"I am not a man of the world, and I thank G.o.d for it," cried Ormond.

"Thank your G.o.d for what you please," said Connal; "but in disdaining to be a man of the world, you will not, I hope, refuse to let me think you a man of common sense."

"Think what you please of me," said Ormond, rather haughtily; "what I think of myself is the chief point with me."

"You will lose this little brusquerie of manner," said Connal, "when you have mixed more with mankind. Providentially, we are all made dependent on one another's good opinion. Even I, you see, cannot live without yours."

Whether from vanity, from the habit of wishing to charm every body in every house he entered, especially any one who made resistance; or whether he was piqued and amused with Ormond's frank and natural character, and determined to see how far he could urge him, Connal went on, though our young hero gave him no encouragement to hope that he should win his good opinion.

"Candidly," said he, "put yourself in my place for a moment: I was in England, following my own projects; I was not in love with the girl as you--well, pardon--as anybody might have been--but I was at a distance, that makes all the difference: I am sent for over by two fathers, and I am told that in consequence of my good or evil fortune in being born a twin, and of some inconceivable promise between two Irish fathers over a punch-bowl, I am to have the refusal, I should rather say the acceptance, of a very pretty girl with a very pretty fortune. Now, except just at the moment when the overture reached me, it could not have been listened to for a moment by such a man as I am."

"Insufferable c.o.xcomb," said Ormond to himself.

"But, to answer a question, which I omitted to answer just now to my father-in-law,--what could induce me to come over and think of settling in the Black Islands? I answer--for I am determined to win your confidence by my candour--I answer in one word, _un billard_--a billiard-table. To tell you all, I confess--"

"Confess nothing, I beg, Mr. Connal, to me, that you do not wish to be known to Mr. O'Shane: I am his friend--he is my benefactor."

"You would not repeat--you are a gentleman, and a man of honour."

"I am; and as such I desire, on this occasion, not to hear what I ought neither to repeat nor to keep secret. It is my duty not to leave my benefactor in the dark as to any point."

"Oh! come--come," interrupted Connal, "we had better not take it on this serious tone, lest, if we begin to talk of duty, we should presently conceive it to be our duty to run one another through the body, which would be no pleasure."

"No pleasure," said Ormond; "but if it became a duty, I hope, on all occasions, I should be able to do whatever I thought a duty. Therefore to avoid any misunderstanding, Mr. Connal, let me beg that you will not honour me farther with your confidence. I cannot undertake to be the confidant of any one, of whom I have never professed myself to be the friend."

"Ca suffit," said Connal, lightly. "We understand one another now perfectly'--you shall in future play the part of _prince_, and not of confidant. Pardon me, I forgot your highness's pretensions;" so saying, he gaily turned on his heel, and left the room.

From this time forward little conversation pa.s.sed between Mr. Connal and Ormond--little indeed between Ormond and Dora. With Mademoiselle, Ormond had long ceased to be a favourite, and even her loquacity now seldom addressed itself to him. He was in a painful situation;--he spent as much of his time as he could at the farm his friend had given him. As soon as O'Shane found that there was no truth in the report of Black Connal's intended marriage in England, that he claimed in earnest his promise of his daughter, and that Dora herself inclined to the new love, his kind heart felt for poor Harry.

Though he did not know all that had pa.s.sed, yet he saw the awkwardness and difficulty of Ormond's present situation, and, whatever it might cost him to part with his young friend, with his adopted son, Corny determined not to detain him longer.

"Harry Ormond, my boy," said he to him one day, "time for you to see something of the world, also for the world to see something of you; I've kept you here for my own pleasure too long: as long as I had any hope of settling you as I wished 'twas a sufficient excuse to myself; but now I have none left--I must part with you: and so, by the blessing, G.o.d helping me to conquer my selfishness, and the yearnings of my heart towards you, I will. I mean," continued he, "to send you far from me--to banish you for your good from the Black Islands entirely. Nay, don't you interrupt me, nor say a word; for if you do, I shall be too soft to have the heart to do you justice. You know you said yourself, and I felt it for you, that it was best you should leave this. Well, I have been thinking of you ever since, and licking different projects into shape for you--listening too to every thing Connal threw out; but all he says that way is in the air--no substance, when you try to have and to hold--too full of himself, that youngster, to be a friend to another."

"There is no reason why he should be my friend, sir," said Ormond--"I do not pretend to be his; and I rejoice in not being under any obligations to him."

"Right!--and high!--just as I feel for you. After all, I approve of your own wish to go into the British service in preference to any foreign service, and you could not be of the Irish brigade--Harry."

"Indeed, sir, I infinitely prefer," said Ormond, "the service of my own country--the service in which my father--I know nothing of my father, but I have always heard him spoken of as a good officer; I hope I shall not disgrace his name. The English service for me, sir, if you please."

"Why, then, I'm glad you see things as I do, and are not run away with by uniform, and _all that_. I have lodged the needful in the bank, to purchase a commission for you, my son. Now! no more go to thank me, if you love me, Harry, than you would your own father. I've written to a friend to choose a regiment in which there'd be as little danger as possible for you."

"As little danger as possible!" repeated Harry, surprised.

"Phoo! you don't think I mean as little danger of fighting. I would not wrong you so. No--but as little danger of gambling. Not that you're inclined to it, or any thing else that's bad--but there is no knowing what company might lead the best into; and it is my duty and inclination to look as close to all these things as if for my own son."

