The same post that brought the Knight the tidings of his lost suit
conveyed the intelligence of his son's departure for India; and although
the latter event was one over which, if in his power, he would have
exercised no control, yet was it by far the more saddening of the two
announcements.
Unable to apply any more consolatory counsels, his invariable reply to
Lady Eleanor was, “It was a point of duty; the boy could not have
done otherwise; I have too often expressed my opinion to him about the
_devoirs_ of a soldier to permit of his hesitating here. And as for our
suit, Mr. Bicknell says the jury did not deliberate ten minutes on their
verdict; whatever right we might have on our side, it was pretty clear
we had no law. Poor Lionel is spared the pain of knowing this, at
least.” He sighed heavily, and was silent. Lady Eleanor and Helen spoke
not either; and except their long-drawn breathings nothing was heard in
the room.
Lady Eleanor was the first to speak. “Might not Lionel's evidence have
given a very different coloring to our cause if he had been there?”
“It is hard to say. I am not aware whether we failed upon a point of
fact or law. Mr. Bicknell writes like a man who felt his words were
costly matters, and that he should not put his client to unnecessary
expense. He limits himself to the simple announcement of the result, and
that the charge of the bench was very pointedly unfavorable. He says
something about a motion for a new trial, and regrets Daly's having
prevented his engaging Mr. O'Halloran, and refers us to the newspapers
for detail.”
“I never heard a question of this O'Halloran,” said Lady Eleanor, “nor
of Mr. Daly's opposition to him before.”
“Nor did I, either; though, in all likelihood, if I had, I should have
been of Bagenal's mind myself. Employing such men has always appeared
to me on a par with the barbarism of engaging the services of savage
nations in a war against civilized ones; and the practice is defended
by the very same arguments,--if they are not with you, they are against
you.”
“You are right, my dear father,” said Helen, while her countenance
glowed with unusual animation; “leave such allies to the enemy if he
will, no good cause shall be stained by the scalping-knife and the
tomahawk.”
“Quite right, my dearest child,” said he, fondly; “no defeat is so bad
as such a victory.”
“And where was Mr. Daly? He does not seem to have been at the trial?”
“No; it would appear as if he were detained by some pressing necessity
in Dublin. This letter is in his handwriting; let us see what he says.”
Before the Knight could execute his intention, old Tate appeared at the
door, and announced the name of Mr. Dempsey.
“You must present our compliments,” said Darcy, hastily, “and say that
a very particular engagement will prevent our having the pleasure of
receiving his visit this evening.”
“This is really intolerable,” said Lady Eleanor, who, never much
disposed to look favorably on that gentleman, felt his present
appearance anything but agreeable.
“You hear what your master says,” said Helen to the old man, who, never
having in his whole life received a similar order, felt proportionately
astonished and confused.
“Tell Mr. Dempsey we are very sorry; but--”
“For all that, he won't be denied,” said Paul, himself finishing the
sentence, while, passing unceremoniously in front of Tate, he walked
boldly into the middle of the room. His face was flushed, his forehead
covered with perspiration, and his clothes, stained with dust, showed
that he had come off a very long and fast walk. He wiped his forehead
with a flaring cotton handkerchief, and then, with a long-drawn puff,
threw himself back into an arm-chair.
There was something so actually comic in the cool assurance of the
little man, that Darcy lost all sense of annoyance at the interruption,
while he surveyed him and enjoyed the dignified coolness of Lady
Eleanor's reception.
“That's the devil's own bit of a road,” said Paul, as he fanned himself
with a music-book, “between this and Coleraine. Whenever it 's not going
up a hill, it's down one. Do you ever walk that way, ma'am?”
“Very seldom indeed, sir.”
“Faith, and I 'd wager, when you do, that it gives you a pain just here
below the calf of the leg, and a stitch in the small of the back.”
Lady Eleanor took no notice of this remark, but addressed some
observation to Helen, at which the young girl smiled, and said, in a
whisper,--
“Oh, he will not stay long.”
“I am afraid, Mr. Dempsey,” said the Knight, “that. I must be
uncourteous enough to say that we are unprepared for a visitor this
evening. Some letters of importance have just arrived; and as they will
demand all our attention, you will, I am sure, excuse the frankness of
my telling you that we desire to be alone.”
