The Knight Of Gwynne, Vol. 2 (of 2)

by Charles James Lever

  Produced by David Widger

  THE KNIGHT OF GWYNNE

  By Charles James Lever

  A Tale of the Time of the Union

  With Illustrations By Phiz.

  In Two Volumes. Vol. II.

  Boston: Little, Brown, And Company 1894.

  THE KNIGHT OF GWYNNE

  CHAPTER I. SOME CHARACTERS NEW TO THE KNIGHT AND THE READER

  Soon after breakfast the following morning the Knight set out to payhis promised visit to Miss Daly, who had taken up her abode at a littlevillage on the coast, about three miles distant. Had Darcy known thather removal thither had been in consequence of his own arrival at"The Corvy," the fact would have greatly added to an embarrassmentsufficiently great on other grounds. Of this, however, he was not aware;her brother Bagenal accounting for her not inhabiting "The Corvy" asbeing lonely and desolate, whereas the village of Ballintray was, afterits fashion, a little watering-place much frequented in the season byvisitors from Coleraine, and other towns still more inland.

  Thither now the Knight bent his steps by a little footpath across thefields which, from time to time, approached the seaside, and wound againthrough the gently undulating surface of that ever-changing tract.

  Not a human habitation was in sight; not a living thing was seen tomove over that wide expanse; it was solitude the very deepest, and wellsuited the habit of his mind who now wandered there alone. Deeply lostin thought, he moved onward, his arms folded on his breast, and his eyesdowncast; he neither bestowed a glance upon the gloomy desolation ofthe land prospect, nor one look of admiring wonder at the giant cliffs,which, straight as a wall, formed the barriers against the ocean.

  "What a strange turn of fortune!" said he, at length, as relieving hisoverburdened brain by speech. "I remember well the last day I ever sawher; it was just before my departure for England for my marriage. Iremember well driving over to Castle Daly to say good-bye! Perhaps,too, I had some lurking vanity in exhibiting that splendid team of fourgrays, with two outriders. How perfect it all was! and a proud fellowI was that day! Maria was looking very handsome; she was dressed forriding, but ordered the horses back as I drove up. What spirits shehad!--with what zest she seized upon the enjoyments her youth, herbeauty, and her fortune gave her!--how ardently she indulged everycostly caprice and every whim, as if revelling in the pleasure ofextravagance even for its own sake! Fearless in everything, she didindeed seem like a native princess, surrounded by all that barbaricsplendor of her father's house, the troops of servants, the equipageswithout number, the guests that came and went unceasingly, all renderinghomage to her beauty. 'T was a gorgeous dream of life, and well sheunderstood how to realize all its enchantment. We scarcely parted goodfriends on that same last day," said he, after a pause; "her mannerwas almost mordant. I can recall the cutting sarcasms she dealt aroundher,--strange exuberance of high spirits carried away to the wildestflights of fancy; and after all, when, having dropped my glove, Ireturned to the luncheon-room to seek it, I saw her in a window, bathedin tears; she did not perceive me, and we never met after. Poor girl!were those outpourings of sorrow the compensation nature exacted forthe exercise of such brilliant powers of wit and imagination? or had shereally, as some believed, a secret attachment somewhere? Who knows? Andnow we are to meet again, after years of absence,--so fallen too! If itwere not for these gray hairs and this wrinkled brow, I could believe itall a dream;--and what is it but a dream, if we are not fashioned to actdifferently because of our calamities? Events are but shadows if theymove us not."

  From thoughts like these he passed on to others,--as to how he should bereceived, and what changes time might have wrought in her.

  "She was so lovely, and might have been so much more so, had she butcurbed that ever-rising spirit of mockery that made the sparkling lustreof her eyes seem like the scathing flash of lightning rather than thesoft beam of tranquil beauty. How we quarrelled and made up again! whateverlasting treaties ratified and broken! and now to look back on thiswith a heart and a spirit weary, how sad it seems! Poor Maria! herdestiny has been less happy than mine. She is alone in the world; I haveaffectionate hearts around me to make a home beneath the humble roof ofa cabin."

