Jack Hinton Part 52

We never experience to the full how far sorrow has made its inroad upon us until we come back, after absence, to the places where we have once been happy, and find them lone and tenantless. While we recognise each old familiar object, we see no longer those who gave them all their value in our eyes; every inanimate thing about speaks to our senses, but where are they who were wont to speak to our hearts? The solitary chamber is then, indeed, but the body of all our pleasure, from which the soul has departed for ever.

These feelings were mine as I paced the old well-worn stairs, and entered my quarters in the Castle. No more I heard the merry laugh of my friend O'Grady, nor his quick step upon the stair. The life, the stir, the bustle of the place itself seemed to have all fled; the court echoed only to the measured tread of the grenadier, who marched backwards and forwards beside the flagstaff in the centre of the open s.p.a.ce. No cavalcade of joyous riders, no prancing horses led about by grooms, no showy and splendid equipages; all was still, sad, and neglected-looking.

The dust whirled about in circling eddies, as the cold wind of an autumnal day moaned through the arched pa.s.sages and gloomy corridors of the old building. A care-worn official, or some slatternly inferior of the household, would perhaps pa.s.s from time to time; but except such as these, nothing stirred. The closed shutters and drawn-down blinds showed that the viceroy was absent and I found myself the only occupant of the building.

It requires the critical eye of the observant resident of great cities to mark the changes which season and fashion effect in their appearance.

To one unaccustomed to their phases it seems strange to hear, 'How empty the town is! how very few people are in London!'--while the heavy tide of population pours incessantly around him, and his ear is deafened with the ceaseless roll of equipage. But in such a city as Dublin the alteration is manifest to the least observant. But little frequented by the country gentry, and never except for the few months when the court is there; still less visited by foreigners; deserted by the professional cla.s.ses, at least such of them as are independent enough to absent themselves--the streets are actually empty. The occupations of trade, the bustle of commerce, that through every season continue their onward course in the great trading cities such as Liverpool, Hamburg, Frankfort, and Bourdeaux, scarce exist here; and save that the tattered garments of mendicancy, and the craving cries of hunger are ever before you, you might fall into a drowsy reverie as you walked, and dream yourself in Palmyra.

I had strolled about for above an hour, in the moody frame of mind my own reflections and the surrounding objects were well calculated to suggest, when, meeting by accident a subaltern with whom I was slightly acquainted, I heard that the court had that morning left the Lodge in the Park for Kilkenny, where the theatricals of that pleasant city were going forward--a few members of the household alone remaining, who were to follow in a day or two.

For some days previous I had made up my mind not to remain in Ireland.

Every tie that bound me to the country was broken. I had no heart to set about forming new friendships while the wounds of former ones were still fresh and bleeding; and I longed for change of scene and active occupation, that I might have no time to reflect or look back.

Resolving to tender my resignation on the duke's staff without any further loss of time, I set out at once for the Park. I arrived there in the very nick of time; the carriages were at the entrance, waiting for the private secretary of his grace and two of the aides-de-camp, who were eating a hurried luncheon before starting. One of the aides-de-camp I knew but slightly, the other was a perfect stranger to me; but the secretary, Horton, was an intimate acquaintance. He jumped up from his chair as my name was announced, and a deep blush covered his face as he advanced to meet me.

'My dear Hinton, how unfortunate! Why weren't you here yesterday? It's too late now.'

'Too late for what? I don't comprehend you.'

'Why, my dear fellow,' said he, drawing his arm within mine, and leading me towards a window, as he dropped his voice to a whisper, 'I believe you heard from me that his grace was provoked at your continued absence, and expected at least that you would have written to ask an extension of your leave. I don't know how it was, but it seemed to me that the d.u.c.h.ess came back from England with some crotchet in her head, about something she heard in London. In any case, they ordered me to write.'

'Well, well,' said I impatiently; 'I guess it all. I have got my dismissal. Isn't that the whole of it?'

He nodded twice, without speaking.

'It only antic.i.p.ates my own wishes,' said I coolly, 'as this note may satisfy you.' I placed the letter I had written for the purpose of my resignation in his hand, and continued: 'I am quite convinced in my own mind that his grace, whose kindness towards me has never varied, would never have dreamed of this step on such slight grounds as my absence.

