"It were not advisable to proceed at once to extremities," said Ashwoode, who, spite of his const.i.tutional selfishness, felt some odd sensations, and not of the pleasantest kind, while they thus conversed.

"You must begin by showing your wishes in your manner; be attentive to her; and, in short, let her unequivocally see the nature of your intentions; _tell_ her that you want to marry her; and when she refuses, then it is time enough to commence those--those--other operations at which you hint."

"Well, d----n me, but there is some sense in what you say," observed Blarden, filling his gla.s.s again. "Umph! perhaps I've been rather backward; I believe I _have_; she's coy, shy, and a proud little baggage withal--I like her the better for it--and requires a lot of wooing before she's won; well, I'll make myself clear on to-morrow. I'm blessed if she sha'n't understand me beyond the possibility of question or doubt; and if she won't listen to reason, _then_ we'll see whether there isn't a way to break her spirit if she was as proud as the Queen." With these words Blarden arose and drained the flask of wine, then observed authoritatively,--

"Get the cards and follow me to the parlour. I want something to amuse me; be quick, d'ye hear?"

And so saying he took his departure, followed by Sir Henry Ashwoode, whose condition was now more thoroughly abject and degraded than that of a purchased slave.

CHAPTER XLIX.

OLD SONGS--THE UNWELCOME LISTENER--THE BARONET'S PLEDGE.

Next day Mary Ashwoode sat alone in the same room in which she had been so unpleasantly intruded upon on the evening before. The unkindness of her brother had caused her many a bitter tear during the past night, and although still entirely in the dark as to Blarden's designs, there was yet something in his manner during the brief moment of their yesterday evening's rencontre which alarmed her, and suggested, in a few hurried and fevered dreams which troubled her broken slumbers of the night past, his dreaded image in a hundred wild and fantastic adventures.

She sat, as we have already said, alone in the self-same room, and as mechanically she pursued her work, her thoughts were far away, and wherever they turned still were they clouded with anxiety and sorrow.

Wearied at length with the monotony of an occupation which availed not even momentarily to draw her attention from the griefs which weighed upon her, she threw her work aside, and taking the guitar which in gayer hours had often yielded its light music to her touch, and trying to forget the consciousness of her changed and lonely existence in the happier recollections which returned in these once familiar sounds, she played and sang the simple melodies which had been her favourites long ago; but while thus her hands strayed over the chords of the instrument, and the low and silvery cadences of her sweet voice recalled many a touching remembrance of the past, she was startled and recalled at once from her momentary forgetfulness of the present by a voice close behind her which exclaimed,--

"Capital--never a better--encore, encore;" and on looking hurriedly round, her glance at once encountered and recognized the form and features of Nicholas Blarden. "Go on, go on, do," said that gentleman in his most engaging way, and with an amorous grin; "do--go on, can't you--by ----, I'm half sorry I said a word."

"I--I would rather not," stammered she, rising and colouring; "I have played and sung enough--too much already."

"No, no, not at all," continued Blarden, warming as he proceeded; "hang me, no such thing, you were just going on strong when I came in--come, come, I won't _let_ you stop."

Her heart swelled with indignation at the coa.r.s.e, familiar insolence of his manner; but she made no other answer than that conveyed by laying down the instrument, and turning from it and him.

"Well, rot me, but this is too bad," continued he, playfully; "come, take it up again--come, you _must_ tip us another stave, young lady--do--curse me if I heard half your songs, you're a perfect nightingale."

So saying he took up the guitar, and followed her with it towards the fireplace.

"Come, you won't refuse, eh?--I'm in earnest," he continued; "upon my soul and oath I want to hear more of it."

"I have already told you, sir," said Mary Ashwoode, "that I do not wish to play or sing any more at present. I am sure you are not aware, Mr.

Blarden, that this is my private apartment; no one visits me here uninvited, and at present I wish to be alone."

Thus speaking, she resumed her seat and her work, and sat in perfect silence, her heaving breast and glowing cheeks alone betraying the strength of her emotions.

"Ho, ho! rot me, but she's sulky," cried Blarden, with a horse-laugh, while he flung the guitar carelessly upon the table; "sure you wouldn't turn me out--that would be very hard usage, and no mistake. Eh! Miss Mary?"

