Although Mr. Hickman O'Reilly affected an easy unconcern regarding
the issue of the trial, he received during the morning more than one
despatch from the court-house narrating its progress. They were brief
but significant; and when Hefferuan, with his own tact, inquired if the
news were satisfactory, the reply was made by putting into his hands a
slip of paper with a few words written in pencil: “They are beaten,-the
verdict is certain.”
“I concluded,” said Heffernan, as he handed back the paper, “that the
case was not deemed by you a very doubtful matter.”
“Neither doubtful nor important,” said Hickman, calmly; “it was an
effort, in all probability suggested by some crafty lawyer, to break
several leases on the ground of forgery in the signatures. I am
sure nothing short of Mr. Darcy's great difficulties would ever have
permitted him to approve of such a proceeding.”
“The shipwrecked sailor will cling to a hen-coop,” said Heffernan. “By
the way, where are these Darcys? What has become of them?”
“Living in Wales, or in Scotland, some say.”
“Are they utterly ruined?”
“Utterly, irretrievably. A course of extravagance maintained for years
at a rate of about double his income, loans obtained at any sacrifice,
sales of property effected without regard to loss, have overwhelmed him;
and the worst of it is, the little remnant of fortune left is likely
to be squandered in vain attempts to recover at law what he has lost by
recklessness.”
Heffernan walked on for some moments in silence, and, as if pondering
over Hickman's words, repeated several times, half aloud: “No doubt of
it,--no doubt of it.” Then added, in a louder tone: “The whole history
of this family, Mr. O'Reilly, is a striking confirmation of a remark I
heard made, a few days since, by a distinguished individual,--to _you_
I may say it was Lord Cornwallis. 'Heffernan,' said he, 'this country is
in a state of rapid transition; everything progresses but the old gentry
of the land; they alone seem rooted to ancient prejudices, and fast
confirmed in bygone barbarisms.' I ventured to ask him if he could
suggest a remedy for the evil, and I 'll never forget the tone with
which he whispered in my ear, 'Yes; supersede them!' And that, sir,”
said Heffernan, laying his hand confidentially on O'Reilly's arm,--“that
is and must be the future policy regarding Ireland.”
Mr. Heffernan did not permit himself to risk the success of his stroke
by a word more, nor did he even dare to cast a look at his companion and
watch how his spell was working. As the marksman feels when he has shot
his bolt that no after-thought can amend the aim, so did he wait quietly
for the result, without a single effort on his part. “The remark is a
new one to me,” said O'Reilly, at length; “but so completely does it
accord with my own sentiments, I feel as if I either had or might have
made it myself. The old school you speak of were little calculated to
advance the prosperity of the country; the attachment of the people to
them was fast wearing out.”
“Nay,” interposed Heffernan, “it was that very same attachment,
that rude remnant of feudalism, made the greatest barrier against
improvement. The law of the land was powerless in comparison with the
obligations of this clanship. It is time, full time, that the people
should become English in feeling, as they are in law and in language;
and to make them so, the first step is, to work the reformation in
the gentry. Now, at the hazard of a liberty which you may deem an
impertinence, I will tell you frankly, Mr. O'Reilly, that you, you
yourself, are admirably calculated to lead the van of this great
movement. It is all very natural, and perhaps very just, that in a
moment of chagrin with a minister or his party, a man should feel
indignant, and, although acting under a misconception, throw himself
into a direct opposition; yet a little reflection will show that such a
line involves a false position. Popularity with the masses could never
recompense a man like you for the loss of that higher esteem you must
sacrifice for it; the _devoirs_ of your station impose a very different
class of duties from what this false patriotism suggests; besides, if
from indignation--a causeless indignation I am ready to prove it--you
separate yourself from the Government, you are virtually suffering your
own momentary anger to decide the whole question of your son's career.
