Sir Michael was much distressed in making up his mind finally on the subject. It was reported, however, soon after the meeting above alluded to, that he had stated to some of his more immediate friends and admirers, that "he considered it highly discreditable, he might say disgraceful, for any of the more respectable cla.s.ses to give any countenance to the illegal meetings, which he was afraid were too general through the country, and that there was too much reason to fear that the unfortunate man in prison had been guilty in doing so; but that there could be no doubt that every one was justified--he might add, only performed his bounden duty--in protecting the females of his family from injury or violence."

Now Tony McKeon was a tenant both of Sir Michael and of the Counsellor; he also held land from other landlords, but he had no connexion whatever with Mr. Brown: he was not at all the sort of tenant that Jonas liked; for though he always punctually paid his rent to the day, he usually chose to have everything his own way, and would take no land except at a fair rent and on a long lease.

Mr. Webb, however, was his chief friend and princ.i.p.al ally in the country. Sir Michael was altogether too grand for him, seeing that Tony had no idea of being a humble dependent; but Mr. Webb would occasionally come and dine with him--and often asked him in return.

Mrs. Webb too was civil to his wife and the girls--always lent them the Dublin pattern for their frills, frocks, and other frippery--and seldom drove into Drumsna without calling. The consequence was, that the Counsellor was a man after Tony's own heart. Though they were of different religions, they had, generally speaking, the same political feelings and opinions--the same philanthropical principles--and the same popular prejudices; and after a few years intimacy in each other's neighbourhood, Mr. Webb well knew where to find a powerful recruit for any service in which he might wish to enlist one.

Tony declared that if any one spoke ill of Feemy's character, he should make it personal with himself; that he was ready, willing, and moreover determined to quarrel with any one who dared to apply the opprobrious name of murderer to Thady; and he had even been heard, on one or two occasions, to stand up for Larry himself, and to declare that although he might be a little light-headed or so, he was still a deal better than those muddy-minded blackguards at Carrick who had driven him to his present state.

For a long time Feemy had been very ill, but after Christmas she had apparently got a little stronger; she would sit up in her bed-room for a few hours in the day; but still she would talk to no one. Mrs.

McKeon endeavoured more than once to lead her to the subject which she knew must be nearest her heart, thinking that if she could be got to speak of it, she would be relieved; but in vain. In vain she tried to interest her in her brother's fate--in vain she tried to make her understand that Thady's safety--that his acquittal would, in a great degree, depend on her being able to prove, at the trial, that at the time when the occurrence took place, she was herself insensible.

She shuddered violently at the idea of being again questioned, and declared with sobs that she should die if she were again dragged to that horrid place. When Mrs. McKeon asked her if she would not make a struggle to save her brother's life, she remained mute. It was evident that it was for her lover that she was still grieving, and that it was not the danger or ignominy of Thady's position that afflicted her.

Mrs. McKeon, however, conceived it to be her duty to persevere with her--and, at last, told her how wrong it was of her to give way to a grief, which was in its first stage respected. Feemy answered her only with tears; and on the next morning told her that she had determined to return to Ballycloran, as she thought she would be better there, at home with her father.

To this, however, Mrs. McKeon would not consent, and Feemy was told that the doctor had forbidden her to be moved. She was, therefore, obliged to remain satisfied for the present, as she had no means of escaping from Drumsna; but she soon became more sullen than ever--and, at last, almost refused to speak to any one.

Things went on in this way till about the middle of March. Feemy constantly requested to be allowed to go home, which request was as constantly refused; when different circ.u.mstances acting together gave rise to a dreadful suspicion in Mrs. McKeon's mind. She began to fear that Ussher, before his death, had accomplished the poor girl's ruin, and that she was now in the family way. For some few days she was determined to reject the idea, and endeavoured to make herself believe that she was mistaken; but the more close her observations were, the more certain she became that her suspicions were well founded. She was much distressed as to what she should do. Her first and most natural feelings were those of anger against Feemy, and of dismay at the situation into which her own and her husband's good nature had brought herself and her daughters; and she made up her mind that Feemy should at once have her wish and return to Ballycloran. But then, she might be mistaken--or even, if it were too true--how could she turn the poor girl, weak, ill, and miserable, out of her house, and send her to an empty unprovided barrack, inhabited by an infirm, idiotical old man, where she could receive none of that attention which her situation so much required?

She communicated her suspicions to the doctor, and after a few days'

observations, he told her that there was too much reason to fear that the case was as she supposed. He, however, strongly advised her to speak to Miss Macdermot herself on the subject. This she did, at last, most tenderly, and with the greatest gentleness--but still imploring Feemy to tell her the truth. Feemy, at first, could not speak in reply; she threw herself on her bed sobbing most violently, and fell from one fit into another, till Mrs. McKeon was afraid that she would choke herself with the violence of her emotion. At last, however, she declared that the accusation brought against her was untrue--protested on her most solemn word and honour that it was not the case--and ended by saying how thankful she was to Mrs. McKeon for her kindness and protection, but that she must now beg her to allow her to return to Ballycloran.

Feemy's denial of the charge against her was so firm, and so positively made, that it very much shook her friend's suspicions.

When Feemy begged to be sent home, she told her not to agitate herself at present--that they would all see how she was in a day or two--and then speaking a few kind words to her, left her to herself.

CHAPTER XXVI.

THE DUEL.

