The Knight Of Gwynne Volume II Part 18

"Home!" repeated he, in an accent the sorrow of which sank into her very heart; "when had I ever a home? I had a house and lands, and equipages, horses, and liveried servants,--all that wealth could command, or, my own reckless vanity could prompt,--but these did not make a home!"

"You often promised we should have such one day, Bagenal," said she, tenderly, while she stole her hand within his; "you often told me that the time would come when we should enjoy poverty with a better grace than ever we dispensed riches."

"We surely are poor enough to make the trial now," said he, with a bitterness of almost savage energy.

"And if we are, Bagenal," replied she, "there is the more need to draw more closely to each other; let us begin at once."

"Not yet, Molly, not yet," said he, pa.s.sing his hand across his eyes. "I would grasp such a refuge as eagerly as yourself, for," added he, with deep emotion, "I am to the full as weary; but I cannot do it yet."

Miss Daly knew her brother's temper too long and too well either to offer a continued opposition to any strongly expressed resolve, or to question him about a subject on which he showed any desire of reserve.

"Have you no Dublin news for me?" she said, as if willing to suggest some less touching subject for conversation.

"No, Molly; Dublin is deserted. The few who still linger in town seem only half awake to the new condition of events. The Government party are away to England; they feel, doubtless, bound in honor to dispense their gold in the land it came from; and the Patriots--Heaven bless the mark!--they look as rueful as if they began to suspect that Patriotism was too dear a luxury after all."

"And this burning of Newgate,-what did it mean? Was there, as the newspaper makes out, anything like a political plot connected with it?"

"Nothing of the kind, Molly. The whole affair was contrived among the prisoners. Freney, the well-known highwayman, was in the jail, and, although not tried, his conviction was certain."

"And they say he has escaped. Can it be possible that some persons of influence, as the journals hint, actually interested themselves for the escape of a man like this?"

"Everything is possible in a state of society like ours, Molly."

"But a highwayman--a robber--a fellow that made the roads unsafe to travel!"

"All true," said Daly, laughing. "n.o.body ever kept a hawk for a singing-bird; but he 's a bold villain to pounce upon another."

"I like not such appliances; they scarcely serve a good name, and they make a bad one worse."

"I'm quite of your mind, Molly," said Daly, thoughtfully; "and if honest men were plenty, he would be but a fool who held any dealings with the knaves. But here comes the car to convey me to 'The Corvy.' I will make a hasty visit to Lady Eleanor, and be back with you by supper-time."

CHAPTER X. DALY'S FAREWELL.

Neither of the ladies were at home when Bagenal Daly, followed by his servant Sandy, reached "The Corvy," and sat down in the porch to await their return. Busied with his own reflections, which, to judge from the deep abstraction of his manner, seemed weighty and important, Daly never looked up from the ground, while Sandy leisurely walked round the building to note the changes made in his absence, and comment, in no flattering sense, on the art by which the builder had concealed so many traits of "The Corvy's" origin.

"Ye 'd no ken she was a ship ava!" said he to himself, as he examined the walls over which the trellised creepers were trained, and the latticed windows festooned by the honeysuckle and the clematis, and gazed in sadness over the altered building. "She's no a bit like the auld Corvy!"

"Of course she 's not!" said Daly, testily, for the remark had suddenly aroused him from his musings. "What the devil would you have? Are _you_ like the raw and ragged fellow I took from this bleak coast, and led over more than half the world?"

"Troth, I am no the same man noo that I was sax-and-forty years agane, and sorry I am to say it."

"Sorry,--sorry! not to be half-starved and less than half-clad; hauling a net one day, and being dragged for yourself the next--sorry!"

"Even sae, sore sorry. Eight-and-sixty may be aye sorry not to be twa-and-twenty. I ken nae rise in life can pay off that score. It 's na ower pleasant to think on, but I'm no the man I was then. No, nor, for that matter, yerself neither."

Daly was too long accustomed to the familiarity of Sandy's manner to feel offended at the remark, though he did not seem by any means to relish its application. Without making any reply, he arose and entered the hall. On every side were objects reminding him of the past, strange and sad commentary on the words of his servant. Sandy appeared to feel the force of such allies, and, as he stood near, watched the effect the various articles produced on his master's countenance.

