The little Hermitage of Glengariff, with its wooded park, its winding
river, its deep solitudes fragrant with wild-rose and honeysuckle, is
familiar to my reader. He has lingered there with me, strolling through
leafy glades, over smooth turf, catching glimpses of blue sea through
the dark foliage, and feeling all the intense ecstasy of a spot that
seemed especially created for peaceful enjoyment. What a charm was in
those tangled pathways, overhung with jessamine and arbutus, or now
flanked by moss-clad rock, through whose fissures small crystal rivulets
trickled slowly down into little basins beneath. How loaded the air
with delicious perfume; what a voluptuous sense of estrangement from
all passing care crept over one as he stole noiselessly along over the
smooth sward, and drank in the mellow blackbird's note, blended with the
distant murmur of the rippling river! And where is it all now? The park
is now traversed in every direction with wide, unfinished roads; great
open spaces appear at intervals, covered with building materials;
yawning sand-quarries swarming with men; great brick-fields smoking
in all the reeking oppression of that filthy manufacture; lime-kilns
spreading their hateful breath on every side; vast cliffs of slate and
granite-rock, making the air resound with their discordant crash, with
all the vulgar tumult of a busy herd. If you turn seaward, the same
ungraceful change is there: ugly and misshapen wharfs have replaced the
picturesque huts of the fishermen; casks and hogsheads and bales and
hampers litter the little beach where once the festooned net was wont to
hang, and groups of half-drunken sailors riot and dispute where once the
merry laugh of sportive childhood was all that woke the echoes. If the
lover of the picturesque could weep tears of bitter sorrow over these
changes, to the man of speculation and progress they were but signs of
a glorious prosperity. The Grand Glengariff Villa Allotment and Marine
Residence Company was a splendid scheme, whose shares were eagerly
sought after at a high premium. Mr. Dunn must assuredly have lent all
his energies to the enterprise, for descriptions of the spot were to be
found throughout every corner of the three kingdoms. Colored lithographs
and stereoscopes depicted its most seductive scenes through the pages
of popular “weeklies,” and a dropping fire of interesting paragraphs
continued to keep up the project before the public through the columns
of the daily press. An “Illustrated News” of one week presented its
subscribers with an extra engraving of the “Yachts entering Glengariff
harbor after the regatta;” the next, it was a finished print of the
“Lady Augusta Arden laying the foundation-stone of the Davenport
Obelisk.” At one moment the conflict between wild nature and ingenious
art would be shown by a view of a clearing in Glengariff forest, where
the solid foundations of some proud edifice were seen rising amidst
prostrate pines and fallen oak-trees, prosaic announcements in
advertising columns giving to these pictorial devices all the solemn
stability of fact, so that such localities as “Arden Terrace,”
“Lackington Avenue,” “Glengariff Crescent,” and “Davenport Heights”
became common and familiar to the public ear.
The imaginative literature of speculation--industrial fiction it might
be called--has reached a very high development in our day. Not content
with enlisting all the graces of fancy in the cause of enterprise,
heightening the charms of scenery and aiding the interests of romance
by historic association, it actually allies itself with the slighter
infirmities of our social creed, and exalts the merits of certain
favored spots by the blessed assurance that they are patronized by our
betters. Amongst the many advantages fortune bestowed upon the grand
Glengariff scheme was conspicuously one,--Dukes had approved, and Earls
admired it “We are happy to learn,” said the “Post,” “that the Marquis
of Duckington has intrusted the construction of his marine villa at
Glengariff to the exquisite skill and taste of Sir Jeffrey Blocksley,
who is, at present, engaged in preparing Noodleton Hall for his Grace
the Duke of Rowood, at the same charming locality.” In the “Herald”
we find: “The Earl of Hanaper is said to have paid no less than twelve
thousand guineas for the small plot of land in which his bathing-lodge
at Glengariff is to stand. It is only right to mention that the view
from his windows will include the entire bay, from the Davenport Obelisk
to Dunn Lighthouse,--a prospect unequalled, we venture to assert,
in Europe.” And, greater than these, the “Chronicle” assures us, the
arrival of a Treasury Lord, accompanied by the Chairman of the Board of
Works, on Monday last, at Glengariff, proclaimed the gracious intention
of her Majesty to honor this favored spot by selecting it for a future
residence. “'Queen's Cot,' as it will be styled, will stand exactly on
the site formerly occupied by the late residence of Lord Glengariff,
well known as the Hermitage, and be framed and galleried in wood in the
style so frequently seen in the Tyrol.”