You are shutting the door of advancement against a young man with
every adventitious aid of fortune in his favor; handsome, accomplished,
wealthy,-what limit need there be to his ambition? And finally, some
fellow, like our friend the Counsellor, without family, friends, or
fortune, but with lungs of leather and a ready tongue, will beat you
hollow in the race, and secure a wider influence over the mass of the
people than a hundred gentlemen like you. You will deem it, probably,
enough to spend ten or fifteen thousand on a contested election, and to
give a vote for your party in Parliament; he, on the other hand,
will write letters, draw up petitions, frame societies, meetings,
resolutions, and make speeches, every word of which will sink deeply
into the hearts of men whose feelings are his own. You, and others
in your station, will be little better than tools in his hands; and
powerful as you think yourselves to-day, with your broad acres and your
cottier freeholders, the time may come when these men will be less
at _your_ bidding than _his_, and for this simple reason,--the man of
nothing will always be ready to bid higher for mob support than he who
has a fortune to lose.”
“You have put a very strong case,” said O'Reilly; “perhaps I should
think it stronger, if I had not heard most of the arguments before,
from yourself, and know by this time how their application to me has not
sustained your prophecy.”
“I am ready to discuss that with you, too,” said Heffer-nan. “I know how
it all happened: had I been with you the day you dined with Castlereagh,
the misunderstanding never could have occurred; but there was a fatality
in it all. Come,” said he, familiarly, and he slipped his arm, as he
spoke, within O'Reilly's, “I am the worst diplomatist in the world, and
I fear I never should have risen to high rank in the distinguished
corps of engineers if such had been my destination. I can lay down the
parallels and the trenches patiently enough, I can even bring up my
artillery and my battering-train, but, hang it! somehow, I never can
wait for a breach to storm through. The truth is, if it were not for
a very strong feeling on the subject I have just spoken of, you never
would have seen me here this day. No man is happier or prouder to enjoy
your hospitality than I am, but I acknowledge it was a higher sentiment
induced me to accept your invitation. When your note reached me, I
showed it to Castlereagh.
“'What answer have you sent?' said he.
“'Declined, of course,' said I.
“'You are wrong, Heffernan,' said his Lordship, as he took from me the
note which I held ready sealed in my hand; 'in my opinion, Heffernan,
you are quite wrong.'
“'I may be so, my Lord; but I confess to you I always act from the first
impulse, and if it suggests regret afterwards, it at least saves trouble
at the time.'
“'Heffernan,' said the Secretary, as he calmly read over the lines of
your letter, 'there are many reasons why you should go: in the first
place, O'Reilly has really a fair grudge against us, and this note shows
that he has the manliness to forget it. Every line of it bespeaks the
gentleman, and I 'll not feel contented with myself until you convey to
him my own sorrow for what is past, and the high sense I entertain of
his character and conduct.'
“He said a great deal more; enough, if I tell you he induced me to
rescind my first intention, and to become your guest; and I may say that
I never followed advice the consequences of which have so thoroughly
sustained my expectations.”
“This is very flattering,” said O'Reilly; “it is, indeed, more than I
looked for; but, as you have been candid with me, I will be as open with
you: I had already made up my mind to retire, for a season at least,
from politics. My father, you know, is a very old man, and not without
the prejudices that attach to his age; he was always averse to those
ambitious views a public career would open, and a degree of coldness
had begun to grow up between us in consequence. This estrangement is now
happily at an end; and in his consenting to our present mode of life and
its expenditure, he is, in reality, paying the recompense of his former
opposition. I will not say what changes time may work in my opinion or
my line of acting; but I will pledge myself that, if I do resume the
path of public life, you are the very first man I will apprise of the
intention.”
A cordial shake-hands ratified this compact; and Heffer-nan, who now saw
that the fortress had capitulated, only stipulating for the honors
of war, was about to add something very complimentary, when Beecham
O'Reilly galloped up, with his horse splashed and covered with foam.
“Don't you want to hear O'Halloran, Mr. Heffernan?” cried he.
“Yes, by all means.”
“Come along, then; don't lose a moment; there's a phaeton ready for you
at the door, and if we make haste, we'll be in good time.”
