Luttrell Of Arran Part 78

"I won't go over that again," said he, impatiently. "I haven't any time to throw away in arguments. If you put the whole seventy pounds down on the table it wouldn't do! No, it would not. It will take thirty, to begin with, to get Billy Sloane out of the country, and he it is the Crown relies on for the first charge; he saw old Peter strike the bailiff first. M'Nulty is the cheapest of the 'silk gowns,' and he won't come under fifty, and a retainer of ten more. The _Westport Star_ wants ten pounds to put in the article threatening the jury, if they don't bring in a verdict of 'Not Guilty,' because, as Mr. Potter says, 'Word it as carefully as you like, it's a contempt of Court, and may send me for a year to gaol.' Make money of that, Miss Kitty. Thirty and fifty is eighty, and ten more, ninety, and ten to the newspaper is a hundred; and after that there's the costs to Tom Crowe, and the expenses of the case, not to speak of the daily livin' in the gaol, that's something terrible.

There's not a pint of sperite doesn't cost three shillings!"

"But if we have no more?--if we have given every farthing we can raise?"

"'Tis a nice confession for an estated gentleman, for the man that writes himself Luttrell of Arran, that, to save his father, or father-in-law, from the death of a felon, he could only sc.r.a.pe together seventy pounds!"

"You have only to look around you, and see how we are living, to see that it is the truth."

"Many a miser that won't give himself bread pa.s.ses the night counting over his guineas."

"He is no miser, Sir," said she, indignantly, for all her self-control failed her at this point. "If he were not a generous gentleman, he would never have made the proposal I have now told you of."

"Tell the generous gentleman, then, to keep his money, young _lady_,"

and he laid a sarcastic emphasis on the word. "Tell him I'll not touch a shilling of it. And I'll tell you more that you may tell him; say that he'll want it all, to buy himself a new suit of clothes to make a decent appearance when he's summoned to come forward at the trial."

"You'd no more dare to utter this insolence to his face, than you'd brave the anger of his people here when they heard he was insulted; and take my word for it, Tim O'Rorke, I'm only hesitating this moment whether I'll not tell them."

As she spoke, she flung wide the window, and looked out upon the sh.o.r.e beneath, where some thirty wild islanders were listlessly lounging and waiting for the tide to ebb.

O'Rorke grew lividly pale at a threat so significant. If there was anything that had a greater terror for him than another, it was a popular vengeance.

"Well, Sir, do you like the prospect from this window?" asked she. "Come here, and tell me if it is not interesting."

"It's wild enough, if you mean that," said he, with a forced effort to seem calm.

"Tim O'Rorke," said she, laying her hand on his arm, and looking at him with an expression of kindly meaning, "it is not in their trouble that friends should fall out. I know what affection you have for my poor old grandfather----"

"So, then, you own him?" cried he, scoffingly.

"When did I disown him?"

"Maybe not; but it's the first time since I entered this room that you called him by that name."

She flushed up; but after a moment, repressing her anger, she said:

"Let us think only of him whose life is in peril. What do you advise?--what do you wish?"

"I have no more to say, Miss Kate. I have told you what the defence will cost, I have told you that we have n.o.body to look to but yourselves, and _you_ have just told me that it's a broken reed we're leaning on, and now I don't think there's much more to be said by either of us."

She leaned her forehead against the wall, and seemed deeply lost in thought.

"I mustn't lose the tide, any way," said he, taking up his hat and stick, and laying them on the table. "I may as well put old Peter out of pain, for anxiety is the greatest of all pain, and tell him that John Luttrell won't help him."

"Not will not--say that he cannot help him!"

"'Tis little difference it makes whether it's the will or the way is wanting when a drowning man cries out, and n.o.body gives him a hand.

And yet," added he, "it will be hard to persuade old Peter that his daughter's husband could be so cold hearted. I'm thinking you ought to write a line or two with your own hand, and say that it was no fault of mine that I didn't bring better news back with me."

She made him no answer, and, after a pause, he went on:

"There's his money, Miss--give it back to him; much good may it do him.

He has the comfort of thinking, that if he didn't get a fortune with his wife, her relations never cost him much, either." He moved away towards the door. "Good-by, Miss Kate. Tell your uncle that Peter's case is the third on the list, and he'll be time enough if he leaves home on the 9th--that will be Tuesday week."

She turned hastily round, and overtook him as he laid his hand on the lock of the door:

"One word--only one word more, O'Rorke!" cried she, impa.s.sionedly.

"I have told you faithfully what my uncle charged me with. I swear to you, before Heaven, I do not know of any help he can offer except this.

Now, if there is any way that you can think of to serve this poor old man, say so, and I swear to you again, if it depends on me, I'll do it!"

"Would it be too late to write to Vyner?" asked he, half doggedly.

"Utterly. He is in Italy. Besides, my uncle tells me he is in some great trouble himself about money."

"What of that other--I forget his name--where you were living last?"

"Sir Within Wardle. Impossible!--impossible!"

"And why?"

"I cannot tell you. But I may say this, that I'd rather beg in the street than I'd stoop to ask him."

"Isn't he rich?"

"Immensely rich."

"And he is generous and free of his money, you always said?"

"I never heard of one more so."

"There's the two things we want--money, and the man that will give it.

Sit down there, and write these lines to him: 'My grandfather is to be tried this a.s.sizes on a charge of wilful murder. I have no money to pay for his defence. Will you help me?'"

"Oh no, no! I could not!--I could not!" cried she, covering her face with both her hands.

"Why, it's only this minute you were ready to swear to me that you'd do anything in the world to save him, and now that I've hit on this, you cry out, 'No--no!' as if I was proposing something to shame and disgrace you."

"Shame and disgrace, indeed!" burst she out, as a sickly colour came over her, and she looked like one recovering after a fainting-fit.

"Well, I'm no judge of these things," muttered he, "but I'd like to know what it is that would be harder to feel than the sight of an old man of eighty-two going to the gallows!"

She gave a sharp cry, and held her head with both hands, as if some sudden sharp pang shot through her: "Do not--do not, Tim O'Rorke I I can't bear it!" she screamed out, in a voice of wild, harsh meaning.

"I'll never ask you again," said he, slowly; "but maybe the day will come when you'll be sorry that I did not! Good-by."

She made no answer, but sat with her face hid in her hands, and turned towards the wall.

"Good-by, Miss Kate," repeated he once more; and, opening the door slowly, he went out, and closed it after him. <>