Sir Jasper Carew Part 31

"And now, sir, you would go back of it,--you had some reservation, some qualifying something or other, I'll be bound; but I tell you, Mr. Anthony f.a.gan, that though these habits may suit an apple-stall in Mary's Abbey, they are unbecoming when used in the presence of men of rank and fortune. I believe that is plain speaking, sir; I trust there may be no misconception of my meaning, at least!"

f.a.gan was not, either by nature or by disposition, disposed to submit tamely to insult; but whether it was from some strong reason of policy, or that he held Curtis as one not fully responsible for his words, he certainly took no steps to resent his language, but rather seemed eager to a.s.suage the violence of the old man's temper.

"It's all very well, sir," said Curtis, after listening with considerable show of impatience to these excuses; "it's all very well to say you regret this, and deplore that. But let me tell you there are other duties of your station beside apologies. You should take measures that when persons of my rank and station accept the shelter of your roof, they are not broken in upon by rascally foreigners, vile adventurers, and swindlers! You may be as angry as you please, sir, but I will repeat every word I have said. Yes, Mr. f.a.gan; I talk from book, sir,--I speak with knowledge; for when you were serving out crab-apples, in a check-ap.r.o.n, at your father's stall, I was travelling on the Continent as a young gentleman of fortune!"

"Until you tell me how you have been insulted, and by whom," said f.a.gan, with some warmth, "I must hope that there is some easily explained mistake."

"Egad! this is better and better," exclaimed Curtis. "No, sir, you mistake me much; you entirely misunderstand me. I should most implicitly accept your judgment as to a bruised peach or a blighted pear; but upon a question of injured honor or of outraged feeling, I should scarcely defer to you so humbly!" and as he said these words, with an air of most exaggerated self-importance, he put on his hat and left the room, without once noticing the respectful salutation of the Grinder.

When f.a.gan entered his daughter's room, he was surprised at the presence of the stranger, whom she presented to him as the Count de Gabriac, and who had so far profited by the opportunity as to have already made a most favorable impression upon the fair Polly.

Polly rapidly told her father that the stranger, while awaiting his return, had been accidentally exposed to the most outrageous treatment from Curtis, to shelter him from a continuance of which she had offered him the hospitality of her own apartment.

"He came in," resumed she, "to learn some tidings of his cousin's affairs; for it appears that law proceedings of the most rigorous kind are in operation, and the poor widow will be obliged to leave Castle Carew."

Polly spoke with true feelings of regret, for she really now learned for the first time that my mother's position was involved in any difficulty, though from what precise cause she was still in ignorance.

"Leave me to speak with the Count alone, Polly; I can probably afford him the information he seeks."

The interview was not of long duration; but f.a.gan acquitted himself with a degree of tact and delicacy that scarcely seemed native to him. It is difficult to guess at his real motives in the matter. Perhaps he entertained some secret doubts that my mother's marriage might one day or other admit of proof; perhaps he felt some touch of grat.i.tude for the treatment his daughter had experienced when a guest at Castle Carew.

Indeed, he spoke of this to the Count with pride and satisfaction.

Whatever the reasons, he used the greatest and most delicate reserve in alluding to my mother's situation, and told De Gabriac that the proceedings, however rigorous they might appear, were common in such cases, and that when my mother had sufficiently recovered herself to give detailed information as to the circ.u.mstances of her marriage, there would be ample time and opportunity to profit by the knowledge. He went even further, and suggested that for the present he wished to place his little cottage at the Killeries at her disposal, until such time as she could fix upon a residence more to her taste. In fact, both his explanations and his offers were made so gracefully and so kindly that De Gabriac a.s.sented at once, and promised to come to dinner on the following day to complete all the arrangements.

When MacNaghten came to hear of the plan, he was overjoyed, not only because it offered a home to my mother in her houseless dest.i.tution, but as evidencing a kind spirit on f.a.gan's part, from which he augured most favorably. In fact, the arrangement, while relieving them from all present embarra.s.sment, suggested also future hope; and it was now determined that while De Gabriac was to accompany my mother to the far west, Dan himself was to set out for France, with a variety of letters which might aid him in tracing out the story of my father's marriage.

It was at an humble little hotel in Stafford Street, a quaint old house called "The Hart," that they pa.s.sed the last evening together before separating. Polly f.a.gan came over to drink tea with my mother, and they chatted away in sombre mood till past midnight. MacNaghten was to sail with an early tide, and they agreed to sit up till it should be his time to depart. Often and often have I heard Dan speak of that evening. Every incident of it made an impression upon his memory quite disproportioned to their non-importance, and he has taken pains even to show me where each of them sat. The corner where my mother's chair stood is now before me, and I fancy I can bring up her pale young widow's face, tear-furrowed and sad, trying to look interested where, with all her efforts, her wandering thoughts were ever turning to the past, and where by no exertion could she keep pace with those who "sorrowed not as she sorrowed."