Where is the born Briton would not feel the air balmier and the breeze
more zephyr-like if he could see that it waved a royal standard? Where
the Anglo-Saxon who would not think the sea more salubrious that helped
to salt a duke? Where the alley that was not cooler if a marquis walked
beneath its shadow? It is not that honest John Bull seeks the intimacy
or acquaintance of these great folk; he has no such weakness or
ambition,--he neither aspires to know or be known of them; the limit of
his desire is to breathe the same mountain air, to walk the same chain
pier, to be fed by their poulterer and butcher, and, maybe, buried by
their undertaker. Were it the acquaintanceship he coveted, were it some
participation in the habits of refined and elegant intercourse, far be
it from us to say one word in disparagement of such ambition, satisfied,
as we are, that in all that concerns the enjoyment of society, for the
charms of a conversation where fewest prejudices prevail, where least
exaggerations are found, where good feeling is rarely, good taste never,
violated, the highest in rank are invariably the most conspicuous. But,
unhappily, these are not the prizes sought after; the grand object being
attained if the Joneses and Simpkinses can spend their autumn in the
same locality with titled visitors, bathe in the same tides, and take
their airings at the same hours. What an unspeakable happiness might
it yield them to know they had been “bored” by the same monotony, and
exhausted by the same _ennuis!_
They who were curious in such literature fancied they could detect the
fine round hand of Mr. Hankes in the glowing descriptions of Glengariff.
Brought up at the feet of that Gamaliel of appraisers, George Robins,
he really did credit to his teachings. Nor was it alone the present
delights of the spot he dwelled upon, but expatiated on the admirable
features of an investment certain to realize, eventually, two or three
hundred per cent It was, in fact, like buying uncleared land in the
Bush, upon which, within a few years, streets and squares were to
be found, purchasing for a mere nominal sum whole territories that
to-morrow or next day were to be sold as building lots and valued by the
foot.
As in a storm the tiniest creeks and most secluded coves feel in their
little bays the wild influence that prevails without, and see their
quiet waters ruffled and wave-tossed, so, too, prosperity follows the
same law, and spreads its genial sunshine in a wide circle around
the spot it brightens. For miles and miles along the shore the grand
Glengariff scheme diffused the golden glory of its success. Little
fishing-villages, solitary cottages in sequestered glens, lonely creeks,
whose yellow strands had seldom seen a foot-track,--all felt it. The
patient habits of humble industry seemed contemptible to those who
came back to their quiet homesteads after seeing the wondrous doings
at Glengariff; and marvellous, indeed, were the narratives of sudden
fortunes. One had sold his little “shebeen” for more gold than he knew
how to count; another had become rich by the price of the garden before
his door; the shingly beach seemed paved with precious stones, the rocks
appeared to have grown into bullion. How mean and despicable seemed
daily toil; the weary labor of the field, the precarious life of the
fisherman, in presence of such easy prosperity, were ignoble drudgery.
It savored of superior intelligence to exchange the toil of the hands
for the exercise of speculative talents, and each began to compute what
some affluent purchaser might not pay for this barren plot, what that
bleak promontory might not bring in this market of fanciful bidders.
Let us note the fact that the peasant was not a little amused by the
absurd value which the rich man attached to objects long familiar and
unprized by himself. The picturesque and the beautiful were elements so
totally removed from all his estimate of worth, that he readily ascribed
to something very like insanity the great man's fondness for them. That
a group of stone pines on a jutting cliff, a lone and rocky island, a
ruined wall, an ancient well canopied by a bower of honeysuckle, should
be deemed objects of price, appeared to be the most capricious of all
tastes; and, in his ignorance as to what imparted this value, he glutted
the market with everything that occurred to him. Spots of ground the
least attractive, tenements occupying the most ill-chosen sites, ugly
and misshapen remains of cottages long deserted, were all vaunted as
fully as good or better than their neighbors had sold for thousands.
