Luttrell Of Arran Part 34

"There, there, M'Kinlay," burst in Vyner, "all this agitates you far too much--don't go on, I'll not permit you. To-morrow, after a good sleep, and a hearty breakfast, I'll make you finish your story; but positively I'll not listen to another word, now." The hastily thrown glance of displeasure showed the lawyer that this was a command, and he hung his head and muttered out an awkward concurrence. "Won't you take more wine, Sir Within?"

"No more, thank you. Your capital Bordeaux has made me already exceed my usual quant.i.ty."

"Let us ask the ladies, then, for a cup of tea," said Vyner, as he opened the door; and, as M'Kinlay pa.s.sed out, he whispered, "I just caught you in time!"

The ladies received Mr. M'Kinlay with that sort of cool politeness which is cruel enough when extended to the person one sees every day, but has a touch of sarcasm in it when accorded to him who has just come off a long journey.

Now, in the larger gatherings of the world, social preferences are scarcely felt, but they can be very painful things in the small, close circle of a family party.

"You have been to Ireland, Mr. M'Kinlay--I hope you were pleased with your tour? Won't you have some tea?" said Lady Vyner, with the same amount of interest in each question.

"Mr. M'Kinlay must have proved a most amusing guest," said Georgina, in a low voice, to Sir Within, "or we should have seen you in the drawing-room somewhat earlier."

"I felt it an age," said he, with a little bow and a smile, intended to be of intense captivation.

"But still you remained," said she, with a sort of pique.

"_Ma foi!_ What was to be done? The excellent man got into a story of his adventures, a narrative of a shipwreck which had not--as I was cruel enough to regret--befallen him, and which, I verily believe, might have lasted all night, if, by some lucky chance, he had not approached so near a topic of some delicacy, or reserve, that your brother-in-law closed 'the seance,' and stopped him; and to this accident I owe my freedom."

"I wonder what it could have been!"

"I cannot give you the faintest clue to it. Indeed, I can't fashion to my imagination what are called family secrets--very possibly because I never had a family."

Though Georgina maintained the conversation for some time longer, keeping up that little game of meaningless remark and reply which suffices for tea-table talk, her whole mind was bent upon what could possibly be the mystery he alluded to. Taking the opportunity of a moment when Sir Within was addressing a remark to Lady Vyner, she moved half carelessly away towards the fireplace, where Mr. M'Kinlay sipped his tea in solitude, Sir Gervais being deep in the columns of an evening paper.

"I suppose you are very tired, Mr. M'Kinlay?" said she; and simple as were the words, they were uttered with one of those charming smiles, that sweet captivation of look and intonation, which are the spells by which fine ladies work their miracles on lesser mortals; and, as she spoke, she seated herself on a sofa, gracefully drawing aside the folds of her ample dress, to convey the intimation that there was still place for another.

While Mr. M'Kinlay looked rather longingly at the vacant place, wondering whether he might dare to take it, a second gesture, making the seat beside her still more conspicuous, encouraged him, and he sat down, pretty much with the mixed elation and astonishment he might have felt had the Lord Chancellor invited him to a place beside him on the woolsack.

"I am so sorry not to have heard your account--the most interesting account, my brother tells me--of your late journey," began she; "and really, though the recital must bring back very acute pain, I am selfish enough to ask you to brave it."

"I am more than repaid for all, Miss Courtenay, in the kind interest you vouchsafe to bestow on me."

After which she smiled graciously, and seemed a little--a very little--flurried, as though the speech savoured of gallantry, and then, with a regained serenity, she went on, "You narrowly escaped shipwreck, I think?"

"So narrowly, that I believe every varying emotion that can herald in the sad catastrophe pa.s.sed through me, and I felt every pang, except the last of all."

"How dreadful! Where did it happen?"

