When these things were all arranged, Selina told her cousin that Adolphus was coming home, and that a house full of company had been asked to meet him. She was afraid that f.a.n.n.y would be annoyed and offended at being forced to go into company so soon after her brother's death, but such was not the case. She felt, herself, that her poor brother was not the cause of the grief that was near her heart; and she would not pretend what she didn't really feel.

"You were quite right, Selina," she said, smiling, "about the things you said yesterday I should want from Dublin: now, I shall want them; and, as I wouldn't accept of your good-natured offer, I must take the trouble of writing myself."

"If you like it, f.a.n.n.y, I'll write for you," said Selina.

"Oh no, I'm not quite so idle as that"--and she also began her preparations for the expected festivities. Little did either of them think that she, f.a.n.n.y Wyndham, was the sole cause of all the trouble which the household and neighbourhood were to undergo:--the fatigue of the countess; Griffiths's journey; the arrival of the dread man cook; Richards's indignation at being made subordinate to such authority; the bishop's desertion of the Education Board; the colonel's dangerous and precipitate consumption of colchic.u.m; the quarrel between Lord and Lady George as to staying or not staying; the new dresses of the Miss O'Joscelyns, which their worthy father could so ill afford; and, above all, the confusion, misery, rage, and astonishment which attended Lord Kilcullen's unexpected retreat from London, in the middle of the summer. And all in vain!

How proud and satisfied Lord Ballindine might have been, had he been able to see all this, and could he have known how futile was every effort Lord Cashel could make to drive from f.a.n.n.y Wyndham's heart the love she felt for him.

The invitations, however, were, generally speaking, accepted. The bishop and his wife would be most happy; the colonel would come if the gout would possibly allow; Lady George wrote a note to say they would be very happy to stay a few days, and Lord George wrote another soon after to say he was sorry, but that they must return the same evening.

The O'Joscelyns would be delighted; Mat Tierney would be very proud; Captain c.o.kely would do himself the honour; and, last but not least, Mr. Murray would preside below stairs--for a serious consideration.

What a pity so much trouble should have been taken! They might all have stayed at home; for f.a.n.n.y Wyndham will never become Lady Kilcullen.

x.x.x. LORD KILCULLEN OBEYS HIS FATHER

On the appointed day, or rather on the night of the appointed day, Lord Kilcullen reached Grey Abbey; for it was about eleven o'clock when his travelling-phaeton rattled up to the door. He had been expected to dinner at seven, and the first attempts of Murray in the kitchens of Grey Abbey had been kept waiting for him till half-past eight; but in vain. At that hour the earl, black with ill-humour, ordered dinner; and remarked that he considered it criminal in any man to make an appointment, who was not sufficiently attached to veracity to keep it.

The evening was pa.s.sed in moody silence. The countess was disappointed, for she always contrived to persuade herself that she was very anxious to see her son. Lady Selina was really vexed, and began to have her doubts as to her brother's coming at all: what was to be done, if it turned out that all the company had been invited for nothing? As to f.a.n.n.y, though very indifferent to the subject of her cousin's coming, she was not at all in a state of mind to dissipate the sullenness which prevailed. The ladies went to bed early, the countess grumbling at her lot, in not being allowed to see her son, and her daughter and niece marching off with their respective candlesticks in solemn silence. The earl retired to his book-room soon afterwards; but he had not yet sat down, when the quick rattle of the wheels was heard upon the gravel before the house.

Lord Cashel walked out into the hall, prepared to meet his son in a befitting manner; that is, with a dignified austerity that could not fail to convey a rebuke even to his hardened heart. But he was balked in his purpose, for he found that Lord Kilcullen was not alone; Mat Tierney had come down with him. Kilcullen had met his friend in Dublin, and on learning that he also was bound for Grey Abbey on the day but one following, had persuaded him to accelerate his visit, had waited for him, and brought him down in his own carriage. The truth was, that Lord Kilcullen had thought that the shades of Grey Abbey would be too much for him, without some genial spirit to enlighten them: he was delighted to find that Mat Tierney was to be there, and was rejoiced to be able to convey him with him, as a sort of protection from his father's eloquence for the first two days of the visit.

