Barrington. Volume 2

“Pardon my interrupting you; but, on the last point, I am perfectly indifferent. Miss Barrington with half a province for her dower, would be no more in my eyes than Miss Barrington as she sat at breakfast this morning. Nor is there anything of high-flown sentiment in this declaration, as my means are sufficiently ample for all that I want or care.”

“There, at least, is one difficulty disposed of. You are an eldest son?” said he; and he blushed at his own boldness in making the inquiry.

“I am an only son.”

“Easier again,” said Barrington, trying to laugh off the awkward moment. “No cutting down one’s old timber to pay off the provisions for younger brothers.”

“In my case there is no need of this.”

“And your father. Is he still living, Major Stapylton?”

“My father has been dead some years.”

Barrington fidgeted again, fumbled with his watch-chain and his eye-glass, and would have given more than he could afford for any casualty that should cut short the interview. He wanted to say, “What is the amount of your fortune? What is it? Where is it? Are you Wiltshire or Staffordshire? Who are your uncles and aunts, and your good friends that you pray for, and where do you pray for them?” A thousand questions of this sort arose in his mind, one only more prying and impertinent than another. He knew he ought to ask them; he knew Dinah would have asked them. Ay, and would have the answers to them as plain and palpable as the replies to a life assurance circular; but he could n’t do it. No; not if his life depended on it.

He had already gone further in his transgression of good manners than it ever occurred to him before to do, and he felt something between a holy inquisitor and a spy of the police.

Stapylton looked at his watch, and gave a slight start.

“Later than you thought, eh?” cried Peter, overjoyed at the diversion.

Stapylton smiled a cold assent, and put up his watch without a word. He saw all the confusion and embarrassment of the other, and made no effort to relieve him. At last, but not until after a considerable pause, he said, – “I believe, Mr. Barrington, – I hope, at least, – I have satisfactorily answered the questions which, with every right on your part, you have deemed proper to put to me. I cannot but feel how painful the task has been to you, and I regret it the more, since probably it has set a limit to inquiries which you are perfectly justified in making, but which closer relations between us may make a matter far less formidable one of these days.”

“Yes, yes, – just so; of course,” said Barrington, hurriedly assenting to he knew not what.

“And I trust I take my leave of you with the understanding that when we meet again, it shall be as in the commencement of these pleasanter relations. I own to you I am the more eager on this point, that I perceive your sister, Miss Barrington, scarcely regards me very favorably, and I stand the more in need of your alliance.”

“I don’t think it possible, Major Stapylton,” said Barrington, boldly, “that my sister and I could have two opinions upon anything or anybody.”

“Then I only ask that she may partake of yours on this occasion,” said Stapylton, bowing. “But I must start; as it is, I shall be very late in Dublin. Will you present my most respectful adieux to the ladies, and say also a goodbye for me to Mr. Withering?”

“You’ll come in for a moment to the drawing-room, won’t you?” cried Barrington.

“I think not. I opine it would be better not. There would be a certain awkwardness about it, – that is, until you have informed Miss Dinah Barrington of the extent to which you have accorded me your confidence, and how completely I have opened every detail of my circumstances. I believe it would be in better taste not to present myself. Tell Withering that if he writes, Manchester will find me. I don’t suspect he need give himself any more trouble about establishing the proofs of marriage. They will scarcely contest that point. The great question will and must be, to ascertain if the Company will cease to oppose the claim on being fully convinced that the letter to the Meer Busherat was a forgery, and that no menace ever came from Colonel Barrington’s hand as to the consequences of opposing his rule. Get them to admit this, – let the issue rest upon this, – and it will narrow the whole suit within manageable limits.”

“Would you not say this much to him before you go? It would come with so much more force and clearness from yourself.”

“I have done so till I was wearied. Like a true lawyer, he insists upon proving each step as he goes, and will not condescend to a hypothetical conclusion, though I have told him over and over again we want a settlement, not a victory. Good-bye, good-bye! If I once launch out into the cause, I cannot tear myself away again.”

“Has your guest gone, Peter?” said Miss Dinah, as her brother re-entered the drawing-room.