O'Reilly whispered a few words in his son's ear, to which the other
replied, aloud,--
“Oh! quite safe, perfectly safe. He was obliged to join his regiment,
and sail at a moment's notice.”
“Young Darcy, I presume?” said Heffernan, with a look of malicious
intelligence. But no answer was returned, and O'Reilly continued to
converse eagerly in Beecham's ear.
“Here comes the carriage, Mr. Heffernan,” said the young man; “so slip
in, and let's be off.” And, giving his horse to a servant, he took his
seat beside Heffernan, and drove off at a rapid pace towards the town.
After a quick drive of some miles, they entered the town, and had no
necessity to ask if O'Halloran had begun his address to the jury. The
streets which led to the square before the court-house, and the square
itself, was actually crammed with country-people, of all sexes and ages;
some standing with hats off, or holding their hands close to their
ears, but all, in breathless silence, listening to the words of the
Counsellor, which were not less audible to those without than within the
building.
Nothing short of Beecham O'Reilly's present position in the county,
and the fact that the gratification they were then deriving was of his
family's procuring for them, could have enabled him to force a passage
through that dense crowd, which wedged up all the approaches. As it was,
he could only advance step by step, the horses and even the pole of the
carriage actually forcing the way through the throng.
As they went thus slowly, the rich tones of the speaker swelled on the
air with a clear, distinct, and yet so soft and even musical intonation
that they fell deeply into the hearts of the listeners. He was evidently
bent as much on appealing to those outside the court as to the jury, for
his speech was less addressed to the legal question at issue than to
the social condition of the peasantry; the all but absolutism of a
landlord,--the serf-like slavery of a tenantry, dependent on the will
or the caprice of the owners of the soil! With the consummate art of
a rhetorician, he first drew the picture of an estate happily
circumstanced, a benevolent landlord surrounded by a contented tenantry,
the blessings of the poor man, “rising like the dews of the earth, and
descending again in rain to refresh and fertilize the source it sprang
from.” Not vaguely nor unskilfully, but with thorough knowledge, of his
subject, he descanted on the condition of the peasant, his toils, his
struggles against poverty and sickness borne with long-suffering and
patience, from the firm trust that, even in this world, his destinies
were committed to no cruel or unfeeling taskmaster. Although generally a
studied plainness and even homeliness of language pervaded all he said,
yet at times some bold figure, some striking and brilliant metaphor,
would escape him, and then, far from soaring--as it might be suspected
he had--above the comprehension of the hearers, a subdued murmur of
delight would follow the words, and swelling louder and louder, burst
forth at last into one great roar of applause. If a critical ear might
cavil at the incompleteness or inaptitude of his similes, to the warm
imagination and excited fancy of the Irish peasant they had no such
blemishes.
It was at the close of a brilliant peroration on this theme, that
Heffernan and Beecham O'Reilly reached the courthouse, and with
difficulty forcing their way, obtained standing-room near the bar.
The orator had paused, and turning round he caught Beecham's eye: the
glance exchanged was but of a second's duration, but, brief as it was,
it did not escape Heffernan's notice, and with a readiness he knew well
how to profit by, he assumed a quiet smile, as though to say that he,
too, had read its meaning. The young man blushed deeply; whatever his
secret thoughts were, he felt ashamed that another should seem to know
them, and in a hesitating whisper, said,--
“Perhaps my father has told you--”
A short nod from Heffernan--a gesture to imply anything or nothing--was
all his reply, and Beecham went on,--
“He's going to do it, now.”
Heffernan made no answer, but, leaning forward on the rail, settled
himself to listen attentively to the speaker.
