The Knight Of Gwynne, Vol. 2

“There ‘s a short cut down by Port-na-happle mill, they tell me, ma’am,” said Dempsey, who now found a much more complaisant listener than at first; “but, to tell you the truth, I don’t think it would suit you or me; there are stone walls to climb over and ditches to cross. Miss Helen, there, might get over them, she has a kind of a thoroughbred stride of her own, but fencing destroys me outright.”

“It was a very great politeness to think of bringing us the letter, and I trust your fatigues will not be injurious to you,” said Lady Eleanor, smiling faintly.

“Worse than the damage to a pair of very old shoes, ma’am, I don’t anticipate; I begin to suspect they’ve taken their last walk this evening.”

While Mr. Dempsey contemplated the coverings of his feet with a very sad expression, the Knight continued to read the letter he held in his hand with an air of extreme intentness.

“Eleanor, my dear,” said he, as he retired into the deep recess of a window, “come here for a moment.”

“I guessed there would be something of consequence in that,” said Dempsey, with a sly glance from Helen to the two figures beside the window. “The envelope was a thin one, and I read ‘War Office’ in the corner of the inside cover.”

Not heeding the delicacy of this announcement, but only thinking of the fact, which she at once connected with Lionel’s fortunes, Helen turned an anxious and searching glance towards the window; but the Knight and Lady Eleanor had entered a small room adjoining, and were already concealed from view.

“Was he ever in the militia, miss?” asked Dempsey, with a gesture of his thumb to indicate of whom he spoke.

“I believe not,” said Helen, smiling at the pertinacity of his curiosity.

“Well, well,” resumed Dempsey, with a sigh, “I would not wish him a hotter march than I had this day, and little notion I had of the same tramp only ten minutes before. I was reading the ‘Saunders’ of Tuesday last, with an account of that business done at Mayo between O’Halloran and the young officer-you know what I mean?”

“No, I have not heard it; pray tell me,” said she, with an eagerness very different from her former manner.

“It was a horsewhipping, miss, that a young fellow in the Guards gave O’Halloran, just as he was coming out of court; something the Counsellor said about somebody in the trial, – names never stay in my head, but I remember it was a great trial at the Westport assizes, and that O’Halloran came down special, and faith, so did the young captain too; and if the lawyer laid it on very heavily within the court, the red-coat made up for it outside. But I believe I have the paper in my pocket, and, if you like, I’ll read it out for you.”

“Pray do,” said Helen, whose anxiety was now intense.

“Well, here goes,” said Mr. Dempsey; “but with your permission I ‘ll just wet my lips again. That ‘s elegant sherry!”

Having sipped and tasted often enough to try the young lady’s patience to its last limit, he unfolded the paper, and read aloud, —

“‘When Counsellor O’Halloran had concluded his eloquent speech in the trial of Darcy v. Hickman, – for a full report of which see our early columns, – a young gentleman, pushing his way through the circle of congratulating friends, accosted him with the most insulting and opprobrious epithets, and failing to elicit from the learned gentleman a reciprocity,’-that means, miss, that O’Halloran did n’t show fight, – ‘struck him repeatedly across the shoulders, and even the face, with a horsewhip. He was immediately committed under a bench warrant, but was liberated almost at once. Perhaps our readers may understand these proceedings more clearly when we inform them that Captain Forester, the aggressor in this case, is a near relative of our Irish Secretary, Lord Castlereagh.’ That ‘s very neatly put, miss, isn’t it?” said Mr. Dempsey, with a sly twinkle of the eye; “it’s as much as to say that the Castle chaps may do what they please. But it won’t end there, depend upon it; the Counsellor will see it out.”

Helen paid little attention to the observation, for, having taken up the paper as Mr. Dempsey laid it down, she was deeply engaged in the report of the trial and O’Halloran’s speech.

“Wasn’t that a touching-up the old Knight of Gwynne got?” said Dempsey, as, with his glass to his eye, he peered over her shoulder at the newspaper. “Faith, O’Halloran flayed him alive! He ‘s the boy can do it!”

Helen scarce seemed to breathe, as, with a heart almost bursting with indignant anger, she read the lines before her.

“Strike him!” cried she, at length, unable longer to control the passion that worked within her; “had he trampled him beneath his feet, it had not been too much?”

The little man started, and stared with amazement at the young girl, as, with flashing eyes and flushed cheek, she arose from her seat, and, tearing the paper into fragments, stamped upon them with her foot.

“Blood alive, miss, don’t destroy the paper! I only got a loan of it from Mrs. Kennedy, of the Post-office; she slipped it out of the cover, though it was addressed to Lord O’Neil. Oh dear! oh dear! it’s a nice article now!”

These words were uttered in the very depth of despair, as, kneeling down on the carpet, Mr. Dempsey attempted to collect and arrange the scattered fragments.

“It’s no use in life! Here’s the Widow Wallace’s pills in the middle of the Counsellor’s speech! and the last day’s drawing of the lottery mixed up with that elegant account of old Darcy’s – ”

A hand which, if of the gentlest mould, now made a gesture to enforce silence, arrested Mr. Dempsey’s words, and at the same moment the Knight entered with Lady Eleanor. Darcy started as he gazed on the excited looks and the air of defiance of his daughter, and for a second a deep flush suffused his features, as with an angry frown he asked of Dempsey, “What does this mean, sir?”