“Yes; it was a hurried departure, and he had no great heart for it, either. By the way, Withering, while it is fresh in my head, let me tell you the message he has sent you.”

“Was there none for me, Peter?” said she, scofflngly.

“Ay, but there was, Dinah! He left with me I know not how many polite and charming things to say for him.”

“And am I alone forgotten in this wide dispensation of favors?” asked Josephine, smiling.

“Of course not, dear,” chimed in Miss Dinah. “Your grandpapa has been charged with them all. You could not expect a gentleman so naturally timid and bashful as our late guest to utter them by his own lips.”

“I see,” said Withering, laughing, “that you have not forgiven the haughty aristocrat for his insolent estimate of the people!”

“He an aristocrat! Such bitter words as his never fell from any man who had a grandfather!”

“Wrong for once, Dinah,” broke in Barrington. “I can answer for it that you are unjust to him.”

“We shall see,” said she. “Come, Josephine, I have a whole morning’s work before me in the flower-garden, and I want your help. Don’t forget, Peter, that Major M’Cormick’s butler, or boatman, or bailiff, whichever he be, has been up here with a present of seakale this morning. Give him something as you pass the kitchen; and you, Mr. Withering, whose trade it is to read and unravel mysteries, explain if you can the meaning of this unwonted generosity.”

“I suppose we can all guess it,” said he, laughing. “It’s a custom that begins in the East and goes round the whole world till it reaches the vast prairie in the Far West.”

“And what can that custom be, Aunt Dinah?” asked Josephine, innocently.

“It’s an ancient rite Mr. Withering speaks, of, child, pertaining to the days when men offered sacrifices. Come along; I ‘m going!”

CHAPTER VII. CROSS-EXAMININGS

While Barrington and his lawyer sat in conclave over the details of the great suit, Stapylton hurried along his road with all the speed he could summon. The way, which for some miles led along the river-side, brought into view M’Cormick’s cottage, and the Major himself, as he stood listlessly at his door.’

Halting his carriage for a moment, Stapylton jumped out and drew nigh the little quickset hedge which flanked the road.

“What can I do for you in the neighborhood of Manchester, Major? We are just ordered off there to ride down the Radicals.”

“I wish it was nearer home you were going to do it,” said he, crankily. “Look here,” – and he pointed to some fresh-turned earth, – “they were stealing my turnips last night.”

“It would appear that these fellows in the North are growing dangerous,” said Stapylton.

“‘T is little matter to us,” said M’Cormick, sulkily. “I’d care more about a blight in the potatoes than for all the politics in Europe.”

“A genuine philosopher! How snug you are here, to be sure! A man in a pleasant nook like this can well afford to smile at the busy ambitions of the outer world. I take it you are about the very happiest fellow I know?”

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not,” said he, peevishly.

“This spot only wants what I hinted to you t’other evening, to be perfection.”

“Ay!” said the other, dryly.

“And you agree with me heartily, if you had the candor to say it. Come, out with it, man, at once. I saw your gardener this morning with a great basketful of greenery, and a large bouquet on the top of it, – are not these significant signs of a projected campaign? You are wrong, Major, upon my life you are wrong, not to be frank with me. I could, by a strange hazard, as the newspapers say, ‘tell you something to your advantage.’”

“About what?”

“About the very matter you were thinking of as I drove up. Come, I will be more generous than you deserve.” And, laying his arm on M’Cormick’s shoulder, he halt whispered in his ear; “It is a good thing, – a deuced good thing! and I promise you, if I were a marrying man, you ‘d have a competitor. I won’t say she ‘ll have one of the great fortunes people rave about, but it will be considerable, – very considerable.”

“How do you know, or what do you know?”

“I ‘ll tell you in three words. How I know is, because I have been the channel for certain inquiries they made in India. What I know is, the Directors are sick of the case, they are sorely ashamed of it, and not a little uneasy lest it should come before the public, perhaps before the Parliament. Old Barrington has made all negotiation difficult by the extravagant pretensions he puts forward about his son’s honor, and so forth. If, however, the girl were married, her husband would be the person to treat with, and I am assured with him they would deal handsomely, even generously.”

“And why would n’t all this make a marrying man of you, though you were n’t before?”