OLD SONGS--THE UNWELCOME LISTENER--THE BARONET'S PLEDGE.
Next day Mary Ashwoode sat alone in the same room in which she had been
so unpleasantly intruded upon on the evening before. The unkindness of
her brother had caused her many a bitter tear during the past night,
and although still entirely in the dark as to Blarden's designs, there
was yet something in his manner during the brief moment of their
yesterday evening's rencontre which alarmed her, and suggested, in a
few hurried and fevered dreams which troubled her broken slumbers of
the night past, his dreaded image in a hundred wild and fantastic
adventures.
She sat, as we have already said, alone in the self-same room, and as
mechanically she pursued her work, her thoughts were far away, and
wherever they turned still were they clouded with anxiety and sorrow.
Wearied at length with the monotony of an occupation which availed not
even momentarily to draw her attention from the griefs which weighed
upon her, she threw her work aside, and taking the guitar which in
gayer hours had often yielded its light music to her touch, and trying
to forget the consciousness of her changed and lonely existence in the
happier recollections which returned in these once familiar sounds, she
played and sang the simple melodies which had been her favourites long
ago; but while thus her hands strayed over the chords of the
instrument, and the low and silvery cadences of her sweet voice
recalled many a touching remembrance of the past, she was startled and
recalled at once from her momentary forgetfulness of the present by a
voice close behind her which exclaimed,--
"Capital--never a better--encore, encore;" and on looking hurriedly
round, her glance at once encountered and recognized the form and
features of Nicholas Blarden. "Go on, go on, do," said that gentleman
in his most engaging way, and with an amorous grin; "do--go on, can't
you--by ----, I'm half sorry I said a word."
"I--I would rather not," stammered she, rising and colouring; "I have
played and sung enough--too much already."
"No, no, not at all," continued Blarden, warming as he proceeded; "hang
me, no such thing, you were just going on strong when I came in--come,
come, I won't _let_ you stop."
Her heart swelled with indignation at the coarse, familiar insolence of
his manner; but she made no other answer than that conveyed by laying
down the instrument, and turning from it and him.
"Well, rot me, but this is too bad," continued he, playfully; "come,
take it up again--come, you _must_ tip us another stave, young
lady--do--curse me if I heard half your songs, you're a perfect
nightingale."
So saying he took up the guitar, and followed her with it towards the
fireplace.
"Come, you won't refuse, eh?--I'm in earnest," he continued; "upon my
soul and oath I want to hear more of it."
"I have already told you, sir," said Mary Ashwoode, "that I do not wish
to play or sing any more at present. I am sure you are not aware, Mr.
Blarden, that this is my private apartment; no one visits me here
uninvited, and at present I wish to be alone."
Thus speaking, she resumed her seat and her work, and sat in perfect
silence, her heaving breast and glowing cheeks alone betraying the
strength of her emotions.
"Ho, ho! rot me, but she's sulky," cried Blarden, with a horse-laugh,
while he flung the guitar carelessly upon the table; "sure you wouldn't
turn me out--that would be very hard usage, and no mistake. Eh! Miss
Mary?"
Mary continued to ply her silks in silence, and Blarden threw himself
into a chair opposite to her.
"I like to rise you--hang me, if I don't," said Blarden,
exultingly--"you are always a snug-looking bit of goods, but when your
blood's up, you're a downright beauty--rot me, but you are--why the
devil don't you talk to me--eh?" he added, more roughly than he had yet
spoken.
Mary Ashwoode began now to feel seriously alarmed at the man's manner,
and as her eyes encountered his gloating gaze, her colour came and went
in quick succession.
"Confoundedly pretty, sure enough, and well you know it, too,"
continued he--"curse me, but you _are_ a fine wench--and I'll tell you
what's more--I'm more than half in love with you at this minute, may
the devil have me but I am."
Thus speaking, he drew his chair nearer hers.
"Mr. Blarden--sir--I insist on your leaving me," said Mary, now
thoroughly frightened.
"And _I_ insist on _not_ leaving you," replied Blarden, with an
insolent chuckle--"so it's a fair trial of strength between us,
eh?--ho, ho, what are you afraid of?--stick up to your fight--do
then--I like you all the better for your spirit--confound me but I do."
He advanced his chair still nearer to that on which she was seated.
"Well, but you _do_ look pretty, by Jove," he exclaimed. "I like _you_,
and I am determined to make you like _me_--I am--you _shall_ like me."
He arose, and approached her with a half amorous, half menacing air.
Pale as death, Mary Ashwoode arose also, and moved with hurried,
trembling steps towards the door. He made a movement as if to intercept
her exit, but checked the impulse, and contented himself with observing
with a scowl of spite and disappointment, as she passed from the
room,--
"Pride will have a fall, my fine lady--you'll be tame enough yet for
all your tantarums, by Jove."
Breathless with haste and agitation, Mary reached the study, where she
knew her brother was now generally to be found. He was there engaged in
the miserable labour of looking through accounts and letters, in
arranging the complicated records of his own ruin.
"Brother," said she, running to his side with the earnestness of deep
agitation, "brother, listen to me."
He raised his eyes, and at a glance easily divined the cause of her
excitement.
"Well," said he, "speak on--I hear."
"Brother," she resumed, "that man--that Mr. Blarden, came uninvited
into my study; he was at first very coarse and free in his manner--very
disagreeable and impudent--he refused to leave me when I requested him
to do so, and every moment became more and more insolent--his manner
and language terrified me. Brother, dear brother, you must not expose
me to another such scene as that which has just passed."
Ashwoode paused for a good while, with the pen still in his fingers,
and his eyes fixed abstractedly upon his sister's pale face. At length
he said,--
"Do you wish me to make this a quarrel with Blarden? Was there enough
to warrant a--a duel?"
