_The Picture on the Wall_
"O'Neill?" said the admiral, in much bewilderment; "Edward, this is
your friend, the Marquis de Richemont."
"Edward, do not speak!" cried Lady Elizabeth, distractedly.
"Ah, Elizabeth, my love and duty to you, but not speak? About what,
pray? What mean you?"
"Is this gentleman, the Marquis de Richemont, your friend or not, sir?
Cease this by-play, Elizabeth; I will have an explanation," demanded
the now thoroughly aroused admiral.
"My friend? Quite so," said Major Coventry, smiling. "Though I was
ignorant that he was a marquis, he is none the less welcome. I am
exceedingly glad to see him again. You too, I presume, Elizabeth?"
"Glad even as you are," she replied deliberately, now seeing that
further concealment was useless.
"But you called him O'Neill," continued the admiral.
"That is my name, sir," said O'Neill, calmly, recognizing the
uselessness of further evasion. "I am one of the Irish O'Neills,
formerly of County Clare, now in the service of the King of France."
He could not have said it more proudly had he been the king himself.
"The last time I saw you, you were on the Ranger, that American
Continental ship," continued Coventry.
"As a prisoner, sir?" cried the admiral.
"As an officer, my Lord," answered the Irishman.
"What, sir! And now you are--"
"Second lieutenant of the American Continental ship Bon Homme Richard,
Captain John Paul Jones, at your service," was the dauntless reply.
"Good gad!" said the admiral, "is it possible? And you, Elizabeth, you
have deceived me also. You knew this man?"
"Yes, sir, but not as the Marquis de Richemont."
"You have met this gentleman before?"
"Yes, sir."
"Where, may I ask, and when?"
"About a year and a half since, sir. You remember when the Maidstone
was wrecked? He saved me from death then, and after Captain Jones put
me ashore, you know--"
"He spared my life too, as well, sir, at that time," said Coventry;
"they both did."
"You seem to be a good hand at saving lives, Lieutenant O'Neill,
Marquis de Richemont, perhaps you can think now of some way of saving
your own," remarked the admiral, sarcastically.
"'Tis useless to me now, my Lord, and not worth the saving," answered
the young man, calmly; "but I would not have you mar the approaching
nuptials of your son and ward by an execution. Let me at least live
until after the wedding. I shall be more willing to die then," he
added softly.
"You came here for what purpose?" continued the admiral, disregarding
the latter words of the young man as utterly irrelevant.
"To find out the number and force and disposition of the ships in the
harbor."
"At the instance of--"
"Captain Jones, sir."
"The murdering pirate!"
"I have resented such language and proved its falsity upon the person
of your son, sir," burst out O'Neill, stepping forward, his hand upon
his sword. "Shall I impose the same lesson on the father?"
"You are a prisoner, sir," replied the admiral, imperturbably, "and
are here at my pleasure to receive, not to give lessons. Stand back,
sir! Sergeant, bring in a file of men for a guard. Deliver up your
sword at once, sir, to Major Coventry!"
"Your Lordship is master here; I obey," answered the Irishman,
shrugging his shoulders, and drawing his sword, he tendered it to
Major Coventry, who stepped forward reluctantly to receive it.
"Father," he said respectfully, "so far as my knowledge goes, Captain
Jones is certainly a gentleman. Had it not been for his magnanimity
and that of my friend--I may still call you that, sir?"
"I am vastly honored, sir, I am sure."
"--my friend, the Marquis de Richemont, you would be childless to-day.
Had it not been for the courage of this gentleman, Lady Elizabeth
here--"
"Oh, sir!" cried Elizabeth, impetuously, "they are men of honor. I
pray you release this officer and let him go free. Nay, never shake
your head; I ask it as a wedding gift to me, sir."
"My liberty your wedding gift, mademoiselle? Never!" interrupted
O'Neill, firmly.
"Say no more, either of you," said the admiral, decisively. "You, sir,
came here as an enemy, a spy."
"Not so, sir. I came here in the uniform of a French officer."
"But that is not the uniform of the flag under which you now serve,"
continued the admiral, keenly. "You may secure some consideration,
however, at my hands as representing his Majesty the King, God bless
him! by revealing the circumstances and plans and the ultimate purpose
of your rebellious captain."
"Clearly an impossible proposition," said O'Neill, bowing.
"But stop!" said the admiral, "now that I recall it, you gave me your
word of honor that you came here to see this lady."
"And that is true, sir. I might have escaped to my ship with ease, in
possession of the information I desired to get, but I came up to the
castle to see her."
"A most foolish excursion, sir, and why, pray?"
"Because I love her," said O'Neill, calmly.
"What!" cried Coventry, in great surprise and dismay. "Did you know
this, Elizabeth?"
"Is a woman ever ignorant of the feelings she excites in a lover's
breast, sir?" O'Neill answered for her.
"And have you--did you--" continued Coventry, looking still at
Elizabeth.
