Roland Cashel, Volume II (of II)

“You knew him better than I did, Charley,” said Linton, sneeringly, “when you black-balled him at the yacht club; but the world shall know him better yet than either of us, – mean-spirited scoundrel that he is.”

“Come away, sir,” said the officer, as he placed himself on one side of his prisoner, his fellow doing the same at the other.

“Not till I see your warrant,” said Linton, resolutely.

“There it is, sir, all reg’lar,” said the man; “signed by the secretary of state, and attested by the witness.”

“The rascality is well got up,” said Linton, trying to laugh, “but by Heaven they shall pay for it!” These words were directed to where Roland stood, and uttered with a concentrated hate that thrilled through every heart around.

As Linton was led forth, the commissary proceeded to arrest the different individuals present on the charge of gambling in secret. In the midst of the group was Rica, standing pale with terror, and overcome by the revelations he had listened to.

“I will be responsible for this gentleman’s appearance,” said Cashel, addressing the commissary. “There is no need to subject him to the insult of an arrest.”

“He can only be liberated by a bail bond in the presence of the judge, sir. You can accompany me to the court, and enter into the recognizances, if you will.”

“Be it so,” said Cashel, bowing.

Rica made a sign for Roland to approach him. He tried to speak, but his voice was inarticulate from faint-ness, and the only audible sound was the one word “Maritaña.”

“Where?” said Cashel, eagerly.

Rica nodded in the direction of a small door that led from the chamber, and Cashel made a gesture of assent in answer.

With headlong speed Roland traversed the corridor, and entered the antechamber at the end of it. One glance showed him that the room was empty, and he passed on into the chamber where so lately Linton had spoken with Maritaña. This, too, was deserted, as was the bedroom which opened into it. Hastening from place to place, he called her name aloud, but no answer came. Terrified by a hundred fears, for he well knew the rash, impetuous nature of the girl, Roland entreated, in tones of wildest passion, “that she might come forth, – that her friends were all around her, and nothing more to fear.” But no voice replied, and when the sound of his own died away, all was silent. The window of the dressing-room was open, and as Roland looked from it into the street beneath, his eye caught the fragment of a dress adhering to the hook of the “jalousie.” It was plain now she had made her escape in this manner, and that she was gone.

Too true! Overcome by terror – her mind distracted by fears of Linton – without one to succor or protect her, she had yielded to the impulse of her dread, and leaped from the window! That small rag of fluttering gauze was all that remained of Maritaña.

Rica was to hear these sad tidings as he was led away by the commissary, but he listened to them like one whose mind was stunned by calamity. A few low murmuring words alone escaped him, and they indicated that he felt everything which was happening as a judgment upon him for his own crimes.

Even in his examination before the judge, these half-uttered self-accusings broke forth, and he seemed utterly indifferent as to what fate awaited him. By Cashel’s intervention, and the deposit of a large sum as bail for Rica’s future appearance, his liberation was effected, and he was led away from the spot unconscious of all around him.

As Cashel assisted the weak and tottering man through the crowded passages of the court, he felt his arm gently touched by a hand, at the same instant that his name was uttered. He turned hastily, and saw at his side a woman, who, youthful and still handsome, bore in her appearance the signs of deep poverty and still deeper sorrow. Her dress had once been rich, but now, from time and neglect, was disfigured and shabby; her veil, partly drawn across her face, was torn and ragged, and her very shoes were in tatters. A more sad-looking object it were difficult to conceive, and in the hurried glance Roland bestowed upon her, at a moment when all his thoughts were intent upon other cares, he believed she was one entreating charity. Hastily drawing forth his purse, he offered her some money, but she drew proudly up, saying, “This is insult, sir, and I have not deserved it.”

Cashel started with amazement, and drawing closer, stared eagerly at her.

“Great Heaven!” cried he, “is this possible? Is this – ”

“Hush!” cried she. “Let me not hear my name – or what was once my name – spoken aloud. I see now – you did not know me, nor would I have brought myself to the shame of being recognized but for his sake. He is now before the tribunal, and will be sent to prison for want of bail.”

Cashel motioned her not to leave the spot; and having safely placed Rica in his carriage, returned to the court.

