The order on the banker ran as follows:—
Pay to Vanderhaeghen und Droek, two of the greatest knaves alive, seventeen thousand four hundred and forty-eight gulden, being the principal and interest for three years of a dishonest claim made upon Roland Cashel. To Hamerton and Co., Cheapside.
With all that soothing consciousness we hear is the result of good actions, Cashel lay down on his bed immediately on concluding this last epistle, and was fast asleep almost before the superscription was dried.
And now, worthy reader, another peep, and we have done. Ascending cautiously the stairs, you pass through a little conservatory, at the end of which a heavy cloth curtain conceals a door. It is that of a dressing-room, off which, at opposite sides, two bedrooms lie. This same dressing-room, with its rose-colored curtains and ottoman, its little toilet-tables of satin-wood, its mirrors framed in alabaster, its cabinets of buhl, and the book-shelves so coquettishly curtained with Malines lace, is the common property of the two sisters whom we so lately introduced to your notice.
There were they wont to sit for hours after the return from a ball, discussing the people they had met, their dress, their manner, their foibles and flirtations; criticising with no mean acuteness all the varied games of match-making mammas and intriguing aunts, and canvassing the schemes and snares so rife around them. And oh, ye simple worshippers of muslin-robed innocence! oh, ye devoted slaves of ringleted loveliness and blooming freshness! bethink ye what wily projects lie crouching in hearts that would seem the very homes of careless happiness; what calculations; what devices; how many subtleties that only beauty wields, or simple man is vanquished by!
It was considerably past midnight as the two girls sat at the fire, their dressing-gowns and slippered feet showing that they had prepared for bed; but the long luxuriant hair, as yet uncurled, flowed in heavy masses on their neck and shoulders. They did not, as usual, converse freely together; a silence and a kind of constraint sat upon each, and although Olivia held a book before her, it was less for the purpose of reading than as a screen against the fire, while her sister sat with folded arms and gently drooping head, apparently lost in thought. It was after a very lengthened silence, and in a voice which showed that the speaker was following up some train of thought, Miss Kennyfeck said,—
“And do you really think him handsome, Olivia?”
“Of whom are you speaking, dear?” said Olivia, with the very softest accent.
Miss Kennyfeck started; her pale cheeks became slightly red as, with a most keen irony, she replied, “Could you not guess? Can I mean any one but Mr. Clare Jones?”
“Oh, he's a downright fright,” answered the other; “but what could have made you think of him?”
“I was not thinking of him, nor were you either, sister dear,” said Miss Kennyfeck, fixing her eyes full upon her; “we were both thinking of the same person. Come, what use in such subterfuges? Honesty, Livy, may not be the 'best policy,' but it has one great advantage,—it saves a deal of time; and so I repeat my question, do you think him handsome?”
“If you mean Mr. Cashel, dearest,” said the younger, half bashfully, “I rather incline to say he is. His eyes are very good; his forehead and brow—”
“There,—no inventory, I beg,—the man is very well-looking, I dare say, but I own he strikes me as tant soit peu sauvage. Don't you think so?”
“True, his manners—”
“Why, he has none; the man has a certain rakish, free-and-easy demeanor that, with somewhat more breeding, would rise as high as 'tigerism,' but now is detestable vulgarity.”
“Oh, dearest, you are severe.”
“I rather suspect that you are partial.”
“I, my dear! not I, in the least. He is not, by any means, the style of person I like. He can be very amusing, perhaps; he certainly is very odd, very original.”
“He is very rich, Livy,” said the elder sister, with a most dry gravity.
“That can scarcely be called a fault, still less a misfortune,” replied Olivia, slyly.
“Well, well, let us have done with aphorisms, and speak openly. If you are really pleased with his manner and address, say so at once, and I 'll promise never to criticise too closely a demeanor which, I vow, does not impress me highly,—only be candid.”
“But I do not see any occasion for such candor, my dear. He is no more to me than he is to you. I ask no protestations from you about this Mr. Roland Cashel.”
Miss Kennyfeck bit her lip and seemed to repress a rising temptation to reply, but was silent for a moment, when she said, in a careless, easy tone,—
“Do you know, Livy dearest, that this same manolo you danced this evening is not by any means a graceful performance to look at, at least when danced with long, sweeping drapery, flapping here and flouncing there. It may suit those half-dressed Mexican damsels who want to display a high arched instep and a rounded ankle, and who know that they are not transgressing the ordinary limits of decorum in the display; but certainly your friend Mr. Softly did not accord all his approval. Did you remark him?”
“I did not; I was too much engaged in learning the figure: but Mr. Softly disapproves of all dancing.”
“Oh, I know he does,” yawned Miss Kennyfeck, as if the very mention of his name suggested sleep; “the dear man has his own notions of pleasantry,—little holy jokes about Adam and Eve. There is nothing so intolerable to me as the insipid playfulness of your young parson, except, perhaps, the coarse fun of your rising barrister. How I hate Mr. Clare Jones!”
“He is very underbred.”
“He is worse; the rudest person I ever met,—so familiar.”
“Why will he always insist on shaking hands?”
“Why will he not at least wash his own, occasionally?”
“And then his jests from the Queen's Bench,—the last mot—I'm sure I often wished it were so literally—of some stupid Chief Justice. Well, really, in comparison, your savage friend is a mirror of good looks and good manners.”
“Good night, my dear,” said Olivia, rising, as though to decline a renewal of the combat.
“Good night,” echoed her sister, bluntly, “and pleasant dreams of 'Roland the brave, Roland the true;' the latter quality being the one more in request at this moment.” And so, humming the well-known air, she took her candle and retired.
Notwithstanding all that we hear said against castle-building, how few among the unbought pleasures of life are so amusing, nor are we certain that these shadowy speculations—these “white lies” that we tell to our own conscience—are not so many incentives to noble deeds and generous actions. These “imaginary conversations” lift us out of the jog-trot path of daily intercourse, and call up hopes and aspirations that lie buried under the heavy load of wearisome commonplaces of which life is made up, and thus permit a man, immersed as he may be in the fatigues of a profession, or a counting-house, harassed by law, or worried by the Three per Cents, to be a hero to his own heart at least for a few minutes once a week.
But if “castle-building” be so pleasurable when a mere visionary scheme, what is it when it comes associated with all the necessary conditions for accomplishment,—when not alone the plan and elevation of the edifice are there, but all the materials and every appliance to realize the conception?