Mr. Jonas Brown was in a towering pa.s.sion, when he left the meeting at which he had listened to, but had not ventured to answer, Counsellor Webb's remarks respecting Thady Macdermot and the supposed intimacy between Ussher and the inmates of Brown Hall. He had so openly expressed his wish that the young man might be capitally punished--and this joined to the fact that Ussher had not been as intimate at any other house as he had been at Brown Hall, could leave no doubt on the mind of any one who had been present, that Webb's allusion had been intended for him. His first impulse was to challenge his foe at once; but his ardour on that point soon cooled a little, and he came to the conclusion of sleeping on the matter, or, at any rate, of drinking a bottle or two of wine over it with his sons.

As soon as the servant had withdrawn after dinner he began his grievance.

"By G----d, Fred, that ruffian Webb is pa.s.sing all bounds. He's not only forgotten the opinions and notions of a gentleman, but he has lain down the manners of one too."

"Why, what has he done now? With all his queer ideas, Webb can be a gentleman if he pleases," said Fred.

"I must say," said George, "the Counsellor is a good fellow on the course. I don't care how seldom I see him anywhere else."

"I don't know what you may call being a good fellow or a gentleman,"

replied the father; "but I know he has insulted me publicly, and that in the most gross way, and before half the country. I don't know whether that's your idea of acting like a gentleman or a good fellow."

"It's what many a gentleman and many a good fellow has done before him," said George; "but if he has insulted you, of course he must apologize--or do the other thing."

"What--let it alone?" rejoined Fred.

"No; fight--and that's what he's a deal the most likely to do," said George.

"Be d----d," said old Brown, "but I think both of you seem glad to hear that your father has been insulted! you've neither of you a grain of proper feeling."

"It's with a grain or two of gunpowder, I'd take it," said George, "and I'd advise you, father, to do the same; a precious deal better thing than good feeling to settle an insult with."

"But you've not told us what it's all about?" said Fred; "what was the quarrel about?"

"Quarrel! there was no quarrel at all in the matter--I couldn't quarrel with him for I wouldn't speak to him. It was about that infernal friend of yours, Fred, that Ussher; I wish he'd never darkened this door."

"Poor devil!" answered Fred; "there's no use abusing him now he's dead. I suppose the row wasn't his fault."

"It was about him though, and the low blackguard that murdered him.

Webb was talking about him, making a speech in the public-room, taking the fellow's part, as I'm told he's always doing, and going on with all the clap-trap story about protecting his sister;--as if every one in the country didn't know that she'd been Ussher's mistress for months back. Well, that was all nothing to me--only he'll be rightly served when he finds every man on his estate has become a ribbonman, and every other tenant ready to turn murderer.

But this wasn't enough for him, but at the end of the whole he must declare--I forget what it was he said--but something about Ussher's intimacy here--that it was a shameful thing of me to be wishing on that account that this Macdermot should be hanged, as he deserves."

"Did he actually mention Brown Hall?" asked Fred.

"No; but he put it so that there could be no mistake about it; he said he didn't envy my state of mind."

"Well, tell him you don't envy his. I don't think you could call him out for that," said George.

"By heavens you're enough to provoke a saint!" continued the father.

"Can't you believe me, when I tell you, he made as direct a cut at Brown Hall as he could, because I can't repeat all his words like a newspaper? By G----d the pluck's gone out of the country entirely! if as much had been said to my father, when I was your age, I'd have had the fellow who said it out, if he'd been the best shot in Connaught."

"Don't say another word, father," said George, "if that's what you're after. I thought, may be, you'd like the fun yourself, or I'd have offered. I'd call him out with a heart and a half; there's nothing I'd like better. May be I'd be able to make up a match between Diamond and the Counsellor's brown mare, when it's done. He'd be a little soft, would Webb, after such a job as that, and wouldn't stand for a few pounds difference."

"That's nonsense, George," said the father, a little mollified by the son's dutiful offer. "I don't want any one to take the thing off my hands. I don't want to be shelved that way--but I wish you to see the matter in the right light. I tell you the man was cursedly insolent, Fred; in fact, he said what I don't mean to put up with; and the question is, what had I better do?"

"He didn't say anything, did he," asked Fred, "with your name, or Brown Hall in it?"

"No, he didn't name them exactly."

"Then I don't think you can call for an apology; write him a civil note, and beg him to say that he intended no allusion to you or your family in what he said."

"Fred's right for once," said George, "that's all you can do as the matter stands now. If he won't say that, call him out and have done with it."

"I've no wish to be fighting," said the father; "in fact, at my time of life I'd rather not. I was ready enough once, but I'd sooner settle it quietly."

"Why, there's no contenting you," answered Fred; "just now nothing but pistols and coffee would do for you; and then you were in a pa.s.sion because one of us wouldn't take a challenge for you at once, without knowing anything about it; and now you're just the other way; if you don't like the business, there's George will take it off your hands, he says."

After a considerable quant.i.ty of squabbling among this family party it was at last decided that a civil note should be sent to Ardrum, in which Mr. Webb should be desired to state that he had made no allusion to Brown Hall; accordingly a servant on horseback was dispatched on the Monday morning with the following missive:--

Brown Hall, Sunday Evening.

Mr. Brown presents his compliments to Mr. Webb, and begs to inform him that certain expressions which fell from him at the meeting at Carrick on Sat.u.r.day respecting the murder of Captain Ussher, have been thought by many to have had reference to the family at Brown Hall. Mr. Brown feels himself a.s.sured that Mr. Webb would not so far forget himself, as to make any such allusion in public to a neighbouring gentleman and magistrate; but as Mr.

Webb's words were certainly singular in their reference to Captain Ussher's intimacy with some family in the neighbourhood, and as many conceive that they were directly pointed at Brown Hall, Mr. Brown must beg Mr.

Webb to give him his direct a.s.surance in writing that nothing which fell from him was intended to apply either to Mr. Brown or his family.