Ay, sir, I saw him 'hind the arras.
Sir Gavin.
Cashel would have devoted more attention to the tasteful arrangement of
the drawing-room into which they were ushered, if he had not been struck
with the handsome and graceful form of a young girl, who from time to
time passed before his eyes in an inner chamber, engaged in the
office of preparing breakfast, and whom he at once recognized as the
granddaughter of whom Linton wrote.
“We were talking of poor Ireland,” said Tiernay, “and all her sorrows.”
“I'll engage you were,” cried Corrigan, laughing, “and I 'll swear you
did not make a mournful topic a whit less gloomy by your way of treating
it--And that's what he calls entertaining a stranger, sir,--like a
bankrupt merchant amusing a party by a sight of his schedule. Now, I 'll
wager a trifle my young friend would rather hear where a brace of cocks
was to be found, or the sight of a neat grass country to ride over after
the fox-hounds,--and I can do both one and the other. But here comes
Mary,--my granddaughter, Miss Leicester, sir.”
Mary saluted the stranger with an easy gracefulness, and she shook the
doctor's hand cordially.
“You are a little late, doctor,” said she, as she led the way into the
breakfast-room.
“That was in part owing to that rogue Keane, who has taken to locking
the gate of the avenue, by way of seeming regular, and some one else has
done the same with the wicket here. Now, as for fifty years back all the
cows of the country have strayed through the one, and all the beggars
through the other, I don't know what 's to come of it.”
“I suppose the great house is filling?” said Mary, to withdraw him from
a grumbling theme; “we heard the noise of several arrivals this morning
early.”
“This gentleman can inform you best upon all that,” said Tiernay; “he
himself is one of the company.”
“But I am ignorant of everything,” said Cashel; “I only arrived here a
little after daybreak, and, not caring to sleep, I strolled out, when my
good fortune threw me into your way.”
“Your friends are likely to have fine weather, and I am glad of it,”
said Corrigan. “This country, pretty enough in sunshine, looks bleak and
dreary when the sky is lowering; but I 've no doubt _you'd_ rather have
'A southerly wind and a cloudy sky,'
as the song says, than the brightest morning that ever welcomed a lark.
Are you fond of hunting?”
“I like every kind of sport where horse, or gun, or hound can enter; but
I 've seen most of such pastimes in distant countries, where the game is
different from here, and the character of the people just as unlike.”
“'I have hunted the wild boar myself,” said old Corrigan, proudly, “in
the royal forests at Meudon and Fontainebleau.”
“I speak of the antelope and the jaguar, the dark leopard of Guiana, or
the brown bison of the Andes.”
“That is indeed a manly pastime!” said Mary, enthusiastically.
“It is so,” said Cashel, warmed by the encouragement of her remark,
“more even for the endurance and persevering energy it demands than for
its peril. The long days of toil in search of game, the nights of waking
watchfulness, and then the strange characters and adventures among which
you are thrown, all make up a kind of life so unlike the daily world.”
“There is, as you say, something highly exciting in all that,” said
Corrigan; “but, to my thinking, hunting is a royal pastime, and loses
half of its prestige when deprived of the pomp and circumstance of
its courtly following. When I think of the old forest echoing to the
tantarara of the _cor de chasse_, the scarlet-clad _piqueurs_ with
lance and cutlass, the train of courtiers mounted on their high-mettled
steeds, displaying all the address of the _salon_, and all the skill of
the chase, to him who was the centre of the group,--the king himself--”
“Are you not forgetting the fairest part of the pageants papa?” broke in
Mary.
“No, my dear, that group usually waited to join us as we returned. Then,
when the '_Retour de la Chasse_' rang out from every horn, and the whole
wood re-echoed with the triumphant sounds, then might be seen the
queen and her ladies advancing to meet us. I think I see her yet, the
fair-haired queen, the noblest and most beautiful in all that lovely
circle, mounted on her spotted Arabian, who bore himself proudly beneath
his precious burden. Ah! too truly did Burke say, 'the Age of Chivalry
was past,' or never had such sorrows gone unavenged. Young gentleman,
I know not whether you have already conceived strong opinions upon
politics, and whether you incline to one or other of the great parties
that divide the kingdom, but one thing I would beseech you,--be a
Monarchist. There is a steadfast perseverance in clinging to the
legitimate Sovereign. Like the very observance of truth itself, shake
the conviction once, and there is no limit to scepticism.”
“Humph!” muttered Tiernay, half aloud. “Considering how royalty treated
your ancestors, your ardor in their favor might be cooled a little.”
