Tisdal paused for a moment moodily, and then thrust the weapon back again into his belt.
Deveril’s pale face, for the first time, exhibited some slight evidences of inward agitation. He drew a long breath, and rising from his seat, stood with his back to the fire, watching with a piercing eye, in whose contracted pupil there gleamed something at once of craft, ferocity, and extreme suspicion, the movements of his host, who in dogged silence, and with a sombre scowl, took a turn or two up and down the well-stored kitchen, in the ruddy and uncertain firelight, and among the manifold creature comforts which seemed but to mock the horrors of his misery, with the glad salutation, “ent, drink, and be merry.”
CHAPTER XI.
THE MONEY BAGS.
THE two tenants of the kitchen of the grange of Drumgunniol remained silent for a time: Tisdal was the first to speak —
“Deveril,” said he, in an altered tone, “you know not what a hazard you have run. Had I shot you dead, you would have had no more than your deserts; but, thanks be to the Lord, I have spared you, and taken no more blood upon these hands of mine. I rebuked the spirit that prompted to the act; and I swear to thee, by the living God, I will not seek to harm thee, except it be in self-defence.”
“And I,” said the guest, with a courteous flourish, as he replaced his pistol, in turn, within his vest— “and I swear by the honour of a gentleman, that I will not seek to hurt thee, except for a like purpose; so the treaty is concluded and agreed on both sides. Let us then proceed to supper; for, as I have told you, my dinner has been something of the lightest; and ale and tobacco, though good enough in their way, are scarce equal, in the matter of nourishment, to a grilled pullet and a rasher of bacon; and that you’ll admit, noble captain.”
“Prithee, forbear to call me by nicknames,” said Tisdal, vehemently. “You want food, raiment, and perchance a little money. Well, these you shall have; but while you stay under my roof, all I demand is this, that before others you make no allusion to what is past, to — in short, to my former courses. You comprehend me; and so— “
At this moment, the bony, lank, hard visage of Praise-God Bligh, bruised and frightened, appeared at the door; and Tisdal conveyed the conclusion of his caution by pressing his finger to his lip — a gesture which Deveril answered by a quiet wink. The master of Drumgunniol then proceeded to issue his orders for supper; and old Alley, the wrinkled and rheumatic maid-of-all-work, being roused from her slumbers in the loft, descended the creaking stair in loose attire, and with many a muttered curse, united her labours with those of the lean and lankhaired servitor; and thus, ere long, a smoking meal of savoury food reeked invitingly upon the board. The meal proceeded in sullen silence, until the two domestics had withdrawn for the night to their respective cribs.
“Come, come, old Snap,” said the stranger, in reply to an interrogatory from Tisdal— “pleasure tonight, business to morrow. Rat me, if I hurry myself to please you — tomorrow morning, I say, I shall tell you my terms; tonight I shall consider them with the aid of your flask, and a whiff of tobacco.”
“If you desire a bed, you will find a clean and warm one in yonder closet,” said Tisdal.
“Why, captain,” replied he, “to tell the truth, it’s quite a novelty to me to meet with such brandy as I’ve got here, so I have made up my mind to pass the night in my chair — just in our own old style — with the stone jar before me, and a good pipe of tobacco between my finger and thumb; and all the more particularly as I see no harm in keeping wide awake — do you take me — under my very peculiar circumstances; so, with many thanks for your polite attention, I’ll just stay as I am.”
“Do as you list,” replied Tisdal, wholly disregarding the sneer with which this intimation was conveyed; “there is turf and wood enough in the creel behind you to keep the fire blazing till morning.”
