Roland Cashel Volume Ii Part 20

"And why not, sir? I do love her, and with an affection that only such beings inspire. It is creatures like her that redeem years of disappointment and worldly disgust. It is in watching the single-heartedness of that young girl that I, an old man, hackneyed and hardened as I am, become trustful and hopeful of others. Love her!--to be sure I love her. And so would you, if the poor fopperies amid which you live but left you one moment free to think and feel as your own head and heart would lead you. I hope you take no heed of my rude speech, sir," said he, hastily; "but it is the fault of my craft to believe that sweet things are only 'Placebos,' given but to earn the fee and amuse the patient."

"I thank you for it," said Cashel, pressing his hand; "few have ever cared to tell me truths."

"Say, rather, few have cared to resign their influence over you by showing they knew your weak points. Now, I have too deep an interest in you, and too slight a regard for any profit your acquaintance can render myself, to be swayed by this. You don't know, you cannot know, what a charm there is to an old fellow like myself--whose humble fortunes limit to a life of mere routine--to think that he has an opportunity of counselling one in your station,--to feel that he has sown the seed of some good principle, that one day or other will bear its fruit. Yes, years hence, when you have forgotten the old village doctor,--or if by chance remember him, only to recall his vulgarity or eccentricity,--I will be an anxious watcher over you, flattering myself to think that I have had some share in instilling the precepts by which you are winning good men's esteem. These thoughts are poor men's treasures, but he that feels them would not barter them for gold."

"I have long wished for such a counsellor," said Cashel, fervently.

"The advice will not be the less stringent that it comes when you are heart-sick of frivolity," said Tiernay. "What could your fine company up yonder teach you? Such of them as are above mere folly trade in vice.

I have seen them all since they have a.s.sembled here, and I am no mean physiognomist, and there is but one among them deserving of better than the poor heartless life they 're leading."

"I can guess whom you mean," said Roland, half pleased and half fearful.

"Well, she indeed would merit a better lot; and yet I would she were gone."

"Why so? Do you grudge as even a pa.s.sing 'gleam of virtue's brightness'?"

"She is more dangerous than the veriest coquette that ever lured a man to ruin. It is in such as she, where n.o.ble qualities have run to waste, where generous sentiments and pure affections have been blighted by the cold chill of a world that fosters not such gifts, the peril is ever greatest; for her sake and for yours, I would she were gone."

As they spoke thus, they had reached the wide esplanade in front of the great house, from the windows of which lights were gleaming, while sounds of festivity and pleasure floated on the night air.

Tiernay halted for a second, and then said, "Who could believe that the owner of that princely mansion, filled as it is with pleasure-loving guests, and every adjunct that can promote enjoyment, should leave it, to wander on foot with a poor old village doctor, whose only merit is to utter unpalatable truths!"

"And be happier while doing so,--add that, my worthy friend," said Cashel, pressing the arm that he held within his own.

"Come along, sir; this dalliance is pleasanter to me than to you. I begin to feel that I may have done you good, and you should be a doctor to know the full ecstasy of that feeling. Let us now move on, or this man will be before us." And so saying, they moved briskly forward towards the village of Dunkeeran.

CHAPTER XII. SHYLOCK DEMANDS HIS BOND

The debts we make by plighted vows, Bear heaviest interest, ever!

Haywood.

The doctor's little parlor was the very "ideal" of snugness; there was nothing which had the faintest resemblance to luxury save the deep-cushioned arm-chair, into which he pressed Cashel at entering; but there were a hundred objects that told of home. The book-shelves, no mean indication of the owner's _trempe_, were filled with a mixture of works on medicine, the older English dramatists, and that cla.s.s of writers who prevailed in the days of Steele and Addison. There was a microscope on one table, with a great bunch of fresh-plucked fern beside it. A chess-board, with an unfinished game--a problem from a newspaper, for he had no antagonist--stood on another table; while full in front of the fire, with an air that betokened no mean self-importance, sat a large black cat, with a red leather collar, the very genius of domesticity. As Cashel's eyes took a hasty survey of the room, they rested on a picture--it was the only one there--which hung over the mantelpiece. It was a portrait of Mary Leicester, and although a mere water-color sketch, an excellent likeness, and most characteristic in air and att.i.tude.

"Ay!" said Tiernay, who caught the direction of his glance, "a birthday present to me! She had promised to dine with me, but the day, like most Irish days when one prays for sunshine, rained torrents; and so she sent me that sketch, with a note, a merry bit of doggerel verse, whose merit lies in its local allusions to a hundred little things, and people only known to ourselves; but for this, I 'd be guilty of breach of faith and show it to you."

"Is the drawing, too, by her own hand?"

"Yes; she is a clever artist, and might, it is said by competent judges, have attained high excellence as a painter had she pursued the study. I remember an ill.u.s.tration of the fact worth mentioning. Carringford, the well-known miniature-painter, who was making a tour of this country a couple of years back, pa.s.sed some days at the cottage, and made a picture of old Con Corrigan, for which, I may remark pa.s.singly, poor Mary paid all her little pocket-money,--some twenty guineas, saved up from Heaven knows how long. Con did not know this, of course, and believed the portrait was a compliment to his granddaughter.

Carringford's ability is well known, and there is no need to say the picture was admirably painted; but still it wanted character; it had not the playful ease, the gentle, indulgent pleasantry that marks my old friend's features; in fact, it was hard and cold,--not warm, generous, and genial: so I thought, and so Mary thought, and accordingly, scarcely had the artist taken his leave, when she set to work herself, and made a portrait, which, if inferior as a work of art, was infinitely superior as a likeness. It was Con himself; it had the very sparkle of his mild blue eye, the mingled glance of drollery and softness, the slightly curled mouth, as though some quaint conceit was lingering on the lip,--all his own. Mary's picture hung on one side of the chimney, and Carringford's at the other, and so they stood when the painter came through from Limerick and pa.s.sed one night at Tubber-beg, on his way to Dublin. I breakfasted there that morning, and I remember, on entering the room, I was surprised to see the frame of Carringford's portrait empty, and a bank-note, carefully folded, stuck in the corner. 'What does that mean?' said I to him, for we were alone at the time.

