Luttrell Of Arran Part 22

"You'll gain very little by insolence, old man! With my family you have nothing to do; they were in no wise connected with yours."

"Be gorra! I knew it," cried the peasant, slapping his thigh with his hand. "I'd have taken my oath of it. I was as sure of it as I was of my skin that you were not a born gentleman. You may be as rich as you please, and have houses, and lands, and cows, and hones, but there's not a dhrop of the real blood in your body! I said it the first minute I looked at you, and I say it again."

Pale and quivering with anger, Grenfell could not utter a word. The savage violence of the peasant came on him so much by surprise, that he was actually overwhelmed by it; and though he darted on the old fellow a look of fury, he turned away without speaking, and entered the house.

Vyner had just received tidings that Mr. M'Kinlay had arrived at Westport to await his instructions, and he was writing a honied line to despatch by the messenger, to say, that he would return there on the morrow, when Grenfell entered, and threw himself into a chair.

"I have met with ruffianism in most shapes, Vyner," cried he, "but so insolent a scoundrel as that yonder never came across me before."

"Insolent! Is it possible? What pretext could he have for insolence?"

"I know well, with your infatuation for these people, what a hopeless task it would be to persuade you that they were not miracles of good manners, as well as of loyalty and good conduct. I am quite prepared to hear that I mistook, or misunderstood--that, in short, what I fancied was insult was Irish _navete._"

"But tell me what pa.s.sed between you; what he said."

"I will not."

"Will you not let me judge of what you accuse him?"

"I will not; nay, more, I make it a charge upon you, as you desire our friends.h.i.+p to continue, that not only you never interrogate me on this matter, but that you neither question nor permit that man to be questioned upon it. Such a fellow should have as small a place in one's memory as in one's esteem, and I'd rather forget him."

"Tell me, at least, what have you done in the negotiation?"

"Nothing. He opines that you have given him a pledge, to which as a gentleman you are bound, and as he sees neither peril nor inconvenience to result from converting a peasant child into a mock young lady, I suppose you have no choice, but must carry out your fine project with all the success it deserves."

"I wish you would let me know what pa.s.sed between you. If there was any intentional offence I'd certainly not overlook it."

"I'll tell you nothing."

"Shall he ask your pardon?"

"'He may; but he shall never have it."

"You are provoking, George, I must say. You are not just to either of us; for certainly if I were convinced that you were aggrieved to the extent you suppose----"

"I tell you once again, and for the last time, I will not discuss it; and as you have promised me not to open the matter with this fellow, it may be forgotten at once."

"You really wish this?"

"I insist upon it."

"That is sufficient." Vyner took out his pocket-book, and walked to the door. "Malone," cried he; and the old man came forward bareheaded and respectful, without a shade of pa.s.sion on his face. "Malone, I am not so fully a.s.sured as I felt last night when I first proposed it, that my plan for your grandchild would be a wise one; at least, reflection has shown me some difficulties about it----"

"Just tell me, Sir, do you want to draw back?" said the old man, resolutely, but respectfully.

"It would be better that you heard me out," said Vyner, severely. "I am willing to do all that I offered----"

"That will do, Sir. I never doubted the word of a real gentleman."

"I was going to say, that if, instead of taking your child from you, you preferred that I should settle a certain sum of money on her, to be her marriage portion----"

"No, Sir; no, Sir. What you offered or nothing. Make her a lady, as you said you would, or leave her where she is."

"I think, my good man, you suffer your hot blood to get the better of your judgment occasionally, and it would be as well if you would give yourself some more time for reflection."

"My blood is just as G.o.d gave it to me, neither hotter nor colder; and what I say now, I'd say to-morrow. Keep your word, or break it, whichever you plaze!"

"I can very well understand how my friend----" Vyner stopped himself in time, and, after a second's pause, proceeded: "You hold me, then, to my bargain?"

"How can I hould you? You may hould yourself, but _I_ can't hould you!"

Vyner's cheek flushed, partly with anger, partly with shame, and he said: "With this you will buy what clothes your grandchild will require at present. Do not spend more of it than you like, for these things shall be looked to by others; and this will pay the cost of your journey. I have written down the way you are to go, and also the name and place of my house. My present intention is to be at home within a fortnight; but if you arrive before that, you will be equally welcome."