Just fancy yourself “two or three and twenty,” waking out of a sound and dreamless sleep, to see the mellow sun of an autumnal morning straining its rays through the curtains of your bedroom. Conceive the short and easy struggle by which, banishing all load of cares and duties in which you were once immersed, you spring, as by a bound, to the joyous fact that you are the owner of a princely fortune, with health and ardent spirit, a temper capable of, nay, eager for engagement, a fearless courage, and a heart unchilled. Think of this, and say, Is not the first waking half-hour of such thoughts the brightest spot of a whole existence? Such was the frame of mind in which our hero awoke, and lay for some time to revel in! We could not, if we would, follow the complex tissue of day-dreams that wandered over every clime, and in the luxuriant rapture of power created scenes of pleasure, of ingredients the most far-fetched and remote. The “actual” demands our attention more urgently than the “ideal,” so that we are constrained to follow the unpoetical steps of so ignoble a personage as Mr. Phillis,—Cashel's new valet,—who now broke in upon his master's reveries as he entered with hot water and the morning papers.
“What have you got there?” cried Cashel, not altogether pleased at the intrusion.
“The morning papers! Lord Ettlecombe “—his former master, and his universal type—“always read the 'Post,' sir, before he got out of bed.”
“Well, let me see it,” said Cashel, who, already impressed with the necessity of conforming to a new code, was satisfied to take the law even from so humble an authority as his own man.
“Yes, sir. Our arrival is announced very handsomely among the fashionable intelligence, and the 'Dublin Mail' has copied the paragraph stating that we are speedily about to visit our Irish estates.”
“Ah, indeed,” said Cashel, somewhat flattered at his newborn notoriety; “where is all this?”
“Here, sir, under 'Movements in High Life': 'The Duke of Uxoter to Lord Debbington's beautiful villa at Maulish; Sir Harry and Lady Emeline Morpas, etc.; Rosenorris; Lord Fetcherton—'No, here we have it, sir,—'Mr. Roland Cashel and suite'—Kennyfeck and self, sir—'from Mivart's, for Ireland. We understand that this millionnaire proprietor is now about to visit his estates in this country, preparatory to taking up a residence finally amongst us. If report speak truly, he is as accomplished as wealthy, and will be a very welcome accession to the ranks of our country gentry.'”
“How strange that these worthy people should affect to know or care anything about me or my future intentions,” said Cashel, innocently.
“Oh, sir, they really know nothing,—that little thing is mine.”
“Yours,—how yours?”
“Why, I wrote it, sir. When I lived with Sir Giles Heathcote, we always fired off a certain number of these signal-guns when we came to a new place. Once the thing was set a-going, the newspaper fellows followed up the lead themselves. They look upon a well-known name as of the same value as a fire or a case of larceny. I have known a case of seduction by a marquis to take the 'pas' of the last murder in the Edgware Road.”
“I have no fancy for this species of publicity,” said Cashel, seriously.
“Believe me, sir, there is nothing to be done without it. The Press, sir, is the fourth estate. They can ignore anything nowadays, from a speech in Parliament to the last novel; from the young beauty just come out, to the newly-launched line-of-battle ship. A friend of mine, some time back, tried the thing to his cost, sir. He invented an admirable moustache-paste; he even paid a guinea to an Oxford man for a Greek name for it; well, sir, he would not advertise in the dailies, but only in bills. Mark the consequence. One of the morning journals, in announcing the arrival of the Prince of Koemundkuttingen on a visit to Colonel Sibthorp, mentioned that in the fraternal embrace of these two distinguished personages their moustaches, anointed with the new patent adhesive Eukautherostickostecon, became actually so fastened together (as the fellow said, like two clothes-brushes) that after a quarter of an hour's vain struggle they had to be cut asunder. From that moment, sir, the paste was done up; he sold it as harness stuff the week after, and left the hair and beard line altogether.”
As Cashel's dressing proceeded, Mr. Phillis continued to impose upon him those various hints and suggestions respecting costume for which that accomplished gentleman's gentleman was renowned.
“Excuse me, but you are not going to wear that coat, I hope. A morning dress should always incline to what artists call 'neutral tints;' there should also be nothing striking, nothing that would particularly catch the eye, except in those peculiar cases where the wearer, adopting a certain color, not usually seen, adheres strictly to it, Just as we see my Lord Blenneville with his old coffee-colored cut-away, and Sir Francis Heming with his light-blue frock; Colonel Mordaunt's Hessians are the same kind of thing.”
“This is all mere trifling,” said Casbel, impatiently; “I don't intend to dress like the show-figure in a tailor's shop, to be stared at.”
“Exactly so, sir; that is what I have been saying: any notoriety is to be avoided where a gentleman has a real position. Now, with a dark frock, gray trousers, and this plain single-breasted vest, your costume is correct.”
If Cashel appeared to submit to these dictations with impatience, he really received them as laws to which he was, in virtue of his station, to be bound. He had taken Mr. Phillis exactly as he had engaged the services of a celebrated French cook, as a person to whom a “department” was to be intrusted; and feeling that he was about to enter on a world whose habits of thinking and prejudices were all strange, he resolved to accept of guidance, with the implicitness that he would have shown in taking a pilot to navigate him through a newly visited channel. Between the sense of submission, and a certain feeling of shame at the mock importance of these considerations, Casbel exhibited many symptoms of impatience, as Mr. Phillis continued his revelations on dress, and was sincerely happy when that refined individual, having slowly surveyed him, pronounced a faint, “Yes, very near it,” and withdrew.
There was a half glimmering suspicion, like a struggling ray of sunlight stealing through a torn and ragged cloud, breaking on Roland's mind that if wealth were to entail a great many requirements, no matter how small each, of obedience to the world's prescription, that he, for one, would prefer his untrammelled freedom to any amount of riches. This was but a fleeting doubt, which he had no time to dwell upon, for already he was informed by the butler that Mrs. Kennyfeck was waiting breakfast for him.
Descending the stairs rapidly, he had just reached the landing opposite the drawing-room, when he heard the sounds of a guitar accompaniment, and the sweet silvery tones of a female voice. He listened, and to his amazement heard that the singer was endeavoring, and with considerable success, too, to remember his own Mexican air that he had sung the preceding evening.
Somehow, it struck him he had never thought the melody so pretty before; there was a tenderness in the plaintive parts he could not have conceived. Not so the singer; for after a few efforts to imitate one of Roland's bolder passages, she drew her finger impatiently across the chords, and exclaimed, “It is of no use; it is only the caballero himself can do it.”
“Let him teach you, then!” cried Cashel, as he sprang into the room, wild with delight.
“Oh, Mr. Cashel, what a start you 've given me!” said Olivia Kennyfeck, as, covered with blushes, and trembling with agitation, she leaned on the back of a chair.
“Oh, pray forgive me,” said he, eagerly; “but I was so surprised, so delighted to hear you recalling that little song, I really forgot everything else. Have I startled you, then?”
“Oh, no; it's nothing. I was trying a few chords. I thought I was quite alone.”
“But you'll permit me to teach you some of our Mexican songs, won't you? I should be so charmed to hear them sung as you could sing them.”
“It is too kind of you,” said she, timidly; “but I am no musician. My sister is a most skilful performer, but I really know nothing; a simple ballad and a canzonette are the extent of my efforts.”
“For our prairie songs, it is the feeling supplies all the character. They are wild, fanciful things, with no higher pretensions than to recall some trait of the land they belong to; and I should be so flattered if you would take an interest in the Far West.”
