"A piece of brute gold, presented with twelve female slaves by the chiefs of Doolawochyeekeka on B. D.'s a.s.suming the sovereignty of the island."

"Brute gold," said Mr. Dempsey; "devilish little of the real thing about it, I'll be sworn! I suppose the ladies were about equally refined and valuable."

"Glove dropped by the Infanta Donna Isidore within the arena at Madrid, a few moments after Ruy Peres da Castres was gored to death."

A prolonged low whistle from Mr. Dempsey was the only comment he made on this inscription; while he stooped to examine the fragment of a bull's horn, from which a rag of scarlet cloth was hanging. The inscription ran, "Portion of horn broken as the bull fell against the barrier of the circus. The cloth was part of Da Castres' vest."

A ma.s.sive antique helmet, of immense size and weight, lay on the floor beside this. It was labelled, "Casque of Rudolf v. Hapsbourg, presented to B. D. after the tilt at Regensburg by Edric Conrad Wilhelm Kur Furst von Bavera, a.d. 1750."

A splendid goblet of silver gilt, beautifully chased and ornamented, was inscribed on the metal as being the gift of the Doge of Venice to his friend Bagenal Daly; and underneath was written on a card, "This cup was drained to the bottom at a draught by B. D. after a long and deep carouse, the liquor strong 'Vino di Cypro.' The Doge tried it and failed; the mark within shows how far he drank."

"By Jove! what a pull!" exclaimed Dempsey, who, as he peered into the capacious vessel, looked as if he would not object to try his own prowess at the feat.

Wonderment at this last achievement seemed completely to have taken possession of Mr. Dempsey; for while his eyes ranged over weapons of every strange form and shape,--armor, idols, stuffed beasts and birds,--they invariably came back to the huge goblet with an admiring wonder that showed that here at least there was an exploit whose merits he could thoroughly appreciate.

"A half-gallon can is nothing to it!" muttered he, as he replaced it on its bracket.

The reflection was scarcely uttered, when the quick tramp of a horse and the sound of wheels without startled him. He hastened to the window just in time to perceive a jaunting-car drive up to the wicket, from which three men descended. Two were common-looking fellows in dark upper coats and glazed hats; the third, better dressed, and with a half-gentlemanlike air, seemed the superior. He threw off a loose travelling-coat, and discovered, to Mr. Dempsey's horror, the features of his late patient at Larne, the sheriff's officer from Dublin. Yes, there was no doubt about it. That smart, conceited look, the sharp and turned-up nose, the scrubby whisker, proclaimed him as the terrible Anthony Nickie, of Jervas Street, a name which Mr. Dempsey had read on his portmanteau before guessing how its owner was concerned in his own interests.

What a mult.i.tude of terrors jostled each other in his mind as the men approached the door, and what resolves did he form and abandon in the same moment! To escape by the rear of the house while the enemy was a.s.sailing the front, to barricade the premises and stand a siege, to arm himself--and there was a choice of weapons--and give battle, were all rapid impulses no sooner conceived than given up. A loud summons of the door-bell announced his presence; and ere the sounds died away, Tate's creaking footstep and winter cough resounded along the corridor. Mr.

Dempsey threw a last despairing glance around, and the thought flashed across him, how happily would he exchange his existence with any of the grim images and uncouth shapes that grinned and glared on every side, ay, even with that saw-mouthed crocodile that surmounted the chimney!

Quick as his eye traversed the chamber, he fancied that the savage animals were actually enjoying his misery, and Sandy's counterpart appeared to show a diabolical glee at his wretched predicament. It was at this instant he caught sight of the loose folds of the Indian blanket, which enveloped Bagenal Daly's image. The danger was too pressing for hesitation; he stepped into the canoe, and cowering down under the warlike figure, awaited his destiny. Scarcely had the drapery closed around him when Tate admitted the new arrival.

"'The Corvy? '" said Mr. Nickie to the old butler, who with decorous ceremony bowed low before him. "'The Corvy,' ain't it?"

"Yes, sir," replied Tate.

"All right, Mac," resumed Nickie, turning to the elder of his two followers, who had closely dogged him to the door. "Bring that carpet-bag and the small box off the car, and tell the fellow he 'll have time to feed his horse at that cabin on the road-side."

He added something in a whisper, too low for Tate to hear, and then, taking the carpet-bag, he flung it carelessly in a corner, while he walked forward and deposited the box on the table before the fire.

"His honor is coming to dine, maybe?" asked Tate, respectfully; for old habit of his master's hospitality had made the question almost a matter of course, while age had so dimmed his eyesight that even Anthony Nickie pa.s.sed with him for a gentleman.

"Coming to dine," repeated Nickie, with a coa.r.s.e laugh; "that's a bargain there 's always two words to, my old boy. I suppose you 've heard it is manners to wait to be asked, eh?--without," added he, after a second's pause,--"without I 'm to take this as an invitation."

