The Knight Of Gwynne Volume I Part 44

but you are come back cruel to us, after all!"

"Drive on!" shouted out Darcy, in a voice of angry impatience.

The postboys sprang into their saddles, cracked their whips, and dashed forward, while the mob, rent in a hundred channels, fled on every side, with cries of terror and shouts of laughter, according as the distance suggested danger or security. All escaped safely, except the poor idiot, Flury, who, having one foot on the step when the carriage started, was thrown backward, when, to save himself, he grasped the spring, and was thus half dragged, half carried along to the end of the street, and there, failing strength and fear combining, he relinquished his hold and fell senseless to the ground, where the wheel grazed but did not injure him as he lay.

With a cry of terror, the Knight called out "Stop!" and, flinging wide the door, sprang out. To lift the poor fellow up to a sitting posture was the work of a second, while he asked, in accents the very kindest, if he were hurt.

"Sorra bit, Maurice," said the fellow, whose faculties sooner rallied than if they were habitually under better control. "I was on the wrong side of the coach, that's all; 't is safer to be within. The clothes is not the better of it," said he, looking at his sleeve, now hanging in stripes.

"Never mind that, Flury; we'll soon repair that misfortune; it does not signify much."

"Does n't it, faith?" said the other, shaking his head dubiously; "'tis asy talking, but I can't turn my coat without showing the hole in it. 'T is only the rich can do that."

The Knight bit his lip; for even from the fool's sarcasm he could gather the imputations already rife upon his conduct. Another and a very different thought succeeded to this, and he blushed with shame to think how far his sense of his own misfortune had rendered him indifferent, not only to the kindly feelings, but the actual misery, of others. The right impulses of high-minded men are generally rapid in their action, like the spring of the bent bow when the cord is cut asunder. It did not cost Darcy many minutes to be again the warm-hearted, generous soul nature had made him.

"Come, Flury," said he to the poor fellow, as he stood ruefully surveying his damaged drapery, "give that among the people there in the town, and keep this for yourself."

"This is goold, Maurice,--yellow goold!"

"So it is; but you're not the less welcome to it; tell them, too, that I have had troubles of my own lately; and that's the reason I hurried on without exchanging a word with them."

"How do you know, Maurice, but I'll keep it all to myself?".

"I'd trust you with a heavier sum," said the Knight, smiling.

"I know why,--I know why, well enough,--because I'm a fool. Never mind, there's greater fools nor me going. What did they give you up there for your vote, Maurice,--tell me, how much was it?"

The Knight shook his head, and Flury resumed: "Didn't I say it? Wasn't I right? By my ould hat! there's two fools in the country now;--Maurice Darcy and Red Flury; and Maurice the biggest of the two! Whoop, the more the merrier; there 's room for us all!" And with this wise reflection, Flury gave a very wild caper and a wilder shout, and set off at the speed of a hare towards Castlebar.

The Knight resumed his journey, and in a more contented mood. The little incident had called on him for an exertion, and his faculties only needed the demand to respond to the call. He summoned to his aid, besides, every comforting reflection in his power; he persuaded himself that there were some hopes remaining still, and tried to believe the evil not beyond remedy. "After all," thought he, "we are together; it is not death has been dealing with us, nor is there any stain upon our fair fame; and, save these, all ills are light, and can be borne."

From thoughts like these he was aroused by the heavy clank of the iron gate, as it fell back to admit the carriage within the park, while a thousand welcomes saluted him.

"Thank you, Darby!--thank you, Mary! All well up at the abbey?"

But the carriage dashed past at full speed, and the answer was drowned in the tumult. The postboys, true to the etiquette of their calling, had reserved their best pace for the finish, and it was at the stride of a hunting gallop they now tore along.

It was a calm night, with a young faint moon and a starry sky, which, without displaying in bright light the details of the scenery, yet exhibited them in strong, bold ma.s.ses, making all seem even more imposing and grander than in reality; the lofty mountain appeared higher, the dark woods vaster, and the wide-spreading lawn seemed to stretch away into immense plains. Darcy's heart swelled with pride as he looked, while a pang shot through him as he thought, if even at that hour he could call them his own.

