Barrington Volume Ii Part 32

One word of good cheer before I close this miserable record. The Indian directors have written to offer excellent terms--splendidly liberal terms, Conyers calls them, and I agree with him. We have had a very busy week of it here, but it will be well requited if all that I now antic.i.p.ate be confirmed to us. Barrington begs you will tell your neighbors, the Dills, that Tom--I think that is the name--has just arrived at Southampton with General Hunter, and will be here to-morrow evening.

I have cut out a short pa.s.sage from the newspaper to finish my narrative. I will send the full report, as published, to-morrow.

Your attached friend,

T. Withering.

"The chief police-office in Marlborough Street was yesterday the scene of a very shocking incident. The officer whose conduct at the head of his regiment in Manchester has of late called for the almost unanimous reprobation of the Press, was, while answering to a charge of aggravated a.s.sault, directly charged with forgery. Scarcely was the allegation made, than he drew a pistol from his pocket, and, placing the muzzle to his mouth, pulled the trigger. The direction of the weapon, however, was accidentally turned, and the ball, instead of proceeding upwards, pa.s.sed through the lower jaw, fracturing the bone, and created a terrible wound. It is supposed that the large vessels are not injured, and that he may yet recover. All who witnessed the scene describe it as one of intense horror.

"The unhappy man was at once removed to the Middles.e.x Hospital. He has not uttered a word since the event; and when asked if there were any relatives or friends whom he wished might be sent for, merely shook his head negatively. It is said that when the result of the consultation held on him was announced to him as favorable, he seemed rather grieved than otherwise at the tidings."

FROM PETER BARRINGTON TO DINAH, HIS SISTER.

My dear Dinah,--How glad am I to tell you that we leave this to-morrow, and a large party of us, too, all for "The Home." Put young Conyers in my dressing-room, so that the large green bedroom can be free for the General, at least for one of the generals--for we have another here, Hunter, who will also be our guest. Then there will be Withering. As for myself, I can be stowed away anywhere. What happiness would there be to us all at such a meeting, if it were not for that poor wretch who lies in all his agony a few streets off, and who is never out of my thoughts.

I went twice to the hospital to see him. The first time I lost courage, and came away. The second, I sent up my name, and asked if he would wish to see me. The only answer I got was my visiting-card torn in two! How hard it is for an injurer to forgive him he has injured! I have arranged with the Stapyltons, however, who instigated the charge of forgery, not to press it; at least, they are to take bail, and the bail will be forfeited, so I understand it; but Withering will explain all more clearly.

Our own affairs are all as bright and prosperous as our best wishes could desire. The Council have had all the evidence before them, and the Moonshee has produced his copy of the Koran, with the torn leaf fitting into the jagged margin, and George is vindicated at last in everything.

His loyalty, his disinterestedness, his honesty, all established. The ceremony of his marriage has been fully recognized; and General Conyers tells me that the lowest estimate of our claim is a little short of a quarter of a million sterling. He counsels me not to be exigent in my terms; if he knew me better, perhaps, he would not have deemed the advice so necessary.

What will Fifine say to all this wealth? Will she want to go back to India, and be a princess, and ride about on an elephant; or will she reconcile herself to such humble ways as ours? I am most eager to hear how she will take the tidings. Withering says it will not spoil her; that knowing nothing of life in its moneyed relations, she runs no risk of being carried away by any vulgar notions of her own importance through riches.

Conyers has never once hinted at his son's pretensions since Fifine has become an heiress; and I fancy--it may be only fancy--is a shade or so cool towards me, so that I have not referred to them. But what can I do?

I cannot offer him my granddaughter, nor--if what you tell me be true, that they are always quarrelling--would the proposal be a great kindness to either.

Here is Tom Dill, too, and what a change! He is the image of Polly; and a fine, well-grown, straight-figured fellow, that looks you manfully in the face,--not the slouching, loutish, shamefaced creature you remember him. Hunter has had him gazetted to an Ensigncy in the 10th Foot, and he will, or I much mistake him, do honest credit to the recommendation.

Hunter takes him about with him wherever he goes, telling all about the shipwreck and Tom's gallantry,--enough to turn the lad's head with vanity, but that he is a fine, simple-hearted creature, who thinks very little of himself or his achievement. He seems to have no other thought than what Polly, his sister, will say and think of him.

He also will be one of our party; that is if I can persuade him to make "The Home" his headquarters while our friends are with us. What a strong muster we shall be; and how we 'll astonish that old bin of Madeira, Dinah! By the way, I have been rather boastful about it to Conyers, and let some bottles have the sun on them for a couple of hours every day.

I should like to try my chance once more of seeing that poor fellow at the hospital, but Withering will not hear of it; he got positively ill-tempered at the bare mention of such a wish. Even Conyers says, "Better not," with an air that may mean for the sick man's sake as much as my own.

A little more of this life of noise, confusion, and excitement would finish me. This city existence, with its incessant events and its never ending anxieties, is like walking in a high wind with the chimney-pots falling and crashing on every side of one,--while I am pitying the fellow whose skull is just cracked, I am forced to remember that my own is in danger. And yet there are people who like it; who tell you that out of London there is no living; that the country is a grave, aggravated by the consciousness that one is dead and buried there!

On Tuesday,--Wednesday, at farthest,--Dinah, look out for us. I do not believe there is that prize in the wheel that would tempt me again away from home! and till I reach it, believe, my dear Dinah,

Your loving brother,

Peter Barrington.

