"Why, Selina, everybody tells you everything! And now, I'll tell you something. If you care for your cousin's happiness, do not attempt to raise difficulties between her and Lord Ballindine. And now, I must say good bye to you. I'll have my breakfast up here, and go directly down to the yard. Good bye, Selina; when I'm settled I'll write to you, and tell you where I am."

"Good bye, Adolphus; G.o.d bless you, and enable you yet to retrieve your course. I'm afraid it is a bad one;" and she stooped down and kissed her brother.

He was as good as his word. In two hours' time he had left Grey Abbey.

He dined that day in Dublin, the next in London, and the third in Boulogne; and the sub-sheriff of County Kildare in vain issued half-a-dozen writs for his capture.

x.x.xIV. THE DOCTOR MAKES A CLEAN BREAST OF IT

We will now return for a while to Dunmore, and settle the affairs of the Kellys and Lynches, which we left in rather a precarious state.

Barry's attempt on Doctor Colligan's virtue was very unsuccessful, for Anty continued to mend under the treatment of that uncouth but safe son of Galen. As Colligan told her brother, the fever had left her, though for some time it was doubtful whether she had strength to recover from its effects. This, however, she did gradually; and, about a fortnight after the dinner at Dunmore House, the doctor told Mrs Kelly and Martin that his patient was out of danger.

Martin had for some time made up his mind that Anty was to live for many years in the character of Mrs Martin, and could not therefore be said to be much affected by the communication. But if he was not, his mother was. She had made up her mind that Anty was to die; that she was to pay for the doctor--the wake, and the funeral, and that she would have a hardship and grievance to boast of, and a subject of self-commendation to enlarge on, which would have lasted her till her death; and she consequently felt something like disappointment at being ordered to administer to Anty a mutton chop and a gla.s.s of sherry every day at one o'clock. Not that the widow was less a.s.siduous, or less attentive to Anty's wants now that she was convalescent; but she certainly had not so much personal satisfaction, as when she was able to speak despondingly of her patient to all her gossips.

"Poor cratur!" she used to say--"it's all up with her now; the Lord be praised for all his mercies. She's all as one as gone, glory be to G.o.d and the Blessed Virgin. Shure no good ever come of ill-got money;--not that she was iver to blame. Thank the Lord, av' I have a penny saved at all, it was honestly come by; not that I shall have when this is done and paid for, not a stifle; (stiver [49] Mrs Kelly probably meant)--but what's that!" and she snapped her fingers to show that the world's gear was all dross in her estimation.--"She shall be dacently sthretched, though she is a Lynch, and a Kelly has to pay for it. Whisper, neighbour; in two years' time there'll not be one penny left on another of all the dirthy money Sim Lynch sc.r.a.ped together out of the gutthers."

[FOOTNOTE 49: stiver--a Dutch coin worth almost nothing]

There was a degree of triumph in these lamentations, a tone of self-satisfied a.s.surance in the truth of her melancholy predictions, which showed that the widow was not ill at ease with herself. When Anty was declared out of danger, her joy was expressed with much more moderation.

"Yes, thin," she said to Father Pat Geoghegan, "poor thing, she's rallying a bit. The docthor says maybe she'll not go this time; but he's much in dread of a re-claps--"

"Relapse, Mrs Kelly, I suppose?"

"Well, relapse, av' you will, Father Pat--relapse or reclaps, it's pretty much the same I'm thinking; for she'd niver get through another bout. G.o.d send we may be well out of the hobble this day twelvemonth.

Martin's my own son, and ain't above industhrying, as his father and mother did afore him, and I won't say a word agin him; but he's brought more throuble on me with them Lynches than iver I knew before. What has a lone woman like me, Father Pat, to do wid sthrangers like them? jist to turn their backs on me when I ain't no furder use, and to be gitting the hights of insolence and abuse, as I did from that blagguard Barry.

He'd betther keep his toe in his pump and go asy, or he'll wake to a sore morning yet, some day."

