The Knight Of Gwynne Volume I Part 35

"What, last night!" said the Secretary, laughing.

"Yes, when it was blowing the roof off the Custom House; he offered him his choice of weapons, from a blunderbuss to a harpoon, and his own distance, over a handkerchief, or fifty yards with a rifle."

"And was Nickolls deaf to all such seductions?"

"Quite so, my Lord; even when Daly said to him, 'I think it a public duty to shoot a fellow like you, for, if you are suffered to live, the Government will make a judge of you one of these days.'"

"What profound solicitude for the purity of the judgment seat!"

"Daly has reason to think of these things; he has been in the dock already, and perhaps suspects he may be again."

"Poor Darcy!" said Lord Castlereagh to himself, in a half whisper, "I wish I knew you were not a sufferer by this fellow's flight. By the bye, Heffernan, sit down and write a few lines to Forester; say that Lord Cornwallis is greatly displeased at his protracted absence. I am tired of making excuses for him, and as I dine there to-day, I shall be tormented all the evening."

"Darcy's daughter is very good-looking, I hear," said Heffernan, smiling slyly, "and should have a large fortune if matters go right."

"Very possibly; but old Lady Wallincourt is the proudest dowager in England, and looks to the blood-royal for alliances. Forester is entirely dependent on her; and that reminds me of a most solemn pledge I made her to look after her 'dear d.i.c.k,' and prevent any entanglement in this barbarous land,--as if I had nothing else to think of! Write at once, Heffernan, and order him up; say he 'll lose his appointment by any further delay, and that I am much annoyed at his absence."

While Heffernan descended to the library to write, Lord Castlereagh turned once more to sleep until it was time to dress for the Viceroy's dinner.

CHAPTER XXII. "A WARNING" AND "A PARTING."

If we wanted any evidence of how little avail all worldly wisdom is, we might take it from the fact that our severest calamities are often impending us at the moments we deem ourselves most secure from misfortune. Thus was it that while the events were happening whose influence was to shadow over all the sunshine of her life, Lady Eleanor Darcy never felt more at ease. That same morning the post had brought her a letter from the Knight,--only a few lines, hastily written, but enough to allay all her anxiety. He spoke of law arrangements, then almost completed, by which any immediate pressure regarding money might be at once obviated, and promised, for the very first time in his life, to submit to any plan of retrenchment she desired to adopt. Had it been in her power, she could not have dictated lines more full of pleasant antic.i.p.ation. The only drawback on the happiness of her lot in life was the wasteful extravagance of a mode of living which savored far more of feudal barbarism than of modern luxury.

Partly from long habit and a.s.sociation, partly from indolence of character, but more than either from a compa.s.sionate consideration of those whose livelihood might be impaired by any change in his establishment, the Knight had resisted all suggestion of alteration. He viewed the very peculations around him as vested rights, and the most he could pledge himself to was, that when the present race died out he would not appoint any successors.

The same post that brought this pleasant letter, conveyed one of far less grateful import to Forester. It was a long epistle from his mother, carefully worded, and so characteristic withal, that if it were any part of our object to introduce that lady to our readers, we could not more easily do so than through her own letter. Such is not, however, our intention; enough if we say that it was a species of domestic homily, where moral principles and worldly wisdom found themselves so inextricably interwoven, no mean skill could have disentangled them. She had learned, as careful mothers somehow always contrive to learn, that her son was domesticated in the house with a very charming and beautiful girl, and the occasion seemed suitable to enforce some of those excellent precepts which hitherto had been deficient in force for want of a practical example.

Had Lady Wallincourt limited herself to cautious counsels about falling in love with some rustic beauty in a remote region, Forester might have treated the advice as one of those matter-of-course events which cause no more surprise than the receipt of a printed circular; but she went further. She deemed this a fitting occasion to instruct her son into the mystery of that craft, which, in her own experience of life, she had seen make more than one man's fortune, and by being adepts in which many of her own family had attained to high and lasting honors. This science was neither more nor less than success in female society. "I will not insult either your good taste or your understanding," wrote she, "by any warning against falling in love in Ireland. Beauty is--France excepted--pretty equally distributed through the world; neither is there any nationality in good looks, for, nowadays, admixture of race has obliterated every peculiarity of origin. In all, then, that concerns manner, tone, and breeding, your own country possesses the true standard: every deviation from this is a fault. What is conventional must be right, because it is the exponent of general opinion on those topics for which each feels interested. Now, the Irish, my dear boy, the Irish are never conventional; they are clannish, provincial, peculiar, but never conventional. Their pride would seem to be rather to ruffle than fall in with the general sympathies of society. They forget that the social world is a great compact, and they are always striving for individual successes by personal distinction: this is the very acme of vulgarity.

