“Oh, Mr. Dennis, I’m glad to see you as kind as your promise, meeting me here,” said the widow O’Neil, walking up to him;
“I’m sure you’ll speak a good word for me: here’s the lases — who will I offer this to?” said she, holding the glove-money and sealing-money, “for I’m strange and ashamed.”
“Oh, don’t be ashamed — there’s no strangeness in bringing money or taking it,” said Mr. Nicholas Garraghty, holding out his hand. “Is this the proper compliment?”
“I hope so, sir: your honour knows best.”
“Very well,” slipping it into his private purse. “Now what’s your business?”
“The lases to sign — the rent’s all paid up.”
“Leases! Why, woman, is the possession given up?”
“It was, plase your honour; and Mr. Dennis has the key of our little place in his pocket.”
“Then I hope he’ll keep it there. Your little place — it’s no longer yours; I’ve promised it to the surveyor. You don’t think I’m such a fool as to renew to you at this rent.”
“Mr. Dennis named the rent. But any thing your honour plases — any thing at all that we can pay.”
“Oh, it’s out of the question — put it out of your head. No rent you can offer would do, for I have promised it to the surveyor.”
“Sir, Mr. Dennis knows my lord gave us his promise in writing of a renewal, on the back of the ould lase.”
“Produce it.”
“Here’s the lase, but the promise is rubbed out.”
“Nonsense! coming to me with a promise that’s rubbed out. Who’ll listen to that in a court of justice, do you think?”
“I don’t know, plase your honour; but this I’m sure of, my lord and Miss Nugent, though but a child at the time, God bless her! who was by when my lord wrote it with his pencil, will remember it.”
“Miss Nugent! what can she know of business? — What has she to do with the management of my Lord Clonbrony’s estate, pray?”
“Management! — no, sir.”
“Do you wish to get Miss Nugent turned out of the house?”
“Oh, God forbid! — how could that be?”
“Very easily; if you set about to make her meddle and witness in what my lord does not choose.”
“Well, then, I’ll never mention Miss Nugent’s name in it at all, if it was ever so with me. But be plased, sir, to write over to my lord, and ask him; I’m sure he’ll remember it.”
“Write to my lord about such a trifle — trouble him about such nonsense!”
“I’d be sorry to trouble him. Then take it on my word, and believe me, sir; for I would not tell a lie, nor cheat rich or poor, if in my power, for the whole estate, nor the whole world: for there’s an eye above.”
“Cant! nonsense! — Take those leases off the table; I never will sign them. Walk off, ye canting hag; it’s an imposition — I will never sign them.”
“You will, then, sir,” cried Brian, growing red with indignation; “for the law shall make you, so it shall; and you’d as good have been civil to my mother, whatever you did — for I’ll stand by her while I’ve life; and I know she has right, and shall have law. I saw the memorandum written before ever it went into your hands, sir, whatever became of it after; and will swear to it too.”
“Swear away, my good friend; much your swearing will avail in your own case in a court of justice,” continued Old Nick.
“And against a gentleman of my brother’s established character and property,” said St. Dennis. “What’s your mother’s character against a gentleman’s like his?”
“Character! take care how you go to that, any way, sir,” cried Brian.
Grace put her hand before his mouth, to stop him.
“Grace, dear, I must speak, if I die for it; sure it’s for my mother,” said the young man, struggling forward, while his mother held him back; “I must speak.”
“Oh, he’s ruined, I see it,” said Grace, putting her hand before her eyes, “and he won’t mind me.”
“Go on, let him go on, pray, young woman,” said Mr. Garraghty, pale with anger and fear, his lips quivering; “I shall be happy to take down his words.”
“Write them; and may all the world read it, and welcome!”
His mother and wife stopped his mouth by force.
“Write you, Dennis,” said Mr. Garraghty, giving the pen to his brother; for his hand shook so he could not form a letter. “Write the very words, and at the top” (pointing) “after warning, with malice prepense.”
