The Black Baronet; or, The Chronicles Of Ballytrain Part 97

"Oh no," replied Ginty, "certainly not; otherwise, why have lent himself to the carrying out of our speculation with respect to that boy. Such a step would ruin him--ruin us all--but then it would ruin the man he hates, and that would gratify him, I know. He is full of mystery, certainly; but as he will disclose nothing as to his movements, we must just let him have his own way, as that is the only chance of managing him."

Poor Lucy could not be said to have awoke to a morning of despair and anguish, because she had not slept at all the night before. Having got up and dressed herself, by the aid of Alice, she leaned on her as far as the boudoir to which allusion has already been made. On arriving there she sat down, and when her maid looked upon her countenance she became so much alarmed and distressed that she burst into tears.

"What, my darling mistress, is come over you?" she exclaimed. "You have always spoken to me until this unhappy mornin' Oh, you are fairly in despair now; and indeed is it any wonder? I always thought, and hoped, and prayed that something might turn up to prevent this cursed marriage.

I see, I read, despair in your face."

Lucy raised her large, languid eyes, and looked upon her, but did not speak. She gave a ghastly smile, but that was all.

"Speak to me, dear Miss Gourlay," exclaimed the poor girl, with a flood of tears. "Oh, only speak to me, and let me hear your voice!"

Lucy beckoned her to sit beside her, and said, with difficulty, that she wished to wet her lips. The girl knew by the few words she uttered that her voice was gone; and on looking more closely she saw that her lips were dry and parched. In a few moments she got her a gla.s.s of water, a portion of which Lucy drank.

"Now," said Alice, "that will relieve and refresh you; but oh, for G.o.d's sake, spake to me, and tell me how you feel! Miss Gourlay, darlin', you are in despair!"

Lucy took her maid's hand in hers, and after looking upon her with a smile resembling the first, replied, "No, Alice, I will not despair, but I feel that I will die. No, I will not despair, Alice. Short as the time is, G.o.d may interpose between me and misery--between me and despair.

But if I am married to this man, Alice, my faith in virtue, in a good conscience, in truth, purity, and honor, my faith in Providence itself will be shaken; and then I will despair and die."

"Oh, what do you mean, my darlin' Miss Gourlay?" exclaimed her weeping maid. "Surely you couldn't think of having a hand in your own death? Oh, merciful Father, see what they have brought you to!"

"Alice," said she, "I have spoken wrongly: the moment in which I uttered the last expression was a weak one. No, I will never doubt or distrust Providence; and I may die, Alice, but I will never despair."

"But why talk about death, miss, so much?"

"Because I feel it lurking in my heart. My physical strength will break down under this woful calamity. I am as weak as an infant, and all before me is dark--in this world I mean--but not, thank G.o.d, in the next. Now I cannot speak much more, Alice. Leave me to my silence and to my sorrow."

The affectionate girl, utterly overcome, laid her head upon her bosom and wept, until Lucy was forced to soothe and comfort her as well as she could. They then sat silent for a time, the maid, however, sobbing and sighing bitterly, whilst Lucy only uttered one word in an undertone, and as if altogether to herself, "Misery! misery!"

At this moment her father tapped at the door, and on being admitted, ordered Alice to leave the room; he wished to have some private conversation, he said, with her mistress.

"Don't make it long, if you please, sir," said she, "for my mistress won't be aquil to it. It's more at the point of death than the point of marriage she is."

One stern look from the baronet, however, silenced her in a moment, and after a glance of most affectionate interest at her mistress she left the room.

"Lucy," said her father, after contemplating that aspect of misery which could not be concealed, "I am not at all pleased with this girlish and whining appearance. I have done all that man could do to meet your wishes and to make you happy. I have become reconciled to your aunt for your sake. I have allowed her and Mrs. Norton--Mainwaring I mean--to be present at your wedding, that they might support and give you confidence. You are about to be married to a handsome young fellow, only a little wild, but who will soon make you a countess. Now, in G.o.d's name, what more do you want?"

"I think," she replied, "that I ought not to marry this man. I believe that I stand justified in the sight of G.o.d and man in refusing to seal my own misery. The promise I made you, sir, was given under peculiar circ.u.mstances--under terror of your death. These circ.u.mstances are now removed, and it is cruel to call on me to make a sacrifice that is a thousand times worse than death. No, papa, I will not marry this depraved man--this common seducer. I shall never unite myself to him, let the consequences be what they may. There is a line beyond which parental authority ought not to go--you have crossed it."

"Be it so, madam; I shall see you again in a few minutes," he replied, and immediately left the room, his face almost black with rage and disappointment. Lucy grew alarmed at the terrible abruptness and significance of his manner, and began to tremble, although she knew not why.

"Can I violate my promise," said she to herself, "after having made it so solemnly? And ought I to marry this man in obedience to my father?

Alas! I know not; but may heaven direct me for the best! If I thought it would make papa happy--but his is a restless and ambitious spirit, and how can I be certain of that? May heaven direct me and guide me!"

