Roland Cashel, Volume II (of II)

And now to go back to our company. From Lady Janet, intent upon everything which might minister to her own comfort or mortify her neighbor, to the smooth and soft-voiced Downie Meek, – with the kindest of wishes and the coldest of hearts, – they were, we grieve to own it, far more imposing to look at, full dressed at dinner, than to investigate by the searching anatomy that discloses the vices and foibles of humanity; and it is, therefore, with less regret we turn from the great house, in all the pomp of its splendor, to the humble cottage where Mr. Corrigan dwelt with his granddaughter.

In wide contrast to the magnificence and profusion of the costly household, where each seemed bent on giving way to every caprice that extravagance could suggest, was the simple quietude of that unpretending family. The efforts by which Corrigan had overcome his difficulties not only cost him all the little capital he possessed in the world, but had also necessitated a mode of living more restricted than he had ever known before. The little luxuries that his station, as well as his age and long use, had made necessaries, the refinements that adorn even the very simplest lives, had all to be, one by one, surrendered. Some of these he gave up manfully, others cost him deeply; and when the day came that he had to take leave of his old gray pony, the faithful companion of so many a lonely ramble, the creature he had reared and petted like a dog, the struggle was almost too much for him.

He walked along beside the man who led the beast to the gate, telling him to be sure and seek out some one who would treat her kindly. “Some there are would do so for my sake; but she deserves it better for her own. – Yes, Nora, I ‘m speaking of you,” said he, caressing her, as she laid her nose over his arm. “I’m sure I never thought we’d have to part.”

“She’s good as goold this minit,” said the man; “an’ it’ll go hard but ‘ll get six pounds for her, any way.”

“Tell whoever buys her that Mr. Corrigan will give him a crown-piece every Christmas-day that he sees her looking well and in good heart. To be sure, it’s no great bribe, we’re both so old,” said he, smiling; “but my blessing goes with the man that’s a friend to her.” He sat down as he said this, and held his hand over his face till she was gone. “God forgive me, if I set my heart too much on such things, but it’s like parting with an old friend. Poor Mary’s harp must go next. But here comes Tiernay. Well, doctor, what news?”

The doctor shook his head twice or thrice despondingly, but said nothing; at last, he muttered, in a grumbling voice, —

“I was twice at the Hall, but there’s no seeing Cashel himself; an insolent puppy of a valet turned away contemptuously as I asked for him, and said, —

“Mr. Linton, perhaps, might hear what you have to say.’”

“Is Kennyfeck to be found?”

“Yes, I saw him for a few minutes; but he’s like the rest of them. The old fool fancies he ‘s a man of fashion here, and told me he had left ‘the attorney’ behind, in Merrion Square. He half confessed to me, however, what I feared. Cashel has either given a promise to give this farm of yours to Linton – ”

“Well, the new landlord will not be less kind than the old one.”

“You think so,” said Tiernay, sternly. “Is your knowledge of life no better than this? Have you lived till now without being able to read that man? Come, come, Corrigan, don’t treat this as a prejudice of mine; I have watched him closely, and he sees it. I tell you again, the fellow is a villain.”

“Ay, ay,” said Corrigan, laughing; “your doctor’s craft has made you always on the look-out for some hidden mischief.”

“My doctor’s craft has taught me to know that symptoms are never without a meaning. But enough of him. The question is simply this: we have, then, merely to propose to Cashel the purchase of your interest in the cottage, on which you will cede the possession.”

“Yes; and give up, besides, all claim at law; for you know we are supported by the highest opinions.”

“Pooh! nonsense, man; don’t embarrass the case by a pretension they ‘re sure to sneer at. The cottage and the little fields behind it are tangible and palpable; don’t weaken your case by a plea you could not press.”

“Have your own way, then,” said the old man, mildly.

“It is an annuity, you say, you ‘d wish?”

“On Mary’s life, not on mine, doctor.”

“It will be a poor thing,” said Tiernay, with a sigh.

“They say we could live in some of the towns in Flanders very cheaply,” said Corrigan, cheerfully.

“You don’t know how to live cheaply,” rejoined Tiernay, crankily. “You think, if you don’t see a man in black behind your chair, and that you eat off delf instead of silver, that you are a miracle of simplicity. I saw you last Sunday put by the decanter with half a glass of sherry at the bottom of it, and you were as proud of your thrift as if you had reformed your whole household.”

“Everything is not learned in a moment, Tiernay,” said Corrigan, mildly.

“You are too old to begin, Con Corrigan,” said the other, gravely. “Such men as you, who have not been educated to narrow fortunes, never learn thrift; they can endure great privations well enough, but it is the little, petty, dropping ones that break down the spirit, – these they cannot meet.”

“A good conscience and a strong will can do a great deal, Tiernay. One thing is certain, – that we shall escape persecution from him. He will scarcely discover us in our humble retreat.”

“I’ve thought of that too,” said Tiernay; “it is the greatest advantage the plan possesses. Now, the next point is, how to see this same Cashel; from all that I can learn, his life is one of dissipation from morning till night. Those fashionable sharpers by whom he is surrounded are making him pay dearly for his admission into the honorable guild.”