“How you must love it! How you must long to return to it!” said Olivia, raising her long drooping lashes, and letting her eyes rest, with an expression of tender melancholy, on Cashel.
What he might have said there is no guessing,—nay, for his sake, and for hers too, it is better not even to speculate on it; but ere he could reply, another speaker joined in the colloquy, saying,—
“Good morning, Mr. Cashel. Pray don't forget, when the lesson is over, that we are waiting breakfast.” So saying, and with a laugh of saucy raillery, Miss Kennyfeck passed down the stairs, not remaining to hear his answer.
“Oh, Mr. Cashel!” exclaimed Olivia, with a tone half reproachful, half shy, “we shall be scolded,—at least, I shall,” added she. “It is the unforgivable offence in this house to be late at breakfast.”
Cashel would very willingly have risked all the consequences of delay for a few minutes longer of their interview; but already she had tripped on downstairs, and with such speed as to enter the breakfast-parlor a few seconds before him. Roland was welcomed by the family without the slightest shade of dissatisfaction at his late appearance, cordial greetings and friendly inquiries as to how he had rested pouring in on every side.
“What 's to be done with Mr. Cashel to-day? I hope he is not to be teased by business people and red-tapery,” said Mrs. Kenny feck to her husband.
“I am afraid,” said the silky attorney, “I am very much afraid I must trespass on his kindness to accompany me to the Master's office. There are some little matters which will not wait.”
“Oh, they must,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, peremptorily. “Who is the Master,—Liddard, is n't it? Well, tell him to put it off; Mr. Cashel must really have a little peace and quietness after all his fatigues.”
“It will only take an hour, at most, Mrs. Kennyfeck,” remonstrated her submissive mate.
“Well, that is nothing,” cried Cashel. “I 'm not in the least tired, and the day is long enough for everything.”
“Then we have a little affair which we can manage at home here about the mortgages. I told you—”
“I believe you did,” replied Cashel, laughing; “but I don't remember a word of it. It's about paying some money, isn't it?”
“Yes, it's the redemption of two very heavy claims,” exclaimed Kennyfeck, perfectly shocked at the indifference displayed by the young man,—“claims for which we are paying five and a half per cent.”
“And it would be better to clear them off?” said Cashel, assuming a show of interest in the matter he was far from feeling.
“Of course it would. There is a very large sum lying to your credit at Falkner's, for which you receive only three per cent.”
“Don't you perceive how tiresome you are, dear Mr. Kennyfeck?” said his wife. “Mr. Cashel is bored to death with all this.”
“Oh, no! not in the least, madam. It ought to interest me immensely; and so all these things will, I 'm sure. But I was just thinking at what hour that fellow we met on the packet was to show us those horses he spoke of?”
“At four,” said Mr. Kennyfeck, with a half-sigh of resignation; “but you 'll have ample time for that. I shall only ask you to attend at the judge's chambers after our consultation.”
“Well, you are really intolerable!” cried his wife. “Why cannot you and Jones, and the rest of you, do all this tiresome nonsense, and leave Mr. Cashel to us? I want to bring him out to visit two or three people; and the girls have been planning a canter in the park.”
“The canter, by all means,” said Cashel. “I 'm sure, my dear Mr. Kennyfeck, you 'll do everything far better without me. I have no head for anything like business; and so pray, let me accompany the riding-party.”
“The attendance at the Master's is peremptory,” sighed the attorney,—“there is no deferring that; and as to the mortgages, the funds are falling every hour. I should seriously advise selling out at once.”
“Well, sell out, in Heaven's name! Do all and anything you like, and I promise my most unqualified satisfaction at the result.”
“There, now,” interposed Mrs. Kennyfeck, authoritatively, “don't worry any more; you see how tiresome you are!”
And poor Mr. Kennyfeck seemed to see and feel it too; for he hung his head, and sipped his tea in silence.
“To-day we dine alone, Mr. Cashel,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck; “but to-morrow I will try to show you some of the Dublin notorieties,—at least, such as are to be had in the season. On Friday we plan a little country party into Wicklow, and have promised to keep Saturday free, if the Blackenburgs want us.”
“What shall we say, then, about Tubberbeg, Mr. Cashel?” said Kennyfeck, withdrawing him into a window-recess. “We ought to give the answer at once.”
“Faith! I forgot all about it,” said Cashel. “Is that the fishery you told me of?”
“Oh, no!” sighed the disconsolate man of law. “It's the farm on the terminable lease, at present held by Hugh Corrigan; he asks for a renewal.”
“Well, let him have it,” said Cashel, bluntly, while his eyes were turned towards the fire, where the two sisters, with arms entwined, stood in the most graceful of attitudes.
“Yes, but have you considered the matter maturely?” rejoined Kennyfeck, laying his hand on Cashel's arm. “Have you taken into account that he only pays eight and seven pence per acre,—the Irish acre, too,—and that a considerable part of that land adjoining the Boat Quay is let, as building plots for two and sixpence a foot?”
“A devilish pretty foot it is, too,” murmured Cashel, musingly.
“Eh! what?” exclaimed Kennyfeck, perfectly mystified at this response.
“Oh! I meant that I agreed with you,” rejoined the young man, reddening, and endeavoring to appear deeply interested. “I quite coincide with your views, sir.”
Kennyfeck seemed surprised at this, for he had not, to his knowledge, ventured on any opinion.
“Perhaps,” said he, taking breath for a last effort, “if you 'd kindly look at the map of the estate, and just see where this farm trenches on your own limits, you could judge better about the propriety of the renewal.”
“Oh, with pleasure!” exclaimed Cashel, while he suffered himself to be led into the study, his face exhibiting very indifferent signs of satisfaction.
“Shall we assist in the consultation, Mr. Cashel?” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, smiling in reply to his reluctant look at leaving.
“Oh, by all means!” cried he, enthusiastically; “do come, and give me your advice. Pray, come.”
“Come, girls,” said the mother, “although I perceive Mr. Kennyfeck is terribly shocked at the bare thought of our intrusion; but be of good courage, we only accompany Mr. Cashel to save him from any long imprisonment.” And so she moved majestically forward, her daughters following her.
An alchemist would probably have received company in his laboratory, or a hermit admitted a jovial party in his cell, with less of constraint and dissatisfaction than did Mr. Kennyfeck watch the approach of his wife and daughters to the sanctum of his study.
Save at rare intervals, when a disconsolate widow had come to resolve a question of administration, or a no less forlorn damsel had entered to consult upon an action for “breach of promise,” St. Kevin himself had never been less exposed to female intervention. It needed, then, all his reverence and fear of Mrs. Kennyfeck to sustain the shock to his feelings, as he saw her seat herself in his office-chair, and look around with the air of command that he alone used to exhibit in these regions.
“Now for this same map, Mr. Kennyfeck, and let us bear the question for which this Privy Council has been convened.”
