Roland Cashel, Volume I (of II)

Linton muttered something, while, by a gesture, he endeavored to caution Frobisher, and apprise him of Cashel’s vicinity. The fretful motion of hie horse, however, prevented his seeing the signal, and he resumed, —

“One of my people tells me that Cashel came with the Kilgoffs this morning. I say, Tom, you’ll have to look sharp in that quarter. Son, there – quiet, Gustave – gently, man!”

“He’s too fat, I think. You always have your cattle too heavy,” said Linton, hoping to change the topic.

“He carries flesh well. But what is it I had to tell you? Oh, I remember now, – about the yacht club. I have just got a letter from Derwent, in which he says the thing is impossible. His remark is more true than courteous. He says, ‘It’s all very well in such a place as Ireland to know such people, but that it won’t do in England; besides that, if Cashel does wish to get among men of the world, he ought to join some light cavalry corps for a year or so, and stand plucking by Stanhope, and Dashfield, and the rest of them. They ‘ll bring him out if he ‘ll only pay handsomely.’ – Soh, there, man, – do be quiet, will you? – The end of it is, that Derwent will not put his name up. I must say it’s a disappointment to me; but, as a younger brother, I have only to smile and submit.”

While Lord Charles was retailing this piece of information in no very measured tone, and only interrupted by the occasional impatience of his horse, Linton’s eyes were fixed on Cashel, who, at the first mention of his own name, increased his speed, so as to suggest the fond hope that some, at least, of this unwelcome intelligence might have escaped him.

“You’ll have to break the thing to him, Tom,” resumed Lord Charles. “You know him better than any of us, and how the matter can be best touched upon.”

“Not the slightest necessity for that, now,” said Linton, with a low, deliberate voice.

“Why so?”

“Because you have just done so yourself. If you had only paid the least attention to my signal, you ‘d have seen that Cashel was only a few yards in front of me during the entire of your agreeable revelations.”

“By Jove!” exclaimed Frobisher, as his head dropped forward in overwhelming confusion; “what is to be done?”

“Rather difficult to say, if he heard all,” said Linton, coolly.

“You ‘d say it was a quiz, Tom. You ‘d pretend that you saw him all the while, and only did the thing for joke’s sake, eh?”

“Possibly enough I might,” replied Linton; “but you could n’t.”

“How very awkward, to be sure!” exclaimed Frobisher. “I say, Jim, I wish you ‘d make up to Cashel a bit, and get us out of this scrape. There’s Tom ready to aid and abet you, if only to take him out of the Kilgoffs’ way.”

“There never was a more propitious moment, Miss Meek,’” said Linton, passing through the hedge, and approaching close to her. “He’s a great prize, – the best estate in Ireland.”

“The nicest stable of horses in the whole country,” echoed Frobisher.

“A good-looking fellow, too; only wanting a little training to make presentable anywhere.”

“That white barb, with the flea-bitten flank, would carry you to perfection, Jim.”

“He ‘ll be a peer one of these days, if he is only patient enough not to commit himself in politics.”

“And such a hunting country for you,” said Frobisher, in ecstasy.

“I tell you I don’t care for him; I never did,” said the girl, as a flush of half-angry meaning colored her almost childish features.

“But don’t you care to be mistress of fifteen thousand a year, and the finest stud in Ireland?”

“Mayhap a countess,” said Linton, quietly. “Your papa would soon manage that.”

“I ‘d rather be mistress of myself, and this brown mare, Joan, here, – that’s all I know; and I’ll have nothing to do with any of your plots and schemes,” said she, in a voice whose utterance was that of emotion.

“That’s it,” said Frobisher, in a low tone to Linton; “there’s no getting them, at that age, with a particle of brains.”

“They make up surprisingly for it afterwards,” replied Linton, dryly.

“So you ‘ll not consent, Jim?” said Frobisher, in a half-coaxing manner to the young girl, who, with averted head, sat in mingled sorrow and displeasure. “Well, don’t be pettish about it; I ‘m sure I thought it very generous in me, considering – ”

She looked round at this moment, and her large eyes were bent upon him with a look which their very tears made passionately meaning.

“Considering what a neat finger you have on a young horse,” said he. And she turned abruptly away, and, as if to hide her emotion, spurred her mare into a bounding canter.

“Take care, Charley, take care what you ‘re doing,” said Linton, with a look of consummate shrewdness.

Frobisher looked after her for a minute or two, and then seemed to drop into a revery, for he made no reply whatever.

“Let the matter stop where it is,” said Linton, quietly, as if replying to some acknowledgment of the other; “let it stop there, I say, and one of these days, when she marries, – as she unquestionably will do, through papa Downie’s means, – somebody of influence, she ‘ll be a steadfast, warm friend, never forgetting, nor ever wishing to forget, her childhood’s companion. Go a little further, however, and you ‘ll just have an equally determined enemy. I know a little of both sides of the question,” added he, meditatively, “and it needs slight reflection which to prefer.”

“How are you going to amuse us here, Mr. Linton?” said she, cantering up at this moment; “for it seems to me, as old Lord Kilgoff says, that we are like to have a very dull house. People are ordering dinner for their own small parties as unsocially as though they were at the Crown Inn, at Brighton.”

“Yes, by the by,” said Frobisher, “I want to ask you about that. Don’t you think it were better to dash a little bit of ‘communism’ through your administration?”

“I intend to send in my resignation as premier, now that the head of the State has arrived,” said Linton, smiling dubiously.

“I perceive,” said Frobisher, shrewdly, “you expect that the Government will go to pieces, if you leave it.”

“The truth is, Charley,” said he, dropping his voice to a low whisper, and leaning his hand on the horse’s mane, “our friend Roland is rather too far in the category ‘savage’ for long endurance; he grows capricious and self-opinionated. The thin plating comes off, and shows the buccaneer at every slight abrasion.”

“What of that?” said Frobisher, languidly; “his book on Coutts’ is unexceptionable. Come, Tom, you are the only man here who has a head for these things. Do exert yourself and set something a-going.”

“Well, what shall it be?” said he, gayly. “Shall we get the country people together, and have hack races? Shall we assemble the squires, and have a ball? Shall we start private theatricals? What says Miss Meek?”

“I vote for all three. Pray do, Mr. Linton, – you, who are so clever, and can do everything, – make us gay. If we only go on as we have begun, the house will be like a model prison, – on the separate and silent system.”

“As you wish it,” said Linton, bowing with assumed gallantry; “and now to work at once.” So saying, he turned towards the house, the others riding at either side of him.

“What shall we do about Derwent’s letter, Tom?” asked Frobisher.

“Never speak of it; the chances are that he has heard enough to satisfy the most gluttonous curiosity. Besides, he has lost his yacht.” Here he dropped his voice to a low muttering, as he said, “And may soon have a heavier loss!”

“Is his pace too fast?” said Frobisher, who caught up the meaning, although not the words.

Linton made no reply, for his thoughts were on another track; then, suddenly catching himself, he said, “Come, and let us have a look at the stables; I’ve not seen our stud yet.” And they turned off from the main approach and entered the wood once more.

END OF VOL. I.