Our time is now brief with our reader, and we would not trespass on him
longer by dwelling on the mere details of those struggles to which Helen
and Forester were reduced by daily association and companionship.
One hears much of Platonism, and, occasionally, of those brother and
sisterly affections which are adopted to compensate for dearer and
tenderer ties. Do they ever really exist? Has the world ever presented
one single successful instance of the compact? We are far, very far,
from doubting that friendship, the truest and closest, can subsist
between individuals of opposite sex. We only hazard the conjecture that
such friendships must not spring out of “Unhappy Love.” They must not
be built out of the ruins of wrecked affection. No, no; when Cupid is
bankrupt, there is no use in attempting to patch up his affairs by any
composition with the creditors.
We are not quite so sure that this is exactly the illustration Forester
would have used to convey his sense of our proposition; but that he was
thoroughly of our opinion, there is no doubt. Whether Helen was one
of the same mind or not, she performed her task more easily and more
gracefully. We desire too sincerely to part with our fair readers
on good terms, to venture on the inquiry whether there is not more
frankness and candor in the character of men than women? There is
certainly a greater difficulty in the exercise of this quality in the
gentler sex, from the many restraints imposed by delicacy and womanly
feeling; and the very habit of keeping within this artificial barrier
of reserve gives an ease and tranquillity to female manner under
circumstances where men would expose their troubled and warring
emotions. So much, perhaps, for the reason that Miss Darcy displayed
an equanimity of temper very different from the miserable Forester, and
exerted powers of pleasing and fascination which, to him at least, had
the singular effect of producing even more suffering than enjoyment.
The intimacy hitherto subsisting between them was rather increased than
otherwise. It seemed as if their relations to each other had been fixed
by a treaty, and now that transgression or change was impossible. If
this was slavery in its worst form to Forester, to Helen it was liberty
unbounded. No longer restrained by any fear of misconception, absolved,
in her own heart, of any designs upon his, she scrupled not to display
her capacity for thinking and reflecting with all the openness she would
have done to her brother Lionel; while, to relieve the deep melancholy
that preyed upon him, she exerted herself by a thousand little stratagems
of caprice or fancy, that, however successful at the time, were sure to
increase his gloom when he quitted her presence. Such, then, with its
varying vicissitudes of pleasure and pain, was the condition of their
mutual feeling for the remainder of their stay on the northern coast
Many a time had Forester resolved on leaving her forever, rather than
perpetuate the lingering torture of an affection that increased with
every hour; but the effort was more than his strength could compass, and
he yielded, as it were, to a fate, until at last her companionship had
become the whole aim and object of his existence.
As winter closed in, they removed to Dublin, and established themselves
temporarily in an old-fashioned family hotel, selected by Bicknell, in
a quiet, unpretending street. Neither their means nor inclination would
have prompted them to select a more fashionable resting-place, while the
object of strict seclusion was here secured. The ponderous gloom of
the staid old house, where, from the heavy sideboard of almost black
mahogany to the wrinkled visage of the grim waiter, all seemed of a
bygone century, were rather made matters of mutual pleasantry among the
party than sources of dissatisfaction; while the Knight assured them
that this was in his younger days the noisy resort of the gay and
fashionable of the capital.
“Indeed,” added he, “I am not quite sure that this is not where the
'Townsends,' as the club was then called, used to meet in Swift's time.
Bicknell will tell us all about it, for he's coming to dine with us.”
Forester was the first to appear in the drawing-room before dinner. It
is possible that he hurried his toilet in the hope of speaking a few
words to Helen, who not un-frequently came down before her mother.
If so, he was doomed to disappointment, as the room was empty when he
entered; and there was nothing for it but to wait, impatiently indeed,
and starting at every footstep on the stairs and every door that shut or
opened.
At last he heard the sound of approaching steps, softened by the deep
old carpet. They came,--he listened,--the door opened, and the waiter
announced a name, what and whose Forester paid no attention to, in his
annoyance that it was not hers he expected. The stranger-a very plump,
joyous little personage in deep black--did not appear quite unknown to
Forester; but as the recognition interested him very little, he merely
returned a formal bow to the other's more cordial salute, and turned to
the window where he was standing.
“The Knight, I believe, is dressing?” said the new arrival, advancing
towards Forester.
“Yes; but I have no doubt he will be down in a few moments.”
