The Black Baronet; or, The Chronicles Of Ballytrain Part 24

Having entered the little room in question, he suddenly popped out his head and asked:

"Could you weigh a stone or a half stone of praties, if they were called for? But, never mind--you'd be apt to give down weight--I'll come out and do it myself, if they're wanted;" saying which, he drew the red curtain aside, in order the better, as it would seem, to keep a watchful eye upon the other.

The latter was at first offended, but ultimately began to feel amused by the offensive peculiarities of the old man. He now perceived that he was eccentric and capricious, and that, in order to lure any information out of him, it would be necessary to watch and take advantage of the disagreeable whimsicalities which marked his character. Patience, he saw clearly, was his only remedy.

After remaining in the back parlor for about eight or ten minutes, he put out his thin, sharp face, with a grin upon it, which was intended for a smile--the expression of which, however, was exceedingly disagreeable.

"We will talk this matter over," he said, "by and by. I have compared the hand-write in this letther wid a certificate of Father M'Mahon's, that I have for many years in my possession. Step inside in the meantime; the ould woman will be back in a few minutes, and when she comes we'll go upstairs and speak about it."

The stranger complied with this invitation, and felt highly gratified that matters seemed about to take a more favorable turn.

"I trust," said he, "you are satisfied that I am fully ent.i.tled to any confidence you may feel disposed to place in me?"

"The priest speaks well of you," replied Dunphy; "but then, sure I know him; he's so kind-hearted a creature, that any one who speaks him fair, or that he happens to take a fancy to, will be sure to get his good word. It isn't much a.s.sistance I can give you, and it's not on account of his letther altogether that I do it; but bekaise I think the time's come, or rather soon will be come. Oh, here," he said, "is the ould woman, and she'll keep the shop. Now, sir, come upstairs, if you plaise, for what we're goin' to talk about is what the very stones oughtn't to hear so long as that man--"

He paused, and instantly checked himself, as if he felt that he had already gone too far.

"Now, sir," he proceeded, "what is it you expect from me? Name it at wanst."

"You are aware," said the stranger, "that the son of the late Sir Edward Gourlay, and the heir of his property, disappeared very mysteriously and suspiciously--"

"And so did the son of the present man," replied Dunphy, eying the stranger keenly.

"It is not of him I am speaking," replied the other; "although at the same time I must say, that if I could find a trace even of him I would leave no stone unturned to recover him."

The old man looked into the floor, and mused for some time.

"It was a strange business," he observed, "that both should go--you may take my word, there has been mischief and revenge, or both, at the bottom of the same business."

"The worthy priest, whose letter I presented to you to-day, led me to suppose, that if any man could put me in a capacity to throw light upon it you could."

"He didn't say, surely, that I could throw light upon it--did he?"

"No, certainly not--but that if any man could, you are that man."

"Ay, ay," replied old Dunphy; "all bekaise he thinks I have a regard for the Gourlays. That's what makes him suppose that I know anything about the business; just as if I was in the saicrets of the family. I may have suspicions like other people; but that's all."

"Can you throw out no hint, or give no clew, that might aid me in the recovery of this unhappy young man, if he be alive?"

"You did well to add that, for who can tell whether he is or not?--maybe it's only thras.h.i.+ng the water you are, after all."

The stranger saw the old fellow had once more grown cautious, and avoided giving a direct reply to him; but on considering the matter, he was, after all, not much surprised at this. The subject involved a black and heinous crime, and if it so happened that Dunphy could in any way have been implicated in or connected with it, even indirectly, it would be almost unreasonable to expect that he should now become his own accuser. Still the stranger could observe that in spite of all his caution, there was a mystery and uneasiness in his manner, when talking of it, which he could not shake off.

When the conversation had reached this point, the old woman called her husband down in a voice that seemed somewhat agitated, but not, as far as he could guess, disagreeably.

"Denis, come down a minute," she said, "come down, will you? here's a stranger that you haven't seen for some time."

"What stranger?" he inquired, peevishly. "Who is it? I wish you wouldn't bother me--I'm talkin' with a gentleman."

"It's Ginty."

"Ginty, is it?" said he, musing. "Well, that's odd, too--to think that she should come at this very moment. Maybe, the hand of G--. I beg your pardon, sir, for a minute or two--I'll be back immediately."

