Barrington Volume Ii Part 24

"I am glad to perceive that you understand me so readily," said Stapylton, who could scarcely repress the joy he felt at the success of his diversion; "and that nothing may mar our future understanding, this is my address in London, where I shall wait your orders for a week."

Though the stroke was shrewdly intended, and meant to throw upon Barrington all the onus of the provocation, the Major little suspected that it was the one solitary subject of which his opponent was a master.

On the "duello" Barrington was an authority beyond appeal, and no subtlety, however well contrived, could embarra.s.s or involve him.

"I have no satisfaction to claim at your hands, Major Stapylton," said he, calmly. "My friend, Mr. Withering, when he sent me these letters, knew you were my guest, and he said, 'Read them to Major Stapylton. Let him know what is said of him, and who says it.'"

"And, perhaps, you ought to add, sir, who gives it the sanction of his belief," broke in Stapylton, angrily. "You never took the trouble to recite these charges till they obtained your credence."

"You have said nothing to disprove them," said the old man, quickly.

"That is enough,--quite enough, sir; we understand each other perfectly.

You allege certain things against me as injuries done you, and you wait for _me_ to resent the imputation. I 'll not balk you, be a.s.sured of it.

The address I have given you in London will enable you to communicate with me when you arrive there; for I presume this matter had better be settled in France or Holland."

"I think so," said Barrington, with the air of a man thoroughly at his ease.

"I need not say, Mr. Barrington, the regret it gives me that it was not one of my detractors himself, and not their dupe, that should occupy this place."

"The dupe, sir, is very much at your service."

"Till we meet again," said Stapylton, raising his hat as he turned away.

In his haste and the confusion of the moment, he took the path that led towards the cottage; nor did he discover his mistake till he heard Barrington's voice calling out to Darby,--

"Get the boat ready to take Major Stapylton to Inistioge."

"You forget none of the precepts of hospitality," said Stapylton, wheeling hastily around, and directing his steps towards the river.

Barrington looked after him as he went, and probably in his long and varied life, crossed with many a care and many troubles, he had never felt the pain of such severe self-reproach as in that moment. To see his guest, the man who had sat at his board and eaten his salt, going out into the dreary night without one hospitable effort to detain him, without a pledge to his health, without a warm shake of his hand, or one hearty wish for his return.

"Dear, dear!" muttered he, to himself, "what is the world come to! I thought I had no more experiences to learn of suffering; but here is a new one. Who would have thought to see the day that Peter Barrington would treat his guest this fashion?"

"Are you coming in to tea, grandpapa?" cried Josephine, from the garden.

"Here I am, my dear!"

"And your guest, Peter, what has become of him?" said Dinah.

"He had some very urgent business at Kilkenny; something that could not admit of delay, I opine."

"But you have not let him go without his letters, surely. Here are all these formidable-looking despatches, on his Majesty's service, on the chimney-piece."

"How forgetful of me!" cried he, as, s.n.a.t.c.hing them up, he hastened down to the river-side. The boat, however, had just gone; and although he shouted and called at the top of his voice, no answer came, and he turned back at last, vexed and disappointed.

"I shall have to start for Dublin to-morrow, Dinah," said he, as he walked thoughtfully up and down the room. "I must have Withering's advice on these letters. There are very pressing matters to be thought of here, and I can take Major Stapylton's despatches with me. I am certain to hear of him somewhere."

Miss Barrington turned her eyes full upon him, and watched him narrowly.

She was a keen detector of motives, and she scanned her brother's face with no common keenness, and yet she could see nothing beyond the preoccupation she had often seen. There was no impatience, no anxiety. A shade more thoughtful, perhaps, and even that pa.s.sed off, as he sat down to his tea, and asked Fifine what commissions she had for the capital.

"You will leave by the evening mail, I suppose?" said Miss Barrington.

"No, Dinah, night travelling wearies me. I will take the coach as it pa.s.ses the gate to-morrow at five; this will bring me in time to catch Withering at his late dinner, and a pleasanter way to finish a day's travel no man need ask for."

Nothing could be more easily spoken than these words, and Miss Dinah felt rea.s.sured by them, and left the room to give some orders about his journey.

"Fifine, darling," said Barrington, after a pause, "do you like your life here?"

"Of course I do, grandpapa. How could I wish for one more happy?"

"But it is somewhat dull for one so young,--somewhat solitary for a fair, bright creature, who might reasonably enough care for pleasure and the world."

"To me it is a round of gayety, grandpapa; so that I almost felt inclined yesterday to wish for some quiet davs with aunt and yourself,--some of those dreamy days like what we had in Germany."

"I fear me much, darling, that I contribute but little to the pleasure.

My head is so full of one care or another, I am but sorry company, Fifine."

"If you only knew how dull we are without you! How heavily the day drags on even with the occupations you take no share in; how we miss your steps on the stairs and your voice in the garden, and that merry laugh that sets ourselves a-laughing just by its own ring."

"And you would miss me, then?" said he, as he pushed the hair from her temples, and stared steadfastly at her face,--"you would miss me?"

"It would only be half life without you," cried she, pa.s.sionately.

"So much the worse,--so much the worse!" muttered he; and he turned away, and drew his hand across his eyes. "This life of ours, Fifine, is a huge battle-field; and though the comrades fall fast around him, the brave soldier will fight on to the last."

"You don't want a dress-coat, brother Peter, to dine with Withering, so I have just put up what will serve you for three days, or four, at furthest," said Dinah, entering. "What will be the extent of your stay?"

"Let me have a black coat, Dinah; there 's no saying what great man may not ask for my company; and it might be a week before I get back again."

"There's no necessity it should be anything of the kind, Peter; and with your habits an hotel life is scarcely an economy. Come, Fifine, get to bed, child. You'll have to be up at daybreak. Your grandpapa won't think his coffee drinkable, if it is not made by your hands."

And with this remark, beautifully balanced between a reproof and a flattery, she proceeded to blow out the candles, which was her accustomed mode of sending her company to their rooms.

CHAPTER XV. THE OLD LEAVEN

Withering arrived at his own door just as Barrington drove up to it. "I knew my letter would bring you up to town, Barrington," said he; "and I was so sure of it that I ordered a saddle of mutton for your dinner, and refused an invitation to the Chancellor's."

"And quite right too. Iam far better company, Tom. Are we to be all alone?"

"All alone."

"That was exactly what I wanted. Now, as I need a long evening with you, the sooner they serve the soup the better; and be sure you give your orders that n.o.body be admitted."

If Mr. Withering's venerable butler, an official long versed in the mysteries of his office, were to have been questioned on the subject, it is not improbable he would have declared that he never a.s.sisted at a pleasanter tete-a tete than that day's dinner. They enjoyed their good dinner and their good wine like men who bring to the enjoyment a ripe experience of such pleasures, and they talked with the rare zest of good talkers and old friends.

"We are in favor with Nicholas," said Withering, as the butler withdrew, and left them alone, "or he would never have given us that bottle of port. Do you mark, Barrington, it's the green seal that John Bushe begged so hard for one night, and all unsuccessfully."

"It is rare stuff!" said Barrington, looking at it between him and the light.