Having thus spoken, the master of Drumgunniol withdrew, and with a heavy tread, and a still heavier heart, mounted the steep and narrow stair which led to his bedchamber, and bolting and locking the door upon the inside, threw himself upon his knees, and poured forth in the agony of his soul a torrent of passionate prayer, interrupted with groans and sighs which seemed to burst from the very depths of his heart. Deveril appeared meanwhile resolved to make his solitary vigil as comfortable as the means and appliances within his reach would allow. With his thick-soled shoe he thrust the embers on the hearth together, and heaped over them fragments of dried bogwood enough to make a bonfire; and while the genial blaze flickered and mounted with many a bursting crackle and shower of ruddy sparks, he drew his chair still nearer, and leaning his elbow on the table, and his head upon his hand, he fixed his eyes upon the shifting embers in profound and exciting meditation, while with vigorous exhalation he puffed forth dense and cloudy volumes of the aromatic vapour of his favourite weed. Half an hour passed, and he laid the exhausted pipe upon the table, slowly drained a longstemmed glass of brandy, relapsed into deep and engrossing meditation, and arose from it at length with a laugh low and stifled, but withal so villainous in its tone and expression, that it might well have chilled the heart of any mortal listener.
“Expede Herculem” muttered he, as he stepped lightly to the cupboard, on which, in ruddy shining rows, glittered the burnished utensils of the comfortable household— “Ex pede Herculem, as we used to say at school, let us judge the saloon by the contents of the kitchen, and by the result see what the old boy can do; for after all that is the point. Pish! — pooh! — tut!” he ejaculated, as he impatiently but noiselessly turned over, one after another, the plates, dishes, cups, and flagons which stood before him in comely rows— “all pewter, pewter and brass. No clue here: nothing to show whether the old gallows-tassel has silver and gold in his plate-chest — if, indeed, he has one at all. So, igad, the only way is to take that for granted, and bleed him freely. I’m safe enough in saying he has both money and plate. Pshaw! — to be sure he has. What else does he lock up his bedroom for, and carry the key with him wherever he goes? What else does he keep that lank, canting rascal for, that the devil himself could not pump one word of information out of — either the veriest simpleton, or the deepest knave in this land of saints.”
Deveril filled his pipe anew, and again seated himself in front of the blazing fire.
From his abstraction, however, he was soon aroused. His quick ear caught a sound from without, and as it seemed to him, proceeding from some cause in operation close under the very walls of the old house. The guilty and the vile are ever suspicious, and the stranger started from his seat, and gliding noiselessly across the chamber, he stepped lightly into the closet which Tisdal had indicated, and from its dark window, himself unseen, observed, to his no small astonishment, the form of Praise-God Bligh, whom he believed to be at that moment in his garret and fast asleep, gliding stealthily by, and wide awake. For a single second he beheld him, and in another he was gone.
“Treachery!” muttered Deveril; “treason in the wind” — and he went softly to the outer door; it was, however, bolted and locked upon the inside.
Tisdal meanwhile, as we have said, had locked himself into his chamber under the high roof of the mansion, and there, in the anguish of his heart, was pouring forth his bitter and impetuous supplications — fierce, fervent, and incoherent — praying for his own deliverance and pardon: and, in the same breath, invoking curses and destruction upon the head of his persecutor — upbraiding heaven with having deserted him in his need — and finally praying with sobs, and groans, and wringing of hands, that the poor, miserable, and insufficient store of household stuff, and silver and gold with which his weak endeavours had been blessed, might escape the hands of the spoiler, and the wiles of the crafty. Then rising he unlocked an old oak press, and from its darkest and deepest corner drew out a leathern bag full of gold pieces, the counting of which was one of his daily exercises, fulfilled as regularly as his devotions. He felt this bag with the fond pressure of both his hands — he cowered over it with looks of love and anguis
h which would have been a perfect feast to a cynic — he untied the firmly twisted thongs which secured the opening, took out one by one the broad gold pieces — looked at them with the yearning gaze of love and despair — replaced them, and again bound the neck of the huge leathern purse, with as much jealousy as if the admission of even a particle of air might have dissolved the enchanting vision which from time to time its interior disclosed.
“And must I — must I share it with him. The little store I have with so much self-denial hoarded — must its better half be squandered by this wretch, in pot-house revellings, and still viler profligacy. If I were what once I was, I would have blown fifty souls into eternity first. But no, no! — no more blood! — no more blood!”