"We did not dare to talk to her of the future," said poor MacNaghten,--"her grief was too holy a thing to be disturbed by such thoughts; but amongst ourselves we spoke whisperingly of when we were all to meet again, and she seemed to listen to us with interest. It was strange enough," remarked he, "how sorrow had blended all our natures,--differing and discordant as Heaven knows they were--into some resemblance of a family. I felt towards Polly as though she had been my sister, and totally forgot that Gabriac belonged to another land and another people: so humanizing is the touch of affliction!"

It struck three; and at four o'clock Dan was to sail. As he stood up, he caught sight of my mother, and saw that her eyes were full of tears. She made a signal to him to approach, and then said, in a fervent whisper,--

"Come and see him before you go;" and led the way to the adjoining room, where her baby lay asleep. "I know," said she, in broken accents, "that you will be a friend to him always; but if aught were to befall you--"

MacNaghten cast his eyes heavenward, but made no answer.

"Yes," cried she, "I have that hope;" and, so saying, she knelt down beside the little cot to pray.

"It was odd," said he, when telling me this. "I had never heard words of prayer in the French language before; but they struck upon my heart with a power and significance I cannot explain. Was it some strange inward consciousness of the power of Him before whom I was standing, and who knows every tongue and every people, and to whom all hearts are open, let their accents be ever so unlike or so various? I was in the street,"

added he, "without knowing how I came there, for my brain was turning with a thousand thoughts.

"'Where to, sir?' said the carman.

"'The Pigeon House,' said I, seating myself on the vehicle.

"'Ain't you Mr. MacNaghten, sir?' asked a large, well-dressed man, in a civil voice, as he touched his hat respectfully to me.

"'That is my name,' replied I.

"'Mr. Daniel MacNaghten, of Garrah Lynn?' asked he, again.

"'When I owned it,' rejoined I, trying to smile at a sad recollection.

"'Then I have a writ against you, sir,' continued he, 'and I'm sorry I must execute it, too.'

"'At whose suit, and for what sum?' asked I, trying to be calm and collected. He answered my last question first, by saying it was for an acceptance for twelve hundred and seventy-six pounds odd; and, after a little pressing, added,--

"'At the suit of Joseph Curtis, Esq., of Meagh-valley House.'

"'What's to be done?' said I. 'I cannot pay it.'

"'Come over to Green Street for the present, anyhow,' said he, civilly; 'there are plenty of houses.'

"'No, no; to jail, if I must,' said I, boldly. 'It's not myself I was thinking about.'

"Just as day was breaking, I pa.s.sed into the prison; and when I thought to be looking upon the mountains of the bay slowly fading behind me, I was ushered into the debtors' yard, to wait till my future dwelling-place should be a.s.signed me."

I copy this incident in the very words he himself related it.

CHAPTER XXI. AT REST

Having already acquainted my reader with the source from which I have derived all these materials of my family history, he will not be surprised to learn that MacNaghten's imprisonment leaves a blank in this part of my narrative. All that I know, indeed, of these early years can be told in a few lines. My mother repaired with me to the cottage in the Killeries, to which also came De Gabriac shortly after, followed by Polly f.a.gan, whose affection for my mother now exhibited itself most remarkably. Not vainly endeavoring to dam up the current of a grief that would flow on, she tried to interest my mother in ways and by pursuits which were totally new to her, and, consequently, not coupled with painful recollections. She taught her to visit the poor in their cabins; to see them, in the hard struggle of their poverty, stoutly confronting fortune day by day, carrying the weary load of adversity, without one hope as to the time when they might cease to labor and be at rest. These rambles through wild and unvisited tracts rewarded them well in the grand and glorious objects of scenery with which they became acquainted.

It was everlasting discovery,--now of some land-locked little bay, half-hid among its cliffs; now some lone island, with its one family for inhabitants; or now some picturesque bit of inland scenery, with wood and mountain and waving gra.s.s. Occasionally, too, they ventured out to sea, either to creep along the coast, and peep into the rocky caverns with which it is perforated, or they would set sail for the distant islands of Arran,--bleak and desolate spots on the wide, wild ocean. The charms of landscape in its grandest features were, however, the least of the benefits these excursions conferred, at least on my poor mother. She learned then to see and to feel that the sorrows of life fall uniformly; that few, indeed, are singled out for especial suffering; and that the load is apportioned to the strength that is to bear it. She saw, besides, how the hard necessities of existence formed in themselves a barrier against the wearing influence of grief: the hands that must labor for daily bread are not wrung in the wild transports of misery!