By the guarantee of his name, and the offer of any moneyed security which might be required, Cashel obtained permission for Lord Charles Frobisher to go free; and then hurrying outside, communicated the tidings to her who stood trembling with fear and anxiety.

With tearful eyes, and in a voice broken by sobs, she was uttering her thanks as Lord Charles joined them.

“This, then, was your doing?” said he, staring coldly at her.

“Say, rather, it was your own, my Lord,” said Cashel, sternly.

“Oh, Charles! thank him – thank him,” cried she, hysterically. “Friends have not been so plenty with us, that we can treat them thus!”

“Lady Charles is most grateful, sir,” said Frobisher, with a cold sneer. “I am sure the show of feeling she evinces must repay all your generosity.” And, with, this base speech, he drew her arm within his, and moved hastily away. One look towards Cashel, as she turned to go, told more forcibly than words the agony of her broken heart.

And this was the once gay, light-hearted girl, – the wild and daring romp, whose buoyant spirit seemed above every reverse of fortune. Poor Jemima Meek! she had run away from her father’s home to link her lot with a gambler! Some play transaction, in which his name was involved, compelled him to quit the service, and at last the country. Now depending for support upon his family, now hazarding his miserable means at play, he had lived a life of recklessness and privation, – nothing left to him of his former condition save the name that he had brought down to infamy!

CHAPTER XXXVII. ALL MYSTERY CEASES – MARRIAGE AND GENERAL JOY

“The end of all.”

What a contrast did Roland Cashel’s life now present to the purposeless vacuity of his late existence! Every hour was occupied; even to a late period of each night was he engaged by cares which seemed to thicken around him as he advanced.

We should but weary our reader were we to follow him in the ceaseless round of duties which hard necessity imposed. Each morning his first visit was to the hospital of St. Louis, where Keane still lay, weakly struggling against a malady whose fatal termination was beyond a doubt; and although Roland could not wish for the prolongation of a life which the law would demand in expiation, he felt a craving desire that the testimony of the dying man should be full and explicit on every point, and that every dubious circumstance should be explained ere the grave closed over him.

To seek for Maritaña, to endeavor to recover this poor forlorn girl, was his next care, and to this end he spared nothing. Whatever money could purchase, or skill and unwearied enterprise suggest, were all employed in the search. Rica, whose nature seemed totally changed by the terrible shock of Linton’s culpability, gave himself up implicitly to Cashel’s guidance, and was unceasing in his efforts to discover his missing child. But with all the practised acuteness of the police at their command, and all the endeavors which their zeal could practise, the search was fruitless, and not a trace of her could be detected.

Through the Neapolitan Embassy, orders were transmitted to Naples to inquire into the case of Enrique, whose innocence the testimony of Keane went far to establish. The result was, as Cashel ardently hoped, his complete vindication, and a telegraphic despatch brought tidings that he was already liberated, and on his way to Paris. While both Roland and Rica waited impatiently for the arrival of one whose assistance in their search would be so valuable, the most perfect good understanding grew up between them, and Cashel began to perceive how, beneath the vices which a life of reckless debauchery had created, there lay – inactive and unused for many a day – kindly feelings and warm affections for which he had never given him credit. As this confidence grew stronger, Rica became more frank and open in all his intercourse, and at last revealed to Cashel the whole story of his life, – a strange, eventful history, whose vicissitudes were the changing fortunes of a gambler’s existence. For such was he, – without a passion, a pursuit of any kind but play, he had passed his life in that one baneful vice. For it he had toiled and labored: to indulge that passion he had engaged in deadly duels, and perilled his life by acts of forgery.

His marriage with Corrigan’s daughter was brought about solely to procure the means of play; nor was there an energy of his mind or an impulse of his nature had any other direction. Linton’s skill as a gambler, the unceasing resources he seemed to possess, the stratagems and devices he could deploy, created for him, in Rica’s mind, a species of admiration that soon degenerated into a blind submission to all his dictates. Such an ally as this, so deeply versed in all the weak points of his fellow-men, – so thoroughly master of every impulse that moves, of every hope and fear that sways the gambler’s nature, – had been the cherished desire of his heart for many a year, and now fortune bad at last given him such an associate. Their sudden success seemed to warrant the justice of the hope. Everything prospered with them since their new league. If he did not gain an equal ascendancy over the daughter’s mind as he had acquired over the father’s, still the ambitious future he often pictured before her, dazzled and delighted her, and thus, erelong, he contrived to obtain a degree of power, although of different kinds, over both. From such an associate as Linton concealment was impossible; and Rica soon saw himself completely at the mercy of a man who had sifted every motive of his heart, and weighed every action of his life, and at last became his pitiless, tyrannical master.

