Luttrell Of Arran Part 92

"And if he should ask why I am here," added she, in a whisper, "make out some sort of excuse, but don't mention my grandfather; these fas.h.i.+onable physicians are such sn.o.bs, they cannot abide visiting any but great folk. Isn't it true?"

"Yes, dear, it is true," said he, still humouring her.

"The fact is," said she, in a low, confiding voice, "I may confess it to you, but the fact is, I don't well know why I am here myself! I suppose Sir Within knows--perhaps my uncle may." And in her vague, meaningless look might now be seen how purposeless and unguided were all her speculations. "There, go now, and send my maid to me. Tell Coles, as you pa.s.s down, he may put up the horses. I'll not ride this evening. Do you know, I feel--it is a silly fancy, I suppose--but I feel ill; not actually ill so much as odd."

He cast one glance, not without compa.s.sion, on her, and went out.

"There's a young woman above stairs mighty like 'in' for a fever," said he to the hostess. "Get a doctor to see her as soon as you can, and I'll be back soon to hear what he says."

While the woman of the house, with all that kindliness which attaches to her cla.s.s and nation, busied herself in cares for Kate, O'Rorke hastily made his way back to the inn.

"What is it? What called you away?" asked Ladarelle, as he entered the room.

"She's out of her mind! that's what it is," said O'Rorke, as he sat down, doggedly, and filled out a b.u.mper of sherry to rally his courage.

"What with anxiety, and fatigue, and fretting, she couldn't bear up any more, and there she is, struck down by fever and raving!"

"Poor thing!" said Ladarelle; but there was no pity in the tone, not a shade of feeling in his countenance; he said the words merely that he might say something.

"Yes, indeed! Ye may well say 'Poor thing!'" chimed in O'Rorke; "it wouldn't be easy to find a poorer!"

"Do you suspect the thing is serious?" said Ladarelle, with a deep interest in his manner. "Do you think her life's in danger?"

"I do."

"Do you really?" And now, through the anxiety in which he spoke, there pierced a trait of a most triumphant satisfaction; so palpable was it, that O'Rorke laid down the gla.s.s he had half raised to his lips, and stared at the speaker. "Don't mistake--don't misunderstand me!" blurted out Ladarelle, in confusion. "I wish the poor girl no ill. Why should I?"

"At any rate, you think it would be a good thing for _you!_" said O'Rorke, sternly.

"Well, I must own I don't think it would be a bad one; that is, I mean it would relieve me of a deal of anxiety, and save me no end of trouble."

"Just so!" said O'Rorke, who, leaning his head on his hand, addressed his thoughts to the very serious question of how all these things would affect himself. Nor did it take him long to see that from the hour Ladarelle ceased to need him, all their ties were broken, and that the fas.h.i.+onable young gentleman who now sat at table with him in all familiarity would not deem him fit company for his valet."

"This is the fifth time, Master O'Rorke, you have repeated the words, 'Just so!' Will you tell me what they refer to? What is it that is 'just so?'"

"I was thinking of something!" said O'Rorke.

"And what was it? Let us have the benefit of your profound reflections."

"Well, then, my profound reflections was telling me that if this girl was to die, your honour wouldn't be very long about cutting my acquaintance, and that, maybe, this is the last time I'd have the pleasure of saying, 'Will you pa.s.s me the wine?'"

"What are you drinking? This is Madeira," said Ladarelle, as he pushed the decanter towards him, and affecting to mistake his meaning.

"No, Sir; I'm drinking port wine," was the curt reply, for he saw the evasion, and resented it.

"As to that other matter--I mean as to 'cutting you,' O'Rorke--I don't see it--don't see it at all!"

"How do you mean, 'you don't see it?'"

"I mean it is not necessary."

"Isn't it likely?"

"No; certainly not."

"Isn't it possible, then?"

"Everything is possible in this world of debts and difficulties, but no gentleman ever thinks of throwing off the man that has stood to him in his hour of need. Is that enough?"

O'Rorke made no answer, and in the att.i.tude of deep thought he a.s.sumed, and in his intense look of reflection, it was pretty plain that he did not deem the explanation all-sufficient. "Here's how it is, Sir!" burst he out, suddenly. "If this girl dies, you won't want me; and if you won't _want_ me, it's very unlikely the pleasure of my society will make you come after me; so that I'd like to understand how it's to be between us."

"I must say, my worthy friend, everything I have seen of you goes very far to refute the popular notion abroad about Irish improvidence; for, a man so careful of himself under every contingency--one who looked to his own interests in all aspects and with all casualties--I never met before."

"Well, Sir, you meet him now. He is here before you; and what do you say to him?" said O'Rorke, with a cool audacity that was actually startling.

It was very probably fortunate for both of them, so far as their present good relations were concerned, that an interruption took place to their colloquy in the shape of a sharp knock at the door. It was a person wanted to see Mr. O'Rorke.

"Mr. O'Rorke's in request to-night," said Ladarelle, mockingly, as the other left the room.

"Are you the friend of that young lady, Sir, that's down at M'Cafferty's?"

"Yes, I'm her friend," was the dry answer.

"Then I've come to tell you she's going fast into a fever--a brain fever, too."

"That's bad" muttered O'Rorke below his breath.

"One ought to know something about her--whence she came, and how she came. There are symptoms that ought to be traced to their causes, for she raves away about people and things the most opposite and unlike----"

"Are you able to cure her? that's the question," said O'Rorke.

"No doctor could ever promise that much yet."

"I thought as much," said O'Rorke, with an insolent toss of his head.

"I am willing to do my best," said the doctor, not noticing the offensive gesture; "and if you want other advice, there's Doctor Rogan of Westport can be had easy enough."

"Send for him, then, and hold a consultation; her life is of consequence, mind that!"

"I may as well tell you that Doctor Rogan will require to know what may lead him to a history of her case, and he won't treat her if there's to be any mystery about it."

O'Rorke's eyes flashed, as if an insolent answer was on his lips, and then, as quickly controlling himself, said, "Go and have your consultation, and then come back here to me; but mind you ask for me--Mr. O'Rorke--and don't speak to any one else than myself."

The doctor took his leave, and O'Rorke, instead of returning to the room, slowly descended the stairs and strolled out into the street.

It was night; there were few about; and he had ample opportunity for a quiet commune with himself, and that species of "audit" in which a man strikes the balance of all that may be _pro_ or _contra_ in any line of action. He knew well he was on dangerous ground with Ladarelle. It needed not an intelligence sharp as his own to show that a deep mistrust existed between them, and that each only waited for an opportunity to shake himself free of the other. "If I was to go over to the old man and tell him the whole plot, I wonder how it would be?" muttered he to himself. "I wonder would he trust me? and, if he was to trust me, how would he pay me? that's the question--how would he pay me?" The quiet tread of feet behind him made him turn at this moment. It was the waiter of the inn coming to tell him that the post had just brought two letters to the gentleman he had dined with, and he wished to see him at once.

"Shut he door--turn the key in it," said Ladarelle, as O'Rorke entered.

"Here's something has just come by the mail. I knew you'd blunder about those letters," added he, angrily; "one has reached Luttrell already, and, for aught I know, another may have come to hand since this was written. There, there, what's the use of your excuses. You promised me the thing should be done, and it was not done. It does not signify a bra.s.s farthing to me to know why. You're very vain of your Irish craft and readiness, and yet I tell you, if I had entrusted this to my fellow Fisk, c.o.c.kney as he is, I'd not have been disappointed."