Doctor Colligan, also, was in trouble from his connection with the Lynches: not that he had any dissatisfaction at the recovery of his patient, for he rejoiced at it, both on her account and his own. He had strongly that feeling of self-applause, which must always be enjoyed by a doctor who brings a patient safely through a dangerous illness. But Barry's iniquitous proposal to him weighed heavy on his conscience. It was now a week since it had been made, and he had spoken of it to no one. He had thought much and frequently of what he ought to do; whether he should publicly charge Lynch with the fact; whether he should tell it confidentially to some friend whom he could trust; or whether--by far the easiest alternative, he should keep it in his own bosom, and avoid the man in future as he would an incarnation of the devil. It preyed much upon his spirits, for he lived in fear of Barry Lynch--in fear lest he should determine to have the first word, and, in his own defence, accuse him (Colligan) of the very iniquity which he had himself committed. Nothing, the doctor felt, would be too bad or too false for Barry Lynch; nothing could be more d.a.m.nable than the proposal he had made; and yet it would be impossible to convict him, impossible to punish him. He would, of course, deny the truth of the accusation, and probably return the charge on his accuser. And yet Colligan felt that he would be compromising the matter, if he did not mention it to some one; and that he would outrage his own feelings if he did not express his horror at the murder which he had been asked to commit.

For one week these feelings quite destroyed poor Colligan's peace of mind; during the second, he determined to make a clean breast of it; and, on the first day of the third week, after turning in his mind twenty different people--Martin Kelly--young Daly--the widow--the parish priest--the parish parson--the nearest stipendiary magistrate--and a brother doctor in Tuam, he at last determined on going to Lord Ballindine, as being both a magistrate and a friend of the Kellys. Doctor Colligan himself was not at all acquainted with Lord Ballindine: he attended none of the family, who extensively patronised his rival, and he had never been inside Kelly's Court house. He felt, therefore, considerable embarra.s.sment at his mission; but he made up his mind to go, and, manfully setting himself in his antique rickety gig, started early enough, to catch Lord Ballindine, as he thought, before he left the house after breakfast.

Lord Ballindine had spent the last week or ten days restlessly enough.

Armstrong, his clerical amba.s.sador, had not yet started on his mission to Grey Abbey, and innumerable difficulties seemed to arise to prevent his doing so. First of all, the black cloth was to be purchased, and a tailor, sufficiently adept for making up the new suit, was to be caught. This was a work of some time; for though there is in the West of Ireland a very general complaint of the stagnation of trade, trade itself is never so stagnant as are the tradesmen, when work, is to be done; and it is useless for a poor wight to think of getting his coat or his boots, till such time as absolute want shall have driven the artisan to look for the price of his job--unless some private and underhand influence be used, as was done in the case of Jerry Blake's new leather breeches.

This cause of delay was, however, not mentioned to Lord Ballindine; but when it was well got over, and a neighbouring parson procured to preach on the next Sunday to Mrs O'Kelly and the three policemen who attended Ballindine Church, Mrs Armstrong broke her thumb with the rolling-pin while making a beef pudding for the family dinner, and her husband's departure was again r.e.t.a.r.ded. And then, on the next Sunday, the neighbouring parson could not leave his own policemen, and the two spinsters, who usually formed his audience.

All this tormented Lord Ballindine. and he was really thinking of giving up the idea of sending Mr Armstrong altogether, when he received the following letter from his friend Dot Blake.

Limmer's Hotel. April, 1847.

Dear Frank,

One cries out, "what are you at?" the other, "what are you after?"

Every one is saying what a fool you are! Kilcullen is at Grey Abbey, with the evident intention of superseding you in possession of Miss W----, and, what is much more to his taste, as it would be to mine, of her fortune. Mr T. has written to me _from Grey Abbey_, where he has been staying: he is a good-hearted fellow, and remembers how warmly you contradicted the report that your match was broken off.

For heaven's sake, follow up your warmth of denial with some show of positive action, a little less cool than your present quiescence, or you cannot expect that any amount of love should be strong enough to prevent your affianced from resenting your conduct. I am doubly anxious; quite as anxious that Kilcullen, whom I detest, should not get young Wyndham's money, as I am that you should. He is utterly, _utterly_ smashed. If he got double the amount of f.a.n.n.y Wyndham's cash, it could not keep him above water for more than a year or so; and then she must go down with him. I am sure the old fool, his father, does not half know the amount of his son's liabilities, or he could not be heartless enough to consent to sacrifice the poor girl as she will be sacrificed, if Kilcullen gets her. I am not usually very anxious about other people's concerns; but I do feel anxious about this matter. I want to have a respectable house in the country, in which I can show my face when I grow a little older, and be allowed to sip my gla.s.s of claret, and talk about my horses, in spite of my iniquitous propensities--and I expect to be allowed to do so at Kelly's Court. But, if you let Miss Wyndham slip through your fingers, you won't have a house over your head in a few years'

time, much less a shelter to offer a friend. For G.o.d's sake, start for Grey Abbey at once. Why, man alive, the ogre can't eat you!

