When the Union was carried, and the new order of affairs in Ireland
assumed an appearance of permanence, a general feeling of discontent
began to exhibit itself in every class in the capital. The patriots
saw themselves neglected by the Government, without having reaped in
popularity a recompense for their independence. The mercantile interest
perceived, even already, the falling off in trade from the removal of a
wealthy aristocracy; and the supporters of the Minister, or such few as
still lingered in Dublin, began to suspect how much higher terms they
might have exacted for their adhesion, had they only anticipated the
immensity of the sacrifice to which they contributed.
Save that comparatively small number who had bargained for English
peerages and English rank, and had thereby bartered their nationality,
none were satisfied.
Even the moderate men--that intelligent fraction who believe that no
changes are fraught with one half the good or evil their advocates
or opponents imagine--even they were disappointed on finding that the
incorporation of the Irish Parliament with that of England was the
chief element of the new measure, and no more intimate or solid Union
contemplated. The shrewd men of every party saw not only how difficult
would be the future government of the country, but that the critical
moment was come which should decide into whose hands the chief influence
would fall. Among these speculators on the future, Mr. Heffernan held a
prominent place. No man knew better the secret machinery of office,
none had seen more of that game, half fair, half foul, by which an
administration is sustained. He knew, moreover, the character and
capability of every public man in Ireland, had been privy to their
waverings and hesitations, and even their bargains with the Crown; he
knew where gratified ambition had rendered a new peer indifferent to a
future temptation, and also where abortive negotiations had sowed the
seeds of a lingering disaffection.
To construct a new party from these scattered elements--a party which,
possessing wealth and station, had not yet tasted any of the sweets of
patronage--was the task he now proposed to himself. By this party, of
whom he himself was to be the organ, he hoped to control the Minister,
and support him by turns. Of those already purchased by the Government,
few would care to involve themselves once more in the fatigues of a
public life. Many would gladly repose on the rewards of their victory;
many would shrink from the obloquy their reappearance would inevitably
excite. Mr. Heffernan had then to choose his friends either from
that moderate section of politicians whom scruples of conscience
or inferiority of ability had left un-bought, or the more energetic
faction, suddenly called into existence by the success of the French
Revolution, and of which O'Halloran was the leader. For many reasons his
choice fell on the former. Not only because they possessed that standing
and influence which, derived from property, would be most regarded in
England, but that their direction and guidance would be an easier
task; whereas the others, more numerous and more needy, could only be
purchased by actual place or pension, while in O'Halloran Heffernan
would always have a dangerous rival, who, if he played subordinate for a
while, it would only be at the price of absolute rule hereafter.
From the moment Lord Castlereagh withdrew from Ireland, Mr. Heffernan
commenced his intrigue,--at first by a tour of visits through the
country, in which he contrived to sound the opinions of a great number
of persons, and subsequently by correspondence, so artfully sustained
as to induce many to commit themselves to a direct line of action which,
when discussing, they had never speculated on seeing realized.
With a subtlety of no common kind, and an indefatigable industry,
Heffernan labored in the cause during the summer and autumn, and with
such success that there was scarcely a county in Ireland where he had
not secured some leading adherent, while for many of the boroughs he had
already entered into plans for the support of new candidates of his own
opinions.
The views he put forward were simply these: Ireland can no longer be
governed by an oligarchy, however powerful. It must be ruled either by
the weight and influence of the country gentlemen, or left to the mercy
of the demagogue. The gentry must be rewarded for their adhesion, and
enabled to maintain their pre-eminence, by handing over to them the
patronage, not in part or in fractions, but wholly and solely. Every
civil appointment must be filled up by them,--the Church, the law, the
revenue, the police, must all be theirs. “The great aristocracy,”
said he, “have obtained the marquisates and earldoms; bishoprics and
governments have rewarded their services. It is now _our_ turn; and
if our prizes be less splendid and showy, they are not devoid of some
sterling qualities.
“To make Ireland ungovernable without us must be our aim and object,--to
embarrass and confound every administration, to oppose the ministers,
pervert their good objects, and exaggerate their bad. Pledged to no
distinct line of acting, we can be patriotic when it suits us, and
declaim on popular rights when nothing better offers. Acting in concert,
and diffusing an influence in every county and town and corporation,
what ministry can long resist us, or what government anxious for office
would refuse to make terms with us? With station to influence society,
wealth to buy the press, activity to watch and counteract our enemies, I
see nothing which can arrest our progress. We must and will succeed.”