“Time enough,--no hurry in life. They told me below stairs that you were
here, and so I came up at once. I thought that I might introduce myself.
Paul Dempsey,--Dempsey's Grove. You've heard of me before, eh?”
“I have had that pleasure,” said Forester, with more animation of
manner; for now he remembered the face and figure of the worthy Paul, as
he had seen both in the large mirror of his mother's drawing-room.
“Ha! I guessed as much,” rejoined Paul, with a chuckling laugh; “the
ladies are here, too, ain't they?”
Forester assented, and Paul went on.
“Only heard of it from Bicknell half an hour ago. Took a car, and came
off at once. And when did _you_ come?”
Forester stared with amazement at a question whose precise meaning he
could not guess at, and to which he could only reply by a half-smile,
expressive of his difficulty.
“You were away, weren't you?” asked Dempsey.
“Yes; I have been out of England,” replied Forester, more than ever
puzzled how this fact could or ought to have any interest for the other.
“Never be ashamed of it. Soldiering 's very well in its way, though I 'd
never any taste for it myself,--none of that martial spirit that stirred
the bumpkin as he sang,--
Perhaps a recruit
Might chance to shoot
Great General Buonaparte.
Well, well! it seems you soon got tired of glory, of which, from all
I hear, a little goes very far with any man's stomach; and no wonder.
Except a French bayonet, there 's nothing more indigestible than
commissary bread.”
“The service is not without some hardships,” said Forester, blandly,
and preferring to shelter himself under generality than invite further
inquisitiveness.
“Cruelties you might call them,” rejoined Dempsey, with energy. “The
frightful stories we read in the papers!--and I suppose they are all
true. Were you ever touched up a bit yourself?” This Paul said in
his most insinuating manner; and as Forester's stare showed a total
ignorance of his meaning, he added, “A little four-and-twenty, I mean,”
mimicking, as he spoke, the action of flogging.
“Sir!” exclaimed Forester, with an energy almost ferocious; and Dempsey
made a spring backwards, and intrenched himself behind a sofa-table.
“Blood alive!” he exclaimed, “don't be angry. I wouldn't offend you for
the world; but I thought--”
“Never mind, sir,-your apology is quite sufficient,” said Forester, who
had no small difficulty to repress laughing at the terrified face before
him. “I am quite convinced there was no intention to give offence.”
“Spoke like a man,” said Dempsey, coming out from his ambush with an
outstretched hand; and Forester, not usually very unbending in such
cases, could not help accepting the salutation so heartily proffered.
“Ah, my excellent friend, Mr. Dempsey!” said the Knight, entering at the
same moment, and gayly tapping him on the shoulder. “A man I have long
wished to see, and thank for many kind offices in my absence.--I 'm glad
to see you are acquainted with Mr. Dempsey.--Well, and how fares the
world with you?”
“Better, rather better, Knight,” said Paul, who had scarcely recovered
the fright Forester had given him. “You've heard that old Bob's off?
Didn't go till he could n't help it, though; and now your humble servant
is the head of the house.”
While the Knight expressed his warm congratulations, Lady Eleanor and
Helen came in; and by their united invitation Paul was persuaded to
remain for dinner,--an event which, it must be owned, Forester could not
possibly comprehend.
Bicknell's arrival soon after completed the party, which, however
discordant in some respects, soon exhibited signs of perfect accordance
and mutual satisfaction. Mr. Dempsey's presence having banished all
business topics for discussion, he was permitted to launch out into
his own favorite themes, not the least amusing feature of which was the
perfect amazement of Forester at the man and his intimacy.
As the ladies withdrew to the drawing-room, Paul became more moody
and thoughtful, now and then interchanging glances with Bicknell, and
seeming as if on the verge of something, and yet half doubting how to
approach it. Two or three hastily swallowed bumpers, and a look, which
he believed of encouragement, from Bicknell, at length rallied Mr.
Dempsey, and after a slight hesitation, he said,--
“I believe, Knight, we are all friends here; it is, strictly speaking, a
cabinet council?”
If Darcy did not fathom the meaning of the speech, he had that knowledge
of the speaker which made his assent to it almost a matter of course.
“That's what I thought,” resumed Paul; “and it is a moment I have been
anxiously looking for. Has our friend here said anything?” added he,
with a gesture towards Bicknell.