Rica’s connection with Corrigan suggested to Linton’s inventive mind the possibility of succeeding to that estate for which already he had perilled so much. His plan was to obtain from Corrigan a full renunciation of his claim to the property, and then to take the necessary steps to investigate the long dormant title. All their efforts to discover the old man’s residence were, however, vain; for although they once obtained a clew to the fact, some information seemed to have apprised the others of their danger, and their abode was immediately changed.

It was with a strange thrill of mingled pain and pleasure Cashel heard Rica speak of his daughter Mary, – of her he had deserted for so many a year, and yet now yearned towards with an affection that sprang from his self-accusings. The terrible chastisement his own vices had inflicted on his lonely and deserted lot seemed never absent from his thoughts; and he would sit for hours silently, while the heavy tears rolled along his furrowed cheeks, and his strong, heaving bosom showed his agony.

The fruitlessness of their search after Maritaña in Paris, and the death of Tom Keane in the hospital, removed the only obstacles to their departure from that city; and Rica and Cashel, who now felt their fortunes bound up together, prepared to take their leave of Paris. The trial of Linton was to take place in Limerick, and thither Roland was summoned by the law-officers of the Crown. This sad duty accomplished, he was to accompany Rica to Columbia, whither some slight hope of recovering Maritaña induced him to proceed. As for Cashel, once in the old haunts of childhood, he had resolved never to quit them more.

Roland’s arrangements for departure were soon made, and he repaired to the Embassy, where he had been invited to breakfast on the last morning of his stay. There was a certain bustle and movement in the courtyard which attracted his attention; and he saw two travelling-carriages, with an attendant “fourgon,” surrounded by servants, and loaded with all the preparations for a long journey.

“You have come in time, Mr. Cashel,” said the ambassador, as he shook hands with him, “to see our new minister at Florence, who is now on his way thither; and what will have more interest in your eyes, a very pretty girl, who has become the great literary character of our circles here. I regret much that she is about to leave us.”

Cashel bowed politely, but with the cold indifference of one for whom the tidings had no peculiar interest, and accompanied the ambassador into a salon, crowded with company.

“I have a young countryman to present to you, my Lord,” said his excellency, leading Cashel forward, “who I trust will wear a less sombre face in the sunny south than he has done in our northern latitudes. Mr. Roland Cashel – Lord Kilgoff.”

A sudden start of surprise was made by both, and Roland stood mute and thunderstruck as Lord Kilgoff advanced towards him with extended hand, and said, —

“Yes, Mr. Cashel, your old friend in better health and spirits than when last you saw him; and better able to thank you for much hospitality, and apologize for much injustice.”

“Let me have my share in both acknowledgments,” said Lady Kilgoff, rising, and taking Cashel’s hand with much cordiality.

Roland tried to mutter a few words, but he could not succeed; and his eyes ranged about the chamber till they fell upon one who, pale and motionless, regarded him with a look of most expressive sadness.

“Miss Leicester, too, here?” said he, at last.

“Yes, Mr. Cashel,” said Lady Kilgoff; “chance is about to do for us what all our skill would have failed in. Here are two worthy people who will not hear your name mentioned, and who now must consent, not alone to hear, but see you in person. I am quite convinced you never did or could have injured them. Stand forward, Mr. Corrigan, and make your charge.”

“I will save that gentleman the pain of accusing me,” said Roland, with deep emotion. “I have injured him deeply, but yet unwittingly. I have long desired this meeting, to place in his hands a document I have never ceased to carry about me, – the title to a property of which I was not the rightful owner, and which is his – and his only.”

“I will not, I cannot accept of it, sir,” said Corrigan, proudly. “I will never see that cottage more.”