"Lord Kilcullen, your mother and I--" began the father, intent on at once commenting on the iniquity of the late arrival; when he saw the figure of a very stout gentleman, amply wrapped up in travelling habiliments, follow his son into the inner hall.

"Tierney, my lord," said the son, "was good enough to come down with me. I found that he intended to be here to-morrow, and I told him you and my mother would be delighted to see him to-day instead."

The earl shook Mr. Tierney's hand, and told him how very welcome he was at all times, and especially at present--unexpected pleasures were always the most agreeable; and then the earl bustled about, and ordered supper and wine, and fussed about the bed-rooms, and performed the necessary rites of hospitality, and then went to bed, without having made one solemn speech to his son. So far, Lord Kilcullen had been successful in his manoeuvre; and he trusted that by making judicious use of Mat Tierney, he might be able to stave off the evil hour for at any rate a couple of days.

But he was mistaken. Lord Cashel was now too much in earnest to be put off his purpose; he had been made too painfully aware that his son's position was desperate, and that he must at once be saved by a desperate effort, or given over to utter ruin. And, to tell the truth, so heavy were the new debts of which he heard from day to day, so insurmountable seemed the difficulties, that he all but repented that he had not left him to his fate. The attempt, however, must again be made; he was there, in the house, and could not be turned out; but Lord Cashel determined that at any rate no time should be lost.

The two new arrivals made their appearance the next morning, greatly to Lady Cashel's delight; she was perfectly satisfied with her son's apology, and delighted to find that at any rate one of her expected guests would not fail her in her need. The breakfast went over pleasantly enough, and Kilcullen was asking Mat to accompany him into the stables, to see what novelties they should find there, when Lord Cashel spoiled the arrangement by saying,

"Could you spare me half-an-hour in the bookroom first, Kilcullen?"

This request, of course, could not be refused; and the father and son walked off, leaving Mat Tierney to the charity of the ladies.

There was much less of flippant overbearing impudence now, about Lord Kilcullen, much less of arrogance and insult from the son towards the father, than there had been in the previous interview which has been recorded. He seemed to be somewhat in dread, to be cowed, and ill at ease; he tried, however, to a.s.sume his usual manner, and followed his father into the book-room with an affected air of indifference, which very ill concealed his real feelings.

"Kilcullen," began the earl, "I was very sorry to see Tierney with you last night. It would have been much better that we should have been alone together, at any rate for one morning. I suppose you are aware that there is a great deal to be talked over between us?"

"I suppose there is," said the son; "but I couldn't well help bringing the man, when he told me he was coming here."

"He didn't ask you to bring him, I suppose?--but we will not talk about that. Will you do me the favour to inform me what your present plans are?"

"My present plans, my lord? Indeed, I've no plans!--It's a long time since I had a plan of my own. I am, however, prepared to acquiesce entirely in any which you may propose. I have come quite prepared to throw at Miss Wyndham's feet myself and my fortune."

"And do you expect her to accept you?"

"You said she would, my lord: so I have taken that for granted. I, at any rate, will ask her; if she refuses me, your lordship will perhaps be able to persuade her to a measure so evidently beneficial to all parties."

"The persuading must be with yourself; but if you suppose you can carry her with a high hand, without giving yourself the trouble to try to please her, you are very much mistaken. If you think she'll accept you merely because you ask her, you might save yourself the trouble, and as well return to London at once."

"Just as you please, my lord; but I thought I came in obedience to your express wishes."

"So you did; but, to tell you the truth--your manner in coming is very different from what I would wish it to be. Your--"

"Did you want me to crawl here on my hands and knees?"

"I wanted you to come, Kilcullen, with some sense of what you owe to those who are endeavouring to rescue you from ruin: with some feeling of, at any rate, sorrow for the mad extravagance of your past career.

Instead of that, you come gay, reckless, and unconcerned as ever; you pick up the first jovial companion you meet, and with him disturb the house at a most unseasonable hour. You are totally regardless of the appointments you make; and plainly show, that as you come here solely for your own pleasure, you consider it needless to consult my wishes or my comfort. Are you aware that you kept your mother and myself two hours waiting for dinner yesterday?"