“I, sir? I said nothing, I protest!” exclaimed the man of law, with an
air of deprecation. “I told you, Mr. Dempsey, that I would inform the
Knight of the generous proposition you made about the loan; but, till
the present moment, I have not had the opportunity.”
“Pooh, pooh! a mere trifle,” interrupted Paul. “It is not of that I
was thinking: it is of a very different subject I would speak. Has
Lady Eleanor or Miss Darcy--has she told you nothing of me?” said he,
addressing the Knight.
“Indeed they have, Mr. Dempsey, both spoken of you repeatedly, and
always in the same terms of grateful remembrance.”
“It isn't that, either,” said Paul, with a half-sigh of disappointment.
“You are unjust to yourself, Mr. Dempsey,” said Darcy, good-humoredly,
“to rest a claim to our gratitude on any single instance of kindness;
trust me that we recognize the whole debt.”
“But it's not that,” rejoined Paul, with a shake of the head. “Lord
bless us! how close women are about these things,” muttered he to
himself. “There is nothing for it but candor, I suppose, eh?”
This being put in the form of a direct question, and the Knight having
as freely assented, Paul resumed,--“Well, here it is. Being now at the
head of an ancient name, and very pretty independence,--Bicknell has
seen the papers,--I have been thinking of that next step a man takes who
would wish to--wish to-hand down a little race of Dempseys. You
understand?” Darcy smiled approvingly, and Paul continued: “And as
conformity of temper, taste, and habits are the surest pledges of such
felicity, I have set the eyes of my affections upon--Miss Darcy.”
So little prepared was the Knight for what was coming, that up to that
moment he had been listening with a smile of easy enjoyment; but when
the last word was spoken, he started as if he had been stung by a
reptile, nor could all his habitual self-control master the momentary
flush of irritation that covered his face.
“I know,” said Paul, with a dim consciousness that his proposition was
but half acceptable, “that we are not exactly, so to say, the same rank
and class; but the Dempseys are looking up, and--”
“'The Darcys looking down,' you would add,” said the Knight, with a
gleam of his habitual humor in his eye.
“And, like the buckets in a well, the full and empty ones meet
half-way,” added Dempsey, laughing. “I know well, as I said before, we
are not the same kind of people, and perhaps this would have deterred me
from indulging any thoughts on the subject, but for a chance, a bit of
an accident, as a body may call it, that gave me courage.”
“This is the very temple of candor, Mr. Dempsey,” said the
Knight, smiling. “Pray proceed, and let us hear the source of your
encouragement; what was it?”
“Say, who was it, rather,” interposed Paul.
“Be it so, then. Who was it? You have only made my curiosity stronger.”
“Lady Eleanor,--ay, and Miss Helen herself.”
A start of anger and a half-spoken exclamation were as quickly
interrupted by a fit of laughing; and the Knight leaned back in his
chair, and shook with the emotion.
“You doubt it; you think it absurd,” said Dempsey, himself laughing,
and not exhibiting the slightest irritation. “What if they say it's
true,--will that content you?”
“I'm afraid it would not,” said Darcy, equivocally; “there's nothing
less likely to do so. Still, I assure you, Mr. Dempsey, if the ladies
are of the mind you attribute to them, I shall find it very difficult to
disbelieve anything I ever hear hereafter.”
“I'm satisfied to stand or fall by their verdict,” said Paul,
resolutely. “I'm not a fool, exactly; and do you think if I had not
something stronger than mere suspicion to guide me, that I'd have gone
that same journey to London? Oh, I forgot--I did not tell you about my
going to Lord Netherby.”
“You went to Lord Netherby, and on this subject?” said Darcy, whose face
became suffused with shame, an emotion doubly painful from Forester's
presence.
“That I did,” rejoined the unabashed Paul, “and a long conversation we
had over the matter. He introduced me to his wife too. Lord bless us,
but that is a bit of pride!”
“You are aware that the lady is Lord Wallincourt's mother,” interposed
Darcy, sternly.
“Faith, so that she is n't mine,” said the inexorable Paul, “I don't
care! There she was, lying in state, with a greyhound with silver bells
on his neck at her feet; and when I came into the room, she lifts up
her head and gives me a look, as much as to say, 'Oh, that's him.'--'Mr.