In a few minutes afterwards her father returned, and taking out of his pockets a pair of pistols, laid them on the table.

"Now, Lucy," said he solemnly, and with a vehemence of manner almost frantic, "we will see if you cannot yet save your father's life, or whether you will prefer to have his blood on your soul."

"For heaven's sake, papa," said his daughter, running to him, and throwing or attempting to throw her arms about him, partly, in the moment of excitement, to embrace, and partly to restrain him.

"Hold off, madam," he replied; "hold off; you have made me desperate--you have driven me mad. Now, mark me. I will not ask you to marry this man; but I swear by all that is sacred, that if you disgrace me--if you insult Lord Dunroe by refusing to be united to him this day--I shall put the contents of one or both of these pistols through my brains; and you may comfort yourself over the corpse of a suicide father, and turn to your brother for protection."

Either alternative was sufficiently dreadful for the poor worn and wearied out girl.

"Oh, papa," she exclaimed, again attempting to throw her arms around him; "put these fearful weapons aside. I will obey you--I will marry him."

"This day?"

"This day, papa, as soon as my aunt and Mrs. Mainwaring come, and I can get myself dressed."

"Do so, then; or, if not I shall not survive your refusal five minutes."

"I will, papa," she replied, laying her head upon his breast and sobbing; "I will marry him; but put those vile and dangerous weapons away, and never talk so again."

At this moment the door opened, and Alice, who had been listening, entered the room in a high and towering pa.s.sion. Her eyes sparkled: her complexion was scarlet with rage; her little hands were most heroically clenched; and, altogether, the very excitement in which she presented herself, joined to a good face and fine figure, made her look exceedingly interesting and handsome.

"How, madam," exclaimed the baronet, "what brings you here? Withdraw instantly!"

"How, yourself, sir," she replied, walking up and looking him fearlessly in the face; "none of your 'how, madams,' to me any more; as there's neither man nor woman to interfere here, I must only do it myself."

"Leave the room, you brazen jade!" shouted the baronet; "leave the room, or it'll be worse for you."

"Deuce a one toe I'll lave it. It wasn't for that I came here, but to tell you that you are a tyrant and a murdherer, a mane old schemer, that would marry your daughter to a common swindler and reprobate, because he's a lord. But here I stand, the woman that will prevent this marriage, if there wasn't another faymale from here to Bally-shanny."

"Alice!" exclaimed Lucy, "for heaven's sake, what do you mean?--what awful language is this? You forget yourself."

"That may be, miss, but, by the life in my body, I won't forget you. A ring won't go on you to that t.i.tled scamp so long as I have a drop of manly blood in my veins--deuce a ring!"

Amazement almost superseded indignation on the part of the baronet, who unconsciously exclaimed, "A ring!"

"No--pursuin' to the ring!" she replied, accompanying the words with what was intended to be a fearful blow of her little clenched hand upon the table.

"Let me go, Lucy," said her father, "till I put the termagant out of the room."

"Yes, let him go, miss," replied Alley; "let us see what he'll do. Here I stand now," she proceeded, approaching him; "and if you offer to lift a hand to me, I'll lave ten of as good marks in your face as ever a woman left since the creation. Come, now--am I afeard of you?" and as she spoke she approached him still more nearly, with both her hands close to his face, her fingers spread out and half-clenched, reminding one of a hawk's talons.

"Alice," said Lucy, "this is shocking; if you love me, leave the room."

"Love you! miss," replied the indignant but faithful girl, bursting into bitter tears; "love you!--merciful heaven, wouldn't I give my life for you?--who that knows you doesn't love you? and it's for that reason that I don't wish to see you murdhered--nor won't. Come, sir, you must let her out of this marriage. It'll be no go, I tell you. I won't suffer it, so long as I've strength and life. I'll dash myself between them. I'll make the ole clergyman skip if he attempts it; ay, and what's more, I'll see Dandy Dulcimer, and we'll collect a faction."

"Do not hold me, Lucy," said her father; "I must certainly put her out of the room."

"Don't, papa," replied Lucy, restraining him from laying hands upon her, "don't, for the sake of honor and manhood. Alice, for heaven's sake!

if you love me, as I said, and I now add, if you respect me, leave the room. You will provoke papa past endurance."

"Not a single toe, miss, till he promises to let you cut o' this match.

Oh, my good man," she said, addressing the struggling baronet, "if you're for fighting, here I am I for you; or wait," she added, whipping up one of the pistols, "Come, now, if you're a man; take your ground there. Now I can meet you on equal terms; get to the corner there, the distance is short enough; but no matther, you're a good mark. Come, now, don't think I'm the bit of goods to be afeard o' you--it's not the first jewel I've seen in my time, and remember that my name is Mahon"--and she posted herself in the corner, as if to take her ground. "Come, now,"

she repeated, "you called me a 'brazen jade' awhile ago, and I demand satisfaction."

"Alice," said Lucy, "you will injure yourself or others, if you do not lay that dangerous weapon down. For G.o.d's sake, Alice, lay it aside--it is loaded."