While these things were happening within the ruined castle of the
O'Donoghue, a guest, equally unexpected as theirs, had arrived at “the
Lodge.” Frederick Travers, delayed in Bristol by contrary winds, had
come over in the same packet with Kate; but without being able either to
learn her name, or whither she was going. His unlooked for appearance
at “the Lodge,” was a most welcome surprise both to Sir Marmaduke and
Sybella; and as he did not desire to avow the real object of his coming,
it was regarded by them as the most signal proof of affection. They well
knew how much London life engrossed him--how completely its peculiar
habits and haunts possessed attractions for him--and with what a
depreciating estimate he looked down on every part of the globe, save
that consecrated to the fashionable follies and amusements of his own
set.
He was not, in reality, insensible to other and better influences; his
affection for his father and sister was unbounded; he had a bold, manly
spirit, unalloyed with any thing mean or sordid; a generous, candid
nature, and straightforward earnestness of purpose, that often carried
him farther by impulse, than he was followed by his convictions. Still a
conventional cant, a tone of disparaging, half-contemptuous indifference
to every thing which characterized his associates, had already infected
him; and he felt ashamed to confess to those sentiments and opinions, to
possess and to act upon which should have been his dearest pride.
“Well, Fred,” said Sybella, as they drew around the fire after dinner,
in that happy home circle so suggestive of enjoyment, “let us hear what
you thought of the scenery. Is not Glenflesk fine?”
“Matlock on a larger scale,” said he coolly. “Less timber and more
rocks..”
“Matlock! dear friend. You might as well compare Keim-an-eigh with
Holborn--you are only jesting.”
“Compare what? Repeat that droll name, I beg of you.”
“Keim-an-eigh. It is a mountain pass quite close to us here.”
“Admirably done! Why, Sybella dear, I shall not be surprised to see you
take to the red petticoat and bare-feet soon. You have indoctrinated
yourself wonderfully since your arrival.”
“I like the people with all my heart, Fred,” said she artlessly;
“and if I could imitate many of their traits of forbearance and
long-suffering patience by following their costume, I promise you I'd
don the scarlet.”
“Ay, Fred,” said Sir Marmaduke, with a sententious gravity, “they don't
know these Irish at all at our side of the water. They mistake
them totally. They only want teaching, a little example--a little
encouragement--that's all: and they are as docile and tractable as
possible. I'll show you to-morrow what improvements a few months have
effected. I'll bring you over a part of the estate, where there was not
a hovel fit for a dog, and you shall see what comfortable dwellings they
have. We hear nothing in England but the old songs about popery, and
superstition, and all that. Why, my dear Fred, these people don't care a
straw for the priest--they'd be any thing I asked them.”
“Devilish high principled that, any way,” said Fred, drily.
“I didn't exactly mean that; at least in the sense you take it. I was
about to say, that such is their confidence, such their gratitude to the
landlord, that--tha----”
“That in short they'd become Turks, for an abatement in the rent. Well,
Sybella dear, is this one of the traits you are so anxious to imitate?”
“Why will you misunderstand, Fred?” said Sybella imploringly. “Cannot
you see that gratitude may lead an uninstructed people far beyond the
limits of reason--my father is so good to them.”
“With all my heart--I have not the slightest objection in life; indeed
I'm not sure, if all the estate be like what I passed through this
afternoon, if _my_ generosity wouldn't go farther, and, instead of
reducing the rent, make them an honest present of the fee simple.”
“Foolish boy!” said Sir Marmaduke, half angrily. “There are forty
thousand acres of reclaimable land----”
“Which might bear crops, Anno Domini 3095.”
“There are mines of inexhaustible wealth.”
“And would cost such to work them, sir, no doubt. Come, come,
father--Hemsworth has passed a life among these people. He knows more
than we do, or ever shall.
“I tell you, sir,” said Sir Marmaduke, nettled by such a sarcasm on his
powers of observation, “I know them perfectly--I can read them like a
book. They are a guileless, simple-minded, confiding people--you may
see every thought they have in their countenances. They only need the
commonest offices of kindness to attach them; and, as for political or
religious leanings, I have questioned them pretty closely, and, without
a single exception, have heard nothing but sentiments of loyalty and
attachment to the church.”
“Well, I only hope you don't mean to prolong your stay here. I'm sure
you have done enough for any ordinary call of conscience, and, if
you have not, set about it in right earnest--convert the tens into
hundreds--make them all as comfortable as possible--and then, in
heaven's name, get back again to England. There is no earthly reason why
you should pass your time here; and as for Sybella----”
“Don't include me, Fred, in your reasons for departure. I never was so
happy in my life.”
“There, boy--there's an example for you; and if you need another, here
am I, ready to confess the same thing. I don't mean that there are not
little dampers and difficulties. There's that fool about the mill-wheel,
and that fellow that persists in dragging the river with a net;” and
so he muttered on for some minutes beneath his teeth, to the evident
enjoyment of Fred, whose quivering lip and laughing eye told how he
appreciated the conflicting evidence memory was eliciting.
