Luttrell Of Arran Part 95

"Yates says there were no letters or papers to be found when he entered the room----"

"I placed them all in my pocket," interrupted Grenfell. "There were so many people about, and that fellow of young Ladarelle's too, that I thought it best not to leave anything at their mercy."

"It was very kind and very thoughtful. Where are they?"

"Here. I sealed them up in their own envelope."

The old man took the paper with a trembling hand, and placed it under his pillow. He had little doubt but that they had been read--his old experiences in diplomacy gave no credit to any sense of honour on this head--but he said not a word of this.

"Adolphus has married the girl you saw here--my ward, he used to call her," said he, in a low whisper.

"Indeed! Is it a good match? Has she fortune?"

"Not a s.h.i.+lling. Neither fortune nor family."

"Then you are not pleased with the connexion?"

Sir Within drew a long sigh, and said: "It is no affair of mine. His father will, perhaps, not like it."

"How did it come about? Where did it take place?"

"Nothing--nothing but misery before her!" muttered the old man, unheeding his question.

"Do you think he will treat her ill?"

"A life of sorrow--of sorrow and shame!" murmured he, still lower. "Poor girl!--poor unhappy girl!"

Grenfell was silent, and the other, after a pause, went on:

"His father is sure to be displeased; he is a violent man, too, and one can't say to what lengths temper may carry him. And all this will fall upon _her!_"

"Do you think so?"

"I know him well!" He mused for several minutes, and then said to himself: "I could not--I could not--not for worlds!" And then aloud: "But I could leave this--leave the Castle, and let them come here. How she loved it once! Oh, if you knew how happy she was here!" He covered his face with his hands, and lay thus a considerable time.

"And do you mean to invite them here?" asked Grenfell at last.

"You can write it for me," said he, still pursuing his own train of thought. "You can tell him that, not being well--having some difficulty in holding a pen--I have begged of you to say that the Castle is at their disposal--that I mean to leave this--where shall I say for?--to leave this for the south of France, or Italy."

"Are you equal to such a journey? Have you strength for it?"

"Far more than to stay here and meet her--_them_--meet _them_," added he, almost peevishly. "I have not health nor spirits for seeing company, and of course people will call, and there will be dinners and receptions--all things I am unfit for. Say this for me, dear Mr.

Grenfell, and tell Yates that I mean to go up to town to-morrow."

Grenfell shook his head to imply dissent, but the other resumed:

"If you knew me better, Sir, you would know that my energy never failed me when I called upon it. I have been tried pretty sorely once or twice in life, and yet no disaster has found me faint-hearted!" As he spoke, a gleam of pride lighted up his features, and he looked all that he thought himself. "Will you take this key of the gem-room," said he, after a pause; "and in the second drawer of the large ebony cabinet you will find a green morocco-case; it has my mother's name on it, Olivia Trevor. Do me the favour to bring it to me. This was a wedding present some eighty years ago, Mr. Grenfell," said he, as he unclasped the casket that the other placed in his hands. "It was the fas.h.i.+on of those days to set gems on either side, and here you have emeralds, and here are opals. Ladies were wont to turn their necklaces in the course of an entertainment; they are content with less costly changes now: they merely change their affections." He tried to smile, but his lips trembled, and his voice all but failed him.

"It is very magnificent!" exclaimed Grenfell, who was truly surprised at the splendour of the jewels.

"The Margravine of Anhalt's present to my mother, Sir!" As the glow of pride the recollection imparted to his face faded away, a sickly pallor succeeded, and, in a tone of broken and difficult utterance, he said: "Be kind enough to place this in an envelope, seal it with my arms, and address it, 'Mrs. A. Ladarelle, de la part de W. W.' That will be quite sufficient."

"They are splendid stones!" said Grenfell, who seemed never to weary of his admiration.

