Lord Kilgobbin Part 23

'Well, I am only repeating it now to show you how far I am going to perjure myself.'

'That is, you see, in fact, that Mr. Walpole could never have presumed to give you such instructions--that gentlemen do not send such messages to young ladies--do not presume to say that they dare do so; and last of all, if they ever should chance upon one whose nice tact and cleverness would have fitted him to be the bearer of such a commission, those same qualities of tact and cleverness would have saved him from undertaking it. That is what you see, Mr. Atlee, is it not?'

'You are right. I see it all.' And now he seized her hand and kissed it as though he had won the right to that rapturous enjoyment.

She drew her hand away, but so slowly and so gently as to convey nothing of rebuke or displeasure. 'And so you are going away?' said she softly.

'Yes; Walpole has some pressing reason to be at once in Dublin. He is afraid to make the journey without a doctor; but rather than risk delay in sending for one, he is willing to take _me_ as his body-surgeon, and I have accepted the charge.'

The frankness with which he said this seemed to influence her in his favour, and she said, with a tone of like candour, 'You were right.

His family are people of influence, and will not readily forget such a service.'

Though he winced under the words, and showed that it was not exactly the mode in which he wanted his courtesy to be regarded, she took no account of the pa.s.sing irritation, but went on--

If you fancy you know something about me, Mr. Atlee, _I_ know far more about _you_. Your chum, d.i.c.k Kearney, has been so outspoken as to his friend, that my cousin Kate and I have been accustomed to discuss you like a near acquaintance--what am I saying?--I mean like an old friend.'

'I am very grateful for this interest; but will you kindly say what is the version my friend d.i.c.k has given of me? what are the lights that have fallen upon my humble character?'

[Ill.u.s.tration: 'You are right, I see it all,' and now he seized her hand and kissed it]

'Do you fancy that either of us have time at this moment to open so large a question? Would not the estimate of Mr. Joseph Atlee be another mode of discussing the times we live in, and the young gentlemen, more or less ambitious, who want to influence them? would not the question embrace everything, from the difficulties of Ireland to the puzzling embarra.s.sments of a clever young man who has everything in his favour in life, except the only thing that makes life worth living for?'

'You mean fortune--money?'

'Of course I mean money. What is so powerless as poverty? do I not know it--not of yesterday, or the day before, but for many a long year? What so helpless, what so jarring to temper, so dangerous to all principle, and so subversive of all dignity? I can afford to say these things, and you can afford to hear them, for there is a sort of brotherhood between us. We claim the same land for our origin. Whatever our birthplace, we are both Bohemians!'

She held out her hand as she spoke, and with such an air of cordiality and frankness that Joe caught the spirit of the action at once, and, bending over, pressed his lips to it, as he said, 'I seal the bargain.'

'And swear to it?'

'I swear to it,' cried he.

'There, that is enough. Let us go back, or rather, let me go back alone. I will tell them I have seen you, and heard of your approaching departure.'

CHAPTER XVI

THE TWO 'KEARNEYS'

A visit to his father was not usually one of those things that young Kearney either speculated on with pleasure beforehand, or much enjoyed when it came. Certain measures of decorum, and some still more pressing necessities of economy, required that he should pa.s.s some months of every year at home; but they were always seasons looked forward to with a mild terror, and when the time drew nigh, met with a species of dogged, fierce resolution that certainly did not serve to lighten the burden of the infliction; and though Kate's experience of this temper was not varied by any exceptions, she would still go on looking with pleasure for the time of his visit, and plotting innumerable little schemes for enjoyment while he should remain. The first day or two after his arrival usually went over pleasantly enough. d.i.c.k came back full of his town life, and its amus.e.m.e.nts; and Kate was quite satisfied to accept gaiety at second-hand.

He had so much to tell of b.a.l.l.s, picnics, charming rides in the Phoenix, of garden-parties in the beautiful environs of Dublin, or more pretentious entertainments, which took the shape of excursions to Bray or Killiney, that she came at last to learn all his friends and acquaintances by name, and never confounded the stately beauties that he wors.h.i.+pped afar off with the 'awfully jolly girls' whom he flirted with quite irresponsibly.

She knew, too, all about his male companions, from the flash young fellow-commoner from Downs.h.i.+re, who had a saddle-horse and a mounted groom waiting for him every day after morning lecture, down to that scampish Joe Atlee, with whose sc.r.a.pes and eccentricities he filled many an idle hour.

Independently of her gift as a good listener, Kate would very willingly have heard all d.i.c.k's adventures and descriptions not only twice but tenth-told; just as the child listens with unwearied attention to the fairy-tale whose end he is well aware of, but still likes the little detail falling fresh upon his ear, so would this young girl make him go over some narratives she knew by heart, and would not suffer him to omit the slightest incident or most trifling circ.u.mstance that heightened the history of the story.

As to d.i.c.k, however, the dull monotony of the daily life, the small and vulgar interests of the house or the farm, which formed the only topics, the undergrowl of economy that ran through every conversation, as though penuriousness was the great object of existence--but, perhaps more than all these together, the early hours--so overcame him that he at first became low-spirited, and then sulky, seldom appearing save at meal-times, and certainly contributing little to the pleasure of the meeting; so that at last, though she might not easily have been brought to the confession, Kate Kearney saw the time of d.i.c.k's departure approach without regret, and was actually glad to be relieved from that terror of a rupture between her father and her brother of which not a day pa.s.sed without a menace.