“What's Tiernay saying?” said the old man.
“Grumbling, as usual, papa,” said Mary, laughing, and not willing to
repeat the remark.
“Trying to give a man a bias in politics,” said the doctor,
sarcastically, “is absurd, except you accompany the advice with a place.
A man's political opinions are born with him, and he has as much to do
with the choice of his own Christian name as whether he 'll be a Whig or
a Tory.”
“Never mind him, sir,” said Corrigan to Cashel; “one might travesty the
well-known epigram, and say of him that he never said a kind thing, nor
did a rude one, in his life.”
“The greater fool he, then,” mattered Tiernay, “for the world likes him
best who does the exact opposite; and here comes one to illustrate my
theory. There, I see him yonder; so I 'll step into the library and look
over the newspaper.”
“He cannot endure a very agreeable neighbor of ours,--a Mr. Linton,”
said Corrigan, as the doctor retired,--“and makes so little secret of
his dislike that I am always glad when they avoid a meeting.”
“Mr. Linton is certainly more generous,” said Mary, “for he enjoys the
doctor's eccentricity without taking offence at his rude humor.”
“Good-breeding can be almost a virtue,” said the old man, with a smile.
“It has this disadvantage, however,” said Cashel: “it deceives men who,
like myself, have little knowledge of life, to expect far more from
politeness than it is ever meant to imply,--just as on the Lima shore,
when we carried off a gold Madonna, we were never satisfied if we missed
the diamond eyes of the image.”
The old man and his granddaughter almost started at the strange
illustration; but their attention was now called off by the approach of
Linton, whom they met as he reached the porch.
“Come here a moment, sir,” said the doctor, addressing Cashel, from the
little boudoir; “here are some weapons of very old date found among
the ruins beside where we stand.” And Roland had just time to quit the
breakfast-room before Linton entered it.
“The menagerie fills fast,” said Linton, as he advanced gayly into the
apartment: “some of our principal lions have come; more are expected;
and all the small cages have got their occupants.”
“I am dying of curiosity,” said Mary. “Tell us everything about
everybody. Who have arrived?”
“We have everything of a household save the host. He is absent; and,
stranger than all, no one knows where.”
“How singular!” exclaimed Corrigan.
“Is it not? He arrived this morning with the Kilgoffs, and has not
since been heard of. I left his amiable guests at the breakfast-table
conversing on his absence, and endeavoring to account for it under every
variety of 'shocking accident' one reads of in the morning papers. The
more delicately minded were even discussing, in whispers, how long it
would be decent to stay in a house if the owner committed suicide.”
“This is too shocking,” said Mary.
“And yet there are men who do these things! Talleyrand it was, I
believe, who said that the fellow who shot himself showed a great want
of _savoir vivre_. Well, to come back: we have the Kilgoffs, whom I have
not seen as yet; the Meeks, father and daughter; the MacFarlines; Mrs.
White and her familiar, a distinguished author; the whole Kennyfeck
tribe; Frobisher; some five or six cavalry subalterns; and a large mob
of strange-looking people, of both sexes, making up what in racing slang
is called the 'ruck' of the party.”
“Will it not tax your ingenuity, Mr. Linton, to amuse, or even to
preserve concord among such a heterogeneous multitude?” said Mary.
“I shall amuse them by keeping them at feud with each other, and, when
they weary of that, let them have a grand attack of the whole line upon
their worthy host and entertainer. Indeed, already signs of rebellious
ingratitude have displayed themselves. You must know that there has
been a kind of petty scandal going about respecting Lady Kilgoff and Mr.
Cashel.”
“My dear sir,” said Mr. Corrigan, gravely, but with much courtesy, “when
my granddaughter asked you for the latest news of your gay household,
she did so in all the inconsiderate ignorance her habits and age may
warrant; but neither she nor I cared to hear more of your guests than
they ought to have reported of them, or should be repeated to the ears
of a young lady.”
“I accept the rebuke with less pain,” said Linton, smiling easily,
“because it is, in part at least, unmerited. If you had permitted me
to continue, you should have seen as much.” Then, turning to Miss
Leicester, he added: “You spoke of amusement, and you 'll acknowledge
we are not idle. Lord Charles Frobisher is already marking out a
race-course; Meek is exploring the political leaning of the borough; the
Kennyfecks are trying their voices together in every room of the house;
and Lady Janet has every _casserole_ in the kitchen engaged in the
preparation of various vegetable abominations which she and Sir Andrew
take before breakfast; and what with the taking down and putting up of
beds, the tuning of pianofortes, sol-fa-ing here, bells ringing there,
cracking of tandem whips, firing off percussion-caps, screaming to
grooms out of window, and slamming of doors, Babel was a scene of
peaceful retirement in comparison. As this, too, is but the beginning,
pray forgive me if my visits here be more frequent and enduring than
ever.”
