Both from a sense of justice to the poor people concerned, and from a
desire to save Sir Ulick O’Shane’s memory as far as it was in his power
from reproach, Ormond determined to pay whatever small debts were due to
his servants, workmen, and immediate dependents. For this purpose, when
the funeral was over, he had them all assembled at Castle Hermitage.
Every just demand of this sort was paid, all were satisfied; even
the bare-footed kitchen-maid, the drudge of this great house, who, in
despair, had looked at her poor one guinea note of Sir Ulick’s, had that
note paid in gold, and went away blessing Master Harry. Happy for all
that he is come home to us, was the general feeling. But there was one
man, a groom of Sir Ulick’s, who did not join in any of these blessings
or praises: he stood silent and motionless, with his eyes on the money
which Mr. Ormond had put into his hand.
“Is your money right?” said Ormond.
“It is, sir; but I had something to tell you.”
When all the other servants had left the room, the man said, “I am the
groom, sir, that was sent, just before you went to France, with a letter
to Annaly: there was an answer to that letter, sir, though you never got
it.”
“There was an answer!” cried Ormond, anger flashing, but an instant
afterwards joy sparkling in his eyes. “There was a letter!--From
whom?--I’ll forgive you all, if you will tell me the whole truth.”
“I will--and not a word of lie, and I beg your honour’s pardon, if--”
“Go on--straight to the fact, this instant, or you shall never have my
pardon.”
“Why then I stopped to take a glass coming home; and, not knowing how
it was, I had the misfortune to lose the bit of a note, and I thought
no more about it till, plase your honour, after you was gone, it was
found.”
“Found!” cried Ormond, stepping hastily up to him--“where is it?”
“I have it safe here,” said the man, opening a sort of pocket-book “here
I have kept it safe till your honour came back.”
Ormond saw and seized upon a letter in Lady Armaly’s hand, directed to
him. Tore it open--two notes--one from Florence.
“I forgive you!” said he to the man, and made a sign to him to leave the
room.
When Ormond had read, or without reading had taken in, by one glance of
the eye, the sense of the letters--he rang the bell instantly.
“Inquire at the post-office,” said he to his servant, “whether Lady
Annaly is in England or Ireland?--If in England, where?--if in Ireland,
whether at Annaly or at Herbert’s Town? Quick--an answer.”
An answer was quickly brought, “In England--in Devonshire, sir: here is
the exact direction to the place, sir. I shall pack up, I suppose, sir?”
“Certainly--directly.”
Leaving a few lines of explanation and affection for Dr. Cambray, our
young hero was _off again_, to the surprise and regret of all who saw
him driving away as fast as horses could carry him. His servant, from
the box, however, spread as he went, for the comfort of the deploring
village, the assurance that “Master and he would soon be back again,
please Heaven!--and happier than ever.”
And now that he is safe in the carriage, what was in that note of Miss
Annaly’s which has produced such a _sensation_? No talismanic charm ever
operated with more magical celerity than this note. What were the words
of the charm?
That is a secret which shall never be known to the world.
The only point which it much imports the public to know is probably
already guessed--that the letter did not contain a refusal, nor any
absolute discouragement of Ormond’s hopes. But Lady Annaly and Florence
had both distinctly told him that they could not receive him at Annaly
till after a certain day, on which they said that they should be
particularly engaged. They told him that Colonel Albemarle was at
Annaly--that he would leave it at such a time--and they requested that
Mr. Ormond would postpone his visit till after that time.
Not receiving this notice, Ormond had unfortunately gone upon the day
that was specially prohibited.
Now that the kneeling figure appeared to him as a rival in despair, not
in triumph, Ormond asked himself how he could ever have been such an
idiot as to doubt Florence Annaly.
“Why did I set off in such haste for Paris?--Could not I have waited a
day?--Could not I have written again?--Could I not have cross-questioned
the drunken servant when he was sober?--Could not I have done any thing,
in short, but what I did?”
Clearly as a man, when his anger is dissipated, sees what he ought to
have done or to have left undone while the fury lasted; vividly as a man
in a different kind of passion sees the folly of all he did, said,
or thought, when he was possessed by the past madness; so clearly,
so vividly, did Ormond now see and feel--and vehemently execrate, his
jealous folly and mad precipitation; and then he came to the question,
could his folly be repaired?--would his madness ever be forgiven?