Like all men who aspire to something in Ireland, Kearney desired to see his son a barrister; for great as are the rewards of that high career, they are not the fascinations which appeal most strongly to the squirearchy, who love to think that a country gentleman may know a little law and be never the richer for it--may have acquired a profession, and yet never know what was a client or what a fee.

That Kearney of Kilgobbin Castle should be reduced to tramping his way down the Bachelor's Walk to the Four Courts, with a stuff bag carried behind him, was not to be thought of; but there were so many positions in life, so many situations for which that gifted creature the barrister of six years'

standing was alone eligible, that Kearney was very anxious his son should be qualified to accept that 1000 or 1800 a year which a gentleman could hold without any shadow upon his capacity, or the slightest reflection on his industry.

d.i.c.k Kearney, however, had not only been living a very gay life in town, but, to avail himself of a variety of those flattering attentions which this interested world bestows by preference on men of some pretension, had let it be believed that he was the heir to a very considerable estate, and, by great probability, also to a t.i.tle. To have admitted that he thought it necessary to follow any career at all, would have been to abdicate these pretensions, and so he evaded that question of the law in all discussions with his father, sometimes affecting to say he had not made up his mind, or that he had scruples of conscience about a barrister's calling, or that he doubted whether the Bar of Ireland was not, like most high inst.i.tutions, going to be abolished by Act of Parliament, and all the litigation of the land be done by deputy in Westminster Hall.

On the morning after the visitors took their departure from Kilgobbin, old Kearney, who usually relapsed from any exercise of hospitality into a more than ordinary amount of parsimony, sat thinking over the various economies by which the domestic budget could be squared, and after a very long seance with old Gill, in which the question of raising some rents and diminis.h.i.+ng certain bounties was discussed, he sent up the steward to Mr. Richard's room to say he wanted to speak to him.

d.i.c.k at the time of the message was stretched full length on a sofa, smoking a meerschaum, and speculating how it was that the 'swells' took to Joe Atlee, and what they saw in that confounded sn.o.b, instead of himself.

Having in a degree satisfied himself that Atlee's success was all owing to his intense and outrageous flattery, he was startled from his reverie by the servant's entrance.

'How is he this morning, Tim?' asked he, with a knowing look. 'Is he fierce--is there anything up--have the heifers been pa.s.sing the night in the wheat, or has any one come over from Moate with a bill?'

'No, sir, none of them; but his blood's up about something. Ould Gill is gone down the stair swearing like mad, and Miss Kate is down the road with a face like a turkey-c.o.c.k.'

'I think you'd better say I was out, Tim--that you couldn't find me in my room.'

'I daren't, sir. He saw that little Skye terrier of yours below, and he said to me, "Mr. d.i.c.k is sure to be at home; tell him I want him immediately."'

'But if I had a bad headache, and couldn't leave my bed, wouldn't that be excuse enough?'

'It would make him come here. And if I was you, sir, I'd go where I could get away myself, and not where he could stay as long as he liked.'

'There's something in that. I'll go, Tim. Say I'll be down in a minute.'

Very careful to attire himself in the humblest costume of his wardrobe, and specially mindful that neither studs nor watch-chain should offer offensive matter of comment, he took his way towards the dreary little den, which, filled with old top-boots, driving-whips, garden-implements, and fis.h.i.+ng-tackle, was known as 'the lord's study,' but whose sole literary ornament was a shelf of antiquated almanacs. There was a strange grimness about his father's aspect which struck young Kearney as he crossed the threshold. His face wore the peculiar sardonic expression of one who had not only hit upon an expedient, but achieved a surprise, as he held an open letter in one hand and motioned with the other to a seat.

'I've been waiting till these people were gone, d.i.c.k--till we had a quiet house of it--to say a few words to you. I suppose your friend Atlee is not coming back here?'

'I suppose not, sir.'

'I don't like him, d.i.c.k; and I'm much mistaken if he is a good fellow.'

'I don't think he is actually a bad fellow, sir. He is often terribly hard up and has to do scores of s.h.i.+fty things, but I never found him out in anything dishonourable or false.'

'That's a matter of taste, perhaps. Maybe you and I might differ about what was honourable or what was false. At all events, he was under our roof here, and if those n.o.bs--or swells, I believe you call them--were like to be of use to any of us, we, the people that were entertaining them, were the first to be thought of; but your pleasant friend thought differently, and made such good use of his time that he cut you out altogether, d.i.c.k--he left you nowhere.'

'Really, sir, it never occurred to me till now to take that view of the situation.'

'Well, take that view of it now, and see how you'll like it! _You_ have your way to work in life as well as Mr. Atlee. From all I can judge, you're scarcely as well calculated to do it as he is. You have not his smartness, you have not his brains, and you have not his impudence--and, 'faith, I'm much mistaken but it's the best of the three!'

'I don't perceive, sir, that we are necessarily pitted against each other at all.'

'Don't you? Well, so much the worse for you if you don't see that every fellow that has nothing in the world is the rival of every other fellow that's in the same plight. For every one that swims, ten, at least, sink.'

'Perhaps, sir, to begin, I never fully realised the first condition. I was not exactly aware that I was without anything in the world.'