"Tony!" cried Alice, in a low voice, full of deep feeling and sorrow,--"Tony!"

"Good-bye, Alice; I 'm sorry to have detained you, but I thought--I don't know what I thought. Remember me to Bella,--good-bye!" He turned away; then suddenly, as if remembering himself, wheeled round and said, "Good-morning, sir," with a short quick nod of his head. The moment after he had sprung over the low wall at the roadside, and was soon lost to view in the tall ferns.

"How changed he is! I declare I can scarcely recognize him," said Mrs.

Trafford, as they resumed their journey. "He used to be the gentlest, easiest, and softest of all natures,--never put out, never crossed by anything."

"And so I 've no doubt you 'd have found him to-day if I had not been here."

"What do you mean?"

"Surely you remarked the sudden change that came over his face when he saw me. He thought you were alone. At all events, he never speculated on finding me at your side."

"Indeed!" said she, with an air of half-offended pride; "and are you reputed to be such a very dangerous person that to drive out with you should inspire all this terror?"

"I don't believe I am," said Maitland, laughing; "but perhaps your rustic friend might be pardoned if he thought so."

"How very subtle that is! Even in your humility you contrive to shoot a bolt at poor Tony."

"And why poor? Is he poor who is so rich in defenders? Is it a sign of poverty when a man can afford to dispense with all the restraints that attach to others, and say and do what he likes, with the certainty that it will all be submitted to? I call that wealth unbounded,--at least, it is the one prize that money confers; and if one can have it without the dross, I 'd say, Give me the privilege and keep the t.i.tle-deeds."

"Mr. Maitland," said she, gravely, "Tony Butler is not in the least like what you would represent him. In my life I never knew any one so full of consideration for others."

"Go on," said he, laughing. "It's only another goldmine of his you are displaying before me. Has he any other gifts or graces?"

"He has a store of good qualities, Mr. Maitland; they are not, perhaps, very showy ones."

"Like those of some other of our acquaintance," added he, as if finishing her speech for her. "My dear Mrs. Trafford, I would not disparage your early friend--your once playfellow--for the world.

Indeed, I feel, if life could be like a half-holiday from school, he 'd be an admirable companion to pa.s.s it with; the misfortune is that these men must take their places in the common tournament with the rest of us, and then they are not so certain of making a distinguished figure as when seen in the old playground with bat and ball and wicket."

"You mean that such a man as Tony Butler will not be likely to make a great career in life?"

His reply was a shrug of the shoulders.

"And why not, pray?" asked she, defiantly.

"What if you were to ask Mark this question? Let him give you his impressions on this theme."

"I see what it is," cried she, warmly. "You two fine gentlemen have conspired against this poor simple boy,--for really, in all dealings with the world, he is a boy; and you would like us to believe that if we saw him under other circ.u.mstances and with other surroundings, we should be actually ashamed of him. Now, Mr. Maitland, I resent this supposition at once, and I tell you frankly I am very proud of his friendship."

"You are pushing me to the verge of a great indiscretion; in fact, you have made it impossible for me to avoid it," said he, seriously. "I must now trust you with a secret, or what I meant to be one. Here it is.

Of course, what I am about to tell you is strictly to go no further,--never, never to be divulged. It is partly on this young man's account--chiefly so--that I am in Ireland. A friend of mine--that same Caffarelli of whom you heard--was commissioned by a very eccentric old Englishman who lives abroad, to learn if he could hear some tidings of this young Butler,--what sort of person he was, how brought up, how educated, how disciplined. The inquiry came from the desire of a person very able indeed to befriend him materially. The old man I speak of is the elder brother of Butler's father; very rich and very influential.

This old man, I suppose, repenting of some harshness or other to his brother in former days, wants to see Tony,--wants to judge of him for himself,--wants, in fact, without disclosing the relationship between them, to p.r.o.nounce whether this young fellow is one to whom he could rightfully bequeath a considerable fortune, and place before the world as the head of an honored house; but he wants to do this without exciting hopes or expectations, or risking, perhaps, disappointments.

