Mr. Heffernan possessed many worldly gifts and excellences, but upon
none did he so much pride himself, in the secret recesses of his
heart,--he was too cunning to indulge in more public vauntings,--as in
the power he wielded over the passions of men much younger than himself.
Thoroughly versed in their habits of life, tastes, and predilections, he
knew how much always to concede to the warm and generous temperament
of their age, and to maintain his influence over them less by the
ascendancy of ability than by a more intimate acquaintance with all the
follies and extravagances of fashionable existence.
Whether he had or had not been a principal actor in the scenes he
related with so much humor, it was difficult to say; for he would gloss
over his own personal adventures so artfully that it was not easy to
discover whether the motive were cunning or delicacy. He seemed, at
least, to have done everything that wildness and eccentricity had ever
devised, to have known intimately every man renowned for such exploits,
and to have gone through a career of extravagance and dissipation quite
sufficient to make him an unimpeachable authority in every similar
case. The reserve which young men feel with regard to those older than
themselves was never experienced in Con Heffernan's company; they would
venture to tell him anything, well aware that, however absurd the story
or embarrassing the scrape, Hefferuan was certain to cap it by another
twice as extravagant in every respect.
Although Forester was by no means free from the faults of his age and
class, the better principles of his nature had received no severe or
lasting injury, and his estimation for Heffernan proceeded from a very
different view of his character from that which we have just alluded
to. He knew him to be the tried and trusted agent of his cousin,
Lord Castlereagh, one for whose abilities he entertained the greatest
respect; he saw him consulted and advised with on every question of
difficulty, his opinions asked, his suggestions followed; and if,
occasionally, the policy was somewhat tortuous, he was taught to believe
that the course of politics, like that “of true love, never did run
smooth.” In this way, then, did he learn to look up to Heffernan, who
was too shrewd a judge of motives to risk a greater ascendancy by any
hazardous appeal to the weaker points of his character.
Fortune could not have presented a more welcome visitor to Forester's
eyes than Heffernau, as he entered the room of the inn where the
youth had been conducted by the sergeant of police, and where he sat
bewildered by the difficulties in which his own rashness had involved
him. The first moments of meeting were occupied by a perfect shower of
questions, as to how Heffernan came to be in that quarter of the world,
when he had arrived, and with whom he was staying. All questions which
Heffernan answered by the laughing subterfuge of saying, “Your
good genius, I suppose, sent me to get you out of your scrape; and
fortunately I am able to do so. But what in the name of everything
ridiculous could have induced you to insult this man, O'Halloran? You
ought to have known that men like him cannot fight; they would be
made riddles of if they once consented to back by personal daring the
insolence of their tongues. They set out by establishing for themselves
a kind of outlawry from honor, they acknowledge no debts within the
jurisdiction of that court, otherwise they would soon be bankrupt.”
“They should be treated like all others without the pale of law, then,”
said Forester, indignantly.
“Or, like Sackville,” added Heffernan, laughing, “when they put their
swords 'on the peace establishment,' they should put their tongues on
the 'civil list.' Well, well, there are new discoveries made every day;
some men succeed better in life by the practice of cowardice than others
ever did, or ever will do, by the exercise of valor.”
“What can I do here? Is there anything serious in the difficulty?”
said Forester, hurriedly; for he was in no humor to enjoy the abstract
speculations in which Heffernan indulged.
“It might have been a very troublesome business,” replied Heffernan,
quietly: “the judge might have issued a bench warrant against you, if
he did not want your cousin to make him chief baron; and Justice Conolly
might have been much more technically accurate, if he was not desirous
of seeing his son in an infantry regiment. It's all arranged now,
however; there is only one point for your compliance,--you must get out
of Ireland as fast as may be. O'Halloran will apply for a rule in the
King's Bench, but the proceedings will not extend to England.”
“I am indifferent where I go to,” said Forester, turning away; “and
provided this foolish affair does not get abroad, I am well content.”
“Oh! as to that, you must expect your share of notoriety. O'Halloran
will take care to display his martyrdom for the people! It will bring
him briefs now; Heaven knows what greater rewards the future may have in
store from it!”
“You heard the provocation,” said Forester, with an unsuccessful attempt
to speak calmly,--“the gross and most unpardonable provocation?”
“I was present,” replied Heffernan, quietly.
“Well, what say you? Was there ever uttered an attack more false and
foul? Was there ever conceived a more fiendish and malignant slander?”
“I never heard anything worse.”
“Not anything worse! No, nor ever one half so bad.”
“Well, if you like it, I will agree with you; not one half so bad. It
was untrue in all its details, unmanly in spirit. But, let me add, that
such philippics have no lasting effect,--they are like unskilful mines,
that in their explosion only damage the contrivers. O'Reilly, who was
the real deviser of this same attack, whose heart suggested, whose head
invented, and whose coffers paid for it, will reap all the obloquy he
hoped to heap upon another. Take myself, for instance, an old time-worn
man of the world, who has lived long enough never to be sudden in my
friendships or my resentments, who thinks that liking and disliking are
slow processes,--well, even I was shocked, outraged at this affair;
and although having no more intimacy with Darcy than the ordinary
intercourse of social life, confess I could not avoid acting promptly
and decisively on the subject. It was a question, perhaps, more of
feeling than actual judgment,--a case in which the first impulse may
generally be deemed the right one.” Here Heffernan paused, and drew
himself up with an air that seemed to say, “If I am confessing to a
weakness in my character, it is at least one that leans to virtue's
side.”
Forester awaited with impatience for the explanation, and, not
perceiving it to come, said, “Well, what did you do in the affair?”