It must be owned, the market price of any article seemed the veriest
lottery imaginable. One man could actually find no purchaser for four
acres of the finest potato-garden in the county; another got a hundred
guineas for his good-will of a bit of stony land that wouldn't feed
a goat; here was a slated house no one would look at, there was a mud
hovel a Lord and two Members of Parliament were outbidding each other
over these three weeks. Could anything be more arbitrary or inexplicable
than this? In fact, it almost seemed as if the old, the ruinous, the
neglected, and the unprofitable had now usurped the place of all that
was neat, orderly, or beneficial.
If we have suffered ourselves to be led into these remarks, they are
not altogether digressionary. The Hermitage, we have said, was doomed.
Common report alleged that the Queen had selected the spot for her
future residence, and of a truth it was even worthy of such a destiny.
Whether in reality royalty had made the choice, or that merely it
was yet a speculation in hope of such an event, we cannot say, but an
accomplished architect had already begun the work of reconstruction,
and more than two-thirds of the former building were now demolished. The
fragment that still remained was about the oldest part of the cottage,
and not the least picturesque. It was a little wing with three gables to
the front, the ancient framework, of black oak, quaintly ornamented
with many a tasteful device and grim decoration. A little portico, whose
columns were entirely concealed by the rich foliage of a rhododendron,
stood before the windows, whose diamond panes told of an era when glass
bore a very different value; a gorgeous flower-plat, one rich expanse
of rare tulips and ranunculi, sloped from the portico to the river, over
which a single plank formed a bridge. The stream, which was here
deep and rock-bottomed, could be barely seen between the deep hanging
branches of the weeping-ash; but its presence might be recognized by
the occasional plash of a leaping trout, or the still louder stroke of
a swan's wing as he sailed in solemn majesty over his silent domain.
So straggling and wide-spreading had been the ancient building, that,
although a part of the condemned structure, the clank of the mason's
trowel and the turmoil of the falling materials could scarcely be heard
in this quiet, sequestered spot. Here Sybella Kellett still lived,--left
behind by her great protectors,--half in forgetfulness. Soon after the
triumph of the Ossory Bank they had removed to Dublin, thence to
London, where they now awaited the passage of a special bill to make
the Glen-gariff allotment scheme a chartered company. Although the great
turn in the fortunes of Glengariff had transmitted to other hands the
direction and guidance of events there, her zeal, energy, and, above
all, her knowledge of the people, especially marked her out as one whose
services were most valuable. English officials, new to Ireland and its
ways, quickly discovered the vast superiority she possessed over them
in all dealings with the peasantry, whose prejudices she understood, and
whose modes of thought were familiar to her. By none were her qualities
more appreciated than by Mr. Hankes. There was a promptitude and
decision in all she did, a ready-witted intelligence to encounter
whatever difficulty arose, and a bold, purpose-like activity of
character about her that amazed and delighted that astute gentleman.
“She 's worth us all, sir,” he would say to Sir Elkanah Paston, the
great English engineer,--“worth us all. Her suggestions are priceless;
see how she detected the cause of those shifting sands in the harbor,
and supplied the remedy at once; mark how she struck out that line
of road from the quarries; think of her transplanting those pinasters
five-and-thirty feet high, and not a failure,--not one failure amongst
them; and there's the promontory, now the most picturesque feature of
the bay: and as to those terraced gardens that she laid out last week,
I vow and declare Sir Joseph himself couldn't have done it better. And
then, after a day of labor--riding, perhaps, five-and-twenty or thirty
miles--she 'll sit down to her desk and write away half the night.”
