Luttrell Of Arran Part 50

"It's long enough, anyhow, Peter--one, two, three pages," said he, turning them leisurely over. "Am I to read it all?"

"Every word of it, Tim O'Rorke."

"Here goes, then:

[Ill.u.s.tration: 271]

"'March 27,18--.

Dalradem Castle, N. Wales.

"'My dear old Grandfather,--I sit down to write you a very long letter---'"

"G.o.d bless her! G.o.d bless the darlin'!" said the old man, interrupting; "show me the words, Tim--show them to me."

"Indeed I will not do any such thing. It's just as much as I'll do is to read it out--'a very long letter, and I hope and trust it will serve for a very long time, and save me, besides, from the annoyance of your friend and secretary, Mr. O'Rorke.' Listen to this, Peter Malone,--'from your secretary, Mr. O'Rorke, who, I suppose, having no treason to occupy him, is good enough to bestow his leisure upon me.' Did you ever hear more impudence than that in all your born days? Did you believe she'd be bowld enough to insult the man that condescended to serve her?"

"She's young, she's young, Tim! Would you have her as wise as you and me? The crayture!"

"I'd have her with a civil tongue in her head. I'd have her respect and regard and rev'rahce her superiors--and I'm one of them!"

"Go on; read more," muttered the old man.

"It's not so easy, with a throat on fire, and a tongue swelled with pa.s.sion. I tell you, Peter Malone, I know that girl well, and what's more, she never deceived me! It's like yesterday to me, the day she stood up here to my own face and said, 'I wish I never set foot in your house, Tim O'Rorke.' Yes, there's the very words she used."

"Wasn't she a child, a poor little child?" said Malone, in a humble, almost supplicating voice.

"She was a child in years, but she had the daring of a woman, that no man would ever frighten."

"Read on, avick, read on, and G.o.d bless you," said the other, wiping away the big drops that stood on his brow.

O'Rorke read on: "'I know, grandfather, it is very natural you should like to hear of me----'"

A deep sigh and low muttered prayer broke here from the old man.

"'--to hear of me: but when once a.s.sured that I was well and happy, I hoped and believed you would cease to make such inquiries as fill O'R.'s letters----'"

"What does she mean?" broke in Malone.

"Listen, and maybe you'll hear;" and he read:

"'--for it cannot possibly be a matter of interest to you to hear that I read books you never saw, speak with people you never met, and talk of things, places, and persons that are all just as strange to you as if you were walking on a different earth from this.'"

"Read that again."

"I will not. 'Tis as much as I can to say it once. Listen:

"'You ask, Am I happy? and I answer, If I am not, is it in your power to make me so? You want to know, Do I like the life I lead? and I ask you, If it should be that I did not like it, do you think I'd like to go back to rags, misery, and starvation? Do you believe that I can forget the cold, cutting wind, and the rain, and the snow-drift of Strathmore, or that I don't remember the long days I s.h.i.+vered on the cliffs of Kilmacreenon? They all come back to me, grandfather, in my dreams, and many a morning I awake, sobbing over miseries, that, no matter what may be my fortune, have left a dark spot on my heart for life!'"

"The darlin' jewel! I hope not," muttered Malone, as his lips trembled with emotion. "Read on, O'Rorke."

"'Take it for granted, that you need never fret about me.' That's true, anyhow, Peter; and she means it to say, 'Don't bother yourself about one that will never trouble her head about _you!_'"

"Go on with the readin'," grumbled out Malone.

"'Though I cannot answer one-fourth of your questions, I will tell you so much: I am better off here than at Sir Q. V.'s. I am my own mistress; and, better still, the mistress of all here. Sir Within leaves everything at my orders. I drive out, and dress, and ride, and walk, just as I please. We see no company whatever, but there is so much to do, I am never lonely. I have masters if I wish for them--sometimes I do--and I learn many things, such as riding, driving, &c, which people never do well if they only have picked up by chance opportunity. You ask, What is to be the end of all this? or, as Mr. O'Rorke says, What will ye make of it? I reply, I don't know, and I don't much trouble my head about it; because I _do_ know, Peter Malone, that if I am not interrupted and interfered with, all will go well with me, though certainly I can neither tell how, or where, or why. Another thing is equally clear: neither of us, dear grandfather, can be of much use to the other.'"