Ormond, in love affairs, never had any presumption--any tinge of the
Connal coxcombry in his nature: he was not apt to flatter himself that
he had made a deep impression; and now he was, perhaps from his sense
of the superior value of the object, more than usually diffident. Though
Miss Annaly was still unmarried, she might have resolved irrevocably
against him. Though she was not a girl to act in the high-flown heroine
style, and, in a fit of pride or revenge, to punish the man she liked,
by marrying his rival, whom she did not like; yet Florence Annaly, as
Ormond well knew, inherited some of her mother’s strength of character;
and, in circumstances that deeply touched her heart, might be capable
of all her mother’s warmth of indignation. It was in her character
decidedly to refuse to connect herself with any man, however her heart
might incline towards him, if he had any essential defect of temper;
or if she thought that his attachment to her was not steady and strong,
such as she deserved it should be, and such as her sensibility and all
her hopes of domestic happiness required in a husband. And then there
was Lady Annaly to be considered--how indignant she would be at his
conduct!
While Ormond was travelling alone, he had full leisure to torment
himself with these thoughts. Pressed forward alternately by hope and
fear, each urging expedition, he hastened on--reached Dublin--crossed
the water--and travelling day and night, lost not a moment till he was
at the feet of his fair mistress.
To those who like to know the how, the when, and the where, it should
be told that it was evening when he arrived. Florence Annaly was walking
with her mother by the seaside, in one of the most beautiful and retired
parts of the coasts of Devonshire, when they were told by a servant that
a gentleman from Ireland had just arrived at their house, and wished to
see them. A minute afterwards they saw--“Could it be?” Lady Annaly said,
turning in doubt to her daughter; but the cheek of Florence instantly
convinced the mother that it could be none but Mr. Ormond himself.
“Mr. Ormond!” said Lady Annaly, advancing kindly, yet with dignified
reserve--“Mr. Ormond, after his long absence, is welcome to his old
friend.”
There was in Ormond’s look and manner, as he approached, something
that much inclined the daughter to hope that he might prove not utterly
unworthy of her mother’s forgiveness; and when he spoke to the daughter,
there was in his voice and look something that softened the mother’s
heart, and irresistibly inclined her to wish that he might be able
to give a satisfactory explanation of his strange conduct. Where
the parties are thus happily disposed both to hear reason, to excuse
passion, and to pardon the errors to which passion, even in the most
reasonable minds, is liable, explanations are seldom tedious, or
difficult to be comprehended. The moment Ormond produced the cover,
the soiled cover of the letters, a glimpse of the truth struck Florence
Annaly; and before he had got farther in his sentence than these words,
“I did not receive your ladyship’s letter till within these few days,”
all the reserve of Lady Annaly’s manner was dispelled: her smiles
relieved his apprehensions, and encouraged him to proceed in his story
with happy fluency. The carelessness of the drunken servant, who had
occasioned so much mischief, was talked of for a few minutes with great
satisfaction.
Ormond took his own share of the blame so frankly and with so good a
grace, and described with such truth the agony he had been thrown into
by the sight of the kneeling figure in regimentals, that Lady Annaly
could not help comforting him by the assurance that Florence had, at the
same moment, been _sufficiently_ alarmed by the rearing of his horse at
the sight of the flapping window-blind.
“The kneeling gentleman,” said Lady Annaly, “whom you thought at the
height of joy and glory, was at that moment in the depths of despair. So
ill do the passions see what is even before their eyes!”
If Lady Annaly had had a mind to moralize, she might have done so to any
length, without fear of interruption from either of her auditors, and
with the most perfect certainty of unqualified submission and dignified
humility on the part of our hero, who was too happy at this moment not
to be ready to acknowledge himself to have been wrong and absurd, and
worthy of any quantity of reprehension or indignation that could have
been bestowed upon him.
Her ladyship went, however, as far from morality as possible--to Paris.
She spoke of the success Mr. Ormond had had in Parisian society--she
spoke of M. and Madame de Connal, and various persons with whom he had
been intimate, among others of the Abbé Morellet.
Ormond rejoiced to find that Lady Annaly knew he had been in the Abbé
Morellet’s distinguished society. The happiest hopes for the future rose
in his mind, from perceiving that her ladyship, by whatever means, knew
all that he had been doing in Paris. It seems that they had had accounts
of him from several English travellers, who had met him at Paris, and
had heard him spoken of in different companies.