They had now reached a little glen, where the postboys were obliged to walk their blown cattle; emerging from this, they pa.s.sed a thick grove of beech, and at once came in sight of the abbey. Darcy leaned anxiously from the window to catch the first sight of home, when what was his amazement to perceive that the whole was lighted up from end to end. The great suite of state rooms were a blaze of l.u.s.tres, which even at that distance glittered in their starry brilliancy, and showed the shadows of figures moving within. He well knew that Lady Eleanor never saw company in his absence,--what could this mean? Tortured with doubts that in his then state of mind took every painful form, he ordered the postilions to get on faster, and at the very top of their speed they tore along, over the wide lawn, across the terrace drive, up the steep ascent to the gate tower into the courtyard.

This was also brilliantly lighted by lamps from the walls, and also by the lights of numerous carriage lamps which crowded the ample s.p.a.ce.

"What is this? Can no one tell me?" muttered the Knight, as he leaped from the carriage, and, seizing a livery servant who was pa.s.sing, said, "What is going on here? What company has the abbey?"

"Full of company," said the man, in an English accent; "there 's my Lord--"

"Who do you mean?"

"The Earl of Netherby, sir, and Sir Harry Beauclerk, and Colonel Crofton, and--"

"When did they arrive?" said the Knight, interrupting a catalogue, every name of which, although unknown, sent a feeling like a stab through his heart.

"They came the evening before last, sir; Mr. Lionel Darcy, who arrived the same morning--"

"Is he here?" cried the Knight; and, without waiting for more, hastened forward.

The servants, of whom there seemed a great number about, were in strange liveries, and unknown to the Knight; nor was it without undergoing a very cool scrutiny from them that Darcy succeeded in gaining admittance to his own house. At last he reached the foot of the great stair, whence the sounds of music and the din of voices filled the air; servants hurried along with refreshments, or carried orders to others in waiting; all was bustle and excitement, in the midst of which Darcy stood only half conscious of the reality of what he saw, and endeavoring to reason himself into a conviction of what he heard. It was at this moment that several officers of a newly quartered regiment pa.s.sed up, admiring, as they went, the splendor of the house, and the magnificent preparations they witnessed on every side.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 330]

"I say, Dallas," cried one, "you're always talking of your uncle Beverley: does he do the thing in this style, eh?"

"By Jove!" interposed a short, thick-set major, with a bushy beard and eyebrows, "this is what I call going the pace: do they give dinners here?"

"Yes, that they do," said a white-faced, ghostly looking ensign; "I heard all about this place from Giles of the 40th; he was quartered six months in this county, and used to grub here half the week. The old fellow is n't at home now, but they say he's a trump."

"Let's drink his health, Watkins," cried the first speaker, "here's champagne going up;" and so saying, the party gathered around two servants, one of whom carried an ice-pail with some bottles, and the other a tray of gla.s.ses.

"Does any one know his name, though?" said the major, as he held his gla.s.s to be filled.

"Yes, it's something like--Oh, you know that fellow that joined us at Coventry?"

"Brereton, is it?"

"No, hang it! I mean the fellow that had the crop-eared cob with the white legs. Never mind, here he goes, anyhow."

"Oh, I know who you mean,--it was Jack Quin."

"That's the name; and your friend here is called 'Gwynne,' I think.

Here, gentlemen, I give you Gwynne's health, and all the honors; may he live a few centuries more--"

"With a warm heart and a cool cellar," added one.

"Pink champagne, and red-coats to drink it," chimed in the ensign.

"May I join you in that pleasant sentiment, gentlemen?" said the Knight, bowing courteously, as he took a gla.s.s from the tray and held it towards the servant.

"Make no apology, sir," said the major, eying him rather superciliously, for the travelling dress concealed the Knight's appearance, and distinguished him but slightly from many of those lounging around the doors.

"Capital ginger-beer that! eh?" said the ensign, as, winking at his companions, he proceeded to quiz the stranger.

"I have certainly drunk worse," said the Knight, gravely,--"at an infantry mess."

There was a pause before he uttered the last three words, which gave them a more direct application; a stare, half stupid, half impertinent, was, however, all they elicited, and the group moved on, while the Knight, disenc.u.mbering himself of his travelling gear, slowly followed them.

"Grim old gentlemen these, ain't they?" said the major, gazing at the long line of family portraits that covered the walls; "that fellow with the truncheon does not seem to like the look of us."

"Here's a bishop, I take it, with the great wig."