"What's that?" cried the old man; "read it again."

"'Neither of us can be of much use to the other.' That's plain talking, anyhow, Peter. She's a young lady that makes herself understood, I must say that!"

"I never 'dragged' on her for a farthin'," said Malone, with a mournful sigh.

"Lucky for you, Peter; lucky for you!"

"Nor I wouldn't, if I was starvin'!" said he, with a fierce energy.

"Lucky for you, I say again!"

"You mane, that she wouldn't help me, Tim O'Rorke. You mane, that she'd turn her back on her ould grandfather. That's as it may be. G.o.d knows best what's in people's hearts! I can't tell, nor you either; but this I can tell, and I can swear to it: That for all the good she could do me--ten, ay, fifty times told--I'd not disgrace her, nor bring her to the shame of saying, 'That ould man there in the ragged frieze coat and the patched shoes, that's my mother's father!'"

"If it's to your humility you're trusting, Peter, my man," said the other, scoffingly, "you've made a great mistake in your granddaughter; but let us finish the reading. Where was it I left off? Yes, here, 'Neither of us of much use to the other. You want to know what intercourse exists between the Vyners and myself----' The Vyners! Ain't we grand!" cried O'Rorke. "The Vyners! I wonder she don't say, 'between the Vyners and the O'Haras!'"

"Go on, will you?" said Malone, impatiently.

"'--It is soon told--there is none; and what's more, Sir Within no longer hears from or writes to them. Although, therefore, my own connexion with this family has ceased, there is no reason why this should influence yours; and I would, above all things, avoid, if I were you, letting _my_ fortunes interfere with _your_ own. You can, and with truth, declare that you had nothing whatever to do with any step I have taken; that I went my own way, and never asked you for the road. My guardian, Sir Within, wrote, it is true, to Mr. Luttrell of Arran, but received no answer. It will be my duty to write to him in a few days, and not improbably with the same result.

"'You seem anxious to know if I have grown tall, and whether I am still like what I was as a child. I believe I may say, Yes, to both questions; but I shall send you, one of these days, a sketch from a picture of me, which the painter will this year exhibit at the Academy. It is called a great likeness. And last of all, you ask after my soul. I am sorry, dear grandfather, that I cannot be as certain of giving you as precise intelligence on this point as I have done on some others. It may satisfy you, however, perhaps, if I say I have not become a Protestant----'"

"G.o.d bless her for that!" said Malone, fervently.

"'--although our excellent housekeeper here, Mrs. Simc.o.x, a.s.sures me that such a change would be greatly to my advantage, in this world and in that to come; but if her knowledge of the former is the measure of what she knows of the latter, I shall require other counsel before I read my recantation.'"

"What does she mean by that?" asked Malone.

"''Tis another way of saying, 'I won't play a card till I see the money down on the table.'"

"How can that be? Which of us knows what's going to happen here or in the next world?"

"Maybe the Protestants does! Perhaps that's the reason they're always so dark and downcast now."

Malone shook his head in despair; the problem was too much for him, and he said, "Read on."

"'That I am not without the consolations of the Church you will be glad to hear, as I tell you that a French priest, the Abbe Gerard, dines here every Sunday, and sings with me in the evening.'"

"Sings with her. What makes them sing?"

"Religion, of coorse," said O'Rorke, with a grin of derision. "Listen to me, Peter Malone," cried he, in a stern voice; "when people is well off in the world, they no more think of going to heaven the way you and I do, than they'd think of travellin' a journey on a low-backed car."