Lord Charles Frobisher was never a very talkative companion, and as Cashel's present mood was not communicative, they drove along, scarcely interchanging a sentence, till the harbor of Kingstown came in sight, and with it the gay pennons that fluttered from the mast of Roland's schooner.
“I suppose that is your yacht,—the large craft yonder?”
“I hope so,” said Cashel, enthusiastically; “she sits the water like a duck, and has a fine rakish look about her.”
“So, then, you never saw her before?”
“Never. I purchased her from description, taking her crew, commander, and all, just as she sailed into Southampton from Zante, a month ago. They sent me a drawing of her, her measurement, tonnage, and draught of water, as also the log of her run in the Mediterranean;—yes, that's she, I can recognize the water-line from the sketch.”
“Is your visit on board going to be a long one?” drawled out Lord Charles, languidly; “for I own I am not the least aquatic, and were it not for lobsters and whitebait I vote the sea a humbug.”
“Then I 'll say good-bye,” said Cashel. “That blue water, that curling ripple, and the fluttering of that bunting, have set me a-thinking about a hundred things.”
“You 'll dine with us at seven, won't you?”
“No, I 'll dine on board, or not dine at all,” said he, as he sprang from the carriage, and, waving his hand in adieu, made his way to the harbor. Taking the first boat that offered, Cashel rowed out to the yacht, just in time to catch Lieutenant Sickleton, who, in full yacht costume, was about to wait on his principal. He was a bluff, good-natured, blunt fellow, who, having neither patronage nor interest in the service, had left the wardroom for the easier, but less ambitious, life of a yacht commander; a thoroughly good seaman, and brave as a lion, he saw himself reduced to a position almost menial from hard and galling necessity. He had twice been to Alexandria with touring lords, who, while treating him well in all essentials, yet mingled so much of condescension in their courtesy as to be all but unendurable. He had gone to America with a young Oxford man, the son of a great London brewer, whose overbearing insolence he had been obliged to repel by a threat of personal consequences. He had taken an invalid family to Madeira, and a ruined duke to Greece, and was now, with the yacht and its company, transferred to Cashel's hands, not knowing—scarce caring—with whom or where his future destinies were to be cast.
The Freemasonry of the sea has a stronger tie than the mere use of technicals. Cashel was not ten minutes on board ere Sickleton and he were like old acquaintances. The “Lucciola” was, in Skeleton's ideas, the best thing that ever ran on a keel; there was nothing she could n't do,—fair weather or foul. She could outsail a Yankee smack in a gale off the coast of Labrador, or beat a felucca in the light winds off the Gulf of Genoa. If these tidings were delightful to Cashel's ears,—the most exciting and heart-stirring he had listened to for many a day,—the gratification was no less to Sickleton that he was about to sail with one who really loved the sea, and thoroughly understood and could value the qualities of his noble craft.
From the vessel, they turned the conversation to all the possible places the world's map afforded for a cruise. Sickleton's experiences were chiefly Eastern,—he knew the Mediterranean as well as he did the Downs; while Cashel's could vie with him in both coasts of the great Spanish peninsula, and all the various channels of the West India islands. For hours they sat discussing soundings, the trade winds, and shore currents, with all the bearings of land points, bluffs, and lighthouses. In talk, they visited half the globe; now staggering under a half-reefed topsail in the Bay of Biscay, now swimming along, with winged and stretching sails, under the blue cliffs of Baia.
“I 'm sure I don't know how you ever could lead a shore life,” said Sickleton, as Cashel described with warm enthusiasm some passages of his rover's existence.
“Nor do I understand how I have borne it so long,” said Cashel; “its dissipations weary, its deceits provoke me. I have lost—if not all—great part of that buoyancy which mingled peril and pleasure create, and I suppose, in a month or two more, I should be about as apathetic, as indolent, and as selfish as any fine gentleman ought to be. Ah, if we had a war!”
“That's it,—that's what I say every day and every night: if we had a war, the world would be worth living, in or dying for. Fellows like myself, for instance, are never thought of in a peace; but they 'look us all out,'—just as they do a storm-jib, when it comes on to blow. No laughing a man out of position, then,—no, faith!”
“How do you mean?” said Cashel, who saw in the intense expression of the speaker how much the words covered.
“Just what happened to myself,—that's all,” said Sickleton; “but if you like to hear how,—the story is n't long, or any way remarkable,—we 'll have a bit of luncheon here, and I'll tell it to you.”
Cashel willingly assented, and very quickly a most appetizing meal made its appearance in the cabin, to which Sickleton did the honors most creditably.
“I 'm impatient for that anecdote you promised me,” said Cashel, as the dessert made its appearance, and they sat in all the pleasant enjoyment of social ease.
