The Black Baronet; or, The Chronicles Of Ballytrain Part 71

"My brother!" she exclaimed, "my brother! and have I a brother? Then G.o.d has not deserted me; I shall now have a friend. My brother!--my brother!

But is it possible, or am I dreaming still? Oh, where is he, papa? Bring me to him!--is he in the house? Or where is he? Let the carriage be ordered, and we will both go to him. Alas, what may not the poor boy have suffered! What privations, what necessities, what distress and dest.i.tution may he not have suffered! But that matters little; come to him. In want, in rags, in misery, he is welcome--yes, welcome; and, oh, how much more if he has suffered."

"Have patience, child; he will be here by and by. You cannot long to see him more than I do. But, Lucy, listen to me; for the present we must keep his discovery and restoration to us a profound secret."

"A profound secret! and why so, papa? Why should we keep it secret? Is it not a circ.u.mstance which we should publish to the world with delight and grat.i.tude? Surely you will not bring him into this house like a criminal, in secrecy and silence? Should the lawful heir of your name and property be suffered to enter otherwise than as becomes him? Oh, that I could see him! Will he soon be here?"

"How your tongue runs on, you foolish girl, without knowing what you say."

"I know what I say, papa. I know--I feel--that he will be a friend to me--that he will share with me in my sorrows."

"Yes, the sorrows of being made a countess."

"And a wretched woman, papa. Yes, he will sympathize with, sustain, and console me. Dear, dear brother, how I wish to see you, to press you to my heart, and to give you a sister's tenderest welcome!"

"Will you hear me, madam?" said he, sternly; "I desire you to do so."

"Yes, papa; excuse me. My head is in a tumult of joy and sorrow; but for the present I will forget myself. Yes, papa, speak on; I hear you."

"In the first place, then, it is absolutely necessary, for reasons which I am not yet at liberty to disclose to you, that the discovery of this boy should be kept strictly secret for a time."

"For a time, papa, but not long, I hope. How proud I shall feel to go out with him. We shall be inseparable; and if he wants instructions, I shall teach him everything I know."

"Arrange all that between you as you may, only observe me, I repeat.

None in this house knows of his restoration but I, yourself, and Corbet.

He must not live here; but he shall want neither the comforts nor the elegancies of life, at all events. This is enough for the present, so mark my words, and abide by them."

He then left her, and retired to his private room, where he unlocked a cabinet, from which he took out some papers, and having added to them two or three paragraphs, he read the whole over, from beginning to end, then locked them up again, and returned to the library.

The reader may perceive that this unexpected discovery enabled the baronet to extricate himself from a situation of much difficulty with respect to Lucy; nor did he omit to avail himself of it, in order to give a new turn to her feelings. The affectionate girl's heart was now in a tumult of delight, checked, however, so obviously by the gloomy retrospection of the obligation she had imposed upon herself, that from time to time she could not repress those short sobs by which recent grief, as in the case of children who are soothed after crying, is frequently indicated. Next to the hated marriage, however, that which pressed most severely upon her was the recollection of the manly and admirable qualities of him whom she had now forever lost, especially as contrasted with those of Dunroe. The former, for some time past, has been much engaged in attempting to trace Fenton, as well as in business connected with his own fortunes; and yet so high was his feeling of generosity and honor, that, if left to the freedom of his own will, he would have postponed every exertion for the establishment of his just rights until death should have prevented at least one honored individual from experiencing the force of the blow which must necessarily be inflicted on him by his proceedings.

At the moment when the baronet was giving such an adroit turn to the distracted state of his daughter's mind, the stranger resolved to see Birney, who was then preparing to visit France, as agent in his affairs, he himself having preferred staying near Lucy, from an apprehension that his absence might induce Sir Thomas Gourlay to force on her marriage. On pa.s.sing through the hall of his hotel, he met his friend Father M'Mahon, who, much to his surprise, looked careworn and perplexed, having lost, since he saw him last, much of his natural cheerfulness and easy simplicity of character. He looked travel-stained, too, and altogether had the appearance of a man on whose kind heart something unpleasant was pressing.

"My excellent friend," said he, "I am heartily glad to see you. But how is this? you look as if something was wrong, and you have been travelling. Come upstairs; and if you have any lengthened stay to make in town, consider yourself my guest. Nay, as it is, you must stop with me. Here, Dandy--here, you Dulcimer, bring in this gentleman's luggage, and attend him punctually."

Dandy, who had been coming from the kitchen at the time, was about to comply with his orders, when he was prevented by the priest.

"Stop, Dandy, you thief. My luggage, sir! In truth, the only luggage I have is this bundle under my arm. As to my time in town, sir, I hope it won't be long; but, long or short, I must stop at my ould place, the Brazen Head, for not an hour's comfort I could have in any other place, many thanks to you. I'm now on my way to it; but I thought I'd give you a call when pa.s.sing."

They then proceeded upstairs to the stranger's room, where breakfast was soon provided for the priest, who expressed an anxiety to know how the stranger's affairs proceeded, and whether any satisfactory trace of poor Fenton had been obtained.

"Nothing satisfactory has turned up in either case," replied the stranger. "No additional clew to the poor young fellow has been got, and still my own affairs are far from being complete. The loss of important doc.u.ments obtained by myself in France will render it necessary for Birney to proceed to that country, in order to procure fresh copies. I had intended to accompany him myself; but I have changed my mind on that point, and prefer remaining where I am. A servant in whom I had every confidence, but who, unfortunately, took to drink, and worse vices, robbed me of them, and has fled to America, with a pretty Frenchwoman, after having abandoned his wife."