Dempsey, of Dempsey's Hole,'--for hole he would call it, in spite of
me,--'Mr. Dempsey, my love,' said my Lord, bowing as ceremoniously as
if he never saw her before; and so, taking the hint, I began a little
course of salutations, when she called out, 'Tell him not to do that,
Netherby,--tell him not to do that-'”
This was too much for Mr. Dempsey's hearers, who, however differently
minded as to the narrative, now concurred in one outbreak of hearty
laughter.
“Well, my Lord,” said Darcy, turning to Forester, “you certainly have
shown evidence of a most enviable good temper. Had your Lordship--”
“His Lordship!” exclaimed Paul, in amazement. “Is n't that your
son,--Captain Darcy?”
“No, indeed, Mr. Dempsey,” said the Knight; “I thought, as I came into
the drawing-room, that you were acquainted, or I should have presented
you to the Earl of Wallincourt.”
“Oh, ain't I in for it now!” cried Paul, in an accent of grief most
ludicrously natural. “Oh! by the powers, I 'm up to the knees in
trouble! And that was your mother! oh dear! oh dear!”
“You see, my worthy friend,” said Darcy, smiling, “how easy a thing
deception is. Is it not possible that your misconceptions do not end
here?”
“I 'll never get over it, I know I'll not!” exclaimed Paul, wringing
his hands as he arose from the table. “Bad luck to it for grandeur!”
muttered he between his teeth; “I never had a minute's happiness since I
got the taste for it.” And with this honest avowal he rushed out of the
room.
It was some time before the party in the dining-room adjourned upstairs;
but when they did, they found Mr. Dempsey seated at the fire, recounting
to the ladies his late unhappy discomfiture,--a narrative which even
Lady Eleanor's gravity was not enabled to withstand. A kind audience
was always a boon of the first water to honest Paul; and very little
pressing was needed to induce him to continue his revelations, for the
Knight wisely felt that such pretensions as his could not be buried so
satisfactorily as beneath the load of ridicule.
Mr. Dempsey's scruples soon vanished and thawed under the warmth of
encouraging voices and smiles, and he began the narrative of his night
at “The Corvy,” his painful durance in the canoe, his escape, the
burning of the law papers, and each step of his progress to the very
moment that he stood a listener at Lady Eleanor's door. Then he halted
abruptly and said, “Now I'm dumb! racks and thumbscrews wouldn't get
more out of me.”
“You cannot mean, sir,” said Lady Eleanor, calmly but haughtily, “that
you overheard the conversation that passed between my daughter and
myself?”
“Every word of it!” replied Paul, bluntly.
“Oh, really, sir, I can scarcely compliment you on the spirit of your
curiosity; for although the theme we talked on, if I remember aright,
was the speedy necessity of removing,--the urgency of seeking some place
of refuge--”
“If I had n't heard which, I could not have assisted you in your
departure,” rejoined the unabashed Paul: “the old Loyola maxim, 'Evil,
that Good may come of it.'”
Helen sat pale and terrified all this time; for although Lady Eleanor
had forgotten the discussion of any other topic on that night save that
of their legal difficulties, she well remembered a theme nearer and
dearer to her heart. Whether from the distress of these thoughts, or in
the hope of propitiating Mr. Dempsey to silence, so it was, she fixed
her eyes upon him with an expression Paul thought he could read, and
he gave a look of such conscious intelligence in return as brought the
blush to her cheek. “I 'm not going to say one word about it,” said he,
in a stage whisper that even the Knight himself overheard.
“Then I must myself insist upon Mr. Dempsey's revelations,” said Darcy,
not at all satisfied with the air of mystery Dempsey threw around his
intercourse.
Another look from Helen here met Paul's, and he stood uncertain how to
act.
“Really, sir,” said Lady Eleanor, “however little the subject we
discussed was intended for other ears than our own, I must beg of you
now to repeat what you remember of it.”
“Well, what can I do?” exclaimed Paul, looking at Helen with an
expression of the most helpless misery; “I know you are angry, and I
know that when you like it, you can blaze up like a Congreve rocket.
Oh, faith! I don't forget the day I showed you the newspaper about the
English officer thrashing O'Halloran!”
Helen grew scarlet, and turned away, but not before Forester had caught
her eyes, and read in them more of hope than his heart had known for
many a day before.