If it had not been for one trait, Mr. Hankes would have pronounced her
perfection; there was, however, a flaw, which the more he thought over
the more did it puzzle him. She was eminently quick-sighted, keen
to read motives and appreciate character, and yet with all this she
invariably spoiled every bargain made with the people. Instead of taking
advantage of their ignorance and inexperience, she was continually on
the watch over _their_ interests; instead of endeavoring to overreach
them, she was mindful of their advantage, cautiously abstaining from
everything that might affect their rights.
“We might have bought up half the county for a song, sir, if it were not
for that girl,” Mr. Hankes would say; “she has risen the market on us
everywhere. 'Let us be just,' she says. I want to be just, Miss Kellett,
but just to ourselves.”
A pleasant phrase is that same one “just to ourselves;” but Mr. Hankes
employed it like many other people, and never saw its absurdity.
Now, Sybella Kellett fancied that justice had a twofold obligation,
and found herself very often the advocate of the poor man, patiently
sustaining his rights, and demanding their recognition. Confidence, we
are told by a great authority, is a plant of slow growth, and yet she
acquired it in the end. The peasantry submitted to her claims the most
complex and involved; they brought their quaint old contracts, half
illegible by time and neglect; they recited, and confirmed by oral
testimony, the strangest possible of tenures; they recounted long
narratives of how they succeeded to this holding, and what claims they
could prefer to that; histories that would have worn out almost any
human patience to hear, and especially trying to one whose apprehension
was of the quickest. And yet she would listen to the very end, make
herself master of the case, and give it a deep and full consideration.
This done, she decided; and to that decision none ever objected.
Whatever her decree, it was accepted as just and fair, and even if a
single disappointed or discontented suitor could have been found, he
would have shrunk from avowing himself the opponent of public opinion.
It was, however, by the magic of her sympathy, by the secret charm of
understanding their natures, and participating in every joy and sorrow
of their hearts, that she gained her true ascendancy over them. There
was nothing feigned or factitious in her feeling for them; it was not
begotten of that courtly tact which knows names by heart, remembers
little family traits, and treasures up an anecdote; it was true,
heart-felt, honest interest in their welfare. She had watched them long
and closely; she knew that the least amiable trait in their natures was
also that which oftenest marred their fortunes,--distrust; and she set
herself vigorously to work to uproot this vile, pernicious weed, the
most noxious that ever poisoned the soil of a human heart. By her own
truthful dealings with them she inspired truth, by _her_ fairness she
exacted fairness, and by the straightforward honesty of her words and
actions they grew to learn how far easier and pleasanter could be the
business of life where none sought to overreach his neighbor.
[Illustration: 175]
To such an extent had her influence spread that it became at last
well-nigh impossible to conclude any bargain for land without her
co-operation. Unless her award had decided, the peasant could not
bring himself to believe that his claim had met a just or equitable
consideration; but whatever Miss Bella decreed was final and
irrevocable. From an early hour each morning the suitors to her court
began to arrive. Under a large damson-tree was placed a table, at which
she sat, busily writing away, and listening all the while to their
long-drawn-out narratives. It was her rule never to engage in any
purchase when she had not herself made a visit to the spot in question,
ascertained in person all its advantages and disadvantages, and
speculated how far its future value should influence its present price.
In this way she had travelled far and near over the surrounding country,
visiting localities the wildest and least known, and venturing into
districts where a timid traveller had not dared to set foot. It required
all her especial acuteness, often-times, to find out--from garbled and
incoherent descriptions--the strange and out-of-the-way places no
map had ever indicated. In fact, the wild and untravelled country was
pathless as a sea, and nothing short of her ready-witted tact had been
able to navigate it.
She was, as usual, busied one morning with her peasant levee when Mr.
Hankes arrived. He brought a number of letters from the post, and
was full of the importance so natural to him who has the earliest
intelligence.