“D-n me if I know what it means!” exclaimed Paul, in utter despair at the confusion of his own faculties. “My brain is in a whirl.”

“It was a little political dispute between Mr. Dempsey and myself, sir,” said Helen, with a faint smile. “He was reading for me an article from the newspaper, whose views were so very opposite to mine, and his advocacy of them so very animated, that – in short, we both became warm.”

“Yes, that’s it,” cried Dempsey, glad to accept any explanation of a case in which he had no precise idea wherein lay the difficulty, – “that’s it; I ‘ll take my oath it was.”

“He is a fierce Unionist,” said Helen, speaking rapidly to cover her increasing confusion, “and has all the conventional cant by heart, ‘old-fashioned opinions,’ ‘musty prejudices,’ and so on.”

“I did not suspect you were so eager a politician, my dear Helen,” said the Knight, as, half chidingly, he threw his eyes towards the scattered fragments of the torn newspaper.

The young girl blushed till her neck became crimson: shame, at the imputation of having so far given way to passion; sorrow, at the reproof, whose injustice she did not dare to expose; and regret, at the necessity of dissimulation, all overwhelming her at the same moment.

“I am not angry, my sweet girl,” said the Knight, as he drew his arm around her, and spoke in a low, fond accent. “I may be sorry – sincerely sorry – at the social condition that has suffered political feeling to approach our homes and our firesides, and thus agitate hearts as gentle as yours by these rude themes. For your sentiments on these subjects I can scarcely be a severe critic, for I believe they are all my own.”

“Let us forget it all,” said Helen, eagerly; for she saw-that Mr. Dempsey, having collected once more the torn scraps, was busy in arranging them into something like order. In fact, his senses were gradually recovering from the mystification into which they had been thrown, and he was anxious to vindicate himself before the party. “All the magnanimity, however, must not be mine,” continued she; “and until that odious paper is consumed, I ‘ll sign no treaty of peace.” So saying, and before Dempsey could interfere to prevent it, she snatched up the fragments, and threw them into the fire. “Now, Mr. Dempsey, we are friends again,” said she, laughing.

“The Lord grant it!” ejaculated Paul, who really felt no ambition for so energetic an enemy. “I ‘ll never tell a bit of news in your company again, so long as my name is Paul Dempsey. Every officer of the Guards may horsewhip the Irish bar – I was forgetting – not a syllable more.”

The Knight, fortunately, did not hear the last few words, for he was busily engaged in reading the letter he still held in his hands; at length he said, —

“Mr. Dempsey has conferred one great favor on us by bringing us this letter; and as its contents are of a nature not to admit of any delay – ”

“He will increase the obligation by taking his leave,” added Paul, rising, and, for once in his life, really well pleased at an opportunity of retiring.

“I did not say that,” said Darcy, smiling.

“No, no, Mr. Dempsey,” added Lady Eleanor, with more than her wonted cordiality; “you will, I hope, remain for tea.”

“No, ma’am, I thank you; I have a little engagement, – I made a promise. If I get safe out of the house without some infernal blunder or other, it ‘s only the mercy of Providence.” And with this burst of honest feeling, Paul snatched up his hat, and without waiting for the ceremony of leave-taking, rushed out of the room, and was soon seen crossing the wide common at a brisk pace.

“Our little friend has lost his reason,” said the Knight, laughing. “What have you been doing to him, Helen?”

A gesture to express innocence of all interference was the only reply, and the party became suddenly silent.

“Has Helen seen that letter?” said Lady Eleanor, faintly, and Darcy handed the epistle to his daughter. “Read it aloud, my dear,” continued Lady Eleanor; “for, up to this, my impressions are so confused, I know not which is reality, which mere apprehension.”

Helen’s eyes glanced to the top of the letter, and saw the words “War Office;” she then proceeded to read: —

“‘Sir, – In reply to the application made to the Commander-in-Chief of the forces in your behalf, expressing your desire for an active employment, I have the honor to inform you that his Royal Highness, having graciously taken into consideration the eminent services rendered by you in former years, and the distinguished character of that corps which, raised by your exertions, still bears your name, has desired me to convey his approval of your claim, and his desire, should a favorable opportunity present itself, of complying with your wish. I have the honor to remain, your most humble and obedient servant,

“‘Harry Greville,

“Private Secretary.”

On an enclosed slip of paper was the single line in pencil: —

“H. G. begs to intimate to Colonel Darcy the propriety of attending the next levee of H. R. H., which will take place on the 14th.”

“Now, you, who read riddles, my dearest Helen, explain this one to us. I made no application of the kind alluded to, nor am I aware of any one having ever done so for me. The thought never once occurred to me, that his Majesty or his Royal Highness would accept the services of an old and shattered hulk, while many a glorious three-decker lies ready to be launched from the stocks. I could not have presumed to ask such a favor, nor do I well know how to acknowledge it.”