“This is the map,” said Mr. Kennyfeck, unfolding a large scroll, “and I believe a single glance will enable Mr. Cashel to perceive that some little deliberation would be advisable before continuing in possession a tenant whose holding completely destroys the best feature of the demesne. This red line here is your boundary towards the Limerick road; here, stands the house, which, from the first, was a great mistake. It is built in a hollow without a particle of view; whereas, had it been placed here, where this cross is marked, the prospect would have extended over the whole of Scariff Bay, and by the west, down to Killaloe.”
“Well, what's to prevent our building it there yet?” interrupted Cashel. “I think it would be rare fun building a house,—at least if I may judge from all the amusement I've had in constructing one of leaves and buffalo-hides, in the prairies.”
Mrs. Kennyfeck and her eldest daughter smiled their blandest approbation, while Olivia murmured in her sister's ear, “Oh, dear, he is so very natural, isn't he?”
“That will be a point for ulterior consideration,” said Mr. Kennyfeck, who saw the danger of at all wandering from the topic in hand. “Give me your attention now for one moment, Mr. Cashel. Another inconvenience in the situation of the present house is, that it stands scarcely a thousand yards from this red-and-yellow line here.”
“Well, what is that?” inquired Cashel, who already began to feel interested in the localities.
“This—and pray observe it well, sir—this red-and-yellow line, enclosing a tract which borders on the Shannon, and runs, as you may remark, into the very heart of the demesne, this is Tubberbeg, the farm in question,—not only encroaching upon your limits, but actually cutting you off from the river,—at least, your access is limited to a very circuitous road, and which opens upon a very shallow part of the stream.”
“And who or what is this tenant?” asked Cashel.
“His name is Corrigan, a gentleman by birth, but of a very limited fortune; he is now an old man, upwards of seventy, I understand.”
“And how came it that he ever obtained possession of a tract so circumstanced, marring, as you most justly observe, the whole character of the demesne?”
“That would be a long story, sir; enough, if I mention that his ancestors were the ancient owners of the entire estate, which was lost by an act of confiscation in the year forty-five. Some extenuating circumstances, however, induced the Government to confer upon a younger branch of the family a lease of this small tract called Tubberbeg, to distinguish it from Tubbermore, the larger portion; and this lease it is whose expiration, in a few years, induces the present query.”
“Has Mr. Corrigan children?”
“No; his only child, a daughter, is dead, but a granddaughter lives now with the old man.”
“Then what is it he asks? Is it a renewal of the lease, on the former terms?”
“Why, not precisely. I believe he would be willing to-pay more.”
“That's not what I mean,” replied Cashel, reddening; “I ask, what terms as to time, he seeks for. Would it content him to have the land for his own life?”
“Mr. Kennyfeck, you are really very culpable to leave Mr. Cashel to the decision of matters of this kind,—matters in which his kindliness of heart and inexperience will always betray him into a forgetfulness of his own interest. What has Mr. Cashel to think about this old creature's ancestors, who were rebels, it appears, or his daughter, or his granddaughter? Here is a simple question of a farm, which actually makes the demesne worthless, and which, by a singular piece of good fortune, is in Mr. Cashel's power to secure.”
“This is a very correct view, doubtless,” said her meek husband, submissively, “but we should also remember—”
“We have nothing to remember,” interrupted Mrs. Kenny-feck, stoutly; “nothing, save his interests, who, as I have observed, is of too generous a nature to be trusted with such matters.”
“Is there no other farm,—have we nothing on the property he 'd like as well as this?” asked Cashel.
“I fear not. The attachment to a place inhabited for centuries by his ancestry—”
“By his fiddlestick!” struck in Mrs. Kennyfeck; “two and sixpence an acre difference would be all the necessary compensation. Mr. Kennyfeck, how can you trifle in this manner, when you know how it will injure the demesne!”
“Oh, ruin it utterly!” exclaimed Miss Kennyfeck.
“It completely cuts off the beautiful river and those dear islands,” said Olivia.
“So it does,” said Cashel, musing.
“I wonder are they wooded? I declare I believe they are. Papa, are these little scrubby things meant to represent trees?”
“Oaks and chestnut-trees,” responded Mr. Kennyfeck, gravely.
“Oh, how I should love a cottage on that island,—a real Swiss cottage, with its carved galleries and deep-eaved roof. Who owns these delicious islands?”
“Mr. Cashel, my dear,” said papa, still bent on examining the map.
“Do I, indeed!” cried Roland, in an ecstasy. “Then you shall have your wish, Miss Kenny feck. I promise you the prettiest Swiss cottage that your own taste can devise.”
“Oh, dear, oh, pray forgive me!”
“Oh, Mr. Roland Cashel, don't think of such a thing! Olivia was merely speaking at random. How silly, child, you are to talk that way!”
“Really, mamma, I had not the slightest suspicion—I would n't for the world have said anything if I thought—”
“Of course not, dear; but pray be guarded. Indeed, I own I never did hear you make a lapse of the kind before. But you see, Mr. Cashel, you have really made us forget that we were strangers but yesterday, and you are paying the penalty of your own exceeding kindness. Forget, then, I beseech you, this first transgression.”
“I shall assuredly keep my promise, madam,” said Cashel, proudly; “and I have only to hope Miss Kennyfeck will not offend me by declining so very humble a present. Now, sir, for our worthy friend Mr. Corrigan.”
“Too fast, a great deal to fast, love,” whispered the elder sister in the ear of the younger, and who, to the credit of her tact and ingenuity be it spoken, only gave the most heavenly smile in reply.
“I really am puzzled, sir, what advice to give,” said the attorney, musing.
“I have no difficulties of this sentimental kind,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, with a glance of profound depreciation towards her husband; “and I beg Mr. Cashel to remember that the opportunity now offered will possibly never occur again. If the old man is to retain his farm, of course Mr. Cashel would not think of building a new mansion, which must be ill-circumstanced; from what I can hear of the present house, it is equally certain that he would not reside in that.”
“Is it so very bad?” asked Cashel, smiling.
“It was ill-planned originally, added to in, if possible, worse taste, and then suffered to fall into ruin. It is now something more than eighty years since it saw any other inhabitant than a caretaker.”
“Well, the picture is certainly not seductive. I rather opine that the best thing we can do is to throw this old rumbling concern down, at all events; and now once more,—what shall we do with Mr. Corrigan?”
“I should advise you not giving any reply before you visit the property yourself. All business matters will be completed here, I trust, by Saturday. What, then, if we go over on Monday to Tubbermore?”
“Agreed. I have a kind of anxiety to look at the place,—indeed, a mere glance would decide me if I ever care to return to it again.”
“Then, I perceive, our counsel is of no avail here,” said Mrs. Kennyfeck, rising, with a very ill-concealed chagrin.
“Nay, madam, don't say so. You never got so far as to give it,” cried Cashel.