“Gentlemen of the jury,” said O'Halloran, in a low and deliberate tone,
“if the only question I was interested in bringing before you this day
was the cause you sit there to try, I would conclude here. Assured as
I feel what your verdict will and must be, I would not add a word more,
nor weaken the honest merit of your convictions by anything like an
appeal to your feelings. But I cannot do this. The law of the land, in
the plenitude of its liberty, throws wide the door of justice, that all
may enter and seek redress for wrong, and with such evident anxiety that
he who believes himself aggrieved should find no obstacle to his right,
and that even he who frivolously and maliciously advances a charge
against another suffers no heavier penalty for his offence than the
costs of the suit. No, my Lords, for the valuable moments lost in a
vexatious cause, for the public time consumed, for insult and outrage
cast upon the immutable principles of right and wrong, you have nothing
more severe to inflict than the costs of the action!--a pecuniary fine,
seldom a heavy one, and not unfrequently to be levied upon insolvency!
What encouragement to the spirit of revengeful litigation! How
suggestive of injury is the system! How deplorable would it be if
the temple could not be opened without the risk of its altar being
desecrated! But, happily, there is a remedy--a great and noble
remedy--for an evil like this. The same glorious institutions that have
built up for our protection the bulwark of the law, have created another
barrier against wrong,--grander, more expansive, and more enduring
still; one neither founded on the variable basis of nationality or of
language, nor propped by the artifices of learned, or the subtleties
of crafty men; not following the changeful fortunes of a political
condition, or tempered by the tone of the judgment-seat, but of all
lands, of every tongue and nation and people, great, enduring, and
immutable,--the law of Public Opinion. To the bar of this judgment-seat,
one higher and greater than even your Lordships, I would now summon
the plaintiff in this action. There is no need that I should detail
the charge against him; the accusation he has brought this day is our
indictment,--his allegation is his crime.”
The reader, by this time, may partake of Mr. Heffernan's prescience, and
divine what the secret intelligence between the Counsellor and Beecham
portended, and that a long-meditated attack on the Knight of Gwynne, in
all the relations of his public and private life, was the chief duty
of Mr. O'Halloran in the action. Taking a lesson from the great and
illustrious chief of a neighboring state, O'Reilly felt that Usurpation
can never be successful till Legitimacy becomes odious. The “prestige”
of the “old family” clung too powerfully to every class in the county
to make his succession respected. His low origin was too recent, his
moneyed dealings too notorious, to gain him acceptance, except on the
ruins of the Darcys. The new edifice of his own fame must be erected out
of the scattered and broken materials of his rival's house. If any one
was well calculated to assist in such an emergency, it was O'Halloran.
It was by--to use his own expression--“weeding the country of such men”
that the field would be opened for that new class of politicians who
were to issue their edicts in newspapers, and hold their parliaments in
public meetings. Against exclusive or exaggerated loyalty the struggle
would be violent, but not difficult; while against moderation, sound
sense and character, the Counsellor well knew the victory was not so
easy of attainment. He himself, therefore, had a direct personal object
in this attack on the Knight of Gwynne, and gladly accepted the special
retainer that secured his services.
By a series of artful devices, he so arranged his case that the Knight
of Gwynne did not appear as an injured individual seeking redress
against the collusive guilt of his agent and his tenantry, but as a
ruined gambler, endeavoring to break the leases he had himself granted
and guaranteed, and, by an act of perfidy, involve hundreds of innocent
families in hopeless beggary. To the succor of these unprotected people
Mr. Hickman O'Reilly was represented as coming forward, this noble
act of devotion being the first pledge he had offered of what might be
expected from him as the future leader of a great county.
He sketched with a masterly but diabolical ingenuity the whole career
of the Knight, representing him at every stage of life as the pampered
voluptuary seeking means for fresh enjoyment without a thought of the
consequences; he exhibited him dispensing, not the graceful duties
of hospitality, but the reckless waste of a tasteless household, to
counterbalance by profusion the insolent hauteur of his wife, “that
same Lady Eleanor who would not deign to associate with the wives and
daughters of his neighbors!” “I know not,” cried the orator, “whether
you were more crushed by _his_ gold or by _her_ insolence: it was time
that you should weary of both. You took the wealth on trust, and the
rank on guess,--what now remains of either?”