“You shall hear it,—though, as I said before, it's not much of a story either; nor should I tell it, if I did n't see that you feel a sort of interest about myself—unhappily, its hero.”
“I 'll not weary you by telling you the story that thousands can repeat, of a service without patronage, no sooner afloat than paid off again, and no chance of employment, save in a ten-gun brig off the coast of Guinea, and I suppose you know what that is?”
Cashel nodded, and Sickleton went on:—
“Well, I passed as lieutenant, and went through my yellow fever in the Niger very creditably. I was the only one of a ship's company in the gun-room on the way back to England, after a two years' cruise; I suppose because life was less an object to me than the other fellows, who had mothers, and sisters, and so on. So it was, I brought the old 'Amphion' safe into dock, and was passed off to wander about the world, with something under forty pounds in my pocket, and a 'good-service letter' from the Admiralty—a document that costs a man some trouble to gain, but that would not get you a third-class place in the rail to Croydon, when you have it. What was I to do?—I had no interest for the Coast-Guard. I tried to become keeper of a lighthouse, but failed. It was no use to try and be a clerk—there were plenty of fellows, better qualified than myself, walking the streets supperless. So I set myself a thinking if I could n't do something for 'the service' that might get me into notice, and make the 'Lords' take me up. There was one chap made his fortune by 'round sterns,' though they were known in the Dutch Navy for two centuries. There was another invented a life-boat; a third, a new floating buoy—and so on. Now I 'm sure I passed many a sleepless night thinking of something that might aid me; at one time it was a new mode of reefing topsails in a gale; at another it was a change in signalizing the distant ships of a squadron; now an anchor for rocky bottoms; now a contrivance for lowering quarter-boats in a heavy sea—till at last, by dint of downright thought and perseverance, I did fall upon a lucky notion. I invented a new hand-pump, applicable for launches and gun-boats,—a thing greatly wanted, very simple of contrivance, and easy to work. It was a blessed moment, to be sure, when my mind, instead of wandering over everything from the round top to the taffrail, at last settled down on this same pump!
“It was not mere labor and study this invention caused me. No! it swallowed up nearly every shilling of my little hoard. I was obliged to make a model, and what with lead and zinc, and solder and leather, and caoutchouc and copper, I was very soon left without 'tin;' but I had hope, and hope makes up for half rations! At last, my pump was perfect; the next thing was to make it known. There was no use in trying this through any unprofessional channels. Landsmen think that as they pay for the navy, they need not bother their heads about it further. 'My lords,' I knew well, would n't mind me, because my father was n't in Parliament, and so I thought of one of those magazines that devote themselves to the interests of the two services, and I wrote a paper accordingly, and accompanied it by a kind of diagram of my pump. I waited for a month—two—three months—but heard nothing, saw nothing of my invention. I wrote, but could get no answer; I called, but could see no editor; and at last was meditating some personal vengeance, when I received a note. It was then much after midsummer, few people in town, and the magazines were printing anything—as no one reads them in the dog-days—stating that if Lieutenant Sickleton would procure a woodcut of his pump, the paper descriptive of it should appear in the next number. That was a civil way of asking me for five pounds; but help there was none, and so I complied.
“At length I read in the list of the contents, 'Lieutenant Sickleton's New Hand Pump, with an Illustration'—and my heart bounded at the words. It was the nineteenth article—near the end of the number. I forget what the others were—something, of course, about Waterloo, and Albuera, and the Albert chako, and such-like stuff. My pump, I knew, put it where they would, was the paper of the month. This feeling was a little abated on finding that, as I walked down Fleet Street on the day of publication, I did n't perceive any sign of public notice or recognition; no one said as I passed, 'That's Sickleton, the fellow who invented the new pump.' I remembered, however, that if my pump was known, I was not as yet, and that though the portrait of my invention had become fame, my own was still in obscurity.
“I betook myself to the office of the journal, expecting there at least to find that enthusiastic reception the knowledge of my merits must secure, but hang me, if one of the clerks—as to the editor, there was no seeing him—took the slightest trouble about me. I told him, with, I trust, a pardonable swelling of the bosom, that I was 'Sickleton.' I did n't say the famous Sickleton, and I thought I was modest in the omission; but he was n't in the least struck by the announcement, and I quitted the place in disgust.
“Worse than all, when I came to read over my paper, I found, by the errors of the press, that the whole diagram was spoiled. The letters had been misplaced, and the fiend himself, if he wanted it, couldn't work my pump. You see that C D represented the angular crank, F was the stop-cock, and T the trigger that closed the piston. Hang me, if they did n't make F the trigger, and instead of B being the cistern, it was made the jet; so that when you began to work, all the water squirted through the sluices at OPQ over the operator. I went nearly mad. I wrote a furious letter to the editor; I wrote another to the 'Times;' I wrote to the 'Globe,' the 'Post,' and the 'Herald.' I explained, I elucidated, I asked for the Englishman's birthright, as they call it—'Justice'—but no use! In fact, my reclamations could only be inserted as advertisements, and would cost me about a hundred pounds to publish. So I sat down to grieve over my invention, and curse the hour I ever thought of serving my country.
