"Then I 'll be that man!" said Repton, with a mock solemnity, and imitating the tone and manner of a judge delivering sentence. "You 'll go from this place to the Lodge, where you 'll be fed 'to the neck,'

feasted and flattered, and all your good resolves and high purposes will be cut down, and your n.o.ble indignation buried within the precincts of your own hearts!"

And, so saying, he arose from the table and extended his hand to take leave, with all the gravity of a solemn farewell.

"If you could say a word to his Excellency about Moses," muttered Crow, as he was leaving the room, "it would be the making of me!" But Martin never heeded the appeal; perhaps he never heard it.

CHAPTER XXVII. DARKENING FORTUNES

The Martins had always lived a life of haughty estrangement from their neighbors; there were none of exactly their own rank and pretensions within miles of them, and they were too proud to acknowledge the acquaintance of a small squirearchy, which was all that the country around could boast. Notwithstanding all the isolation of their existence, their departure created a great void in the county, and their absence was sensibly felt by every cla.s.s around. The very requirements of a large fortune suggest a species of life and vitality. The movement of servants, the pa.s.sing and repa.s.sing of carriages, the necessary intercourse with market and post,--all impart a degree of bustle and movement, terribly contrasted by the unbroken stillness of a deserted mansion.

Lady Dorothea had determined that there should be no ambiguity as to the cause of their departure; she had given the most positive orders on this head to every department of the household. To teach an ungrateful people the sore consequences of their own ingrat.i.tude, the lesson should be read in everything: in the little villages thrown out of work, in the silent quarries, the closed schoolhouses, the model farm converted into gra.s.s-land, even to the grand entrance, now built up by a wall of coa.r.s.e masonry, the haughty displeasure of the proud mistress revealed itself, all proclaiming the sentiment of a deep, unforgiving vengeance. She had tortured her ingenuity for details which should indicate her anger; nor was she satisfied if her displeasure should not find its way into every cabin and at every hearth. The small hamlet of Cro' Martin had possessed a dispensary. A hard-working, patient, and skilful man had pa.s.sed many years of life there as the doctor, eking out the poor subsistence of that unfavored lot, and supporting a family by a life of dreary toil.

From this her Ladyship's subscription--the half of all his salary--was now to be withdrawn. She thought "Cloves was grown negligent; it might be age,--if so, a younger man would be better; besides, if he could afford to dress his three daughters in the manner he did, he surely could not require her thirty pounds per annum." The servants, too, complained that he constantly mistook their complaints. In fact, judgment was recorded against Cloves, and there was none to recommend him to mercy!

We have said that there was a little chapel within the bounds of the demesne; it occupied a corner of a ruin which once had formed Cro'

Martin Abbey, and now served for the village church. It was very small, but still large enough for its little congregation. The vicar of this humble benefice was a very old man, a widower, and childless, though once the father of a numerous family. Dr. Leslie had, some eighteen years back, been unfortunate enough to incur her Ladyship's displeasure, and was consequently never invited to the castle, nor recognized in any way, save by the haughty salute that met him as he left the church. To save him, however, a long and tedious walk on Sundays, he was permitted to make use of a little private path to the church, which led through one of the shrubberies adjoining his own house,--a concession of the more consequence as he was too poor to keep a carriage of the humblest kind. This was now ordered to be closed up, the gate removed, and a wall to replace it. "The poor had got the habit of coming that way; it was never intended for their use, but they had usurped it. To-morrow or next day we should hear of its being claimed at law as a public right of pa.s.sage. It was better to do the thing in time. In short, it must be 'closed.'" By some such reasoning as this Lady Dorothea persuaded herself to this course; and who should gainsay her? Oh, if men would employ but one tenth of all that casuistry by which they minister to their selfishness, in acts of benevolence and good feeling,--if they would only use a little sophistry, to induce them to do right,--what a world this might be!

Mary Martin knew nothing of these decisions; overwhelmed by the vast changes on every side, almost crushed beneath the difficulties that surrounded her, her first few weeks pa.s.sed over like a disturbed dream.

Groups of idle, unemployed people saluted her in mournful silence as she pa.s.sed the roads. Interrupted works, half-executed plans met her eye at every turn, and at every moment the same words rang in her ears--"Her Ladyship's orders"--as the explanation of all.

Hitherto her life had been one of unceasing exertion and toil; from early dawn to late night she had been employed; her fatigues, however, great as they were, had been always allied with power. What she willed she could execute. Means never failed her, no matter how costly the experiment, to carry out her plans, and difficulty gave only zest to every undertaking. There is nothing more captivating than this sense of uncontrolled ability for action, especially when exercised by one of a warm and enthusiastic nature. To feel herself the life and spring of every enterprise, to know that she suggested and carried out each plan, that her ingenuity devised, and her energy accomplished all the changes around her, was in itself a great fascination; and now suddenly she was to awake from all this, and find herself unoccupied and powerless.

Willingly, without a regret, could she abdicate from all the pomp and splendor of a great household; she saw troops of servants depart, equipage sold, great apartments closed up without a pang! To come down to the small conditions of narrow fortune in her daily life cost her nothing, beyond a smile. It was odd, it was strange; but it was no more!