"They will become her, Sir, and _she_ will become _them!_" said the old man, with an immense effort to seem calm and collected. "I believe,"

said he at last, with a faint smile, "I am overtaxing this poor strength of mine. Price warned me to be careful. Will you forgive me if I ask you to leave me to my own sorry company? You'll come back in the evening, won't you? Thanks--my best thanks!" And he smiled his most gracious smile, and made a little familiar gesture with his hand; and then as the door closed, and he felt that none saw him, he turned his face to the pillow and sobbed--sobbed convulsively.

Although Grenfell had acceded to Sir Within's request to write the invitation to Ladarelle, he secretly determined that he would not commit himself to the step without previously ascertaining if the marriage had really taken place, because, as he said to himself, this young fellow must never get it into his head that he has deceived such a man as me.

He therefore wrote a short, half jocular note, addressed to Ladarelle at his club in town, saying that he had read his letter to Sir Within, and was not one-half so much overcome by the tidings as his respected relative. "'In fact,' said he, 'I have arrived at that time of life in which men believe very little of what they hear, and attach even less of importance to that little. At all events, Sir Within will not remain here; he means to go abroad at once, and Dalradern will soon be at your disposal, either to pa.s.s your honeymoon, or rejoice over your bachelor freedom in, and I offer myself as your guest under either casualty.' The answer will show me," muttered he, "what are to be our future relations towards each other. And now for a good sleep, as befits a man with an easy conscience."

CHAPTER LVII. THE HOME OF SORROW

It was six weeks after the events in which we last saw Kate Luttrell that she was sufficiently able to rise from her sick-bed, and sit at the little window of her room. She was wan, and worn, and wasted, her eyes deep sunken, and her cheeks hollow. Beautiful was she still in all the delicate outline of her features, the finely-rounded nostril and gracefully-turned chin almost gaining by the absence of the brilliant colouring which had at one time, in a measure, absorbed all the admiration of her loveliness. Her long luxuriant hair--spared by a sort of pity by her doctor, who, in his despair of rescuing her from her fever, yielded to her raving entreaties not to cut it off--this now fell in wavy ma.s.ses over her neck and shoulders, and in its golden richness rendering her pale face the semblance of marble. Each day had the doctor revealed to her some detail of what had happened during her illness: How she had been "given over," and received the last rites of the Church; how, after this, one who called himself her brother had arrived, and insisted on seeing her; how he came with the man named O'Rorke and the priest O'Rafferty, and remained a few seconds in her room, and left, never to return again; indeed, all three of them had left the town within an hour after their visit.

She heard all this in mute amazement, nor even was she certain that her faculties yet served her aright, so strange and incomprehensible was it all. Yet she rarely asked a question, or demanded any explanation, hearing all in silence, as though hoping that with time and patience her powers of mind would enable her to surmount the difficulties that now confronted and defied her.

For days and days did she labour to remember what great event it was had first led her to this town of Lifford, the very name of which was strange to her. The same dislike to ask a question pursued her here, and she pondered and pondered over the knotty point, till at last, of a sudden, just as though the light broke instantaneously upon her, she cried out:

"I remember it all! I know it now! Has the trial come off? What tidings of my grandfather?" The poor woman to whom this was addressed imagined it was a return of her raving, and quietly brought the doctor to her side. "Are the a.s.sizes oyer?" whispered Kate in his ear.

"More than a month ago."

"There was an old man--Malone. Is he tried?"

"The murder case?

"I was at it."

"And the verdict?"

"The verdict was guilty, with a recommendation to mercy for his great age, and the want of premeditation in the crime."

"Well, go on."

"The Judge concurred, and he will not be executed."

"He will be banished, however--banished for life," said she, in a low, faltering voice.

"To believe himself he asks no better, he made a speech of nigh an hour in his defence, and if it had not been that at the last he attempted a sort of justification of what he had done, the Judge would not, in all probability, have charged against him; but the old fellow insisted so strongly on the point that a poor man must always look to himself and not to the law for justice, that he destroyed his case."

"And was there not one to advise him?"

"Apparently not; and when the Chief Baron named a lawyer to defend him, the old fellow refused the aid, and said, 'The work that's done for nothing is worth nothing. I'll just speak for myself.'"

"And this other man--O'Rorke, I mean--where was he?--what did he do?"