"'It means simply that _my_ picture cannot stand such compet.i.torship as _that_, said he; _mine_ was a miniature, _that_ is the man himself.'

I will not say one half of the flatteries he uttered, but I have heard from others since, that he speaks of this picture as a production of high merit. Dear girl! that meagre sketch may soon have a sadder interest connected with it; it may be all that I shall possess of her!

Yes, Mr. Cashel, your generosity may stave off the pressure of one peril, but there is another, from which nothing but flight will rescue my poor friend."

A sharp knocking at the door here interrupted the doctor's recital, and soon h.o.a.re's voice was heard without, inquiring if Dr. Tiernay was at home.

h.o.a.re's easy familiarity, as he entered, seemed to suffer a slight shock on observing Roland Cashel, who received him with cold politeness.

Tiernay, who saw at once that business alone would relieve the awkwardness of the scene, briefly informed the other that Mr. Cashel was there to learn the exact amount and circ.u.mstances of Corrigan's liabilities, with a view to a final settlement of them.

"Very pleasing intelligence this, doctor," said the moneylender, rubbing his hands, "and I am free to own, very surprising also! Am I to enter into an explanation of the peculiar causes of these liabilities, doctor, or to suppose," said he, "that Mr. Cashel is already conversant with them?"

"You are to suppose, sir," interposed Cashel, "that Mr. Cashel is aware of every circ.u.mstance upon which he does not ask you for further information." There was a sternness in the way he spoke that abashed the other, who, opening a huge pocket-book on the table, proceeded to scan its contents with diligence; while Tiernay, whose agitation was great, sat watching him without speaking.

"The transactions," said h.o.a.re, "date from some years back, as these bills will show, and consist, for the most part, in drafts, at various dates, by Mr. Leicester, of South Bank, New Orleans, on Cornelius Corrigan, Esq., of Tubbermore. Some of these have been duly honored; indeed, at first, Mr. Corrigan was punctuality itself; but bad seasons, distress at home here, greater demands, the consequence of some commercial losses sustained by Mr. Leicester in the States, all coming together, the bills were not met as usual; renewals were given--and, when it comes to that, Mr. Cashel, I need scarcely say difficulties travel by special train." No one joined in the little laugh by which Mr.

h.o.a.re welcomed his own attempt at pleasantry, and he went on: "At first we managed tolerably well. Mr. Corrigan devoted a portion of his income to liquidate these claims; he made certain sales of property; he reduced his establishment; in fact, I believe he really made every sacrifice consistent with his position--"

"No, sir," broke in Tiernay, "but consistent with bare subsistence."

The violent tone of the interruption startled the moneylender, who hastened to concur with the sentiment, while he faltered out--

"Remember, gentlemen, I speak only from hearsay; of myself I know nothing."

"Go on with your statement, sir," said Cashel, peremptorily.

"My statement," said h.o.a.re, provoked at the tone a.s.sumed towards him, "resolves itself into a debt of three thousand seven hundred and forty-eight pounds some odd shillings. There are the bills. The sums due for interest and commission are noted down, and will, I believe, be found duly correct."

"Three thousand seven hundred pounds in less than five years!"

e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Tiernay. "What iniquity!"

"If your expression is intended to apply to anything in the conduct of this transaction, sir," said h.o.a.re, growing pale with pa.s.sion as he spoke, "I beg you to remember that there is such a thing in the land as redress for libel."

"If the laws will warrant sixty per cent, they may well punish the man who calls it infamy," said Tiernay, almost choking with anger.

"That will do, gentlemen, that will do," said h.o.a.re, replacing the bills in the pocket-book, while his fingers trembled with pa.s.sion. "I was not aware that your object in this meeting was to insult me; I 'll not expose myself a second time to such a casualty. I 'll thank you to hand me that bill, sir!" This request was addressed to Cashel, who, with his eyes riveted on a doc.u.ment which he held in both hands, sat perfectly unmindful of all around him.

"If you will have the kindness to give me that bill, sir?" said h.o.a.re, again.

"Shylock wants his bond," said Tiernay, who walked up and down the room with clinched hands, and brows knitted into one deep furrow.

h.o.a.re turned a scowling glance towards him, but not trusting himself to reply, merely repeated his question to Cashel.

"How came you by this?" cried Roland, rising from the table, and holding out a written paper towards h.o.a.re; "I ask, sir, how came you by this?"

reiterated he, while the paper shook with the hand that held it.

"Oh! I perceive," said h.o.a.re; "that doc.u.ment has no concern with the case before us; it refers to another and very different transaction."

"This is no answer to my question, sir," said Cashel, sternly; "I asked, and I ask you again, how it came into your hands?"

"Don't you think, sir, that it would be more appropriate to express your regret at having examined a paper not intended to have been submitted to you?" said h.o.a.re, in a tone half insolent, half deferential.

"I saw my name upon it," said Cashel, "coupled, too, with that of another, of whom I preserve too many memories to treat anything lightly wherein he bears a part; besides, there can be but little indiscretion in reading that to which I had attached my own signature. And now, once more, sir, how do I see it in your possession?"

"Really, Mr. Cashel, when the question is put in this tone and manner, I am much disposed to refuse an answer. I can see nothing in our relative situations that can warrant the a.s.sumption of these airs towards _me_!"