  The Knight was aroused from his musings by suddenly finding himselfon the brow of a hill, from which the gorge descended abruptly into alittle cove, around which the village of Ballintray was built. A rowof whitewashed cottages, in winter inhabited by the fishermen and theirfamilies, became in the summer season the residence of the visitors,many of whom deserted spacious and well-furnished mansions to passtheir days in the squalid discomfort of a cabin. If beauty of situationand picturesque charms of scenery could ever atone for so manyinconveniences incurred, this little village might certainly have doneso. Landlocked by two jutting promontories, the bay was sheltered botheast and westward, while the rising ground behind defended it from thesweeping storms which the south brings in its seasons of rain; in frontthe distant island of Isla could be seen, and the Scottish coast wasalways discernible in the clear atmosphere of the evening.

  While Darcy stood admiring the well-chosen spot, his eye rested upon asemicircular panel of wood, which, covering over a short and gravelledavenue, displayed in very striking capitals the words "Fumbally'sBoarding-House." The edifice itself, more pretentious in extent andcharacter than the cabins around, was ornamented with green jalousiesto the windows, and a dazzling brass knocker surmounting a plate of thesame metal, whereupon the name "Mrs. Jones Fumbally" was legible, evenfrom the road. Some efforts at planting had been made in the twosquare plots of yellowish grass in front, but they had been lamentablefailures; and, as if to show that the demerit was of the soil and not ofthe proprietors, the dead shrubs were suffered to stand where they hadbeen stuck down, while, in default of leaves or buds, they put forth aplentiful covering of stockings, nightcaps, and other wearables, whichflaunted as gayly in the breeze as the owners were doing on the beach.

  Across the high-road and on the beach, which was scarcely more thanfifty yards distant, stood a large wooden edifice on wheels, whose makesuggested some secret of its original destination, had not that factbeen otherwise revealed, since, from beneath the significant nameof "Fumbally," an acute decipherer might read the still unerasedinscription of "A Panther with only two spots from the head to thetail," an unhappy collocation which fixed upon the estimable lady theepithet of the animal in question.

  Various garden-seats and rustic benches were scattered about, someof which were occupied by lounging figures of gentlemen, in costumesingeniously a cross between the sporting world and the naval service;while the ladies displayed a no less elegant neglige, half sea-nymph,half shepherdess.

  So much for the prospect landward, while towards the waves themselvesthere was a party of bathers, whose flowing hair and lengthened draperyindicated their sex. These maintained through all their sprightlygambols an animated conversation with a party of gentlemen on the rocks,who seemed, by the telescopes and spy-glasses which lay around them, tobe equally prepared for the inspection of near and distant objects,and alternately turned from the criticism of a fair naiad beneath to aScotch collier working "north about" in the distance.

  Darcy could not help feeling that if the cockneyism of a boarding-houseand the blinds and the brass knocker were sadly repugnant to thesense of admiration the scene itself would excite, there was an amplecompensation in the primitive simplicity of the worthy inhabitants, whoseemed to revel in all the unsuspecting freedom of our first parentsthemselves; for while some stood on little promontories of the rocksin most Canova-like drapery, little frescos of naked children flittedaround and about, without concern to themselves or astonishment to thebeholders.

  Ne
ver was the good Knight more convinced of his own prudence in payinghis first visit alone, and he stood for some time in patient admirationof the scene, until his eye rested on a figure who, seated at somedistance off on a little eminence of the rocky coast, was as coollysurveying Darcy through his telescope. The mutual inspection continuedfor several minutes, when the stranger, deliberately shutting up hisglass, advanced towards the Knight.

  The gentleman was short, but stoutly knit, with a walk and a carriageof his head that, to Darcy's observant eye, bespoke an innate senseof self-importance; his dress was a greatcoat, cut jockey fashion, andornamented with very large buttons, displaying heads of stags, foxes,and badgers, and other emblems of the chase, short Russia duck trousers,a wide-leaved straw hat, and a very loose cravat, knotted sailor-fashionon his breast. As he approached the Knight, he came to a full stop abouthalf a dozen paces in front, and putting his hand to his hat, heldit straight above his head, pretty much in the way stage imitators ofNapoleon were wont to perform the salutation.

  "A stranger, sir, I presume?" said he, with an insinuating smile and anair of dignity at the same moment. Darcy bowed a courteous assent, andthe other went on: "Sweet scene, sir,--lovely nature,--animated andgrand."

