Barrington Volume Ii Part 23

Very differently from his former speech did the present affect her; and her cheeks glowed and her eyes flashed as she said, "I have never intrusted my fate to your keeping, sir; and you may spare yourself all anxiety about it."

"You mistake me. You wrong me, Josephine--"

"You wrong yourself when you call me by my Christian name; and you arm me with distrust of one who would presume upon an interest he has not created."

"You refuse me, then?" said he, slowly and calmly.

"Once, and forever!"

"It may be that you are mistaken, Miss Barrington. It may be that this other affection, which you prefer to mine, is but the sickly sentiment of a foolish boy, whose life up to this has not given one single guarantee, nor shown one single trait of those which make 'true and gallant gentlemen.' But you have made your choice."

"I have," said she, with a low but firm voice.

"You acknowledge, then, that I was right," cried he, suddenly; "there is a prior attachment? Your heart is not your own to give?"

"And by what right do you presume to question me? Who are you, that dares to do this?"

"Who am I?" cried he, and for once his voice rose to the discordant ring of pa.s.sion.

"Yes, that was my question," repeated she, firmly.

"So, then, you have had your lesson, young lady," said he; and the words came from him with a hissing sound, that indicated intense anger. "Who am I? You want my birth, my parentage, my bringing up! Had you no friend who could have asked this in your stead? Or were all those around you so bereft of courage that they deputed to a young girl what should have been the office of a man?"

Though the savage earnestness of his manner startled, it did not affright her; and it was with a cold quietness she said, "If you had known my father, Major Stapylton, I suspect you would not have accused his daughter of cowardice!"

"Was he so very terrible?" said he, with a smile that was half a sneer.

"He would have been, to a man like you."

"To a man like me,--a man like me! Do you know, young lady, that either your words are very idle words or very offensive ones?"

"And yet I have no wish to recall them, sir."

"It would be better you could find some one to sustain them.

Unfortunately, however, you cannot ask that gallant gentleman we were just talking of; for it is only the other day, and after pa.s.sing over to Calais to meet me, his friends pretend that there is some obstacle to our meeting. I owe my tailor or my bootmaker something; or I have not paid my subscription to a club; or I have left an unsettled bill ar Baden. I really forget the precise pretext; but it was one which to them seemed quite sufficient to balk me of a redress, and at the same time to shelter their friend."

"I will not believe one word of it, sir!"

"Well, we have at least arrived at a perfect frankness in our intercourse. May I ask you, young lady, which of your relatives has suggested your present course! Is it to your aunt or to your grandfather I must go for an explanation?"

"I suspect it is to me, Major Stapylton," said Barrington, as he came from behind Josephine. "It is to me you must address yourself. Fifine, my dear, your aunt is looking for you; go and tell her, too, that I am quite ready for tea, and you will find me here when it is ready. Major Stapylton and I will take a stroll along the river-side." Now this last was less an invitation than a sort of significant hint to Stapylton that his host had no intention to ask him to cross his threshold, at least for the present; and, indeed, as Barrington pa.s.sed out and closed the wicket after him, he seemed as though closing the entrance forever.

With a manner far more a.s.sured thau his wont, Barrington said: "I have been in pursuit of you, Major Stapylton, since four o'clock. I missed you by having taken the road instead of the river; and am much grieved that the communication I have to make you should not take place anywhere rather than near my roof or within my own gates."

"I am to suppose from your words, sir, that what you are about to say can scarcely be said to a friend; and if so, cannot you hit upon a more convenient mode of making your communication?"

"I think not. I believe that I shall be dealing more fairly with you by saying what I have to say in person."

"Go on," said Stapylton, calmly, as the other paused.

"You are aware," continued Barrington, "that the chief obstacle to a settlement of the claims I have long preferred against the India Company has been a certain doc.u.ment which they possess, declaring that a large portion of the territory held by the Rajah of Luckerabad was not amenable to the laws that regulate succession, being what is called 'Lurkar-teea,'--conquered country,--over which, under no circ.u.mstances, could the Rajah exercise prospective rights. To this deed, for their better protection, the Company obtained the signature and seal of the Rajah himself, by means which, of course, we could never discover; but they held it, and always declared that no portion of my son's claim could extend to these lands. Now, as they denied that he could succeed to what are called the 'Turban lands,' meaning the right of sovereignty--being a British subject--on the one hand, and rejected his claim to these conquered countries on the other,--they excluded him altogether."

"My dear sir," said Stapylton, mildly, "I'm shocked to interrupt you, but I am forced to ask, what is the intimate bearing of all this upon me, or on your position towards me?"

