The Knight Of Gwynne, Vol. 1

“Trust me, Maurice, I’ll not do it,” said Daly, grasping his hand with a firm grip.

“I know that well,” said the Knight, as his voice trembled with agitation; “I never doubted the will, Bagenal, it was the power only I suspected. I see you will not understand me. Confound it! why should old friends, such as we are, keep beating about the bush, or fencing like a pair of diplomatists? I wanted to speak to you about that bond of yours: there is something like seven thousand pounds lying to my credit at Henshaw’s; take what is necessary, and get rid of that scoundrel Hickman’s claim. If they should arrest you – ”

“I wish he had done so yesterday, – my infernal temper, that never will let matters take due course, stopped the fellow; you can’t see why, but I’ll tell you. I paid the money to Hickman’s law-agent, in Dublin, the morning I started from town, and they had not time to stop the execution of the writ down here. Yes, Darcy, there was one drop more in the stoup, and I drained it! The last few acres I possessed in the world, the old estate of Hardress Daly, is now in the ownership of one Samuel Kerney, grocer of Bride Street. I paid off Hickman, however, and found something like one hundred and twenty-eight pounds afterwards in my pocket – but let us talk of something else: you must not yield to these people without a struggle; Bicknell says there are abundant grounds for a trial at bar in the affair. If collusion between Hickman and Gleeson should be proved, that many of the leases were granted with false signatures annexed – ”

“I ‘ll do whatever men of credit and character counsel me,” said the Knight; “if there be any question of right, I ‘ll neither compromise nor surrender it: I can promise no more. But here comes Lionel, – to announce breakfast, perhaps.”

And so it was; the young man came towards them with an easy smile, presenting a hand to each. If sorrow had sunk deeply into his heart, few traces of grief were apparent in his manly, handsome countenance.

Notwithstanding the efforts of the party, the breakfast did not pass over as lightly as the dinner of the previous day; the eventful moment of parting was now too near not to exclude every other subject, and even when by an exertion some allusion to a different topic would be made, a chance question, the entrance of a servant for orders, or the tramp of horses in the courtyard, would suddenly bring back the errant thoughts, and place the sad reality in all its force before them.

Breakfast was over, and yet no one stirred; a heavy, dreary revery seemed to have settled on all except Daly, – and he, from delicacy, restrained the impatience that was working within him. In vain he sought to catch Darcy’s eye, and then Lionel’s, – both were bent downward. Lady Eleanor at last looked up, and at once seemed to read what was passing in his mind.

“I am ready,” said she, in a low, gentle voice, “and I see Mr. Daly is not sorry at it. Helen, dearest, fetch me my gloves.”

She arose, and the others with her. The calmness in which she spoke on the theme that none dared approach, seemed also to electrify them, when suddenly a low sob was heard, and the mother fell, in a burst of anguish, into the arms of her son.

“Eleanor, my dearest Eleanor!” said Darcy, as his pale cheek shook and his lip trembled. As if recalled to herself by the words, she raised her head, and, with a smile of deep-meaning sorrow, said, —

“It’s the first tear I have yet shed; it shall be the last.” Then, taking Daly’s arm, she walked steadily forward.

“I have often wondered,” said she, “at the prayer of a condemned felon for a few hours longer of life; but I can understand it now. I feel as if I could give life itself for another day within these walls, where often I have pined with ennui. You will watch over Lionel for me, Mr. Daly. When the world went fairly with us, calamities came softened, – as the summer rain falls lighter in sunshine; but now, now that we have lost so much, we cannot afford more.”

Daly’s stern features grew sterner and darker; his lips were compressed more firmly; he tried to say a few words, but a low, indistinct muttering was all that came.

The next moment the carriage door was closed on the party – they were gone.

Lionel stood gazing after them till they disappeared, and then, with a slow step, re-entered the abbey.