  "Most impressive, I confess," said Darcy, with difficulty repressing asmile.

  "Never here before, I take it?"

  "Never, sir."

  "Came from Coleraine, possibly? Walked all the way, eh?"

  "I came on foot, as you have divined," said Darcy, dryly.

  "Not going to make any stay, probably; a mere glance, and go on again.Is n't that so?"

  "I believe you are quite correct; but may I, in return for yourconsiderate inquiries, ask one question on my own part? You are,perhaps, sufficiently acquainted with the locality to inform me if aMiss Daly resides in this village, and where."

  "Miss Daly, sir, did inhabit that cottage yonder, where you see the oarson the thatch, but it has been let to the Moors of Ballymena; they paytwo-ten a week for the three rooms and the use of the kitchen; smartthat, ain't it?"

  "And Miss Daly resides at present--"

  "She 's one of us," said the little man, with a significant jerk of histhumb to the blue board with the gilt letters; "not much of that, afterall; but she lives under the sway of 'Mother Fum,' though, from onecaprice or another, she don't mix with the other boarders. Do you knowher yourself?"

  "I had that honor some years ago."

  "Much altered, I take it, since that; down in the world too! She was anheiress in those days, I 've heard, and a beauty. Has some of the goodlooks still, but lost all the shiners."

  "Am I likely to find her at home at this hour?" said Darcy, moving away,and anxious for an opportunity to escape his communicative friend.

  "No, not now; never shows in the morning. Just comes down to dinner, anddisappears again. Never takes a hand at whist--penny points tell up, youknow--seem a trifle at first, but hang me if they don't make a figurein the budget afterwards. There, do you see that fat lady with the blackbathing-cap?--no, I mean the one with the blue baize patched on theshoulder, the Widow Mackie,--she makes a nice thing of it,--won twelveand fourpence since the first of the month. Pretty creature that yonder,with one stocking on,--Miss Boyle, of Carrick-maclash."

  "I must own," said Darcy, dryly, "that, not having the privilege ofknowing these ladies, I do not conceive myself at liberty to regard themwith due attention."

  "Oh! they never mind that here; no secrets among us."

  "Very primitive, and doubtless very delightful; but I have trespassedtoo long on your politeness. Permit me to wish you a very good morning."

  "Not at all; having nothing in the world to do. Paul Dempsey--that'smy name--was always an idle man; Paul Dempsey, sir, nephew of old PaulDempsey, of Dempsey Grove, in the county of Kilkenny; a snug place, thatI wish the proprietor felt he had enjoyed sufficiently long. And yourname, if I might make bold, is--"

  "I call myself Gwynne," said Darcy, after a slight hesitation.

  "Gwynne--Gwynne--there was a Gwynne, a tailor, in Ballyragget; aconnection, probably?"

  "I 'm not aware of any relationship," said Darcy, smiling.

  "I 'm glad of it; I owe your brother or your cousin there--that is,if he was either--a sum of seven-and-nine for these ducks. There areGwynnes in Ross besides, and Quins; are you sure it is not Quin? Verycommon name Quin."

  024]

  "I believe we spell our name as I have pronounced it." "Well, if youcome to spend a little time here, I 'll give you a hint or two. Don'tjoin Leonard--that blue-nosed fellow, yonder, in whiskey. He 'll beasking you, but don't--at it all day." Here Mr. Dempsey pantomimed theaction of tossing off a dram. "No whist with the widow; if you wereyounger, I 'd say no small plays with Bess Boyle,--has a brother in theAntrim militia, a very quarrelsome fellow."

  "I thank you sincerely for your kind counsel, although not destined toprofit by it. I have one favor to ask: could you procure me the means toenclose my card for Miss Daly, as I must relinquish the hope of seeingher on this occasion?"

  "No, no,--stop and dine. Capital cod and oysters,--always good. Themutton _rayther_ scraggy, but with a good will and good teeth manageableenough; and excellent malt-"

  "I thank you for your hospitable proposal, but cannot accept it."

  "Well, I 'll take care of your card; you 'll probably come over againsoon. You 're at M'Grotty's, ain't you?"