Thus, for some time, the conversation continued, until Miss Travers
retired for the night. Then, Sir Marmaduke drew his chair closer to
his son's, and, in an earnest manner, related the whole circumstance
of Sybella's escape from the mountain torrent--dwelling with grateful
eloquence on the young O'Donoghue's heroism in coming to her rescue.
“The youth has narrowly escaped with his life. The doctor, who left this
but a few hours ago, said 'he never witnessed a more dangerous case than
the symptoms at one time presented.' He is well, however, now--the risk
is past--and I want your aid, Fred, to devise some suitable mode of
evincing our gratitude.'
“These O'Donoghues are your tenants--are they not?” asked the young man.
“Yes, they are tenants; but on that score we must not say much in their
favour. Wylie tells me that they have been at feud with Hems-worth for
years past--they neither pay rent, nor will they surrender possession.
The whole thing is a difficult matter to understand; first of all, there
is a mortgage----”
“There, there, my dear father, don't puzzle my brain and your own with
a statement we'll never get to the end of. The point I want to learn is,
they are your tenants----”
“Yes, at least for part of the land they occupy. There is a
dispute about another portion; but I believe Hemsworth has got the
Attorney-General's opinion, that their case cannot stand.”
“Tush--never mind the Attorney-General. Give up the question at issue;
send him, or his father, or whoever it is, the receipt for the rent due,
and take care Hemsworth does not molest him in future.”
“But you don't see, boy, what we are doing. We hope to obtain the whole
of the Ballyvourney property--that is part of our plan; the tenants
there are in a state of absolute misery and starvation.”
“Then, in God's name, give them plenty to eat; it doesn't signify much,
I suppose, whose tenantry they are, when they're hungry.”
The old gentleman was scarcely prepared for such an extended basis for
his philanthropy, and, for a moment or two, seemed quite dumbfounded
by his son's proposition, while Fred continued--“If I understand the
matter, it lies thus: you owe a debt of gratitude which you are desirous
to acquit--you don't care to pay highly.”
“On the contrary, I am quite willing,” interposed Sir Marmaduke; “but
let the price be one, which shall realize a benefit equivalent to its
amount. If I assure these people in the possession of their land,
what security have I, that they will not continue, as of old, the same
useless, wasteful, spendthrift set they ever were--presenting the worst
possible example to the other tenants, and marring the whole force of
the lesson I am endeavouring to inculcate?”
“That, I take it, is more _their_ affair than _yours_, after all,”
said Fred; “you are not to confer the boon, and allocate its advantages
afterwards--but come, what kind of people are they?”
“Oh! a species of half-gentry, half-farmer set, I believe--proud as they
are poor--deeming themselves, as O'Donoghues, at least our equals; but
living, as I believe, in every kind of privation.”
“Very well; sit down there, and let me have a check on your banker for
five hundred pounds, and leave the affair to me.”
“But you mistake, Fred, they are as haughty as Lucifer.”
“Just leave it to me, sir: I fancy I know something of the world by this
time. It may require more money, but the result I will answer for.”
Sir Marmaduke's confidence in his son's tact and worldly skill was one
of the articles of his faith, and he sat down at the table and wrote the
order on the bank at once. “Here Fred,” said he; “I only beg of you to
remember, that the way to express the grateful sense I entertain of this
boy's conduct is not by wounding the susceptibilities of his feelings;
and if they be above the class of farmers, which I really cannot
ascertain, your steps must demand all your caution.”
“I hope, sir,” said Fred with some vanity in the tone, “that I have
never made you blush for my awkwardness, and I don't intend to do so
now. I promise for the success of my negociation; but I must not say a
word more of how I mean to obtain it.”
Sir Marmaduke was very far from feeling satisfied with himself for
having even so far encouraged a plan, that his own blind confidence
in his son's cleverness had for a moment entrapped him into; he would
gladly have withdrawn his consent, but old experience taught him
that Fred was never completely convinced he was right, until he met
opposition to his opinion. So he parted with him for the night, hoping
that sleep might suggest a wiser counsel and a clearer head; and
that being left free to act, he might possibly feel a doubt as to the
correctness of his own judgment.
As for Fred, no sooner was he alone than he began to regret the pledge
his precipitancy had carried him into. What were the nature of the
advances he was to make--how to open the negociation, in a quarter the
habits and prejudices of which he was utterly ignorant of, he had not
the most vague conception; and, as he sought his chamber, he had half
persuaded himself to the conviction, that the safest, and the most
honest course, after all, would be to avow in the morning that he had
overstated his diplomatic abilities, and fairly abandon a task, to which
he saw himself inadequate. These were his last sleeping thoughts; for
his waking resolves, we must enter upon another chapter.