“So you shall in a few minutes more,” said Paul, coolly. “Let me have
a glass of sherry and water, or, if wine is not convenient, ditto of
brandy, and I 'm off. I did n't come to stop. It was a letter that you
forgot at the post-office, marked 'with speed,' on the outside, that
brought me here; for I was spending a few days at Coleraine with old
Hewson.”
The kindness of this thoughtful act at once eradicated every memory of
the vulgarity that accompanied it; and as the Knight took the letter
from his hands, he hastened to apologize for what he said by adding his
thanks for the service.
“I offered a fellow a shilling to bring it, but being harvest-time he
wouldn't come,” said Dempsey. “Phew! what a state the roads are in! dust
up to your ankles!”
“Come now, pray help yourself to some wine and water,” said the Knight;
“and while you do so, I 'll ask permission to open my letter.”
“There 's a short cut down by Port-na-happle mill, they tell me, ma'am,”
said Dempsey, who now found a much more complaisant listener than at
first; “but, to tell you the truth, I don't think it would suit you
or me; there are stone walls to climb over and ditches to cross. Miss
Helen, there, might get over them, she has a kind of a thoroughbred
stride of her own, but fencing destroys me outright.”
“It was a very great politeness to think of bringing us the letter, and
I trust your fatigues will not be injurious to you,” said Lady Eleanor,
smiling faintly.
“Worse than the damage to a pair of very old shoes, ma'am, I don't
anticipate; I begin to suspect they've taken their last walk this
evening.”
While Mr. Dempsey contemplated the coverings of his feet with a very sad
expression, the Knight continued to read the letter he held in his hand
with an air of extreme intentness.
“Eleanor, my dear,” said he, as he retired into the deep recess of a
window, “come here for a moment.”
“I guessed there would be something of consequence in that,” said
Dempsey, with a sly glance from Helen to the two figures beside the
window. “The envelope was a thin one, and I read 'War Office' in the
corner of the inside cover.”
Not heeding the delicacy of this announcement, but only thinking of the
fact, which she at once connected with Lionel's fortunes, Helen turned
an anxious and searching glance towards the window; but the Knight
and Lady Eleanor had entered a small room adjoining, and were already
concealed from view.
“Was he ever in the militia, miss?” asked Dempsey, with a gesture of his
thumb to indicate of whom he spoke.
“I believe not,” said Helen, smiling at the pertinacity of his
curiosity.
“Well, well,” resumed Dempsey, with a sigh, “I would not wish him a
hotter march than I had this day, and little notion I had of the same
tramp only ten minutes before. I was reading the 'Saunders' of Tuesday
last, with an account of that business done at Mayo between O'Halloran
and the young officer-you know what I mean?”
“No, I have not heard it; pray tell me,” said she, with an eagerness
very different from her former manner.
“It was a horsewhipping, miss, that a young fellow in the Guards gave
O'Halloran, just as he was coming out of court; something the Counsellor
said about somebody in the trial,--names never stay in my head, but
I remember it was a great trial at the Westport assizes, and that
O'Halloran came down special, and faith, so did the young captain too;
and if the lawyer laid it on very heavily within the court, the red-coat
made up for it outside. But I believe I have the paper in my pocket,
and, if you like, I'll read it out for you.”
“Pray do,” said Helen, whose anxiety was now intense.
“Well, here goes,” said Mr. Dempsey; “but with your permission I 'll
just wet my lips again. That 's elegant sherry!”
Having sipped and tasted often enough to try the young lady's patience
to its last limit, he unfolded the paper, and read aloud,--
“'When Counsellor O'Halloran had concluded his eloquent speech in the
trial of Darcy v. Hickman,--for a full report of which see our early
columns,--a young gentleman, pushing his way through the circle of
congratulating friends, accosted him with the most insulting and
opprobrious epithets, and failing to elicit from the learned gentleman
a reciprocity,'-that means, miss, that O'Halloran did n't show
fight,--'struck him repeatedly across the shoulders, and even the face,
with a horsewhip. He was immediately committed under a bench warrant,
but was liberated almost at once. Perhaps our readers may understand
these proceedings more clearly when we inform them that Captain
Forester, the aggressor in this case, is a near relative of our Irish
Secretary, Lord Castlereagh.' That 's very neatly put, miss, isn't it?”
said Mr. Dempsey, with a sly twinkle of the eye; “it's as much as to say
that the Castle chaps may do what they please. But it won't end there,
depend upon it; the Counsellor will see it out.”