It is the law of human nature, and the claims of the living are the counterpoise to the memory of the dead.

Neither her early education nor her habits disposed her to any exertion.

All her ideas of life were circ.u.mscribed within the limits of certain pleasures and enjoyments. From her infancy she had never known any other care than how to make time pa.s.s swiftly and agreeably: now she had to learn the more rewarding lesson that life can be profitably pa.s.sed; and to this task she addressed herself, I believe, with a hearty earnestness.

It is only by estimating the change which took place in her character at this time, and which marked it during the short remainder of her life, that I am led to speculate upon the cause. Her days were pa.s.sed in intercourse with the peasantry, whom, at last, she began to understand, through all the difficulties of their strange temperament and all the eccentricities of their habits. There was not a cabin for miles round, with every one of whose inmates she was not acquainted, and of whose joys and sorrows, whose hopes and cares, she was not in some shape the partic.i.p.ator.

When the sea was too rough and the weather too wild for the fishermen to venture out, she was constantly amongst them with some material for home occupation; and it was curious to see those fingers, which had never been used to harder toil than the mock labor of the embroidery frame, ingeniously moving through the mazes of a fis.h.i.+ng-net, while in her foreign English she would relate some story of her Breton countrymen, certain to interest those who sat admiringly around her.

How singular it is that the experience and the habits which are destined to guide us through the great trials of life are frequently acquired in scenes and amongst people the very opposite to those wherein the lesson is to be profitable! And yet so it was. In exhorting and cheering others she elevated the tone of her own mind; in suggesting exertion to the faint-hearted, she imbibed courage herself; and when teaching them to be of good cheer, she spoke the language of encouragement to herself.

Her bodily health, too, kept pace with her mental. She who rarely had ventured out if the weather merely were threatening, could now face the stormiest seasons of that wild west. The darkest day of winter would see her abroad, braving with an almost childish excitement the beating rain and wind, or fighting onward to some lone cabin amongst the hills, through sleet and snowdrift, undeterred!

I have heard but little of the life they led within doors, but I believe that the evenings were pa.s.sed pleasantly with books and conversation, De Gabriac reading aloud, while my mother and Polly worked; and thus the winter glided easily over, and spring was now approaching ere they were well aware that so many months had gone by. If my mother wondered at times why they never heard from MacNaghten, De Gabriac and Polly, who were in the secret for his mishap, would frame various excuses to account for his silence. Meanwhile they heard that such was the complication of the law proceedings which concerned the estate, so intricate the questions, and so puzzling, that years might pa.s.s in litigation ere any decision could be come to. A reserved offer came at this time from Sir Carew O'Moore to settle some small annuity on my mother if she would relinquish all claim to the estate in his favor; but f.a.gan hesitated to acquaint her with a proposal which he well knew she would reject, and the very fact of which must be an insult to her feelings. This the Grinder commented on in a letter to his daughter, while he also avowed that as he saw no prospect of anything favorable to my mother likely to issue from the course of law, he must press upon her the necessity of her seeking an asylum in her own country and amongst her own friends.

I have never been able to ascertain why my mother herself did not at once determine on returning to France after my father's death. Perhaps the altered circ.u.mstances of her fortune deterred her. There might have been reasons, perhaps, on the score of her birth. My impression is, that De Gabriac had quitted the Continent overwhelmed with debt, and dared not return there, and that, as his counsels greatly swayed her, she was influenced by whatever arguments he adduced.

So little was my mother acquainted with the details of her altered condition in life, that she still believed a small but secure income remained to her; and it was only by a few lines addressed to her, and inclosed in a letter to Polly, that she was at length brought to see that she was actually without means of support for a single day, and that hitherto she had been a dependent on f.a.gan's kindness for a home.

I believe that this communication was not made with any harshness or want of feeling; on the contrary, that it was conveyed with whatever delicacy the writer could summon to so ungracious a task. It is more than probable, besides, that f.a.gan would not have made it at all, or at least not for a considerable time, had he not at that moment been involved in an angry correspondence with Polly, who had flatly refused to quit my mother and return home. Irritated at this, and driven to extremities, he had determined in this last course to accomplish his object.

My mother was so much overwhelmed by the tidings that she thought she could not have understood them aright, and hastened to Polly's room, with the letter in her hand.

"Tell me," cried she, "what this means. Is it possible--can it be true--that I am actually a beggar?"