  "Not at present; and as to the card, with your permission I'll encloseit." This Darcy was obliged to insist upon; as, if he left his name asGwynne, Miss Daly might have failed to recognize him, while he desiredto avoid being known as Mr. Darcy.

  "Well, come in here; I 'll find you the requisites. But I wish you 'dstop and see the 'Panther.'"

  Had the Knight overheard this latter portion of Mr.

  Dempsey's invitation, he might have been somewhat surprised; but itchanced that the words were lost, and, preceded by honest Paul, heentered the little garden in front of the house.

  When Darcy had enclosed his card and committed it to the hands of Mr.Dempsey, that gentleman was far too deeply impressed with the importanceof his mission to delay a moment in executing it, and then the Knightwas at last left at liberty to retrace his steps unmolested towardshome. If he had smiled at the persevering curiosity and eccentriccommunicativeness of Mr. Dempsey, Darcy sorrowed deeply over the fallenfortunes which condemned one he had known so courted and so flatteredonce, to companionship like this. The words of the classic satiristcame full upon his memory, and never did a sentiment meet more readyacceptance than the bitter, heart-wrung confession, "Unhappy poverty!you have no heavier misery in your train than that you make men seemridiculous." A hundred times he wished he had never made the excursion;he would have given anything to be able to think of her as she had been,without the detracting influence of these vulgar associations. "Andyet," said he, half aloud, "a year or so more, if I am still living,I shall probably have forgotten my former position, and shall haveconformed myself to the new and narrow limits of my lot, doubtless asshe does."

  The quick tramp of feet on the heather behind him roused him, and, inturning, he saw a person coming towards and evidently endeavouringto overtake him. As he came nearer, the Knight perceived it was thegentleman already alluded to by Dempsey as one disposed to certainlittle traits of conviviality,--a fact which a nose of a deep coppercolor, and two bloodshot, bleary eyes, corroborated. His dress was ablue frock with a standing collar, military fashion, and dark trousers;and, although bearing palpable marks of long wear, were still neat andclean-looking. His age, as well as appearances might be trusted, wasprobably between fifty and sixty.

  "Mr. Gwynne, I believe, sir," said the stranger, touching his cap as hespoke. "Miss Daly begged of me to say that she has just received yourcard, and will be happy to see you."

  Darcy stared at the speaker fixedly, and appeared, while unmindful ofhis words, to be occupied with some deep emotion within him. The other,who had delivered his message in a tone of easy uncon
cern, now fixed hiseyes on the Knight, and they continued for some seconds to regard eachother. Gradually, however, the stranger's face changed; a sickly pallorcrept over the features stained by long intemperance, his lip trembled,and two heavy tears gushed out and rolled down his seared cheeks.

  "My G--d! can it be? It surely is not!" said Darcy, with almosttremulous earnestness.

  "Yes, Colonel, it is the man you once remembered in your regiment asJack Leonard; the same who led a forlorn hope at Quebec,--the manbroke with disgrace and dismissed the service for cowardice at TroisRivieres."

  "Poor fellow!" said Darcy, taking his hand; "I heard you were dead."

  "No, sir, it's very hard to kill a man by mere shame: though ifsuffering could do it, I might have died."

  "I have often doubted about that sentence, Leonard," said Darcy,eagerly. "I wrote to the commander-in-chief to have inquiry made,suspecting that nothing short of some affection of the mind or someserious derangement of health could make a brave man behave badly."

  "You were right, sir; I was a drunkard, not a coward. I was unworthy ofthe service; I merited my disgrace, but not on the grounds for which Imet it."

  "Good Heaven! then I was right," said Darcy, in a burst of passionategrief; "my letter to the War Office was unanswered. I wrote again,and received for reply that an example was necessary, and LieutenantLeonard's conduct pointed him out as the most suitable case for heavypunishment."

  "It was but just, Colonel; I was a poltroon when I took more than half abottle of wine. If I were not sober now, I could not have the courage toface you here where I stand."

  "Poor Jack!" said Darcy, wringing his hand cordially; "and what have youdone since?"

  Leonard threw his eyes down upon his threadbare garments, his patchedboots, and the white-worn seams of his old frock, but not a word escapedhis lips. They walked on for some time side by side without speaking,when Leonard said,--

  "They know nothing of me here, Colonel. I need not ask you tobe--cautious." There was a hesitation before he uttered the last word.