He drew a frightful picture of a suffering and poverty-enslaved
tenantry, sinking fast into barbarism from hopelessness,--unhappily, no
Irishman need depend upon his imagination for the sketch. He contrasted
the hours of toil and sickness with the wanton spendthrift in his
pleasures,--the gambler setting the fate of families on the die,
reserving for his last hope the consolation that he might still betray
those whom he had ruined, land that when he had dissipated the last
shilling of his fortune, he still had the resource of putting his honor
up to auction! “And who is there will deny that he did this?” cried
O'Halloran. “Is there any man in the kingdom has not heard of his
conduct in Parliament--that foul act of treachery which the justice of
Heaven stigmatized by his ruin! How on the very night of the debate he
was actually on his way to inflict the last wound upon his country, when
the news came of his own overwhelming destruction! And, like as you have
seen sometime in our unhappy land the hired informer transferred from
the witness-table to the dock, this man stands now forth to answer for
his own offences!
“It was full time that the rotten edifice of this feudalist gentry
should fall; honor to you on whom the duty devolves to roll away the
first stone!”
A slight movement in the crowd behind the bar disturbed the silence in
which the Court listened to the speaker, and a murmur of disapprobation
was heard, when a hand, stretched forth, threw a little slip of paper on
the table before O'Halloran. It was addressed to him; and believing it
came from the attorney in the cause, he paused to read it. Suddenly his
features became of an ashy paleness, his lip trembled convulsively, and
in a voice scarcely audible from emotion, he addressed the bench,--
“My Lords, I ask the protection of this Court. I implore your Lordships
to see that an advocate, in the discharge of his duty, is not the mark
of an assassin. I have just received this note--” He attempted to read
it, but after a pause of a second or two, unable to utter a word, he
handed the paper to the bench.
The judge perused the paper, and immediately whispered an order that
the writer, or at least the bearer, of the note should be taken into
custody.
“You may rest assured, sir,” said the senior judge, addressing
O'Halloran, “that we will punish the offender, if he be discovered,
with the utmost penalty the law permits. Mr. Sheriff, let the court be
searched.”
The sub-sheriff was already, with the aid of a strong police force,
engaged in the effort to discover the individual who had thus dared to
interfere with the administration of justice; but all in vain. The court
and the galleries were searched without eliciting anything that could
lead to detection; and although several were taken up on suspicion, they
were immediately afterwards liberated on being recognized as persons
well known and in repute. Meanwhile the business of the trial stood
still, and O'Halloran, with his arms folded, and his brows bent in a
sullen frown, sat without speaking, or noticing any one around him.
The curiosity to know the exact words the paper contained was meanwhile
extreme, and a thousand absurd versions gained currency; for, in the
absence of all fact, invention was had recourse to. “Young Darcy is
here,--he was seen this morning on the mail,--it was he himself gave the
letter.” Such were among the rumors around; while Con Hefferman, coolly
tapping his snuff-box, asked one of the lawyers near him, but in a voice
plainly audible on either side, “I hope our friend Bagenal Daly is well;
have you seen him lately?”
From that moment an indistinct murmur ran through the crowd that it was
Daly had come back to “the West” to challenge the bar, and the whole
bench, if necessary. Many added that there could no longer be any doubt
of the fact, as Mr. Heffernan had seen and spoken to him.
Order was at last restored; but so completely had this new incident
absorbed all the interest of the trial, that already the galleries began
to thin, and of the great crowd that filled the body of the court, many
had taken their departure. The Counsellor arose, agitated and evidently
disconcerted, to finish his task: he spoke, indeed, indignantly of the
late attempt to coerce the free expression of the advocate “by a brutal
threat;” but the theme seemed one he felt no pleasure in dwelling upon,
and he once more addressed himself to the facts of the case.
The judge charged briefly; and the jury, without retiring from the box,
brought in a verdict for Hickman O'Reilly.