“My part was a very simple one,” said Heffernan; “I was Mr. O'Reilly's
guest, one of a large party, asked to meet the judges and the
Attorney-General. I came in, with many others, to hear O'Halloran; but
if I did, I took the liberty of not returning again. I told Mr. O'Reilly
frankly that, in point of fact, the thing was false, and, as policy,
it was a mistake. Party contests are all very well, they are necessary,
because without them there is no banner to fight under; and the man
of mock liberality to either side would take precedence of those more
honest but less cautious than himself; but these things are great evils
when they enlist libellous attacks on character in their train. If the
courtesies of life are left at the door of our popular assemblies, they
ought at least to be resumed when passing out again into the world.”
“And so you actually refused to go back to his house?” said Forester,
who felt far more interested in this simple fact than in all the
abstract speculation that accompanied it.
“I did so: I even begged of him to send my servant and my carriage after
me; and, had it not been for your business, before this time I had been
some miles on my way towards Dublin.”
Forester never spoke, but he grasped Heffernan's hand, and shook it with
earnest cordiality.
“Yes, yes,” said Heffernan, as he returned the pressure; “men can be
strong partisans, anxious and eager for their own side, but there is
something higher and nobler than party.” He arose as he spoke, and
walked towards the window, and then, suddenly turning round, and with an
apparent desire to change the theme, asked, “But how came you here? What
good or evil fortune prompted you to be present at this scene?”
“I fear you must allow me to keep that a secret,” said Forester, in some
confusion.
“Scarcely fair, that, my young friend,” said Heffernan, laughing, “after
hearing my confession in full.”
Forester seemed to feel the force of the observation, but, uncertain how
to act, he maintained a silence for several minutes.
“If the affair were altogether my own, I should not hesitate,” said he
at length, “but it is not so. However, we are in confidence here, and
so I will tell you. I came to this part of the country at the earnest
desire of Lionel Darcy. I don't know whether you are aware of his sudden
departure for India. He had asked for leave of absence to give evidence
on this trial; the application was made a few days after a memorial he
sent in for a change of regiment. The demand for leave was unheeded, but
he received a peremptory order to repair to Portsmouth, and take charge
of a detachment under sailing-orders for India; they consisted of men
belonging to the Eleventh Light Dragoons, of which he was gazetted to
a troop. I was with him at Chatham when the letter reached him, and
he explained the entire difficulty to me, showing that he had no
alternative, save neglecting the interest of his family, on the one
hand, or refusing that offer of active service he had so urgently
solicited on the other. We talked the thing over one entire night
through, and at last, right or wrong, persuaded ourselves that any
evidence he could give would be of comparatively little value; and that
the refusal to join would be deemed a stain upon him as an officer, and
probably be the cause of greater grief to the Knight himself than his
absence at the trial. Poor fellow! he felt for more deeply for quitting
England without saying good-bye to his family than for all the rest.”
“And so he actually sailed in the transport?” said Heffernan.
“Yes, and without time for more than a few lines to his father, and
a parting request to me to come over to Ireland and be present at the
trial. Whether he anticipated any attack of this kind or not, I cannot
say, but he expressed the desire so strongly I half suspect as much.”
“Very cleverly done, faith!” muttered Heffernan, who seemed far more
occupied with his own reflections than attending to Forester's words;
“a deep and subtle stroke, Master O'Reilly, ably planned and as ably
executed.”
“I am rejoiced that Lionel escaped this scene, at all events,” said
Forester.
“I must say, it was neatly done,” continued Heffernan, still following
out his own train of thought; “'Non contigit cuique,' as the Roman says;
it is not every man can take in Con Heffernan,--I did not expect Hickman
O'Reilly would try it.” He leaned his head on his hand for some minutes,
then said aloud, “The best thing for you will be to join your regiment.”
“I have left the army,” said Forester, with a flush, half of shame, half
of anger.
“I think you were right,” replied Heffernan, calmly, while he avoided
noticing the confusion in the young man's manner. “Soldiering is no
career for any man of abilities like yours; the lounging life of a
barrack-yard, the mock duties of parade, the tiresome dissipations of
the mess, suit small capacities and minds of mere routine. But you have
better stuff in you, and, with your connections and family interest,
there are higher prizes to strive for in the wheel of fortune.”
“You mistake me,” said Forester, hastily; “it was with no disparaging
opinion of the service I left it. My reasons had nothing in common with
such an estimate of the army.”
“There's diplomacy, for instance,” said Heffernan, not minding the
youth's remark; “your brother has influence with the Foreign Office.”
“I have no fancy for the career.”
“Well, there are Government situations in abundance. A man must do
something in our work-a-day world, if only to be companionable to those
who do. Idleness begets ennui and falling in love; and although the
first only wearies for the time, the latter lays its impress on all a
man's after-life, fills him with false notions of happiness, instils
wrong motives for exertion, and limits the exercise of capacity to
the small and valueless accomplishments that find favor beside the
work-table and the piano.”
Forester received somewhat haughtily the unasked counsels of Mr.
Heffernan respecting his future mode of life, nor was it improbable that
he might himself have conveyed his opinion thereupon in words, had not
the appearance of the waiter to prepare the table for dinner interposed
a barrier.
“At what hour shall I order the horses, sir?” asked the man of
Heffernan.
“Shall we say eight o'clock, or is that too early?”
“Not a minute too early for me,” said Forester; “I am longing to leave
this place, where I hope never again to set foot.”
“At eight, then, let them be at the door; and whenever your cook is
ready, we dine.”