CHAPTER XXXV. BAGENAL DALY’S RETURN

Lionel Darcy bore up manfully against his altered fortunes so long as others were around him, and that the necessity for exertion existed; but once more alone within that silent and deserted house, all his courage failed him at once, and he threw himself upon a seat and gave way to grief. Never were the brighter prospects of opening life more cruelly dashed, and yet his sorrow was for others. Every object about brought up thoughts of that dear mother and sister, to whom the refinements of life were less luxuries than wants. How were they to engage in the stern conflict with daily poverty, – to see themselves bereft of all the appliances which filled up the hours of each day? Could his mother, frail and delicate as she was, much longer sustain the effort by which she first met the stroke of fortune? Would not the reaction, whenever it came, be too terrible to be borne? And Helen, too, – his sweet and lovely sister, – she whom he had loved to think of as the admired of a splendid Court; on whose appearance in the world he had so often speculated, castle-building over the sensations her beauty and her gracefulness would excite, – what was to be her lot? Deep and heartfelt as his sorrow was for them, it was only when he thought of his father that Lionel’s anguish burst its bounds, and he broke into a torrent of tears. From very boyhood he had loved and admired him; but never had the high features of his character so impressed Lionel Darcy as when the reverse of fortune called up that noble spirit whose courage displayed itself in manly submission and the generous effort to support the hearts of others. How cruel did the decrees of fate seem to him, that such a man should be visited so heavily, while vice and meanness prospered on every side. He knew not that virtue has no nobler attribute than its power of sustaining unmerited affliction, and that the destiny of the good man is never more nobly carried out than when he points the example of patience in suffering.

Immersed in such gloomy thoughts, he wandered on from room to room, feeding, as it were, the appetite for sorrow, by the sight of every object that could remind him of past happiness; nor were they few. There was the window-seat he loved to sit in as a boy, when all the charm of some high-wrought story could not keep his eyes from wandering at intervals over the green hills where the lambs were playing, or adown by that dark stream where circling eddies marked the leaping trout. Here was Helen’s favorite room, a little octagon boudoir, from every window of which a different prospect opened; it seemed to breathe of her sweet presence even yet; the open desk, from which she had taken some letter, lay there upon the table, the pen she had last touched, the chair she sat upon, all, even to the little nosegay of scarce-faded flowers, the last she had plucked, teemed with her memory. He walked on with bent-down head and tardy step, and entered the little room which, opening on the lawn, was used by the Knight to receive such of the tenantry as came to him for assistance or advice; many an hour had he sat there beside his father, and, while listening with the eager curiosity of youth to the little stories of the poor man’s life, his trials and his difficulties, imbibed lessons of charity and benevolence never to be forgotten.

The great square volume in which the Knight used to record his notes of the neighboring poor, lay on the table; his chair was placed near it; all was in readiness for his coming who was to come there no more! As Lionel stood in silent sorrow, surveying these objects, the shadow of a man darkened the window. He turned suddenly, and saw the tall, scarecrow figure of Flury the madman. A large placard decorated the front of his hat, on which the words “Down with the Darcys!” were written in capital letters, and he carried in his hand a bundle of papers, like handbills, which he shook with a menacing air at Lionel.

“What is this, Flury?” said the youth, opening the window, and at the same time snatching one of the papers from his hand.

“It’s the full account of the grand auction of Government hacks,” said Flury, with the sing-song intonation of a street-crier, “no longer needed for the services of the Crown, and to be sowld without resarve.”

“And who sent you here with this?” said the young man, moderating his tone, to avoid startling the other.

“Connor Egan, Hickman’s man, gave me a pint and a noggin of spirits to cry the auction, and tould me to come up here and maybe you’d like to hear of it ye’selves.”

Lionel threw his eyes over the offensive lines, where in coarse ribaldry names the most venerable were held up to scorn and derision. If it was some satisfaction to find that his father was linked in the ruffianly attack with men of honor as unblemished as his own, he was not less outraged at the vindictive cowardice that had suggested this insult.

“There’ll be a fine sight of people there, by all accounts,” said Flury, gravely, “for the auction-bills is far and near over the country, and the Castlebar coach has one on each door.”

“Is popular feeling always as corrupt a thing as this?” muttered Lionel, with a bitter sneer, while at the same time the door of the room was opened, and Daly entered. His face was marked by a severe cut on one cheek, from which the blood had flowed freely; a dark blue stain, as of a blow, was on his chin, and one hand he carried enveloped in his handkerchief; his clothes were torn besides in many places, and bore traces of a severe personal conflict.