“It was about six months after this—I had been living on some relations nearly as poor as myself—when I one day received an order to 'wait at the Admiralty the next morning.' I went, but without hope or interest. I could n't guess why I was sent for, but no touch of expectancy made me anxious for the result.
“I waited from eleven till four in the ante-room; and at last, after some fifty had had audiences, Lieutenant Sickleton was called. The time was I would have trembled at such an interview to the very marrow of my bones. Disappointment, however, had nerved me now, and I stood as much at ease and composed as I sit here.
“'You are Mr. Sickleton?' said the First Lord, who was a 'Tartar.'
“'Yes, my Lord.'
“'You invented a kind of pump—a hand-pump for launches and small craft, I think?'
“'Yes, my Lord.'
“'You have a model of the invention, too?'
“'Yes, my Lord.'
“'Can you describe the principle of your discovery? is there anything which, for its novelty, demands the peculiar attention of the Admiralty?'
“'Yes—at least I think so, my Lord,' said I, the last embers of hope beginning to flicker into a faint flame within. 'The whole is so simple, that I can, with your permission, make it perfectly intelligible even here. There is a small double-acting piston—'
“'Confound the fellow! don't let him bore us, now,' said Admiral M——— in a whisper quite loud enough for me to overhear it. 'If it amuse his Majesty, that's enough. Tell him what's wanted, and let him go.'
“'Oh, very well,' said the First Lord, who seemed terribly afraid of his colleague. 'It is the king's wish, Mr. Sickleton, that your invention should be tested under his Majesty's personal inspection, and you are therefore commanded to present yourself at Windsor on Monday next, with your model, at eleven o'clock. It is not very cumbrous, I suppose?'
“'No, my Lord. It only weighs four and a half hundredweight.'
“'Pretty well for a model; but here is an order for a wagon. You 'll present this at Woolwich.' He bowed and turned his back, and I retreated.
“Sharp to the hour of eleven I found myself at Windsor on the following Monday. It was past two, however, before his Majesty could see me. There were audiences and foreign ambassadors, papers to read, commissions to sign—in fact, when two o'clock came, the king had only got through a part of his day's work, and then it was luncheon-time. This was over about three; and at last his Majesty, with the First Lord, two admirals, and an old post-captain, who, by the way, had once put me in irons for not saluting his Majesty's guard when coming up to the watch at midnight, appeared on the terrace.
“The place selected for the trial was a neat little parterre outside one of the small drawing-rooms. There was a fountain supplied by two running streams, and this I was to experiment upon with my new pump. It was trying enough to stand there before such a presence; but the uppermost thought in my mind was about my invention, and I almost forgot the exalted rank of my audience.
“After due presentation to his Majesty, and a few common-place questions about where I had served, and how long, and so on, the king said, 'Come now, sir. Let us see the pump at work, for we haven't much time to lose.'
“I immediately adjusted the apparatus, and when all was ready, I looked about in some dismay, for I saw no one to assist the working. There were present, besides the king and the three naval officers, only two fellows in full-dress liveries, a devilish sight more pompous-looking than the king or the First Lord. What was to be done? It was a dilemma I had never anticipated; and in my dire distress, I stepped back and whispered a word to old Admiral Beaufort, who was the kindest-looking of the party.
“'What is he saying?—what does he want?' said the king, who partly overheard the whisper.
“'Mr. Sickleton remarks, your Majesty, that he will need assistance to exhibit his invention—that he requires some one to work the pump.'
“'Then why did n't he bring hands with him?' said the king, testily. 'I suppose the machine is not self-acting, and that he knew that before he came here.'
“I thought I 'd have fainted at this rebuke from the lips of royalty itself, and so I stammered out some miserable excuse about not knowing if I were empowered to have brought aid—my ignorance of court etiquette—in fact, I blundered—and so far, that the king cut me short by saying, 'Take those people there, sir, and don't delay us;' pointing to the two gentlemen in cocked hats, bags, and swords, that looked as if they could have danced on my grave with delight.