“Oh, yes, you forget that I said it would be absurd to hesitate about resuming possession.”
“Unquestionably,” echoed Miss Kennyfeck. “It is merely to indulge an old man's caprice at the cost of your own comfort and convenience.”
“But he may cling to the spot, sister dear,” said Olivia, in an accent only loud enough to be audible by Cashel.
“You are right,” said Roland, in her ear, with a look that spoke his approval far more eloquently.
Although Miss Kennyfeck had heard nothing that passed, her quickness detected the looks of intelligence that were so speedily interchanged, and as she left the room she took occasion to whisper, “Do take advice, dear; there is no keeping up a pace like that.”
As it chanced that many of Mr. Kennyfeck's clients were Western gentlemen, whose tastes have an unequivocal tendency to all matters relating to horse-flesh, his stable was not less choicely furnished than his cellar; for, besides being always able to command the shrewdest judgments when he decided to make a purchase, many an outstanding balance of long duration, many a debt significantly pencilled “doubtful” or “bad,” in his note-book, was cleared off by some tall, sinewy steeplechaser from Galway, or some redoubted performer with the “Blazers.”
So well known was this fact that several needed no other standard of a neighbor's circumstances, than whether he had contributed or not to the Kennyfeck stud. This brief explanation we have been induced to make, to account for the sporting character of a stable whose proprietor never was once seen in the saddle. Far otherwise the ladies of the house; the mother and daughters, but in particular the elder, rode with all the native grace of Galway; and as they were invariably well mounted, and their grooms the smartest and best appointed, their “turn-out” was the admiration of the capital.
It was in vain that the English officials at the Castle, whose superlative tastes were wont to overshadow mere Irish pretension, endeavored to compete with these noted equestrians. Secretaries' wives and chamberlains' daughters, however they might domineer in other matters, were here, at least, surpassed, and it was a conceded fact, that the Kennyfecks rode better, dressed better, and looked better on horseback than any other girls in the country. If all the critics as to horsemanship pronounced the elder unequivocally the superior rider, mere admirers of gracefulness preferred the younger sister, who, less courageous and self-possessed, invested her skill with a certain character of timidity that increased the interest her appearance excited.
They never rode out without an immense cortège of followers, every well-looking and well-mounted man about town deeming it his devoir to join this party, just as the box of the reigning belle at the opera is besieged by assiduous visitors The very being seen in this train was a kind of brevet promotion in fashionable esteem, to which each newly-arrived cornet aspired, and thus the party usually presented a group of brilliant uniforms and dancing plumes that rivalled in brilliancy, and far excelled in amusement, the staff of the viceroy himself.
It would be uufair to suppose that, with all their natural innocence and artlessness, they were entirely ignorant of the sway they thus exercised; indeed, such a degree of modesty would have trenched upon the incredulous, for how could they doubt what commanders of the forces and deputy-assistant-adjutants assured them, still less question the veracity of a prince royal, who positively asserted that they “rode better than Quentin's daughter”?
It was thus a source of no small excitement among the mounted loungers of the capital, when the Kennyfecks issued forth on horseback, and not, as usual, making the tour of the “Square” to collect their forces, they rode at once down Grafton Street, accompanied by a single cavalier.
“Who have the Kennyfeck girls got with them?” said a thin-waisted-looking aide-de-camp to a lanky, well-whiskered fellow in a dragoon undress, at the Castle gate.
“He is new to me—never saw him before. I say, Lucas, who is that tall fellow on Kennyfeck's brown horse—do you know him?”
“Don't know—can't say,” drawled out a very diminutive hussar cornet.
“He has a look of Merrington,” said another, joining the party.
“Not a bit of it; he's much larger. I should n't wonder if he's one of the Esterhazys they've caught. There is one of them over here—a Paul or a Nicholas, of the younger branch;—but here 's Linton, he 'll tell us, if any man can.”
This speech was addressed to a very dapper, well-dressed man of about thirty, mounted on a small thoroughbred pony, whose splashed and heaving flanks bespoke a hasty ride.
“I say, Tom, you met the Kennyfecks,—who was that with them?”
“Don't you know him, my Lord?” said a sharp, ringing voice; “that's our newly-arrived millionnaire,—Roland Cashel, our Tipperary Croesus,—the man with I won't say how many hundred thousands a year, and millions in bank besides.”
“The devil it is—a good-looking fellow, too.”
“Spooney, I should say,” drawled out the hussar, caressing his moustache.
“One need n't be as smart a fellow as you, Wheeler, with forty thousand a year,” said Linton, with a sly glance at the others.
“You don't suppose, Tom,” said the former speaker, “that the Kennyfecks have any designs in that quarter,—egad! that would be rather aspiring, eh?”
“Very unwise in us to permit it, my Lord,” said Linton, in a low tone. “That's a dish will bear carving, and let every one have his share.”
My Lord laughed with a low cunning laugh at the suggestion, and nodded an easy assent.
Meanwhile the Kennyfecks rode slowly on, and crossing Essex Bridge continued their way at a foot pace towards the park, passing in front of the Four Courts, where a very large knot of idlers uncovered their heads in polite salutation as they went.
“That's Kennyfeck's newly-discovered client,” cried one; “a great card, if they can only secure him for one of the girls.”
“I say, did you remark how the eldest had him engaged? She never noticed any of us.”
“I back Olivia,” said another; “she's a quiet one, but devilish sly for all that.”
“Depend upon it,” interposed an older speaker, “the fellow is up to all that sort of thing.”
“Jones met him at dinner yesterday at Kennyfeck's, and says he is a regular soft one, and if the girls don't run an opposition to each other, one is sure to win.”
“Why not toss up for him, then? that would be fairer.”
“Ay, and more sisterly, too,” said the elder speaker. “Jones would be right glad to claim the beaten horse.”
“Jones, indeed,—I can tell you they detest Jones,” said a young fellow.
“They told you so, eh, Hammond?” said another; while a very hearty laugh at the discomfited youth broke from the remainder.
And now to follow our mounted friends, who, having reached the park, continued still at a walking pace to thread the greasy paths that led through that pleasant tract; now hid amid the shade of ancient thorn-trees, now gaining the open expanse of plain with its bold background of blue mountains.
From the evident attention bestowed by the two sisters, it was clear that Cashel was narrating something of interest, for he spoke of an event which had happened to himself in his prairie life; and this alone, independent of all else, was enough to make the theme amusing.
“Does this convey any idea of a prairie, Mr. Cashel?” said Miss Kennyfeck, as they emerged from a grove of beech-trees, and came upon the wide and stretching plain, so well known to Dubliners as the Fifteen Acres, but which is, in reality, much greater in extent. “I have always fancied this great grassy expanse must be like a prairie.”
“About as like as yonder cattle to a herd of wild buffaloes,” replied Roland, smiling.
“Then what is a prairie like? Do tell us,” said Olivia, eagerly.