Far otherwise, however, did she feel the circ.u.mstances of her impaired power. That hundreds of workmen were no longer at her bidding, that whole families no longer looked up to her for aid and comfort,--these were astounding facts, and came upon her with an actual shock.

"For what am I left here?" cried she, pa.s.sionately, to Henderson, as he met each suggestion she made by the one cold word, "Impossible." "Is it to see dest.i.tution that I cannot relieve,--witness want that I am powerless to alleviate? To what end or with what object do I remain?"

"I canna say, miss," was the dry response.

"If it be to humiliate me by the spectacle of my own inefficiency, a day or a week will suffice for that; years could not teach me more."

Henderson bowed what possibly might mean an acquiescence.

"I don't speak of the estate," cried she, earnestly; "but what 's to become of the people?"

"Many o' them will emigrate, miss, I've no doubt," said he, "when they see there 's nothing to bide for."

"You take it easily, sir. You see little hardships in men having to leave home and country; but I tell you that home may be poor and country cruel, and yet both very hard to part with."

"That 's vara true, miss," was the dry response.

"For anything there is now to be done here, you, sir, are to the full as competent as I am. I ask again, To what end am I here?"

Giving to her question a very different significance from what she intended, Henderson calmly said, "I thought, miss, it was just yer ain wish, and for no other reason."

Mary's cheek became crimson, and her eyes flashed with angry indignation; but repressing the pa.s.sion that was bursting within her, she walked hastily up and down the room in silence. At length, opening a large colored map of the estate which lay on the table, she stood attentively considering it for some time. "The works at Carrigulone are stopped?" said she, hastily.

"Yes, miss."

"And the planting at Kyle's Wood?"

"Yes, miss."

"And even the thinning there,--is that stopped?"

"Yes, miss; the bark is to be sold, and a' the produce of the wood for ten years, to a contractor, a certain Mister--"

"I don't want his name, sir. What of the marble quarries?"

"My Lady thinks they're nae worth a' they cost, and won't hear o' their being worked again."

"And is the harbor at Kilkieran to be given up?"

"Yes, miss, and the Osprey's Nest will be let. I think they 'll mak' an inn or a public o' it."

"And if the harbor is abandoned, what is to become of the fishermen? The old quay is useless."

"Vara true, miss; but there's a company goin' to take the royalties o'

the coast the whole way to Belmullet."

"A Scotch company, Mr. Henderson?" said Mary, with a sly malice in her look.

"Yes, miss," said he, coloring slightly. "The house of M'Grotty and Co.

is at the head o' it."

"And are they the same enterprising people who have proposed to take the demesne on lease, provided the gardens be measured in as arable land?"

"They are, miss; they've signed the rough draught o' the lease this morning."

"Indeed!" cried she, growing suddenly pale as death. "Are there any other changes you can mention to me, since in the few days I have been ill so much has occurred?"

"There 's nae muckle more to speak o', miss. James M'Grotty--he's the younger brother--was here yesterday to try and see you about the school.

He wants the house for his steward; but if you object, he 'll just take the doctor's."

"Why--where is Dr. Cloves to go?"

"He does na ken exactly, miss. He thinks he 'll try Auckland, or some of these new places in New Zealand."

"But the dispensary must be continued; the people cannot be left without medical advice."

"Mr. James says he 'll think aboot it when he comes over in summer. He's a vara spirited young man, and when there's a meetin'-house built in the village--"

"Enough of this, Henderson. Come over here tomorrow, for I 'm not strong enough to hear more to-day, and let Mr. Scanlan know that I wish to see him this evening."

And Mary motioned with her hand that he should withdraw. Scarcely was the door closed behind him than she burst into a torrent of tears; her long pent-up agony utterly overpowered her, and she cried with all the vehemence of a child's grief. Her heart once opened to sorrow, by a hundred channels came tributaries to her affliction. Up to that moment her uncle's departure had never seemed a cruelty; now it took all the form of desertion. The bitterness of her forlorn condition had never struck her till it came a.s.sociated with all the sorrows of others. It is not impossible that wounded self-love entered into her feelings. It is by no means unlikely that the sense of her own impaired importance added poignancy to her misery. Who shall anatomize motives, or who shall be skilful enough to trace the springs of one human emotion? There was a.s.suredly enough outside of and above all personal consideration to enn.o.ble her grief and dignify her affliction.

Her first impulses led her to regard herself as utterly useless; her occupation gone, and her whole career of duty annihilated. A second and a better resolve whispered to her that she was more than ever needful to those who without her would be left without a friend. "If I desert them, who is to remain?" asked she. "It is true I am no more able to set in motion the schemes by which their indigence was alleviated. I am powerless, but not all worthless. I can still be their nurse, their comforter, their schoolmistress. My very example may teach them how altered fortune can be borne with fort.i.tude and patience. They shall see me reduced to a thousand privations, and perhaps even this may bear its lesson." Drying her tears, she began to feel within her some of the courage she hoped to inspire in others; and anxious not to let old Catty detect the trace of sorrow in her features, issued forth into the wood for a walk.