Such was the conclusion of a letter he wrote to one of his most trusted
allies,--a letter written to invite his presence in Dublin, where a
meeting of the leading men of the new party was to be held, and their
engagements for the future determined upon.
For this meeting Heffernan made the greatest exertions, not only that it
might include a great portion of the wealth and influence of the land,
but that a degree of _éclat_ and splendor should attend it, the more
likely to attract notice from the secrecy maintained as to its object
and intention. Many were invited on the consideration of the display
their presence would make in the capital; and not a few were tempted by
the opportunity for exhibiting their equipages and their liveries at a
season when the recognized leaders of fashion were absent.
It is no part of our object to dwell on this well-known intrigue, one
which at the time occupied no small share of public attention, and even
excited the curiosity and the fears of the Government. Enough when
we say that Mr. Heffernan's disappointments were numerous and severe.
Letters of apology, some couched in terms of ambiguous cordiality,
others less equivocally cold, came pouring in for the last fortnight.
The noble lord destined to fill the chair regretted deeply that domestic
affairs of a most pressing nature would not permit of his presence. The
baronet who should move the first resolution would be compelled to be
absent from Ireland; the seconder was laid up with the gout. Scarcely
a single person of influence had promised his attendance: the greater
number had given vague and conditional replies, evidently to gain time
and consult the feeling of their country neighbors.
These refusals and subterfuges were a sad damper to Mr. Heffernan's
hopes. To any one less sanguine, they would have led to a total
abandonment of the enterprise. He, however, was made of sterner stuff,
and resolved, if the demonstration could effect no more, it could at
least be used as a threat to the Government,--a threat of not less
power because its terrors were involved in mystery. With all these
disappointments time sped on, the important day arrived, and the great
room of the Rotunda, hired specially for the occasion, was crowded by a
numerous assemblage, to whose proceedings no member of the public press
was admitted. Notice was given that in due time a declaration, drawn
up by a committee, would be published; but until then the most profound
secrecy wrapped their objects and intentions.
The meeting, convened for one o'clock, separated at five; and, save the
unusual concourse of carriages, and the spectacle of some liveries new
to the capital, there seemed nothing to excite the public attention. No
loud-tongued orator was heard from without, nor did a single cheer mark
the reception of any welcome sentiment; and as the members withdrew, the
sarcastic allusions of the mob intimated that they were supposed to be
a new sect of “Quakers.” Heffernan's carriage was the last to leave the
door; and it was remarked, as he entered it, that he looked agitated and
ill,--signs which few had ever remarked in him before. He drove rapidly
home, where a small and select party of friends had been invited by him
to dinner.
He made a hasty toilet, and entered the drawing-room a few moments after
the first knock at the street-door announced the earliest guest. It
was an old and intimate friend, Sir Giles St. George, a south-country
baronet of old family, but small fortune, who for many years had
speculated on Heffernan's interest in his behalf. He was a shrewd,
coarse man, who from eccentricity and age had obtained a species of
moral “writ of ease,” absolving him from all observance of the usages
in common among all well-bred people,--a privilege he certainly did not
seem disposed to let rust from disuse.
“Well, Con,” said he, as he stood with his back to the fire, and
his hands deeply thrust into his breeches-pockets,--“well, Con, your
Convention has been a damnable failure. Where the devil did you get up
such a rabble of briefless barristers, ungowned attorneys, dissenting
ministers, and illegitimate sons? I'd swear, out of your seven hundred,
there were not five-and-twenty possessed of a fifty-pound freehold,--not
five who could defy the sheriff in their own county.”
Heffernan made no reply, but with arms crossed, and his head leaned
forward, walked slowly up and down the room, while the other resumed,--
“As for old Killowen, who filled the chair, that was enough to damn
the whole thing. One of King James's lords, forsooth!--why, man, what
country gentleman of any pretension could give precedence to a fellow
like that, who neither reads, writes, nor speaks the King's English--and
your great gun, Mr. Hickman O'Reilly--”
“False-hearted scoundrel!” muttered Heffernan, half aloud.
“Faith he may be, but he's the cleverest of the pack. I liked his speech
well. There was good common sense in his asking for some explicit plan
of proceeding,--what you meant to do, and how to do it. Eh, Con, that
was to the point.”
“To the point!” repeated Heffernan, scornfully; “yes, as the declaration
of an informer, that he will betray his colleagues, is to the point.”
“And then his motion to admit the reporters,” said St. George, as with a
malignant pleasure he continued to suggest matter of annoyance.
