"A few days only, and then I shall be at your orders. Meanwhile, leave Cashel to himself; he has got some suspicions--Heaven knows whence or how--that his borough influence makes him a very important card just now; therefore don't notice him, starve him out, and you 'll have him come forth with a white flag one of these days. I know him well, and the chances are that, if he were to attribute any of your civilities to the score of your calculation respecting his political influence, he would at once become your most determined opponent."

"But his borough--"

"Let him represent it himself, Meek, and it's the next best thing to disfranchis.e.m.e.nt."

"He would not be likely to accept any advice from us?" asked Meek, half timidly.

"To a certainty he would not, although proffered in your own most insinuating manner. Come, Meek, no nonsense; you must look out for a seat for your _protege_ Clare Jones, elsewhere; though I tell you frankly he is not worth the trouble."

"I declare you are all wrong, Linton--quite wrong; I was thinking whether from motives of delicacy you would not like to press your own claim, which _we_ might, with so much propriety."

"Thanks," said Linton; while a sly twinkle of his eye showed that he did not care to disguise the spirit of mistrust with which he heard the speech. "Thanks; _you_ are too generous, and I am too modest, so let us not think more of the matter."

"What is Cashel's real fortune?" said Meek, not sorry to turn the conversation into a less dangerous channel; "one hears so many absurd and extravagant reports, it is hard to know what to believe."

"Kennyf.e.c.k calls it fourteen thousand a year above all charges and cost of collection."

"And your own opinion?"

Linton shrugged his shoulders carelessly, and said, "There or thereabouts. I fancy that his ready money has been greatly overrated.

But why do you ask? Your people wouldn't give him a peerage, would they?"

"Not now, of course," said Meek, hesitating.

"Nor at any time, I trust," said Linton, authoritatively. "The man does not know how to behave as a plain country gentleman; why increase his embarra.s.sments by making him a Lord? Besides, you should take care in these new creations who are your peeresses, or one of these days you 'll have old Kennyf.e.c.k fancying that he is a n.o.ble himself."

"There is no danger to be apprehended in that quarter?" asked Meek, with some trepidation of manner.

"Yes, but there is, though, and very considerable, too. He has been living in the house with those girls,--clever and shrewd girls, too. He is more at his ease there than elsewhere. They listen patiently to his tiresome prairie stories, and are indulgent to all his little 'escapades'--as a 'ranchero;' in a word, he is a hero there, and never leaves the threshold without losing some of the charms of the illusion."

"And you saw all this?"

"Yes."

"And suffered it?"

"Yes. What would you have me do? Had there been only one girl in the case--I might have married her. But it is only in botany, or the bay of that name, that the English permit polygamy."

"I am very sorry to hear this," said Meek, gravely.

"I am very sorry to have it to tell, Meek," said the other.

"He might marry so well!" muttered Meek, half in soliloquy.

"To be sure he might; and in good hands--I mean in those of a man who sees his way in life--cut a very fair figure, too. But it won't do to appear in London with a second or third rate woman, whose only recommendation is the prettiness that has fascinated 'Castle b.a.l.l.s' in Dublin."

"Let us talk over this again, Linton," said Meek, arranging his papers, and affecting to be busied.

"With all my heart; indeed, it was a subject I intended to speak to you about. I have a little theory thereanent myself."

"Have you, indeed?" said Meek, looking up with animation.

"Yes, but it needs your counsel--perhaps something more, I should say--but another time--good-bye, goodbye." And without waiting to say or hear more, Linton lounged out of the room, leaving the secretary, thoughtful and serious, behind him.

CHAPTER XVIII. UNDER THE GREEN-WOOD TREE.

Nor lives the heart so cold and dark But in its depths some lingering spark Of love is cherished there!

The Outlaw.

When Tom Linton parted with Mr. Meek he repaired to the club in Kildare Street to listen to the gossip on the rumored dissolution of Parliament, and pick up what he could of the prevailing tone among the country gentry.

His appearance was eagerly hailed by many, who regarded him as generally well informed on all the changes and turns of party warfare; but, as he professed the most complete ignorance of everything, and seemed to devour with greedy curiosity the most commonplace announcements, he was speedily deserted and suffered to pursue his work of inquiry perfectly unmolested. Not that indeed there was much to learn; the tone of banter and raillery with which, from want of all real political influence, men in Ireland accustom themselves to discuss grave questions, concealing their real sentiments, or investing them with a ludicrous exaggeration, oftentimes foiled even the shrewd perception of Tom Linton.

He did, however, learn so much as showed him, that all the ordinary landmarks of party being lost, men were beginning to find themselves at liberty to adopt any leadership which pleased them, without suffering the stain of desertion. They thought themselves betrayed by each of the great political chiefs in turn, and began to fancy that the best course for them in future would be to make specific terms for any support they should accord. Suggestions to this end thrown out in all the bantering gayety of Irish manner might mean anything, or nothing, and so Linton well knew, as he listened to them.

He had taken his place at a whist-table, that he might, while seemingly preoccupied, hear what was said around him, and although no error of play, nor a single mistake in the game, marked the different direction of his attention, he contrived to learn much of the opinion prevalent in certain circles.

"That is the luckiest fellow in Europe," said one of his late antagonists; "as usual he rises the only winner."

"You can scarcely call it luck," said another; "he is a first-rate player, and always so cool."

Meanwhile, Linton, mounting his horse, rode slowly along the streets till he arrived at Bilton's Hotel, where a handsome britzska was standing, whose large up-standing horses and richly-mounted harnessing gave token of London rather than of Dublin taste.

"Is her Ladyship going out, Halpin?" said he to the footman.

"Her Ladyship ordered the carriage for four precisely, sir."

Linton mused for a second or two, and then asked if Lord Kilgoff were at home, and not waiting for a reply, pa.s.sed on.

No sooner, however, had he reached the landing-place, and was beyond the observation of the servant, than he halted and appeared to reflect At last, as if having made his resolve, he turned to descend the stairs, when the drawing-room door opened and Lord Kilgoff appeared.

"The very man I wanted. Linton, come here," cried he, re-entering the room.

"I was just on my way to you, my Lord," said Linton, with well-affected eagerness.

"Are they out, Linton, are they 'out'?" said he, in breathless impatience.

"No, my Lord. I've seen Meek; they're safe for the present. A coalition has been formed with O'Morgan and his party, which secures a working majority of forty-five or fifty."

"This is certain, Linton; may I rely upon it?"

"You may, my Lord, with confidence."

"Then I suppose the moment has come when my adhesion would be most well-timed. It's a grave question, Tom; everything depends on it. If I join them and they go out--"