Sir Jasper Carew Part 24

So exhausted was nature by this last effort that the body was cold within an hour after.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 208]

CHAPTER XVII. A FRIEND'S TRIALS

The day of my beloved father's funeral was that of my birth! It is not improbable that he had often looked forward to that day as the crowning event of his whole life, destining great rejoicings, and planning every species of festivity; and now the summer clouds were floating over the churchyard, and the gay birds were carolling over the cold grave where he lay.

What an emblem of human antic.i.p.ation, and what an ill.u.s.tration of his own peculiar destiny! Few men ever entered upon life with more brilliant prospects. With nearly every gift of fortune, and not one single adverse circ.u.mstance to struggle against, he was scarcely launched upon the ocean of life ere he was shipwrecked! Is it not ever thus? Is it not that the storms and seas of adverse fortune are our best preservatives in this world, by calling into activity our powers of energy and of endurance? Are we not better when our lot demands effort, and exacts sacrifice, than when prosperity neither evokes an ungratified wish, nor suggests a difficult ambition?

The real circ.u.mstances of his death were, I believe, never known to my mother, but the shock of the event almost killed her. Her cousin, Emile de Gabriac, had just arrived at Castle Carew, and they were sitting talking over France and all its pleasant a.s.sociations, when a servant entered hastily with a letter for MacNaghten. It was in f.a.gan's handwriting, and marked "Most private, and with haste."

"See," cried Dan, laughing,--"look what devices a dun is reduced to, to obtain an audience! Tony f.a.gan, so secret and so urgent on the outside, will be candid enough within, and beg respectfully to remind Mr.

MacNaghten that his indors.e.m.e.nt for two hundred and something pounds will fall due on Wednesday next, when he hopes--"

"Let us see what he hopes," cried my mother, s.n.a.t.c.hing the letter from him, "for it surely cannot be that he hopes you will pay it."

The terrific cry she uttered, as her eyes read the dreadful lines, rang through that vast building. Shriek followed shriek in quick succession for some seconds; and then, as if exhausted nature could no more, she sank into a death-like trance, cold, motionless, and unconscious.

Poor MacNaghten! I have heard him more than once say that if he were to live five hundred years, he never could forget the misery of that day, so graven upon his memory was every frightful and harrowing incident of it. He left Castle Carew for Dublin, and hastened to the courthouse, where, in one of the judge's robing-rooms, the corpse of his poor friend now lay. A hurried inquest had been held upon the body, and p.r.o.nounced that "Death had ensued from natural causes;" and now the room was crowded with curious and idle loungers, talking over the strange event, and commenting upon the fate of him who, but a few hours back, so many would have envied.

Having excluded the throng, he sat down alone beside the body, and, with the cold hand clasped between his own, wept heartily.

"I never remember to have shed tears before in my life," said he, "nor could I have done so then, if I were not looking on that pale, cold face, which I had seen so often lighted up with smiles; on those compressed lips, from which came so many words of kindness and affection; and felt within my own that hand that never till now had met mine without the warm grasp of friendship."

Poor Dan! he was my father's chief mourner,--I had almost said his only one. Several came and asked leave to see the body. Many were visibly affected at the sight. There was decent sorrow on every countenance; but of deep and true affliction MacNaghten was the solitary instance.

It was late on the following evening as MacNaghten, who had only quitted the rooms for a few minutes, found on his return that a stranger was standing beside the body.

"Ay," muttered he, solemnly, "the green and the healthy tree cut down, and the old sapless, rotten trunk left to linger on in slow decay!"

"What! Curtis, is this you?" cried MacNaghten.

"Yes, sir, and not mine the fault that I have not changed places with him who lies there. He had plenty to live for; I nothing, nor any one.

And it was not that alone, MacNaghten!" added he, fiercely, "but think, reflect for one moment on what might have happened had they condemned and executed me! Is there a man in all Ireland, with heart and soul in him, who would not have read that sentence as an act of Government tyranny and vengeance? Do you believe the gentry of the country would have accepted the act as an accident, or do you think that the people would recognize it as anything else than a murder solemnized by the law?

And if love of country could not stimulate and awake them, is it not possible that fears for personal safety might?"

"I have no mind for such thoughts as these," said MacNaghten, sternly; "nor is it beside the cold corpse of him who lies there I would encourage them. If you come to sorrow over him, take your place beside me; if to speculate on party feuds or factious dissensions, then I beg you will leave me to myself."

Curtis made him no reply, but left the room in silence.

There were some legal difficulties raised before the funeral could be performed. The circ.u.mstances of Rutledge's death required to be cleared up; and f.a.gan--to whom my father had made a full statement of the whole event--underwent a long and close examination by the law authorities of the Castle. The question was a grave one as regarded property, since if a charge of murder could have been substantiated, the whole of my father's fortune would have been confiscated to the Crown. f.a.gan's testimony, too, was not without a certain disqualification, because he held large liens over the property, and must, if the estate were estreated, have been a considerable loser. These questions all required time for investigation; but, by dint of great energy and perseverance, MacNaghten obtained permission for the burial, which took place with strict privacy at the small churchyard of Killester,--a spot which, for what reason I am unaware, my father had himself selected, and mention of which desire was found amongst his papers.

f.a.gan accompanied MacNaghten to the funeral, and Dan returned to his house afterwards to breakfast. Without any sentiment bordering on esteem for the "Grinder," MacNaghten respected him generally for his probity, and believed him to be as honorable in his dealings as usury and money-lending would permit any man to be. He was well aware that for years back the most complicated transactions with regard to loans had taken place between him and my father, and that to a right understanding of these difficult matters, and a satisfactory adjustment of them, nothing could conduce so much as a frank intercourse and a friendly bearing. These were at all times no very difficult requirements from honest Dan, and he did not a.s.sume them now with less sincerity or willingness that they were to be practised for the benefit of his poor friend's widow and orphan.