  "I do not desire to be recognized, either," said Darcy, "and preferbeing called Mr. Gwynne to the name of my family; and here, if I mistakenot, comes a gentleman most eager to learn anything of anybody."

  Mr. Dempsey came up at this moment with a lady leaning on each of hisarms.

  "Glad to see you again, sir; hope you 've thought better of your plans,and are going to try Mother Fum's fare. Mrs. M'Quirk, Mr. Gwynne--Mr.Gwynne, Miss Drew. Leonard will do the honors till we come back." Sosaying, and with a princely wave of his straw hat, Mr. Dempsey resumedhis walk with the step of a conqueror.

  "That fellow must be a confounded annoyance to you," said Darcy, as helooked after him.

  "Not now, sir," said the other, submissively; "I 'm used to him;besides, since Miss Daly's arrival he is far quieter than he used to be,he seems afraid of her. But I 'll leave you now, Colonel." He touchedhis cap respectfully, and was about to move away, when Darcy, pityingthe confusion which overwhelmed him, caught his hand cordially, andsaid,--

  "Well, Jack, for the moment, good-bye; but come over and see me. I liveat the little cottage called 'The Corvy.'"

  "Good Heaven, sir! and it is true what I read in the newspaper aboutyour misfortunes?"

  "I conclude it is, Jack, though I have not read it; they could scarcelyhave exaggerated."

  "And you bear it like this!" said the other, with a stare of amazement;then added, in a broken voice, "Though, to be sure, there 's a widedifference between loss of fortune and ruined character."

  "Come, Jack, I see you are not so good a philosopher as I thought you.Come and dine with me to-morrow at five."

  "Dine with _you_, Colonel!" said Leonard, blushing deeply.

  "And why not, man? I see you have not forgotten the injustice I once didyou, and I am happier this day to know it was I was in the wrong thanthat a British officer was a coward."

  "Oh, Colonel Darcy, I did not think this poor broken heart could everthrob again with gratitude, but you have made it do so; you have kindledthe flame of pride where the ashes were almost cold." And with a burningblush upon his face he turned away. Darcy looked after him for a second,and then entered the house.

  Darcy had barely time to throw one glance around the scanty furniture ofthe modest parlor into which he was ushered, when Miss Daly entered. Shestopped suddenly short, and for a few seconds each regarded theother without speaking. Time had, indeed, worked many changes in theappearance of each for which they were unprepared; but no less were theyunprepared for the emotions this sudden meeting was to call up.

  Miss Daly was plainly but handsomely dressed, and wore her silvery hairbeneath a cap in two long bands on either cheek, with something of animitation of a mode she followed in youth; the tones of her voice,too, were wonderfully little changed, and fell upon Darcy's ears with astrange, melancholy meaning.

  "We little thought, Knight," said she, "when we parted last, that ournext meeting would have been as this, so many years and many sorrowshave passed over us since that day!"

  "And a large measure of happiness, too, Maria," said Darcy, as, takingher hand, he led her to a seat; "let us never forget, amid all ourtroubles, how many blessings we have enjoyed."

  Whether it was the words themselves that agitated her, or something inhis manner of uttering them, Miss Daly blushed deeply and was silent.Darcy was not slow to see her confusion, and suddenly remembering howinapplicable his remark was to her fortunes, though not to his own,added hastily, "I, at least, would be very ungrateful if I could notlook back with thankfulness to a long life of prosperity and happiness;and if I bear my present reverses with less repining, it is, I hope andtrust, from the sincerity of this feeling."

  "You have enjoyed the sunny path in life," said Miss Daly, in a low,faint voice, "and it is, perhaps, as you say, reason for enduringaltered fortunes better." She paused, and then, with a more hurriedvoice, added: "One does not bear calamity better from habit; that is alla mistake. When the temper is soured by disappointment, the spirit ofendurance loses its firmest ally. Your misfortunes will, however, beshort-lived, I hope; my brother writes me he has great confidencein some legal opinions, and certain steps he has already taken inchancery."