Now, I know very well by repute something of this eccentric old man, whose long life in the diplomatic service has made him fifty times more lenient to a moral delinquency than to a solecism in manners, and who could forgive the one and never the other. If he were to see your diamond in the rough, he 'd never contemplate the task of polishing,--he 'd simply say, 'This is not what I looked for; I don't want a gamekeeper, or a boatman, or a horse-breaker.'"

"Oh, Mr. Maitland!"

"Hear me out. I am representing, and very faithfully representing, another; he 'd say this more strongly too than I have, and he 'd leave him there. Now, I 'm not very certain that he 'd be wrong; permit me to finish. I mean to say that in all that regards what the old Minister-plenipotentiary acknowledges to be life, Master Tony would not shine. The solid qualities you dwelt on so favorably are like rough carvings; they are not meant for gilding. Now, seeing the deep interest you and all your family take in this youth, and feeling as I do a sincere regard for the old lady his mother, in whose society I have pa.s.sed two or three delightful mornings, I conceived a sort of project which might possibly give the young fellow a good chance of success. I thought of taking him abroad,--on the Continent,--showing him something of life and the world in a sphere in which he had not yet seen it; letting him see for himself the value men set upon tact and address, and making him feel that these are the common coinage daily intercourse requires, while higher qualities are t.i.tle-deeds that the world only calls for on emergencies."

"But you could never have persuaded him to such a position of dependence."

"I'd have called him my private secretary; I'd have treated him as my equal."

"It was very generous; it was n.o.bly generous."

"When I thought I had made him presentable anywhere,--and it would not take long to do so--I'd have contrived to bring him under his uncle's notice,--as a stranger, of course: if the effect were favorable, well and good; if it proved a failure, there was neither disappointment nor chagrin. Mrs. Butler gave me a half a.s.sent, and I was on the good road with her son till this morning, when that unlucky meeting has, I suspect, spoiled everything."

"But why should it?"

"Why should anything happen as men's pa.s.sions or impulses decide it? Why should one man be jealous of the good fortune that another man has not won?"

She turned away her bead and was silent.

"I 'd not have told you one word of this, Mrs. Trafford, if I had not been so sore pressed that I could n't afford to let you, while defending your friend, accuse me of want of generosity and unfairness. Let me own it frankly,--I was piqued by all your praises of this young man; they sounded so like insidious criticisms on others less fortunate in your favor."

"As if the great Mr. Maitland could care for any judgments of mine!"

said she; and there was in her voice and manner a strange blending of levity and seriousness.

"They are the judgments that he cares most for in all the world," said he, eagerly. "To have heard from your lips one half the praise, one tenth part of the interest you so lately bestowed on that young man--"

"Where are we going, George? What river is this?" exclaimed she, suddenly.

"To Tilney Park, ma'am; this is the Larne."

"But it's the upper road, and I told you to take the lower road, by Captain Graham's."

"No, ma'am; you only said Tilney."

"Is it possible? and did n't you tell him, Mr. Maitland?"

"I? I knew nothing of the road. To tell you the truth," added he, in a whisper, "I cared very little where it led, so long as I sat at your side."

"Very flattering, indeed! Have we pa.s.sed the turn to the lower road very far, George?"

"Yes, ma'am; it's a good five miles behind us, and a bad bit of road too,--all fresh stones."

"And you were so anxious to call at the cottage?" said she, addressing Maitland, with a smile of some significance.

"Nothing of the kind. I made some sort of silly promise to make a visit as I pa.s.sed. I 'm sure I don't know why, or to gratify whom."

"Oh, cruel Mr. Maitland, false Mr. Maitland I how can you say this?

But are we to go back?--that is the question; for I see George is very impatient, and trying to make the horses the same."

"Of course not. Go back! it was all the coachman's fault,--took the wrong turning, and never discovered his blunder till we were--I don't know where."

"Tilney, George,--go on," said she; then turning to Maitland, "and do you imagine that the charming Sally Graham or the fascinating Rebecca will understand such flimsy excuses as these, or that the st.u.r.dy old Commodore will put up with them?"

"I hope so, for their sakes at least; for it will save them a world of trouble to do so."

"Ungrateful as well as perfidious! You were a great favorite with the Grahams. Beck told me, the night before they left the Abbey, that you were the only _elegant_--exquisite she called it--she ever met that was n't a fool."