The Black Baronet; or, The Chronicles Of Ballytrain Part 104

"I have hope for papa yet," she said to herself, as she was about to enter the drawing-room; "I never thought I loved him so much as I find I do now."

On advancing into the room, for an instant's time she seemed confused; her confusion, however, soon became surprise--amazement, when Dean Palmer, taking our friend the stranger by the hand, led him toward her, exclaiming, "Allow me, Miss Gourlay, to have the honor of presenting to you Lord Dunroe."

"Lord Dunroe!" exclaimed Lucy, in her turn, looking aghast with astonishment. "What is this, sir--what means this, gentlemen? This house, pray recollect, is a house of death and of suffering."

"It is the truth, Miss Gourlay," replied the Dean. "Here stands the veritable Lord Dunroe, whose father is now the earl of Cullamore."

"But, sir, I don't understand this."

"It is very easily understood, however, Miss Gourlay. This gentleman's father was the late Earl's brother; and he being now dead, his son here inherits the t.i.tle of Lord Dunroe."

"But the late Earl's son?"

"Has no claim to the t.i.tle, Miss Gourlay. His lords.h.i.+p here will give you the particulars at leisure, and on a more befitting occasion. I saw the late Earl to-day, not long before his death. He was calm, resigned, and full of that Christian hope which makes the death of the righteous so beautiful. He was not, indeed, without sorrow; but it was soothed by his confidence in the mercy of G.o.d, and his belief in the necessity and wisdom of sorrow and affliction to purify and exalt the heart."

"And now, Lucy," said the stranger--for so we shall call him still--taking her hand in his, "I trust that all obstacles between our union are removed at last. Our love has been strongly tested, and you especially have suffered much. Your trust in Providence, however, like that of Lady Gourlay, has not been in vain; and as for me, I learned much, and I hope to learn more, from your great and n.o.ble example. I concealed my name for many reasons: partly from delicacy to my uncle, the late Earl, and his family; and I was partly forced to do it, in consequence of an apprehension that I had killed a n.o.bleman in a hasty duel. He was not killed, however, thank G.o.d; nor was his wound so dangerous as it looked at first; neither was I aware until afterwards that the individual who forced me into it was my own cousin Dunroe. It would have been very inconvenient to me to have been apprehended and probably cast into prison at a time when I had so many interests to look after; and, indeed, not the least of my motives was the fear of precipitating your father's enmity against Lady Gourlay's son, by discovering that I, who am her nephew, should have been seen about the town of Ballytrain, where, when a boy, I had spent a good deal of my early life. Had he known my name, he would have easily suspected my object. Your mother was aware of my design in coming to Ireland; but as I knew the risk of involving my uncle's children, and the good old man's reputation besides, in a mesh of public scandal at a time when I did not feel certain of being able to establish my claims, or rather my father's, for I myself was indifferent to them, I resolved to keep as quiet as possible, and not to disclose myself even to you until necessity should compel me."

Much more conversation ensued in connection with matters in which our lovers felt more or less interest. At length the gentlemen rose to go away, when Gillespie thrust a face of horror into the door, and exclaimed, bolting, as he spoke, behind the Dean, "O, gentlemen, for G.o.d's sake, save me! I'll confess and acknowledge everything."

"What's the matter, Sir?" asked the Dean.

"The dead man, sir; he's sitting up in the bed; and I know what he's come back for. You're a parson, sir, and, for heaven's sake, stand between him and me."

On proceeding to the room where the baronet's son had been laid out, they found him sitting, certainly, on the bedside, wondering at the habiliments of death which were about him. That which all had supposed to have been death, was only a fit of catalepsy, brought on him by the appearance of his father, who had, on more than one occasion, left a terrible impress of himself upon his mind, and who, he had been informed some years before, was the cause of all his sufferings. Even at the sight of Lucy herself, he had been deeply agitated, although he could not tell why. He was immediately attended to, a physician sent for, and poor Lucy felt an elevation of heart and spirits which she had not experienced for many a long day.

"Oh, do not go," she said to her lover and the Dean, "until I communicate to papa this twofold intelligence of delight; your strange good fortune, and the resurrection, I may term it, of my brother. The very object--the great engrossing object of papa's life and ambition gained in so wonderful a way! Do, pray, gentlemen, remain for a few minutes until I see him. O, what delight, what ecstasy will it not give him!"

She accordingly went up stairs, slowly it is true, for she was weak; and nothing further was heard except one wild and fearful scream, whose sharp tones penetrated through the whole house.

"Ha!" exclaimed Lord Dunroe, "here is evil. Goodness me!--it is Miss Gourlay's voice; I know it. Let us go up; I fear something is wrong with her father."