“In a flurry—compared to which a fever was composure—I instructed my two new assistants in the duty, and stationing myself with the hose to direct the operation of the jet, I gave the word to begin. Well! instead of a great dash of water spurting out some fifty feet in height, and fizzing through the air like a rocket, there came a trickling, miserable dribble, that puddled at my very feet! I thought the sucker was clogged—the piston stopped—the valves impeded—twenty things did I fancy—but the sober truth was, these gilded rascals would n't do more than touch the crank with the tips of their fingers, and barely put sufficient force in the pressure to move the arm up and down. 'Work it harder—put more strength to it,' I whispered, in mortal fear to be overheard, but they never minded me in the least Indeed, I almost think one fellow winked his eye ironically when I addressed him.
“'Eh—what!' said the king, after ten minutes of an exhibition that were to me ten years at the galleys, 'these pumps do next to nothing. They make noise enough, but don't bring up any water at all.'
“The First Lord shook his head in assent. Old Beaufort made me a sign to give up the trial, and the post-captain blurted out, in a half-whisper, something about a 'blundering son of a dog's wife' that nearly drove me mad.
“'I say, Sickleton,' said the king, 'your invention's not worth the solder it cost you. You couldn't sprinkle the geraniums yonder in three weeks with it.'
“'It's all the fault of these d——d buffers, please your Majesty,' said I, driven clean out of my senses by failure and disgrace—and, to be sure, as hearty a roar of laughter followed as ever I listened to in my life—'if they 'd only bear a hand and work the crank as I showed them—' As I spoke, I leaned over and took hold of the crank myself, letting the hose rest on my shoulder.
“With two vigorous pulls I filled the pistons full, and, at the third, rush went the stream with the force of a Congrève—not, indeed, over the trees, as I expected, but full in the face of the First Lord; scarcely was his cry uttered, when a fourth dash laid him full upon his back, drenched from head to foot, and nearly senseless from the shock. The king screamed with laughing—the admiral shouted—the old post-captain swore—and I, not knowing one word of all that was happening behind my back, worked away for the bare life, till the two footmen, at a signal from the admiral, laid hold of me by main force, and dragged me away, the perspiration dripping from my forehead, and my uniform all in rags by the exertion.
“'Get away as fast as you can, sir,' whispered old B., 'and thank God if your day's work only puts you at the end of the list.' I followed the counsel—I don't know how—I never could recollect one event from that moment till I awoke the next morning at my aunt's cottage at Blackwall, and saw my coat in tatters, and the one epaulette hanging by a thread; then I remembered my blessed invention, and I think I showed good pluck by not going clean out of my mind.”
There was an earnestness in poor Sickleton's manner that effectually repressed any mirth on Cashel's part—indeed, his sense of the ludicrous gave way before his feeling of sorrow for the hard fortune of the man without a friend. In the partial civilization of the far west, personal prowess and energy were always enough to secure any man's success; but here, each day's experience taught him how much was to be laid to the score of family—of fortune—name—address—and the thousand other accessories of fortune. He had just begun to express his wonder that Sickleton had never tried life in the New World, when the mate appeared at the cabin-door to say that a shore boat was rowing out to the yacht.
A movement of impatience broke from Sickleton. “More of 'em, I suppose,” cried he; “we've had such a lot of sight-seers this morning, since we dropped anchor! most of them affecting to be intimate friends of yours, and all so well acquainted with your habits of life, that I should have become perfectly informed on every particular of your private history only by listening.”
“The chances are,” broke in Cashel, “I did not personally know a man amongst them.”
“I half suspect as much. They spoke far too confidently to be authentic. One would have it you were half ruined already, and had got the yacht over to clear away, and be off. Another, that you were going to be married to a lady with an immense fortune,—a rumor contradicted by a third saying it was an attorney's daughter without a shilling.”
“There's a lady, I see, sir, coming on board,” said the mate, putting in his head once more.
“I 'd swear there was,” growled Sickleton.
“You give them luncheon, I hope?” said Cashel, smiling at the other's impatience.
“Yes; we've had something like an ordinary here, today, and as I heard that to-morrow would be busier still, I have had my boat going backwards and forwards all the morning to prepare.”
“I am desired to show you this card, sir,” said the mate, handing one to Sickleton, who passed it to Cashel.
“Lord Kilgoff—indeed!” said he, surprised, and at once hastened to the deck.
“Mr. Cashel himself here!” exclaimed my Lady, from the stern of a small boat alongside; and after an exchange of friendly recognition, the party ascended the gangway. “This was a pleasure we scarcely looked for, to meet you here,” said his Lordship, blandly. “We had just taken our drive down to the harbor, when accidentally hearing your yacht had arrived, Lady Kilgoff grew desirous to see it.”
“A yacht in harbor is a horse in stable,” said Cashel. “Will you permit me to give you a cruise?”
“I should like nothing in the world so well.”
“It is late—almost six o'clock,” said Lord Kilgoff, looking at his watch.