He went down stairs, and found in the back parlor the woman named Ginty Cooper, the same fortune-teller and prophetess whom we have already described to the reader.

The old man seemed to consider her appearance not as an incident that stirred up any natural affection in himself, but as one that he looked upon as extraordinary. Indeed, to tell the truth, he experienced a sensation of surprise, mingled with a superst.i.tious feeling, that startled him considerably, by her unexpected appearance at that particular period. He did not resume his conversation with the stranger for at least twenty minutes; but the latter was perfectly aware, from the earnestness of their voices, although their words were not audible, that he and the new-comer were discussing some topic in which they must have felt a very deep interest. At length he came up and apologized for the delay, adding: "With regard to this business, it's altogether out of my power to give you any a.s.sistance. I have nothing but my suspicions, and it wouldn't be the part of a Christian to lay a crime like that to any man's door upon mere guess."

"If you know anything of this dark transaction," replied the stranger, whose earnestness of manner was increased by his disappointment, as well as by an impression that the old man knew more about it than he was disposed to admit, "and will not enable us to render justice to the wronged and defrauded orphan, you will have a heavy reckoning of it--an awful one when you meet your G.o.d. By the usual course of nature that is a reckoning that must soon be made. I advise you, therefore, not to tamper with your own conscience, nor, by concealing your knowledge of this great crime to peril your hopes of eternal happiness. Of one thing you may rest a.s.sured, that the justice we seek will not stoop to those who have been merely instruments in the hands of others."

"That's all very fine talk," replied Dunphy, uneasily however, "and from the high-flown language you give me, I take you to be a lawyer; but if you were ten times a lawyer, and a judge to the back of that, a man can't tell what he doesn't know."

"Mark me," replied the stranger, a.s.sailing him through his cupidity, "I pledge you my solemn word that for any available information you may or can give us you shall be most liberally and amply remunerated."

"I have money enough," replied Dunphy; "that is to say, as much as barely does me, for the wealthiest of us cannot bring it to the grave.

I'm thankful to you, but I can give you no a.s.sistance."

"Whom do you suspect, then?--whom do you even suspect?"

"Hut!--why, the man that every one suspects--Sir Thomas Gourlay."

"And upon what grounds, may I ask?"

"Why, simply because no other man had any interest in getting the child removed. Every one knows he's a dark, tyrannical, bad man, that wouldn't be apt to scruple at anything. There now," he added, "that is all I know about it; and I suppose it's not more than you knew yourself before."

In order to close the dialogue he stood up, and at once led the way down to the back parlor, where the stranger, on following him, found Ginty Cooper and the old woman in close conversation, which instantly ceased when they made their appearance.

The stranger, chagrined and vexed at his want of success, was about to depart, when Dunphy's wife said:

"Maybe, sir, you'd wish to get your fortune tould? bekaise, if you would, here's a woman that will tell it to you, and you may depend upon it she'll tell you nothing but the truth."

"I am not in a humor for such nonsense, my good woman; I have much more important matters to think of, I a.s.sure you; but I suppose the woman wishes to have her hand crossed with silver; well, it shall be done.

Here, my good woman," he said offering her money, "accept this, and spare your prophecy."

"I will not have your money, sir," replied the prophetess; "and I say so to let you know that I'm not an impostor. Be advised, and hear me--show me your hand."

The startling and almost supernatural appearance of the woman struck him very forcibly, and with a kind of good-humored impatience, he stretched out his hand to her. "Well," said he, "I will test the truth of what you promise."

She took it into hers, and after examining the lines for a few seconds said, "The lines in your hand, sir, are very legible--so much so that I can read your name in it--and it's a name which very few in this country know."

The stranger started with astonishment, and was about to speak, but she signed to him to be silent.

"You are in love," she continued, "and your sweetheart loves you dearly.

You saw her this morning, and you would give a trifle to know where she will be to-morrow. You traveled with her last night and didn't know it--and the business that brought you to town will prosper."

"You say you know my name," replied the stranger, "if so, write it on a slip of paper."

She hesitated a moment.

"Will it do," she asked, "if I give you the initials?"