No, no; the thing lies deeper. At any other time I should certainly have wished to trace this matter to its source; now, however, chiming as it does with my own plans, and caring little how fortune intends to treat me, I'll submit in silence.'

'And take no notice of the affair further?'

'Such is my determination,' said I resolutely.

'In that case,' said Horton, 'I may tell you that some story of a lady had reached the d.u.c.h.ess, when in London--some girl that it was reported you endeavoured to seduce, and had actually followed for that purpose to the west of Ireland. There, there! don't take the matter up that way, for heaven's sake! My dear fellow, hear me out!' But I could hear no more; the rushing blood that crowded on my brain stunned and stupefied me, and it took several minutes before I became sufficiently collected to ask him to go on.

'I heard the thing so confusedly,' said he, 'that I cannot attempt anything like connection in relating it. But the story goes that your duel in Loughrea did not originate about the steeplechase at all, but in a quarrel about this girl, with her brother or her cousin, who, having discovered your intentions regarding her, you wished to get rid of, as a preliminary. No one but a fool could credit such a thing.'

'None but such could have invented it,' said I, as my thoughts at once recurred to Lord Dudley de Vere.

'The duke, however, spoke to General Hinton----'

'To my father! And how did he----'

'Oh, behaved as only he could have done: "Stop, my lord!" said he; "I'll spare you any further relation of this matter. If it be true, my son is unworthy of remaining on your staff. If it be false, I'll not permit him to hold an appointment where his reputation has been a.s.sailed without affording him an opportunity of defence." High words ensued, and the end was that if you appeared before to-day, you were to hear the charge and have an opportunity for reply. If not, your dismissal was to be made out, and another appointed in your place. Now that I have told you what I feel the indiscretion of my ever having spoken of, promise me, my dear Hinton, that you will take no step in the matter. The intrigue is altogether beneath you, and your character demands no defence on your part.'

'I almost suspect I know the person,' said I gloomily.

'No, no; I'm certain you can't. It is some woman's story; some piece of tea-table gossip, depend on it--in any case, quite unworthy of caring about.'

'At all events, I am too indifferent at this moment to feel otherwise about anything,' said I. 'So, good-bye; Horton. My regards to all our fellows; good-bye!'

'Good-bye, my boy,' said he, warmly shaking my hand. 'But, stop a moment, I have got some letters for you; they arrived only a few days since.'

He took a packet from a drawer as he spoke, and once more bidding him adieu, I set out on my return to the Castle.

CHAPTER XLVI. FAREWELL TO IRELAND

My first care on reaching my quarters was to make preparations for my departure by the packet of the same evening; my next was to sit down and read over my letters. As I turned them over, I remarked that there were none from my father or Lady Charlotte; there was, however, one in Julia's hand, and also a note from O'Grady. The others were the mere commonplace correspondence of everyday acquaintances, which I merely threw my eyes carelessly over ere I consigned them to the fire. My fair cousin's possessed--I cannot explain why--a most unusual degree of interest for me; and throwing myself back in my chair, I gave myself up to its perusal.

The epistle opened by a half-satirical account of the London season then nearly drawing to its close, in which various characters and incidents I have not placed before my readers, but all well known to me, were touched with that quiet, subdued raillery she excelled in. The flirtations, the jiltings, the matches that were on or off, the rumoured duels, debts, and difficulties of every one we were acquainted with, were told with a most amusing smartness--all showing, young as she was, how thoroughly the wear and tear of fashionable life had invested her with the intricate knowledge of character, and the perfect acquaintance with all the intrigues and byplay of the world. 'How unlike Louisa Bellew!' said I, as I laid down the letter after reading a description of a manoeuvring mamma and obedient daughter to secure the prize of the season, with a peerage and some twenty thousand pounds per annum. It was true they were the vices and the follies of the age which she ridiculed; but why should she have ever known them? Ought she to have been conversant with such a state of society as would expose them? Were it not better, like Louisa Bellew, to have pa.s.sed her days amid the simple, unexciting scenes of secluded life, than to have purchased all the brilliancy of her wit and the dazzle of her genius at the price of true womanly delicacy and refinement? While I asked and answered myself these questions to the satisfaction of my own heart, I could not dismiss the thought, that amid such scenes as London presented, with such a.s.sociates as fashion necessitated, the unprotected simplicity of Miss Bellew's character would expose her to much both of raillery and coldness; and I felt that she would be nearly as misplaced among the proud daughters of haughty England as my fair cousin in the unfashionable freedom of Dublin life.