"I believe your honor might, then," said Tate, with a smile. "'Tis many a one I kept again the family came home for dinner, and sorrow word of it they knew till they seen them dressed in the drawing-room! And the dinner-table!" said Tate, with a sigh, half in regret over the past, half preparing himself with a sufficiency of breath for a lengthened oration,-"the dinner-table! it's wishing it I am still! After laying for ten, or maybe twelve, his honor would come in and say, 'Tate, we 'll be rather crowded here, for here 's Sir Gore Molony and his family. You 'll have to make room for five more.' Then Miss Helen would come springing in with, 'Tate, I forgot to say Colonel Martin and his officers are to be here at dinner.' After that it would be my lady herself, in her own quiet way, 'Mr. Sullivan,'-she nearly always called me that,--'could n't you contrive a little s.p.a.ce here for Lady Burke and Miss MacDonnel? But the captain beat all, for he 'd come in after the soup was removed, with five or six gentlemen from the hunt, splashed and wet up to their necks; over he 'd go to the side-table, where I 'd have my knives and forks, all beautiful, and may I never but he 'd fling some here, others there, till he 'd clear a s.p.a.ce away, and then he'd cry, 'Tate, bring back the soup, and set some sherry here.' Maybe that wasn't the table for noise, drinking wine with every one at the big table, and telling such wonderful stories that the servants did n't know what they were doing, listening to them. And the master--the heavens be about him!--sending me over to get the names of the gentlemen, that he might ask them to take wine with him. Oh, dear--oh, dear, I 'm sure I used to think my heart was broke with it; but sure it's nigher breaking now that it's all past and over."

"You seem to have had very jolly times of it in those days," said Nickie.

"Faix, your honor might say so if you saw forty-eight sitting down to dinner every day in the parlor for seven weeks running; and Master Lionel--the captain that is--at the head of another table in the library, with twelve or fourteen more,--nice youths they wor!"

While Tate continued his retrospections, Mr. Nickie had unlocked his box, and cursorily throwing a glance over some papers, he muttered to himself a few words, and then added aloud,--"Now for business."

CHAPTER XVII. MR. ANTHONY NICKIE, ATTORNEY-AT-LAW.

We have said that Mr. Dempsey had barely time to conceal himself when the door was opened,--so narrow indeed was his escape, that had the new arrival been a second sooner, discovery would have been inevitable; as it was, the pictorial Daly and Sandy rocked violently to and fro, making their natural ferocity and grimness something even more terrible than usual. Mr. Nickie remarked nothing of this. His first care was to divest himself of certain travelling enc.u.mbrances, like one who proposes to make a visit of some duration, and then, casting a searching look around the premises, he proceeded,--

"Now for Mr. Darcy--"

"If ye 'r maning the Knight of Gwynne, sir, his honor--"

"Well, is his honor at home?" said the other, interrupting with a saucy laugh.

"No, sir," said Tate, almost overpowered at the irreverence of his questioner.

"When do you expect him, then,--in an hour or two hours?"

"He 's in England," said Tate, drawing a long breath.

"In England! What do you mean, old fellow? He has surely not left this lately?"

"Yes, sir, 'twas the King sent for him, I heerd the mistress say."

A burst of downright laughter from the stranger stopped poor Tate's explanation.

"Why, it's _you_ his Majesty ought to have invited," cried Mr. Nickie, wiping his eyes, "_you yourself_, man; devilish fit company for each other you 'd be."

Poor Tate had not the slightest idea of the grounds on which the stranger suggested his companionship for royalty, but he was not the less insulted at the disparagement of his master thus implied.

"'T is little I know about kings or queens," growled out the old man, "but they must be made of better clay than ever I seen yet, or they 're not too good company for the Knight of Gwynne."

After a stare for some seconds, half surprise, half insolence, Nickie said, "You can tell me, perhaps, if this cottage is called 'The Corvy'?"

"Ay, that's the name of it."

"The property of one Bagenal Daly, Esquire, isn't it?"

Tate nodded an a.s.sent.

"Maybe he is in England too," continued Nickie. "Perhaps it was the Queen sent for him,--he 's a handsome man, I suppose?"

"Faix, you can judge for yourself," said Tate, "for there he is, looking at you this minute."

Nickie turned about hastily, while a terrible fear shot through him that his remarks might have been heard by the individual himself; for, though a stranger to Daly personally, he was not so to his reputation for hare-brained daring and rashness, nor was it till he had stared at the wooden representative for some seconds that he could dispel his dread of the original.

"Is that like him?" asked he, affecting a sneer.

"As like as two pays," said Tate, "barring about the eyes; Mr. Daly's is brighter and more wild-looking. The Blessed Joseph be near us!"

exclaimed the old man, crossing himself devoutly, "one would think the crayture knew what we were saying. Sorra lie in 't, there 's neither luck nor grace in talking about you!"

This last sentiment, uttered in a faint voice, was called forth by an involuntary shuddering of poor Mr. Dempsey, who, feeling that the whole scrutiny of the party was directed towards his hiding-place, trembled so violently that the plumes nodded, and the bone necklace jingled with the motion.

While Mr. Nickie attributed these signs to the wind, he at the same time conceived a very low estimate of poor Tate's understanding,--an impression not altogether un-warranted by the sidelong and stealthy looks which he threw at the canoe and its occupants.

"You seem rather afraid of Mr. Daly," said he, with a sneering laugh.