MacNaghten could not help remarking that f.a.gan's manner, when speaking of my father's affairs, was characterized by a more than common caution and reserve, and that he strenuously avoided entering upon anything which bore, however remotely, upon the provision my mother was to enjoy, or what arrangements were to be made respecting myself. There was a will, he thought, in Crowther's possession; but it was of the less consequence, since the greater part, nearly all, of the Carew property was under the strictest entail.

"The boy will be rich, one of the richest men in Ireland, if he lives,"

said MacNaghten; but f.a.gan made no reply for some time, and at last said,--

"If there be not good sense and moderation exercised on all sides, the Carews may gain less than will the Court of Chancery."

MacNaghten felt far from rea.s.sured by the cautious and guarded reserve of f.a.gan's manner; he saw that in the dry, sententious tone of his remarks there lurked difficulties, and perhaps troubles; but he resolved to devote himself to the task before him in a spirit of patience and calm industry which, unhappily for him, he had never brought to bear upon his own worldly fortunes.

"There is nothing either obtrusive or impertinent," said he, at last, to f.a.gan, "in my making these inquiries, for, independently of poor Walter's affection for me, I know that he always expected me to take the management of his affairs, should I survive him; and if there be a will, it is almost certain that I am named his executor in it."

f.a.gan nodded affirmatively, and merely said,--

"Crowther will be able to clear up this point."

"And when shall we see him?"

"He is in the country, down south, I think, at this moment; but he will be up by the end of the week. However, there are so many things to be done that his absence involves no loss of time. Where shall I address you, if I write?"

"I shall return to Castle Carew this evening, and in all probability remain there till I hear from you."

"That will do," was the dry answer; and MacNaghten took his leave, more than ever puzzled by the Grinder's manner, and wondering within himself in what shape and from what quarter might come the storm, which he convinced himself could not be distant.

Grief for my father's death, and anxiety for my poor mother's fate, were, however, the uppermost thoughts in his mind; and as he drew nigh Castle Carew, his heart was so much overpowered by the change which had fallen upon that once happy home that he totally forgot all the dark hints and menacing intimations of his late interview.

It was truly a gloom-stricken mansion. The servants moved about sadly, conversing in low whispers; save in one quarter, all the windows were closed, and the rooms locked up,--not a voice nor a footstep was to be heard. Mourning and woe were imprinted on every face and in every gesture. MacNaghten knew not where to go, nor where to stay. Every chamber he entered was full of its memories of the past, and he wandered on from room to room, seeking some spot which should not remind him of days whose happiness could never return. In this random search he suddenly entered the chamber where M. de Gabriac lay at full length upon a sofa, enjoying, in all the ease of a loose dressing-gown, the united pleasures of a French novel and a bottle of Bordeaux. MacNaghten would willingly have returned at once. Such a scene and such companionship were not to his taste; but the other quickly detected him, and called out,--

"Ah! M. MacNaghten, how delighted am I to see you again! What days of misery and gloom have I been pa.s.sing here,--no one to speak to, none to sit with."

"It is, indeed, a sad mansion," sighed MacNaghten, heavily.

"So, then, it is all true?" asked the other. "Poor fellow, what a sensitive nature,--how impressible. To die just for a matter of sentiment; for, after all, you know it was a sentiment, nothing else.

Every man has had his affairs of this kind,--few go through life without something unpleasant; but one does not die broken-hearted for all that.

No, _parbleu_, that is a very poor philosophy. Tell me about the duel; I am greatly interested to hear the details."

To escape as far as possible any further moralizings of his companion, Dan related all that he knew of the fatal rencontre, answering, so well as he might, all the Frenchman's questions, and, at the same time, avoiding all reference to the provocation which led to the meeting.

"It was a mistake, a great mistake, to fight in this fashion," said Gabriac, coldly. "There is an etiquette to be observed in a duel, as in a dinner; and you can no more hurry over one than the other, without suffering for it afterwards. Maybe these are, however, the habits of the country."

MacNaghten calmly a.s.sured him that they were not.

"Then the offence must have been an outrage,--what was it?"

"Some expression of gross insult; I forget the exact nature of it."

"Poor fellow!" said the other, sipping his wine, "with so much to live for,--a magnificent chateau, a pretty wife, and a good fortune. What folly, was it not?"

MacNaghten afterwards acknowledged that even the Grinder's sententious dryness was preferable to the heartless indifference of the Frenchman's manner; but a deferential regard for her whose relative he was, restrained him from all angry expression of feeling on the subject, and he suffered him to discuss the duel and all its consequences, without the slightest evidence of the suffering it cost him.

"Josephine will not be sorry to leave it," said Gabriac, after a short silence. "She told me that they never understood her, nor she them; and, after all, you know," said he, smiling, "there is but one France!"

"And but one Ireland!" said MacNaghten, heartily.