“Great news, Miss Bella,” said he, gayly,--“very great news. One of
the French Princes announces his intention to build a villa here. He
requires a small park of some forty or fifty acres, access to the
sea, and a good anchorage for his yacht. This note here will give all
particulars. Here is an application from Sir Craven Tollemache; he wants
us to build him a house on any picturesque site near the shore, and
contracts to take it on lease. Here is a demand for one hundred shares,
fifty to be exchanged for shares in the Boquantilla Cobalt and Zinc
Mines, now at a premium. Kelsal and Waterline wish to know what
facilities we would afford them to establish yacht-building in Crooke's
Harbor. If liberally dealt with, they propose to expend fifty thousand
on permanent improvements. Lord Drellington is anxious for a house in
Lackington Crescent. I believe he is too late. There are also seven
applications for 'Arden House,' which, I fancy, has been promised to Sir
Peter Parkeswith. Founde's Cliff, too, is eagerly run after; that sketch
you made of it has been a great success. We must extend our territories,
Miss Bella,--we must widen our frontier; never was there such a hit.
It is the grandest operation of Mr. Dunn's life. Seven hundred and
twenty-three thousand pounds,--one-fourth already paid, the remainder
available at short calls. Those Welsh people, Plimnon and Price,
are eager about our lead-mine, and we can run up the shares there to
sixty-five or seventy whenever we please. Here, too, are the plans
for the new Casino and Baths. This is the sketch of a Hydropathic
Establishment,--a pet scheme of Lord Glengariffs; we must let him
have it. And here is Truevane's report about the marble. It will serve
admirably for every purpose but statuary. Our slate slabs are pronounced
the finest ever imported. We mean to flag the entire terrace along
the sea with them. This is from Dunn himself; it is very short, and
hurriedly written: 'Chevass will move the second reading of our bill on
Tuesday. I have spoken to the Chancellor, and it is all right. Before it
goes to the Lords we must have a new issue of shares. I want, at least,
two hundred and fifty thousand by the end of the year.' He says nothing
about politics; indeed, he is so occupied with gayeties and fine
company, he has little time for business. He only mentions that 'till we
have done with this stupid war we cannot hope for any real extension to
our great enterprise.'”
“And does he put our miserable plottings here in competition with the
noble struggle of our glorious soldiers in the Crimea?” cried she, now
breaking silence for the first time.
Mr. Hankes actually started with the energy of her manner, and for a
moment could scarcely collect himself to reply.
“Well, you know, Miss Bella,” said he, faltering at every word, “we are
men of peace,--we are people engaged in the quiet arts of trade,--we
cannot be supposed indifferent to the interests our lives are passed in
forwarding.”
“But you are Englishmen, besides, sir; not to say you _are_ brothers and
kinsmen of the gallant men who are fighting our enemies.”
“Very true, Miss Bella,--very true; they have their profession and we
have ours. We rejoice in their success as we participate in all the
enthusiasm of their gallantry. I give you my word of honor, I could n't
help filling out an extra glass of sherry yesterday to the health of
that fine fellow who dashed at the Russian staff and carried off a
colonel prisoner. You saw it, I suppose, in the papers?”
“No. Pray let me hear it,” said she, eagerly.
“Well, it was an observation--a 'reconnaissance' I think they called
it--the Russians were making of the Sardinian lines, and they came so
near that a young soldier--an orderly of General La Marmora's--heard one
of them say, 'Yes, I have the whole position in my head.' Determining
that so dangerous a fellow should not get back to head-quarters, he
watched him closely, till he knew he could not be mistaken in him,
and then setting off at speed,--for he was mounted,--he crossed the
Tchernaya a mile or so further up, and, waiting for them, he lay
concealed in a small copse. His plan was to sell his own life for this
officer's; but whether he relinquished that notion, or that chance
decided the event, there's no knowing. In he dashed, into the midst of
them, cut this colonel's bridle-arm across at the wrist, and, taking his
horse's reins, rode for it with all speed towards his own lines. He got
a start of thirty or forty strides before they could rally in pursuit,
which they did actually up to the very range of the rifle-pits, and only
retired at last when three fell dead or wounded.”
[Illustration: 178]
“But _he_ escaped?” cried she.
“That he did, and carried his prisoner safe into the lines, and
presented him to the General, modestly remarking, 'He is safer here than
over yonder,'--pointing to Sebastopol; and, strangest part of the whole
thing, he turns out to be an Englishman.”