“What has happened?” said Lionel, as he looked in alarm at the swollen and blood-stained features. “Did you fall?”

“Fall! no such thing, boy,” replied Daly, sternly; “but some worthy folk in Castlebar planned a little surprise for me this morning. They heard, it seems, that we passed through the town by daybreak, but that I was to return before noon; and so they placed some cars and turf creels in the main street, opposite the inn, in such a way that, while seeming merely accident, would effectually stop a horseman from proceeding. When I arrived at the spot, I halted, and called out to the fellows to move on, and let me pass. They took no heed of my words, and then I saw in a moment what was intended. I had no arms; I had purposely left my pistols behind me, for I feared something might provoke me, though not anticipating such as this. So I got down and drew this wattle from the side of a turf creel, – you see it is a strong blackthorn, and good stuff too. Before I was in the saddle the word was passed, and the whole street was full of people, and I now perceived that, by the same manouvre as they employed in front, they had also closed the rear upon me, and cut off my retreat. ‘Now for it! now for it!’ they shouted. ‘Where’s Bully Dodd? – Where’s the Bully?’ I suppose you know the fellow?”

“The man that was transported?”

“The same. The greatest ruffian the country was cursed with. He came at the call, without coat or waistcoat, his shirt-sleeves tucked up to his shoulders, and a handkerchief round his waist ready for a fight. There was an old quarrel between us, for it was I captured the fellow the day after he burnt down Dawson’s house. He came towards me, the mob opening a way for him, with a pewter pot of porter in his hand.

“‘We want you to dhrink a toast for us, Mr. Daly,’ said he, with a marked courtesy, and a grin that amused the fellows around him. ‘You were always a patriot, and won’t make any objections to it.’

“‘What is the liquor?’ said I.

“‘Good porter, – divil a less,’ cried the mob; ‘Mol Heavyside’s best.’ And so I took the vessel in my hands, and before they could say a syllable, drained it to the bottom; for I was very thirsty with the ride, and in want of something to refresh myself.

“‘But you did n’t dhrink the toast,’ said Dodd savagely.

“‘Where was the toast? He didn’t say the words,’ shouted the mob.

“‘Off with his hat, and make him drink it,’ cried out several others from a distance. They saved me one part of the trouble, for they knocked off my hat with a stone.

“‘Here’s health and long life to Hickman O’Reilly!’ cried out Dodd, – ‘that’s the toast.’

“‘And what have I to wish him either?’ said I, while at the same time I tore open the pewter measure, and then with one strong dash of my band drove it down on the ruffian’s head, down to the very brows. I lost no time afterwards, but, striking right and left, plunged forwards; the mob fled as I followed, and by good luck the carthorses, getting frightened, sprang forward also, and so I rode on with a few slight cuts; a stone or two struck me, nothing more; but they ‘ll need a plumber to rid my friend Dodd of his helmet.”

“And we used to call this town our own,” said Lionel, bitterly.

“Nothing is a man’s own but his honor, sir. That base cowardice yonder believes itself honest and independent, as if a single right feeling, a single good or virtuous thought, could consort with habits like theirs; but they are less base than those who instigate them. The real scoundrels are the Hickmans of this world, the men who compensate for low birth and plebeian origin by calumniating the wellborn and the noble. – What is Flury wanting here?” said he, as, attracted by Daly’s narrative, the poor fellow had drawn near to listen.

“‘I ‘m glad you put the pewter pot on the Bully’s head, he ‘s a disgrace to the town,” said Flury, with a laugh; and he turned away, as if enjoying the downfall of an enemy.

“Oh! I see,” said Daly, taking up one of the papers that had fallen to the ground, “this is the first act of the drama. Come along, Lionel, let us talk of matters nearer to our hearts.”

They walked along together to the library, each silently following his own train of thought, and for some time neither seemed disposed to speak. Lionel at length broke silence, as he said, —

“I have been thinking over it, and am convinced my father will never be able to endure this life of inactivity before him.”

“That is exactly the fear I entertain myself for him; altered fortunes will impress themselves more in the diminished sphere to which his influence and utility will be reduced, than in anything else: but how to remedy this?”