"If they, however, are very indifferent models for imitation, they afford an excellent school for your own training; they are a shrewd, quick-sighted race, with a strong sense of the ludicrous, and are what the French call _malin_ to a degree. To win favor among them without any subservient imitation of their own habits, which would be contemptible, is not over easy.

"If I am rightly informed, you are at present well circ.u.mstanced to profit by my counsels. I am told of a very agreeable and very pretty girl with whom you ride and walk out constantly, and, far from feeling any maternal uneasiness,--for I trust I know my son,--I am rejoiced at the circ.u.mstance. Make the most of such an advantage by exercising your own abilities and powers of pleasing, give yourself the habit of talking your very best on every topic, without pedantry or any sign of premeditation. Practise that blending of courteous deference to a woman's opinions with a subdued consciousness of your own powers, which I have spoken to you of in your dear father's character. Seldom venture on an axiom, never tell an anecdote; be most guarded in any indulgence of humor: a laugh is the most dangerous of all triumphs. It is the habit to reproach us with our frigidity,--I believe not without reason; cultivate, then, a certain amount of warmth which may suggest the idea of earnestness, apart from all suspicion of enthusiasm, which I have often told you is low-lived. Watch carefully by what qualities your success is more advanced; examine yourself as to what defects you experience in your own character; make yourself esteemed as a means of being estimable; win regard, and the habit of pleasing will give a charm to your manner, even when you are not desirous to secure affection. Your poor dear father often confessed the inestimable advantages of his first affairs of the heart, and used to say, whenever by any adroit exercise of his captivation he had gained over an adverse Maid of Honor, I owe that to Louisa, for such was the name of the young lady,--I forget now who she was. The mechanism of the heart is alike in all lands; the means of success in Ireland will win victory where the prize is higher. In all this, remember, I by no means advise you to sport with any young lady's feelings, nor to win more of her affection than may a.s.sure you that the entire could also become yours: a polite chess-player will rest satisfied to say, 'check,' without pushing the adversary to 'mate.'

"It will soon be time you should leave the army, and I hope to find you have acquired some other education by the pursuit than mere knowledge of dress."

This is a short specimen of the maternal Machiavelism by which "the most fascinating woman of her set" hoped to instruct her son, and teach him the road to fortune.

Such is the fatal depravity of every human heart that any subtle appeal to selfishness, if it fail to flex the victim to the will, at least shakes the strong sense of conscious rect.i.tude, and makes our very worthiness seem weakness.

Forester's first impression was almost anger as he read these lines, the second time he perused them he was far less shocked, and at last was puzzled whether more to wonder at the keen worldly knowledge they betrayed, or the solicitude of that affection which consented to unveil so much of life for his guidance. The result of all these conflicting emotions was depression of spirits, and a discontent with himself and all the world; nor could the fascinations of that little circle in which he lived so intimately, subdue the feeling.

Lady Eleanor saw this, and exerted herself with all her wonted powers to amuse and interest him; Helen, too, delighted at the favorable change in her mother's spirits, contributed to sustain the tone of light-hearted pleasantry, while she could not restrain a jest upon Forester's unusual gloominess.

The manner whose fascinations had hitherto so many charms, now almost irritated him; the poison of suspicion had been imbibed, and he continually asked himself, what if the very subtlety his mother's letter spoke of was now practised by her? If all the varied hues of captivation her changing humor wore were but the deep practised lures of coquetry?

His self-love was piqued by the thought, as well as his perceptive shrewdness, and he set himself, as he believed, to decipher her real nature; but, such is the blindness of mere egotism, in reality to misunderstand and mistake her.