When the judges retired to unrobe, a messenger of the court summoned
O'Halloran to their chamber. His absence was very brief; but when he
returned his face was paler, and his manner more disturbed than ever,
notwithstanding an evident effort to seem at ease and unconcerned. By
this time Hickman O'Reilly had arrived in the town, and Heffernan was
complimenting the Counsellor on the admirable display of his speech.
“I regret sincerely that the delicate nature of the position in which I
stood prevented my hearing you,” said O'Reilly, shaking his hand.
“You have indeed had a great loss,” said Heffernan; “a more brilliant
display I never listened to.”
“Well, sir,” interposed the little priest of Curraghglass, who, not
altogether to the Counsellor's satisfaction, had now slipped an arm
inside of his, “I hope the evil admits of remedy; Mr. O'Halloran intends
to address a few words to the people before he leaves the town.”
Whether it was the blank look that suddenly O'Reilly's features assumed,
or the sly malice that twinkled in Heffernan's gray eyes, or that his
own feelings suggested the course, but the Counsellor hastily whispered
a few words in the priest's ear, the only audible portion of which was
the conclusion: “Be that as it may, I 'll not do it.”
“I 'm ready now, Mr. O'Reilly,” said he, turning abruptly round.
“My father has gone over to say good-bye to the judges,” said Beecham;
“but I'll drive you back to the abbey,--the carriage is now at the
door.”
With a few more words in a whisper to the priest, O'Halloran moved on
with young O'Reilly towards the door.
“Only think, sir,” said Father John, dropping behind with Heffernan,
from whose apparent intimacy with O'Halloran he augured a similarity of
politics, “it is the first time the Counsellor was ever in our town,
the people have been waiting since two o'clock to hear him on the
'veto,'--sorra one of them knows what the same 'veto' is,--but it will
be a cruel disappointment to see him leave the place without so much as
saying a word.”
“Do you think a short address from _me_ would do instead?” said
Heffernan, slyly; “I know pretty well what's doing up in Dublin.”
“Nothing could be better, sir,” said Father John, in ecstasy; “if the
Counsellor would just introduce you in a few words, and say that, from
great fatigue, or a sore throat, or anything that way, he deputed his
friend Mr.--”
“Heffernan's my name.”
“His friend Mr. Heffernan to state his views about the 'veto,'--mind,
it must be the 'veto,'-you can touch on the reform in Parliament, the
oppression of the penal laws, but the 'veto' will bring a cheer that
will beat them all.”
“You had better hint the thing to the Counsellor,” said Heffernan; “I am
ready whenever you want me.”
As the priest stepped forward to make the communication to O'Halloran,
that gentleman, leaning on Beecham O'Reilly's arm, had just reached
the steps of the courthouse, where now a considerable police-force was
stationed,--a measure possibly suggested by O'Reilly himself.
The crowd, on catching sight of the Counsellor, cheered vociferously;
and, although they were not without fears that he intended to depart
without speaking, many averred that he would address them from the
carriage. Before Father John could make known his request, a young man,
dressed in a riding-costume, burst through the line of police, and,
springing up the steps, seized O'Halloran by the collar.
“I gave you a choice, sir,” said he, “and you made it;” and at the same
instant, with a heavy horsewhip, struck him several times across the
shoulders, and even the face. So sudden was the movement, and so violent
the assault, that, although a man of great personal strength, O'Halloran
had received several blows almost before he could defend himself,
and when he had rallied, his adversary, though much lighter and less
muscular, showed in skill, at least, he was his superior. The struggle,
however, was not to end here; for the mob, now seeing their favorite
champion attacked, with a savage howl of vengeance dashed forward, and
the police, well aware that the youth would be torn limb from limb,
formed a line in front of him with fixed bayonets. For a few moments
the result was doubtful; nor was it until more than one retired into the
crowd bleeding and wounded, that the mob desisted, or limited their rage
to yells of vengeance.
[Illustration: 098]
Meanwhile the Counsellor was pulled back within the court-house by his
companions, and the young man secured by two policemen,--a circumstance
which went far to allay the angry tempest of the people without.