"Ay, ay," replied the priest, "that is the old story; first drink, and after that wickedness of every description. Ah, sir, it's a poor wretched world; but at the same time it is as G.o.d made it; and it becomes our duty to act an honest and a useful part in it, at all events."

"You seemed depressed, sir, I think," observed the stranger; "I hope there is nothing wrong. If there is, command my services, my friendship, my purse; in each, in all, command me."

"Many thanks, many thanks," returned the other, seizing him warmly by the hand, whilst the tears fell from his eyes. "I wish there were more in the world like you. There is nothing wrong with me, however, but what I will be able, I hope, to set right soon."

"I trust you will not allow any false delicacy to stand in your way, so far as I am concerned," said the stranger. "I possess not only the wish but the ability to serve you; and if--"

"Not now," replied the priest; "nothing to signify is wrong with me.

G.o.d bless you, though, and he will, too, and prosper your honorable endeavors. I must go now: I have to call on old Corbet, and if I can influence him to a.s.sist you in tracing that poor young man, I will do it. He is hard and cunning, I know; but then he is not insensible to the fear of death, which, indeed, is the only argument likely to prevail with him."

"You should dine with me to-day," said his friend, "but that I am myself engaged to dine with Dean Palmer, where I am to meet the colonel of the Thirty-third, and some of the officers. It is the first time I have dined out since I came to the country. The colonel is an old friend of mine, and can be depended on."

"The dean is a brother-in-law of Lady Gourlay's, is he not?"

"He is."

"Yes, and what is better still, he is an excellent man, and a good Christian. I wish there were more like him in the country. I know the good done by him in my own neighborhood, where he has established, by his individual exertions, two admirable inst.i.tutions for the poor--a savings' bank and a loan fund--to the manifest, relief of every struggling man who is known to be industrious and honest; and see the consequences--he is loved and honored by all who know him, for he is perpetually doing good."

"Your own bishop is not behindhand in offices of benevolence and charity, any more than Dean Palmer," observed the stranger.

"In truth, you may say so," replied, the other. "With the piety and humility of an apostle, he possesses the most childlike simplicity of heart; to which I may add, learning the most profound and extensive. His private charity to the poor will always cause himself to be ranked among their number. I wish every dean and bishop in the two churches resembled the Christian men we speak of; it would be well for the country."

"Mr. Birney, I know, stands well with you. I believe, and I take it for granted, that he does also with the people."

"You may be certain of that, my dear sir. He is one of the few attorneys who is not a rogue, but, what is still more extraordinary, an honest man and an excellent landlord. I will tell you, now, what he did some time ago. He has property, you know, in my parish. On that property an arrear of upwards of eight hundred pounds had acc.u.mulated. Now, this arrear, in consideration of the general depression in the value of agricultural produce, he not only wiped off, but abated the rents ten per cent.

Again, when a certain impost, which shall be nameless (t.i.the), became a settled charge upon the lands, under a composition act, instead of charging it against the tenants, he paid it himself, never calling upon a tenant to pay one farthing of it. Now, I mention these things as an example to be held up and imitated by those who hold landed property in general, many of whom, the Lord knows, require such an example badly; but I must not stop here. Our friend Birney has done more than this.

"For the last fifteen years he has purchased for and supplied his tenants with flaxseed, and for which, at the subsequent gale time, in October, they merely repay him the cost price, without interest or any other charge save that of carriage.

"He also gives his tenantry, free of all charges, as much turf-bog as is necessary for the abundant supply of their own fuel.

"He has all along paid the poor-rates, without charging one farthing to the tenant.

"During a season of potato blight, he forgave every tenant paying under ten pounds, half a year's rent; under twenty, a quarter's rent; and over it, twenty per cent. Now, it is such landlords as this that are the best benefactors to the people, to the country, and ultimately to themselves; but, unfortunately, we cannot get them to think so; and I fear that nothing but the iron scourge of necessity will ever teach them their duty, and then, like most other knowledge derived from the same painful source, it will probably come too late. One would imagine a landlord ought to know without teaching, that, when he presses his tenantry until they fall, he must himself fall with them. In truth, I must be off now."

"Well, then, promise to dine with me tomorrow."

"If I can I will, then, with pleasure; but still it may be out of my power. I'll try, however. What's your hour?"

"Suit your own convenience: name it yourself."

"Good honest old five o'clock, then; that is, if I can come at all, but if I cannot, don't be disappointed. The Lord knows I'll do everything in my power to come, at any rate; and if I fail, it won't be my heart that will hinder me."

When he had gone, the stranger, after a pause, rang his bell, and in a few moments Dandy Dulcimer made his appearance.

"Dandy," said his master, "I fear we are never likely to trace this woman, Mrs. Norton, whom I am so anxious to find."

"Begad, plaise your honor, and it isn't but there's enough of them to be had. Sure it's a levy I'm houldin' every day in the week wid them, and only that I'm engaged, as they say, I'd be apt to turn some o' them into Mrs. Dulcimer."

"How is that, Dandy?"

"Why, sir, I gave out that you're young and handsome, G.o.d pardon me."

"How, sirra," said his master, laughing, "do you mean to say that I am not?"