After a little pause, he added, in a tone of fierce agitation —
“Thank God, the girl — little Phebe — is out of the way tonight — thank God, at least, for that — thank God for that.”
He took a few hasty turns up and down the room — stopped short, while gradually a grim smile, first of doubtful significance, but which rapidly brightened into one of sinister but unequivocal triumph, lighted up his dark and ill-favoured countenance; with exulting vehemence he smote his hand upon his forehead, stamped fiercely upon the floor, and cried —
“I have it, God be thanked, I have it.”
He counted out ten of the broad gold pieces which furnished the leathern bag, folded them, and placed them in the same press; then from another bag of the same kind, he took some score crowns and as many shillings, and did likewise with them. He next secured the two leathern purses with tenfold precaution, and dropping them, one at each side, into the low pockets of his black threadbare coat, he softly turned the key in his door, opened it noiselessly, and with the velvet tread of an old tiger, stole forth upon the lobby. He paused at the stairhead, stooped over the bannister, and with his open hand, throwing back the straggling grizzled locks which impeded his hearing, and with mouth agape, and scarcely daring to breathe, he listened for any stir which might prove his visitant in motion; for well he knew the accomplishments of him with whom he had to deal — a mongrel monster, combining the ferocity of the wolf and the craft of the fox — vigilant, suspicious, murderous, and prompt.
He was satisfied with the result of his observation, and without however abating the extreme caution with which his movements were conducted, he glided across the lobby to the little chamber where Praise-God Bligh was slumbering in happy unconsciousness, after the fatigues and agitations of the day. Softly and cautiously did Tisdal raise the latch, and stealthily did he move into the apartment until he stood by the pallet of his unconscious dependant, when stooping over his recumbent form, with one hand he grasped and shook the shoulder of the slumberer, while with the other he no less rudely compressed his mouth; and, as his eyes opened upon the dark form which, like some black unsightly vision of the night, stooped over him, Tisdal said, in harsh emphatic whispers —
“It is I — I, Jeremiah Tisdal, your master; be not afraid; speak not one word, for your life; fear nothing — but up, and do thy clothes on.”
The man, thus aroused, with as little noise as even Tisdal could have wished, got down from his bed, and in silent haste began to huddle on his clothes, so that in a few minutes he stood before the puritan sufficiently attired for the service upon which he was thus abruptly summoned.
“Bligh,” said his master, returning from the door, at which, with jealous caution he had again been listening, and closing it carefully behind him; “your thriftless folly has placed me and my household in sore jeopardy; that fellow who now sits and keeps watch in the kitchen, is a murderer and a robber: speak not, sirrah, but listen: what’s past cannot be mended. You shall descend from this window with the speed of light — bear these bags to Glindarragh, and — but woe’s me! no — that will not do — they are all at rest ere this — and to return with the money were ruin — utter ruin. Yet they must not remain in the house even for an hour,” he continued, distractedly; “the villain may have begun his search already; anything but that — anything but that; so get you forth, and dig quickly and quietly a small hole, some three feet deep, under the crab tree in the paddock; lay in the bottom of it these two bags, which I will drop down when you are safe on the ground; throw the soil carefully back again, so that so much as a single ounce weight of it shall not remain about — tread it home, and lay the sod neatly on top, so that none can suspect it has been disturbed; dost thou comprehend? So now forth, and down with thee.”
In stern contempt of the young man’s expostulations and alarms, Tisdal compelled him to essay the perilous descent — the feat was performed in safety — and, with fluttering anxiety and eager eyes, Jeremiah watched the lad, as he hurried round the corner of the house to the well-secured spot to which he had directed him.
He paused, scarcely daring to breathe, until he thought sufficient time had elapsed for the execution of the momentous commission, and then Tisdal again entered his chamber, made some alterations in his dress, as though he had but just risen, and hastily attired him self, and taking his candle in his hand, he, with an ostentatious clatter-proceeded to stamp and stumble down the stairs — calling, as he approached the kitchen, “Ho! Deveril! — art thou awake; rouse thee, man, I would fain have a word with thee.”
