Castle Richmond Part 32

And then, as she finished speaking, she did pluck up courage to look him in the face. She was now standing as well as he; but she was so standing that the table, which was placed near the sofa, was still between him and her. As she finished speaking the door opened, and the Countess of Desmond walked slowly into the room.

Owen Fitzgerald, when he saw her, bowed low before her, and then frankly offered her his hand. There was something in his manner to ladies devoid of all bashfulness, and yet never too bold. He seemed to be aware that in speaking to any lady, be she who she might, he was only exercising his undoubted privilege as a man. He never hummed and hawed and shook in his shoes as though the majesty of womanhood were too great for his encounter. There are such men, and many of them, who carry this dread to the last day of their long lives. I have often wondered what women think of men who regard women as too awful for the free exercise of open speech.

"Mr. Fitzgerald," she said, accepting the hand which he offered to her, but resuming her own very quickly, and then standing before him in all the dignity which she was able to a.s.sume, "I quite concurred with my daughter that it was right that she should see you, as you insisted on such an interview; but you must excuse me if I interrupt it. I must protect her from the embarra.s.sment which your--your vehemence may occasion her."

"Lady Desmond," he replied, "you are quite at liberty, as far as I am concerned, to hear all that pa.s.ses between us. Your daughter is betrothed to me, and I have come to claim from her the fulfilment of her promise."

"For shame, Mr. Fitzgerald, for shame! When she was a child you extracted from her one word of folly; and now you would take advantage of that foolish word; now, when you know that she is engaged to a man she loves with the full consent of all her friends.

I thought I knew you well enough to feel sure that you were not so ungenerous."

"Ungenerous! no; I have not that generosity which would enable me to give up my very heart's blood, the only joy of my soul, to such a one as my cousin Herbert."

"You have nothing to give up, Mr. Fitzgerald: you must have known from the very first that my daughter could not marry you--"

"Not marry me! And why not, Lady Desmond? Is not my blood as good as his?--unless, indeed, you are prepared to sell your child to the highest bidder!"

"Clara, my dear, I think you had better leave the room," said the countess; "no doubt you have a.s.sured Mr. Fitzgerald that you are engaged to his cousin Herbert."

"Yes, mamma."

"Then he can have no further claim on your attendance, and his vehemence will terrify you."

"Vehement! how can I help being vehement when, like a ruined gambler, I am throwing my last chance for such a stake?"

And then he intercepted Clara as she stepped towards the drawing-room door. She stopped in her course, and stood still, looking down upon the ground.

"Mr. Fitzgerald," said the countess, "I will thank you to let Lady Clara leave the room. She has given you the answer for which you have asked, and it would not be right in me to permit her to be subjected to further embarra.s.sment."

"I will only ask her to listen to one word. Clara--"

"Mr. Fitzgerald, you have no right to address my daughter with that freedom," said the countess; but Owen hardly seemed to hear her.

"I here, in your hearing, protest against your marriage with Herbert Fitzgerald. I claim your love as my own. I bid you think of the promise which you gave me; and I tell you that as I loved you then with all my heart, so do I love you at this moment; so shall I love you always. Now I will not hinder you any longer."

And then he opened the door for her, and she pa.s.sed on, bowing to him, and muttering some word of farewell that was inaudible.

He stood for a moment with the door in his hand, meditating whether he might not say good morning to the countess without returning into the room; but as he so stood she called him. "Mr. Fitzgerald," she said; and so he therefore came back, and once more closed the door.

And then he saw that the countenance of Lady Desmond was much changed. Hitherto she had been every inch the countess, stern and cold and haughty; but now she looked at him as she used to look in those old winter evenings when they were accustomed to talk together over the evening fire in close friendliness, while she, Lady Desmond, would speak to him in the intimacy of her heart of her children, Patrick and Clara.

"Mr. Fitzgerald," she said, and the tone of her voice also was changed. "You are hardly fair to us; are you?"