“I can scarcely do so, nor, if I were a painter, do I suppose that I could make a picture of one, because it is less the presence than the total absence of all features of landscape that constitutes the wild and lonely solitude of a prairie. But fancy a great plain—gently—very gently undulating,—not a tree, not a shrub, not a stream to break the dreary uniformity; sometimes, but even that rarely, a little muddy pond of rain-water, stagnant and yellow, is met with, but only seen soon after heavy showers, for the hot sun rapidly absorbs it. The only vegetation a short yellowed burnt-up grass,—not a wild flower or a daisy, if you travelled hundreds of hundreds of miles. On you go, days and days, but the scene never changes. Large cloud shadows rest upon the barren expanse, and move slowly and sluggishly away, or sometimes a sharp and pelting shower is borne along, traversing hundreds of miles in its course; but these are the only traits of motion in the death-like stillness. At last, perhaps after weeks of wandering, you descry, a long way off, some dark objects dotting the surface,—these are buffaloes; or at sunset, when the thin atmosphere makes everything sharp and distinct, some black spectral shapes seem to glide between you and the red twilight,—these are Indian hunters, seen miles off, and by some strange law of nature they are presented to the vision when far, far beyond the range of sight. Such strange apparitions, the consequence of refraction, have led to the most absurd superstitions; and all the stories the Germans tell you of their wild huntsmen are nothing to the tales every trapper can recount of war parties seen in the air, and tribes of red men in pursuit of deer and buffaloes, through the clear sky of an autumn evening.”
“And have you yourself met with these wild children of the desert?” said Olivia; “have you ever been amongst them?”
“Somewhat longer than I fancied,” replied Roland, smiling. “I was a prisoner once with the Camanches.”
“Oh, let us hear all about it,—how did it happen?” cried both together.
“It happened absurdly enough, at least you will say so, when I tell you; but to a prairie-hunter the adventure would seem nothing singular. It chanced that some years ago I made one of a hunting-party into the Rocky Mountains, and finally as far as Pueblo Santo, the last station before entering the hunting-grounds of the Camanches, a very fierce tribe, and one with whom all the American traders have failed to establish any relations of friendship or commerce. They care nothing for the inventions of civilization, and, unlike all other Indians, prefer their own bows and arrows to firearms.
“We had been now four days within their boundary, and yet never met one of the tribe. Some averred that they always learned by the scouts whenever any invasion took place, and retired till they were in sufficient force to pour down and crush the intruders. Others, who proved better informed, said that they were hunting in a remote tract, several days' journey distant. We were doubly disappointed, for besides not seeing the Camanches, for which we had a great curiosity, we did not discover any game. The two or three trails we followed led to nothing, nor could a hoof-track be seen for miles and miles of prairie. In this state of discomfiture, we were sitting one evening around our fires, and debating with ourselves whether to turn back or go on, when, the dispute waxing warm between those of different opinions, I, who hated all disagreements of the kind, slipped quietly away, and throwing the bridle on my horse, I set out for a solitary ramble over the prairie.
“I have the whole scene before me this instant,—the solemn desolation of that dreary track; for scarcely had I gone a mile over what seemed a perfectly level plain, when the swelling inequalities of the ground shut out the watch-fires of my companions, and now there was nothing to be seen but the vast expanse of land and sky, each colored with the same dull leaden tint of coming night; no horizon was visible, not a star appeared, and in the midst of this gray monotony, a stillness prevailed that smote the heart with something more appalling than mere fear. No storm that ever I listened to at sea, not the loudest thunder that ever crashed, or the heaviest sea that ever broke upon a leeward shore at midnight, ever chilled my blood like that terrible stillness. I thought that the dreadful roll of an avalanche or the heaving ground-swell of an earthquake had been easier to bear. I believe I actually prayed for something like sound to relieve the horrible tension of my nerves, when, just as if my wish was heard, a low booming sound, like the sea within a rocky cavern, came borne along on the night wind. Then it lulled again, and after a time grew louder. This happened two or three times, so that, half suspecting some self-delusion, I stopped my ears, and then on removing my hands, I heard the noise increasing till it swelled into one dull roaring sound, that made the very air vibrate. I thought it must be an earthquake, of which it is said many occur in these regions, but, from the dreary uniformity, leave no trace behind.
“I resolved to regain my companions at once; danger is always easier to confront in company, and so I turned my horse's head to go back. The noise was now deafening, and so stunning that the very ground seemed to give it forth. My poor horse became terrified, his flanks heaved, and he labored in his stride as if overcome by fatigue. This again induced me to suspect an earthquake, for I knew by what singular instincts animals are apprised of its approach. I therefore gave him the spur, and urged him on with every effort, when suddenly he made a tremendous bound to one side, and set off with the speed of a racer. Stretched to his fullest stride, I was perfectly powerless to restrain him; meanwhile, the loud thundering sounds filled the entire air,—more deafening than the greatest artillery; the crashing uproar smote my ears, and made my brain ring with the vibration, and then suddenly the whole plain grew dark behind and at either side of me, the shadow swept on and on, nearer and nearer, as the sounds increased, till the black surface seemed, as it were, about to close around me; and now I perceived that the great prairie, far as my eyes could stretch, was covered by a herd of wild buffaloes; struck by some sudden terror, they had taken what is called 'the Stampedo,' and set out at full speed. In an instant they were around me on every side,—a great moving sea of dark-backed monsters,—roaring in terrible uproar, and tossing their savage heads wildly to and fro, in all the paroxysm of terror. To return, or even to extricate myself, was impossible; the dense mass pressed like a wall at either side of me, and I was borne along in the midst of the heaving herd, without the slightest hope of rescue. I cannot—you would not ask me, if even I could—recall the terrors of that dreadful night, which in its dark hours compassed the agonies of years. Until the moon got up, I hoped that the herd might pass on, and at last leave me at liberty behind; but when she rose, and I looked back, I saw the dark sea of hides, as if covering the whole wide prairie, while the deep thunder from afar mingled with the louder bellowing of the herd around me.