I have just seen Conyers. He met Sir Harvey Hethrington, the Home Secretary, this morning, and they got into a talk over our business, and H. said how cruelly I had been treated all this time back, and how unfairly poor George's memory was dealt with. "We want," said he, "to show your friend our respect and our sympathy, and we have thought of submitting his name to the King for a Baronetcy. How do you think Mr.

Barrington himself would take our project?" "I 'll find out," said Conyers, as he told me of the conversation. "If they don't let me off, Conyers," said I, "ask them to commute it to Knighthood, for the heralds' fees will be smaller; but I'll try, meanwhile, if I can't escape either." So that now, Dinah, you may expect me on Sat.u.r.day. I told you what a place this was; you are never sure what may befall you from one moment to another!

CHAPTER XX. THE END

Fortune had apparently ceased to persecute Peter Barrington.

The Minister did not press honors upon him, and he was free to wait for his companions, and in their company he returned to Ireland.

The news of his success--great as it was, magnified still more--had preceded him to his own country; and he was met, as all lucky men are met, and will be met to the end of time, by those who know the world and feelingly estimate that the truly profitable are the fortunate!

Not that he remarked how many had suddenly grown so cordial; what troops of pa.s.sing acquaintances had become in a moment warm friends, well-wishing and affectionate. He never so much as suspected that "Luck"

is a deity worshipped by thousands, who even in the remotest way are not to be benefited by it. He had always regarded the world as a far better thing than many moralists would allow it to be,--unsteady, wilful, capricious, if you like--but a well-intentioned, kindly minded world, that would at all times, where pa.s.sion or prejudice stood aloof, infinitely rather do the generous thing than the cruel one.

Little wonder, then, if he journeyed in a sort of ovation! At every change of horses in each village they pa.s.sed, there was sure to be some one who wanted to shake his hand. People hobbled out on crutches and quitted sick-beds to say how "glad they were;" mere acquaintances most of them, who felt a strange mysterious sort of self-consequence in fancying themselves for the moment the friends of Peter Barrington, the millionnaire! This is all very curious, but it is a fact,--a fact which I make no pretence to explain, however.

"And here comes the heartiest well-wisher of them all!" cried Barrington, as he saw his sister standing on the roadside, near the gate. With thoughtful delicacy, his companions lingered behind, while he went to meet and embraced her. "Was I not a true prophet, Dinah dear?

Did I not often foretell this day to you?" said he, as he drew her arm, and led her along, forgetting all about his friends and companions.

"Have they paid the money, Peter?" said she, sharply.

"Of course they have not; such things are not settled like the fare of a hackney-coach. But our claim is acknowledged, and, fifty thousand times better, George Barrington's name absolved from every shadow of an imputation."

"What is the amount they agree to give?"

"Upon my life, I don't know,--that is, I don't recollect, there were so many interviews and such discussions; but Withering can tell you everything. Withering knows it all. Without _him_ and Conyers I don't know how I could have got on. If you had heard how he spoke of George at the Council! 'You talk of _my_ services,' said he; 'they are no more fit to be compared with those of Colonel Barrington, than are _my_ petty grievances with the gross wrongs that lie on _his_ memory.' Withering was there; he heard the words, and described the effect of them as actually overwhelming."

"And Withering believes the whole thing to be settled?"

"To be sure, he does! Why should he oppose his belief to that of the whole world? Why, my dear Dinah, it is not one, nor two, but some hundreds of people have come to wish me joy. They had a triumphal arch at Naas, with 'Welcome to Barrington' over it. At Carlow, Fishbourne came out with the corporation to offer me congratulations."

She gave a hasty, impatient shake of the head, but repressed the sharp reply that almost trembled on her lips.

"By George!" cried he, "it does one's heart good to witness such a burst of generous sentiment. You 'd have thought some great national benefit had befallen, or that some one--his country's idol--had just reaped the recompense of his great services. They came flocking out of the towns as we whirled past, cheering l.u.s.tily, and shouting, 'Barrington forever!'"

"I detest a mob!" said she, pursing up her lips.

"These were no mobs, Dinah; these were groups of honest fellows, with kind hearts and generous wishes."

Another, but more decisive, toss of the head warned Peter that the discussion had gone far enough; indeed she almost said so, by asking abruptly, "What is to be done about the boy Conyers? He is madly in love with Josephine."

"Marry her, I should say!"

"As a cure for the complaint, I suppose. But what if she will not have him? What if she declares that she 'd like to go back to the convent again,--that she hates the world, and is sorry she ever came out into it,--that she was happier with the sisters--"

"Has she said all this to you, sister?"

"Certainly not, Peter," said Dinah, bridling up. "These were confidences imparted to the young man himself. It was he told me of them: he came to me last night in a state bordering on distraction. He was hesitating whether he would not throw himself into the river or go into a marching regiment."

"This is only a laughing matter, then, Dinah?" said Peter, smiling.

"Nothing of the kind, brother! He did not put the alternatives so much in juxtaposition as I have; but they lay certainly in that manner on his thoughts. But when do your friends arrive? I thought they were to have come with you?"

"What a head I have, Dinah! They are all here; two carriages of them. I left them on the road when I rushed on to meet you. Oh, here they come!

here they are!"

"My brother's good fortune, gentlemen, has made him seem to forget what adversity never did; but I believe you all know how welcome you are here? Your son, General Conyers, thought to meet you earlier, by taking boat down to the village, and the girls went with him. Your friend, Polly Dill, is one of them, General Hunter."