“And if it be,” said my Lady, coaxingly, “you know Dr. Grover recommended you the sea air and sea excursions. I declare you look better already, don't you think so, Mr. Cashel?” “I protest I do,” said Cashel, thus appealed to; “and if you will only pardon the deficiencies of a floating cuisine, and dine here—”
“How delightful!” broke in my Lady, not suffering even time for an apology.
“It appeared to me there was a haunch of venison hanging over the stern when we came on board?” said my Lord, with his glass to his eye.
“Yes, my Lord,” said Sickleton, touching his hat in salutation; “I've had it there for two hours every day since Tuesday week.”
“And is the wind, and the tide, and everything else as it should be, Mr. Cashel?” said Lady Kilgoff.
“Everything—when you have only uttered your consent,” said he, gallantly.
“What is this, sir?” said my Lord, as, having requested something to drink, Sickleton poured him out a large glassful of scarcely frothing liquid.
“Dry champagne, my Lord. Moot's.”
“And very excellent too. Really, Laura, I am very sorry it should be so late, and we were to have dined with Meek at seven—”
“But only alone—no party, remember that,” said she, persuasively; “how easy to send the carriage back with an apology.”
Cashel looked his thanks, but without speaking.
“Take those red partridges out of ice,” said Sickleton, from the cook's galley, “and let us have those Ostend oysters to-day.”
“I yield,” said my Lord. “Mr. Cashel must take all the consequences of my breach of faith upon himself.”
“I promise to do so, my Lord.”
“A pen and ink, and some paper, Mr. Cashel,” said her Ladyship.
“Will you permit me to show you the way?” said he, handing her down into the little cabin, whose arrangement was all in the perfection of modern taste and elegance.
“How beautiful!” cried she. “Oh! Mr. Cashel, I really do envy you the possession of this fairy ship. You don't know how passionately I love the sea.”
“There are but few things I could hear you say with so much pleasure to me,” said Cashel, gazing with a strange feeling of emotion at the brilliant color and heightened expression of her handsome features.
“There! that is finished,” said she, closing the hastily-written note. “Now, Mr. Cashel, we are yours.” However much of course the words were in themselves, her eyes met Cashel's as she spoke them, and as suddenly fell; while he, taking the letter, left the cabin without speaking—a world of curious conjecture warring in his heart.
It may easily have escaped our reader's memory, that on Roland Cashel's hasty departure from Mr. Kennyfeck's, the seeds of a very serious schism had been sown in that respectable family, Mrs. Kennyfeck being firmly persuaded that her liege lord had grossly mismanaged his influence over the young proprietor; the girls as resolutely opposed to each other; and all, with a most laudable unanimity, agreed in thinking that Aunt Fanny “had spoiled everything,” and that but for her odious interference there never would have arisen the slightest coolness between them and their distinguished acquaintance.
“I may lose the agency!” said Mr. Kennyfeck, with a sigh of afflicting sincerity.
“I should n't wonder if he avoids the house,” quoth his wife.
“He evidently rejects all attempts at domination,” said Miss Kennyfeck, with a glance at her aunt. Olivia said nothing; but it was not difficult to see that her thoughts were full of the theme. Meanwhile, Miss O'Hara, in all the dignity of injured rectitude, sat seemingly unconscious of the popular feeling against her, repeating from time to time the ominous words, “We shall see—we shall see;” a species of prophetic warning that, come what may, can always assert its accomplishment.
With such elements of discord and discontent, the breakfast proceeded gradually, and the broken attempts at talk had subsided into a sullen silence, when the butler entered to say that Mr. Phillis begged to speak a few words with Mr. Kennyfeck.
“Let him come in here,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, as her husband was rising to leave the room. “I think, if there are to be no more blunders, we had better be present at the conference.”
“Show him in, Pearse,” said Mr. Kennyfeck, in a meek voice; and the gentleman's gentleman entered, in all that easy self-sufficiency so peculiar to his class.
“What is it, Mr. Phillis?” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, in a commanding tone, meant to convey the information of “where the Court sat,” and to whom he should address his pleading.
“It's a little matter on which I wanted advice, ma'am, for I am really puzzled bow to act. You know, ma'am, that we are expecting large company at our place in the country—Tubb—something—”
“Tubbermore,” interposed Mr. Kennyfeck.
“Yes, sir, Tubbermore. Well, there have been at least twenty messages this morning from different families, who want to know the best way of going, and when Mr. Cashel means to go himself, and where post-horses are to be had, and how they are to get forward where there are none, and so on.”
“Is your master not the person to dictate the answer to these queries?” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, with her grandest air.
“Of course, ma'am, but he's not here.”
“Where is he, then?” asked she, eagerly.
“He's gone, ma'am; he went last night.”
“Gone! gone where?” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, with an eagerness no artifice could cover.