As, pale and powerless from passion, his livid cheek marked with a deep
blue welt, O'Halloran sat in one of the waiting-rooms of the court,
O'Reilly and his son endeavored, as well as they could, to calm down his
rage; expressing, from time to time, their abhorrence of the indignity
offered, and the certain penalty that awaited the offender. O'Halloran
never spoke; he tried twice to utter something, but the words died away
without sound, and he could only point to his cheek with a trembling
finger, while his eyes glared like the red orbs of a tiger.
As they stood thus, Heffernan slipped noiselessly behind O'Reilly, and
said in his ear,--
“Get him off to the abbey; your son will take care of him. I have
something for yourself to hear.”
O'Reilly nodded significantly, and then, turning, said a few words in a
low, persuasive tone to O'Halloran, concluding thus: “Yes, by all means,
leave the whole affair in my hands. I 'll have no difficulty in making a
bench. The town is full of my brother magistrates.”
“On every account I would recommend this course, sir,” said Heffernan,
with one of those peculiarly meaning looks by which he so well knew how
to assume a further insight into any circumstance than his neighbors
possessed.
“I will address the people,” cried O'Halloran, breaking his long silence
with a deep and passionate utterance of the words; “they shall see in
me the strong evidence of the insolent oppression of that faction that
rules this country; I 'll make the land ring with the tyranny that
would stifle the voice of justice, and make the profession of the bar a
forlorn hope to every man of independent feeling.”
“The people have dispersed already,” said Beecham, as he came back from
the door of the court; “the square is quite empty.”
“Yes, I did that,” whispered Heffernan in O'Reilly's ear; “I made the
servant put on the Counsellor's greatcoat, and drive rapidly off towards
the abbey. The carriage is now, however, at the back entrance to the
court-house; so, by all means, persuade him to return.”
“When do you propose bringing the fellow up for examination, Mr.
O'Reilly?” said O'Halloran, as he arose from his seat.
“To-morrow morning. I have given orders to summon a full bench of
magistrates, and the affair shall be sifted to the bottom.”
“You may depend upon that, sir,” said the Counsellor, sternly. “Now I
'll go back with you, Mr. Beecham O'Reilly.” So saying, he moved towards
a private door of the building, where the phaeton was in waiting,
and, before any attention was drawn to the spot, he was seated in the
carriage, and the horses stepping out at a fast pace towards home.
“It's not Bagenal Daly?” said O'Reilly, the very moment he saw the
carriage drive off.
“No, no!” said Heffernan, smiling.
“Nor the young Darcy,--the captain?”
“Nor him either. It's a young fellow we have been seeking for in vain
the last month. His name is Forester.”
“Not Lord Castlereagh's Forester?”
“The very man. You may have met him here as Darcy's guest?”
O'Reilly nodded.
“What makes the affair worse is that the relationship with Castlereagh
will be taken up as a party matter by O'Halloran's friends in the press;
they will see a Castle plot, where, in reality, there is nothing to
blame save the rash folly of a hot-headed boy.”
“What is to be done?” said O'Reilly, putting his hand to his forehead,
in his embarrassment to think of some escape from the difficulty.
“I see but one safe issue,--always enough to any question, if men have
resolution to adopt it.”
“Let me hear what you counsel,” said O'Reilly, as he cast a searching
glance at his astute companion.
“Get him off as fast as you can.”
“O'Halloran! You mistake him, Mr. Heffernan; he'll prosecute the
business to the end.”
“I'm speaking of Forester,” said Heffernan, dryly; “it is _his_ absence
is the important matter at this moment.”
“I confess I am myself unable to appreciate your view of the case,” said
O'Reilly, with a cunning smile; “the policy is a new one to me which
teaches that a magistrate should favor the escape of a prisoner who has
just insulted one of his own friends.”