“He 's mistaken, however,” said Heffernan, with a sarcastic bitterness
that came from his heart. “The day for rewards is gone by. He 'll never
get the baronetcy by supporting the Government in this way. It is the
precarious, uncertain ally they look more after. There is consummate
wisdom, Giles, in not saying one's last word. O'Reilly does not seem
aware of that. Here come Godfrey and Hume,” said he, as he looked out of
the window. “Burton has sent an apology.”
“And who is our sixth?”
“O'Reilly--and here's his carriage. See how the people stare admiringly
at his green liveries; they scarcely guess that the owner is meditating
a change of color. Well, Godfrey, in time for once. Why, Robert, you
seem quite fagged with your day's exertion. Ah! Mr. O'Reilly, delighted
to find you punctual. Let me present you to my old friend Sir Giles St.
George. I believe, gentlemen, you need no introduction to each other.
Burton has disappointed us; so we may order dinner at once.”
As Mr. Heffernan took the head of the table, not a sign of his former
chagrin remained to be seen. An air of easy conviviality had entirely
replaced his previous look of irritation, and in his laughing eye and
mellow voice there seemed the clearest evidence of a mind perfectly at
ease, and a spirit well disposed to enjoy the pleasures of the board. Of
his guests, Godfrey was a leading member of the Irish bar, a man of good
private fortune and a large practice, who, out of whim rather than from
any great principle, had placed himself in contiuual opposition to the
Government, and felt grievously injured and affronted when the minister,
affecting to overlook his enmity, offered him a silk gown. Hume was a
Commissioner of Customs, and had been so for some thirty years; his only
ambition in life being to retire on his full salary, having previously
filled his department with his sons and grandsons. The gentle
remonstrances of the Secretary against his plan had made him one of
the disaffected, but without courage to avow or influence to direct his
animosity. Of Mr. O'Reilly the reader needs no further mention. Such was
the party who now sat at a table most luxuriously supplied; for although
Heffeman was very far from a frequent inviter, yet his dinners were
admirably arranged, and the excellence of his wine was actually a
mystery among the _bons vivants_ of the capital. The conversation turned
of course upon the great event of the day; but so artfully was the
subject managed by Heffeman that the discussion took rather the shape of
criticism on the several speakers, and their styles of delivery, than on
the matter of the meeting itself.
“How eager the Castle folks will be to know all about it!” said
Godfrey. “Cooke is, I hear, in a sad taking to learn the meaning of the
gathering.”
“I fancy, sir,” said St. George, “they are more indifferent than you
suppose. A meeting held by individuals of a certain rank and property,
and convened with a certain degree of ostentation, can scarcely ever be
formidable to a government.”
“You forget the Volunteers,” said Heffernan.
“No, I remember their assembling well enough, and a very absurd business
they made of it. The Bishop of Downe was the only man of nerve amongst
them; and as for Lord Charlemont, the thought of an attainder was never
out of his head till the whole association was disbanded.”
“They were very formidable, indeed,” said Heffernan, gravely. “I can
assure you that the Government were far more afraid of their defenders
than of the French.”
“A government that is ungrateful enough to neglect its supporters,”
chimed in Hume, “men that have spent their best years in _its_ service,
can scarcely esteem itself very secure. In the department I belong to
myself, for instance--”
“Yours is a very gross case,” interrupted Heffernan, who from old
experience knew what was coming, and wished to arrest it.
“Thirty-four years, come November next, have I toiled as a
commissioner.”
“Unpaid!” exclaimed St. George, with a well-simulated horror,--“unpaid!”
“No, sir; not without my salary, of course. I never heard of any man
holding an office in the Revenue for the amusement it might afford him.
Did you, Godfrey?”
“As for me,” said the lawyer, “I spurn their patronage. I well know the
price men pay for such favors.”
“What object could it be to _you_,” said Heffernan, “to be made
Attorney-General or placed on the bench, a man independent in every
seuse? So I said to Castlereagh, when he spoke on the subject: 'Never
mind Godfrey,' said I, 'he'll refuse your offers; you'll only offend him
by solicitation;' and when he mentioned the 'Rolls'--”
Here Heffernan paused, and filled his glass leisurely. An interruption
contrived to stimulate Godfrey's curiosity, and which perfectly
succeeded, as he asked in a voice of tremulous eagerness,--
“Well, what did you say?”
“Just as I replied before,--'he 'll refuse you.'”