“I suppose my reeling brain became maddened by the excitement; for even yet, when by any accident I suffer slight illness, terrible fancies of that dreadful scene come back; and I have been told that, in my wild cries and shouts, I seem encouraging and urging on the infuriate herd, and by my gestures appearing to control and direct their headlong course. Had it been possible, I believe I should have thrown myself to the earth and sought death at once, even in this dreadful form, than live to die the thousand deaths of agony that night inflicted; but this could not be, and so, as day broke, I was still carried on, not, indeed, with the same speed as before; weariness weighed on the vast moving mass, but the pressure of those behind still drove them onward. I thought the long hours of darkness were terrible; and the appalling gloom of night added tortures to my sufferings; but the glare of daylight, the burning sun, and the clouds of dust were still worse. I remember, too, when exhaustion had nearly spent my last frail energy, and when my powerless hands, letting fall the bridle, dropped heavily to my side, that the herd suddenly halted,—halted, as if arrested by some gigantic hand; and then the pressure became so dreadful that my bones seemed almost bursting from my flesh, and I screamed aloud in my agony. After this, I remember little else. The other events of that terrible ride are like the shadowy spectres of a magic lantern; vague memories of sufferings, pangs that even yet chill my blood, steal over me, but unconnected and incoherent, so that when, as I afterwards heard, the herd dashed into the Camanche encampment, I have no recollection of anything, except the terror-struck faces of the red men, as they bent before me, and seemed to worship me as a deity. Yes, this terrible tribe, who had scarcely ever been known to spare a white man, not only did not injure, but they treated me with the tenderest care and attention. A singular incident had favored me. One of the wise men had foretold some days before that a herd of wild buffaloes, sent by their god, Anadongu, would speedily appear, and rescue the tribe from the horrors of impending starvation. The prediction was possibly based upon some optical delusion, like that I have mentioned. Whatever its origin, the accomplishment was hailed with ecstasy; and I myself, a poor, almost dying creature, stained with blood, crushed and speechless, was regarded as their deliverer and preserver.”
“How long did you remain amongst them?” cried Miss Kennyfeck.
“And how did you escape?” asked Olivia.
“Were they always equally kind?”
“Were you sorry to leave them?” were the questions rapidly poured in ere Cashel could reply to any one of them.
“I have often heard,” said Miss Kennyfeck, “that the greater mental ability of the white man is certain to secure him an ascendancy over the minds of savage tribes, and that, if he be spared at first, he is sure in the end to become their chief.”
“I believe they actually worship any display of intelligence above their own,” said Olivia.
“These are exaggerated accounts,” said Cashel, smiling. “Marriage is, among savage as among civilized nations, a great stepping-stone to eminence. When a white man is allied with a princess—”
“Oh, how shocking!” cried both together. “I'm sure no person, anything akin to a gentleman, could dream of such a thing,” said Miss Kennyfeck.
“It happens now and then, notwithstanding,” said Cashel, with a most provoking gravity.
While the sisters would have been well pleased had Cashel's personal revelations continued on this theme, they did not venture to explore so dangerous a path, and were both silent. Roland, too, appeared buried in some recollection of the past, for he rode on for some time without speaking,—a preoccupation on his part which seemed in no wise agreeable to his fair companions.
“There are the MacFarlines, Livy,” said Miss Kennyfeck; “and Linton, and Lord Charles, and the rest of them. I declare, I believe they see us, and are coming this way.”
“What a bore! Is there no means of escape? Mr. Cashel, pray invent one.”
“I beg pardon. What was it you said? I have been dreaming for the last three minutes.”
“Pleasant dreams I 'm certain they were,” said Miss Kennyfeck, with a very significant smile; “evoked, doubtless, by some little memory of your life among the Cainanches.”
Cashel started and grew red, while his astonishment rendered him speechless.
“Here they come; how provoking!” exclaimed Livy.
“Who are coming?”
“Some friends of ours, who, strange to say, have the misfortune to be peculiarly disagreeable to my sister Livy to-day, although I have certainly seen Lord Charles contrive to make his company less distasteful at other times.”
“Oh, my dear Caroline, you know perfectly well—” broke in Olivia, with a tone of unfeigned reproach.
“Let us ride for it, then,” said Miss Kepnyfeck, without permitting her to finish. “Now, Mr. Cashel, a canter,—a gallop, if you will.”
“Quite ready,” said Cashel, his animation at once returning at the bare mention; and away they set, down a gentle slope with wooded sides, then they gained another grassy plain, skirted with trees, at the end of which a small picturesque cottage stood, the residence of a ranger; passing this, they arrived at a thick wood, and then slackened their pace, as all pursuit might be deemed fruitless. This portion of the park, unlike the rest, seemed devoted to various experiments in agriculture and gardening. Here were little enclosed plots of Indian corn and Swedish turnips; here, small plantations of fruit trees. Each succeeding secretary seemed to have left behind him some trace of his own favorite system for the improvement of Ireland, and one might recall the names of long-departed officials in little experimental specimens of drainage, or fencing, or drill culture around. Less interested by these patchwork devices, Cashel stood gazing on a beautiful white bull, who grazed in a little paddock carefully fenced by a strong oak paling. Although of a small breed, he was a perfect specimen of strength and proportion, his massive and muscular neck and powerful loins contrasting with the lanky and tendinous form of the wild animal of the prairies.
The girls had not remarked that Roland, beckoning to his servant, despatched him at full speed on an errand, for each was loitering about, amusing herself with some object of the scene.
“What has fascinated you yonder?” said Miss Kennyfeck, riding up to where Roland still stood in wondering admiration at the noble animal.
“The handsomest bull I ever saw!” cried he, in all the ecstasy of a 'Torero;' “who ever beheld such a magnificent fellow? Mark the breadth of his chest, and the immense fore-arm. See how he lashes his tail about. No need of bandilleros to rouse your temper.”.
“Is there no danger of the creature springing over the paling?” said Olivia, drawing closer to Cashel, and looking at him with a most trustful dependence.
Alas for Roland's gallantry, he answered the words and not the glance that accompanied them.
“No; he'd never think of it, if not excited to some excess of passion. I 'd not answer for his patience, or our safety either, if really provoked. See! is not that glorious?” This burst of enthusiasm was called forth by the bull, seized with some sudden caprice, taking a circuit of the paddock at full speed, his head now raised majestically aloft, and now bent to the ground; he snatched some tufts of the grass as he went, and flung them from him in wild sport.
“Bravo, toro!” cried Cashel, in all the excitement of delight and admiration. “Viva el toro!” shouted he. “Not a 'Corrida' of the Old World or the New ever saw a braver beast.”
Whether in compliance with his humor, or that she really caught up the enthusiasm from Cashel, Miss Kennyfeck joined in all his admiration, and seemed to watch the playful pranks of the great animal with delight.
“How you would enjoy a real 'toro machia!'” said Cashel, as he turned towards her, and felt that she was far handsomer than he had ever believed before. Indeed, the heightened color of exercise, and the flashing brilliancy of her eyes, made her seem so without the additional charm derived from sympathy with his humor.
“I should delight in it,” cried she, with enthusiasm. “Oh, if I could but see one!”
Cashel drew nearer as she spoke, his dark and piercing eyes fixed with a look of steadfast admiration, when in a low half-whisper he said, “Would you really like it? Have these wild and desperate games an attraction for you?”
“Oh, do not ask me,” said she, in the same low voice. “Why should I confess a wish for that which never can be.”
“How can you say that? Have not far greater and less likely things happened to almost all of us? Think of me, for instance. Travelling with the Gambusinos a few months back, and now—now your companion here.”
If there was not a great deal in the mere words themselves, there was enough in the look of the speaker to make them deeply felt. How much further Cashel might have adventured, and with what additional speculations invested the future, is not for us to say; for just then his groom rode up at speed, holding in his hands a great coil of rope, to one end of which a small round ball of wood was fastened.
