The Knight Of Gwynne, Vol. 2 (of 2)

by Charles James Lever

  CHAPTER XXXIV. HOME

  Perhaps in the course of a long and, till its very latter years, a mostprosperous life, the Knight of Gwynne had never known more real unbrokenhappiness than now that he had laid his head beneath the lowly thatch ofa fisherman's cottage, and found a home beside the humble hearth wheredaily toil had used to repose. It was not that he either felt, orassumed to feel, indifferent to the great reverse of his fortune, and tothe loss of that station to which all his habits of life and thoughthad been conformed. Nor had he the innate sense that his misfortunes hadbeen incurred without the culpability of, at least, neglect on hisown part. No; he neither deceived nor exonerated himself. His presenthappiness sprang from discovering in those far dearer to himthan himself powers of patient submission, traits of affectionateforbearance, signs of a hopeful, trusting spirit, that their trialswere not sent without an aim and object,--all gifts of heart and mind,higher, nobler, and better than the palmiest days of prosperity hadbrought forth.

  It was that short and fleeting season, the late autumn, a time in whichthe climate of Northern Ireland makes a brief but brilliant amende forthe long dreary months of the year. The sea, at last calm and tranquil,rolled its long waves upon the shore in measured sweep, waking theechoes in a thousand caves, and resounding with hollow voice beneath thevery cliffs. The wild and fanciful outlines of the Skerry Islands weremarked, sharp and distinct, against the dark blue sky, and reflected notless so in the unruffled water at their base. The White Rocks, as theyare called, shone with a lustre like dulled silver; and above them theruined towers of old Dunluce hung balanced over the sea, and even indecay seemed to defy dissolution.

  The most striking feature of the picture was, however, the myriad ofsmall boats, amounting in some instances to several hundreds, whichfilled the little bay at sunset. These were the fishermen fromInnisshowen, coming to gather the seaweed on the western shore theireastern aspect denied them,--a hardy and a daring race, who braved theterrible storms of that fearful coast without a thought of fear. Herewere they now, their little skiffs crowded with every sail they couldcarry,--for it was a trial of speed who should be first up after theturn of the ebb-tide,--their taper masts bending and springing likewhips, the white water curling at the bows and rustling over thegunwales; while the fishermen themselves, with long harpoon spears,contested for the prizes,--large masses of floating weed, which notunfrequently were seized upon by three or four rival parties at the samemoment.

  A more animated scene cannot be conceived than the bay thus presented:the boats tacking and beating in every direction, crossing each otherso closely as to threaten collision,--sometimes, indeed, carrying off abowsprit or a rudder; while, from the restless motion of those onboard, the frail skiffs were at each instant endangered,--accidents thatoccurred continually, but whose peril may be judged by the hearty cheersand roars of laughter they excited. Here might be seen a wide-spreadingsurface of tangled seaweed, vigorously towed in two different directionsby contending crews, whose exertions to secure it were accompanied bythe wildest shouts and cries. There a party were hauling in the prey,while their comrades, with spars and spears, kept the enemy aloof; andhere, on the upturned keel of a capsized boat, were a dripping group,whose heaviest penalty was the ridicule of their fellows.

  Seated in front of the little cottage, the Darcys and Forester watchedthis strange scene with all the interest its moving, stirring life couldexcite; and while the ladies could enjoy the varying picture only foritself, to the Knight and the youth it brought back the memory of a morebrilliant and a grander display, one to which heroism and danger hadlent the most exciting of all interests.

  "I see," said Darcy, as he watched his companion's countenance,--"I seewhither your thoughts are wandering. They are off to the old castle ofAboukir, and the tall cliffs at Marmorica." Forester slightly nodded anassent, but never spoke, while the Knight resumed: "I told you it wouldnever do to give up the service. The very glance of your eye at yonderpicture tells me how the great original is before your miud. Come, a fewweeks more of rest and quiet, you will be yourself again. Then must youpresent yourself before the gallant Duke, and ask for a restitution toyour old grade. There will be sharp work erelong. Buonaparte is not theman to forgive Alexandria and Cairo. If I read you aright, you prefersuch a career to all the ambition of a political life."

  Forester was still silent; but his changing color told that the Knight'swords had affected him deeply, but whether as they were intended, itwas not so plain to see. The Knight went on: "I am not disposed to vainregrets; but if I were to give way to such, it would be that I am notyoung enough to enter upon the career I now see opening to our arms. Ourinsular position seems to have moulded our destiny in great part; but,rely on it, we are as much a nation of soldiers as of sailors." Warmingwith this theme, Darcy continued, while sketching out the possible turnof events, to depict the noble path open to a young man who to naturaltalents and acquirements added the high advantages of fortune, rank, andfamily influence.