The whole town is in the devil of a ferment about Brien. Of course you heard the rumour, last week, of his heels being cracked? Some of the knowing boys want to get out of the trap they are in; and, despairing of bringing the horse down in the betting by fair means, got a boy out of Scott's stables to swear to the fact. I went down at once to Yorkshire, and published a letter in _Bell's Life_ last Sat.u.r.day, stating that he is all right. This you have probably seen.

You will be astonished to hear it, but I believe Lord Tattenham Corner got the report spread. For heaven's sake don't mention this, particularly not as coming from me. They say that if Brien does the trick, he will lose more than he has made these three years, and I believe he will. He is nominally at 4 to 1; but you can't get 4 to anything like a figure from a safe party.

For heaven's sake go to Grey Abbey, and at once.

Always faithfully,

W. BLAKE.

This letter naturally increased Lord Ballindine's uneasiness, and he wrote a note to Mr Armstrong, informing him that he would not trouble him to go at all, unless he could start the next day. Indeed, that he should then go himself, if Mr Armstrong did not do so.

This did not suit Mr Armstrong. He had made up his mind to go; he could not well return the twenty pounds he had received, nor did he wish to forego the advantage which might arise from the trip. So he told his wife to be very careful about her thumb, made up his mind to leave the three policemen for once without spiritual food, and wrote to Lord Ballindine to say that he would be with him the next morning, immediately after breakfast, on his road to catch the mail-coach at Ballygla.s.s.

He was as good as his word, or rather better; for he breakfasted at Kelly's Court, and induced Lord Ballindine to get into his own gig, and drive him as far as the mail-coach road.

"But you'll be four or five hours too soon," said Frank; "the coach doesn't pa.s.s Ballygla.s.s till three."

"I want to see those cattle of Rutledge's. I'll stay there, and maybe get a bit of luncheon; it's not a bad thing to be provided for the road."

"I'll tell you what, though," said Frank. "I want to go to Tuam, so you might as well get the coach there; and if there's time to spare, you can pay your respects to the bishop."

It was all the same to Mr Armstrong, and the two therefore started for Tuam together. They had not, however, got above half way down the avenue, when they saw another gig coming towards them; and, after sundry speculations as to whom it might contain, Mr Armstrong p.r.o.nounced the driver to be "that dirty gallipot, Colligan."

It was Colligan; and, as the two gigs met in the narrow road, the dirty gallipot took off his hat, and was very sorry to trouble Lord Ballindine, but had a few words to say to him on very important and pressing business.

Lord Ballindine touched his hat, and intimated that he was ready to listen, but gave no signs of getting out of his gig.

"My lord," said Colligan, "it's particularly important, and if you could, as a magistrate, spare me five minutes."

"Oh, certainly, Mr Colligan," said Frank; "that is, I'm rather hurried--I may say very much hurried just at present. But still--I suppose there's no objection to Mr Armstrong hearing what you have to say?"

"Why, my lord," said Colligan, "I don't know. Your lordship can judge yourself afterwards; but I'd rather--"

"Oh, I'll get down," said the parson. "I'll just take a walk among the trees: I suppose the doctor won't be long?"

"If you wouldn't mind getting into my buggy, and letting me into his lordship's gig, you could be following us on, Mr Armstrong," suggested Colligan.

This suggestion was complied with. The parson and the doctor changed places; and the latter, awkwardly enough, but with perfect truth, whispered his tale into Lord Ballindine's ear.

At first, Frank had been annoyed at the interruption; but, as he learned the cause of it, he gave his full attention to the matter, and only interrupted the narrator by exclamations of horror and disgust.

When Doctor Colligan had finished, Lord Ballindine insisted on repeating the whole affair to Mr Armstrong. "I could not take upon myself," said he, "to advise you what to do; much less to tell you what you should do. There is only one thing clear; you cannot let things rest as they are. Armstrong is a man of the world, and will know what to do; you cannot object to talking the matter over with him."

Colligan consented: and Armstrong, having been summoned, drove the doctor's buggy up alongside of Lord Ballindine's gig.