"Lady Elizabeth has done nothing, sir. No word of affection has ever
crossed her lips, to me at least," again replied O'Neill. "She would
not even wait."
"Oh, but she did," interrupted Coventry, jealously, "a year--six
months--she tried to postpone her wedding for six months more. I begin
to understand."
"Peace, Edward!" said Elizabeth, trembling violently; "the Marquis de
Richemont is--is nothing to me--can never be anything to me, that is.
The wedding shall proceed at the appointed date; I gave you my word.
It was the wish of my mother, the wish of the admiral, your wish--"
"And yours, also, dearest Elizabeth, is it not?" said Coventry, taking
her hand entreatingly. She hesitated and stood silent.
"Have me executed at once, sir, in mercy and pity," said O'Neill to
the admiral; "let it be now--the sooner the better. This I cannot
stand; 'tis too much."
"Not so," replied the admiral, gravely; "I will consider the matter
further and consult with you again. Meanwhile, if you will give me
your parole, I will allow you the freedom of the castle."
"Parole! 'Tis given, sir. Faith, I hardly think you could drive me
away."
"That's well," returned the admiral. "Sergeant, call my steward and
have him assign chambers to the Marquis de Richemont. Coventry, I
presume you will place your wardrobe at his disposal in case he needs
anything. Now the marquis will doubtless wish to retire. We will see
him in the morning. Come, Elizabeth. Good-night, sir; the sergeant
will attend you."
"Lord Westbrooke, I thank you. Major Coventry, your servant. Lady
Elizabeth, I wish you joy on your wedding; good-night," replied the
young man, bowing to them all in succession.
As the admiral and the others left the room, the young lieutenant sank
down on his chair and put his head upon his hands upon the table. The
old sergeant, who had seen it all, watched him a moment in silence.
Walking up to him finally, and laying his hand on his shoulder with
the familiarity of a privileged character, he said,--
"Come now, sir, be a soldier."
"You can give no worse advice than that to a sailor, my friend,"
replied O'Neill, rising and smiling in spite of his misery. "Lead on,
I will follow," he added.
As they passed down the great hall, the eyes of the wretched
lieutenant fell upon a large picture hanging rather low on the wall in
a far corner above a dais near the doorway. It was the portrait of a
beautiful woman in the fashion of some fifty years back. She was
seated in a great carved oak chair, the counterpart of and evidently
painted from one sitting beneath it. In face and feature the portrait
was a striking likeness of Lady Elizabeth Howard. The skill of the
painter had been so great, the colors had been so nicely chosen, so
delicately laid on, that in the flickering, uncertain candle-light,
which left this part of the room in a rather deep shadow, the picture
actually seemed to breathe. O'Neill stopped as if petrified.
"Come along, sir," said the sergeant, gruffly.
"A moment, if you please, my friend--a moment. What sort of a man are
you to pass by such as this without notice? It should be Lady
Elizabeth, but the fashion of the dress--"
"It's her mother, sir, a cousin of the admiral's. I pass it every day,
sir, an' I've got so I don't take no notice on it, no more. She was a
young thing, scarce older than her young Leddyship when she set for
that paintin', an' they had no children for years, leastaways they all
died till this baby was born, an' then she died too. I've been
attached to the admiral's service in one way or another sence I was a
boy, an' dandled her many a time on my knee. Yes, and her young
Leddyship, Lady Elizabeth that is, too, wen she was a little girl."
"My regard for you goes up a thousand-fold, my friend," said O'Neill,
smiling; "I could almost envy you your opportunities. Would I had been
you!"
"'Tain't no use wishin' that," said the old sergeant, shaking his
head; "there never was no Frenchman could ever take my place."
"Quite right," replied O'Neill, smiling; "'twould be clearly
impossible."
"Come along, then, yer Honor."
"Stay a moment," returned the enraptured Irishman; "a year at gaze
would not sate me with the beauty of this picture. How like is the
fair image!" murmured the entranced young man, approaching nearer and
fairly holding his breath under the influence of the moment. He
stretched out his hand toward the painting with a little reverential
gesture.
"Look out, sir!" said the sergeant, warningly; "the picture hangs very
loose, an' the frame--"
What evil fate was it that determined its fall at that moment? There
was a tremendous crash, something gave way, and the great frame
dropped from its place on the wall and fell across the heavy oaken
chair which stood beneath it, and the picture was impaled upon its
Gothic points. The two men sprang to seize it and lift it up. Alas! it
had been literally torn to pieces. The canvas had evidently been
originally a defective one, for it had split in every direction.
Restoration was clearly impossible.
"Good Heaven!" said the Irishman, "what a misfortune!"
"It had to come, an' it's too late to be mended now," said the
sergeant, philosophically, "so we must get on."
"Very good," said O' Neill, tenderly lifting the frame, with the rags
of the tattered canvas hanging to it, back against the wall; "there is
nothing to keep us here now. Unlucky fool that I am, even the
semblance of the original is not for me!"