“It's hard to say, ma'am; but he went down to Kingstown last night, and sailed in the yacht; and from the preparations and sea stores taken from the hotel, it would seem like a long cruise.”
“And did he not mention anything of his intention to you Mr. Phillis?” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, with a flattering emphasis on the pronoun.
“A few lines in pencil, ma'am, dated from the harbor, was all I received. Here they are.” And he handed a piece of note-paper across the table. The contents ran thus:—
“And who brought this note?” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, who fancied she was conducting the inquiry in true judicial form.
“One of the yacht sailors, ma'am; he came up on Lord Kilgoff s carriage.”
“On Lord Kilgoff's carriage—how did that happen?”
“The carriage came into town, ma'am, to bring some things my Lady sent for; at least, so the sailor told me.”
“And were Lord and Lady Kilgoff on board the yacht?”
“Yes, ma'am; they both sailed in her last night.”
As though drawn by some irresistible influence, every eye was now turned to Aunt Fanny, who, up to this, had listened to Mr. Phillis with a breathless attention, and if looks could be translated, every glance thus thrown said plainly, “This is your doing.”
“Are you certain that the yacht has not returned to Kingstown?” said Miss O'Hara.
“Perfectly, ma'am. It blew a storm last night, and the sailors about the harbor told me it was a great chance that any small vessel could outlive the gale.”
Olivia Kennyfeck became deadly pale at these words, and whispered something in her sister's ear.
“Of course,” replied the other, aloud; then turning to Phillis, said, “Had they a pilot with them?”
“I believe so, miss, but there are so many contradictory reports, one don't know what to credit; some say that Lord Kilgoff was greatly opposed to the cruise, but that her Ladyship insisted, and that, in fact, they got under weigh at last without my Lord's knowing, and while they were at dinner.”
“It was a fearful night!” said Mr. Kennyfeck, whose mind was entirely engrossed by the one idea.
“Take him into the next room, and I'll join you presently,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck to her husband, for that keen-sighted lady had remarked the intense interest with which Mr. Phillis listened to every remark made around him.
“Here's a pretty piece of business!” cried she, as the door closed after her husband and the valet; “and certainly, I must say, we 've no one to thank for it but you, Fanny!”
“Unquestionably not,” echoed Miss Kennyfeck. “Aunt Fanny has the entire merit of this catastrophe.”
“It is most cruel,” sighed Olivia, as she wiped the tears from her eyes, and bent upon her stern relative a glance of most reproachful sadness.
“Are you all mad?” said the assailed individual, her courage and her color rising together. “How can you pretend to connect me with this disgraceful proceeding? Here's a case as clearly prearranged as ever was heard of.”
“Impossible!” cried Mrs. Kennyfeck; “did n't he invite us only yesterday to go down to Tubbermore by sea?”
“And didn't you yourself offer the only impediment?” said Miss Kennyfeck.
“You are very cruel, aunt,” sobbed Olivia.
“You'll drive me out of my senses,” said Miss O'Hara; and certainly her look did not belie her words. “I endeavor to rescue you from the snares of a young debauchee, who, as you well know, has a wife still living—”
“There, I hope you are content now,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, as Olivia fell fainting into her arms; and the window was thrown open, and all were busied in employing the wonted restoratives for such attacks. Meanwhile, hostilities were continued, but in a less rigorous fashion. “You know you've ruined everything—you know well how your officious meddling has destroyed this poor child's fortune; rub her temples, Cary.”
“I know that he is a dissipated, abandoned wretch, that would desert her to-morrow as he has done that unhappy—”
“Hush, she is coming to. You want to kill her.”
“Humph!” muttered Aunt Fanny; “this scene might be very effective with the young gentleman, but is quite thrown away upon me.”
“Aunt, aunt!” cried Miss Kennyfeck, reprovingly.
“If we had just followed our own counsels, we should have this very hour been on the way to Tubbermore, perhaps never to leave it!”
Aunt Fanny shook her head.
“Yes. You may affect to doubt and hesitate, and all that, but where is the wonderful condescension in a Mr. Cashel proposing for the grand-niece of Roger Miles O'Hara, of Kilmurray O'Hara of Mayo, the second cousin of Lawrence O'Hara Kelly, that ought to be Lord Bally Kelly?”
“Fairly enough, if that was all,” slipped in Miss O'Hara, hoping to escape from all danger by climbing up the genealogical tree whereon her sister was perched.
“If that was all!” repeated Mrs. Kennyfeck, indignantly, catching at the last words, “and what more is wanting, I 'd be glad to ask? But, to be sure, it was rather a mistake to call to our counsels, in such a case, one that never could succeed in her own.”