“I may be able to explain my meaning to your satisfaction,” said
Heffernan, as, taking O'Reilly's arm, he spoke for some time in a low
but earnest manner. “Yes,” said he, aloud, “your son Beecham was the
object of this young man's vengeance; chance alone turned his anger on
the Counsellor. His sole purpose in 'the West' was to provoke your son
to a duel, and I know well what the result of your proceedings to-morrow
would effect. Forester would not accept of his liberty on bail, nor
would he enter into a security on his part to keep the peace. You will
be forced, actually forced, to commit a young man of family and high
position to a gaol; and what will the world say? That in seeking
satisfaction for a very gross outrage on the character of his friend, a
young Englishman of high family was sent to prison! In Ireland, the tale
will tell badly; _we_ always have more sympathy than censure for
such offenders. In England, how many will know of his friends
and connections, who never heard of your respectable bench of
magistrates,--will it be very wonderful if they side with their
countryman against the stranger?”
“How am I to face O'Halloran if I follow this counsel?” said O'Reilly,
with a thoughtful but embarrassed air. “Then, as to Lord Castlereagh,”
continued Heffernan, not heeding the question, “he will take your
interference as a personal and particular favor. There never was a more
favorable opportunity for you to disconnect yourself with the whole
affair. The hired advocate may calumniate as he will, but he can show
no collusion or connivance on your part. I may tell you, in confidence,
that a more indecent and gross attack was never uttered than this same
speech. I heard it, and from the beginning to the end it was a tissue of
vulgarity and falsehood. Oh! I know what you would say: I complimented
the speaker on his success, and all that; so I did, perfectly true, and
he understood me, too,--there is no greater impertinence, perhaps,
than in telling a man that you mistook his bad cider for champagne! But
enough of him. You may have all the benefit, if there be such, of the
treason, and yet never rub shoulders with the traitor. You see I am
eager on this point, and I confess I am very much so. Your son Beecham
could not have a worse enemy in the world of Club and Fashion than this
same Forester; he knows and is known to everybody.”
“But I cannot perceive how the thing is to be done,” broke in O'Reilly,
pettishly; “you seem to forget that O'Halloran is not the man to be put
off with any lame, disjointed story.”
“Easily enough,” said Heffernan, coolly; “there is no difficulty
whatever. You can blunder in the warrant of his committal; you can
designate him by a wrong Christian name; call him Robert, not Richard;
he may be admitted to bail, and the sum a low one. The rest follows
naturally; or, better than all, let some other magistrate-you surely
know more than one to aid in such a pinch--take the case upon himself,
and make all the necessary errors; that's the best plan.”
“Conolly, perhaps,” said O'Reilly, musingly; “he is a great friend of
Darcy's, and would risk something to assist this young fellow.”
“Well thought of,” cried Heffernan, slapping him on the shoulder;
“just give me a line of introduction to Mr. Conolly on one of your
visiting-cards, and leave the rest to me.”
“If I yield to you in this business, Mr. Heffernan,” said O'Reilly,
as he sat down to write, “I assure you it is far more from my implicit
confidence in your skill to conduct it safely to the end, than from
any power of persuasion in your arguments. O'Halloran is a formidable
enemy.”
“You never were more mistaken in your life,” said Heffernan, laughing,
“such men are only noxious by the terror they inspire; they are the
rattlesnakes of the world of mankind, always giving notice of their
approach, and never dangerous to the prudent. He alone is to be dreaded
who, tiger-like, utters no cry till his victim is in his fangs.”
There was a savage malignity in the way these words were uttered
that made O'Reilly almost shudder. Heffernan saw the emotion he had
unguardedly evoked, and, laughing, said,--
“Well, am I to hold over the remainder of my visit to the abbey as a
debt unpaid? for I really have no fancy to let you off so cheaply.”
“But you are coming back with me, are you not?”
“Impossible! I must take charge of this foolish boy, and bring him up to
Dublin; I only trust I have a vested right to come back and see you at a
future day.”
O'Reilly responded to the proposition with courteous warmth; and with
mutual pledges, perhaps of not dissimilar sincerity, they parted,--the
one to his own home, the other to negotiate in a different quarter and
in a very different spirit of diplomacy.