How often it happens in life that the moment a doubt prevails as to some trait or feature of our character, we should exactly seize upon that very instant to indulge in some weakness or pa.s.sing levity that may strengthen a mere suspicion, or make it a certainty.

Helen never seemed gayer than on this evening, scarcely noticing Forester, save when to jest upon his morose and silent mood; she talked, and laughed, and sang in all the free joyousness of a happy heart, unconsciously displaying powers of mind and feeling which, in calmer moments, lay dormant and concealed.

The evening wore on, and Helen had just risen from her harp,--where she was playing one of those wild, half-sad, half-playful melodies of her country,--when a gentle tap came to the door, and, without waiting for leave to enter, old Tate appeared.

The old man was pale, and his features wore an expression of extreme terror; but he was doing his very utmost, as it seemed, to struggle against some inward fear, as, with a smile of far more melancholy than mirth, he said, "Did ye hear it, my Lady? I 'm sure ye heerd it."

"Heard what, Tate?" said Lady Eleanor.

"The--but I see Miss Helen's laughing at me. Ah! don't then, Miss, darlin',--don't laugh."

"What was it, Tate? Tell us what you heard."

"The Banshee, my Lady! Ay, there 's the way,--I knew how 't would be; you 'd only laugh when I tould you."

"Where was it you heard it?" said Lady Eleanor, affecting seriousness to gratify the old man's superst.i.tion.

"Under the east window, my Lady; then it moved across the flower-garden, and down to the sh.o.r.e beneath the big rocks."

"What was it like, Tate?"

"'T was like a funeral 'coyne' first, Miss, when ye heerd it far away in the mountain; and then it rose, and swelled fuller and stronger, till it swam all round me, and at last died away to the light, soft cry of an infant."

"Exactly, Tate; it was Captain Forester sighing. I never heard a better description in my life."

"Ah! don't laugh, my Lady,--don't now, Miss Helen, dear. I never knew luck nor grace come of laughing when the warnin' was come. 'T is the Captain, there, looks sad and thoughtful,--the Heavens bless him for it!

He knows 'tis no time for laughing."

Forester might have accepted the eulogy in better part, perhaps, had he understood it; but as it was, he turned abruptly about, and asked Lady Eleanor for an explanation of the whole mystery.

"Tate thinks he has heard--"

"Thinks!" interrupted the old man, with a sorrowful gesture of both hands. "Musha! I'd take the Gospel on it; I heard it as plain as I hear your Ladyship now."

Lady Eleanor smiled, and went on--"the cry of the Banshee, that dreadful warning which, in the superst.i.tion of the country, always betokens death, or at least some great calamity, to the house it is heard to wail over."

"A polite attention, to say the least," said Forester, smiling sarcastically, "of the witch or fairy or whatever it is, to announce to people an approaching misfortune. And has every cabin got its own Ban--what do you call it?"

"The cabins has none," said Tate, with a loot of severe reproach, the most remote possible from his habitual air of deference; "'tis only the ouldest and most ancient families, like his honor the Knight's, has a Banshee. But it's no use talking; I see n.o.body believes me."

"Yes, Tate, I do," cried Helen, with an earnestness of manner, either really felt, or a.s.sumed to gratify the poor old man's superst.i.tious veneration; "just tell me how you heard it first."

"Like that!" whispered Tate, as he held up his hand to enforce silence; and at the same instant a low, plaintive cry was heard, as if beneath the very window. The accent was not of pain or suffering, but of melancholy so soft, so touching, and yet so intense, that it stilled every voice within the room, where now each long-drawn breath was audible.

There is a lurking trait of superst.i.tion in every human heart, which will resist, at some one moment or other, every effort of reason and every scoff of irony. An instant before, and Forester was ready to jest with the old man's terrors, and now his own spirit was not all devoid of them. The feeling was, however, but of a moment's duration; suspicion again a.s.sumed its sway, and, seizing his hat, he rushed from the room, to search the flower-garden and examine every spot where any one might lie concealed.

"There he goes now, as if he could see _her_; and maybe 't would be as well for him he did n't," said Tate, as, in contempt of the English incredulity, he gazed after the eager youth. "Is his honor well, my Lady?--when did you hear from him?"