This terrible taunt at Miss O'Hara's celibacy didn't go unpunished, for, throwing all attempts at conciliation behind her, she rose, with flashing eyes and trembling lips.
“So, it is you that tell me this,” said she—“you that dare to sneer at my being unmarried—you, that were fain to take up with a Dublin attorney—poor Tom Kennyfeck—the hack of the quarter sessions, serving latitats and tithe notices over the country in his old gig—Indeed, girls, I 'm sorry to speak that way of your father, but it 's well known—”
A loud shriek interrupted the speech, and Mrs. Kennyfeck, in strong hysterics, took her place beside Olivia.
“It will do her good, my dear,” said Aunt Fanny to her niece, as she chafed the hands and bathed the temples of her mother. “I was only telling the truth; she'd never have married your father if Major Kennedy had n't jilted her; and good luck it was he did, for he had two other wives living at the time—just as your friend, Mr. Cashel, wanted to do with your sister.”
“Aunt—aunt—I entreat you to have done. Haven't you made mischief enough?”
“Eaten up with vanity and self-conceit,” resumed the old lady, not heeding the interruption. “A French cook and a coach-and-four,—nothing less! Let her scream, child—sure, I know it's good for her—it stretches the lungs.”
“Leave me—leave the room!” cried Miss Kennyfeck, whose efforts at calmness were rendered fruitless by the torrent of her aunt's eloquence.
“Indeed I will, my dear: I'll leave the house, too. Sorry I am that I ever set foot in it. What with the noise and the racket night and day, it's more like a lunatic asylum than a respectable residence.”
“Send her away—send her away!” screamed Mrs. Kennyfeck, with a cry of horror.
“Do, aunt—do leave the room.”
“I'm going—I'm going, young lady; but I suppose I may drink my cup of tea first—it's the last I 'll ever taste in the same house;” and she reseated herself at the table with a most provoking composure. “I came here,” resumed she, “for no advantage of mine. I leave you without regret, because I see how your poor fool of a father, and your vain, conceited mother—”
“Aunt, you are really too bad. Have you no feeling?”
“That's just what comes of it,” said she, stirring her tea tranquilly. “You set up for people of fashion, and you don't know that people of fashion are twice as shrewd and 'cute as yourself. Faith, my dear, they'd buy and sell you, every one. What are they at all day, but roguery and schemes of one kind or other, and then after 'doing' you, home they go, and laugh at your mother's vulgarity!”
A fresh torrent of cries from Mrs. Kennyfeck seemed to show that unconsciousness was not among her symptoms, and Miss Kennyfeck now hastened from the room to summon her father to her aid.
“Well, you've come to turn me out, I suppose?” said Aunt Fanny, as the old gentleman entered in a state of perplexity that might have evoked the compassion of a less determined enemy.
“My dear Miss Fanny—”
“None of your four courts blarney with me, sir; I'm ready to go—I 'll leave by the coach to-night. I conclude you 'll have the decency to pay for my place, and my dinner too, for I 'll go to Dawson's Hotel this minute. Tell your mother, and that poor dawdle there, your sister, that they 'd be thankful they'd have followed my advice. The rate you're living, old gentleman, might even frighten you. There's more waste in your kitchen than in Lord Clondooney's.
“As for yourself, Caroline, you 're the best of the lot; but your tongue, darling!—your tongue!” And here she made a gesture of far more expressive force than any mere words could give.
“Is she gone?” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, as a slight lull succeeded.
“Yes, mamma,” whispered Miss Kennyfeck; “but speak low, for Mr. Phillis is in the hall.”
“I'll never see her again—I'll never set eyes on her,” muttered Mrs. Kennyfeck.
“I shouldn't wonder, mamma, if that anonymous letter was written by herself,” said Caroline. “She never forgave Mr. Cashel for not specially inviting her; and this, I'm almost sure, was the way she took to revenge herself.”
“So it was,” cried Mrs. Kennyfeck, eagerly seizing at the notion. “Hush, take care Livy doesn't hear you.”
“As for the yacht expedition, it was just the kind of thing Lady Kilgoff was ready for. She is dying to be talked of.”
“And that poor, weak creature, Cashel, will be so flattered by the soft words of a peeress, he'll be intolerable ever after.”
“Aunt Fanny—Aunt Fanny!” sighed Miss Kennyfeck, with a mournful cadence.
“If I only was sure—that is, perfectly certain—that she wrote that letter about Cashel—But here comes your father—take Olivia, and leave me alone.”
Miss Kennyfeck assisted her sister from the sofa, and led her in silence from the room, while Mr. Kennyfeck sat down, with folded hands and bent down head, a perfect picture of dismay and bewilderment.
“Well,” said his wife, after a reasonable interval of patient expectation that he would speak—“well, what have you to say for yourself now, sir?”