“What is that for, Mr. Cashel?” inquired both the girls together, as they saw him adjust the coils lightly on his left arm, and poise the ball in his right hand.
“Cannot you guess what it means?” said Roland, smiling. “Have you never heard of a lasso?”
“A lasso!” exclaimed both in amazement “You surely could never intend—”
“You shall see,” cried he, as he made three or four casts with the rope in the air, and caught up the loops again with astonishing dexterity. “Now only promise me not to be afraid, nor, if possible, let a cry escape, and I'll show you some rare sport Just take your places here; the horses will stand perfectly quiet.” Without waiting for a reply, he ordered the grooms to remain at either side of the young ladies, and then dismounting, he forced open the lock and led his horse into the paddock. This done, he leisurely closed the gate and mounted, every motion being as free from haste and excitement as if made upon the high-road. As for the bull, at the noise of the gate on its hinges, he lifted up his head; but as it were indifferent to the cause, he resumed his grazing attitude the moment after.
Cashel's first care seemed to be to reconnoitre the ground; for at a slow walk he traversed the space in various directions, carefully examining the footing and watching for any accidental circumstance that might vary the surface. He then rode up to the paling, where in unfeigned terror the two girls sat, silently following him in every motion.
“Now, remember,” said he, smiling, “no fears, no terrors. If you were to make me nervous, I should probably miss my cast, and the disgrace, not to speak of anything else, would be dreadful.”
“Oh, we 'll behave very well,” said Miss Kennyfeck, trying to assume a composure that her pale cheek and compressed lips very ill corroborated. As for Olivia, too terrified for words, she merely looked at him, while the tears rolled heavily down her cheeks.
“Now, to see if my hand has not forgot its cunning!” said Roland, as he pressed his horse's flanks, and, pushing into a half-gallop, made a circuit around the bull. The scene was a picturesque as well as an exciting one. The mettlesome horse, on which the rider sat with consummate ease; in his right hand the loose coils of the lasso, with which to accustom his horse he flourished and shook around the head and ears of the animal as he went; while, with head bent down, and the strong neck slightly retracted, the bull seemed to watch him as he passed, and at length, slowly turning, continued to fix his eyes upon the daring intruder. Gradually narrowing his circle, Cashel was cautiously approaching within a suitable distance for the cast, when the bull, as it were losing patience, gave one short hoarse cry and made at him, so sudden the spring, and so infuriate the action, that a scream from both the sisters together showed how near the danger must have appeared. Roland, however, had foreseen from the attitude of the beast what was coming, and by a rapid wheel escaped the charge, and passed close beside the creature's flank, unharmed. Twice or thrice the same manouvre occurred with the same result; and although the horse was terrified to that degree that his sides were one sheet of foam, the control of the rider was perfect, and his every gesture bespoke ease and confidence.
Suddenly the bull stopped, and retiring till his haunches-touched the paling, he seemed surveying the field, and contemplating another and more successful mode of attack. The concentrated passion of the creature's attitude at this moment was very fine, as with red eyeballs and frothed lips he stood, slowly and in heavy strokes lashing his flanks with his long tail.
“Is he tired?” said Miss Kennyfeck, as Cashel stood close to the paling, and breathed his horse, for what he foresaw might be a sharp encounter.
“No! far from it,” answered Roland; “the fellow has the cunning of an old 'Corridor;' you 'll soon see him attack.”
The words were not well uttered, when, with a low deep roar, the bull bounded forward, not in a straight line, however, but zigzagging from left to right, and right to left, as if with the intention of pinning the horseman into a corner. The terrific springs of the great beast, and his still more terrific cries, appeared to paralyze the horse, who stood; immovable, nor was it till the savage animal had approached within a few yards of him, that at last he reared up straight, and then, as if overcome by terror, dashed off at speed, the bull following.
The scene was now one of almost maddening excitement; for, although the speed of the horse far exceeded that of his pursuer, the bull, by taking a small circle, was rapidly gaining on him, and, before the third circuit of the field was made, was actually almost side by side. Roland saw all his danger; he knew well that the slightest swerve, a “single mistake,” would be fatal; but he had been trained to peril, and this was not the first time he had played for life and won. It was then, just at the instant when the bull, narrowing his distance, was ready, by one bound, to drive his horns into the horse's flank, that the youth suddenly reined up, and throwing the horse nearly on his haunches, suffered his pursuer to shoot ahead. The same instant, at least so it seemed, he rose in his stirrups, and winding the rope three or four times above his head, hurled it forth. Away went the floating coils through the air, and with a sharp snap, they caught the animal's fore-legs in their fast embrace. Maddened by the restraint, he plunged forward, but ere he gained the ground, a dexterous pull of the lasso jerked the legs backwards, and the huge beast fell floundering to the earth. The stunning force seemed enough to have extinguished life, and he lay, indeed, motionless for a few seconds, when, by a mighty effort, he strove to burst his bonds. Roland, meanwhile, after a severe struggle to induce his horse to approach, abandoned the effort, sprang to the ground, and by three or four adroit turns of the lasso over the head and between the horns, completely fettered him, and at each fresh struggle passing new turns of the rope, he so bound him that the creature lay panting and powerless, his quivering sides and distended nostrils breathing the deep rage that possessed him.
“Ah, Mosquito mio,”—the Toridor's usual pet name for a young bull,—“you were an easy victory after all, though I believe with a little more practice of the game I should only get off second best.”
There was, if we must confess it, a certain little bit of boastfulness in the speech, the truth being that the struggle, though brief, had been a sharp one, and so Cashel's air and look bespoke it, as he led his horse out of the paddock.
It would be a somewhat nice point—happily, it is not requisite to decide it—whether Roland was more flattered by the enthusiastic praise of the elder sister, or touched by the silent but eloquent look with which Olivia received him.
“What a splendid sight, what a noble achievement!” said Miss Kennyfeck. “How I thank you for thus giving me, as it were, a peep into Spain, and letting me feel the glorious enthusiasm a deed of heroism can inspire!”
“Are you certain you are not hurt?” whispered Olivia; “the creature's horns certainly grazed you. Oh dear! how terrible it was at one moment!”
“Are you going to leave him in his toils?” said Miss Kennyfeck.
“Oh, certainly,” replied Cashel, laughing; “I commit the pleasant office of liberating him to other hands.” And so saying, he carelessly mounted his horse, while they pressed him with a hundred questions and inquiries about the late combat.
“I shall be amused to hear the reports that will be current to-morrow,” said Miss Kennyfeck, “about this affair. I 'm certain the truth will be the last to ooze out. My groom says that the creature belongs to the Lord Lieutenant, and if so, there will be no end to the stories.”
Cashel did not seem as much impressed as the sisters expected at this announcement, nor at all aware that he had been constructively affronting the Vice-Majesty of the land, and so he chatted away in pleasant indifference while they continued their ride towards home.