He entered the kitchen, and found Deveril apparently precisely as Le had left him.”
“I tell thee, Deveril, I cannot rest. Thou has spoken well — I cannot slumber,” said Tisdal, gloomily, setting the candle upon the table, and seating himself. “Though I have courted sleep with all my soul, it has fled from me. It will not return even for a moment; nor can I know repose until this matter is settled between us; so let it now be determined, and once for all concluded, and thus an end of it. We each understand the other; say then, at once, what wilt thou take and begone, so that I may never see thee more.”
“Will you swear to play me no knave’s trick,” replied Deveril, fixing his piercing gaze upon his host, “and say what plate and money thou hast in thy possession?”
With an imprecation too fearful to be repeated, Tisdal named the sum which he had just deposited in his press, as all the wealth his dwelling contained, and proffered the keys of all his presses, chests, and closets, in vindication of his truth.
“Some fifty pounds. Hum! You have scarce been prudent, noble captain — too much addicted methinks to creature-comforts to be so thrifty as would become one of thy years,” replied Deveril, “Fifty pounds is a pretty sum, I must admit; but then my habits, as you know, are expensive — and my secret worth something. Nevertheless I mean to be reasonable; and to put you out of pain at once, I name a hundred — an hundred pounds — not a penny less. You can easily get the other fifty among your friends and neighbours, or, in short, where you list; but have them I must — that’s all.”
“You’re a merciless, griping villain to deal with,” answered Tisdal, bitterly; “but I suppose I must e’en submit. All I can do is to try to find the money, though few will be disposed to lend it. Tomorrow I will seek it; and, come what come may, on the day following, by hook or by crook, I shall make it up.”
He sighed profoundly as he concluded the sentence, called up as nearly as he could the despairing look of a ruined man, and then, with a hollow groan; he turned and remounted the worn and creaking stairs, exultingly muttering between his teeth, as the distance between him and his former comrade increased —
“And if you live until that day, or escape such a singeing on tomorrow-night, as will give thee quite enough of this country and its customs, may I pay thee every shilling of the hundred pounds; if my house is to be burned, ’tis well, at least, to have such a scoundrel broiled to powder in the flames.”
His mind pleasantly occupied with plans of further extortion, Deveril, upon the other hand, chuckled with unrestrained glee, and rubbed his hands together, as the departing footsteps of his gloomy host smote heavily upon his ear; and so the two companions parted for the night, each in the
happy conviction that he had overreached the other.
CHAPTER XII.
SHOWING THE HALL OF LISNAMOE AND THE HILLS OF SLIEVE-PHELIM BY NIGHT — AND NARRATING HOW NED O’ THE HILLS SMOKED A PIPE OF TOBACCO AND STRUCK A BARGAIN.
On the same night, Miles Garrett was sitting in the same shabby habiliments in which we have last beheld him, buried in profound and by no means gentle thought, in the hall of his castle at Lisnamoe. At a table — equally taciturn, though by no means as thoughtful — sate, at a little distance, the very person who had, but a few hours before, so terrified the fair Grace Willoughby, and afterwards so roughly atoned for his discourtesy; he was absorbed in the engrossing demolition of a mighty mountain of beef, which he washed down with copious draughts of ale, and abundant potations of more generous liquor. It was not until this unattractive personage had concluded his repast, and twice filled and twice emptied his goblet, that the silence of the apartment was disturbed. Pushing back the oak stool on which he sate, the brawny gentleman (for he claimed a gentle lineage) arose, heaved his huge shoulders, hitched up his breeches, and drawing the cuff of his coat across his greasy mouth, he approached his entertainer with an easy swagger.
“Well, sir, that’s done; and now, I may say, I’m all as one as ready for the road,” ejaculated he, planting his broad fists on the table; “so, if it’s pleasing to your honour, you might as well give me the bit of paper, for I’d like to be tramping at once.”
Complete Works of Sheridan Le Fanu (Illustrated) Page 58