Ormond took care--give him credit for it all who have ever been in
love--even in these first moments, with the object of his present
affection, Ormond took care to do justice to the absent Dora, whom he
now never expected to see again. He seized, dexterously, an opportunity,
in reply to something Lady Annaly said about the Connals, to observe
that Madame de Connal was not only much admired for her beauty at Paris,
but that she did honour to Ireland by having preserved her reputation;
young, and without a guide, as she was, in dissipated French society,
with few examples of conjugal virtues to preserve in her mind the
precepts and habits of her British education.
He was glad of this opportunity to give, as he now did with all the
energy of truth, the result of his feelings and reflections on what
he had seen of the modes of living among the French; their superior
pleasures of society, and their want of our domestic happiness.
While Ormond was speaking, both the mother and daughter could not help
admiring, in the midst of his moralizing, the great improvement which
had been made in his appearance and manners.
With all his own characteristic frankness, he acknowledged the
impression which French gaiety and the brilliancy of Parisian society
had at first made upon him: he was glad, however, that he had now seen
all that the imagination often paints as far more delightful than
it really is. He had, thank Heaven, passed through this course of
dissipation without losing his taste for better and happier modes of
life. The last few months, though they might seem but a splendid or
feverish dream in his existence, had in reality been, he believed, of
essential service in confirming his principles, settling his character,
and deciding for ever his taste and judgment, after full opportunity
of comparison, in favour of his own country--and especially of his own
countrywomen.
Lady Annaly smiled benignantly, and after observing that this seemingly
unlucky excursion, which had begun in anger, had ended advantageously
to Mr. Ormond; and after having congratulated him upon having saved his
fortune, and established his character solidly, she left him to plead
his own cause with her daughter--in her heart cordially wishing him
success.
What he said, or what Florence answered, we do not know; but we are
perfectly sure that if we did, the repetition of it would tire the
reader. Lady Annaly and tea waited for them with great patience to an
unusually late, which they conceived to be an unusually early, hour. The
result of this conversation was, that Ormond remained with them in this
beautiful retirement in Devonshire the next day, and the next, and--how
many days are not precisely recorded; a blank was left for the number,
which the editor of these memoirs does not dare to fill up at random,
lest some Mrs. M’Crule should exclaim, “Scandalously too long to keep
the young man there!”--or, “Scandalously too short a courtship, after
all!”
It is humbly requested that every young lady of delicacy and feeling
will put herself in the place of Florence Annaly--then, imagining the
man she most approves of to be in the place of Mr. Ormond, she will
be pleased to fill up the blank with what number of days she may think
proper.
When the happy day was named, it was agreed that they should return to
Ireland, to Annaly; and that their kind friend, Dr. Cambray, should be
the person to complete that union which he had so long foreseen and so
anxiously desired.
Those who wish to hear something of estates, as well as of weddings,
should be told that about the same time Ormond received letters from
Marcus O’Shane, and from M. de Connal; Marcus informing him that the
estate of Castle Hermitage was to be sold by the commissioners of
bankrupts, and beseeching him to bid for it, that it might not be sold
under value. M. de Connal also besought his dear friend, Mr. Ormond to
take the Black Islands off his hands, for they encumbered him terribly.
No wonder, living, as he did, at Paris, with his head at Versailles, and
his heart in a faro bank. Ormond could not oblige both the gentlemen,
though they had each pressing reasons for getting rid speedily of
their property, and were assured that he would be the most agreeable
purchaser. Castle Hermitage was the finest estate, and by far the best
bargain. But other considerations weighed with our hero. While Sir Ulick
O’Shane’s son and natural representative was living, banished by debts
from his native country, Ormond could not bear to take possession of
Castle Hermitage. For the Black Islands he had a fondness--they were
associated with all the tender recollections of his generous benefactor.
He should hurt no one’s feelings by this purchase--and he might do a
great deal of good, by carrying on his old friend’s improvements, and
by farther civilizing the people of the Islands, all of whom were
warmly attached to him. They considered Prince Harry as the lawful
representative of their dear King Corny, and actually offered up prayers
for his coming again to _reign_ over them.
To those who think that the mind is a kingdom of yet more consequence
than even that of the Black Islands, it may be agreeable to hear that
Ormond continued to enjoy the empire which he had gained over himself;
and to maintain that high character, which in spite of his neglected
education, and of all the adverse circumstances to which he was early
exposed, he had formed for himself by resolute energy.
Lady Annaly with the pride of affection, gloried in the full
accomplishment of her prophecies; and was rewarded in the best manner
for that benevolent interest which she had early taken in our hero’s
improvement, by seeing the perfect felicity that subsisted between her
daughter and Ormond.
The End.