Helen paid little attention to the observation, for, having taken up the
paper as Mr. Dempsey laid it down, she was deeply engaged in the report
of the trial and O'Halloran's speech.
“Wasn't that a touching-up the old Knight of Gwynne got?” said Dempsey,
as, with his glass to his eye, he peered over her shoulder at the
newspaper. “Faith, O'Halloran flayed him alive! He 's the boy can do it!”
Helen scarce seemed to breathe, as, with a heart almost bursting with
indignant anger, she read the lines before her.
[Illustration: 118]
“Strike him!” cried she, at length, unable longer to control the passion
that worked within her; “had he trampled him beneath his feet, it had
not been too much?”
The little man started, and stared with amazement at the young girl,
as, with flashing eyes and flushed cheek, she arose from her seat, and,
tearing the paper into fragments, stamped upon them with her foot.
“Blood alive, miss, don't destroy the paper! I only got a loan of it
from Mrs. Kennedy, of the Post-office; she slipped it out of the cover,
though it was addressed to Lord O'Neil. Oh dear! oh dear! it's a nice
article now!”
These words were uttered in the very depth of despair, as, kneeling
down on the carpet, Mr. Dempsey attempted to collect and arrange the
scattered fragments.
“It's no use in life! Here's the Widow Wallace's pills in the middle of
the Counsellor's speech! and the last day's drawing of the lottery mixed
up with that elegant account of old Darcy's--”
A hand which, if of the gentlest mould, now made a gesture to enforce
silence, arrested Mr. Dempsey's words, and at the same moment the Knight
entered with Lady Eleanor. Darcy started as he gazed on the excited
looks and the air of defiance of his daughter, and for a second a deep
flush suffused his features, as with an angry frown he asked of Dempsey,
“What does this mean, sir?”
“D-n me if I know what it means!” exclaimed Paul, in utter despair at
the confusion of his own faculties. “My brain is in a whirl.”
“It was a little political dispute between Mr. Dempsey and myself, sir,”
said Helen, with a faint smile. “He was reading for me an article
from the newspaper, whose views were so very opposite to mine, and his
advocacy of them so very animated, that--in short, we both became warm.”
“Yes, that's it,” cried Dempsey, glad to accept any explanation
of a case in which he had no precise idea wherein lay the
difficulty,--“that's it; I 'll take my oath it was.”
“He is a fierce Unionist,” said Helen, speaking rapidly to cover her
increasing confusion, “and has all the conventional cant by heart,
'old-fashioned opinions,' 'musty prejudices,' and so on.”
“I did not suspect you were so eager a politician, my dear Helen,” said
the Knight, as, half chidingly, he threw his eyes towards the scattered
fragments of the torn newspaper.
The young girl blushed till her neck became crimson: shame, at the
imputation of having so far given way to passion; sorrow, at the
reproof, whose injustice she did not dare to expose; and regret, at the
necessity of dissimulation, all overwhelming her at the same moment.
“I am not angry, my sweet girl,” said the Knight, as he drew his arm
around her, and spoke in a low, fond accent. “I may be sorry--sincerely
sorry--at the social condition that has suffered political feeling to
approach our homes and our firesides, and thus agitate hearts as gentle
as yours by these rude themes. For your sentiments on these subjects I
can scarcely be a severe critic, for I believe they are all my own.”
“Let us forget it all,” said Helen, eagerly; for she saw-that Mr.