“Write, then — mother, Grace — let me,” cried Brian, speaking in a smothered voice, as their hands were over his mouth. “Write then, that, if you’d either of you a character like my mother, you might defy the world; and your word would be as good as your oath.”
“Oath! mind that, Dennis,” said Mr. Garraghty.
“Oh, sir! sir! won’t you stop him?” cried Grace, turning suddenly to Lord Colambre.
“Oh, dear, dear, if you haven’t lost your feeling for us,” cried the widow.
“Let him speak,” said Lord Colambre, in a tone of authority; “let the voice of truth be heard.”
“Truth!” cried St. Dennis, and dropped the pen.
“And who the devil are you, sir?” said Old Nick.
“Lord Colambre, I protest!” exclaimed a female voice; and Mrs. Raffarty at this instant appeared at the open door.
“Lord Colambre!” repeated all present, in different tones.
“My lord, I beg pardon,” continued Mrs. Raffarty, advancing as if her legs were tied; “had I known you was down here, I would not have presumed. I’d better retire; for I see you’re busy.”
“You’d best; for you’re mad, sister,” said St. Dennis, pushing her back; “and we are busy; go to your room, and keep quiet, if you can.”
“First, madam,” said Lord Colambre, going between her and the door, “let me beg that you will consider yourself as at home in this house, whilst any circumstances make it desirable to you. The hospitality you showed me you cannot think I now forget.”
“Oh, my lord, you’re too good — how few — too kind — kinder than my own;” and, bursting into tears, she escaped out of the room.
Lord Colambre returned to the party round the table, who were in various attitudes of astonishment, and with faces of fear, horror, hope, joy, doubt.
“Distress,” continued his lordship, “however incurred, if not by vice, will always find a refuge in this house. I speak in my father’s name, for I know I speak his sentiments. But never more shall vice,” said he, darting such a look at the brother agents as they felt to the back-bone—”never more shall vice, shall fraud enter here.”
He paused, and there was a momentary silence.
“There spoke the true thing! and the rael gentleman; my own heart’s satisfied,” said Brian, folding his arms, and standing erect.
“Then so is mine,” said Grace, taking breath, with a deep sigh.
The widow advancing, put on her spectacles, and, looking up close at Lord Colambre’s face—”Then it’s a wonder I didn’t know the family likeness.”
Lord Colambre, now recollecting that he still wore the old great coat, threw it off.
“Oh, bless him! Then now I’d know him any where. I’m willing to die now, for we’ll all be happy.”
“My lord, since it is so — my lord, may I ask you,” said Mr. Garraghty, now sufficiently recovered to be able to articulate, but scarcely to express his ideas; “if what your lordship hinted just now—”
“I hinted nothing, sir; I spoke plainly.”
“I beg pardon, my lord,” said Old Nick; “respecting vice, was levelled at me; because, if it was, my lord,” trying to stand erect; “let me tell your lordship, if I could think it was—”
“If it did not hit you, sir, no matter at whom it was levelled.”
“And let me ask, my lord, if I may presume, whether, in what you suggested by the word fraud, your lordship had any particular meaning?” said S
t. Dennis.
“A very particular meaning, sir — feel in your pocket for the key of this widow’s house, and deliver it to her.”
“Oh, if that’s all the meaning, with all the pleasure in life. I never meant to detain it longer than till the leases were signed,” said St. Dennis.
“And I’m ready to sign the leases this minute,” said the brother.
“Do it, sir, this minute; I have read them; I will be answerable to my father.”
“Oh, as to that, my lord, I have power to sign for your father.”
He signed the leases; they were duly witnessed by Lord Colambre.
“I deliver this as my act and deed,” said Mr. Garraghty:
“My lord,” continued he, “you see, at the first word from you; and had I known sooner the interest you took in the family, there would have been no difficulty; for I’d make it a principle to oblige you, my lord.”
“Oblige me!” said Lord Colambre, with disdain.
“But when gentlemen and noblemen travel incognito, and lodge in cabins,” added St. Dennis, with a satanic smile, glancing his eye on Grace, “they have good reasons, no doubt.”