The poor solicitor, who never suspected that he was under any indictment, looked up with an expression of almost comic innocence.
“Did you hear me, Mr. Kennyfeck, or is it you want to pass off your dulness for deafness? Did you hear me, I say?”
“Yes, I heard—but I really do not know—that is, I am unaware how—I cannot see—”
“Oh, the old story,” sighed she—“injured innocence! Well, sir, I was asking you if you felt gratified with our present prospects? Linton's intimacy was bad enough, but the Kilgoff friendship is absolute, utter ruin. That crafty, old, undermining peer, as proud as poor, will soon ensnare him; and my Lady, with her new airs of a viscountess, only anxious to qualify for London by losing her character before she appears there!”
“As to the agency—”
“The agency!” echoed she, indignantly, “do your thoughts never by any chance, sir, take a higher flight than five per cent.?—are you always dreaming of your little petty gains at rent-day? I told you, sir, how the patron might be converted into a son-in-law—did I not?”
“You did, indeed, and I'm certain I never threw any impediment in the way of it.”
“You never threw any impediment in the way of your child's succeeding to a fortune of sixteen thousand a year! You really are an exemplary father.”
“I 'd have forwarded it, if I only knew how.”
“How good of you! I suppose you 'd have drawn up the settlements if ordered. But so it is—all my efforts through life have been thwarted by you! I have labored and toiled day and night to place my children in the sphere that their birth, on one side at least, would entitle them to, and you know it.”
Now this Mr. Kennyfeck really did not know. In his dull fatuity he always imagined that he was the honey-gatherer of the domestic hive, and that Mrs. Kennyfeck had in her own person monopolized the functions of queen bee and wasp together.
“Your low, pettifogging ambition never soared above a Softly or a Clare Jones for your daughters, while I was planning alliances that would have placed them among the best in the land—and how have I been rewarded? Indifference, coolness, perhaps contempt!” Here a flood of tears, that had remained dammed up since the last torrent, burst forth in convulsive sobs. “Ungrateful man, who ought never to have forgotten the sacrifice I made in marrying him—the rupture with every member of my family—the severance of every tie that united me to my own.”
She ceased, and here, be it remembered, Mrs. Kennyfeck seemed to address herself to some invisible jury empanelled to try Mr. Kennyfeck on a serious charge.
“He came like a serpent into the bosom of our peaceful circle, and with the arts that his crafty calling but too well supplied, seduced my young affections.”
Mr. Kennyfeck started. It had never before occurred to him that Don Juan was among his range of parts.
“False and unfeeling both,” resumed she. “Luring with promises never intended for performance, you took me from a home, the very sanctuary of peace!”
Mr. Kennyfeck wiped his forehead in perplexity; his recollection of the home in question was different. Sanctuary it might have been, but it was against the officers of the law and the sheriff, and so far as a well-fastened hall door and barricaded windows went, the epithet did not seem quite unsuitable.
“Ah!” sighed she—for it is right to remark that Mrs. Kennyfeck was a mistress of that domestic harmony which consists in every modulation, from the grand adagio of indignant accusation to the rattling andante of open abuse—“had I listened to those older and wiser than I, and who foretold the destiny that awaited me, I had never seen this unhappy day! No, sir! I had not lived to see myself outraged and insulted, and my only sister turned out of the house like a discarded menial.”
Had Mr. Kennyfeck been informed that for courteously making way for a Bencher in the Hall he was stripped of his gown and degraded from his professional rank, he could not have been more thoroughly amazed and thunderstruck.
He actually gasped with excess of astonishment, and, if breath had been left him, would have spoken; but so it was, the very force of the charge stunned him, and he could not utter a word.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Kennyfeck, who in the ardor of combat had imitated certain Spanish sailors, who in the enthusiasm of a sea-fight loaded their cannons with whatever came next to hand, was actually shocked by the effect of her own fire. For the grandeur of a peroration she had taken a flying leap over all truth, and would gladly have been safe back again at the other side of the fence.
For an instant not a word dropped from either side, and it was clear that he who spoke first had gained the victory. This was the lady.
“Go, sir”—and she wiped her eyes with that calm dignity by which a scolding wife seems to call up all Christian forgiveness of herself, and stand acquitted before her own conscience—“go, sir, and find out what these people that Cashel has invited mean to do; and if it be their intention to repair to Tubbermore, let us lose no time in setting out; and if we are to go, Mr. Kennyfeck, let as do so as becomes us.”
Mr. Kennyfeck stifled a rising sigh—for he knew what the words denoted—and departed; while Mrs. Kennyfeck, with her heart lightened of a heavy load, rose to join her daughters, and discuss dress and “toilette,” the great commissariat of the approaching campaign.