Dempsey, having collected once more the torn scraps, was busy in
arranging them into something like order. In fact, his senses were
gradually recovering from the mystification into which they had been
thrown, and he was anxious to vindicate himself before the party. “All
the magnanimity, however, must not be mine,” continued she; “and until
that odious paper is consumed, I 'll sign no treaty of peace.” So
saying, and before Dempsey could interfere to prevent it, she snatched
up the fragments, and threw them into the fire. “Now, Mr. Dempsey, we
are friends again,” said she, laughing.
“The Lord grant it!” ejaculated Paul, who really felt no ambition for
so energetic an enemy. “I 'll never tell a bit of news in your company
again, so long as my name is Paul Dempsey. Every officer of the Guards
may horsewhip the Irish bar--I was forgetting--not a syllable more.”
The Knight, fortunately, did not hear the last few words, for he was
busily engaged in reading the letter he still held in his hands; at
length he said,--
“Mr. Dempsey has conferred one great favor on us by bringing us this
letter; and as its contents are of a nature not to admit of any delay--”
“He will increase the obligation by taking his leave,” added Paul,
rising, and, for once in his life, really well pleased at an opportunity
of retiring.
“I did not say that,” said Darcy, smiling.
“No, no, Mr. Dempsey,” added Lady Eleanor, with more than her wonted
cordiality; “you will, I hope, remain for tea.”
“No, ma'am, I thank you; I have a little engagement,--I made a promise.
If I get safe out of the house without some infernal blunder or other,
it 's only the mercy of Providence.” And with this burst of honest
feeling, Paul snatched up his hat, and without waiting for the ceremony
of leave-taking, rushed out of the room, and was soon seen crossing the
wide common at a brisk pace.
“Our little friend has lost his reason,” said the Knight, laughing.
“What have you been doing to him, Helen?”
A gesture to express innocence of all interference was the only reply,
and the party became suddenly silent.
“Has Helen seen that letter?” said Lady Eleanor, faintly, and Darcy
handed the epistle to his daughter. “Read it aloud, my dear,” continued
Lady Eleanor; “for, up to this, my impressions are so confused, I know
not which is reality, which mere apprehension.”
Helen's eyes glanced to the top of the letter, and saw the words “War
Office;” she then proceeded to read:--
“'Sir,--In reply to the application made to the Commander-in-Chief
of the forces in your behalf, expressing your desire for an active
employment, I have the honor to inform you that his Royal Highness,
having graciously taken into consideration the eminent services rendered
by you in former years, and the distinguished character of that corps
which, raised by your exertions, still bears your name, has desired me
to convey his approval of your claim, and his desire, should a favorable
opportunity present itself, of complying with your wish. I have the
honor to remain, your most humble and obedient servant,
“'Harry Greville,
“_Private Secretary_.”
On an enclosed slip of paper was the single line in pencil:--
“H. G. begs to intimate to Colonel Darcy the propriety of attending the
next levee of H. R. H., which will take place on the 14th.”
“Now, you, who read riddles, my dearest Helen, explain this one to us.
I made no application of the kind alluded to, nor am I aware of any one
having ever done so for me. The thought never once occurred to me, that
his Majesty or his Royal Highness would accept the services of an old
and shattered hulk, while many a glorious three-decker lies ready to be
launched from the stocks. I could not have presumed to ask such a favor,
nor do I well know how to acknowledge it.”
“But is there anything so very strange,” said Helen, proudly, “that
those highly placed by station should be as highly gifted by nature,
and that his Royal Highness, having heard of your unmerited calumnies,
should have seen that this was the fitting moment to remember the
services you have rendered the Crown? I have heard that there are
several posts of high trust and honor conferred on those who, like
yourself, have won distinction in the service.”
“Helen is right,” said Lady Eleanor, drawing a long breath, and as if
released of a weighty load of doubt and uncertainty; “this is the real
explanation; the phrases of official life may give it another coloring
to our eyes, but such, I feel assured, is the true solution.”
“I should like to think it so,” said Darcy, feelingly; “it would be a
great source of pride to me at this moment, when my fortunes are lower
than ever they were,--lower than ever I anticipated they might be,--to
know that my benefactor was the Monarch. In any case I must lose no time
in acknowledging this mark of favor. It is now the 4th of the month; to
be in London by the 14th, I should leave this to-morrow.”