“Quite right, perfectly right; you have my unbounded gratitude for the
answer,” said Godfrey, swallowing two bumpers as rapidly as he could
fill them.
“Very different treatment from what I met,--an old and tried supporter
of the party,” said Hume, turning to O'Reilly and opening upon him the
whole narrative of his long-suffering neglect.
“It's quite clear, then,” said St. George, “that we are agreed,--the
best thing for us would be a change of Ministry.”
“I don't think so at all,” interposed Heffernan.
“Why, Con,” interrupted the baronet, “they should have _you_ at any
price,--however these fellows have learned the trick,--the others know
nothing about it You 'd be in office before twenty-four hours.”
“So I might to-morrow,” said Heffernan. “There's scarcely a single post
of high emolument and trust that I have not been offered and refused.
The only things I ever stipulated for in all my connection with the
Government were certain favors for my personal friends.” Here he looked
significantly towards O'Reilly; but the glance was intercepted by the
commissioner, who cried out,--“Well, could they say I had no claim?
Could they deny thirty-four years of toil and slavery?”
“And in the case for which I was most interested,” resumed Heffernan,
not heeding the interruption, “the favor I sought would have been
more justly bestowed from the rank and merits of the party than as a
recompense for any sen-ices of mine.”
“I won't say that, Heffernan,” said Hume, with a look of modesty, who
with the most implicit good faith supposed he was the party alluded
to; “I won't go that far; but I will and must say, that after
four-and-thirty years as a commissioner--”
“A man must have laid by a devilish pretty thing for the rest of his
life,” said St. George, who felt all the bitterness of a narrow income
augmented by the croaking complaints of the well-salaried official.
“Well, I hope better days are coming for all of us,” said Heffernan,
desirous of concluding the subject ere it should take an untoward turn.
“You have got a very magnificent seat in the west, sir,” said St.
George, addressing O'Reilly, who during the whole evening had done
little more than assent or smile concurrence with the several speakers.
“The finest thing in Ireland,” interrupted Heffernan.
“Nay, that is saying too much,” said O'Reilly, with a look of half-real,
half-affected bashfulness. “The abbey certainly stands well, and the
timber is well grown.”
“Are you able to see Clew Bay from the small drawing-room still?--for
I remember remarking that the larches on the side of the glen would
eventually intercept the prospect.”
“You know the Abbey, then?” asked O'Reilly, forgetting to answer the
question addressed to him.
“Oh, I knew it well. My family is connected-distantly, I believe--with
the Darcys, and in former days we were intimate. A very sweet place
it was; I am speaking of thirty years ago, and of course it must have
improved since that.”
“My friend here has given it every possible opportunity,” said
Heffernan, with a courteous inclination of the head.
“I've no doubt of it,” said St. George; “but neither money nor bank
securities will make trees grow sixty feet in a twelvemonth. The
improvements I allude to were made by Maurice Darcy's father; he sunk
forty thousand pounds in draining, planting, subsoiling, and what not.
He left a rent-charge in his will to continue his plans; and Maurice and
his son--what's the young fellow called?--Lionel, isn't it?--well, they
are, or rather they were, bound to expend a very heavy sum annually on
the property.”
A theme less agreeable to O'Reilly's feelings could scarcely have been
started; and though Heffernan saw as much, he did not dare to interrupt
it suddenly, for fear of any unpalatable remark from St. George. Whether
from feeling that the subject was a painful one, or that he liked to
indulge his loquacity in detailing various particulars of the Darcys and
their family circumstances, the old man went on without ceasing,--now
narrating some strange caprice of an ancestor in one century, now
some piece of good fortune that occurred to another. “You know the old
prophecy in the family, I suppose, Mr. O'Reilly?” said he, “though, to
be sure, you are not very likely to give it credence.”
“I scarcely can say I remember what you allude to.”
“By Jove, I thought every old woman in the west would have told it to
you. How is this the doggerel runs--ay, here it is,--
'A new name in this house shall never begin
Till twenty-one Darcys have died in Gwynne.'
Now, they say that, taking into account all of the family who have
fallen in battle, been lost at sea, and so on, only eleven of the stock
died at the Abbey.”
Although O'Reilly affected to smile at the old rhyme, his cheek became
deadly pale, and his hand shook as he lifted the glass to his lips. It
was no vulgar sense of fear, no superstitious dread that moved his cold
and calculating spirit, but an emotion of suppressed anger that the
ancient splendor of the Darcys should be thus placed side by side with
his own unhonored and unknown family.