“An Englishman?”
“Yes. He was serving, by some strange accident, on General La Marmora's
staff, as a simple orderly, though evidently a man of some education and
position,--one of those wild young bloods, doubtless, that had gone
too fast at home, but who really do us no discredit when it comes to a
question of pluck and daring.”
“Do us no discredit!” cried she; “and have you nothing more generous to
say of one who has asserted the honor of England so nobly in the face of
an entire army? Do us no discredit! Why, one such feat as this adds more
glory to the nation than all the schemes of all the jobbers who deal in
things like these.” And she threw contemptuously from her the colored
plans and pictures that littered the table.
“Dear me, Miss Kellett, here's a whole ink-bottle spilled over the
Davenport Obelisk.”
“Do us no discredit!” burst out she again. “Are we really the nation of
shopkeepers that France calls us? Have we no pride save in successful
bargaining, no glory save in growing rich? Is money-getting so close at
the nation's heart that whatever retards or delays its hoardings savors
of misfortune? When you were telling me that anecdote, how I envied
the land that owned such a hero; and when you said he was our own,--our
countryman; my heart felt bursting with gratitude. Tell me his name.”
“His name,--his name,--how strange that I should have forgotten it; for,
as I told you, I toasted his health only yesterday.”
“Yes, you remember the sherry!” said she, bitterly.
Mr. Hankes's cheek tingled and grew crimson. It was a mood of passionate
excitement he had never witnessed in her before, and he was astounded at
the change in one usually so calm and self-possessed. It was then in
no small confusion that he turned over the letter before him to find
something which might change the topic in discussion.
“Ah, here is a matter,” said he, referring once more to Dunn's
letter. “He says: 'Beg of Miss Kellett to see a small holding called
“Kilmaganagh;” I cannot exactly say where, but it lies to the north
of Bantry Bay. I suspect that it possesses few recommendations such
as would entitle it to a place in the “scheme;” but, if to be had on
reasonable terms, I would be well pleased to obtain it. Driscoll had
effected a part purchase, but, having failed to pay up the instalment
due last March, his claim lapses. By the way, can you ascertain for me
where this same Driscoll has gone to? It is now above four months since
I have heard of him. Trace him, if possible. As to Kilmaganagh, tell
Miss K. that she may indulge that generosity she is not indisposed to
gratify, and be on this occasion a liberal purchaser.' He fancies you
lean a little to the country-people, Miss Bella,” said Hankes, as
he stole a cautious glance at her now heightened color. “I will even
consent to what is called a fancy price for the tenement, and certainly
not lose it for a hundred or two above its actual value. Look to this,
and look to Driscoll. There's a riddle here, Miss Bella, if we knew how
to read it,” said Hankes, as he looked over the few lines once more.
“I have but scant wits to read riddles, Mr. Hankes. Let us see where
this place lies.” And she turned to a large map on the table, the paths
and cross-paths of which had been marked in different colored inks by
her own hand. “I remember the name. There was an old tower called
Kilmaganagh Fort, which used to be visible from the bay. Yes, here it
is,--a strange, wild spot, too, and, as Mr. Dunn opines, scarcely
available for his great scheme.”
“But he has so many great schemes,” said Hankes, with a sly and sidelong
glance towards her.
Sybella, however, paid no attention to the remark, but, leaning over the
map, continued to trace out the line of route to the spot in question.
“By crossing Bantry Bay at Gortalassy, one might save above thirty miles
of way. I have been over the road before, and remember it well.”
“And you really mean to undertake the journey?” asked Hankes, in some
astonishment.
“Of course I do. I ask nothing better than to be fully occupied, and am
well pleased when in so doing I can exchange the desk for the saddle,
or, almost better, the stern-sheets of a Bantry Hooker. You are not a
woman, and you cannot feel, therefore, the sense of pride inspired by
mere utility.”
“I wish I might ask you a favor, Miss Kellett,” said he, after a
moment's thought.
“A favor of _me!_” said she, laughing, as though the idea amused her.