“These are more mysteries, Mr. Dempsey; and if you continue to scatter
riddles as you go, we shall never get to the end of this affair.”
“Perhaps,” interposed Bicknell, hoping to close the unpleasant
discussion,--“perhaps Mr. Dempsey, feeling that he had personally no
interest in the conversation between Lady Eleanor and Miss Darcy--”
“Had n't he, then?” exclaimed Paul,--“maybe not. If I hadn't, then, who
had?--tell me that. Wasn't it then and there I first heard of the kind
intentions towards me?”
“Towards you, sir! Of what are you speaking?”
“Blood alive! will you tell me that I 'm not Paul Dempsey, of Dempsey's
Grove?” exclaimed he, driven beyond all patience by what he deemed
equivocation. “Will you tell me that your Ladyship didn't allude to the
day I brought the letter from Coleraine, and say that you actually
began to like me from that hour? Did n't you tell Miss Helen not to lie
down-hearted, because there were better days in store for us? Miss Darcy
remembers it, I see,--ay, and your Ladyship does now. Did n't you call
me rash and headstrong and ambitious? I forgive it all; I believe it is
true. And was n't I your bond-slave from that hour? Oh, mercy on me! the
pleasant time I had of it at Mother Fum's! Then came the days and nights
I was watching over you at Ballintray. Ay, faith, and money was very
scarce with me when I gave old Denny Nolan five shillings for the loan
of his nankeen jacket to perform the part of waiter at the little inn.
Do you remember a little note, in the shape of a friendly warning? Eh,
now, my Lady, I think your memory is something fresher.”
If the confusion of Lady Eleanor and her daughter was extreme at this
outpouring of Mr. Dempsey's confessions, the amazement of Darcy and the
utter stupefaction of Forester were even greater; to throw discredit
upon him would be to acknowledge the real bearing of the circumstances,
which would be far worse than all his imputations; so there was no
alternative but to lie under every suspicion his narrative might
suggest.
Forester felt annoyed as much that such a person should have obtained
this assumed intimacy as by the pretensions he well knew were only
absurd, and took an early leave under the pretence of fatigue. Bicknell
soon followed; and now the Knight, arresting Dempsey's preparations for
departure, led him back towards the fire, and placing a chair for him
between Lady Eleanor and himself, obliged him to recount his scattered
reminiscences once more, and, what was a far less pleasing duty to him,
to listen to Lady Eleanor while she circumstantially unravelled the web
of his delusion, and, in order, explained on what unsubstantial grounds
he had built the edifice of his hope. Perhaps honest Paul was not more
afflicted at any portion of the disentanglement than that which, in
disavowing his pretensions, yet confessed that some other held the
favorable place, while that other's name was guarded as a secret. This
was, indeed, a sore blow, and he could n't rally from it; and willingly
would he have bartered all the gratitude they expressed for his many
friendly offices to know his rival's name.
“Well,” exclaimed he, as Lady Eleanor concluded, “it's clear I was n't
the man. Only think of my precious journey to London, and the interview
with that terrible old Countess,--all for nothing! No matter,--it's all
past and over. As for the loan, I 've arranged it all; you shall have
the money when you like.”
“I must decline your generous offer, not without feeling your debtor for
it; but I have determined to abandon these proceedings. The Government
have promised me some staff appointment, quite sufficient for my wishes
and wants; and I will neither burden my friends nor wear out myself by
tiresome litigation.”
[Illustration: 435]
“That's the worst of all,” exclaimed Dempsey; “I thought you would not
refuse me this.”
“Nor would I, my dear Dempsey, but that I have no occasion for the sum.
To-morrow I set out to witness the last suit I shall ever engage in;
and as I believe there is little doubt of the issue, I have nothing of
sanguine feeling to suffer by disappointment.”
“Well, then, to-morrow I 'll start for Dempsey's Grove,” said Paul,
sorrowfully. “With very different expectations I quitted it a few days
ago. Good-bye, Lady Eleanor; good-bye, Miss Helen. I suppose there 's no
use in guessing?”
Mr. Dempsey's leave-taking was far more rueful than his wont, and woe
seemed to have absorbed all other feeling; but when he reached the door,
he turned round and said,--
“Now I am going,--never like to see him again; do tell me the name.”
A shake of the head, and a merry burst of laughter, was all the answer;
and Paul departed.