I confess, as I read on, that old a.s.sociations came crowding upon me.

The sparkling brilliancy of Julia's style reminded me of the charms of her conversational powers, aided by all the loveliness of her beauty, and all that witchery which your true belle of fashion knows how, so successfully, to spread around her; and it was with a flush of burning shame on my cheek I acknowledged to myself how much her letter interested me. As I continued, I saw O'Grady*s name, and to my astonishment found the following:--

'Lady Charlotte came back from the duke's ball greatly pleased with a certain Major of dragoons, who, among his other excellent qualities, turns out to be a friend of yours. This estimable person, whose name is O'Grady, has done much to dissipate her ladyship's prejudices regarding Irishmen--the repose of his manner, and the quiet, una.s.suming, well-bred tone of his address being all so opposed to her preconceived notions of his countrymen. He dines here twice or thrice a week, and as he is to sail soon, may happily preserve the bloom of his reputation to the last.

My estimate of him is somewhat different. I think him a bold _effronte_ kind of person, esteeming himself very highly, and thinking little of other people. He has, however, a delightful old thing, his servant Corny, whom I am never tired of, and shall really miss much when he leaves us.

'Now as to yourself, dear cousin, what mean all the secret hints and sly looks and doubtful speeches about you here! The mysteries of Udolpho are plain reading compared to your doings. Her ladyship never speaks of you but as "that poor boy," accompanying the epithet with the sigh with which one speaks of a shipwreck. Sir George calls you John, which shows he is not quite satisfied about you; and, in fact, I begin to suspect you must have become a United Irishman, with "a lady in the case." Yet even this would scarcely demand one half the reserve and caution with which you are mentioned. Am I indiscreet in saying that I don't think De Vere likes you? The Major, however, certainly does; and his presence has banished the lordling, for which, really, I owe him grat.i.tude.'

The letter concluded by saying that my mother had desired her to write in her place, as she was suffering from one of her nervous headaches, which only permitted her to go to the exhibition at Somerset House; my father, too, was at Woolwich on some military business, and had no time for anything save to promise to write soon; and that she herself, being disappointed by the milliner in a new bonnet, dedicated the morning to me, with a most praiseworthy degree of self-denial and benevolence. I read the signature some half-dozen times over, and wondered what meaning in her own heart she ascribed to the words, 'Yours, Julia.'

'Now for O'Grady,' said I, breaking the seal of the Major's envelope.

'My dear Jack,--I was sitting on a hencoop, now pondering on my fortunes, now turning to con over the only book on board--a very erudite work on naval tactics, with directions how "to moor a ship in the Downs"--when a gun came booming over the sea, and a frigate with certain enigmatical colours flying at her main-top compelled the old troop-ship we were in to back her topsails and lie to. (We were then steering straight for Madeira, in lat.i.tude------, longitude the same--our intention being, with the aid of Providence, to reach Quebec at some remote period of the summer, to join our service companies in Canada.) Having obeyed the orders of H.M.S. _Blast_, to wait until she overtook us--a measure that nearly cost us two of our masts and the cook's galley, we not being accustomed to stand still, it seemed--a boat came alongside with the smallest bit of a midshipman I ever looked at sitting in the stern-sheets, with orders for us to face about, left shoulder forward, and march back to England, where, having taken in the second battalion of the Twenty-eighth, we were to start for Lisbon.

'I need not tell you what pleasure the announcement afforded us, delighted as we were to exchange tomahawks and bowie-knives for civilised warfare, even against more formidable foes. Behold us then in full sail back to old England, which we reached within a fortnight--only to touch, however, for the Twenty-eighth were most impatiently expecting us; and having dedicated three days to taking in water and additional stores, and once more going through the horrible scene of leave-taking between soldiers and their wives, we sailed again. I have little inclination to give you the detail, which newspapers would beat me hollow in, of our march, or where we first came up with the French. A smart affair took place at daybreak, in which your humble servant, to use the appropriate phrase, "distinguished" himself--egad! I had almost said "extinguished"; for I was shot through the side, losing part of that conjugal portion of the human anatomy called a rib, and sustaining several other minor damages, that made me appear to the regimental doctor a very unserviceable craft for his Majesty's service. The result was, I was sent back with that plaster for a man's vanity, though not for his wounds, a despatch-letter to the Horse Guards, and an official account of the action. As nothing has occurred since in the Peninsula to eclipse my performance, I continue to star it here with immense success, and am quite convinced that with a little more loss I might have made an excellent match out of the affair.

