"The words were scarcely out of the fellow's mouth when a general cry of the 'swell mob' resounded on every side, and at once they closed upon us, some pushing, others elbowing, driving, and forcing, so that what with the dense crowd, and the tight hold Kennyf.e.c.k now kept of me, I was pinioned, and could do nothing. At last, by a vigorous twist, I shook them off from me, and laid two of the foremost at my feet. This I did with a Mexican trick I saw they knew nothing about. You first make a feint at the face, and then, dropping on the knee, seize the fellow by both legs, and hurl him back on his head,--just stand up, I 'll not hurt you."

"Thank you,--I understand the description perfectly," said Mr. Softly, pale with terror at the proposed experiment.

"Well, the remainder is soon told. They now got in upon us, and of course I need n't say we got confoundedly thrashed. Kennyf.e.c.k was tumbled about like a football; every one that had nothing else to do had a kick at him, and there 's no saying how it might have ended had not a certain Sir George Somebody recognized our poor friend, and rescued him.

I 'm not quite sure that I was quite myself about this time; Kennyf.e.c.k has some story of my getting on some one's horse, and riding about the course in search of the originators of the fray. The end of it, however, was, we reached Liverpool with sorer bones than was altogether pleasant, and although, when Kennyf.e.c.k went to bed, I went to the theatre, the noise only increased my headache, and it needed a good night's sleep to set me all right again."

"Mr. Kennyf.e.c.k taken for one of the swell mob!" exclaimed Softly, with a sort of holy horror that seemed to sum up his whole opinion of the narrative.

"Very bad, was n't it?" said Cashel, pushing the wine past; "but he's a capital fellow,--took the whole thing in such good part, and seems only anxious that the story should n't get abroad. Of course I need n't repeat my caution on that subject?"

"Oh, certainly not! Shall we join the ladies?" said Mr. Jones, as he surveyed his whiskers and arranged the tie of his cravat before the gla.s.s.

"I'm quite ready," said Cashel, who had quietly set down in his own mind that the ladies of the Kennyf.e.c.k family were a kind of female fac-simile of the stiff-looking old attorney, and, therefore, felt very few qualms on the subject of his disordered and slovenly appearance.

Scarcely had Cashel entered the drawing-room than he found his hand grasped in Mr. Kennyf.e.c.k's, when, with a most dulcet acccent, he said,--

"I knew you 'd forgive me,--I told Mrs. Kennyf.e.c.k you'd excuse me for not joining you at dinner; but I was really so fatigued. Mrs.

Kennyf.e.c.k--Mr. Cashel. My daughter, Mr. Cashel. My daughter Olivia.

Well, now, have you dined heartily?--I hope my friends here took care of you."

"I thank you. I never dined better,--only sorry not to, have had your company. We have our apologies to make, Mrs. Kennyf.e.c.k, for not being earlier; but, of course, you 've heard that we did our very utmost."

"Oh, yes, yes! I explained everything," interrupted Kennyf.e.c.k, most eager to stop a possible exposure. "Mrs. Kennyf.e.c.k knows it all."

Although Cashel's manner and address were of a kind to subject him to the most severe criticism of the ladies of the Kennyf.e.c.k family, they evinced the most laudable spirit in their hospitable and even cordial reception of him, Mrs. Kennyf.e.c.k making room for him to sit on the sofa beside her,--a post of honor that even the Castle aides-de-camp only enjoyed by great favor; while the daughters listened with an attention as flattering to _him_ as it was galling to the other two guests.

Mr. Softly, however, resigned himself to this neglect as to a pa.s.sing cloud of forgetfulness, and betook himself to the columns of the "Morning Post" for consolation, occasionally glancing over the margin to watch the laughing group around the fire. As for Jones; Mr. Kennyf.e.c.k had withdrawn with that gentleman into a window, where the tactics of some bill in equity engaged their attention,--manifestly, however, to the young barrister's discontent, as his frequent stolen looks towards the ladies evidenced.