He well knew, however, that he was safe in putting the question, and in
anticipating her answer, he calculated rightly the strength of his
sister's affection for him.
"Oh! no, no, brother--no!" she cried, with imploring terror; "dear
brother, you are everything to me now. No, no; promise that you will
not!"
"Well, well, I do," said Ashwoode; "but how would you have me act?"
"Do not ask this man to prolong his visit," replied she; "or if he
must, at least let me go elsewhere while he remains here."
"You have but one female relative in Ireland with a house to receive
you," rejoined Ashwoode, "and that is Lady Stukely; and I have reason
to think she would not like to have you as a guest just now."
"Dear Harry--dear brother, think of some place," said she, with earnest
entreaty. "I now feel secure nowhere; that rude man, the very sight of
whom affrights me, will not forbear to intrude upon my privacy;
alone--in my own little room--anywhere in this house--I am equally
liable to his intrusions and his rudeness. Dear brother, take pity on
me--think of some place."
"Curse that beast Blarden!" muttered Sir Henry Ashwoode, between his
teeth. "Will nothing ever teach the ruffian one particle of tact or
common sense? What good end could he possibly propose to himself by
terrifying the girl?"
Ashwoode bit his lips and frowned, while he thought the matter over. At
length he said,--
"I shall speak to Blarden immediately. I begin to think that the man is
not fit company for civilized people. I think we must get rid of him at
whatever temporary inconvenience, without actual rudeness. Without
anything approaching to a quarrel, I can shorten his visit. He shall
leave this either to-night or before seven o'clock to-morrow morning."
"And you promise there shall be no quarrel--no violence?" urged she.
"Yes, Mary, I do promise," rejoined Ashwoode.
"Dear, dear brother, you have set my heart at rest," cried she. "Yes,
you _are_ my own dear brother--my protector!" And with all the warmth
and enthusiasm of unsuspecting love, she threw her arms around his neck
and kissed her betrayer.
Mary had scarcely left the room in which Sir Henry Ashwoode was seated,
when he perceived Blarden sauntering among the trees by the window,
with his usual swagger; the young man put on his hat and walked quickly
forth to join him; as soon as he had come up with him, Blarden turned,
and anticipating him, said,--
"Well, I _have_ spoken out, and I think she understands me too; at any
rate, if she don't, it's no fault of mine."
"I wish you had managed it better," said Ashwoode; "there is a way of
doing these things. You have frightened the foolish girl half out of
her wits."
"Have I, though?" exclaimed Blarden, with a triumphant grin. "She's
just the girl we want--easily cowed. I'm glad to hear it. We'll manage
her--we'll bring her into training before a week--hang me, but we
will."
"You began a little too soon, though," urged Ashwoode; "you ought to
have tried gentle means first."
"Devil the morsel of good in them," rejoined Blarden. "I see well
enough how the wind sits--she don't like me; and I haven't time to
waste in wooing. Once we're buckled, she'll be fond enough of me;
matrimony 'll turn out smooth enough--I'll take devilish good care of
that; but the courtship will be the devil's tough business. We must
begin the taming system off-hand; there's no use in shilly shally."
"I tell you," rejoined Ashwoode, "you have been too precipitate--I
speak, of course, merely in relation to the policy and expediency of
the thing. I don't mean to pretend that constraint may not become
necessary hereafter; but just now, and before our plans are well
considered, and our arrangements made, I think it was injudicious to
frighten her so. She was talking of leaving the house and going to Lady
Stukely's, or, in short, anywhere rather than remain here."
"Threaten to run away, did she?" cried Blarden, with a whistle of
surprise which passed off into a chuckle.
"Yes, in plain terms, she said so," rejoined Ashwoode.
"Then just turn the key upon her at once," replied Blarden--"lock her
up--let her measure her rambles by the four walls of her room! Hang me,
if I can see the difficulty."
Ashwoode remained silent, and they walked side by side for a time
without exchanging a word.
"Well, I believe I'm right," cried Blarden, at length; "I think our
game is plain enough, eh? Don't let her budge an inch. Do you act
turnkey, and I'll pay her a visit once a day for fear she'd forget
me--I'll be her father confessor, eh?--ho, ho!--and between us I think
we'll manage to bring her to before long."
"We must take care before we proceed to this extremity that all our
agents are trustworthy," said Ashwoode. "There is no immediate danger
of her attempting an escape, for I told her that you were leaving this
either to-night or to-morrow morning, and she's now just as sure as if
we had her under lock and key."
"Well, what do you advise? Can't you speak out? What's all the delay to
lead to?" said Blarden.
"Merely that we shall have time to adjust our schemes," replied
Ashwoode; "there is more to be done than perhaps you think of. We must
cut off all possibility of correspondence with friends out of doors,
and we must guard against suspicion among the servants; they are all
fond of her, and there is no knowing what mischief might be done even
by the most contemptible agents. Some little preparation before we
employ coercion is absolutely indispensable."
"Well, then, you'd have me keep out of the way," said Blarden. "But
mind you, I won't leave this; I like to have my own eye upon my own
business."
"There is no reason why you should leave it," rejoined Ashwoode. "The
weather is now cold and broken, so that Mary will seldom leave the
house; and when she remains in it, she is almost always in the little
drawing-room with her work, and books, and music; with the slightest
precaution you can effectually avoid her for a few days."
"Well, then, agreed--done and done--a fair go on both sides," replied
Blarden, "but it must not be too long; knock out some scheme that will
wind matters up within a fortnight at furthest; be lively, or she shall
lead apes, and you swing as sure as there's six sides to a die."