"My kind father--no father could be kinder," cried Harry, quite overpowered.

"So then you go as soon as the commission comes--that's settled; and I hope I shall be able to bear it, Harry, old as I am. There may perhaps be a delay of a little time longer than you could wish."

"Oh! sir, as long as you wish me to stay with you--"

"Not a minute beyond what's necessary. I mention the cause of delay, that you may not think I'm dallying for my own sake. You remember General Albemarle, who came here one day last year--election time, canva.s.sing--the general that had lost the arm."

"Perfectly, sir, I remember your answer--'I will give my interest to this _empty sleeve_.'"

"Thank you--never a word lost upon you. Well, now I have hopes that this man--this general, will take you by the hand; for he has a hand left yet, and a powerful one to serve a friend; and I've requested him to keep his eye upon you, and I have asked his advice: so we can't stir till we get it, and that will be eight days, or ten, say. My boy, you must bear on as you are--we have the comfort of the workshop to ourselves, and some rational recreation; good shooting we will have soon too, for the first time this season."

Among the various circ.u.mstances which endeared Harry to our singular monarch, his skill and keenness as a sportsman were not inconsiderable: he knew where all the game in the island was to be found; so that, when his good old patron was permitted by the gout to take the field, Harry's a.s.sistance saved him a vast deal of unnecessary toil, and gratified him in his favourite amus.e.m.e.nt, whilst he, at the same time, sympathized in the sport. Corny, besides being a good shot, was an excellent mechanic: he beguiled the hours, when there was neither hunting nor shooting, in a workshop which was furnished with the best tools. Among the other occupations at the work-bench, he was particularly skilful in making and adjusting the locks of guns, and in boring and polishing the inside of their barrels to the utmost perfection: he had contrived and executed a tool for the enlarging the barrel of a gun in any particular part, so as to increase its effect in adding to the force of the discharge, and in preventing the shot from scattering too widely.

The hope of the success of his contrivance, and the prospect of going out with Harry on the approaching first of September, solaced King Corny, and seemed to keep up his spirits, through all the vexation he felt concerning Connal and this marriage, which evidently was not to his taste. It was to Dora's, however, and was becoming more evidently so every hour--and soon M. Connal pressed, and Mademoiselle urged, and Dora named--the happy day--and Mademoiselle, in transports, prepared to go to Dublin, with her niece, to choose the wedding-clothes, and, Connal to bespeak the equipages.

Mademoiselle was quick in her operations when dress was in question: the preparations for the delightful journey were soon made--the morning for their departure came--the carriage and horses were sent over the water early--and O'Shane and Harry afterwards accompanied the party in the boat to the other side of the lake, where the carriage waited with the door open. Connal, after handing in Mademoiselle, turned to look for his destined bride--who was taking leave of her father--Harry Ormond standing by. The moment she quitted her father's embrace, Father Jos poured with both his hands on her head the benedictions of all the saints. Released from Father Jos, Captain Connal hurried her on: Harry held out his hand to her as she pa.s.sed. "Good bye, Dora--probably I shall never see you again."

"Oh, Harry!" said she, one touch of natural feeling stopping her short--"Oh, Harry!--Why?" Bursting into tears, she drew her hand from Connal, and gave it to Harry: Harry received the hand openly and cordially, shook it heartily, but took no advantage and no notice of the feelings by which he saw her at that moment agitated.

"_Forgive_!" she began.

"Good bye, _dear_ Dora. G.o.d bless you--may you be as happy--half as happy, as I wish you to be!"

"To be sure she will--happy as the day is long," said Mademoiselle, leaning out of the carriage: "why will you make her cry, Mr. Ormond, spoiling her eyes at parting? Come in to me--Dora, M. de Connal is waiting to hand you, mon enfant."

"Is her dressing-box in, and all right?" asked Captain Connal, as he handed Dora into the carriage, who was still weeping.

"Bad compliment to M. de Connal, mon amie. Vrai scandale!" said Mademoiselle, pulling up the gla.s.s, while Dora sunk back in the carriage, sobbing without restraint.

"Good morning," said Connal, who had now mounted his Mr. Ormond, "Adieu, Mr. Ormond--command me in any way you please. Drive on!"

CHAPTER XVI.

The evening after the departure of the happy trio, who were gone to Dublin to buy wedding-dresses, the party remaining at Castle Corny consisted only of King Corny, Ormond, and Father Jos. When the candles were lighted, his majesty gave a long and loud yawn, Harry set the backgammon table for him, and Father Jos, as usual, settled himself in the chimney corner; "And now Mademoiselle's gone," said he, "I shall take leave to indulge myself in my pipe."

"You were on the continent this morning, Father Jos," said Cornelius.

"Did ye learn any news for us? Size ace! that secures two points."

"News! I did," said Father Jos.

"Why not tell it us, then?"

"I was not asked. You both seemed so wrapped up, I waited my time and opportunity. There's a new parson come to Castle Hermitage."

"What new person?" said King Corny. "Doublets, aces, Harry."

"A new parson I'm talking of," said Father Jos, "that has just got the living there; and they say Sir Ulick's mad about it, in Dublin, where he is still."

"Mad!--Three men up--and you can't enter, Harry. Well, what is he mad about?"

"Because of the presentation to the living," replied the priest, "which government wouldn't make him a compliment of, as he expected."