CHAPTER XVIII. THE OLD FRIENDS IN COUNCIL

I could an I would, Sir Harry.

Old Play.

While the gay company at Tubbermore dined sumptuously, and enjoyed the luxuries of a splendid table with no other alloy to their pleasure than the _ennui_ of people whose fastidiousness has grown into malady, Mr. Corrigan sat in council at the cottage with his ancient ally, the doctor. There was an appearance of constraint over each,--very unusual with men who had been friends from boyhood; and in their long pauses, and short, abrupt sentences, might be read the absence of that confiding spirit which had bound them so many years like brothers.

It may be in the reader's recollection that while Corrigan was pledged to secrecy by Linton respecting his revelations of Cashel, Tiernay was equally bound by Roland not to divulge any of his plans for the old man's benefit. Perhaps it was the first time in the life of either that such a reserve had been practised. Certainly it weighed heavily upon both; and more than once they were coming to the fatal resolve to break their vows, and then some sudden thought--some unknown dread of disconcerting the intentions of those who trusted them--would cross their mind, and after a momentary struggle, a half cough, and muttered "Well! well!" they would relapse into silence, each far too occupied by himself to note the other's embarra.s.sment.

It was after a long time and much thought that Corrigan perceived, however pledged to Linton not to speak of Cashel's conduct respecting the cottage, that he was in no wise bound to secrecy regarding the proposal for Mary Leicester's hand; and this was, indeed, the topic on which he was most desirous of the doctor's counsel.

"I have a secret for you, Tiernay," said the old man, at length; "and it is one which will surprise you. I have had an offer this morning for Mary! Ay; just so. You often told me that nothing but this life of isolation and retirement would have left her with me so long; but the thought of losing her--the tangible, actual dread--never presented itself before this day!"

"Who is it?" said Tiernay, shortly, but not without evident agitation of manner.

"One who has never enjoyed much of your favor, Tiernay, and whom I suspect you have judged with less than your habitual fairness."

"I know the man. Linton?"

"It was Linton."

"And he actually made this proposition?" said Tiernay, with an expression of the most unbounded surprise in his features.

"To me, myself, in this room, he made it."

"He asked you what her fortune would be?" said Tiernay, gruffly.

"He did not; he told me of his own. He said, that by a recent event he had become possessed of sufficient property to make him indifferent to the fortune of whoever he might marry. He spoke sensibly and well of his future career, of the plans he had conceived, and the rules he made for his own guidance; he spoke warmly of her with whom he wished to share his fortunes; and lastly, he alluded in kind terms to myself, dependent as I am upon her care, and living as I do upon her affection. In a word, if there was not the ardor of a pa.s.sionate lover, there was what I augur better from,--the sentiments of one who had long reflected on his own position in life, who knew the world well, and could be no mean guide amid its dangers and difficulties."

"Have you told Mary of this?"

"I have not. My answer to Linton was: 'Let me have time to think over this proposal; give me some hours of thought before I even speak to my granddaughter;' and he acceded at once."

"Good heavens!" exclaimed Tiernay, rising, and pacing the room. "How inadequate are we two old men--removed from intercourse with the world, neither players nor lookers-on at the game of life--to cope with one like him, and see what he purposes to himself by this alliance! As for his affection, as for his power to feel her worth, to estimate the gentle virtues of her spotless nature, I cannot, I will not believe it."

"And for that very reason are you unfit to judge him. Your prejudices, ever against him, are rendered stronger because you cannot divine motives black enough to suit your theory; you give the benefit of all your doubts against himself."

"I know him to be a gambler in its worse sense. Not one who plays even for the gratification of those alternating vacillations of hope and fear which jaded, worn-out natures resort to as the recompense for blunted emotions and blasted ambitions, but a gambler for gain!--that foul amalgam of the miser and the knave. I 've seen him play the sycophant, too, like one who studied long his part, and knew it thoroughly. No, no, Con, it is not one like this must be husband of Mary!"

"I tell you again, Tiernay, you suffer your prejudices to outrun all your prudence. The very fact that he asks in marriage a portionless girl, without influence from family, and without the advantage of station, should outweigh all your doubts twice told."