“Do not judge my heart by your own, sir,” said Lord Colambre, coolly; “no two things in nature can, I trust, be more different. My purpose in travelling incognito has been fully answered: I was determined to see and judge how my father’s estates were managed; and I have seen, compared, and judged. I have seen the difference between the Clonbrony and the Colambre property; and I shall represent what I have seen to my father.”
“As to that, my lord, if we are to come to that — but I trust your lordship will suffer me to explain these matters. Go about your business, my good friends; you have all you want; and, my lord, after dinner, when you are cool, I hope I shall be able to make you sensible that things have been represented to your lordship in a mistaken light; and, I flatter myself, I shall convince you, I have not only always acted the part of a friend to the family, but am particularly willing to conciliate your lordship’s good-will,” said he, sweeping the rouleaus of gold into a bag; “any accommodation in my power, at any time.”
“I want no accommodation, sir — were I starving, I would accept of none from you. Never can you conciliate my good-will; for you can never deserve it.”
“If that be the case, my lord, I must conduct myself accordingly: but it’s fair to warn you, before you make any representation to my Lord Clonbrony, that, if he should think of changing his agent, there are accounts to be settled between us — that may be a consideration.”
“No, sir; no consideration — my father never shall be the slave of such a paltry consideration.”
“Oh, very well, my lord; you know best. If you choose to make an assumpsit, I’m sure I shall not object to the security. Your lordship will be of age soon, I know — I’m sure I’m satisfied — but,” added he, with a malicious smile, “I rather apprehend you don’t know what you undertake: I only premise that the balance of accounts between us is not what can properly be called a paltry consideration.”
“On that point, perhaps, sir, you and I may differ.”
“Very well, my lord, you will follow your own principles, if it suits your convenience.”
“Whether it does or not, sir, I shall abide by my principles.”
“Dennis! the letters to the post — When do you go to England, my lord?”
“Immediately, sir,” said Lord Colambre: his lordship saw new leases from his father to Mr. Dennis Garraghty, lying on the table, unsigned.
“Immediately!” repeated Messrs. Nicholas and Dennis, with an air of dismay. Nicholas got up, looked out of the window, and whispered something to his brother, who instantly left the room.
Lord Colambre saw the postchaise at the door, which had brought Mrs. Raffarty to the castle, and Larry standing beside it: his lordship instantly threw up the sash, and holding between his finger and thumb a six shilling piece, cried, “Larry, my friend, let me have the horses.”
“You shall have ’em — your honour,” said Larry.
Mr. Dennis Garraghty appeared below, speaking in a magisterial tone. “Larry, my brother must have the horses.”
“He can’t, plase your honour — they’re engaged.”
“Half a crown! — a crown! — half a guinea!” said Mr. Dennis Garraghty, raising his voice, as he increased his proffered bribe. To each offer Larry replied, “You can’t, plase your honour, they’re engaged;” and, looking up to the window at Lord Colambre, he said, “As soon as they have ate their oats, you shall have ‘em.”
No other horses were to be had. The agent was in consternation. Lord Colambre ordered that Larry should have some dinner, and whilst the postilion was eating, and the horses finished their oats, his lordship wrote the following letter to his father, which, to prevent all possibility of accident, he determined to put, with his own hand, into the post-office at Clonbrony, as he passed through the town.
“MY DEAR FATHER,
“I hope to be with you in a few days. Lest any thing should detain me on the road, I write this, to make an earnest request, that you will not sign any papers, or transact any farther business with Messrs. Nicholas or Dennis Garraghty before you see
“Your affectionate son,
“COLAMBRE.”
The horses came out. Larry sent word he was ready, and Lord Colambre, having first eaten a slice of his own venison, ran down to the carriage, followed by the thanks and blessings of the widow, her son, and daughter, who could hardly make their way after him to the chaise-door, so great was the crowd which had gathered on the report of his lordship’s arrival.
“Long life to your honour! Long life to your lordship!” echoed on all sides. “Just come, and going, are you?”
“Good bye to you all, good people!”