Mary continued to ply her silks in silence, and Blarden threw himself into a chair opposite to her.

"I like to rise you--hang me, if I don't," said Blarden, exultingly--"you are always a snug-looking bit of goods, but when your blood's up, you're a downright beauty--rot me, but you are--why the devil don't you talk to me--eh?" he added, more roughly than he had yet spoken.

Mary Ashwoode began now to feel seriously alarmed at the man's manner, and as her eyes encountered his gloating gaze, her colour came and went in quick succession.

"Confoundedly pretty, sure enough, and well you know it, too,"

continued he--"curse me, but you _are_ a fine wench--and I'll tell you what's more--I'm more than half in love with you at this minute, may the devil have me but I am."

Thus speaking, he drew his chair nearer hers.

"Mr. Blarden--sir--I insist on your leaving me," said Mary, now thoroughly frightened.

"And _I_ insist on _not_ leaving you," replied Blarden, with an insolent chuckle--"so it's a fair trial of strength between us, eh?--ho, ho, what are you afraid of?--stick up to your fight--do then--I like you all the better for your spirit--confound me but I do."

He advanced his chair still nearer to that on which she was seated.

"Well, but you _do_ look pretty, by Jove," he exclaimed. "I like _you_, and I am determined to make you like _me_--I am--you _shall_ like me."

He arose, and approached her with a half amorous, half menacing air.

Pale as death, Mary Ashwoode arose also, and moved with hurried, trembling steps towards the door. He made a movement as if to intercept her exit, but checked the impulse, and contented himself with observing with a scowl of spite and disappointment, as she pa.s.sed from the room,--

"Pride will have a fall, my fine lady--you'll be tame enough yet for all your tantarums, by Jove."

Breathless with haste and agitation, Mary reached the study, where she knew her brother was now generally to be found. He was there engaged in the miserable labour of looking through accounts and letters, in arranging the complicated records of his own ruin.

"Brother," said she, running to his side with the earnestness of deep agitation, "brother, listen to me."

He raised his eyes, and at a glance easily divined the cause of her excitement.

"Well," said he, "speak on--I hear."

"Brother," she resumed, "that man--that Mr. Blarden, came uninvited into my study; he was at first very coa.r.s.e and free in his manner--very disagreeable and impudent--he refused to leave me when I requested him to do so, and every moment became more and more insolent--his manner and language terrified me. Brother, dear brother, you must not expose me to another such scene as that which has just pa.s.sed."

Ashwoode paused for a good while, with the pen still in his fingers, and his eyes fixed abstractedly upon his sister's pale face. At length he said,--

"Do you wish me to make this a quarrel with Blarden? Was there enough to warrant a--a duel?"

He well knew, however, that he was safe in putting the question, and in antic.i.p.ating her answer, he calculated rightly the strength of his sister's affection for him.

"Oh! no, no, brother--no!" she cried, with imploring terror; "dear brother, you are everything to me now. No, no; promise that you will not!"

"Well, well, I do," said Ashwoode; "but how would you have me act?"

"Do not ask this man to prolong his visit," replied she; "or if he must, at least let me go elsewhere while he remains here."

"You have but one female relative in Ireland with a house to receive you," rejoined Ashwoode, "and that is Lady Stukely; and I have reason to think she would not like to have you as a guest just now."

"Dear Harry--dear brother, think of some place," said she, with earnest entreaty. "I now feel secure nowhere; that rude man, the very sight of whom affrights me, will not forbear to intrude upon my privacy; alone--in my own little room--anywhere in this house--I am equally liable to his intrusions and his rudeness. Dear brother, take pity on me--think of some place."

"Curse that beast Blarden!" muttered Sir Henry Ashwoode, between his teeth. "Will nothing ever teach the ruffian one particle of tact or common sense? What good end could he possibly propose to himself by terrifying the girl?"

Ashwoode bit his lips and frowned, while he thought the matter over. At length he said,--

"I shall speak to Blarden immediately. I begin to think that the man is not fit company for civilized people. I think we must get rid of him at whatever temporary inconvenience, without actual rudeness. Without anything approaching to a quarrel, I can shorten his visit. He shall leave this either to-night or before seven o'clock to-morrow morning."