“I have been considering that also; but you must advise me if the plan be a likely one. He held the rank of colonel once – ”

“To be sure he did, and with good right, – he raised the regiment himself. Darcy’s Light Horse were as handsome a set of fellows as the service could boast of.”

“Well, then, my notion is, that although the Government did not buy his vote on the Union, there would be no just reason why they should not appoint him to some one of those hundred situations which the service includes. His former rank, his connection and position, his unmerited misfortunes, are, in some sense, claims. I can scarcely suppose his opposition in Parliament would be remembered against him at such a moment.”

“I hardly think it would,” said Daly, musingly; “there is much in what you propose. Would Lord Netherby support such a request if it were made?”

“He could not well decline it; almost the last thing he said at parting was, that whatever favor he enjoyed should be gladly employed in our behalf. Besides, we really seek nothing to which we may not lay fair and honest claim. My intention would be to write at once to Lord Netherby. acquainting him briefly with our altered fortunes.”

“The more briefly on that topic the better,” said Daly, dryly.

“To mention my father’s military rank and services, to state that, having raised and equipped a company at his own expense, without accepting the slightest aid from the Government, now, in his present change of condition, he would be proud of any recognition of those services which once he was but too happy to render unrewarded by the Crown. There are many positions, more or less lucrative, which would well become him, and which no right-minded gentleman could say were ill-bestowed on such a man.”

“All true,” said Daly, whose eye brightened as he gazed on the youth, whose character seemed already about to develop itself under the pressure of misfortune with traits of more thoughtful meaning than yet appeared iu him.

“Then I will write to Lord Netherby at once,” resumed Lionel; “there can be no indelicacy in making such a request: he is our relative, the nearest my mother has.”

“He is far better, he ‘s a Lord in Waiting, and a very subtle courtier,” said Daly. “Write this day, and, if you like it, I ‘ll dictate the letter.”

Lionel accepted the offer with all the pleasure possible. He had been from boyhood a firm believer in the resources and skill of Daly in every possible contingency of life, and looked on him as one of those persons who invariably succeed when everybody else fails.

There is a species of promptitude in action, the fruit generally of a strong will and a quick imagination, which young men mistake for a much higher gift, and estimate at a price very far above its value. Bagenal Daly had, however, other qualities than these; but truth compels us to own that, in Lionel’s eyes, his supremacy on such grounds was no small merit. He had ever found him ready for every emergency, prompt to decide, no less quick to act, and, without stopping to inquire how far success followed such rapid resolves, this very energy charmed him. It was, then, in perfect confidence in the skill and address of his adviser that Lionel sat down, pen in hand, to write at his dictation.

CHAPTER XXXVI. THE LAW AND ITS CHANCES

We left Mr. Daly at the conclusion of our last chapter in the exercise of – what to him was always a critical matter – the functions of a polite letter-writer. His faults, it is but justice to say, were much less those of style than of the individual himself; for if he rarely failed to convey a clear notion of his views and intentions, he still more rarely omitted to impart considerable insight into his own character.

His abrupt and broken sentences, his sudden outbreaks of intelligence or passion, were not inaptly conveyed by the character of a handwriting which was bold, careless, and hurried. Indifferent to everything like neatness or accuracy, generally blotted, and never very legible, these defects, if they did not palliate, they might, in a measure, explain something of his habits of thought and action; but now, when about to dictate to another, the case was different, and those interruptions which Daly would have set down by a dash of his pen, were to be conveyed by the less significant medium of mere blanks.

“I ‘m ready,” said Lionel, at length, as he sat for some time in silent expectation of Daly’s commencement. But that gentleman was walking up and down the room with his hands behind his back, occasionally stopping to look out upon the lawn.

“Very well, begin – ‘My dear Lord Netherby,’ or ‘My dear Lord,’ – it does n’t signify which, though I suppose he would be of another mind, and find a whole world of difference between the two. Have you that? – very well. Then go on to mention, in such terms as you like yourself, the sudden change of fortune that has befallen your family, – briefly, but decisively.”

“Dictate it, I’ll follow you,” said Lionel, somewhat put out by this mode of composition.