“Then good bye is the only word we wouldn’t wish to hear from your honour.”
“For the sake both of landlord and tenant, I must leave you now, my good friends; but I hope to return to you at some future time.”
“God bless you! and speed ye! and a safe journey to your honour! — and a happy return to us, and soon!” cried a multitude of voices.
Lord Colambre stopped at the chaise-door, and beckoned to the widow O’Neil, before whom others had pressed. An opening was made for her instantly.
“There! that was the very way his father stood, with his foot on the step. And Miss Nugent was in it.”
Lord Colambre forgot what he was going to say, — with some difficulty recollected. “This pocket-book,” said he, “which your son restored to me — I intend it for your daughter — don’t keep it as your son kept it for me, without opening it. Let what is withinside,” added he, as he got into the carriage, “replace the cloak and gown, and let all things necessary for a bride be bought; ‘for the bride that has all things to borrow has surely mickle to do.’ Shut the door, and drive on.”
“Blessings be wid you,” cried the widow, “and God give you grace!”
CHAPTER XIII.
Larry drove off at full gallop, and kept on at a good rate, till he got out of the great gate, and beyond the sight of the crowd: then, pulling up, he turned to Lord Colambre—”Plase your honour, I did not know nor guess ye was my lord, when I let you have the horses: did not know who you was from Adam, I’ll take my affidavit.”
“There’s no occasion,” said Lord Colambre; “I hope you don’t repent letting me have the horses, now you do know who I am?”
“Oh! not at all, sure: I’m as glad as the best horse ever I crossed, that your honour is my lord — but I was only telling your honour, that you might not be looking upon me as a timesarver.”
“I do not look upon you as a timesarver, Larry; but keep on, that time may serve me.”
In two words, he explained his cause of haste; and no sooner explained than understood. Larry thundered away through the town of Clonbrony, bending over his horses, plying the whip, and lending his very soul at every lash. With much difficulty, Lord Colambre s
topped him at the end of the town, at the post-office. The post was gone out — gone a quarter of an hour.
“May be, we’ll overtake the mail,” said Larry: and, as he spoke, he slid down from his seat, and darted into the public-house, re-appearing, in a few moments, with a copper of ale and a horn in his hand: he and another man held open the horses’ mouths, and poured the ale through the horn down their throats.
“Now, they’ll go with spirit!”
And, with the hope of overtaking the mail, Larry made them go “for life or death,” as he said: but in vain! At the next stage, at his own inn-door, Larry roared for fresh horses till he, got them, harnessed them with his own hands, holding the six shilling piece, which Lord Colambre had given him, in his mouth, all the while: for he could not take time to put it into his pocket.
“Speed ye! I wish I was driving you all the way, then,” said he. The other postilion was not yet ready. “Then your honour sees,” said he, putting his head into the carriage, “consarning of them Garraghties — Old Nick and St. Dennis — the best part, that is, the worst part, of what I told you, proved true; and I’m glad of it, that is, I’m sorry for it — but glad your honour knows it in time. So Heaven prosper you! And may all the saints (barring St. Dennis) have charge of you, and all belonging to you, till we see you here again! — And when will it be?”
“I cannot say when I shall return to you myself, but I will do my best to send your landlord to you soon. In the mean time, my good fellow, keep away from the sign of the Horseshoe — a man of your sense to drink and make an idiot and a brute of yourself!”
“True! — And it was only when I had lost hope I took to it — but now! Bring me the book one of yees, out of the landlady’s parlour. By the virtue of this book, and by all the books that ever was shut and opened, I won’t touch a drop of spirits, good or bad, till I see your honour again, or some of the family, this time twelvemonth — that long I live on hope, — but mind, if you disappoint me, I don’t swear but I’ll take to the whiskey for comfort, all the rest of my days. But don’t be staying here, wasting your time, advising me. Bartley! take the reins, can’t ye?” cried he, giving them to the fresh postilion; “and keep on, for your life, for there’s thousands of pounds depending on the race — so off, off, Bartley, with speed of light!”
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