“Your picture of the company is certainly not flattering,” said Mary.
“Up to their merits, notwithstanding; but how could it be otherwise? To
make a house pleasant, to bring agreeable people together,--to assemble
those particles whose aggregate solidifies into that compact mass called
society,--is far harder than is generally believed; vulgar folk attempt
it by getting some celebrity to visit them. But what a failure that
is! One lion will no more make a party than one swallow a summer. New
people, like our friend Cashel, try it by asking everybody. They hope,
by firing a heavy charge, that some of the shot will hit. Another
mistake! He little knows how many jealousies, rivalries, and small
animosities are now at breakfast together at his house, and how ready
they are, when no other game offers, to make him the object of all their
apite and scandal.”
“But why?” said Mary. “Is not his hospitality as princely as it is
generously offered? Can they cavil with anything in either the reception
itself or the manner of it?”
“As that part of the entertainment entered into _my_ functions, Miss
Leicester, I should say, certainly not. The whole has been well 'got
up.' I can answer for everything save Cashel himself; as Curran said, 'I
can elevate all save the host.' He is irreclaimably _en arrière_,--half
dandy, half Delaware, affecting the man of fashion, but, at heart, a
prairie hunter.”
“Hold, sir!” cried Cashel, entering suddenly, his face crimson with
passion. “By what right do you presume to speak of me in this wise?”
“Ha! ha! ha!” broke out Linton, as he fell into a chair in a burst of
admirably feigned laughter. “I told you, Miss Leicester, how it would
be; did I not say I should unearth the fox? Ah! Roland, confess it; you
were completely taken in.”
Cashel stared around for an explanation, and in the astonishment of each
countenance he fancied he read a condemnation of his conduct All
his impulses were quick as thought, and so he blushed deeply for his
passionate outbreak, as he said,--
“I ask pardon of you, sir, and this lady for my unseemly anger.
This gentleman certainly deserves no apology from me. Confound it,
Master Tom, but assuredly you don't fire blank cartridge to startle your
game.”
“No use to tickle lions with straws,” said Linton; and the insinuated
flattery succeeded.
“Let me now bid you welcome to my cottage, Mr. Cashel,” said Corrigan;
“although this incognito visit was an accident, I feel happy to see you
here.”
“Thank you, thank you,” replied Cashel. “I shall be even more grateful
still if you permit me to join in Linton's petition, and occasionally
escape from the noisy festivities of the Hall, and come here.”
While Corrigan and Cashel continued to interchange mutual assurances of
esteem and regard, Linton walked to a window with Miss Leicester.
“We had no conception that our guest was Mr. Cashel,” said Mary; “he
met Dr. Tiernay accidentally in the park, and came along with him to
breakfast.”
“And did not the doctor remember him?” said Linton, shrewdly.
“Oh, no; he may probably recollect something of having met him before,
three weeks hence, but he is so absent!”
“I thought Roland would have taken the quizzing better,” said Linton,
thoughtfully. “There 's no knowing any man, or--woman either. _You_
perceived what I was at, certainly.”
“No, indeed. I was as much deceived as Mr. Cashel. I thought, to be
sure, that you were unusually severe, but I never suspected the object.”
“How droll! Well, I am a better actor than I fancied,” said Linton,
laughing; then added, in a lower tone, “Not that the lesson should be
lost upon him; for, in sober earnest, there was much truth in it.”
“We were greatly pleased with him,” said Mary, “and now, knowing who he
is, and what temptations such a young man has to over-estimate himself,
are even more struck by his unassuming quietude.”
Linton only smiled, but it was a smile of most compassionate pity.
“I conclude that you mean to show yourself to your company, then, Mr.
Cashel?” said he, turning suddenly about.
“I'm ready,” said Roland. “I'd go, however, with an easier conscience if
Mr. Corrigan would only promise me to come and see us there sometimes.”
“I'm a very old fellow, Mr. Cashel, and have almost outlived the habits
of society; but if any one's invitation shall bring me beyond these
walls, it shall be yours.”
“I must be content with that,” said Roland, as he shook the proffered
hand; and then, with a cordial farewell to Miss Leicester, took Linton's
arm, and retired.