“Oh! it doesn’t matter exactly what the words are, – say, that a d – d scoundrel, Gleeson – Honest Tom we always called him – has cut and run with something like a hundred thousand pounds, after forging and falsifying every signature to our leases for the last ten or fifteen years; we are, in consequence, ruined – obliged to leave the abbey, take to a cottage – a devilish poor one, too.”

“Don’t go so fast – ‘we are in consequence – ‘”

“Utterly smashed – broken up – no home, and devilish little to live upon, – my mother’s jointure being barely sufficient for herself and Helen. I want, therefore, to remind you – your Lordship, that is – to remind your Lordship of the kind pledge which you so lately made us, at a time when we little anticipated the early necessity we should have to recall it. My father, some forty-five or six years back, raised the Darcy Light Horse, equipped, armed, and mounted six hundred men, at his own expense. This regiment, of which he took the head, did good service in the Low Countries, and although distinguished in many actions, he received nothing but thanks, – happily not wanting more, if so much. Times are changed now with him, and it would be a seasonable act of kindness and a suitable reward to an old officer – highly esteemed as he is and has been through life – to make up for past neglect by some appointment – the service has many such – Confound them! the pension-list shows what fellows there are – ‘governors and deputy-governors,’ ‘acting adjutants’ of this, and ‘deputy assistant commissaries’ of that.”

“I ‘m not to write that, I suppose?”

“No, you needn’t, – it would do no harm, though, to give them a hint on the subject; but never mind it now. ‘As for myself, I ‘ll leave the Guards, and take service in the Line. I am only anxious for a regiment on a foreign station, and if in India, so much the better.’ Is that down? Well – eh! that will do, I think. You may just say, that the matter ought to be arranged without any communication with your father, inasmuch as, from motives of delicacy, he might feel bound to decline what was tendered as an offer, though he would hold himself pledged to accept what was called by the name of duty. Yes, Lionel, that’s the way to put the case; active service, by all means active service, – no guard-mounting at Windsor or Carlton House; no Hounslow Heath engagements.”

Lionel followed, as well as he was able, the suggestions, to which sundry short interjections and broken “hems!” and “ha’s!” gave no small confusion, and at last finished a letter, which, if it conveyed some part of the intention, was even a stronger exponent of the character, of him who dictated it.

“Shall I read it over to you?”

“Heaven forbid! If you did, I ‘d alter every word of it. I never reconsidered a note that I did not change my mind about it, and I don’t believe I ever counted a sum of money over more than once without making the tot vary each time. Send it off as it is – ’ Yours truly, Lionel Darcy.’”

It was about ten days after the events we have just related that Bagenal Daly sat in consultation with Darcy’s lawyer in the back parlor of the Knight’s Dublin residence. Lionel, who had been in conclave with them for several hours, had just left the room, and they now remained in thoughtful silence, pondering over their late discussion.

“That young man,” said Bicknell, at length, “is very far from being deficient in ability, but he is wayward and reckless as the rest of the family; he seems to have signed his name everywhere they told him, and to anything. Here are leases forever at nominal rents – no fines in renewal – rights of fishery disposed of – oak timber – marble quarries – property of every kind – made away with. Never was there such wasteful, ruinous expenditure coupled with peculation and actual robbery at the same time.”

“What’s to be done?” said Daly, interrupting a catalogue of disasters he could scarcely listen to with patience; “have you anything to propose?”

“We must move in Equity for an inquiry into the validity of these documents; many of the signatures are probably false; we can lay a case for a jury – ”

“Well, I don’t want to hear the details, – you mean to go to law; now, has Darcy wherewithal to sustain a suit? These Hickmans are rich.”

“Very wealthy people indeed,” said Bicknell, dryly. “The Knight cannot engage in a legal contest with them without adequate means. I am not sufficiently in possession of Mr. Darcy’s resources to pronounce on the safety of such a step.”

“I can tell you, then: they have nothing left to live upon save his wife’s jointure. Lady Eleanor has something like a thousand a year in settlement, – certainly not more.”

“If they can contrive to live on half this sum,” said the lawyer, cautiously, “we may, perhaps, find the remainder enough for our purposes. The first expenses will be, of course, very heavy: drafts to prepare, searches to make, witnesses to examine, with opinion of high counsel, will all demand considerable outlay.”