest traces of
lingering malice behind them. To cherish and store up a secret wrong,
and wait in patience for the day of reckoning, had something of the
Indian about it that, in Roland's eyes, augmented its atrocity.
Oppressed with thoughts like these, and associating every vexation he
suffered as in some way connected with that wealth whose possession he
fancied was to satisfy every wish and every ambition, he sauntered on,
little disposed to derive pleasure from the presence of those external
objects which fortune had made his own.
“When I was poor,” thought he, “I had warm and attached friends, ready
to exult in my successes, and sympathize with me in my sorrows. If I had
enemies, they were brave fellows, as willing to defend their cause with
the sword as myself. None flattered or frowned on him who was richer
than the rest. No subtle schemes lay in wait for him whose unsuspecting
frankness exposed him to deception; we were _bons camarades_, at least,”
said he, aloud, “and from what I have seen of the great world, I 've
lived to prize the distinction.”
From this revery he was suddenly recalled by observing, directly in
front of him, an elderly gentleman, who, in a stooping posture, seemed
to seek for something among the dry leaves and branches beside a low
wicket.
“This is the first fruit of our gay neighborhood,” said the old man,
testily, as he poked the dead leaves with his cane; “we 're lucky if
they leave us without more serious inconvenience.”
“Can I assist you in your search?--have you lost something?” said
Cashel, approaching.
“There is a key--the key of the wicket--hid somewhere hereabouts,
young man,” said the other, who, scarcely bestowing a look upon Roland,
continued his investigation as busily as before.
Cashel, undaunted by the somewhat ungracious reception, now aided him in
his search, while the other continued: “I 've known this path for nigh
forty years, and never remember this wicket to have been locked before.
But so it is. My old friend is afraid of the invasion of this noisy
neighborhood, and has taken to lock and key to keep them out. The key he
promised to hide at the foot of this tree.”
“And here it is,” said Cashel, as he unlocked the wicket and flung it
wide.
“Many thanks for your help, but you have a better reward than my
gratitude, in eyes some five-and-thirty years younger,” said the old
man, with the same half-testy voice as before. “Perhaps you 'd like to
see the grounds here, yourself; come along. The place is small, but far
better kept than the great demesne, I assure you; just as many an humble
household is more orderly than many a proud retinue.”
Roland was rather pleased by the quaint oddity of his new companion, of
whom he thought, but could not remember where, he had seen the features
before.
“You are a stranger in these parts, I conclude?” said the old man.
“Yes. I only arrived here about an hour ago, and have seen nothing save
the path from the Hall to this spot.”
“There 's little more worth the seeing on yonder side of the paling,
sir. A great bleak expanse, with stunted trees and a tasteless mansion,
full of, I take it, very dubious company; but perhaps you are one of
them?”
“I confess as much,” said Roland, laughing; “but as I have not seen
them, don't be afraid I 'll take up the cudgels for my associates.”
“Labor lost if you did,” said the other, bluntly. “I only know of them
what the newspapers tell us; but their names are enough.”
“Are they all in the same category, then?” asked Cashel, smiling.
“Pigeons or hawks; dupes or swindlers,--an ugly alternative to choose
from.”
“You are candid, certainly, friend,” said Cashel, half angrily; “but
don't you fancy there is rather too much of frankness in saying this to
one who has already said he is of the party?”
“Just as he likes to take it,” said the old man, bluntly. “The wise man
takes warning where the fool takes umbrage. There 's a fine view
for you--see! there's a glorious bit of landscape,” cried he,
enthusiastically, as they came to an opening of the wood and beheld the
wide expanse of Lough Deny, with its dotted islands and ruined tower.
Roland stood still, silently gazing on the scene, whose beauty was
heightened by all the strong effect of light and shade.
“I see you have an eye for landscape,” said the old man, as he watched
the expression of Cashel's features.
“I 've been a lover of scenery in lands where the pursuit was well
rewarded,” said Roland, thoughtfully.
“That you may; but never in a country where the contemplation called for
more thought than in this before you. See, yonder, where the lazy smoke
rises heavily from the mountain side, high up there amid the fern and
the tall heath, that is a human dwelling,--there lives some cottier a
life of poverty as uncheered and unpitied as though he made no part of
the great family of man. For miles and miles of that dreary mountain
some small speck may be traced where men live and grow old and die out,
unthought of and uncared for by all beside. This misery would seem at
its full, if now and then seasons of sickness did not show how fever and
ague can augment the sad calamities of daily life. There are men--ay,
and old men too--who never have seen bread for years, I say, save when
some gamekeeper has broken it to feed the greyhounds in a coursing
party.”
“And whose the fault of all this?” said Cashel, eagerly.
“It is easy to see, sir,” said the other, “that you are no landed
proprietor, for not only you had not asked the question, but you had not
shown so much emotion when putting it So it is,” muttered he to himself.
“It is so ever. They have most sympathy with the poor who have least the
power to help them.”
“But I ask again, whose the fault of such a system?” cried Cashel.
“Ask your host yonder, and you 'll soon have an answer to your question.
You 'll hear enough of landlords' calamities,--wrecking tenantry, people
in barbarism, irreclaimably bad, sunk in crime, black in ingratitude.
Ask the peasant, and he 'll tell you of clearances,--whole families
turned out to starve and die in the highways; the iron pressure of the
agent in the dreary season of famine and fever. Ask the priest, and
he will say, it is the galling tyranny of the 'rich man's church'
establishment consuming the substance, but restoring nothing to the
people. Ask the rector, and he 'll prove it is popery,--the debasing
slavery of the very blackest of all superstitions; and so on. Each
throws upon another the load which he refuses to bear his share of,
and the end is, we have a reckless gentry and a ruined people; all the
embittering hatred of a controversy, and little of the active working of
Christian charity. Good-bye, sir. I ask pardon for inflicting something
like a sermon upon you. Good-bye.”
“And yet,” said Cashel, “you have only made me anxious to hear more from
you. May I ask if we are likely to meet again, and where?”
“If you should chance to be sick during your visit here, and send for
the doctor, it's likely they 'll fetch me, as there is no other here.”
Cashel started, for he at once remembered that the speaker was Dr.
Tiernay, the friend of his tenant, Mr. Corrigan. As the doctor did not
recognize him, however, Roland resolved to keep his secret as long as he
could.
“There, sir,” said Cashel, “I see some friends accosting you. I 'll say
good-bye.”
“Too late to do so now,” said the other, half sulkily. “Mr. Corrigan
would feel it a slight if you turned back, when his table was spread for
a meal. You 'll have to breakfast here.”
Before Roland could answer, Mr. Corrigan came forward from beneath the
porch, and, with a hand to each, bid them welcome.
“I was telling this gentleman,” said Tiernay, “that he is too far within
your boundaries for retreat. He was about to turn back.”
“Nay, nay,” said the old man, smiling; “an old fellow like you or me may
do a churlish thing, but a young man's nature is fresher and warmer. I
tell you, Tiernay, you 're quite wrong; this gentleman will breakfast
here.”
“With pleasure,” said Cashel, cordially, and entered the cottage.