"Have a little patience, sir, and suffer me to proceed. If it should turn out that this doc.u.ment--I mean that which bears the signature and seal of the Rajah--should be a forgery; if, I say, it could be shown that what the India Board have long relied on to sustain their case and corroborate their own view could be proved false, a great point would be gained towards the establishment of our claim."

"Doubtless," said Stapylton, with the half-peevish indifference of one listening against his will.

"Well, there is a good prospect of this," said Barring-ton, boldly.

"Nay, more, it is a certainty."

"Mr. Barrington," said Stapylton, drawing himself haughtily up, "a few hours ago this history would have had a very great interest for me. My hopes pointed to a very close relations.h.i.+p with your family; the last hour has sufficed to dispel those hopes. Your granddaughter has rejected me so decidedly that I cannot presume to suppose a change in her opinion possible. Let me not then, obtain any share in your confidence to which I have no right whatever."

"What I am about to say will have more interest for you, sir," continued Barrington. "I am about to mention a name that you will recognize,--the Moonshee, Ali Gohur."

Stapylton started, and dropped the cigar he was smoking. To take out another and light it, however, sufficed to employ him, as he murmured between his teeth, "Go on."

"This man says--" continued Barrington.

"Said, perhaps, if you like," broke in Stapylton, "for he died some months ago."

"No; he is alive at this hour. He was on board the Indiaman that was run down by the transport. He was saved and carried on board the 'Regulus'

by the intrepidity of young Dill. He is now recovering rapidly from the injuries he received, and at the date of the letter which I hold here, was able to be in daily communication with Colonel Hunter, who is the writer of this."

"I wish the gallant Colonel honester company. Are you aware, Mr.

Barrington, that you are speaking of one of the greatest rascals of a country not famed for its integrity?"

"He lays no claim to such for the past; but he would seem desirous to make some reparation for a long course of iniquity."

"Charmed for his sake, and that of his well-wishers, if he have any.

But, once again, sir, and at all the risk of appearing very impatient, what concern has all this for me?"

"A great deal, sir. The Moonshee declares that he has been for years back in close correspondence with a man we long since believed dead, and that this man was known to have communicated constantly with the law advisers of the India Board in a manner adverse to us, he being none other than the son of the notorious Sam Edwardes, whom he always addressed under cover to Captain Horace Stapylton, Prince's Hussars."

"This is--strange enough, when one thinks of the quarter it comes from--perfectly true. I came to know Edwardes when on my voyage home, invalided. He took immense trouble about me, nursed and tended me, and, in return, asked as a favor to have some letters he was expecting addressed to my care. I neither knew who he was, nor cared. He got his letters, and I suppose read them; but of their contents, I, it is needless to say, know nothing. I am speaking of a dozen years ago, or, at least, eight or ten, for since that time I have never heard of either Edwardes or his friend."

"He tells a different story. He a.s.serts that to his letters, forwarded to the same address up to the period of last March, he regularly received replies; but at last finding that the writer was disposed to get rid of him, he obtained means to circulate a report of his death, and sailed for Europe to prefer his claims, whatever they be, in person."

"And if every word of this were true, Mr. Barrington, which I don't suspect it is, how, in the name of common sense, does it concern me? I don't suppose I ever took my own letters at a post-office twice in my life. My servant, who has lived with me fourteen years, may, for aught I know, have been bribed to abstract these letters on their arrival; they would be easily recognized by the very superscription. This is one way the thing might have been done. There may have been fifty more, for aught I know or care."

"But you don't deny that you knew Edwardes, and had a close intimacy with him?--a circ.u.mstance which you never revealed to Withering or myself."

"It is not at all improbable I may have known half a dozen of that name.

It is by no means an uncommon one, not to say that I have a singularly infelicitous memory for people's names. But for the last time, sir, I must protest against this conversation going any further. You have taken upon you, I would hope without intending it, the tone of a French _Juge d'Instruction_ in the interrogation of a prisoner. You have questioned and cross-questioned me, asking how I can account for this, or explain that. Now, I am ready to concede a great deal to your position as my host, and to your years, but really I must entreat of you not to push my deference for these beyond the limits of the respect I owe myself. You very properly warned me at the opening of this conversation that it ought not to have the sanction of your roof-tree. I have only to beg that if it is to go any further, that it be conducted in such a shape as is usual between gentlemen who have an explanation to ask, or a satisfaction to demand."

There was consummate craft in giving the discussion this turn. Stapylton well knew the nature of the man he was addressing, and that after the pa.s.sing allusion to his character as a host, he only needed to hint at the possibility of a meeting to recall him to a degree of respect only short of deference for his opponent.

"I defer to you at once, Major Stapylton," said the old man, with a bland courtesy, as he uncovered and bowed. "There was a time when I should scarcely have required the admonition you have given me."