Davenport Dunn, a Man of Our Day. Volume 1

“Of course not. Meanwhile I’ll write to my mother, and she shall herself address Miss Kellett, or, if you think it better, she ‘d come over here.”

“We ‘ll think over that. Come back with me to town and eat your dinner with me, if you have no engagement.”

“Not to-day, – excuse me to-day. I am low and out of sorts, and I feel as if I ‘d rather be alone.”

“Will you let me see you to-morrow, or the day after?”

“The day after to-morrow be it. By that time I shall have heard from my mother,” said Conway. And they parted.

Long after Mr. Dunn’s handsome equipage had driven away, Charles Conway continued to linger about the neighborhood of the little cottage. The shutters were closed, and no smoke issued from the chimney, and it looked dreary and desolate. Again and again would he draw near the little wicket and look into the garden. He would have given all he possessed to have been able to ask after her, – to have seen any one who could have told him of her, – how she bore up in her dread hour of trial; but none was to be seen. More than once he adventured to approach the door, and timidly stood, uncertain what to do, and then, cautiously retracing his steps, he regained the road, again to resume his lonely watch. And so the noon passed, and the day waned, and evening drew nigh, and there he still lingered. He thought that when night closed in, some flickering light might give sign of life within, – some faint indication of her his heart was full of; but all remained dark, silent, and cheerless. Even yet could he not bear to leave the spot, and it was already far into the night ere he turned his steps towards Dublin.

Let us go back for a moment to Mr. Davenport Dunn, who was not the only occupant of the handsome chariot that rolled smoothly back to town. Mr. Driscoll sat in one corner; the blind carefully down, so as to screen him from view.

“And that was Conway!” said he, as soon as Dunn had taken his seat. “Wasn’t I right when I said you were sure to catch him here?”

“I knew as much myself,” said Dunn, curtly.

“Well, and what is he like? – is he a chap easy to deal with? – is he any way deep?”

“He’s as proud as Lucifer, – that ‘s all I can make out of him; and there are few things harder to manage than real pride.”

“Ay, if you can’t get round it,” said Driscoll, with a sly twinkle of the eye.

“I have no time for such management,” said Dunn, stiffly.

“Well, how did he take what you said to him? Did he seem as if he ‘d enter into the business kindly?”

“You don’t suppose that I spoke to him about his family or his fortune, do you? Is it in a chance meeting like this that I could approach a subject full of difficulty and complication? You have rare notions of delicacy and address, Driscoll!”

“God help me! I’m a poor crayture, but somehow I get along for all that, and I ‘m generally as far on my road at the end of the day as them that travels with four posters.”

“You’d make a pretty mess of whatever required a light hand and a fine touch, that I can tell you. The question here lies between a peer of the realm with twelve thousand a year, and a retired soldier with eightpence a day pension. It does not demand much thought to see where the balance inclines.”

“You’re forgetting one trifling matter. Who has the right to be the peer with the twelve thousand a year?”

“I am not forgetting it; I was going to it when you stopped me. Until we have failed in obtaining our terms from Lord Lackington – ”

“Ay, but what are the terms?” broke in Driscoll, eagerly.

“If you interrupt me thus at every moment, I shall never be able to explain my meaning. The terms are for yourself to name; you may write the figures how you please. As for me, I have views that in no way clash with yours. And to resume: until we fail with the Viscount, we have no need of the soldier. All that we have to think of as regards Conway is, that he falls into no hands but our own, that he should never learn anything of his claim, nor be within reach of such information till the hour when we ourselves think fit to make it known to him – ”

“He oughtn’t to keep company with that daughter of Paul Kellett, then,” broke in Driscoll. “There’s not a family history in the kingdom she hasn’t by heart.”

“I have thought of that already, and there is some danger of such an occurrence.”

“As how?”

“Young Conway is at this very moment plotting how she may be domesticated with his mother, somewhere in Wales, I believe.”