“The greater the pity,” sighed Corrigan; “he appeared to me deserving of a different fate. An easy, complying temper – ”

“The devil a worse fault I ‘d with my enemy,” broke in Tiernay, passionately. “A field without a fence, – a house without a door to it! And there, if I am not mistaken, I hear his voice; yes, he ‘s coming along the path, and some one with him too.”

“I ‘ll leave you to talk to him, Tiernay, for you seem in ‘the vein.’” And with these words the old man turned into a by-path, just as Cashel, with Lady Kilgoff on his arm, advanced up the avenue.

Nothing is more remarkable than the unconscious homage tendered to female beauty and elegance by men whose mould of mind, as well as habit, would seem to render them insensible to such fascinations, nor is their instinctive admiration a tribute which beauty ever despises.

The change which came over the rough doctor’s expression as the party came nearer exemplified this truth strongly. The look of stern determination with which he was preparing to meet Cashel changed to one of astonishment, and, at last, to undisguised admiration, as he surveyed the graceful mien and brilliant beauty before him. They had left the phaeton at the little wicket, and the exercise on foot had slightly colored her cheek, and added animation to her features, – the only aid necessary to make her loveliness perfect.

“I have taken a great liberty with my neighbor, Doctor Tiernay,” said Cashel, as he came near. “Let me present you, however, first, – Doctor Tiernay, Lady Kilgoff. I had been telling her Ladyship that the only picturesque portion of this country lies within this holly enclosure, and is the property of my friend Mr. Corrigan, who, although he will not visit me, will not, I ‘m sure, deny me the pleasure of showing his tasteful grounds to my friends.”

“My old friend would be but too proud of such a visitor,” said Tiernay, bowing low to Lady Kilgoff.

“Mr. Cashel has not confessed all our object, Mr. Tiernay,” said she, assuming her most gracious manner. “Our visit has in prospect the hope of making Miss Leicester’s acquaintance; as I know you are the intimate friend of the family, will you kindly say if this be a suitable hour, or, indeed, if our presence here at all would not be deemed an intrusion?”

The doctor colored deeply, and his eye sparkled with pleasure; for strange enough as it may appear, while sneering at the dissipations of the great house, he felt a degree of indignant anger at the thought of Mary sitting alone and neglected, with gayeties around her on every side.

“It was a most thoughtful kindness of your Ladyship,” replied he, “for my friend is too old and too infirm to seek society; and so the poor child has no other companionship than two old men, only fit to weary each other.”

“You make me hope that our mission will succeed, sir,” said Lady Kilgoff, still employing her most fascinating look and voice; “we may reckon you as an ally, I trust.”

“I am your Ladyship’s most devoted,” said the old man, courteously; “how can I be of service?”

“Our object is to induce Miss Leicester to pass some days with us,” said she. “We are plotting various amusements that might interest her, – private theatricals among the rest.”

“Here she comes, my Lady,” said Tiernay, with animation; “I am proud to be the means of introducing her.”

Just at this instant Mary Leicester had caught sight of the party, and, uncertain whether to advance or retire, was standing for a moment undecided, when Tiernay called out:

“Stay a minute, Miss Mary; Lady Kilgoff is anxious to make your acquaintance.”

“This is a very informal mode of opening an intimacy, Miss Leicester,” said Lady Kilgoff; “pray let it have the merit of sincerity, for I have long desired to know one of whom I have heard so much.”

Mary replied courteously to the speech, and looked pleasedly towards Cashel, to whom she justly attributed the compliment insinuated.

As the two ladies moved on side by side, engaged in conversation, Tiernay slackened his pace slightly, and, in a voice of low but earnest import, said, —

“Will Mr. Cashel consider it an intrusion if I take this opportunity of speaking to him on a matter of business?”

“Not in the least, doctor,” said Cashel, gayly; “but it’s right I should mention that I am most lamentably ignorant of everything that deserves that name. My agent has always saved me from the confession, but the truth will out at last.”

“So much the worse, sir, – for others as well as for yourself,” replied Tiernay, bluntly. “The trust a large fortune imposes – But I shall forget myself if I touch on such a theme. My business is this, sir, – and, in mercy to you, I ‘ll make it very brief. My old friend, Mr. Corrigan, deems it expedient to leave this country, and, in consequence, to dispose of the interest he possesses in these grounds, so long embellished by his taste and culture. He is well aware that much of what he has expended here has not added substantial value to the property; that, purely ornamental, it has, in great part, repaid himself by the many years of enjoyment it has afforded him. Still, he hopes, or, rather, I do for him, – for, to speak candidly, sir, he has neither courage nor hardihood for these kind of transactions, – I hope, sir, that you, desirous of uniting this farm to the large demesne, as I understand to be the case, will not deem this an unfitting occasion to treat liberally with one whose position is no longer what it once was. I must take care, Mr. Cashel, that I say nothing which looks like solicitation here; the confidence my friend has placed in me would be ill requited by such an error.”

“Is there no means of securing Mr. Corrigan’s residence here?” said Cashel. “Can I not accommodate his wishes in some other way, and which should not deprive me of a neighbor I prize so highly?”

“I fear not. The circumstances which induce him to go abroad are imperative.”