It was the first time that the Kennyf.e.c.ks had ever deigned to listen to any one whose claims to a hearing rested on higher grounds than the light gossip and small-talk of the capital, the small fashionable chit-chat of a provincial city, and which bears the same resemblance to the table-talk of the greater metropolis as do larks to ortolans, when disguised in the same kind of sauce; only those accustomed to the higher flavor being able to detect the difference. It was, then, with as much surprise as pleasure that they found themselves listening to the narratives in which not a single n.o.ble or lordly personage figured, nor one singular incident occurred reflecting on the taste, the wealth, or the morals of their acquaintance. It was no less a novelty, too, for Cashel to find any one a listener to descriptions of scenes and habits in whose familiarity he saw nothing strange or remarkable; so that when the young ladies, at first attracted by mere curiosity, became gradually more and more interested in his stories, his flattered vanity gave new warmth to an enthusiasm always ardent, and he spoke of prairie life and adventure with a degree of eloquence and power that might have captivated even less indulgent auditors.

It was, besides, the first time that they ever had seen great wealth unallied with immense pretension. Cashel, perhaps from character, or that his accession to fortune was too recent, and his consequent ignorance of all that money can do, whichever of these the cause, was certainly the most una.s.suming young man they had ever met. In comparison with him, the aides-de-camp were princes of the blood; even Mr. Jones put forth a degree of pretension on the score of his abilities, which stood in strong contrast with the unaffected and simple modesty of Roland Cashel.

It is but fair to all parties to add that dark and flashing eyes, shaded by long and drooping lashes, a high and ma.s.sive forehead; a brown, almost Spanish complexion, whose character was increased by a pair of short coal-black moustaches,--did not detract from the merit of tales, which, as they chiefly related to feats of personal daring and address, were well corroborated by the admirable symmetry and handsome proportions of the relater.

Story followed story. Now the scene lay in the low and misty swamps of the Niger, where night resounds with the dull roar of the beasts of prey, and the heavy plash of the sluggish alligator on the muddy sh.o.r.e; now, it was in the green wood of the Spice Islands, amid an atmosphere scented with perfume, and glittering with every gorgeous hue of plumage and verdure. At one moment he would describe a chase at sea, with all its high and maddening excitement, as each new vicissitude of success or failure arose; and then he would present some little quiet picture of sh.o.r.e life in a land where the boundless resources of Nature supply, even antic.i.p.ate, the wants and luxuries of man.

Whatever the interest, and occasionally it rose to a high pitch, that attended his narratives of danger and daring, the little sketches he gave from time to time of the domestic life of these far-away people, seemed to attract the most delighted attention of his fair hearers, particularly where his narrative touched upon the traits, whether of beauty, dress, or demeanor, that distinguish the belles of New Spain.

"How difficult," said Miss Kennyf.e.c.k, "I could almost say, how impossible, to leave a land so abounding in the romance of life, for all the dull and commonplace realities of European existence."

"How hard to do so without leaving behind the heart that could feel such ecstasies," murmured Olivia, with a half-raised eyelid, and a glance that made Cashel flush with delight.

"How shall we ever make Ireland compensate you for quitting so lovely a country!" said Mrs. Kennyf.e.c.k, with a smile rarely accorded to anything lower than a viscount.

"We have a Mexican proverb, madam," said Cashel, gayly, "which says, 'Wherever the sun shines, bright eyes shine also.' But enough of these tiresome memories, in which my egotism will always involve me. Shall we have a fandango?"

"I don't know it; I never saw it danced."

"Well, the manolo, then."

"Nor that either," said both girls, laughing.

"Well, will you learn? I'll teach you the manolo. It's very simple. If you 'll play the air, Miss Kennyf.e.c.k,--it runs thus." Here he opened the pianoforte, and, after a few chords, struck with a masterly finger, he played a little Spanish dance; but with a spirit of execution, and in such an exciting character of time and measure, that a general exclamation of delight broke from the whole room, Mr. Jones himself forgetting all rivalry, and Mr. Softly laying down his newspaper to listen, and for a moment carried away by the fascination of the spirit-stirring melody.

"That is the manolo; come, now, and let me teach you, first the air, and then the dance."

"Oh, I never could succeed to give it that character of bold and haughty defiance it breathes from you," said Miss Kennyf.e.c.k.

"Nay, nay, a man's hand is always so rude and heavy, it needs the taper finger of a lady,"--here Cashel bent, and kissed the hand he held, but with such a deference and respect in the salute, that deprived the action, so novel to our eyes, of any appearance of a liberty,--"of a lady," he resumed, "to impart the ringing brilliancy of the saucy manolo."