They accordingly sought the baronet's apartment, attended by the servants, whom Lucy's wild scream had alarmed, and brought also toward the same direction. On entering the room, the body of Lucy was found lying beside, or rather across that of her father, whom, on removing her, they found to be dead. Beside him lay a little phial, on which there was no label, but the small portion of liquid that was found in it was clear and colorless as water. It was prussic acid. Lucy was immediately removed, and committed to the care of Alley Mahon and some of the other females, and the body of the baronet was raised and placed upon his own bed. The Dean and Lord Dunroe looked upon his lifeless but stern features with a feeling of awe.

"Alas!" exclaimed the good Dean, "and is it thus he has gone to his great account? We shall not follow his spirit into another life; but it is miserable to reflect that one hour's patience might have saved him to the world and to G.o.d, and showed him, after all, that the great object of his life had been accomplished. Blind and impatient reasoner!--what has he done?"

"Yes," replied Dunroe, looking on him with a feeling of profound melancholy; "there he lies--quiet enough now--the tumults of his strong spirit are over forever. That terrible heart is still at last--that fiery pulse will beat no more!"

We have now very little to state which our readers may not antic.i.p.ate.

Lucy and Lady Emily, each made happy in the great object of woman's heart--love, only exchanged residences.

Lucy's life was a long and bountiful blessing to her fellow-creatures.

Her feelings were never contracted within the narrow circle of her own cla.s.s, but embraced the great one of general humanity. She acted upon the n.o.ble principle of receiving from G.o.d the ample gifts of wealth and position, not for the purpose of wasting them in expensive and selfish enjoyments, but for that of causing them to diffuse among her fellow-creatures the greatest possible portion of happiness. This she considered her high destination, and well and n.o.bly she fulfilled it in this, the great and true purpose of life, her husband and she went heart-in-heart, hand-in-hand; nor were Sir Edward Gourlay, and his kind and gentle Emily, far behind them in all their good-will and good works.

Lord Dunroe, having no strength of character to check his profligate impulses, was, in the course of some years, thrown off by all his high connections, and reduced to great indigence. Norton's notion of his character was correct. The society of that treacherous sharper was necessary to him, and in some time after they were reconciled. Norton ultimately became driver of a celebrated mail-coach on the great York road, and the other, its guard; thus resolving, as it would seem, to keep the whip-hand of the weak and foolish n.o.bleman in every position of life. Several of our English readers may remember them, for they were both remarkable characters, and great favorites with the public.

Dandy Dulcimer and Alley followed the example of their master and mistress, and were amply provided for by their friends, with whom they lived in confidential intimacy for the greater portion of their lives.

Thomas Corbet, his sister, and her son, disappeared; and it was supposed that they went to America.

M'Bride, in a short time after the close of our narrative, took a relish for foreign travel, and resolved to visit a certain bay of botanical celebrity not far from the antipodes. That he might accomplish this point with as little difficulty as possible, he asked a gentleman one evening for the loan of his watch and purse; a circ.u.mstance which so much tickled the fancy of a certain facetious judge of witty memory, that, on hearing a full account of the transaction, he so far and successfully interfered with the government as to get his expenses during the journey defrayed by his Majesty himself. His last place of residence in this country was a very magnificent one near Kilmainham, where he led a private and secluded life, occasionally devoting' himself to the progress of machinery in his hours of recreation, but uniformly declining to take country exercise.

Poor Trailcudgel was restored to his farm; and Lucy's brother lived with her for many years, won back by her affection and kindness to the perfect use of his reason; and it was well known that her children, boys and girls, were all very fond of Uncle Thomas.

Old Corbet took to devotion, became very religious, and lost in temper, which was never good, as much as he seemed to gain by penitence. He died suddenly from a fit of paralysis, brought on by the loss of a thirty s.h.i.+lling note, which was stolen from his till by Mrs. M'Bride.

On the occasion of Lucy's marriage with her lover, Father M'Mahon, who was invited to a double wedding--both Sir Edward and Dunroe being married on the same day--rode all the way to Dublin upon Freney the Robber, in order that his friend might see the new saddle upon Freney, and the priest himself upon the new saddle. Mr. Briney was also of the party, and never was his round rosy face and comic rolling eye more replete with humor and enjoyment; and as a reward for his integrity, as well as for the ability with which he a.s.sisted the stranger, we may as well mention that he was made Law Agent to both properties--a recompense which he well deserved. We need scarcely say that old Sam and Beck were also there; that their healths were drunk, and that old Sam told them how there was nothing more plain than that there never was such a wife in existence as his Beck, and that Providence all through intended Ned to be restored to his own--he, old Sam, always acting in this instance as Adjutant under Providence. It was clear, he said--quite evident--everything the work of Providence on the one hand, and on the other, _"all the heart of man!"_