“It is better to do so,” said Lady Eleanor, with an utterance from which
a great effort had banished all agitation; “Helen and I are safe and
well here, and as happy as we can be when away from you and Lionel.”
“Poor Lionel!” said the Knight, tenderly; “what good news for him it
would be were they to give me some staff appointment,--I might have him
near us. Come, Eleanor,” added he, with more gayety of manner, “I feel a
kind of presentiment of good tidings. But we are forgetting Bagenal
Daly all this time; perhaps this letter of his may throw some light on
the matter.”
Darcy now broke the seal of Daly's note, which, even for him, was one
of the briefest. This was so far fortunate, since his writing was in
his very worst style, blotted and half erased in many places, scarcely
legible anywhere. It was only by assembling a “committee of the whole
house” that the Darcys were enabled to decipher even a portion of this
unhappy document. As well as it could be rendered, it ran somewhat
thus:--
“The verdict is against us; old Bretson never forgave you carrying away
the medal from him in Trinity some fifty years back; he charged dead
against you; I always said he would. _Summum jus, summa injuria_--The
Chief Justice--the greatest wrong! and the jury the fellows who lived
under you, in your own town, and their fathers and grandfathers! at
least, as many of the rascals as had such.--Never mind, Bicknell has
moved for a new trial; they have gained the 'Habere' this time, and so
has O'Halloran--you heard of the thrashing--”
Here two tremendous patches of ink left some words that followed quite
unreadable.
“What can this mean?” said Darcy, repeating the passage over three
or four times, while Helen made no effort to enlighten him in the
difficulty. Battled in all his attempts, he read on: “'I saw him in his
way through Dublin last night,' Who can he possibly mean?” said Darcy,
laying down the letter, and pondering for several minutes.
“O'Halloran, perhaps,” said Lady Eleanor, in vain seeking a better
elucidation.
“Oh, not him, of course!” cried Darcy; “he goes on to say, that 'he is
a devilish high-spirited young fellow, and for an Englishman a
warm-blooded animal.' Really this is too provoking; at such a time as
this he might have taken pains to be a little clearer,” exclaimed Darcy.
The letter concluded with some mysterious hints about intelligence that
a few days might disclose, but from what quarter or on what subject
nothing was said, and it was actually with a sense of relief Darcy read
the words, “Yours ever, Bagenal Daly,” at the foot of the letter, and
thus spared himself the torment of further doubts and guesses.
Helen was restrained from at once conveying the solution of the mystery
by recollecting the energy she had displayed in her scene with Mr.
Dempsey, and of which the shame still lingered on her flushed cheek.
“He adds something here about writing by the next post,” said Lady
Eleanor.
“But before that arrives I shall be away,” said the Knight; and the
train of thought thus evoked soon erased all memory of other matters.
And now the little group gathered together to discuss the coming
journey, and talk over all the plans by which anxiety was to be beguiled
and hope cherished till they met again.
“Miss Daly will not be a very importunate visitor,” said Lady Eleanor,
dryly, “judging at least from the past; she has made one call here since
we came, and then only to leave her card.”
“And if Helen does not cultivate a more conciliating manner, I scarce
think that Mr. Dempsey will venture on coming either,” said the Knight,
laughing.
“I can readily forgive all the neglect,” said Helen, haughtily, “in
compensation for the tranquillity.”
“And yet, my dear Helen,” said Darcy, “there is a danger in that same
compact. We should watch carefully to see whether, in the isolation of
a life apart from others, we are not really indulging the most refined
selfishness, and dignifying with the name of philosophy a solitude we
love for the indulgence of our own egotism. If we are to have our hearts
stirred and our sympathies strongly moved, let the themes be great ones,
but above all things let us avoid magnifying the petty incidents
of daily occurrence into much consequence: this is what the life of
monasteries and convents teaches, and a worse lesson there need not be.”
Darcy spoke with more than usual seriousness, for he had observed some
time past how Helen had imbibed much of Lady Eleanor's distance towards
her humble neighbors, and was disposed to retain a stronger memory of
their failings in manner than of their better and heartier traits of
character.
The young girl felt the remark less as a reproof than a warning, and
said,--
“I will not forget it.”