“I don't think I ever knew one of these good legends have even so much
of truth,--though the credit is now at an end,” said Heffernau, gayly.
“I'll engage old Darcy's butler wouldn't agree with you,” replied
St. George. “Ay, and Maurice himself had a great dash of old Irish
superstition in him, for a clever, sensible fellow as he was.”
“It only remains for my friend here, then, to fit up a room for the
Darcys and invite them to die there at their several conveniences,” said
Con, laughing. “I see no other mode of fulfilling the destiny.”
“There never was a man played his game worse,” resumed St. George, who
with a pertinacious persistence continued the topic. “He came of age
with a large unencumbered estate, great family influence, and a very
fair share of abilities. It was the fashion to say he had more, but I
never thought so; and now, look at him!”
“He had very heavy losses at play,” said Heffernan, “certainly.”
“What if he had? They never could have materially affected a fortune
like his. No, no. I believe 'Honest Tom' finished him,--raising money to
pay off old debts, and then never clearing away the liabilities. What a
stale trick, and how invariably it succeeds!”
“You do not seem, sir, to take into account an habitually expensive mode
of living,” insinuated O'Reilly, quietly.
“An item, of course, but only an item in the sum total,” replied St.
George. “No man can eat and drink above ten thousand a year, and Darcy
had considerably more. No; he might have lived as he pleased, had he
escaped the acquaintance of honest Tom Gleeson. By the by, Con, is there
any truth in the story they tell about this fellow, and that he really
was more actuated by a feeling of revenge towards Darcy than a desire
for money?”
“I never heard the story. Did you, Mr. O'Reilly?” asked Heffernan.
“Never,” said O'Reilly, affecting an air of unconcern, very ill
consorting with his pale cheek and anxious eye.
“The tale is simply this: that, as Gleeson waxed wealthy, and began to
assume a position in life, he one day called on the Knight to request
him to put his name up for ballot at 'Daly's.' Darcy was thunderstruck,
for it was in those days when the Club was respectable; but still
the Knight had tact enough to dissemble his astonishment, and would
doubtless have got through the difficulty had it not been for Bagenal
Daly, who was present, and called out, 'Wait till Tuesday, Maurice, for
I mean to propose M'Cleery, the breeches-maker, and then the thing won't
seem so remarkable!' Gleeson smiled and slipped away, with an oath to
his own heart, to be revenged on both of them. If there be any truth in
the story, he did ruin Daly, by advising some money-lender to buy up all
his liabilities.”
“I must take the liberty to correct you, sir,” said O'Reilly, actually
trembling with anger. “If your agreeable anecdote has no better
foundation than the concluding hypothesis, its veracity is inferior to
its ingenuity. The gentleman you are pleased to call a money-lender is
my father; the conduct you allude to was simply the advance of a large
sum on mortgage.”
“Foreclosed, like Darcy's, perhaps,” said St. George, his irascible face
becoming blood-red with passion.
“Come, come, Giles, you really can know nothing of the subject you are
talking of; besides, to Mr. O'Reilly the matter is a personal one.”
“So it is,” muttered St. George; “and if report speaks truly, as
unpleasant as personal.”
This insulting remark was not heard by O'Reilly, who was deeply engaged
in explaining to the lawyer beside him the minute legal details of the
circumstance.
“Shrewd a fellow as Gleeson was,” said St. George, interrupting
O'Reilly, by addressing the lawyer, “they say he has left some flaw open
in the matter, and that Darcy may recover a very large portion of the
lost estate.”
“Yes; if for instance this bond should be destroyed. He might move in
Equity--”
“He 'd move heaven and earth, sir, if it's Bagenal Daly you mean,” said
St. George, who had stimulated his excitement by drinking freely. “Some
will tell you that he is a steadfast, firm friend; but I 'll vouch for
it, a more determined enemy never drew breath.”
“Very happily for the world we live in, sir,” said O'Reilly, “there are
agencies more powerful than the revengeful and violent natures of such
men as Mr. Daly.”
“He's every jot as quick-sighted as he's determined; and when he wagered
a hogshead of claret that Darcy would one day sit again at the head of
his table in Gwynne Abbey--”
“Did he make such a bet?” asked O'Reilly, with a faint laugh.
“Yes; he walked down the club-room, and offered it to any one present,
and none seemed to fancy it; but young Kelly, of Kildare, who, being a
new member just come in, perhaps thought there might be some _éclat_ in
booking a bet with Bagenal Daly.”