  "I told you," said he, smiling, "that I blamed you once unjustly, asit happened, because, as a Guardsman, you did not seize the occasion toexchange guard-mounting for the field; but now I shall be sorely grievedif you suffer yourself to be withdrawn from a path that has alreadyopened so brightly, by any of the seductions of your station, or thefascinations of mere fashion."

  "Are you certain," said Lady Eleanor, speaking in a voice shaken byagitation,--"are you certain, my dear, that these same counsels of yourswould be in strict accordance with the wishes of Lord Wallincourt'sfriends, or is it not possible that _their_ ambitions may point verydifferently for his future?"

  "I can but give the advice I would offer to Lionel," said Darcy, "if myson were placed in similarly fortunate circumstances. A year or two, atleast, of such training will be no bad discipline to a young man's mind,and help to fit him to discuss those terms which, if I see aright, willbe rife in our assemblies for some years to come--" Darcy was aboutto continue, when Tate advanced with a letter, whose address bespokeBicknell's hand. It was a long-expected communication, and, anxiousto peruse it carefully, the Knight arose, and making his excuses,re-entered the cottage.

  The party sat for some time in silence. Lady Eleanor's mind was in astate of unusual conflict, since, for the first time in her life, hadshe practised any concealment with her husband, having forborne to tellhim of Forester's former addresses to Helen. To this course she hadbeen impelled by various reasons, the most pressing among which werethe evident change in the young man's demeanor since he last appearedamongst them, and, consequently, the possibility that he had outlivedthe passion he then professed; and secondly, by observing that nothingin Helen betrayed the slightest desire to encourage any renewal of thoseprofessions, or any chagrin at the change in his conduct. As a motherand as a woman, she hesitated to avow what should seem to representher daughter as being deserted, while she argued that if Helen were asindifferent as she really seemed, there was no occasion whatever forthe disclosure. Now, however, that the Knight had spoken his counsels sostrongly, the thought occurred to her, that Forester might receive theadvice in the light of a rejection of his former proposal, and supposethat these suggestions were only another mode of refusing his suit.Hence a struggle of doubt and uncertainty arose within her, whether sheshould at once make everything known to Darcy, or still keep silence,and leave events to their own development. The former course seemed themost fitting; and entirely forgetful of all else, she hastily arose, andfollowed her husband into the cabin.

  Forester was now alone with Helen, and for the first time since thatwell-remembered night when he had offered his heart and been rejected.The game of dissimulating feelings is almost easiest before a numerousaudience; it is rarely possible in a _tete-a-tete_. So Forester soonfelt; and although he made several efforts to induce a conversation,they were all abrupt and disjointed, as were Helen's own replies tothem. At length came a pause; and what a thing is a pause at such amoment! The long lingering seconds in which a duellist watches his
adversary's pistol, wavering over the region of his heart or brain, isless torturing than such suspense. Forester arose twice, and again satdown, his face pale and flushed alternately. At length, with a thick andrapid utterance, he said,--

  "I have been thinking over the Knight's counsels,--dare I ask if theyhave Miss Darcy's concurrence?"

  "It would be a great, a very great presumption in me," said Helen,tremulously, "to offer an opinion on such a theme. I have neither theknowledge to distinguish between the opposite careers, nor have I anyfeeling for those sentiments which men alone understand in warfare."

  "Nor, perhaps," added Forester, with a sudden irony, "sufficientinterest in the subject to give it a thought."

  Helen was silent; her slightly compressed lips and heightened colorshowed that she was offended at the speech, but she made no reply.

  "I crave your pardon, Miss Darcy," said he, in a low, submissive accent,that told how heartfelt it was. "I most humbly ask you to forgive myrudeness. The very fact that I had no claim to that interest shouldhave protected you from such a speech. But see what comes of kindnessto those who are little used to it; they get soon spoiled, and forgetthemselves."

  "Lord Wall incourt will have to guard himself well against flattery, ifsuch humble attentions as ours disturb his judgment."

  "I will get out of the region of it," said he, resolutely; "I will takethe Knight's advice. It is but a plunge, and all is over."

  "If I dare to say so, my Lord," said Helen, archly, "this is scarcelythe spirit in which my father hoped his counsels would be accepted. Hischivalry on the score of a military life may be overstrained, but it hasno touch of that recklessness your Lordship seems to lend it."

  "And why should not this be the spirit in which I join the army?" saidhe, passionately; "the career has not for me those fascinations whichothers feel. Danger I like, for its stimulus, as other men like it; butI would rather confront it when and where and how I please, than at thedictate of a colonel and by the ritual of a despatch."

  "Rather be a letter of marque, in fact, than a ship-of-the-line,--morecredit to your Lordship's love of danger than discipline."