"This does but puzzle me,--nothing more," said Tiernay, doggedly. "Were it Cashel, that high-hearted, generous youth, who made this offer--"

"I must stop you, Tiernay; you are as much at fault in your over-estimate of _one_ as in your disparagement of the _other_. Cashel is not what you deem him. Ask me not how I know it. I cannot, I dare not tell you; it is enough that I do know it, and know it by the evidence of my own eyes."

"Then they have deceived you, that's all," said Tiernay, roughly; "for I tell you, and I speak now of what my own knowledge can sustain, that he is the very soul of generosity,--a generosity that would imply recklessness, if not guided by the shrinking delicacy of an almost girlish spirit."

"Tiernay, Tiernay, you are wrong, I say," cried Corrigan, pa.s.sionately.

"And _I_ say it is _you_ who are in error," said Tiernay. "It was but this morning I held in my hands--" He stopped, stammered, and was silent.

"Well," cried Corrigan, "go on,--not that, indeed, you could convince me against what my eyes have a.s.sured; for here, upon this table, I beheld--"

"Out with it, man! Tell what jugglery has been practised on you, for I see you have been duped."

"Hush! here 's Mary!" cried Corrigan, who, scarcely able to control himself, now walked the room in great agitation.

"You were talking so loud," said Mary, "that I guessed you were quarrelling about politics, and so I came to make peace."

"We were not, Mary; but Tiernay is in one of his wrong-head humors."

"And your grandfather in the silliest of his foolish ones!" exclaimed Tiernay, as, s.n.a.t.c.hing up his hat he left the cottage.

CHAPTER XIX. A TeTE-a-TeTE INTERRUPTED

Like battle-tramps The chaos of their tongues did drown reflection.

Oswald.

It might be thought that in a household so full of contrarieties as Tubbermore, any new plan of pleasure would have met but a meagre success. Here, were the Kilgoffs, upon one side, full of some secret importance, and already speaking of the uncertainty of pa.s.sing the spring in Ireland. There, were the Kennyf.e.c.ks, utterly disorganized by intestine troubles,--mother, aunt, and daughters at open war, and only of one mind for some few minutes of each day, when they a.s.sailed the luckless Kennyf.e.c.k as the "author of all evil;" Frobisher, discontented that no handicap could be "got up," to remunerate him for the weariness of his exile; Upton, suffering under the pangs of rejection; Sir Andrew, reduced to a skeleton by the treatment against his unhappy opiate, being condemned, as "Jim" phrased it, to "two heavy sweats without body-clothes, and a drench every day;" Meek, grown peevish at the little prospect of making anything of Cashel politically; and Cashel himself, hipped and bored by all in turn, and wearied of being the head of a house where the only pleasantry existed in the servants' hall,--and they were all rogues and thieves who made it.

It might be easily supposed these were not the ingredients which would amalgamate into any agreeable union, and that even a suggestion to that end would meet but few supporters.

Not so; the very thought of doing "anything" was a relief: each felt, perhaps, his share of shame at the general _ennui_, and longed for whatever gave a chance of repelling it. It was as in certain political conditions in seasons of general stagnation,--men are willing even to risk a revolution rather than continue in a state of unpromising monotony.

Linton, whose own plans required that the others should be full of occupation of one kind or other, was the first to give the impulse, by reminding Miss Meek that her sovereignty had, up to this time, been a dead letter.

"You have positively done nothing," said he, "since your accession. Here we are, all ready to do your bidding, only waiting for the shadow of a wish on your part. There is no obstacle anywhere; pray let us commence a series of such right royal festivities as shall cause the envy of every other sovereign in Christendom."

"I 'm sure I wish for nothing better; but n.o.body minds me," said she, pouting.

"What shall be the opening, then?" said Linton, taking a sheet of paper, and seating himself, in all form, to write. "A masquerade?"

"By all means! A masquerade!" exclaimed a dozen voices; and at once a large circle gathered round the table where he sat.

"Does the country afford materials for one?" asked Jennings.

"Oh, dear, yes!" sighed Meek; "you could gather a great many important people here by a little management."

"I 'll tell Macnevin, wha commands at Limerick, to send ye every officer wha is n't under arrest," said Sir Andrew,--a speech received with great favor by various young ladies unknown to the reader.