"Very well, Sir," said the old man, as he deposited the bank-notes in a leather purse. "I may go now?"

"Yes, you may go. Remember, however, Malone, that if between this and next Thursday week, you are inclined to think that my last offer is a better one----"

"No fear of that, your honour!" broke in the old man, with a laugh. "I'm a poor man and an ignorant man, but I know what's best for the stock I come from. It isn't money we want. It's the place where we can make money, and more than money;" and with a jerk of his frieze coat over his shoulder, the old fellow strode away down the valley.

CHAPTER XV. Mr. M'KINLAY'S MISSION

When Mr. M'Kinlay set out from the cottage in Wales, it was in no especial good humour towards Miss Courtenay. She had what is vulgarly called "snubbed him" and this is a process uncommonly painful to a well-to-do middle-aged gentleman, accustomed to a great deal of daily respect, and not a little looked up to in his peculiar sphere.

All night long, as he travelled, he pondered over these things, his irritation growing ever deeper. He recalled every word she had said, and in his anger even imitated to himself the careless impertinence of her tone as she said, "And are _you_ going yachting?" just as if such, a thought was too absurd to be entertained. "And why not, I'd like to know? Is there anything in my status or position that would make a pleasure excursion ridiculous in a man like me? I could afford it. I hope she doesn't imply I'm too old for it. Age is an ugly subject; she'd better not cross-examine her witnesses there. And my red tapery! What a blessing it was that there were creatures to docket, and tie up, and register, and save superior souls the trouble of remembering anything!

And then her last impertinence, when, after a sneer at Irish property, she said she wished I had one! I'm much mistaken, Madam," cried he, half aloud, "if a little of that same secluded savagery that Ireland affords wouldn't do you a world of good--if a couple of years of country life, with a bog landscape and a rainy sky, wouldn't prove an admirable alterative to you! No fine acquaintances, none of those pleasant idlers, who like to run down for a week to the country, and bring all the gossip of town along with them, will follow you to Ireland. No fealty, no affection will cross the Channel and traverse that dreary waste of mora.s.s, dotted with mud-hovels, they call in irony the Green Isle. If anything could bring you to your senses, Madam, it would be a residence here."

Such were Mr. M'Kinlay's thoughts as the mail lumbered heavily along through the deeply-rutted roads, and the rain swooped down in torrents.

"I should like to see her yonder," mattered he, as they pa.s.sed a dreary two-storied house that stood alone on the bleak moor they call the Curragh. "That's the reformatory I should like to try you with!"

With such benevolent intentions as these did he arrive at Carrick's Royal Hotel, in Westport, just as Vyner and Grenfell had reached the same spot.

"You've had an uncomfortable journey of it, I fear, Mr. M'Kinlay," said Vyner, as he shook him cordially by the hand. "Nothing but wind and rain for the last three days. Come in to my room here, I want to speak to you before you meet any one. I don't think you know Grenfell," said he, when they were alone, "and I should like to prepare you a little for a man who, with unquestionable abilities, has a number of oddities about him, and has a most intense pleasure in contradiction. This has been especially called out by a project of mine, which, perhaps, you will not fully approve, but, at all events, will accept as a pardonable caprice."

With this prelude he related his plan about the little girl whom he destined to make a companion for Ada. He told how he had been struck by her wonderful beauty, but far more by the signs of remarkable intelligence she displayed, and the traits of decision and firmness so rare in a creature of her age. He urged the advantage it would be to Ada, whose fault was an excess of timidity, to see one of her own age so bold and fearless. "That intrepid spirit, trained to independence, will certainly impart some of its nature to my timid and gentle girl," said he, "and the companions.h.i.+p will as certainly dispel the tendency to depression which is the besetting sin of my dear child."

"Do you mean to adopt her?" asked the lawyer.

"No, not adopt her. I mean to educate her, and bring her up with Ada, portion her when she is married, or make some provision for her if she lives single."

"That is to say, you want some eight or ten years of her life, and are not overburdened with anxiety as to what comes of her after."

"Grenfell himself couldn't have judged me more unfairly, M'Kinlay. I want to deal honourably and liberally by her, and I want you to counsel me how to do so."

"Make a settlement on her, fix upon a sum, appoint trustees, and arrange that on her coming to a certain age she shall be declared in the enjoyment of it."