  "The warm-hearted and the generous are always sanguine," said Darcy,with a sad smile; "Bagenal would not be your brother if he could see afriend in difficulty without venturing on everything to rescue him. Whatan old friendship ours has been! class fellows at school, companions inyouth, we have run our race together, to end with fortune how similar!I was thinking, Maria, as I came along, of Castle Daly, and rememberinghow I passed my holidays with you there. Is your memory as good asmine?"

  "I scarcely like to think of Castle Daly," said she, almost pettishly,"it reminds me so much of that wasteful, reckless life which laid thefoundation of our ruin. Tell me how Lady Eleanor Darcy bears up, andyour daughter, of whom I have heard so much, and desire so ardently tosee; is she more English or Irish?"

  "A thorough Darcy," said the Knight, smiling, "but yet with traits ofsoft submission and patient trust our family has been but rarely giftedwith; her virtues are all the mother's, every blemish of her characterhas come from the other side."

  "Is she rash and headstrong? for those are Darcy failings."

  "Not more daring or courageous than I love her to be," said Darcy,proudly, "not a whit more impetuous in sustaining the right ordenouncing the wrong than I glory to see her; but too ardent, perhaps,too easily carried away by first impressions, than is either fashionableor frequent in the colder world."

  "It is a dangerous temper," said Miss Daly, thoughtfully.

  "You are right, Maria; such people are for the most part like thegamester who has but one throw for his fortune, if he loses which, allis lost with it."

  "Too true, too true!" said she, in an accent whose melancholy sadnessseemed to come from the heart. "You must guard her carefully from anyrash attachment; a character like hers is strong to endure, but not lesscertain to sink u
nder calamity."

  "I know it, I feel it," said Darcy; "but my dear child is still tooyoung to have mixed in that world which is already closed against her;her affections could never have strayed beyond the limits of our littlehome circle; she has kept all her love for those who need it most."

  "And Lady Eleanor?" said Miss Daly, as if suddenly desirous to changethe theme: "Bagenal tells me her health has been but indifferent; howdoes she bear our less genial climate here?"

  "She 's better than for many years past; I could even say she 'shappier. Strange it is, Maria, but the course of prosperity, like thecalms in the ocean, too frequently steep the faculties in an apathy thatbecomes weariness; but when the clouds are drifted along faster, and thewaves rustle at the prow, the energies of life are again excited, andthe very occasion of danger begets the courage to confront it. We cannotbe happy when devoid of self-esteem, and there is but little opportunityto indulge this honest pride when the world goes fairly with us, withoutany effort of our own; reverses of fortune--"

  "Oh, reverses of fortune!" interrupted Miss Daly, rapidly, "people thinkmuch more about them than they merit; it is the world itself makes themso difficult to bear; one can think and act as freely beneath the thatchof a cabin as the gilded roof of a palace. It is the mock sympathy,the affected condolence for your fallen estate, that tortures you; thenever-ending recurrence to what you once were, contrasted with whatyou are; the cruelty of that friendship that is never content save whenreminding you of a station lost forever, and seeking to unfit you foryour humble path in the valley because your step was once proudly on themountain-top."

  "I will not concede all this," said the Knight, mildly; "my fall hasbeen too recent not to remind me of many kindnesses."

  "I hate pity," said Miss Daly; "it is like a recommendation to mercyafter the sentence of an unjust judge. Now tell me of Lionel."

  "A fine, high-spirited soldier, as little affected by his loss as thoughit touched him not; and yet, poor boy! to all appearance a bright careerwas about to open before him,--well received by the world, honored bythe personal notice of his Prince."

  "Ha! now I think of it, why did you not vote against the Minister?"

  "It was on that evening," said Darcy, sorrowfully,--"on that veryevening--I heard of Gleeson's flight."

  "Well,"--then suddenly correcting herself, and restraining the questionthat almost trembled on her lip, she added, "And you were, doubtless,too much shocked to appear in the House?"

  "I was ill," said Darcy, faintly; "indeed, I believe I can say withtruth, my own ruin preyed less upon my mind than the perfidy of one solong confided in."

  "And they made this accidental illness the ground of a great attackagainst your character, and sought to discover in your absence thesecret of your corruption. How basely minded men must be, when they willinvent not only actions, but motives to calumniate!" She paused, andthen muttered to herself, "I wish you had voted against that Bill."