“Would you like to back his opinion, sir?” said O'Reilly, with a
simulated softness of voice; “or although I rarely wager, I should have
no objection to convenience you here, leaving the amount entirely at
your option.”
“Which means,” said St. George, as his eyes sparkled with wine and
passion, “that the weight of _your_ purse is to tilt the beam against
that of _my_ opinion. Now, I beg leave to tell you--”
“Let me interrupt you, Giles; I never knew my Burgundy disagree with any
man before, but I d smash every bottle of it to-morrow if I thought it
could make so pleasant a fellow so wrong-headed and unreasonable. What
say you if we qualify it with some cognac and water?”
“Maurice Darcy is my relative,” said St. George, pushing his glass
rudely from him, “and I have yet to learn the unreasonableness of
wishing well to a member of one's own family. His father and mine were
like brothers! Ay, by Jove! I wonder what either of them would think of
the changes time has wrought in their sons' fortunes.” His voice dropped
into a low, muttering sound, while he mumbled on, “One a beggar and an
exile, the other”--here his eye twinkled with a malicious intelligence
as he glanced around the board--“the other the guest of Con Heffernan.”
He arose as he spoke, and fortunately the noise thus created prevented
his words being overheard. “You 're right, Con,” said he, “that Burgundy
has been too much for me. The wine is unimpeachable, notwithstanding.”
The others rose also; although pressed in all the customary hospitality
of the period to have “one bottle more,” they were resolute in taking
leave, doubtless not sorry to escape the risk of any unpleasant
termination to the evening's entertainment.
The lawyer and the commissioner agreed to see St. George home; for
although long seasoned to excesses, age had begun to tell upon him, and
his limbs were scarcely more under control than his tongue. O'Reilly had
dropped his handkerchief, he was not sure whether in the drawing or the
dinner room, and this delayed him a few moments behind the rest; and
although he declared, at each moment, the loss of no consequence, and
repeated his “good-night,” Heffernan held his hand and would not suffer
him to leave.
“Try under Mr. O'Reilly's chair, Thomas.--Singular specimen of a by-gone
day, the worthy baronet!” said he, with a shrug of his shoulders. “Would
you believe it, he and Darcy have not been on speaking terms for thirty
years, and yet how irritable be showed himself in his behalf!”
“He seems to know something of the family affairs, however,” said
O'Reilly, cautiously.
“Not more than club gossip; all that about Daly and his wager is a week
old.”
“I hope my father may never hear it,” said O'Reilly, compassionately;
“he has all the irritability of age, and these reports invariably urge
him on to harsh measures, which, by the least concession, he would
never have pursued. The Darcys, indeed, have to thank themselves for
any severity they have experienced at our hands. Teasing litigation and
injurious reports of us have met all our efforts at conciliation.”
“A compromise would have been much better, and more reputable for
all parties,” said Heffernan, as he turned to stir the fire, and thus
purposely averted his face while making the remark.
“So it would,” said O'Reilly, hurriedly; then stopping abruptly short,
he stammered out, “I don't exactly know what you mean by the word, but
if it implies a more amicable settlement of all disputed points between
us, I perfectly agree with you.”
Heffernan never spoke: a look of cool self-possession and significance
was all his reply. It seemed to say, “Don't hope to cheat _me_; however,
you may rely on my discretion.”
“I declare my handkerchief is in my pocket all this while,” said
O'Reilly, trying to conceal his rising confusion with a laugh.
“Good-night, once more--you 're thinking of going over to England
to-morrow evening?”
“Yes, if the weather permits, I 'll sail at seven. Can I be of any
service to you?”
“Perhaps so: I may trouble you with a commission. Good-night.”
“So, Mr. Hickman, you begin to feel the hook! Now let us see if we
cannot play the fish without letting him know the weakness of the
tackle!” said Heffernan, as he looked after him, and then slowly
retraced his steps to the now deserted drawing-room.
“How frequently will chance play the game more skilfully for us than all
our cleverness!” said he, while he paced the room alone. “That old bear,
St. George, who might have ruined everything, has done me good service.
O'Reilly's suspicions are awakened, his fears are aroused; could I only
find a clew to his terror, I could hold him as fast by his fears as by
this same baronetcy. This baronetcy,” added he, with a sneering laugh,
“that I am to negotiate for, and--be refused!”
With this sentiment of honest intentions on his lips, Mr. Heffernan
retired to rest, and, if this true history is to be credited, to sleep
soundly till morning.