"Off the west coast of Ireland, Miss Courtenay. Off what mariners declare to be the most perilous lee-sh.o.r.e in Europe, if not in the world; and in an open boat too, at least but half decked, and on a day of such storm that, except ourselves and the unlucky yawl that was lost, not another sail was to be seen."

"And were the crew lost?"

"No; it was in saving them, as they chung to the floating spars, that we were so near perishing ourselves."

"But you _did_ save them?"

"Every one. It was a daring act; so daring that, landsman as I was, I deemed it almost foolhardy. Indeed, our crew at first resisted, and wouldn't do it."

"It was n.o.bly done, be a.s.sured, Mr. M'Kinlay; these are occasions well bought at all their cost of danger. Not only is a man higher for them in his own esteem, but that to all who know him, who respect, who----" She hesitated, and, in a flurried sort of way, suddenly said, "And where did you land them?"

"We landed them on the island," said he, with an almost triumphant air--"we brought them back to their own homes--dreary enough in all conscience; but they never knew better."

"How is the place called?"

"Innishmore, the most northern of the Arran Islands," said he, in a whisper, and looking uneasily over at Sir Gerrais, to see that he was not overheard.

"Is the place interesting, or picturesque, or are there any objects of interest?" said she, carelessly, and to let him recover his former composure.

"None whatever," continued he, in the same cautious voice; "mere barbarism, and such poverty as I never witnessed before. In the house where we were received--the only thing worthy the name of a house in the place--the few articles of furniture were made of the remnants thrown on sh.o.r.e from shipwrecks; and we had on the dinner-table earthenware pipkins, tin cups, gla.s.ses, and wooden measures indiscriminately. While, as if to heighten the incongruity, a flagon of silver, which had once been gilt too, figured in the midst, and displayed a very strange crest--a heart rent in two, with the motto, _La Zutte reelle_, a heraldic version of the name."

"Luttrell," whispered she, still lower. "What is his christian name?"

"John Hamilton. But, my dear Miss Courtenay, where have you been leading me all this time? These are all secrets; at least, Sir Gervais enjoined me especially not to speak of where I had been, nor with whom. I am aware it was out of respect for the feelings of this unfortunate man, who, however little trace there remained of it, has once been a gentleman and a man of some fortune."

"If you never tell my brother that you have revealed this to me, I promise you I'll not speak of it," said she; and, with all her effort to appear calm, her agitation nearly overcame her.

"You may depend upon _me_, Miss Courtenay."

"Nor to my sister," muttered she, still dwelling on her own thoughts.

"Certainly not. It was a great indiscretion--that is, it would have been a great indiscretion to have mentioned this to any one less--less----"

While he was searching his brain for an epithet, she arose and walked to a window, and Mr. M'Kinlay, rather shocked at his own impetuous frankness, sat thinking over all that he had said.

"Come, Sir Within," cried Vyner, "here's my friend M'Kinlay, a capital whist player. What say you to a rubber? and Georgina, will you join us?"

"Not to-night, Gervais. Laura will take my place."

Lady Vyner acceded good naturedly, with many excuses for all her ignorance of the game, and while Sir Within and Vyner held a little amicable contest for her as a partner, Georgina drew again nigh to where M'Kinlay was standing.

"Did he look very old and broken? asked she, in a low but shaken voice.

"Terribly broken."

"What age would you guess him to be?"

"Fifty-four, or five; perhaps older."

"Absurd!" cried she, peevishly; "he's not forty."

"I spoke of what he seemed to be; his hair is perfectly white, he stoops considerably, and looks, in fact, the remains of a shattered, broken man, who never at any time was a strong one."

An insolent curl moved her mouth, but she bit her lips, and with an effort said, "Did you see his wife?"

"He is a widower; except the little boy that we rescued from the wreck, he has none belonging to him."

"Come along, M'Kinlay, we are waiting for you," cried Sir Gervais; and the lawyer moved away, while Georgina, with a motion of her finger to her lips, to enjoin secresy, turned and left the room.