  Forester smiled, but not without anger, at the quiet persiflage of hermanner. It took him some seconds ere he could resume.

  "I perceive," said he, in a tone of deeper feeling, "that whatever myresolves, to discuss them must be an impertinence, when they excite noother emotion than ridicule--"

  "Nay, my Lord," interposed Helen, eagerly; "I beg you to forgive mylevity. Nothing was further from my thoughts than to hurt one to whomwe owe our deepest debt of gratitude. I can never forget you savedmy father's life; pray do not let me seem so base, to my heart, as toundervalue this."

  "Oh, Miss Darcy," said he, passionately, "it is I who needforgiveness,--I, whose temper, rendered irritable by illness, suspectreproach and sarcasm in every word of those who are kindest to me."

  "You are unjust to yourself," said Helen, gently,--"unjust, because youexpect the same powers of mind and judgment that you enjoyed in health.Think how much better you are than when you came here. Think what a fewdays more may do. How changed--"

  "Has Miss Darcy changed since last I met her?" asked he, in a tone thatsank into the very depth of her heart.

  Helen tried to smile; but emotions of a sadder shade spread over herpale features, as she said,--

  "I hope so, my Lord; I trust that altered fortunes have not lost theirteaching. I fervently hope that sorrow and suffering have left somethingbehind them better than unavailing regrets and heart-repinings."

  "Oh, believe me," cried Forester, passionately, "it is not of thischange I would speak. I dared to ask with reference to another feeling."

  "Be it so," said Helen, trembling, as if nerving herself for a strongand long-looked-for effort,-"be it so, my Lord, and is not my answerwide enough for both? Would not any change, short of a dishonorable one,make the decision I once came to a thousand times more necessary now?"

  "Oh, Helen, these are cold and cruel words. Will you tell me that myrank and station are to be like a curse upon my happiness?"

  "I spoke of _our_ altered condition, my Lord. I spoke of theimpossibility of your Lordship recurring to a theme which the sight ofthat thatched roof should have stifled. Nay, hear me out. It is not of_you_ or _your_ motives that is here the question; it is of _me_ and_my_ duties. They are there, my Lord,--they are with those whose heartshave been twined round mine from infancy,--mine when the world wentwell and proudly with us; doubly, trebly mine when affection can replacefortune, and the sympathies' of the humblest home make up for all theflatteries of the world. I have no reason to dwell longer on this to onewho knows those of whom I speak, and can value them too."

  "But is there no place in your heart, Helen, for other affections thanthese; or is that place already occupied?"

  "My Lord, you have borne my frankness so well, I must even submit toyours with a good grace. Still, this is a question you have no right toask, or I to answer. I have told you that whatever doubt there mightbe as to _your_ road in life, _mine_ offered no alternative. That oughtsurely to be enough."

  "It shall be," said Forester, with a low sigh, as, trembling in everylimb, he arose from the seat. "And yet, Helen," said he, in a voicebarely above a whisper, "there might come a time when these duties, towhich you cling with such attachment, should be rendered less needful byaltered fortunes. I have heard that your father's prospects present moreof hope than heretofore, have I not? Think that if the Knight should berestored to his own again, that then--"

  "Nay,--it is scarcely worthy of your Lordship to exact a pledge which isto hang upon a decision like this. A verdict may give back my father'sestate; it surely should not dispose of his daughter's hand?"

  "I would exact nothing, Miss Darcy," said Forester, stung by the tone ofthis reply. "But I see you cannot feel for the difficulties whichbeset him who has staked his all upon a cast. I asked, what might yourfeelings be, were the circumstances which now surround you altered?"

  Helen was silent for a second or two; and then, as if having collectedall her energy, she said: "I would that you had spared me--had sparedyourself--the pain I now must give us both; but to be silent longerwould be to encourage deception." It was not till after another briefinterval that she could continue: "Soon after you left this, my Lord,you wrote a letter to Miss Daly. This letter-I stop not now to ask withwhat propriety towards either of us--she left in my hands. I read itcarefully; and if many of the sentiments it contained served to elevateyour character in my esteem, I saw enough to show me that your resolveswere scarcely less instigated by outraged pride than what you fanciedto be a tender feeling. This perhaps might have wounded me, had I feltdifferently towards you. As it was, I thought it for the best; I deemedit happier that your motives should be divided ones, even though youknew it not. But as I read on, my Lord,--as I perused the account ofyour interview with Lady Wallincourt,--then a new light broke suddenlyupon me; I found what, had I known more of life, should not havesurprised, but what in my ignorance did indeed astonish me, that myfather's station was regarded as one which could be alleged as a reasonagainst your feeling towards his daughter. Now, my Lord, _we_ have ourpride too; and had your influence over me been all that ever you wishedit, I tell you freely that I never would permit my affection to begratified at the price of an insult to my father's house. If I were tosay that your sentiments towards me should not have suffered it, wouldit be too much?"