“Yes,” said he, resuming. “I would beg to be permitted to accompany you
on this same journey. I have never been any of these wild, untravelled
tracts, and it would be a great additional charm to visit them in your
company.”
“So far as I am concerned, I grant you the permission freely; but it
were well for you to remember that you must not only be well mounted,
but prepared to ride over some rough country. I go, usually, as the crow
flies, and, as nearly as I can, the same pace too. Now, between this and
Loughbeg, there are, at least, three trying fences: one a wall with a
deep drop beyond it, and another a steep bank, where I remember that
somebody narrowly escaped having an ugly fall; there's a small estuary,
too, to cross, near Gortalassy. But I am ashamed to enumerate these
petty obstacles; such as they are, they are the only ones,--there are
none on my part.”
“When do you mean to set out?” asked Hankes, in a tone far less eager
than his former question.
“There's a full moon to-morrow night, so that, leaving this about
midnight, we might reach the bay by six or seven o'clock, and then, if
we should be fortunate with the wind, arrive at Kilmaganagh by about
four o'clock. Taking there three or four hours to see the place, we
could start again about eight, or even nine--”
“Good heavens! that gives nothing for repose,--no time to recruit.”
“You forget there are fully five hours on board the boat. I 'll not be
the least offended if you sleep the entire time. If there 's not wind
enough to take in a reef, I 'll give the tiller to old Mark Spillane,
and take a sleep myself.”
“It is really like a Tartar journey,” said the terrified Hankes.
“I have told you the worst of it, I must own,” said she, laughing, “for
I feel I have no right to obtain your escort on false pretences.”
“And you would go alone over this long distance,--land and sea?”
“Land and sea are very grand words, Mr. Hankes, for some five-and-twenty
miles of heather and a few hours in an open boat; but such as they are,
I would go them alone.”
Mr. Hankes would like to have said something complimentary, something
flattering, but it did not exactly occur to him how he was to do it.
To have exalted her heroism would be like a confession of his own
poltroonery; to have seen any surprising evidence of boldness in her
daring might possibly reflect upon her delicacy. He felt--none could
have felt more thoroughly--that she was very courageous and very full of
energy; but, somehow, these were humble aid to propagate that notion,--I
had almost said that fallacy. “Only hear me out,” said she, as he tried
to interrupt “I began my duties in the most sanguine of all moods.
Heaven knows not what dreams I had of a land of abundance and content.
Well, I have seen the abundance,--the wealth has really poured in; every
one is richer, better fed, clothed, housed, and cared for, and almost
in an equal ratio are they grown more covetous, grasping, envious,
and malevolent--You won't let me finish,” cried she, as he showed an
increasing impatience. “Well, perhaps, as we stroll along the cliffs
to-morrow, you will be more disposed to listen; that is, if I have not
already terrified you from accepting the companionship.”
“Oh, no! by no means; but how are we to go,--do we drive?”
“Drive! why, my dear Mr. Hankes, it is only a Kerry pony has either
legs or head for the path we must follow. Cast your eye along this
coast-line; Jagged and fanciful as it looks, it conveys no notion of its
rugged surface of rock, and its wild and darksome precipices. Take
my word for it, you have as much to learn of the scenery as of the
temperament of the land.”
“But I'd like to go,” repeated he, his accent being marvellously little
in accordance with the sentiment.
“Nothing easier, sir. I'll give orders to have a pony--a most reliable
pony--ready for you here to-morrow evening, when I shall expect you at
tea.”
Mr. Hankes bowed his grateful acknowledgments.
“I suspect, sir,” said she, playfully, “that I have guessed your reason
for this journey.”
“My reason, my dear Miss Kellett,” said he, in confusion,--“my reason is
simply the pleasure and honor of _your_ company, and the opportunity of
visiting an interesting scene with--with--with--”
“No matter for the compliment; but I began really to imagine that you
wished to learn my secret of bargaining with the people; that you wanted
to witness one of these contracts you have heard so much of. Well, sir,
you shall have it: our sole secret is, we trust each other.”