"A bonnie rifle she is," said he, as if interpreting the admiring look Daly bestowed upon a richly ornamented gun. "Do you mind the day yer honor shot the corbie at the Tegern See?"

"Where the Tyrol fellows set on us, on the road to Innspruck, and I brought down the bird to show them that they had to deal with a marksman as good at least as themselves."

"Just sae; it was a bra' shot; your hand was as firm, and your eye as steady then as any man's."

"I could do the feat this minute," said Daly, angrily, as turning away he detached a heavy broadsword from the wall.

"She was aye over weighty in the hilt," said Sandy, with a dry malice.

"You used to draw that bowstring to your ear," said Daly, sternly, as he pointed to a Swiss bow of portentous size.

"I had twa hands in those days," said the other, calmly, and without the slightest change of either voice or manner.

Not so with him to whom they were addressed. A flood of feelings seemed to pour across his memory, and, laying his hand on Sandy's shoulder, he said, in an accent of very unusual emotion, "You are right, Sandy, I must be changed from what I used to be."

"Let us awa to the auld life we led in those days," said the other, impetuously, "and we 'll soon be ourselves again! Does n't that remind yer honor of the dark night on the Ottawa, when you sent the canoe, with the pine-torch burning in her bow, down the stream, and drew all the fire of the Indian fellows on her?"

"It was a grand sight," cried Daly, rapturously, "to see the dark river glittering with its torchlight, and the chiefs, as they stood rifle in hand, peering into the dense pine copse, and making the echoes ring with their war-cries."

"It was unco near at one time," said Sandy, as he took up the fold of the blanket with which his effigy in the canoe was costumed. "There 's the twa bullet-holes, and here the arrow-bead in the plank, where I had my bead! If ye had missed the Delaware chap wi' the yellow cloth on his forehead--"

"I soon changed its color for him," said Daly, savagely.

"Troth did ye; ye gied him a bonny war-paint. How he sprang into the air! I think I see him noo; many a night when I 'm lying awake, I think I can hear the dreadful screech he gave, as he plunged into the river."

"It was not a cry of pain, it was baffled vengeance," said Daly.

"He never forgave the day ye gripped him by the twa hands in yer ain one, and made the squaws laugh at him. Eh, how that auld deevil they cau'd Black Buffalo yelled! Her greasy cheeks shook and swelled over her dark eyes, till the face looked like nothing but a tar lake in Demerara when there 's a hurricane blowin' over it."

"You had rather a tenderness in that quarter, if I remember aright,"

said Daly, dryly.

"I 'll no deny she was a bra sauncie woman, and kenned weel to make a haggis wi' an ape's head and shoulders." Sandy smacked his lips, as if the thought had brought up pleasant memories.

"How I escaped that bullet is more than I can guess," said Daly, as he inspected the blanket where it was pierced by a shot; and as he spoke, he threw its wide folds over his shoulders, the better to judge of the position.

"Ye aye wore it more on this side," said Sandy, arranging the folds with tasteful pride; "an', troth, it becomes you well. Tak the bit tomahawk in your hand, noo. Ech! but yer like yoursel once more."

"We may have to don this gear again, and sooner than you think," said Daly, thoughtfully.

"Nae a bit sooner than I 'd like," said Sandy. "The salvages, as they ca' them, hae neither baillies nor policemen, they hae nae cranks about lawyers and 'tornies; a grip o' a man's hair and a sharp knife is even as mickle a reason as a hempen cord and a gallows tree! Ech, it warms my bluid again to see you stridin' up and doon,--if you had but a smudge o'

yellow ochre, or a bit o' red round your eyes, ye 'd look awful well."

"What are you staring at?" said Daly, as Sandy opened a door stealthily, and gazed down the pa.s.sage towards the kitchen.

"I 'm thinking that as there is naebody in the house but the twa la.s.ses, maybe your honor would try a war-cry,--ye ken ye could do it bra'ly once."

"I may need the craft soon again," said Daly, thoughtfully.