“If he’s in love with her, it will be a bad business,” said Driscoll. “She does be reading and writing, too, from morning till night. There’s no labor nor fatigue she’s not equal to, and all the searches and inquiries that weary others she’d go into out of pure amusement. Now, if she was ever to be with his mother, and heard the old woman talk about family history, she ‘d be at it hard and fast next morning.”

“There is no need she should go there.”

“No. But she must n’t go, – must never see her.”

“I think I can provide for that. It will be somewhat more difficult to take him out of the way for the present. I wish he were back in the Crimea.”

“He might get killed – ”

“Ay, but his claim would not die. Look here, Driscoll,” said he, slowly; “I ventured to tell him this morning that I would assist him with my influence if he wishes to re-enter the service as an officer, and he resented the offer at once as a liberty. Now, it might be managed in another way. Leave me to think it over, and perhaps I can hit upon the expedient. The Attorney-General is to report upon the claims to me to-morrow, next day I’m to see Conway himself, and then you shall learn all.”

“I don’t like all these delays,” began Driscoll; but at a look from Dunn he stopped, and held down his head, half angry, half abashed.

“You advance small loans of money on approved security, Driscoll,” said Dunn, with a dry expression of the mouth. “Perhaps some of these mornings you may be applied to for a few hundreds by a young fellow wishing to purchase his commission, – you understand me?”

“I believe I do,” said Driscoll, with a significant smile.

“You ‘ll not be too hard on him for the terms, especially if he has any old family papers to deposit as security, – eh?”

“Just so – just so. A mere nominal guarantee,” said Driscoll, still laughing. “Oh, dear! but it’s a queer world, and one has to work his wits hard to live in it.” And with this philosophic explanation of life’s trials, Mr. Driscoll took his leave of Dunn, and walked homeward.

CHAPTER XXVI. THE OSTEND PACKET

It was a wild, stormy night, with fast-flying clouds above, and a heavy rolling sea below, as the “Osprey” steamed away for Ostend, her closed hatchways and tarpaulined sailors, as well as her sea-washed deck and dripping cordage, telling there was “dirty weather outside.” Though the waves broke over the vessel as she lay at anchor, and the short distance between the shore and her gangway had to be effected at peril of life, the captain had his mail, and was decided on sailing. There were but three passengers: two went aboard with the captain; the third was already on deck when they arrived, and leisurely paraded up and down with his cigar, stopping occasionally to look at the lights on shore, or cast a glance towards the wild chaos of waves that raged without.

“Safe now, I suppose, Grog?” muttered Beecher, as the vessel, loosed from her last mooring, turned head to sea out of the harbor.

“I rather suspect you are,” said Davis, as he struck a light for his cigar. “Few fellows would like to swim out here with a judge’s warrant in his mouth such a night as this.”

“I don’t like it overmuch myself,” said Beecher; “there’s a tremendous sea out there, and she’s only a cockleshell after all.”

“A very tidy one, sir, in a sea, I promise you,” said the Captain, overhearing, while with his trumpet he bellowed forth some directions to the sailors.

“You’ve no other passengers than ourselves, have you?” asked Beecher.

“Only that gentleman yonder,” whispered the Captain, pointing towards the stranger.

“Few, I take it, fancy coming out in such weather,” said Beecher.

“Very few, sir, if they have n’t uncommonly strong reasons for crossing the water,” replied the Captain.

“I think he had you there!” growled Grog in his ear. “Don’t you go poking nonsense at fellows like that. Shut up, I tell you! shut up!”

“I begin to feel it deuced cold here,” said Beecher, shuddering.

“Come down below, then, and have something hot. I ‘ll make a brew and turn in,” said Davis, as he moved towards the ladder. “Come along.”

“No, I must keep the deck, no matter how cold it is. I suffer dreadfully when I go below. Send me up a tumbler of rum-and-water, Davis, as hot as may be.”