  "It would have done little good," said the Knight, answering hersoliloquy; "my vote could neither retard nor prevent the measure, andas for myself, personally, I am proud enough to think I have givensufficient guarantees by a long life of independent action, not to needthis crowning test of honesty. Now to matters nearer to us both: whenwill you come and visit my wife and daughter? or shall I bring them hereto you?"

  "No, no, not here. I am not ashamed of this place for myself, though Ishould be so if they were once to see it."

  "But you feel less lonely," said Darcy, in a gentle tone, as ifanticipating the reason of her choice of residence.

  "Less lonely!" replied she, with a haughty laugh; "what companionship orsociety have I with people like these? It is not that,--it is my povertycompels me to live here. Of them and of their habits I know nothing;from me and from mine they take good care to keep aloof. No, with yourleave I will visit Lady Eleanor at your cottage,--that is, if she has noobjection to receive me."

  "She will be but too happy," said Darcy, "to know and value one of herhusband's oldest and warmest friends."

  "You must not expect me soon, however," said she, hastily; "I have growncapricious in everything, and never can answer for performing a pledgeat any stated time, and therefore never make one."

  Abrupt and sudden as had been the changes of her voice and mannerthrough this interview, there was a tone of unusual harshness in the waythis speech was uttered; and as Darcy rose to take his leave, a feelingof sadness came over him to think that this frame of mind must have beenthe slow result of years of heart-consuming sorrow.

  "Whenever you come, Maria," said he, as he took her hand in his, "youwill be most welcome to us."

  "Have you heard any tidings of Forester?" said Miss Daly, as if suddenlyrecalling a subject she wished to speak on.

  "Forester of the Guards? Lionel's friend, do you mean?"

  "Yes; you know that he has left the army, thrown up his commission, andgone no one knows where?"

  "I did not know of that before. I am sincerely sorry for it. Is thecause surmised?"

  Miss Daly made no answer, but stood with her eyes bent on the ground,and apparently in deep thought; then looking up suddenly, she said, withmore composure than ordinary, "Make my compliments to Lady Eleanor, andsay that at the first favorable moment I will pay my personal respectsto her--kiss Helen for me--good-bye." And, without waiting for Darcy totake his leave, she walked hastily by, and closed the door after her.

  "This wayward manner," said Darcy, sorrowfully, to himself, "has adeeper root than mere capriciousness; the heart has suffered so longthat the mind begins to partake of the decay." And with this sadreflection he left the village, and turned his solitary steps towardshome.

  If Darcy was grieved to find Miss Daly surrounded by such unsuitablecompanionship, he was more thau recompensed at finding that her tasterejected nearer intimacy with Mrs. Fumbally's household. More than oncethe fear crossed his mind that, with diminished circumstances, she mighthave lapsed into habits so different from her former life, and he couldbetter look upon her struggling as she did against her adverse fortunethan assimilating herself to those as much below her in sentiment as instation. He was happy to have seen his old friend once more, he was gladto refresh his memory of long-forgotten scenes by the sight of her whohad been his playfellow and his companion, but he was not free of acertain dread that Miss Daly would scarcely be acceptable to his wife,while her wayward, uncertain temper would form no safe companionshipfor his daughter. As he pondered on these things, he began to feel howaltered circumstances beget suspicion, and how he, who had never knownthe feeling of distrust, now found himself hesitating and doubting,where formerly he had acted without fear or reserve.

  "Yes," said he, aloud, "when wealth and station were mine, theconsciousness of power gave energy to my thoughts, but now I am to learnhow narrow means can fetter a man's courage."

  "Some truth in that," said a voice behind him; "would cut a verydifferent figure myself if old Bob Dempsey, of Dempsey Grove, were tobetake himself to a better world."

  Darcy's cheek reddened between shame and anger to find himself overheardby his obtrusive companion, and, with a cold salute, he passed on. Mr.Dempsey, however, was not a man to be so easily got rid of; he possessedthat happy temper that renders its owner insensible to shame andunconscious of rebuke; besides that, he was always "going your way,"quite content to submit to any amount of rebuff rather than be alone.If you talked, it was well; if you listened, it was better; but if youaffected open indifference to him, and neither exchanged a word norvouchsafed the slightest attention, even that was supportable, for hecould give the conversation a character of monologue or anecdote, whichoccupied himself at least.