"Then play it over once more, and I 'll try," said Miss Kennyf.e.c.k, who was a most accomplished musician, and had even already caught up the greater part of the air.

Cashel obeyed, and again the plaudits followed even more enthusiastically than the first time. With a precision that called forth many a hearty "bravo" from Roland, Miss Kennyf.e.c.k played over the air, catching up all the spirit of its transitions from gay to plaintive, and from tender to a strain bold, daring, and energetic.

"Now for the dance," exclaimed Cashel, eagerly, as he busied himself in removing chairs and pushing back sofas. "Will you be kind enough to a.s.sist me with this table?"

Mr. Softly, the gentleman thus addressed, rose to comply, his face exhibiting a very amusing struggle between shame and astonishment at the position he occupied. The s.p.a.ce cleared, Roland took Olivia's hand, and led her forward with an air of exceeding deference.

"Now, Miss Kenny f.e.c.k, the step is the easiest thing in the world. It goes so,--one--two; one--two--three; and then change--Exactly, quite right; you have it perfectly. This is, as it were, an introduction to the dance; but the same step is preserved throughout, merely changing its time with the measure."

It would be as impossible to follow as it would be unfair to weary the reader with the lesson which now began; and yet we would like to linger on the theme, as our memory brings up every graceful gesture and every proud att.i.tude of the fascinating manolo. Representing, as it does, by pantomimic action a little episode of devotion, in which pursuit and flight, entreaty, rejection, seductive softness, haughty defiance, timid fear, and an even insolent boldness alternate and succeed each other, all the movements which expressive action can command, whether of figure or feature, are called forth. Now, it is the retiring delicacy of shrinking, timid loveliness, half hoping, halt fearing, to be pursued; now the stately defiance of haughty beauty, demanding homage as its due.

At one moment the winning seductiveness that invites pursuit, and then, sudden as the lightning, the disdain that repels advance.

Not the least interesting part of the present scene was to watch how Olivia, who at first made each step and gesture with diffidence and fear, as she went on, became, as it were, seized with the characteristic spirit of the measure; her features varying with each motive of the music, her eyes at one instant half closed in dreamy languor, and at the next flashing in all the brilliancy of conscious beauty. As for Roland, forgetting, as well he might, all his functions as teacher, he moved with the enthusiastic spirit of the dance,--his rapturous gaze displaying the admiration that fettered him; and when at last, as it were, yielding to long-proved devotion, she gave her hand, it needed the explanation of its being a Mexican fashion to excuse the ardor with which he pressed it to his lips.

Mrs. Kennyf.e.c.k's applause, however, was none the less warm; and if any of the company disapproved, they prudently said nothing,--even Mr.

Softly, who only evidenced his feeling by a somewhat hasty resumption of the "Morning Post," while the elder sister, rising from the piano, whispered, as she pa.s.sed her sister, "Bad jockey-ship, Livy, dear, to make fast running so early."

"And that is the--What d'ye call it, Mr. Cashel?" said Mrs. Kennyf.e.c.k.

"The manolo, madam. It is of Italian origin, rather than Spanish,--Calabrian, I fancy; but, in Mexico, it has become national, and well suits the changeful temper of our Spanish belles, and the style of their light and floating costume."

"Yes, I suspect it has a better effect with short drapery than with the sweeping folds of our less picturesque dress," said Miss Kennyf.e.c.k, who, for reasons we must not inquire, took a pleasure in qualifying her approval.

"I never saw it appear more graceful," said Cashel, with a blunt abruptness far more flattering than a studied compliment.

Olivia blushed; Mrs. Kennyf.e.c.k looked happy, and the elder sister bit her lips, and threw up her eyebrows, with an expression we cannot attempt to render in words.

"May I not have the honor of introducing you to the manolo?" said Cashel, presenting himself before her with a deep bow.

"Thank you, I prefer being a spectator; besides, we could have no music,--my sister does not play."

Olivia blushed; and, in her hasty look, there was an expression of gently conveyed reproach, as though to say, "This is unfair."

"Do you like music, Mr. Cashel?" continued Miss Kennyf.e.c.k, who saw the slight cloud of disappointment that crossed Roland's features. "Oh, I 'm certain you do, and I know you sing!"

"Yes," said Cashel, carelessly, "as every one sings in that merry land I come from; but I fear the wild carol-lings of a ranchero would scarce find acceptance in the polished ears of Europe."