"Not fair, Lady Desmond?"

"No, not fair. Sit down now, and listen to me for a moment. If you had a child, a penniless girl like Clara, would you be glad to see her married to such a one as you are yourself?"

"In what way do you mean? Speak out, Lady Desmond."

"No; I will not speak out, for I would not hurt you. I myself am too fond of you--as an old friend, to wish to do so. That you may marry and live happily, live near us here, so that we may know you, I most heartily desire. But you cannot marry that child."

"And why not, if she loves me?"

"Nay, not even if she did. Wealth and position are necessary to the station in which she has been born. She is an earl's daughter, penniless as she is. I will have no secrets from you. As a mother, I could not give her to one whose career is such as yours. As the widow of an earl, I could not give her to one whose means of maintaining her are so small. If you will think of this, you will hardly be angry with me."

"Love is nothing then?"

"Is all to be sacrificed to your love? Think of it, Mr. Fitzgerald, and let me have the happiness of knowing that you consent to this match."

"Never!" said he. "Never!" And so he left the room, without wis.h.i.+ng her further farewell.

CHAPTER XV.

DIPLOMACY.

About a week after the last conversation that has been related as having taken place at the Kanturk Hotel, Mr. Mollett junior was on his way to Castle Richmond. He had on that occasion stated his intention of making such a journey with the view of "freshening the old gentleman up a bit;" and although his father did all in his power to prevent the journey, going so far on one occasion as to swear that if it was made he would throw over the game altogether, nevertheless Aby persevered.

"You may leave the boards whenever you like, governor," said Aby. "I know quite enough of the part to carry on the play."

"You think you do," said the father in his anger; "but you'll find yourself in the dark yet before you've done."

And then again he expostulated in a different tone. "You'll ruin it all, Aby; you will indeed; you don't know all the circ.u.mstances; indeed you don't."

"Don't I?" said Aby. "Then I'll not be long learning them."

The father did what he could; but he had no means of keeping his son at home, and so Aby went. Aby doubtless entertained an idea that his father was deficient in pluck for the management of so difficult a matter, and that he could supply what his father wanted. So he dressed himself in his best, and having hired a gig and a man who he flattered himself would look like a private servant, he started from Cork, and drove himself to Castle Richmond.

He had on different occasions been down in the neighbourhood, prowling about like a thief in the night, picking up information as he called it, and seeing how the land lay; but he had never yet presented himself to any one within the precincts of the Castle Richmond demesne. His present intention was to drive up to the front door, and ask at once for Sir Thomas Fitzgerald, sending in his card if need be, on which were printed the words:--

MR. ABRAHAM MOLLETT, Junior.

With the additional words, "Piccadilly, London," written in the left-hand lower corner.

"I'll take the bull by the horns," said he to himself. "It's better to make the spoon at once, even if we do run some small chance of spoiling the horn." And that he might be well enabled to carry out his purpose with reference to this bull, he lifted his flask to his mouth as soon as he had pa.s.sed through the great demesne gate, and took a long pull at it. "There's nothing like a little jumping powder," he said, speaking to himself again, and then he drove boldly up the avenue.

He had not yet come in sight of the house when he met two gentlemen walking on the road. They, as he approached, stood a little on one side, not only so as to allow him to pa.s.s, but to watch him as he did so. They were Mr. Somers and Herbert Fitzgerald.

"It is the younger of those two men. I'm nearly certain of it,"

said Somers as the gig approached. "I saw him as he walked by me in Kanturk Street, and I don't think I can mistake the horrid impudence of his face. I beg your pardon, sir,"--and now he addressed Mollett in the gig--"but are you going up to the house?"

"Yes, sir; that's my notion just at present. Any commands that way?"

"This is Mr. Fitzgerald--Mr. Herbert Fitzgerald; and I am Mr. Somers, the agent. Can we do anything for you?"