'Now to the pleasant part of my epistle. Your father found me out a few evenings since at an evening party at the Duke of York's, and presented me to your lady-mother, who was most gracious in her reception of me; an invitation to dinner the next day followed, and since, I have spent almost every day at your house. Your father, my dear Jack, is a glorious fellow, a soldier in every great feature of the character; you never can have a finer object of your imitation, and your best friend cannot wish you to be more than his equal. Lady Charlotte is the most fascinating person I ever met; her abilities are first-rate, and her powers of pleasing exceed all that ever I fancied even of London fashionables. How you could have left such a house I can scarcely conceive, knowing as I do something of your taste for comfort and voluptuous ease. Besides, _la cousine_, Lady Julia--Jack, Jack, what a close fellow you are I and how very lovely she is! she certainly has not her equal even here. I scarcely know her, for somehow she rather affects hauteur with my cloth, and rarely deigns any notice of the red-coats so plentifully sprinkled along your father's dinner-table. Her kindness to Corny, who has been domesticated at your house for the last five weeks, I can never forget; and even he can't, it would appear, conjure up any complaint against her. What a testimony to her goodness!

'This life, however, cannot last for ever; and as I have now recovered so far as to mount a horse once more, I have applied for a regimental appointment. Your father most kindly interests himself for me, and before the week is over I may be gazetted. That fellow De Vere was very intimate here when I arrived; since he has seen me, however, his visits have become gradually less frequent, and now have almost ceased altogether. This, _entre nous_, does not seem to have met completely with Lady Julia's approval, and I think she may have attributed to me a circ.u.mstance in which certainly I was not an active cause. However happy I may feel at being instrumental in a breach of intimacy between her and one so very unworthy of her, even as a common acquaintance, I will ask you, Jack, when opportunity offers, to put the matter in its true light; for although I may, in all likelihood, never meet her again, I should be sorry to leave with her a more unfavourable impression of me than I really deserve.'

Here the letter broke off; but lower down on the paper were the following lines, written in evident haste, and with a different ink:--

'We sail to-night. Oporto is our destination. Corny is to remain behind, and I must ask of you to look to him on his arrival in Dublin. Lady Julia likes De Vere, and you know him too well to permit of such a fatal misfortune. I am, I find, meddling in what really I have no right to touch upon; this is, however, _de vous a moi_. G.o.d bless you.--Yours ever, Phil o'Grady.'

'Poor Phil!' said I, as I laid down the letter; 'in his heart he believes himself disinterested in all this, but I see plainly he is in love with her himself.' Alas! I cannot conceive a heavier affliction to befall the man without fortune than to be thrown among those whose prospects render an alliance impossible, and to bestow his affections on an object perfectly beyond his reach of attainment. Many a proud heart has been torn in the struggle between its own promptings and the dread of the imputation, which the world so hastily confers, of 'fortune-hunting'; many a haughty spirit has quailed beneath this fear, and stifled in his bosom the thought that made his life a blessed dream.

My poor friend, how little will she that has stolen away your peace think of your sorrows!

A gentle tap at my door aroused me from my musings. I opened it, and saw, to my surprise, my old companion Tipperary Joe. He was covered with dust, heated, and travel-stained, and leaned against the door-post to rest himself.

'So,' cried he, when he had recovered his breath, 'I'm in time to see you once more before you go! I run all the way from Carlow, since twelve o'clock last night.'

'Come in, my poor boy, and sit down. Here's a gla.s.s of wine; 'twill refresh you. We 'll get something for you to eat presently.'

'No, I couldn't eat now. My throat is full, and my heart is up here.

And so you are going away--going for good and all, never to come back again?'

'Who can say so much as that, Joe? I should, at least, be very sorry to think so.'