Lord Kilgobbin Part 7

'And there are young ladies there?' asked Lockwood.

'Two born beauties; it's hard to say which is handsomest,' replied the host, overjoyed at the attraction his neighbourhood possessed.

'I suppose that will do?' said Walpole, showing what he had written on his card.

'Yes, perfectly.'

'Despatch this at once. I mean early to-morrow; and let your messenger ask if there be an answer. How far is it off?'

'A little over twelve miles, sir; but I've a mare in the stable will "rowle" ye over in an hour and a quarter.'

'All right. We'll settle on everything after breakfast to-morrow.' And the landlord withdrew, leaving them once more alone.

'This means,' said Lockwood drearily, 'we shall have to pa.s.s a day in this wretched place.'

'It will take a day to dry our wet clothes; and, all things considered, one might be worse off than here. Besides, I shall want to look over my notes.

I have done next to nothing, up to this time, about the Land Question.'

'I thought that the old fellow with the cow, the fellow I gave a cigar to, had made you up in your tenant-right affair,' said Lockwood.

'He gave me a great deal of very valuable information; he exposed some of the evils of tenancy at will as ably as I ever heard them treated, but he was occasionally hard on the landlord.'

'I suppose one word of truth never came out of his mouth!'

'On the contrary, real knowledge of Ireland is not to be acquired from newspapers; a man must see Ireland for himself--_see_ it,' repeated he, with strong emphasis.

'And then?'

'And then, if he be a capable man, a reflecting man, a man in whom the perceptive power is joined to the social faculty--'

'Look here, Cecil, one hearer won't make a House: don't try it on speechifying to me. It's all humbug coming over to look at Ireland. You may pick up a little brogue, but it's all you'll pick up for your journey.'

After this, for him, unusually long speech, he finished his gla.s.s, lighted his bedroom candle, and nodding a good-night, strolled away.

'I'd give a crown to know where I heard of you before!' said Walpole, as he stared up at the portrait.

CHAPTER VII

THE COUSINS

'Only think of it!' cried Kate to her cousin, as she received Walpole's note. 'Can you fancy, Nina, any one having the curiosity to imagine this old house worth a visit? Here is a polite request from two tourists to be allowed to see the--what is it?--the interesting interior of Kilgobbin Castle!'

'Which I hope and trust you will refuse. The people who are so eager for these things are invariably tiresome old bores, grubbing for antiquities, or intently bent on adding a chapter to their story of travel. You'll say No, dearest, won't you?'

'Certainly, if you wish it. I am not acquainted with Captain Lockwood, nor his friend Mr. Cecil Walpole.'

'Did you say Cecil Walpole?' cried the other, almost s.n.a.t.c.hing the card from her fingers. 'Of all the strange chances in life, this is the very strangest! What could have brought Cecil Walpole here?'

'You know him, then?'

'I should think I do! What duets have we not sung together? What waltzes have we not had? What rides over the Campagna? Oh dear! how I should like to talk over these old times again! Pray tell him he may come, Kate, or let me do it.'

'And papa away!'

'It is the castle, dearest, he wants to see, not papa! You don't know what manner of creature this is! He is one of your refined and supremely cultivated English--mad about archaeology and mediaeval trumpery. He'll know all your ancestors intended by every insane piece of architecture, and every puzzling detail of this old house; and he'll light up every corner of it with some gleam of bright tradition.'

'I thought these sort of people were bores, dear?' said Kate, with a sly malice in her look.

'Of course not. When they are well-bred and well-mannered---'

'And perhaps well-looking?' chimed in Kate.

'Yes, and so he is--a little of the _pet.i.t-maitre_, perhaps. He's much of that school which fiction-writers describe as having "finely-pencilled eyebrows, and chins of almost womanlike roundness"; but people in Rome always called him handsome, that is if he be my Cecil Walpole.'

'Well, then, will you tell YOUR Cecil Walpole, in such polite terms as you know how to coin, that there is really nothing of the very slightest pretension to interest in this old place; that we should be ashamed at having lent ourselves to the delusion that might have led him here; and lastly, that the owner is from home?'

'What! and is this the Irish hospitality I have heard so much of--the cordial welcome the stranger may reckon on as a certainty, and make all his plans with the full confidence of meeting?'

'There is such a thing as discretion, also, to be remembered, Nina,' said Kate gravely.

'And then there's the room where the king slept, and the chair that--no, not Oliver Cromwell, but somebody else sat in at supper, and there's the great patch painted on the floor where your ancestor knelt to be knighted.'

'He was created a viscount, not a knight!' said Kate, blus.h.i.+ng. 'And there is a difference, I a.s.sure you.'

'So there is, dearest, and even my foreign ignorance should know that much, and you have the parchment that attests it--a most curious doc.u.ment, that Walpole would be delighted to see. I almost fancy him examining the curious old seal with his microscope, and hear him unfolding all sorts of details one never so much as suspected.'

'Papa might not like it,' said Kate, bridling up. 'Even were he at home, I am far from certain he would receive these gentlemen. It is little more than a year ago there came here a certain book-writing tourist, and presented himself without introduction. We received him hospitably, and he stayed part of a week here. He was fond of antiquarianism, but more eager still about the condition of the people--what kind of husbandry they practised, what wages they had, and what food. Papa took him over the whole estate, and answered all his questions freely and openly. And this man made a chapter of his book upon us, and headed it, "Rack-renting and riotous living," distorting all he heard and sneering at all he saw.'

'These are gentlemen, dearest Kate,' said Nina, holding out the card. 'Come now, do tell me that I may say you will be happy to see them?'

'If you must have it so--if you really insist--'

'I do! I do!' cried she, half wildly. 'I should go distracted if you denied me. O Kate! I must own it. It will out. I do cling devotedly, terribly, to that old life of the past. I am very happy here, and you are all good, and kind, and loving to me; but that wayward, haphazard existence, with all its trials and miseries, had got little glimpses of such bliss at times that rose to actual ecstasy.'

'I was afraid of this,' said Kate, in a low but firm voice. 'I thought what a change it would be for you from that life of brightness and festivity to this existence of dull and unbroken dreariness.'

'No, no, no! Don't say that! Do not fancy that I am not happier than I ever was or ever believed I could be. It was the castle-building of that time that I was regretting. I imagined so many things, I invented such situations, such incidents, which, with this sad-coloured landscape here and that leaden sky, I have no force to conjure up. It is as though the atmosphere is too weighty for fancy to mount in it. You, my dearest Kate,'

said she, drawing her arm round her, and pressing her towards her, 'do not know these things, nor need ever know them. Your life is a.s.sured and safe.

You cannot, indeed, be secure from the pa.s.sing accidents of life, but they will meet you in a spirit able to confront them. As for me, I was always gambling for existence, and gambling without means to pay my losses if Fortune should turn against me. Do you understand me, child?'

'Only in part, if even that,' said she slowly.

'Let us keep this theme, then, for another time. Now for _ces messieurs_. I am to invite them?'

'If there was time to ask Miss O'Shea to come over--'