The pathos with which Lord Cashel terminated his speech--and it was one the thrilling effect of which he intended to be overwhelming--almost restored Lord Kilcullen to his accustomed effrontery.

"My lord," he said, "I did not consider myself of sufficient importance to have delayed your dinner ten minutes."

"I have always endeavoured, Kilcullen, to show the same respect to you in my house, which my father showed to me in his; but you do not allow me the opportunity. But let that pa.s.s; we have more important things to speak of. When last we were here together why did you not tell me the whole truth?"

"What truth, my lord?"

"About your debts, Kilcullen: why did you conceal from me their full amount? Why, at any rate, did you take pains to make me think them so much less than they really are?"

"Conceal, my lord?--that is hardly fair, considering that I told you expressly I could not give you any idea what was the amount I owed. I concealed nothing; if you deceived yourself, the fault was not mine."

"You could not but have known that the claims against you were much larger than I supposed them to be--double, I suppose. Good heaven!--why in ten years more, at this rate, you would more than consume the fee simple of the whole property! What can I say to you, Kilcullen, to make you look on your own conduct in the proper light?"

"I think you have said enough for the purpose; you have told me to marry, and I have consented to do so."

"Do you think, Kilcullen, you have spent the last eight years in a way which it can please a father to contemplate? Do you think I can look back on your conduct with satisfaction or content? And yet you have no regret to express for the past--no promises to make for the future. I fear it is all in vain. I fear that what I am doing what I am striving to do, is now all in vain. I fear it is hopeless to attempt to recall you from the horrid, reckless, wicked mode of life you have adopted."

The sombre mantle of expostulatory eloquence had now descended on the earl, and he continued, turning full upon his victim, and raising and lowering his voice with monotonous propriety.--"I fear it is to no good purpose that I am subjecting your mother and myself to privation, restraint, and inconvenience; that I am straining every nerve to place you again in a position of respectability, a position suitable to my fortune and your own rank. I am endeavouring to retrieve the desperate extravagance--the--I must say--though I do not wish to hurt your feelings, yet I must say, disgraceful ruin of your past career. And how do you help me? what regret do you show? what promises of amendment do you afford? You drive up to my hall-door at midnight with your boon companion; you disturb the whole household at most unseasonable hours, and subject my family to the same disreputable irregularity in which you have yourself so long indulged. Can such doings, Kilcullen, give me any hopes for the future? Can--"

"My lord--I am extremely sorry for the dinner: what can I say more? And as for Mat Tierney, he is your own guest or her ladyship's--not mine.

It is my misfortune to have come in the same carriage with him, but that is the extent of my offence."

"Well, Kilcullen; if you think your conduct has always been such as it ought to be, it is of little use for me to bring up arguments to the contrary."

"I don't think so, my lord. What can I say more? I have done those things which I ought not to have done. Were I to confess my transgressions for the hour together, I could not say more; except that I have left undone the things which I ought to have done. Or, do you want me to beat my breast and tear my hair?"

"I want you, Lord Kilcullen, to show some sense of decency--some filial respect."

"Well, my lord, here I am, prepared to marry a wife of your own choosing, and to set about the business this morning, if you please. I thought you would have called that decent, filial, and respectable."

The earl could hardly gainsay this; but still he could not bring himself to give over so soon the unusual pleasure of blowing up his only son. It was so long since Lord Kilcullen had been regularly in his power, and it might never occur again. So he returned from consideration of the future to a further retrospect on the past.

"You certainly have played your cards most foolishly; you have thrown away your money--rather, I should say, my money, in a manner which nothing can excuse or palliate. You might have made the turf a source of gratifying amus.e.m.e.nt; your income was amply sufficient to enable you to do so; but you have possessed so little self-control, so little judgment, so little discrimination, that you have allowed yourself to be plundered by every blackleg, and robbed by every--everybody in short, who chose to rob you. The same thing has been the case in all your other amus.e.m.e.nts and pursuits--"