  "But, dearest Helen, remember that I am no longer dependent on mymother's will,--remember that I stand in a position and a rank whichonly needs you to share with me to make it all that my loftiest ambitionever coveted."

  "These are, forgive me if I tell you, very selfish reasonings, myLord. They may apply to _you_; they hardly address themselves to _my_position. The pride which could not stoop to ally itself with our housein our days of prosperity, should not assuredly be wounded by suing usin our humbler fortunes."

  "Your thoughts dwell on Lady Netherby, Miss Darcy," sa
id Forester,irritably; "she is scarcely the person most to be considered here."

  "Enough for me, if I think so," said Helen, haughtily. "The lady yourLordship's condescension would place in the position of a mothershould at least be able to regard me with other feelings than those ofcompassionate endurance. In a word, sir, it cannot be. To discuss thetopic longer is but to distress us both. Leave me to my gratitude toyou, which is unbounded. Let me dwell upon the many traits of nobleheroism I can think of in your character with enthusiasm, ay, and withpride,--pride that one so high and so gifted should have ever thoughtof one so little worthy of him. But do not weaken my principle by hopingthat my affection can be won at the cost of my self-esteem."

  Forester bowed with a deep, respectful reverence; and when he liftedup his head, the sad expression of his features was that of one who hadheard an irrevocable doom pronounced upon his dearest, most cherishedhopes. Lady Eleanor at the same moment came forward from the door of thecottage, so that he had barely time to utter a hasty good-bye ere shejoined her daughter.

  "Your father wishes to see Lord Wallincourt, Helen. Has he gone?" Butbefore Helen could reply the Knight came up.

  "I hope you have not forgotten to ask him to dinner, Eleanor?" said he."We did so yesterday, and he never made his appearance the wholeevening."

  "Helen, did you?" But Helen was gone while they were speaking; so thatDarcy, to repair the omission, hastened after his young friend with allthe speed he could command.

  "Have I found you?" cried Darcy, as, turning an angle of the rockyshore, he came behind Forester, who, with folded arms and bent-downhead, stood like one sorrow-struck. "I just discovered that neither mywife nor my daughter had asked you to stop to dinner; and as you arepunctilious, fully as much as they are forgetful, there was nothing forit but to run after you."

  "You are too kind, my dear Knight,--but not to-day; I'm poorly,--aheadache."

  "Nay; a headache always means a mere excuse. Come back with me: youshall be as stupid a _convive_ as you wish, only be a good listener, forI have got a great budget from my man of law, Mr. Bicknell, and am dyingfor somebody to inflict it upon."

  "With the best grace he could muster,--which was still very far froma good one,--Forester suffered himself to be led back to thecottage, endeavoring, as he went, to feel or feign an interest in theintelligence the Knight was full of. It seemed that Bicknell was veryanxious not only for the Knight's counsel on many points, but for hisactual presence at the trial. He appeared to think that Darcy beingthere, would be a great check upon the line of conduct he was apprisedO'Halloran would adopt. There was already a very strong reaction in theWest in favor of the old gentry of the land, and it would be at leastan evidence of willingness to confront the enemy, were the Knight to bepresent.

  "He tells me," continued the Knight, "that Daly regretted deeply nothaving attended the former trial,--why, he does not exactly explain, buthe uses the argument to press me now to do so."

  Forester might, perhaps, have enlightened him on this score, had he sopleased, but he said nothing.

  "Of course, I need not say, nothing like intimidation is meant by thisadvice. The days for such are, thank God, gone by in Ireland; and itwas, besides, a game I never could have played at; but yet it might bewhat many would expect of me, and at all events it can scarcely do harm.What is your opinion?"

  "I quite agree with Mr. Bicknell," said Forester, hastily; "there isa certain license these gentlemen of wig and gown enjoy, that is moreprotected by the bench than either good morals or good manners warrant."

  "Nay, you are now making the very error I would guard against," saidDarcy, laughing. "This legal sparring is rather good fun, even thoughthey do not always keep the gloves on. Now, will you come with me?"

  "Of course; I should have asked your leave to do so, had you not invitedme."

  "You 'll hear the great O'Halloran, and I suspect that is as much as Ishall gain myself by this action. We have merely some points of law togo upon; but, as I understand, nothing new or material in evidence toadduce. You ask, then, why persist? I 'll own to you I cannot say; butthere seems the same punctilio in legal matters as in military; and itis a point of honor to sustain the siege until the garrison have eatentheir boots. I am not so far from that contingency now, that I should beimpatient; but meanwhile I perceive the savor of something better, andhere comes Tate to say it is on the table."